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penguinwithitsarseonfire · 2 years

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Falling feels like flying (till the bone crush)

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Reader, Tenth Doctor x Reader, Ninth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2, 243

Warnings: All angst, no happy ending

Summary: Reader is faced with a gross realisation. What everyone has been saying about her is true, she's a flight risk. Now it's up to her to show the Doctor that.

A/N: This entire thing literally only exists because I read Flight Risk by @storytelling-timelord so from one Elle to another, thank you for giving me the jump start I need to get to writing again!! For everyone else, I super recommend reading her stuff!!

On a day that wasn’t then, but long before today, you would wonder why Jack Harkness would call you this. Why, saddled up in the console room, giving the Doctor a private, sad smile, he would map the words onto your skin, a brand of hot iron at the base of your neck.

“She’s a flight risk,” he would say. He would warn.

And the Doctor would scoff, his Northern drawl spilling from him with ease, with the confidence of a man who was used to being right, of reading people right.

He would say that’s absurd, that you were human, too human. The kind of human who would look just as quickly at a lone daffodil in a field, or a new-born nebula, and see nothing but the beauty in the matter that formed it, of the star dust that danced around you in every bated breath.

No, he would say. You ran because you ran with the Doctor. You wouldn’t run without him.

And Jack would move to reply, his eyes far more honest that the rueful grin he forced his features into, but you would skip into the console room, curious, but unspoken. It had been some time since you established this little tradition with the Doctor, a dance just shy of moving in.

Every month – maybe, time was never accurate on the TARDIS – you would gather more of your belonging, tucking them into the space that made up your room.

And the Doctor would grin, look at you with an expression you wouldn’t be able to name, but would later learn, and ask if you were ready to go.

And Jack would grin, eyes dark though smile bright, pat the Doctor on the shoulder and ask for his own pit stop.

Today however, you roamed the TARDIS’ ever sprawling library, greeting each hard bound book, each fraying paperback, like an old friend.

And there, in golden letters, printed in the grain of an old bookshelf sagging under its own weight, was what you had never thought to be afraid of. Your name.

Your fingers ghosted over the imprint, trailing every stroke, every curve.

Your body went cold.

You knew these halls, floated through them like ink flows on paper, yet you had never seen this. Did you dare ask how long it had been there? Breathe your knowledge of this into the air? What would the Doctor say? Would he tell you he had been the one to do this? Would he see how terrified it made you feel?

Your free hand went to the back of your head, fingers trailing over the fine hair from where your skull met your neck. Your hand stopped as it met the base of your neck. In an instant you gripped tight.

Flight risk.

In the beginning, you found falling felt rather like flying. The Doctor didn’t steal your breath, he would snake into your lungs with an easy grin and bright laughter, and you found yourself giving it to him.

You hadn’t known yet, how easily Sarah-Jane Smith saw things. You didn’t yet know about the knowing. How important knowing was when it came to love.

But she knew, you think now she always had.

You only knew four things at that point, which you had thought was enough. First, you loved the Doctor. Second, he loved you. Third, loving one another was hard – harder than anything you had ever done.

Fourth, it was worth it.

But Sarah-Jane Smith had gripped onto the Doctor's arm, eyes wide and afraid as she spoke to him. She was speaking from experience, recognising him in you. Recognising why he loved you.

“She’s a flight risk,” she would say. She would implore.

And the Doctor would laugh, a full body movement that would sweep into his coat. He would say that you were fast, that lighting crackled beneath you, and he was the thunder – hand gripped tight in yours. That flight was fine because he was flying with you.

And you wouldn’t intrude on the way their conversation would unfold. You would turn off the monitor in the console room, toying with the idea of flight.

Because the Doctor was right, wasn’t he? You were already flying, where was the risk if the flying was for him?

Today however, you stumbled into the hallway, tripping over the slippers you had left at the foot of the library door. Your hand grazed the nearest wall, fingers mapping the grooves and nubs that you had tracked thousands of times.

Thousands? Had you really been here long enough for thousands?

You twisted down the hallway, finding your bedroom. You pawed for the light switch, a thin smear of dust pressing into your fingertips. Under the soft light, it barely looked familiar.

Trinkets you had long forgotten about sat on makeshift shelves, detailing adventures you would so often bring up in soft jokes and old laughter. An old journal sat on a desk, framed by photographs and pressings from flowers and leaves of various planets, untouched. Even your bed was locked in time, the sheets firmly tucked in all corners – unslept and well kept.

It had been so long since this had been your room, the room you spent your time in, the room you slept in. The evidence was clear as day. This room, which had once been yours, inviting and warm, was foreign. You were a stranger in your own space.

Had you lost yourself?

Flight risk.

Three faces you had known him. Three lifetimes of learning – of cataloguing and developing your very best knowing. Because it was the knowing that was key to any good relationship.

Like the knowing in how the Doctor took his tea, always with a dash of milk, always two sugars.

And in the knowing of how the Doctor looked at the stars, with the sort of wonder you had thought unparalleled, until he looked at you.

Or in the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled – always.

It never was a matter that the face had changed, that the eyes were new, and the slope of his jaw would bend into each new shape. The Doctor, you had come to find, was familiar, the extraordinary bottled into skin and bones with two hearts.

River Song was next, with a curious expression you have yet to unravel. She would take the Doctor’s hand, draw his eyes into her own, her voice low when she spoke. She would tell him how he was playing with fire, how – for once – he was the one who was about to get burned.

“She’s a flight risk,” she would say. She would mourn.

And the Doctor would shake his head, because River had seen, same as him, how cemented you were by his side. He would tell of her of the obstacles you had overcome, of the fears you had faced within each other, of the fate defying feats you had both pulled to keep one another in your orbit.

Then Amy – or maybe it was Rory, would call out to you, and their conversation would be lost behind you as you planned for the next adventure.

But the comment would linger, eat away through the goosebumps that would rise when Rivers gaze turned to you.

And it was then that you would wonder about Jack's first comment. It was arrogant, foolish. What did any of them know?

But the Doctors gaze would follow, it would wrap against your throat and claw into your skin.

But as always, you kept your thoughts onto the next adventure.

Today however, you gripped a photograph left on the desk. It was you, grinning into the camera, Martha Jones on one side, the Doctor on the other. You were young, your smile brighter, your eyes wider.

Your hand found itself on your cheek. Your fingers paved over your skin, over the new lines that had formed around your eyes, the creases in your cheeks, the weariness in their colour.

You were older now. So much older.

How many years had gone by? Would you ever be able to count them?

The photo fluttered out of your grasp. There was only one choice.

Flight Risk.

Permanency wasn’t a luxury you afforded yourself. Love was hard, and the knowing was harder. You loved knowing people, loved recognising the things that made them smile, made them laugh.

But the knowing in turn was ruthless.

The Doctor was changing, it was a knowledge that wrung itself in your chest, twisting into your veins and clotting itself into your arteries. If you had been self-aware, you would have seen the change you brought with it, how you drew yourself in, built around you more walls before the Doctor could find a jackhammer to carve them through.

You wondered if loving the Doctor truly was good – if the flying was true. How long until the flight was the Doctor leaving, once he saw too much of you?

Madame Kovarian would give you a lazy grin, the eye not hidden by the eye-patch toying with the way she looked at you and the Doctor. It was slow, languid, revelling in all the time she had to unravel you.

It only took her a moment, a cat like pause before her grin would stretch and twist into something wicked.

“She’s a flight risk,” she would say. She would applaud.

The Doctor would waver – he had never done that before. His voice would shake before falling firm. He wouldn’t mention you, he would talk of her, of the tricks she would pull, of the grip she held on to the universe.

And you would tell yourself that was enough, and you would forget it, hyperfocus on the need to fix this, on the need to win. This is what you did with the Doctor, fall into step, a routine so focused your body and his weren’t their own.

Today however, you fumbled for the vortex manipulator you knew was hidden here. You weren’t sure who the one who hid it was. Maybe it was Jack. Maybe it was River. In the end, it didn’t matter.

Your fingers curled around the worn strap, hidden deep in the console. For a moment you marvelled at the memory of the others, of the people who had left their own mark on the TARDIS.

The thought soon soured.

Because how could you think of a mark in the TARDIS, without thinking of yourself. You could see the evidence of you in this very console room. Your jumped hung over the railing. The book you were currently reading sat by the controls. An old mug, paired with the Doctors, sat by the staircase.

It sprawled out in front of you.

You. You.

You.

You tried to place the change, the moment where the you in your bedroom had spilled into the TARDIS. The moment your space was the Doctors.

You were everywhere.

There you were, your sunscreen stuck by the TARDIS front door. You were in the kitchen, tins of your favourite teas lining the shelf by the kettle. Your footsteps marked the hallways, old shoes you had kicked off before reaching your next stop, the scuff from old boots.

Your breath came in shaky, knotting in your throat.

Flight Risk.

The Doctor would rip the last page out of every book, all to avoid the ending. It was a quirk of his you knew well – you knew all his quirks well.

And although you knew it, you didn’t understand it.

Leaving was an inevitability for you and him. An end for all endings, even this. There was no permanency here. No proof that things would last, that he would stay. That you would stay.

There couldn’t be. Time was fickle, time was fleeting, and it was flying. Just like you were flying – you were sure of it.

Falling rather felt like flying. Until the fall was less flying, and more bone crashing into cement.

You couldn’t see the Doctor before you left, you had half the heart that he did, and that wasn’t accounting for the physical accuracy of the statement.

It was a rash decision, the logical part of you, the part screaming for you to slow down, knew it was rash. But wasn’t rash what you were known for?

Rash was jumping into a time machine with a man you just met. Rash was dancing with the stars, chasing time figures in the night. Rash was the running, all the running.

So, this time it was you. It wasn’t River, Jack, it wasn’t even the Doctor. It was simply you.

You scrawled a note, leaving it against the final lever on the console, the one the Doctor would throw before his next adventure. Alone.

I’m a flight risk, you had said.

You were gone.

If you had stayed, you would have seen it. You would have seen the way the Doctor stood – silent, alone – the note gripped in the palm of his hand.

The Doctor shattered.

His body splayed the TARDIS floor like ceramic before the mosaic, hauntingly tragic, ripped into the seam of the canvas.

By his side lay the ring, the reason he had left the TARDIS at all. It clattered against the railing; louder than the question he could now never ask you.

And it was the Doctor who now knew, who had learned. That the flying, that the falling? Was bone crushingly broken.

A/N^2: I really loved playing with prose while writing this, seriously, it was so fun. Thank you so much for reading! For the regulars, I've got a lot of unfinished wips that should I get the motivation are almost done, so hopefully I'll get to posting again more regularly!

EDIT: I'm writing a happy ending sequel! Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged when it comes out!

#the doctor x reader #eleventh doctor imagine #11th doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor #tenth doctor imagine #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor #ninth doctor imagine #9th doctor x reader #ninth doctor x reader #9th doctor

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aesethewitch · 1 month

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Notes from an Ex-Empath (Full Ver.)

This post is a highly personal account of my time as an empath. It’s a doozy, and I didn’t mean for it to get so long, but as with all things that really matter to me, it got a bit out of hand. I’ve left out the goriest of the details, but still take heed of the content warnings. Thanks for reading. (Placed under a cut for length.)

Content Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of unhealthy home environments, emotional manipulation, cult behavior, mental health struggles, delusions, brief mention of hallucinations and nightmares, self worth issues, compulsive lying, toxic friendships, and teen angst.

Subtle Beginnings

The year is 2011. High school is hard. Like, really hard. Harder than it should be, probably. I’ve just left an abusive relationship to enter a new one which would turn out to be, you guessed it, abusive. Escapism is the norm, and I’m always looking for new ways to feel in control of my life.

I’ve always been a little strange. I saw my first ghost before I knew what death was. I talk to trees and the wind, and I know all the names of the local rivers, right down to the little creek behind the school. But by this point, I’ve learned to not say that. I know it’s weird, and I’m happy to be weird. Weird is cool, at least in my friend circle. Outside of it, not so much, but I’ve learned to Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way my way through life at this point.

My friend buys a cheap mood ring from a shop in the mall, and that’s how we learn what auras are. She’s into it. I’m into her, even if I don’t know how to articulate that at the time. So I get obsessed, because I don’t know how to be anything else. I read all about auras and color theory and energy and “chakras” on loud, multi-colored websites proclaiming that you (yes, YOU!) can become a master of aura-reading and energy healing in just one month for only $12.99…

I don’t learn about being an empath (or Indigo Child, or Starseed, or whatever we were calling ourselves at the time) from the internet. No, a different friend overhears us talking about auras and mood rings and meaning (because I’d spent hours and hours reading about it and am now eager to display my knowledge; I like being an expert; I like knowing things), and he asks us if we’re empaths. He tells us what they are — people who can feel the emotions of others acutely and are highly sensitive.

And I think about it.

And I think about it some more.

And then, I think, hey… I do feel others’ emotions. I take them on like they’re my own. I carry them on my shoulders and between my ribs and in my bones, and it’s second nature. And I say, yes. Yes, I am an empath.

An Inexperienced Expert

Taking on the title of Empath was like finding the Holy Grail. I finally had a word to explain why I felt so energized in crowds but drained after going home, or why I found other people’s pain so upsetting and visceral, or why I could guess my friends’ emotions even when they were able to hide them from everyone else. I felt like I understood myself at long last.

I wasn’t sensitive. I wasn’t a crybaby. I was an empath. It was a superpower, something that made me special. Because it was a superpower, it was something I could learn to harness and control. My sensitivity would no longer rule me; I could learn how to rule it.

I did a lot of reading. I went to the library and read books with titles I can’t even remember anymore. From firsthand accounts by other empaths to explanations of energies I couldn’t actually understand, I was way out of my depth. But I liked to know things. I liked to be an Expert (tm).

Honestly, I still do. I like knowing what I’m talking about. Being an insecure child who needs to feel in control and enjoys being respected, I could pretend that I understood. I did plenty of that all the time, and it worked out (most of the time). False confidence was something I was finely attuned to already. I could bullshit my way in and out of any situation I wanted easily — from teachers forgiving missing homework to lying about my whereabouts to my controlling parents to pretending I was attracted to my boyfriend at the time, I was an expert in lying to survive.

Surely I could pretend to know what I was talking about. After all, I was an empath, an Indigo Child with a beautiful, healing, pure white aura. I was wise beyond my years, in tune with the Universe and all its creations. The information came from inside me anyways, and all those books said to trust my intuition. The voice in my heart that whispered about how special and different I was for being an empath was right, and I shouldn’t question it. A little improvisation wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

… Right?

When my friends asked about it, I spoke with confidence. I proclaimed myself an empath to anyone and everyone. No, I couldn’t actually see auras, but I could act like I could. The vibes were there — I could feel them like pinpricks of lightning on my skin and as little nudges at the back of my mind. All I had to do was squint and assign colors to those feelings. Sometimes, I thought I really could see them. I can’t discount it entirely, but I’m likely to attribute it to tricks of light and wishful thinking now, looking back.

I had a reputation for Knowing Things. Weird, niche facts. Being right about obscure topics. Remembering minute details from notes at the end of the teacher’s presentation given three weeks ago. Guessing right answers to questions I’d never heard based on logical reasoning and deductive skills. I had near-perfect grades in the top 3% of the class. I had a side-gig in helping people improve their essay skills.

So, when I talked about being an empath, my friends believed me. They proudly proclaimed the colors of their auras as I painted pictures for them.

And it felt good. I was both the center of attention and had no spotlight on me. I couldn’t see my own aura, so of course, I couldn’t tell them what mine was like. But theirs, oh, theirs? That was easy. I had a gift for telling them exactly what they needed to hear. I solved their problems in a flash, giving the perfect advice and predicting outcomes using nothing more than good old-fashioned vibes.

An empathic gift, of course. Understanding and unselfish love are tenets of the Empath Way. We’re healers, I told my friends, and that’s why people ask me for advice. It’s why I’m so good at it, I said. I never took my own advice about self-love and choosing better relationships — that wouldn’t come until several years later — but that didn’t matter. My issues were trivial; I had The World to worry about.

Despite my newness to the empath scene, I positioned myself as not just an expert but The Expert. It wasn’t really on purpose. I couldn’t help myself. My friends wanted me to be a wise, trusted source of information, so I was one. Or, well, I thought I was one.

The goal was never to fool anyone. I believed with my whole heart that I was an empath, a Starseed, someone born to do noble things and help people. It was my purpose. As an empath, I had a duty to spread good vibes whenever I could. If I couldn’t do that, I was worth nothing.

Sometimes, that meant talking out my ass about concepts I read about at a bleary 1:00 AM before having to wake up at 6:00 to catch the bus to school on time. If I made something up or said something untrue, it was because it “felt right.” And that made it simply right in my mind. Those books and blog posts and articles said it was.

As far as experts go, I definitely was not one. I hesitate even now to call myself an expert in anything whatsoever. But back then, it was a matter of course. My friends wanted advice, so I gave them advice.

My friends wanted me to be an empath, so I was one. Some of those friends felt the same things I did. Others’ emotions, the burden of it all, the weight of responsibility for everyone around us. We were empaths together.

I was never more alone, and I had absolutely no idea.

Downward Spiral

At the time, I wouldn’t have called it a spiral. I wouldn’t have called it a mental health crisis. And I certainly wouldn’t have blamed the whole empath thing for any of it.

No. Of course not.

As I graduated high school, I was entirely adrift. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. All of my friends were going to be leaving for college elsewhere while I stayed home to go to a local one.

But that summer, I was intent on enjoying every last minute of my life. It was time to take charge of my existence. I still called myself an empath, but it was more like a personality trait than anything else. An explanation, a fun fact. I’m double jointed, I dislike sweets, I’m an empath.

And my friends were empaths, too. Well, most of us. One was a “brick wall” of a guy — a skeptic who found us fascinating and wanted very much to believe in what we were doing and saying. At the same time, one friend was getting into Wicca. And, afraid to look like a fool, I pretended I knew all about it. I knew generally what Wicca was, because of the empath stuff running over into witchcraft circles. It was enough to sound competent, and that was enough!

So, suddenly, I was The Expert on Wicca and witchcraft and magic. A lot of it was stuff I really did do and believe, so it was simple to fill in the gaps with logic. And what I couldn’t make up, I ignored. Or I looked it up later and pretended I knew all along.

Anxiety was my constant companion. I was an imposter in my own life. This was just one more act to put on.

And because of my empath abilities, it was easy! I could determine the right thing to say at the right time. I read the room, felt my friends’ energies, and adapted accordingly. We did rituals and cast spells, and through it all, I relied heavily on my ability to read them clearly.

So when I failed to read one friend and it cost us everything, it was devastating.

I won’t go into details to protect their identity. The entire thing was… ugly. I spent a long time miserable over it. But I knew, even when I was heartbroken over it, that it was my fault. The empath in me was clinging to everything too hard, seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was. I needed to be The Expert, and I was failing at it.

There’s a lot about that time that I don’t remember clearly. What I do remember is a lot of stuff about past lives, reincarnating together, and misguided notions of deities and magic and history. It was a mess. One delusion fed into another, building into a web of intricate, interweaving stories. We were encouraging each other’s theories and beliefs and feelings without criticism, because to challenge one person was to challenge the entire structure.

And we couldn’t do that. Because to do that would mean admitting that we were all lying.

Because it would mean I wasn’t an empath, wasn’t special, wasn’t anything. I was just me, and I’d be back to square one with no clue about what was wrong with me.

That house of cards was years in the making. When that friend split off and stopped talking to us (to me), I thought it was going to come crumbling down. And in many ways, it did.

I dropped out of college barely two weeks into the second semester because I was failing every course but one. I started seeing a therapist, and then another one, and then a psychiatrist. I received words for my anxiety and even ADHD. Things started getting better, little by little.

Lingering Problems

I reconnected with someone from high school by chance. We got very close. I helped raise her new baby. Things were good.

And then, old habits rose. The need to be Right and Expert ate me alive, even though I recognized them as symptoms of anxiety. But with this reconnected friend feeding into my insecurities, echoing those feelings of inadequacy and out-of-place-ness and a need to belong somewhere and to mean something, it was hard to logically sort those thoughts.

Everything was about being an empath. Our shared difficulties, our pains, our burdens — all of it was because we were empaths. We were empaths because of lingering past lives.

I won’t get into those, either, because they’re so incredibly specific, and I don’t want the people involved to see this and Know. Just know that our lives revolved around being empaths — special, sensitive, powerful, and made for infinitely complex purpose.

People who weren’t empaths were simultaneously lucky and pitiable. They would never know what it’s like to walk into a room and Understand everyone there. They would never have to bear the weight of someone else’s grief.

I wouldn’t say we looked down on non-empaths, necessarily. At least, not on purpose or consciously. Their lack of skill wasn’t their fault, after all. They were normal. We were special.

Notably, this is when I stopped using the term “starseed” at all — it was close, but not good enough to describe what we were feeling. It was a woefully human way to understand what we were, you see. A convenient word that didn’t encapsulate us, because we were special, even among the ever-special starseeds. We didn’t have a word for what we were. We didn’t really need one, because we didn’t need to describe ourselves to each other. We just Knew.

When I read my friends’ auras and described their energetic feelings to them (which I was an expert at by that point; my natural empath abilities had been honed to a fine edge), I was as thorough as possible. Mostly, I was accurate. Anytime I wasn’t, it was because of someone’s protective barriers or natural resistance to being read. We went to cemeteries so I could commune with spirits and tell my friends all about their energies. They couldn’t exactly challenge me about it, so they accepted what I said as Truth.

I was their Leader. How could I possibly be fallible?

It was, in the end, the accuracy of it that kept me in the empath mindset. The positive feedback loop I’d created for myself just confirmed my empath feelings. And if those were right, then everything else must’ve been, too — because it all came from the same place.

It just made sense.

I kept a journal off and on during those years. Reading through it now is… well, it’s harrowing. The entries are dated. Much of it is free-writing, a technique I still use today as a warm-up exercise. But almost all of it is a cry for help. It details hallucinations, delusions, nightmares, dissociative episodes, depressive episodes, manic spirals, and more.

If someone were to share this with me today, I would suggest they seek help with their mental state immediately. At the time, I believed myself to be receiving visions of the past. I believed that my empathic abilities were opening me up to a long lineage of lives I could tap into and, perhaps, return to one day.

There is a small, injured part of myself that wishes I could return to those feelings. No matter how unhealthy it really was, it made me feel strong and special and wanted in a time when I knew, deep down, that I was none of those things.

It was a comfortable lie. I knew that the past lives were bullshit. I did. I can admit that now. It was a series of elaborate lies built on lies built on lies.

And yet, I still firmly knew I was an empath. That kernel of truth never wavered. It was the foundation.

I was slowly teaching myself magic during these years. I’d been doing spirit work and tarot for years already, so the craft was almost second nature. It took a back seat to the rest, but it was there.

Even as my relationships grew less and less stable, I had magic and spirits and my empath abilities to fall back on. Surely everything would be alright.

By Tooth and Claw

After the unhealthy friendship I described above dissolved rather spectacularly, I spent a few more years harboring the past life stories. They morphed slowly into fiction, and I gradually lost interest. My remaining friends from that group and I would talk with disdain about the one we’d cut out; she wasn’t good enough. She was lying.

Because our memories were different, you see.

The justifications we crafted were as elaborate as any other lie we told. She really was a manipulative person whose goal was to “own” our friendship — and we acknowledged that. But we still couldn’t shatter the veneer between all of us that the rest was all lies.

So we left it. We didn’t talk about it again. But it lived on in my mind and in that digital journal. It haunted me.

And, as all toxic friendships built on shared lies tend to do, that relationship also imploded.

It left me utterly friendless. I had no one but my partner at the time, and even that relationship wasn’t exactly going well. I was questioning my sexuality all over again, and I’d just started acknowledging the whole Gender thing, and I had no one to talk to about any of it. It was a miserable existence, but I’d still rather have no friends at all than have friends like those.

I abandoned all of it. Without the people who propped up the lies, there was no need for me to keep going. I stopped with the past lives stuff, I stopped all the magic, I stopped my spirit work, and I stopped calling myself an empath.

It was… Well, it was easy. Shockingly so.

Healing from the rest was decidedly not easy. It took a lot of hard work and introspection. I had to own up to the lies I told myself and others, even if I was never going to be able to have the closure-inducing conversations with them.

I decided to start choosing myself. I made new friends. I dumped my boyfriend who I hadn’t been in love with for over a year (or maybe longer). I started dating my current partner. I let myself move on.

I’m now about seven years out of that last friendship, and I finally feel like I’ve moved on.

My laptop died. I saved my necessary files and moved them to my current PC.

I didn’t bring the journal over.

The Draw and the Cost

When you’re a scared, sad, lonely person, you’ll go looking for fulfillment anywhere. You’ll accept whatever others give you if it means they’ll value you for even a single moment.

Positive feedback means everything to someone who has never received it before. When you have to work hard for an ounce of attention or affection at home, you come to expect that you’ll always have to do that everywhere you go.

I remember when Facebook became a thing just as I was starting to become my own person in high school. Liking pages called things like “Getting caught in the rain with your best friend” and “Ultra kawaii girlz do it best!” and “Sorry I read your mind, I’m an empath LOLZ” and “RANDOM TACO MUSTACHE PANDA ATTACK!” was par for the course after school. (Sorry for the psychic damage.)

I also remember the first call-out post I ever saw on Facebook. It was about some girl in my grade who I didn’t know. The girl who posted it was an empath, of course, and accused the other girl of being a fake, cheating liar. I don’t know if it was true. At the time, I took it at face value — after all, the accuser was an empath. Empaths don’t lie. Obviously.

I still struggle with compulsive lying. I suspect I always will. The drive to be an Expert is a part of me that I’ll never be able to get rid of. The need to be accepted and appreciated, too, will never leave me. It’s part of why I love this platform, and all other forms of written communication, over speaking to people verbally. While I can usually catch myself before I tell a reflexive, unnecessary lie these days, I sometimes slip. It’s an embarrassing thing. I try to force myself to admit it and then tell the truth.

Usually, I succeed. It’s a work in progress.

But typing, I can backspace. I can delete shit. I can keep things in my drafts and edit them and adjust wording to my heart’s content. I can remove messages and take things back. It’s easier to say “I was wrong” or “This wasn’t true” to strangers on the internet, after all.

Now, as I near thirty years old, I have better language to describe what I was feeling. The overwhelming emotions from everyone around me, the overload I felt in crowds, the reflex to please everyone, the uncanny ability to read a room’s atmosphere at a glance…

I was an undiagnosed autistic child with serious trauma and unmedicated ADHD. I needed help. I asked for help. Everything I did was a cry for help.

I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted to feel useful and valuable. I wanted to feel different in a way that was manageable.

I wanted language to describe myself that was empowering. “Empath” was empowering and manageable and useful and valuable and powerful and special. It felt good. And because it felt good, it felt right. And because it felt right, it was a solid band-aid on the open wound of my life. “Empath” was an escape from the reality of my situation. It made everything easier to bear.

I’m sad because I’m an empath, and someone in homeroom was crying.

I’m angry because my parents’ fight leaked into every corner of the house, and I couldn’t help but absorb it into myself like a sponge, because I’m an empath.

I’m so happy I can’t contain myself, and I have to flail and jump around, because everyone around me is cheering and singing and dancing, and I feel it all like a growing avalanche that echoes through the walls of my body and rings in my bones as a song I cannot contain. Because I’m an empath.

I’m always being hurt because nasty people are attracted to my empath abilities. It makes me an easy target. That’s just how it is, and that’s how it’ll always be, because I’m an empath.

I’m too sensitive, too soft, too emotional, because I’m an empath.

Every step I take away from the “empath” label is done with the full knowledge that without it, I wouldn’t have survived. I needed something to cling to, and “empath” was enough to keep me afloat. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was looking for Meaning.

Besides, “empath” was an easier word to swallow than “traumatized” or “abused” or “mentally ill.” It didn’t taste as bitter. I didn’t choke on it.

There were no resources for me. All I had was what I could fashion myself out of bubble gum and black sharpie and sheer force of will and please God, if you are there, let me live another day. Everything I am, I owe to my own two hands and luck.

I don’t need the “empath” label anymore. I’ve outgrown it. I recognize it for what it is now: a patchwork explanation for other phenomena in my life that are better explained from a psychiatric standpoint — and from a truly philosophical, spiritual one.

To this day, talking about empaths and twin flames and starseeds and past lives and everything that goes with those things remains a trigger. It gets easier and easier to manage, but I still blacklist those tags. I avoid it at all costs. Empaths I can manage, for the most part. Twin flames I won’t abide; soul mates are on thin ice. Starseeds are a crock of shit for a whole bunch of other reasons. Past lives… it’s the only thing I won't really talk about at all.

And I ask you kindly, please, don’t ask.

Where I Stand

I’m still paying the costs of all this. When you spend most of your life under immense stress, having yearly crises of one kind or another, it kind of fucks you right up.

A few years ago, I returned to witchcraft. I started small. I did a little simmer pot to welcome myself to my brand-new apartment. A little protection here, a short meditation there. It felt good. I didn’t feel like I was slipping backwards.

After that, I returned to spirit work and divination. My old allies welcomed me back with open arms. It was a relief to unwrap my tarot cards and find the spirit attached to them still there. I set up a little altar space for them. Things were good.

I returned to the cemeteries. I apologized. The conversations I was having with those spirits were real, but I wasn’t respecting them the way I should’ve. We made a deal to even those scales, and I’ve paid in full. Those relationships are better than ever. Some of those spirits have followed me, per our agreements, and I work with them regularly.

And things are good. I haven’t done any backsliding. Last year, I allowed myself to question the nature of the universe and theories on magic and how it actually works. I made the connection with Lady Fate and drew up a theory on connections in magic. And it was fine. It is fine.

I’m extremely alert to the signs. I remain critical of my experiences. But I’m letting my personal practice be… casual. Natural. It’s just for me, not a performance. It doesn’t need to be spectacular or even produce results. It just has to be gratifying.

I started this blog for myself. I wanted to encourage myself to try new things and get out there again. It’s hard to make friends and connect with people, and I’m wary of IRL groups — for good reasons I’m sure you can guess at.

It’s been extremely cool to get to interact with people here. I get to vet people before I ever talk to someone. I can sweep their blog for signs of things I want to (need to) avoid. Blocking people is good for my health. This is the safest environment I’ve ever had to explore, communicate, get feedback, read criticism, and learn about witchcraft.

I am immensely grateful to my various lovely Tumblr mutuals, to my Discord pals, and to the folks I follow in all my witchy spaces. It’s through great effort that I’m able to talk about this stuff at all. I wouldn’t have realized I could if not for a brief mention in a private Discord server about doing a post about being an ex-empath.

It’s been so long since I’ve thought about it. It all feels so far away now. I know the distance is a testament to my own hard work. The difference between my mental health then and now is staggering. Even on my worst days now, I am nowhere near that level of Bad.

Where do I stand? On my own two damn feet, that’s where.

A Bit of Advice

I will never use the “empath” label again. I don’t think anyone should, though I understand the appeal. Obviously. You’ve read this far, I’d be surprised if you thought I don’t get it.

Instead, explore what you’re actually experiencing. Are you showing signs of a manic-depressive cycle? Are you having symptoms of anxiety, autism, ADHD, or depression? Do you know what depersonalization and dissociation are, and what they feel like? How about synesthesia, such as mirror-touch synesthesia, which can help explain why you feel a touch on someone else’s skin as though it was on your own? What feels bad, and why? Is your home life fraught, or was it? Are you looking for ways to cope with feelings that are too large to contain?

Do a simple search for “empath traits.” Check out any list of qualities empaths have. Make note, in particular, of the traits you identify with. Now take a look at a list of, say, “autism traits” or “PTSD traits.” Check out the overlap between them.

It’s important to consider mundane causes and mundane solutions. My greatest mistake when I picked up the “empath” label was that I believed there were no resources for me. I even said it up above that there were none.

But there were. Trusted teachers, the guidance counselor, the youth council director. Clubs, support groups. There were places I could have gone, but I was so far inside my own mind that I couldn’t see them. And the people around me were so dazzled by my false confidence that they couldn’t see how badly I was struggling. Admitting I needed help was akin to admitting defeat, and I couldn’t do that.

But you can.

“Empath” Alternatives

When I went looking for other accounts of people leaving the “empath” label, I was surprised to find… not a lot of bitterness. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Empaths” are often of the “love and light” persuasion, and that sort of philosophy isn’t always so easily let go of. Empathy for our past selves and the community surrounding even the most toxic of concepts is par for the course, don’t you think?

The primary thing most ex-empaths share in common (from what I’ve seen) is that they’ve outgrown the label in some way. Whether they realize why they picked up the label is hit or miss. Some, like myself, drop it almost unthinkingly after years of using it to define ourselves and only realize years later why we used it and what it did to us. Others leave it behind by choice, opting for more up-to-date terminology or paths.

I know this might be a little surprising. After all, I’m a witch. I do magic, and I work with spirits. Surely I believe in empaths as a concept, even if I ended up not being one.

No, I don’t. Not really. Some people really are naturally sensitive to others’ energy and/or feelings, and energy work is a real thing that you can do.

But the “empath” label isn’t helpful. If anything, it’s reductive. Why would you want to reduce the plethora of abilities and skills at your fingertips to a single word? Why submit to a rigid, fantastical definition that encourages self-martyrdom and unhealthy social behaviors when reality is much more interesting?

If you really feel drawn to calling yourself an “empath,” consider why that is. You’re sensitive, you’ve got an interest in the supernatural, you want to dip your toes into magic, or you just Know You’re Different?

Primarily, consider the fact that you’re likely neurodivergent in some way. See the above section about that, and do those trait searches again. Be really honest with yourself.

Secondarily, consider simple energy work instead. Rather than relying on a prescribed set of traits laid out like a cheap newspaper astrology column that’s so vague it could apply to anyone with the right spin because it’s been written by someone who doesn’t know what a Capricorn is, focus on an actual goal.

The first mistake people who pick up the “empath” label make is the assumption that they’re Special and Different. While you are a unique human being, you’re no more special or different than the guy next to you on the bus who’s got the spiritual sense of a lump of clay. You don’t need to be special or different. You just need to be human.

Sensing certain types of energy (like emotional energy) might come naturally to you. That’s great! It’s a real strength that you might have; it’s one that I certainly have, and it helped to confirm my “empath” related delusions described up above. Instead of resting on your laurels about having this talent, put some work into it. Figure out how to manipulate your own energy. See if you can feel plants’ energy or just people’s. Research the various methods of energy visualization and manipulation. Read some theory. Learn how to read auras if you can see them.

(Which, by the way, I can’t. I’m on the more severe side of aphantasia, and I can’t visually imagine jack shit. The whole “reading auras” thing I talk about up above is a big old lie. I can work off of vibes and sensations to give an approximation of an impression of what something might look like, but that’s it. I’m basically blind in that regard. What I lack in sight, I make up for in my other senses, though, so it’s not a huge loss.)

If you’ve got a talent for guessing outcomes to things, you might find success in divination. Pick up some cards, dice, or literally any other method you like and give it a whirl. See what works and be honest with yourself when it doesn’t. At the end of the day, the most important thing is that: Be honest with yourself. It’s fucking hard. I know. Trust me, do I know. [Gestures to the above emphatically.]

Learn discernment skills. If you don’t know what that is or what it means or how to discern, there are a bunch of good guides out there. I’m sure I can scrounge up a couple to reblog in the wake of this post.

You cannot fix someone else’s problems. You cannot be a permanent balm on someone else’s life. Your worth does not lie in the service of others. Your life is not worth less than theirs. You should not be a sacrifice in the name of someone else’s carelessness. You aren’t responsible for the emotional well-being of everyone around you.

You don’t need to be “special” to ask for help. You don’t need a magical label to stand up for yourself and ask for accommodations. You are allowed to have feelings and react to other people’s existence and feel overwhelmed and experience second-hand emotion without putting yourself on the martyr’s pedestal.

Decide what you actually want from being an “empath,” and be honest with yourself. Do you want to use the “empath” label because it makes you feel less alone? Less scared? Less like a freak? Ask why you feel that way in the first place. What’s the thing wearing fear like a shroud? What is its true name?

And honestly, if you can’t subscribe to the “empath” label or do energy work or spirit work or magic or whatever without it risking your mental health… don’t. Just don’t.

Because I can attest, the band-aid doesn’t work. It won’t last forever. You’ll have to face the monster behind the mask sooner or later, and it’s significantly better to do it when you’ve got the choice.

Trust me. I’d know.

(Oh, and by the by: Don’t be mean or try to shame people using the empath label using my experiences. I won’t be a cudgel for you to swing at somebody else. Share this with whoever, but be kind about it.)

Hoo Boy, That Was a Lot, Huh?

Well. Like I said, this whole thing got away from me in a serious way. I’ve got other things I should be working on, but this… well, it took over my brain. Once I started typing, I couldn’t stop. And now here we are.

If you read this whole thing, thanks. No, seriously. It means a lot. I hope you got something out of it.

I mentioned somewhere in this whole thing that I don’t talk about this stuff. For the most part, that’s because I just don’t think about it anymore. It’s all in the past. But if my story can help someone or inform someone out there, well. Here it is. I’m open to questions. Respectful ones, mind you. I won’t be talking about past lives at all at this point, so like I said before, don’t ask. But any of the other stuff… [shrug]. Shoot. Some things I’ll have to omit or leave unanswered for the privacy of my past friends and relationships. And some things I just won’t talk about because it’s frankly none of your business.

But yeah. I’m releasing this into the wild. I almost decided to not publish this at all, but I think it's too important to keep to myself. I’ve given it a cursory look-over for grammar, but… honestly, I think it’s good the way it is. It’s honest.

And these days, that’s all I aim to be.

Shilling

Anyhow, doing words is my living these days. If you like these words or other ones I’ve written up, throw a couple dollars in my bread jar. Thanks again.

[Harmonica fades into the distance]

#aese speaks #ok time to launch this officially #everybody BE COOL.#empath #ex-empath #spiritual healing #personal essay #witch community #i blame the chicken (ominous) (positive)

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brotherblaze · 2 years

Text

JAILBAIT⁴ —simon 'ghost' riley

▹ simon 'ghost' riley/gn!reader

▹ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

▹ synopsis: Simon comes home to you.

▹ cw: n/a

▹ wc: ~2,3k

▹ last entry in the jailbait series, it's been fun y'all

You text him every day.

But he doesn't always get to answer immediately.

Sometimes he comes back from a mission that ran for too long and turns on his phone just to see dozens of messages from you and he spends the evening going through them instead of sleeping. There are pictures of your cat, screenshots of a bee-themed PowerPoint about a book for class and your new term timetable, a message about utilizing the two-hour break between classes to visit a cat cafe every Monday, and short summaries of how your day went.

Then there are the messages consisting of 'i miss you' and 'i hope you're okay' and 'please come back alive', all sent in the middle of the night. There's a sharp sting in his heart every time he reads those, the taste of poison spreading on his tongue—at the end of the day he is the one causing all these feelings in your life.

Does the way his heart leaps with joy at the thought of you outweigh the pain he's causing your own?

His finger hovers over your name in his contacts, hand just slightly trembling (because maybe it's better if he's out of your life). He glances at the time, quickly running the numbers in his head. Then, he swipes on your name.

The ringing is agonizing.

The seconds tick by and he nervously glances at the time again. Maybe he made a mistake, maybe it's too late and you're already asleep, maybe—

"Hello?" He hears the sound of a door shutting behind you a little too loudly. You hiss a fuck under your breath and Simon can imagine the way your face scrunches up as you flinch at the volume.

His tongue feels like lead in his mouth and for a moment he struggles to find the words to talk to you. He's been radio silent with you for so long that he doesn't even know where to begin. The only thing he can string together is,

"What do you call the wife of a hippie?"

"A Mississippi."

He laughs lowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. You're not mad at him.

"Hi," you say, voice softer, quieter. Silence in the background.

"Hi." He glances at the small clock on his nightstand again. "Don't you have class?" He only asks because he knows you have class right now. Spanish. There's a flicker of guilt that rears its ugly head. Normal boyfriends would have all the time in the world to call you when you're available and yet here he is pulling you away from your expensive education.

"You may not be aware of this but they treat us like adults in university, so if I say I have to take a call, they understand."

"Cheeky."

"You okay?"

"I'm alive."

"Are you coming home?"

"Short mission. Heading out in a few hours." The lie slips from his lips so easily but it tastes like poison. He wants to spit it out, drop to his knees and repent for lying to you, for lying so easily.

Silence stretches between you after that. Maybe you're trying to recall a joke to tell him, maybe you're cherishing every moment of him on the phone because it's one moment less where he's in danger, trying to stretch out the time you have with him.

"What... do you use to cut a Roman emperor's hair?"

"Copy. Behave."

"Me? Always."

His muscles ache as he climbs the stairs of your building. Fatigue weighs his body down like he's drowning with his feet submerged in a block of concrete. His whole body is sore, screaming for rest.

He greets the young mother you sometimes babysit for when he passes her in the hall. Maybe he shouldn't have, maybe he looks too much like a dead man walking for her to recognize him. But then she smiles, greets him, and asks him to thank you for agreeing to babysit tomorrow evening on such short notice. And then she's gone again, her apartment door locking with a resounding click.

Simon drags himself to your door, knuckles tapping against the metal, and waits.

There's an abrupt jerk of the handle, an audible curse when something falls. The door swings open and he's met with your smiling face and you practically throw yourself at him. The force of your body almost has Simon staggering back a step.

You cling to him, arms wrapped around his neck, grip like a vice.

He clutches the back of your head, face buried into the crook of your neck. His other arm is wrapped around your torso, fingers digging into your side so hard it threatens to bruise. The scent of your strawberry body wash is almost overwhelming and he blinks back the tears that dot his waterline.

He deserves this.

His voice is rough when he speaks, a lump lodged in his throat.

"What do you use to cut a Roman emperor's hair?"

"Caesars." You giggle softly, hot breath caressing the sensitive skin of his neck. You angle your head slightly to peer down the hallway. "Did John come, too?"

"No, just one seat on the plane. Said he'd put a bullet in my ass if I didn't take it."

You snort. "I made pilaf. Should take some over so he won't have to get takeout."

"Your weird version of pilau?"

"It's the only correct version of pilaf."

"Eastern heathen."

You part, though your fingers stay tangled with his and you pull him into your apartment. "No dessert for you, then," you say as the door falls shut. "I hand-made curd snacks 'cause y'know, they don't export those. C'mon." You make your way to the kitchen as Simon is tugging off his boots. They thump loudly when he drops them on the hallway rug. There's another thump, softer and further away, and a series of chirps, a black mass of fur running over to him.

"Hello, gorgeous." Simon hangs his coat in its usual place and scoops your cat up, cradling her to his chest like an infant.

You grab a tupperware container from the overhead cabinet and scoop a good pile of pilaf into it straight from the multicooker on your kitchen counter. Simon watches you with a small smile tugging the corners of his lips up. You leave the spoon in the multicooker and place a plate next to it for Simon.

"I'm gonna drop this off. Be right back."

"Wait." Simon grabs your waist before you're out of reach and pulls you in close. His lips hover over yours for a brief moment and then they meet. He steals the breath from your lungs and you want to be frustrated at how he can always do that but you can't bring yourself to. Instead, you let yourself melt into him, trusting him to lead. His lips are chapped. When he pulls away, his lips curl into a grin. "Hi."

"Hi." You take a moment to pull yourself together, jab your fingers into his bicep for distracting you, and take off to drop off John's meal.

Simon places the cat down and fills his plate, grabs one for you and fills that too, and places them on the kitchen island. Two glasses of water, spoons, bread.

Even though he's starving, he waits until you're back to dig in.

You eat in silence. Simon is too busy scarfing down what he considers to be the most delicious plate of pilau he's ever had and you take a moment to type something on your laptop every now and then.

"Studying?" he asks suddenly, mouth full, another spoonful already raised to his lips. Horrible table manners but at this moment he doesn't care, all he does care about is a stomach full of warm food and a hot shower, and getting to curl up in bed with you.

He deserves this.

"Yeah. Gotta analyze a painting for class. Was just gonna eat and go to bed; finish this tomorrow."

So that's why you're wearing his shirt and sweatpants. He swallows the lump in his throat, mumbles a 'good', and scarfs down the last two spoonfuls of his meal.

He picks up the curd snack from the small plate you'd slid over. "What's this called?"

"Curd snack."

"No, back home."

You smile softly and tell him the word. Three syllables. They feel slightly off on his tongue as he tries to pronounce them the way you did. You repeat the word again, syllable by syllable and he repeats them. You lead and he follows. In the end, you only bury your face into your hands with a laugh and say his pronunciation is good enough and tell him to eat it before the chocolate glaze melts between his fingers. Simon makes a mental note to ask again tomorrow.

He bites into it. It's sweet. The taste spreads on his tongue and he greedily eats the rest, wiping his fingers into the napkin on the table.

"That good, huh?" You tease.

"Fuckin' fantastic."

"Well, if you ever come back with me, you can have the actual thing. They're divine. So many flavors."

"Yours are better."

"You tryin' to get into my pants or something?"

"Maybe."

You nod towards the bathroom with a laugh. "Go shower. Don't let the cat in; the little freak discovered she can drink water off the shower floor." You send a sharp look to the cat sitting on the windowsill and she meows. "It's soap water, you stupid cow." The cat meows again. "No."

Simon retreats into the bathroom for a shower that'll hopefully pull the tension from his shoulders. You quickly type out the few keywords you'll need to continue your homework in the morning and shut off your laptop. The dishes are piled into the sink to soak overnight with a generous amount of dish soap.

His shower is fast and by the time you've shut off all the other lights and put the rest of the pilaf to cool on the windowsill overnight, Simon is done. He cracks the door open to let the warm steam out. You intercept your cat before she can run into the bathroom and lock her in the bedroom.

Then, you find yourself standing at the bathroom door, watching the steam billow out. Simon pushes it open, inviting you in with the sweep of your hand. You shake your head.

"Too warm."

Simon stays there, leaning against the doorway with his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. You let your eyes wander his body, the grooves of his muscles, the old scars and burns, everything that makes up Simon Riley. The black towel is handing sinfully low on his hips.

"My eyes are up here," he says, a hint of amusement in his voice and you snap your gaze up. "Like what you see?"

Heats floods into your cheeks and you turn on your heel to join the cat in the bedroom. Simon's laughter booms through your apartment.

He exits the bathroom not much later and you're already lounging under the covers, a book propped open on your lap. He leaves his towel draped over the kitchen barstool to dry.

An exhausted sigh escapes Simon once he sinks into your mattress. It's not even soft, more on the firm side, but compared to the military cots he so often finds himself sleeping on, it's like a cloud. The bedroom isn't big but it doesn't feel cramped. There are fairy lights strung under the ceiling to replace the uncomfortably white lights of your ceiling lamp. A fluffy sheepskin rug is placed on either side of the bed and another in front of your closet. Your bed is filled with soft pillows and plushies of various colors.

He deserves this.

Simon turns his head, hand on your knee to pull you closer to him. You whine lowly when he pulls you out of your comfortable reading position.

"Read to me," he mumbles, lips moving against the skin of your thigh. He punctuates his sentence with a chaste kiss.

"It's Hamlet. And I read Hamlet in high school. Not in English. So, no."

He sinks his teeth into your thigh and you feign a dramatic gasp. The book clatters to the floor as you shimmy down until you're face-to-face with him. There are no new scars on him (thank fuck), but the circles under his eyes are worryingly dark. Briefly, you find yourself wondering if he's ever had a restful sleep in his life.

"You should move in with me."

The breath hitches in your throat. He seems sincere, red-rimmed eyes staring at you with a hopeful glimmer. His fingers are tangled in yours, thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

"Is this..." your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, "an invitation to stay after my student visa expires?"

"Yes."

You open your mouth and close it. Then—

"So you like me being a pain in your ass." Your grin is wide. Simon groans into your fluffy blanket. You sit up, slightly jostling Simon, and bounce up and down on the mattress. "You love me being a pain in your ass."

Your cat yowls loudly from the kitchen and you chuckle as you roll off the bed to go fill her water bowl. "You love me, Simon." You draw the word out for longer than necessary before disappearing with a cackle.

Simon sits up in bed, leaning forward just enough to see you filling the cat's water bowl with fresh cold water from the orange water filter you keep on the kitchen counter. The butterflies perched on his ribs for rest take flight again.

"Yeah, I think I do."

His confession is a whisper into the air, just his secret for now.

He deserves this.

▹ you should totally check out my ao3

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hankwritten · 1 year

Text

Slake Her Thirst

Pauling/Pyro, 2k Warnings: binge drinking

Sunday (July 9) : Party | Music | Games

Escape was before her. A thin band of light under a closed door. And just as easily, that chance was whisked away by being a second too late to leap on it.

“You’re not staying for the party?” Demo asked, a lager in each hand.

Pauling groaned internally, her hand on the doorknob now as useless as an ice screw left lying on the ground. She drew it back and tried rustle up a smile.

“I didn’t want to impose…” she said.

Which was a bad start because Demo immediately replied with, “Ach! It’s no imposition. We hardly ever see ye lass, it’s good to have you come every now and then.”

Damn. She’d walked right into that. “Seriously, I’m kind of don’t do well at parties, just going to bring the mood down…”

“What’s the matter? Ye got somewhere to be or something?”

There. No way out of this one, not when she’d already tipped her hand and let slip this was her day off. Her palm glumly fell from the doorknob.

“…No. I guess not.”

Demo took this opportunity to shove one of the lagers into her now unoccupied hands.

“Good!” he boomed. “Drinks on the house lassie, so start throwing ‘em back!”

Actually drinks were on TF Industries, and the generous salaries it was doling out to these guys, but she wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She tipped it back and drained it in one, long-running gulp (much to Demo’s enthusiasm as he cheered her on) and wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve when she was done. She was probably going to need several of these to make it through tonight.

Because mercenary parties were nothing to sneeze at. Pauling wasn’t a fan of normal parties—of their prying, incessant purpose to crack you open and get you to spill yourself onto confetti and barely trustworthy acquaintances—and the mercs of 2Fort didn’t stop at too loud music and a lot of beer. No, a lot didn’t even begin to cover it. It was a stupid amount of beer. A disaster-waiting-to-happen amount of beer. And she was right there in the middle of it.

Sniper had brought his family’s moonshine. Heavy, as she watched, hauled a truly massive keg into the base common room. Even Pyro was drinking a beer through a curly straw.

That last one was pretty adorable, actually.

“Ah, so you decided to stay after all!”

The sudden appearance of the team’s Medic made her jump, and if there were still beer in her mug she certainly would have sloshed it over herself. Medic, immediately categorizing this as a deficiency, replaced her lager with a full one.

“Oktoberfest!” he cheered warmly.

“It’s July,” Pauling said.

“Not if you find the spirit of the season in your heart,” he said.

She shrugged, and began to imbue from the new one as well. Still, her eyes kept finding her way back to the Pyro, even as she hid it behind glass and glasses. Medic, of course noticed.

“He was very much hoping you would stay,” Medic said. “It was his idea to do the briefcase pre-check, thought you would be more inclined if we did so.”

That had been a welcome surprise when she’d first stopped on base, saving her the hassle of going through the checks herself.

“I should go say thanks then,” she said honestly. “Maybe try to get him to itemize my other classified documents too.”

It was a joke, but one not too far from the truth; she trusted with secrets, and that trust went both ways. Namely, the fact that ‘he’ wasn’t an accurate descriptor.

Or at least, that’s what the Administrator said. She hadn’t really provided any proof, or what Pyro might look like under that suit—that was left to Pauling’s imagination and it was something she really shouldn’t be thinking about while drunk and approaching Pyro’s sofa. She waved the thoughts away.

It wasn’t hard to guess the reason for the deception. This was a man’s job, and no one was going to let you forget it. Every other person in this room was showboating and getting hopped on testosterone, and even if they’d always treated her kindly, she’d never be treated the same. The Administrator wasn’t immune to either—to work for Helen you did assassinations in heels and you negotiated weapons contracts in a skirt, and if you couldn’t do that you went home. Even now, she could feel Scout’s eyes on her, desperate to come over and wind up another ill-fated schmooze on her, only screened by the Engineer trying to convince him of something.

So no, she didn’t begrudge the Pyro for being private. And she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to blab to the guys.

“Heyyy buddyyy~” she said upon reaching Pyro and wow was she drunk if her voice was already doing that thing.

Pyro didn’t mind, immediately sweeping her up into a bone-crushing hug.

“Good to see you too. Thanks for um…the um…briefcase thing.”

Though, maybe if she’d still been stuck in the intelligence room, she would have had a valid excuse to skip the party. Oh well. She was actually starting to enjoy herself.

And becoming a little afraid of what that meant. Quashing the little part of herself that hated losing composure, hated becoming uninhibited.

“Hudda huh?” Pyro asked, setting Pauling down.

“Noooo…I’ve only had like. Two.” Within the span of ten minutes.

“Mmph,” Pyro said, tapping her own straw.

“Contest? Oh hell yeah. You’re on.” Then Pauling’s brain caught up with her words. “I mean, actually, I probably shouldn’t stay for too long…”

“Pssy.”

“Oh fuck you! You’re the pussy.”

So Pauling chugged the party down thoroughly, Pyro by her side and matching her drink for drink. Until the straw proved to be too much of a limiter, and Pauling started taking on extra drinks while waiting, taunting Pyro to catch up.

She found herself on the dance floor, maybe being a bit too clingy to her ‘favorite buddy’. But she quickly soothed that spike of worry—they guys were taking notice, and maybe having a bit of a laugh as Pyro and Pauling made clumsy fools of themselves to the overly sugary music, but as far as they knew there was nothing wrong with it. Sure Scout was oddly put out, but that was a blessing really, and the whole situation became almost comforting. That for one night, maybe things would go well.

“Huddah huh!”

“Keg stand? I can’t do a keg stand! I’m in a skirt!”

“Hudd mmrr huh.”

“Pantyhose don’t count as pants. They’re underwear, Pyro.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh!”

Somehow, maybe a testament to her level of inebriation and a sign that she should stop this, Pyro convinced her to do a keg stand under the conditions she would hold up her skirt while she did it. The nearest mercenaries cheered when she finished, and she put both fists up in victory.

“Wooo!”

“Mmmm!” Pyro echoed.

“This is great! I’m having so much fun. I can’t even remember why I didn’t want to have fun in the first place.”

“Great to hear it, lass,” Demo said.

“You guys are my best friends! I feel like my skin is on fire. I could kill every person in this room and no one would even care. I’m holding together the world’s most expensive corporate conspiracy with packing wire and multicolored sticky notes and I can’t even get a government mandated sick day! Isn’t that funny? Ha. Haha. HAHA.”

It wasn’t that funny.

“Pmmph hudd?”

“I’M HAVING SO MUCH FUN.”

She doubled over laughing. She tried to wrap her arms around her stomach to keep the fun inside her, but it wasn’t helping. The laughter was shaking every cell in her body, threatening to tear her apart at the seams.

The mercenaries were milling about in concern, and it was only Pyro holding up a hand that kept them back.

She found herself in Pyro’s room. Minutes blurred by or when on achingly slowly with no rhyme or reason, and the hysteria only started to lessen when the thrum of the party was applied through several layers of base walls.

“This,” she said, still trying to hold herself with arms and elbows. “This is why I can’t. Can’t let it go for even a second.”

“Mmm hurr?” Pyro sat by her on the bed.

“It’s like molecules in a solid. Stress is keeping you together. But then you start bombarding them with energy and they bounce off each other and then the whole structure goes bleh and leaks like goo out of the edges.”

Pyro was rubbing her back. Pauling’s hands found her shoulders, her neck, the edge where the suit met the mask. She was barely thinking, here whole structure, her whole all of her leaking over the edges and on to Pyro.

“And I just…I can’t let my guard down for even a second…”

Except for now maybe. When her lips were bumping against rubber mask that was just close enough to skin it could trick her brain into believing something else.

What was she doing? What was doing? They other guys might know Pyro was a woman, but Pyro knew was a woman, and here she was now doing something that definitely couldn’t be brushed off as being too drunk or too out of her mind…

But Pyro wasn’t pushing her away. Even as Pauling straddled her, gloves came up the back of Pauling’s neck, undoing her chignon and letting her hair fall black and cascading around them. They were suddenly kissing in a tent of darkness, and Pauling was here, on pushing her flat onto the bed, her finger’s searching for the zipper of the chemsuit-

“Prrmmng.”

It had to be here, somewhere along the neckline-

“Prrmmng,” Pyro said more firmly, guiding them back into a sitting position.

“What?”

“Hudda mur hhrm.”

Pauling tried to follow the finger as it moved from one side of her face to the other. She really did. But suddenly one finger became six, then down to two, and then her eyes started to hurt for no reason as the scrutiny of the blank lenses kept her pinned. Pyro shook her head, and gently moved Pauling off her lap.

“Shit. Shit, Pyro I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Pyro silenced her wish a shake of her head, and gently cupped Pauling’s cheek with a gloved palm. An assurance that everything was alright.

It didn’t feel alright. But she was suddenly so, so tired, and didn’t have it in her to fight anymore. She could only manage one last surrender, obeying when Pyro told her to get some rest. Collapsing unfamiliar pillow, her hair spread out in an absolute mess, she let the mercenary take off her kitten heels and pull a thin blanket over her shoulders.

The rim a plastic filter nudged her temple, a kiss goodnight.

#TF2RarePairMini2023 #pyropauling #missfire #tf2 fanfiction

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dodorimo · 3 months

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in his name - part 2

Continuation to this

Canon-divergent AU in which Bhaal visits a young Orin and Dark Urge in their dreams. Some Orin/Durge

Warnings: grooming, incest

AO3 link

· · ────── ❊ ────── · ·

The room came alive with the sound of her singing. It was an old nursery rhyme, the lyrics to which she had forgotten, so she replaced it with her own.

First things first, she needed to make space for her guests. The round table in the middle of the room was full of junk and clutter, so to the floor it went.

Her guests today were Lady Frog, Sir Rabbit and Mr. Crow. Mr. Crow was already beginning to rot, but Eirin didn’t mind the smell very much.

With everything in place, it was time for the finishing touches. She found the gem-studded crown at the bottom of a chest. It sat upon her head like it was tailor-made, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room. She stared at her reflection for a few moments. In her mind’s eye, she was beautiful; deadly, her frame was fuller and her baby fat gave way to sharp cheekbones. Satisfied, she turned around and took her place in the center of the makeshift dais.

“I promise to be loyal, here and forever.” It felt right to say those ancient words. It felt like vindication. “Until the end of everything.”

Eirin imagined Bhaal, his white-blonde framing his face, as he dropped to his knees to let her place his crown on his head. His was different, more subdued, but still pulsating with the unmistakable glow of magic. He would say his vows then and tell her — finally, finally — that he was proud of her.

The guests cheered and danced and clapped until she slit their throats open and they moved no more. Of course, they were already dead, their bodies drained dry, so she smeared red paint on their necks.

“Blood to seal our union,” she hummed. “A feast fit for royalty.”

To die a second death at the hands of their newly crowned king and queen. How many were so lucky?

If Eirin hadn't been so caught up in her own fantasy, she might have noticed Orin standing a few feet away, watching her with cold, unflinching eyes, and she would have known her sister had been there for a long, long time.

“I’ll tell Father,” Orin broke the silence, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

Eirin leaped to her feet like a scared rabbit. Dread rooted her in place.

What would Bhaal do if he found out?

Would he cast her aside, make an example of her? The girl who thought she was worthy of a god. Point at her and laugh.

Or, more terrifying, still…

Would he take her up her offer? Make her his queen?

She would rather not know.

Orin turned and went for the door. She watched her reach for the handle as if time had stopped moving.

If this had happened years ago, her sister would have easily outrun her, but Eirin was older now and her legs were longer and she caught the end of her braid — so long, so excessive — just as she was about to cross the threshold. Pulling hard enough to send her to the floor. Her cry of pain didn’t move her one bit. She should have listened to her and cut her hair short.

Too late now.

“Do you remember this one?” The dagger pressed at the older girl’s throat was the same dagger she used to put down the hare at Bhaal’s command, two years ago. The same dagger she had strapped to her waist as Orin snickered at her for her failure.

It has been years, but time has not eased her anger. It festered, like a deadly poison rushing through her veins.

She still held the girl by the braid as she straddled her chest, her own weight pressed down on her to keep her from moving. Orin’s dagger was made short work of, thrown across the floor. She wouldn’t take any chances.

“Maybe I should mark you. Maybe that will teach you not to talk down to your betters.”

And, just because she could, Eirin leaned down and whispered, “Half-breed.”

Orin’s legs flailed uselessly, trying to knock her down. But the more she tried, the deeper the dagger sank into her throat.

The grayish paleness of Orin’s skin had always fascinated her, even if she would never say that to her face. It made the red of her blood jump out. She can’t help but lean forward and scoop some with her blade.

The taste was just as intoxicating as she expected. Coppery and tinged with sweat.

She knew the feeling of holding such power over someone could be exhilarating; she heard plenty of stories from other disciples and from Bhaal himself. But she’s never felt like this when she kills. She never felt like this at all.

Eirin was all too aware of the rapid fall and rise of Orin’s chest. Of her breasts pressed against her lower body.

For a feverish second, she wondered what it would be like to feel her without the barrier of their clothes. Could she take her pleasure in this way like a man would? What would happen if she moved up a little higher and placed her (now wet) slit against her sister's mouth, dragging it up and down, up and down?

The girl’s eyes brimmed with anticipation. Orin wanted this just as much as she did, she realized.

There was a noise like glass shattering on the floor. They part in a tangle of limbs.

No words were exchanged. There was nothing to be said.

She could hear Orin’s fading footsteps but she didn’t dare look back, her cheeks red with shame, and something else altogether. It wasn't a silly sense of morality that caused her to worry. She had been told these types of relationships strengthened their family.

So why did it feel wrong?

It was an accident. A lapse in judgment spurned by bloodlust. She swore on her father’s name: it wouldn’t happen again. Hatred is a feeling she was acquainted with. There was comfort in hate.

But she would be naive to believe a noise like that wasn’t a little too well-timed, even if she couldn’t feel anyone’s presence in the room.

Orin was watching. Who else could be there, skulking in the shadows?

If there was dissent among Bhaal’s faithful, she would find out. Even if she had to round them all up and draw the truth from their corpses.

Her other concern—that her father would learn of her little fantasy—was no longer a pressing matter. Orin wouldn’t say a word to Bhaal about what happened. Not when she was keeping a secret herself.

She repeated in her mind, the words washing over her. Hatred is a feeling she is acquainted with. There is comfort in hatred.

#my writing #mine #bg3 fanfiction #no main tags for this one #the return of the things no one cares about

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n0nethewiserr · 1 month

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explaing the entire final destination undertale au i have because. its late at night and im bored 😋😋 (uhh i talk about it like its an actual game so...spoilers!! :3)

i don't really have a name for the au, but it's basically undertale with final destination characters sprinkled in. however, it's very, VERRRRYYYYY different from undertale in terms of how the routes work and the bosses you fight 😛

alex and sam are the two playable characters, HOWEVER sam can only be unlocked once you play through a full pacifist route with alex. their route's are drastically different (bc different timelines or whatever idk) and tbh, sam's route is the best because you get to see *EVERYONE* (besides some misc characters like issac becsuse he's a secret boss in pacifist and neutral. he's not present in genocide because he fled with other characters)

alex also has an exclusive hidden boss (frankie) that will only be present in pacifist and neutral, but be missing in genocide. shopkeepers (the ashes) are present in both alex and sam's routes in a pacifist and neutral run (though they will be judgy) but are gone in genocide (there will instead be a note left there that says "please don't hurt us")

THE ROUTES

ALEX'S ROUTE

of course, i have to explain how the routes work in this au. instead of killing or sparing, it's instead called "saving". like in undertale, you can choose to save or not save a character and have them get killed by death (which later on in genocide becomes you. you are given the option to kill characters yourself once you choose to not save them).

in pacifist, after the first boss (which i hadn't chosen yet...oopsies!), characters from then on will be more friendly to you and depending on the character, won't put their all into a fight. all characters are present, and hidden bosses can be found in their respective areas. HOWEVER, the final bosses for alex and sam are different in pacifist!

in alex's route, you fight wendy, who doesn't want to fight you in pacifist, so she's mostly distracted during the fight. in neutral, however, she's a little more cautious because she doesn't know if you're going to save her or not, so she's putting more effort into her fight. in genocide, once the battle begins (you engage in it immediately once she sees you), wendy tries to talk it out because she's afraid to fight because she *knows* you won't save her. however, she is suddenly killed by someone else: ian mckinley. ian confronts you instead, and even takes her boss theme when you battle him. he's considered the *second* hardest fight because he's putting his absolute all into the battle and is PISSED at you for what you've done.

in a neutral or pacifist route, ian fights you, but doesn't put much effort into the fight because he "doesn't really care about fighting" and if you keep dying to him, he'll give up and let you go because you "Can't keep up with me, so what's the point?" he cares more in genocide, but right as your about to kill him, he flees the battle. when he confronts you again, he's a lot stronger and learned better attacks with difficult patterns to mesmerize. he does not give up if you keep dying to him in genocide, he wants you DEAD and will keep fighting until his last breath or you ultimately give up.

that's pretty much alex's route, but what about sam? what makes his the "better route?"

SAM'S ROUTE

sam's route has several drastic differences, as you go through all the other 4 movies before his, where as alex only goes through 3.

in pacifist, neutral, and genocide, alex is your first fight. no matter what route, he doesn't put his all into the fight, and he's even hesitant to fight in genocide. he's the easiest boss because he lets his guard down easily. in neutral, if you save him, he's the reason you're considered a threat because he went around telling everyone what you're doing.

kimberly isn't a full-on boss fight, but she confronts you in genocide or neutral. in pacifist, she doesn't fight you at all, but helps you through her area because of the high speed cars driving around. her fight, while easy, can be difficult because some of her attacks will change patterns the longer the fight goes on (or depending on if you did neu or geno)

wendy battles you in all three routes, but her theme in genocide is different from her pacifist and neutral theme. wendy puts her all in a geno route, but doesn't exactly want you dead; she's doing it to serve justice for all of those who died at the hands of you, including her boyfriend jason, who didn't even want to fight you in the first place (jason is present in both routes and in both of sam and alex's geno routes, he doesn't want to fight you). in genocide when you kill her, she warns you about some who's waiting to confront you, but before she can say who it is, she collapses to the ground and dies. there is an option to loot her body on whatever she has carrying on her (some money and a good guy luck bracelet, which heals you a little after every turn in a battle)

ian also fights you, but he's not the one wendy warns you about. while difficult, he isn't the hardest fight in the whole game (he's like the undyne the undying of sam's route, but tougher and ian is doing it out of vengence instead of him just being really fucking pissed at you lmao). his theme is also different in all three routes.

at the end of every route, you find nick o'bannon standing on the rooftop of your office building. he is considered the weakest boss in the whole game (with frankie and issac being runner ups) during a pacifist and neutral route, which does cause him to get made fun of a lot. but, this all changes in genocide.

he is considered the HARDEST boss in the ENTIRE GAME because of how difficult his genocide fight is. he is absolutely LIVID at what you've done and wants you dead and buried in the ground. he also takes wendy's theme in alex's route and his textbox changes from "useless" to "useful". as the fight progresses and the more hp nick loses, the more pissed he gets and the harder he becomes. he REFUSES to back down and will throw every possible attack at you (which is literally every character before you meet him cranked up to 100). in the end, when you defeat him, he is DISTRAUGHT and even in death, still beats himself up over the fact he's not good enough. you cut him off by shoving him off the edge of the building before he can say anything else or try attacking you again.

nick heavily beats himself up over being weak in every route, but it's sadder in genocide because you can really tell he's trying so hard with how well he's concentrating to kill you (yes, he's one of the few bosses that genuinely wants to dead, but only in genocide.) his dialogue when you defeat him is considered the most depressing dialogue ever because he feels as if even with how hard he trained to fight you, it still wasn't enough, and he's still the weakling among the other visionaries (i hadn't written it down yet, but it's some REALLY sad shit trust me)

???

nick also has a route if you play through pacifist in both alex and sam's route, but i hadn't really developed it very well. but, it is considered "the weird route" for whatever reason (i hadn't decided why it's called that or why it's so weird in the first place)

so like. that's basically the au in a nutshell!! 🤑🤑 im willing to answer asks regarding certain characters or who you fight (if i can even decide lmao, there's so many fucking characters it'd be hard to pick who you fight and who's just an npc)

#silly little babies :33 #ronnie speaking #final destination #final destination 2 #final destination 3 #the final destination #final destination 5 #undertale #undertale au #final destination au #alternate universe #im not tagging every character fuck that

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edwinspaynes · 10 months

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abhorrent experience 30 november

i'm taking a journalism class for fun (idc about my grade because i'm never gonna use my transcript) and, uh, today was literally awful

kickin' things off with my professor telling me that an AI could easily do my job and totally interrupting me when i begin to explain that this is in fact not the case since people tried to replace me with AI last year and came crawling back to me the second they realised the AI sucked ass

the professor going on a tirade about how AI is the future of academia and she believes in preparing "us" (me, age 27, and a bunch of college freshmen and sophomores) for the real world

and how, as a result of that, she will be feeding information from our final projects into an AI

me: "can i opt out of you using my writing to train AI"

professor: "uh uh i won't be training it, i'll be experimenting with it to learn how the AI can improve writing and see whether the AI can do it better than you"

me, not wanting to fight my professor in front of the whole fucking class, resolving not to do the project because i refuse to help AI: lol kay

and then it gets worse

one girl is doing her final report on body cams for cops, so she went to the chief of police to ask for a statement. he gave one, and she asked if she could talk to patrolling officers - he said only if she went through "a lot of people" (not telling her who those people were), and the girl took a hint and didnt pester him

anyway the professor begins to tell the girl that she needs to interview the patrolling officers despite what the chief told her and starts insisting that she lie to the cops and say that the chief sent her to them and said it was okay

the girl : "you want me to lie to the cops?"

the professor starts gaslighting her into thinking that she didn't (i promise i am not someone who uses the word gaslight lightly)

i interject because i'm not going to let her gaslight this teenager, "yeah you told her to lie to the cops"

this leads to a 20ish minute altercation between the professor and the 10ish students in the class where we all rally behind the girl and say she shouldn't be required to lie to the cops to pass the class

after all cops are notoriously nice to random people who ask too many questions, right?

anyhoo she then starts going on about how she has tenure and can go back in the system and fail people with inadequate sources, and pretends this is a different conversation, but it's not

then finally the altercation ends and she shows us this powerpoint and starts talking about (it was relevant) this one girl who hated her in the past

she's like "she probably hated me because i called her the wrong name all the time, but idk, people hate me for lots of reasons"

the girl she tried to gaslight burst out laughing

oh my god it was a mess

i'm really hurt that the professor thinks i could be replaced with an AI because, like, not to be haughty, but i'm a good writer! i am damn talented and know it! i'm better than an AI!

also i really fucking hope this girl goes to a higher-up because she uh. should not need to lie to cops to get a passing grade in her college course

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oulsiq420 · 2 years

Text

Never give up hope

𝗦𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆:you had just went through a breakup and decided to drink your feelings away at a bar.before leaving the bar a woman approaches you and begins talking to you. Simple conversations start leading up to something you’d never forget

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴:Elizabeth x fem reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲/𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀:smut,18+ only

𝗔/𝗡:simple plot and short‼️but hope you like it.🤞

————————————————

You just left your girlfriends apartment.Well now ex. You loved her so much but it was your fault this time.You didn't want these feelings to stay so you go to a near by bar to drink them away.

You order a beer and sit in silence, reminiscing your memories with ex stephany,never wanting to let them go even though your the one who fucked it up.

2 beers later and you decide it's time to go.But before ordering an Uber a woman with dirty blonde hair approaches you.

"Excuse me, I know this is pretty weird, but are you drunk." She asks looking at you. honestly you weren't drunk you don't get drunk easily and 3 beers certainly won't affect you.

"No actually not at all." You say. "Good because I couldn't stop myself from coming over here,are you okay." that question makes you break down inside and she can clearly tell your not. She sits down next to you and rubs your back.

"What's wrong." She says in a Low tone. You look at her but don't open your mouth. You don't even know this woman."It's okay you don't have to tell me." She says. "It's fine I really need to tell someone," you tell her.

"I quite literally just broke up with my girlfriend." She looks at you with pity in her eyes but at the same time she smirked a little."I'm sorry darling trust me everyone breaks up for a reason."

"Yeah and that reason is me."

"Don't be so hard on yourself darling." For some reason you like it when she calls you darling, her voice is so seductive.

"What's your name?" You ask her "Elizabeth, how about you?" "y/n"

You talk to her for a few minutes. She tells you everything about herself.from her family to her life in general.

Whenever you talk she listens so carefully and you can always feel her hand rubbing your thigh while your core bursts with ecstasy, a feeling that you cant ignore.

Every few seconds she moves her hand closer and closer to your wet folds. You start to get nervous as the feeling grows stronger and stronger and she can tell. "Look I don't know what your doing but it's making me feel something." You cringe at yourself but she knows what she's doing."took you long enough to finally notice." She says seductively.

She leans in closer and grabs you buy your neck, she connects her lips with yours and passionately makes out with you.You kiss her back harder, before you can slip your tongue into her mouth and she leans back.

"Let's get out of here." She smiles. You listen and within seconds your out of the bar. She grabs your hand and leads you to her car.

The car is filled with sexual tension while you try your hardest to not fuck her right in the car. You'll just have to wait.

—

As soon as you guys enter her house she slams you onto the wall. Her lips travel from your lips to your chin then neck where she leaves multiple hickeys on you.

she leads you to the room where you continue making out, you slowly slide your hang up her shirt, she nods giving you permission. You take her clothes off while you squeeze her boob slightly which causes her to moan.she strips you naked as well.

You wanted her so bad now.

she pushes you onto the bed and she leans down as she begins to suck on your already hard nipples. You couldn't help but moan in pleasure, you needed more of her.

"Fuck me Elizabeth please." you whine. She smirks as she makes her way down to your pulsing clit. She begins to move her tongue in such ways that you’ve never experienced before. Her tongue flicked on your folds a while more, She felt so warm to you that you couldn't take it anymore.

"Fuck me hard Elizabeth!" You whine once more. This time she listens and sticks her fingers into your drenched folds. You grab the bed sheets while letting out screams of pleasure as she goes in and out of you. “God that feels so good" you panted out. You've never felt this type of way with anyone else.

you we're so close to your climax until you broke when she tenderly removed her fingers and started to rub her pussy on yours the friction making you moan even louder. I think I'm gonna..I'm gonna come." Your barely able to say a complete sentence. "Then make a mess on my fingers." And you did Your mouth hug open as you let yourself come on her.

She seductively licked her fingers and went back down to lick the sticky wetness off your bare pussy.

You could not believe the orgasm you had just let out.Your body was filled with lust. As you were catching your breath she laid down beside you "how was that?" She asks. "That...that was amazing." you look at her while smiling.

"You probably say that to every girl that fucks you." She laughs. "No you honestly made me feel so good, and your so beautiful to." Her face softened as she tried to hide her blush. "Now let me show you how beautiful I think you are" you say smirking.

"Oh please do." She says as she leans down.Just as your about to kiss her she stops you. "Oh and from now on call me lizzie."

You nod knowing this won't just be a one night stand.

—————————————

@st0lenkvsses

#elizabeth olsen #fanfic #elizabeth olsen x female reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen fanfic #marvel smut #elizabeth olsen x y/n #elizabeth olsen smut

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serenity-songbird · 2 years

Text

Howdy!!!

It's been quite a while.

I'm sorry for the sudden disappearance with no communication.

Truth is...I've been through a lot...For so long I have been trying to bury my past...to the point it become too much to Handle.

So...I have decided that I will tell you the story of Serenity Songbird.

It's not just for the sake of my mental health. It is also for the hope that you may read this and learn that sometimes...you have to face your fears if you want the pain to stop.

By the trigger warnings, you will most likely know the issues already.

FYI. You don't have to read. This is mainly for me to get out all my frustrations, fears, and sorrows.

Below contain triggering topics like: Rape, Attempted Suicide, Self Harm, Child Abuse & Neglect, Bullying PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression.

If any of these topics bother you. Stop reading.

This is mainly an Autobiography to lift the load of my chest and aid in my recovery.

Beware. This is going to be long...

My name is Serenity Song.

I have been described by people who me know as:

Creative

Kind

Loving

Loyal

Weird (But in a good way)

Funny

Shy/Timid

Happy-Go-lucky

Talented

And definitely a doormat..

I grew up in the suburbs. Nice neighborhood. Great neighbors and long time friends. I have 2 parents who love me and 2 brothers who, definitely could be annoying at times, but of course we loved each other in our own sibling way.

For the first 12 years..I was happy. Sure it had it's ups and downs with my parents having arguments every other day. Being punished and beat for the stupid things we all do as children.

It wasn't so bad...Except for the fact that I was constantly bullied and told how much of an ugly freak I was. So I definitely didn't have self esteem back then.

But I managed to endure it...After all...

Kids are cruel and if you are being bullied, it's your fault. So. Just. Be. Normal. "It's not a big deal."

...

*Well...there's trauma number 1.*

Because bullying is never okay. It shouldn't be normalized. And yes. It. Is. Traumatic. And it is NOT. Your. Fault.

Then, I turned 13 close to the end of my 8th year in middle school. The bullying stopped. I was so happy. Not only that but was I going to be a high schooler schooler soon! And I was to go into it with a boyfriend!

**Introducing trauma number 2.**

I was excited......But I couldn't enjoy it for long because my life went down into flames.

My very first boyfriend left me for my best friend. He broke up with me over text...on Christmas Eve...the day. Before. My. Birthday.

I found out after winter break. My friends, who were hesitant to tell me, said they were dating.

I felt so insecure and hurt that I confessed not to one but 2 of my closest friends. Not out of love, but desperation. But I didn't know that at the time.

That hurt. He not only got over me so easily, but I found out she confessed to him after we started dating and got together immediately after breaking up. Yet, because of the fact that I had very few friends to begin with, I didn't say anything. I just smiled and congratulated them. Because we are Best Friends...

Yeah right.

The first one, lasted two weeks. I just realized I didn't have feeling for him. We stayed friends, but I felt like a piece of shit.

The second one, lasted two and a half years. It was the biggest mistake I ever made.

Long story short...At 13 years old, I was raped by the boy I thought I loved. And despite the pain and fear, he manipulated me into thinking I wanted it. I didn't. But his snake-like whisper echoed in my mind...

"You are my girlfriend. That means you HAVE TO have sex with me. That's what girlfriends do. Now get dressed. My mom will be here soon."

***Trauma number 3.***

And he left without another word. And it happened again and again...to the point where I felt numb.

He didn't just abuse me sexually, but emotionally. He would constantly belittle me, ridicule me, and he separated me from my friends.

My friends tried to tell me something wasn't right with him...I didn't listen because I thought that I was in love...

How wrong I was...

And if that wasn't enough...at the exact same time, my Mami cheated on my Papi with 5 men. And he moved out to live with my Titi (aunt) until he could get his life back together.

I didn't know at the time what she did, I only found out months later. All I knew was that they got into a fight and got divorced.

******And so trauma number 4, 5, & 6 begin.******

He gave the house...and us....to my mother. Because he loved her and he didn't want to suddenly uproot the lives of his children and take them away from friends...

I wish he took us with him. I'd rather move to a whole other city than to endure the things my mother did to us...And what my boyfriend did to me.

Now...Don't get me wrong. Unlike some divorces, my Papi didn't completely abandon us. He'd visit. We'd sleep over at his temporary home every 2 weeks. We spent holidays and birthdays together still. And he didn't show any negative emotion towards my mother for our sake.

But I knew he was hurting. No matter how hard he tried to hide it.

The problem with my Mami was...she was in a deep depression. She had tried to kill herself. She would lay on her bed crying for hours while my 10 year old brother and I could hear from downstairs.

Then she started leaving us alone.

Everyday she went out to party and got drunk with friends. She would bring strange men home and we could hear them having sex. Which was gross. 🤢🤢🤢

Who the hell were these men?

It got so bad, I told my brother to lock the door everytime he was in there. Unfortunately, my lock didn't work, so I hid a knife under my bed for protection.

Then she would leave for days on end. Never came home. Which means she never went grocery shopping.

My brother and I scavenged for food...But we ran low.

I was now the caretaker of my brother. I bought his food with my birthday money. I did our laundry. I would take him outside with me to play games when my mother was...doing her business. Covered his ears. Said it was okay.

There was this one day that has haunted me for years...it still does.

One day, I went to check up on her. I didn't know what to say or do to make her feel better. How could I? I was just a kid.

"It's YOUR FAULT I am feeling like this. You're my daughter so you have to make me feel better. You're so WORTHLESS. You father is gone because you didn't stop him from leaving."

Worthless? MY fault?

Ever since then...I feel like every problem I encounter IS my fault. Even when it clearly isn't.

At the time I was afraid to tell my Papi..If I said anything Mami would go to jail. They'll take me and my younger brother away. I wished that my older brother didn't go to the army so he could help. He always know what to do. But we didn't have him at the time.

I wish I told my Papi...If I did...I wouldn't be so...messed up.

Then Mami invited a stranger into the house, but this time...he didn't leave. After 6 months of weeping and the finalized divorce papers, my Mami got engaged and married to one of the men she cheated on my Papi with...

I hated them.

I resented them.

Even know...I still can't get over this resentment for all the things that women put us through.

...

But when she married my Step-dad, things got better...

Mami was happy again. And Papi got an apartment and was in a happy relationship. (Though they didn't get married right away like my Mami did. And it took a lot more time for him to move on).

He cooked. He cleaned. He...took care of us and never layed a hand on us. He made us laugh.

At the time, I was quite the poet and singer. He'd listen to all my songs and poems. He was kind and involved himself in our lives and after school activities.

Eventually, I grew to love my Step-dad and now I have 2 Papi's and 2 Mami's. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

And then...my boyfriend's mother found out about what me and him were doing behind closed doors and told my parents.

We got in trouble. Grounded for the entire summer and not allowed to see each other. I got yelled at...I blamed myself. It was MY FAULT. I DESERVE THIS.

I told them it was consented. I defended him. Because I loved him.

My step dad marched into his house to yell at him...

That was embarrassing...Especially when he yelled, "HOW DARE YOU F*** MY DAUGHTER IN THE ***!"

I was mortified. He shouldn't have said that.

(I didn't tell them about the abuse until I was 21. I could see the regret, anger, and concern in their eyes...My mom had to hold my step-dad from hurting him...)

I was severely depressed over the summer. My mom gave me her antidepressants to help...I nearly overdosed because she didn't know that while the dosage was perfect for her, it was too much for me. My step-dad was pissed when he found out. She didn't give them to me anymore.

After the summer break, we saw each other again...And we were still together... But he was different...Crueler...Meaner.

Yet...I stayed. Because I loved him.

I was now constantly anxious that I did something wrong. I started to cut my arms. I tried to kill myself with a scarf only to fail.

"I've changed."

His abuse got worse and worse until I couldn't take it anymore. We broke up.

Then got back together a week later after he manipulated me.

He didn't.

I didn't last long. I officially broke up with my abusive boyfriend forever.

I was finally free.

I should be happy...

"Why am I not happy?"

In order to be happy. I had to forget. I'm not suffering anymore.

Just. Forget. About. It.

So I dug down to the deepest, darkest place in my head.

I covered it.

I chained it.

I locked it up and threw away the key.

As the years went by I suffered more bad luck.

From one toxic relationship to the other.

*I lost count of the trauma I endured.*

I was desperate for love. I wanted to feel like my body was mine and nobody else's. So I had to prove it by doing, what I convinced myself, I wanted.

More painful memories were added to the pile...

But soon...there was no more room.

And the past started to leak out.

I woke up, sweating and choking on air. Trying to control my breathing, but my chest felt like it was constricted.

Memories I tried to forget flashed into my mind.

I started to see things...hear things. But nothing was there.

There were moments where I was no longer in my house, but back in my childhood home relieving my worst nightmares.

Than one day...I snapped.

Just 2 months ago, I nearly drove my car off a bridge.

That's when I knew I needed help...Not just for my sake, but my husband's.

I didn't even realize what I was doing until my car hit the curb making the car jump. I snapped out of it and swerved.

I rushed home and I cover the entire top half of my arms with razor scratches and watched the blood drip down into the sink.

I just can't live like this anymore...

Then my husband saw my arms and he cried for me and held me close.

Truthfully, if it wasn't for him...I would have done it. I would not be here now if it wasn't for his support and love for the past 3 and a half years we've been together.

I was admitted into the hospital with constant supervision.

I was diagnosed with PTSD...

Not only that but my body suffers from illness as well. From my brain, to my heart, lungs, liver, immune system, and GI system. All due to weight gain and unhealthy lifestyle from my eating disorder.

It sucks...It really really sucks. I am so fortunate to be blessed with a loving and supportive family as well as an understanding boss and coworkers. Not a lot of people can say that.

I'm still recovering, but I've started seeing Doctors for all my issues. I see my therapist and psychiatrist regularly. The meds help a lot as well.

I'm recovering slowly. But I know it's going to take a long time before I can say that I'm healed. Could be years for all I know. But I'm so tired of feeling like this. I'm trying to help myself.

Thank you all for the messages to check up on me and your kind words of encouragement. I am thankful to have understanding and caring followers. I love each and everyone of you.

If y'all ever need an ear to listen to listen and a shoulder to cry on. You can always shoot me a message.

I'm here for you.

And thank you for reading.

~Here's your daily dose of love~

😘😘😘

#triggering themes

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feuqueerfire · 2 years

Text

Never Let Me Go Ep 1 - 4 Live Blogging

I’ve been anticipating this for so long and my interest even spiked halfway through 2022 so it’s a bit :0 that I’m finally getting to watch it; first show of 2023 no less! I’m kinda really nervous though, so I’m getting around to it at 11pm lol Hope I love it

Also, hope I enjoy my on-air show experience with this too! Second time after The Eclipse.

Ep 1 (Jan 1)

1-1

please Neung’s birthday wish basically hoping that his dad stays healthy and happy and with him for a long time. it’s because he said it out loud that it won’t come true, isn’t it? haha

His dad’s birthday gift is a necklace that says “Only one” in Chinese characters. Neung = One, Dia = alone or only or something from what I could gather. so it’s a reflection of Neung’s Thai name, which comes from the fact that he’s an only child and he’s the only one his dad has hopes to continue the family and business

I’ve seen a few comments here and there saying the ?caretaker?servant?assistant?security? mans (Palm’s dad as we’ll find out later) might be behind Neung’s dad’s death and as he insists that the family stays to wait away from the rain (even though they’re already standing in the rain) while he goes to get the car, I can begin to see why they’d think that.

Did Palm’s father even call the ambulance?

Episode Name: Father

“You’re the only hope for the [surname] family” both his father and now mother have said this to Neung like dang, no pressure

Neung’s mom so beautiful and cool

oh sighting of Perth and his father (who I already know is Neung’s uncle)

the music when Palm’s doing his boating duties :> I wanna be in a boat on the sea too although I’d suck at fishing so bad

ooh okay I got spoiled that Pawin’s character was the one who beat Neung up in Ep 3 and saw that ppl said it was an easy guess but didn’t know why. after seeing him stand up for Neung only to ask Neung for a favour from the principal, I understand

oh lol Ben’s an endearing character “When you play the piano, you look very happy.” “You watched me?” “uh No, I didn’t” I’m glad to see the Ben and Neung storyline

Neung and Palm first meeting and I can’t tell if I’m imagining tension just because I want it to be there or not

1-2

damn, Neung heard a sound had to go explore with a gun

The pool scene, specifically the beginning, kinda cheesy but I’m into it nonetheless

Neung slapping Palm’s pleading hands away

ngl I thought Neung in the back of the car driving away while leaving Palm behind would be a more dramatic scene from the trailer lol

bro the way my wi-fi went out for a few mins???

i like them showing Palm travelling to school and how he kinda stares at everything because it’s his first time whereas a seasoned Bangkok resident would stride past it all quickly

also Palm sees the banners that demand land back, so Neung’s family’s businesses is kinda like Tawi right

wait at first I was like why do the kids make fun of Neung, I feel like it makes way more sense to suck up to him the way Pawin’s character is doing and talk shit behind his back. but seems like all the kids in this “special class” and this school in general perhaps come from influential families (even if Neung’s in the most influential), so they don’t care about burning that bridge? still stupid to do but makes slightly more sense that they’re already rich kids

Palm being spoken to and blending in with the kids so easily as he’s invited to play basketball makes Neung understandably envious

“Are you following me?” “No” as Palm gets caught following Neung

please Neung dragging Palm in to the hallway and them standing 0.5 inches apart for no reason even though there’s space

Palm horny as hell, I believe it, what with the moments in the swimming pool scene + the hallway

1-3

Neung’s mom is cool but I hope she doesn’t girlboss too close to the sun and get killed by Neung’s uncle or something. Also I was thinking that if this was a show from the uncle’s POV, it’d be about how his deceased brother’s wife is pushing him out of the business even though it’s a family business and how it’s unfair that he hasn’t been left a hotel or smth as if that family is conspiring to ensure everything stays in their hands etc like who’s seen as right vs wrong could be different, so i wonder if Tanya is sketchy too

Neung being a bit of an asshole and dangling not telling Palm’s dad about Palm swimming at night above his head, so true.

1-4

Well Neung easily figured out Palm was sent to protect him

ah here’s the “We’re our father’s puppets”

bratty and entitled Neung who’s only looking for a friend agh fr

“Can you help me, Chanon? You’re the person I trust the most” no like Neung’s mom telling Non this definitely makes it seem more like he’ll be behind Neung’s father’s murder but he has like 0 motive right now unless he’s working for Neung’s uncle who promised him riches

Non really went we owe them a lot and this could be a lifelong job for you to his son

Neung having that smirk on his face even as he asks Palm to be his friend because he wants a friend but doesn't yet want to be vulnerable enough to be genuine

Linguistics: Palm calls him Khun Nu even as he agrees like “If that’s what you want, Khun Nu, I’ll be your friend” or smth. I think it’s more like Khun Nu is the 2nd person pronoun actually “I (pom) will be Khun Nu’s friend.” On the other hand, Neung has been using gu/meung toward Palm

Linguistics: I’m glad I understand more of certain Thai words and registers because it seems to play a significant role in this because of the difference in status and class.

“Khun nu”. in 1-1, Neung tells Uncle Non to stop calling him Khun Nu and after some convincing, Non says “Alright, Khun Nu” which is funny lol but is just translated as “Alright” in the subs, meaning people who don’t know it lose that aspect (the main aspect of the conversation because “Alright” means Non won’t call him Khun Nu anymore vs “Alright, Khun Nu” which shows that Non has no intention of stopping)

Palm using -khab and khun nu with Neung (What does he use for I pronouns? pom? I haven’t noticed yet). He used gu easily with the classmate during the basketball scene though

Anyway, good first ep! It did a lot of setup for the family dynamics, school situation, and character’s personalities and backgrounds. The story doesn’t seem like it’ll be unpredictable but rather about the journey and I’m into that. I haven’t been looking forward to this because of heavy plot or twists and turns but rather character dynamics, progressing relationships, and certain tropes. I wanna see where they go and how we get there.

Also, this is one of the only times I’m excited for a love triangle. I’m into whatever Ben and Neung will have for a brief time. I wanna know why they won’t work out (Ben backstabber? they just realize they like the other guys more? who breaks it off?) and how they transition to their main pairs.

The acting is not incredible like the way it’s in some of my other favourite shows but it’s not terrible either. I think the writing and cohesiveness of the story is good so far, hope the screenwriting continues to be good because some of my favourite shows fall flat it certain aspects of that (Not Me and The Eclipse had weak ending and inconsistent writing respectively).

Ep 2 (Jan 2/3)

It’s 12AM and I’ve not even started the ep yet so technically it’s jan 3 already but no I’m counting it as the 2nd’s ep. I’m so sleepy and tired since I just got back home from a dawaat but I wanna at least start this ep

2-1

is that Palm being annoyed at having to serve food to Neung?

Linguistics: Neung said the words “puen gu” when it translated to “don’t you wanna eat with me?” i wanna know what he said esp bc the next line is “you said you’d do what i told you”

Linguistics: okay yknow maids or children of maids in BD would definitely not call the children of their boss with “apni/highest most respected register” it’d be “tumi” as any other adult would call people the same age or younger than them. so the fact that Non and Palm are soo subservient and use -krab is interesting (this might just be Thai society and not showing that they are especially subservient compared to other people of similar status difference btw. i’m just noting the difference between this and my culture)

Episode Name: Friends

damn not Palm not knowing a lick of Mandarin but being in the class with everybody else since he’s in the same class as Neung

(Fave) Linguistics: insane how Chopper just asks to use gu/meung with Palm and it’s an easy agreement. Neung also turns his head to them when this happens (Palm still uses -khab and Khun Nu with Neung)

Phum really is a dickhead, talking about Neung’s bag being cut in front of the whole class and asking if he did something to someone

Linguistics: Ben uses gu/meung with Neung and is straight forward in asking if he wants to be friends

oof not this Ben and Neung blooming friendship thing as Neung becomes confident that Ben’s not just using him.

sometimes the music choice for this show is hm

(Fave) this fucking scene is so brainworm inducing. first of all, the word is pengyou ie friend. Neung literally takes Palm’s hands and places the fingers on his neck and tells him to remember the feeling as he says those words. Palm’s eyes lingering on Neung’s face, I so believe he’s already insanely attracted to Neung.

Linguistics: Neung wants Palm to call him Neung Diao so bad instead of Khun Nu that he tries to trick him by having him repeat Peng You x3 and then sneaking in a Neung Diao. Palm manages to not say the full thing though

oof, Neung just wants a friend whose friendship doesn’t depend on place, time, or status

“Do you like when I order you around? Fine! From now on, don’t call be Khun Nu again.” this fucking dynamic

Linguistics: at like 16:50 when Palm’s saying he can’t say gu/meung to Neung and Neung says fine you don’t have to say gu/meung to me but don’t call me Khun Nu, the subs don’t mention the gu/meung part and just allude to ‘call you that’ and ‘call me that’ which makes it kinda not quite make sense bc what are you talking about. i’m glad i can pick up them saying gu-meung to be able to understand what ‘that’ is referring to in the subs

Linguistics: Palm says he’ll call Neung as Khun Neung instead of Khun Nu

it’s 1 I should go to sleep oof maybe after part 2

2-2

Neung’s uncle is like an evil version of Yangfrom To Sir, With Love lol. also kinda funny to think of him as Chopper’s dad when heseems like a decade older max

Neung laying it on thick for his mom to get her to allow Palm to swim ahh

school giving special treatment to Neung by letting him go through even though he’s late while the other boys are doing pushups and he offers to do them too oof that’s not good for making the other boys like Neung nor for making Neung not feel singled out

both Ben and Chopper saying it’s the other who stopped hanging out with them

Chopper bitcoin trader noooo

oof Chopper accusing Ben of wanting something from Neung. still up in the air whether it’s true or not but it’s still inappropriate for Chopper to insinuate that

Neung’s bratty “So, am I smart to come up with that excuse?” is sooo yeah i love the haughty vibes of this character

“Wait. Why don’t you swim a bit longer? I want to watch you.” that’s so fucking gay, not to mention Palm’s shirtless and his muscles are flexing as he swims like

okay acc time for sleep idk how it’s 1:47am and I’ve fucking watched 2 parts of the ep lol

ummm i should’ve finished watching the rest of this ep before going out at 1:30pm on Jan 3 but it’s 12:30am on Jan 4 and I’m just getting around to it lol. I did reread 80% of Son of Neptune though oof so good <3

Ep 4 was released today so technically the plan was to have watched that but it I’ll finish up ep 2 and go to sleep

2-3

“how can you help? music is an art, you’re only good at physical activity” damn Neung, not holding back lmfao asshole for no reason

lol Palm’s face when he realizes the friend that told Neung about this position is Ben

Linguistics: did Macky use the 2nd person pronoun ‘nai’ for Neung? Neung’s using ‘pom’ for 1pp

lol Macky very presumptuous with the “or is it that you’re interested in me, huh? :D” but I like that in a girl so

Neung getting annoyed by Palm and Macky dancing, I wonder if it’s a platonic possessive jealousy or if he already romantically likes him a bit and if so, if he thinks it’s a platonic thing or if he knows he’s kinda into Palm

lol all the boys noticing Neung when he’s playing the piano and Neung always asking them about it like oh? you noticed?

heh Neung and Palm with the Roti Sai Mai where Neung can’t help being a dickhead with his ‘are your hands clean’ but also can’t see Palm be dejected, so eating it anyway

Neung loves testing his power and pushing boundaries like when Palm asks if he wants another one he replies with “if i said i want a 100 more, would you make them for me?”

(Fave) my tags for this scene: #several things like first of all food (and how it's different from the breakfast scene)#secondly neung's inability to not be an asshole with the 'are your hands clean' but inability to see palm dejected and eating it#thirdly the way neung just tests boundaries and checks his power over palm with the 'if i want 100 pieces' thing like broooo#but also him dangling the order and command that they're friends over palm's head#with bringing up smth like 'aren't you my friend' or 'can my friend not?' (idk i just heard __ puen gu mi dai-o?) to get palm to eat

2-4

ben and neung are cute together lol ben trying so hard

pls the gong sound when Palm catches Ben and Neung together like girl it’s not that serious

oof idk whether I want Ben to be a schemer or not

ooh Ben seeing Palm get into Neung’s car and also seeing the motorcycle people cut them off

Palm huddling Neung

damn Tanya really going “Palm you must protect Neung both physically and emotionally” as if that’s just a regular ask of someone. + Neung overhearing them say it too and Palm making eye contact while agreeing

Fave Scenes:

Pengyou touching throat scene, it’s just mind-numbing and I’ve already written about it above

the Roti Sai Mai scene bc so many things are at play

Ep 3 (Jan 4/5)

It’s 12:30AM on Jan 5 and I’ve finished reading Son of Neptune, the first bit of Mark of Athena and last part of Blood of Olympus. Then had a crisis about whether to retry reading the Trials of Apollo series or finish the Malec book #2 (The Lost Book of the White or smth) or catch up to this ep rip so many things pulling me. Think I’ll just watch the first part of this ep and go to sleep and finish the rest tmrw

3-1

please Neung’s pleased face at getting Palm to sit next to him in the car

I wonder what Palm’s dad thinks about 1) Palm disagreeing with Neung and 2) Neung saying “you can be physical and i’ll be the brains. that way we’re a good match.”

Episode Name: Enemies

once again Neung’s face at indirectly standing up for Palm during Chinese class

Neung really divulges to Phum that it’s troublesome and unstable at home after his dad’s death (like even saying his uncle’s mad or smth)

who’s Phum’s dad? What’d Neung mean by he saw him in the news?

lol Ben pulling a Bad Buddy Pran with the “you and Palm... what’s your relationship with him?” except instead of asking Palm (ie. Ink), he’s asking Neung (ie. Pat in this scenario) which I guess also happens in the sleepover scene in ep 4.

oh, Neung’s telling Ben that Palm’s his driver’s son, mans is just in a divulging information mood today ig

Ben’s straightforward with his “if you need a friend or someone who can take care of you, I think I can do that”

“I just want someone who believes in me and doesn’t treat me like I’m weak” “I don’t need extra training to do that for you.” smooth Ben

(Fave) This Ben and Neung interaction like I’m loving the Ben and Neung progression bc I wanted this relationship and love triangle to happen so bad. i also talked about why i want it down below.

3-2

ahhh Ben with his air of innocent presumptions and subtle digs and letting Palm know his own place while also letting him know Ben’s place with the “I’ll be around more often. Hope you can trust me more, I won’t hurt Neung”

(Fave) insane dynamics while dancing. Palm dancing with Macky while staring at Neung and Neung staring back while dancing with Ben. The two pairs bump into each other. Then Neung shaking off thoughts of Palm and Macky (girl is it Maggie or Macky) that night vs Palm smiling while imagining him and Neung dancing instead; shows where each person is in terms of their feelings as well.

time for me to sleep

3-3

I hope they keep up this thread about the land Tanya’s taking back or whatever and the citizens who were leasing the land are upset about it. She reassures Neung that that the land is theirs and they’re doing nothing wrong but hmmm

oof the shooting range scene. “think of someone you love and want to protect”

please I miss how Yang and Tian were so ride or die best brothers for each other in To Sir, With Love despite everybody putting them in competition. Chopper’s disinterest toward Neung’s position and empire gives me Yang vibes so I kinda want them to be supportive happy cousins pls (though if Chopper gets mad at Neung or betrays him to help his dad, that’d be interesting too)

oh Chopper saying “Don’t get too close to [Ben]. He can’t stay close to someone for too long.” cuz they used to be close in grade 10 (they’re in gr 12 now ig?)

damn Chopper’s dad really pushing Tanya. It’s not that he’s wrong because Tanya is struggling but giving him parts of the business doesn’t seem like a viable solution either since he’s such a snake

Chopper’s kinda interesting because he also makes digs at Palm but it seems more unintentional than the passive-aggressive digs Ben was making at Palm. Chopper seems like in the same boat as Neung where they don’t fully understand how to bridge these social class gaps elegantly.

Chopper’s dad now knows about Palm... wonder if he’ll try to use him or anything

lol Palm “talking back” and teasing Neung at the pool, so true

oh yeah Ben’s comments were eating away at Palm, which makes sense. ig it’s good that he went to ask Neung whether he told Ben about Palm being his servant and Neung both admitted it but also said he didn’t say servant

okay i knew smth about necklace being taken by Pawin’s character. so Neung puts it in the locker, Pawin (Phum?) sees, steals it when he goes to the bathroom while Neung’s in the pool, Neung realizes his locker is unlocked and the necklace isn’t there but he has a tracker on that thing lol good for him

3-4

no interesting because I do want Neung’s parents to be capitalist leeches who are cheating the villagers and Phum's family to be suffering bc of it and Neung to have to come to that reckoning (even though he doesn’t deserve to be bullied by Phum and other students)

lol Phum clocking their gay asses and thus resorting to homophobia

Palm going into a blind rage hitting Phum for hurting Neung

(Fave) this necklace putting on scene is sooooooooo and the convo before it too

Fave Scenes

Ben and Neung’s little convo about Ben being his bodyguard

the Ben-Neung and Palm-Macky dance scene + the imaginary Neung-Palm dance. I like the music during the scene as well

Palm retrieving Neung’s necklace and Neung letting him put it on him

Love Triangles

The reason I’m so in for this Ben/Neung relationship is that I loved the image of Ben and Neung holding hands while Palm walked behind them sooooo much omg. I like pining and jealousy up to a certain amount but pining forever for no reason without saying anything or being overly jealous over nothing is very offputting, so pining because your crush is in a relationship (not to mention the class divide) + the jealousy from that is just so good.

Also, I say I hate love triangles but I just hate it when we the audience and the characters all know the endgame couple. In YA love triangles, A clearly loves B much much more than C but will string C along for so long and they won’t even really have a blossoming romance or go far. Media with love triangles that work are The Infernal Devices trilogy (Will, Jem, and Tessa all love each other dearly and Tessa does get into a serious relationship with Jem before with Will and then again with Jem after Will dies) and to a smaller extent, Light On Me (Taekyung was actually interested in and invested in Daon but the relationship didn’t work out because of character differences, not just because we all knew Shinwoo was endgame from the beginning).

Here we can see what draws Neung to Ben (his one friend at his same social status, Ben saying the right things) and why, even if Neung likes Palm (TODO: which does he? and does he know whether he does?), he’d pursue a relationship with Ben. So, I hope that regardless of whether Ben’s a scheming bastard or dies or they just break up, that their relationship makes sense for both Neung’s character and the narrative and how Palm reacts to it.

Characters

I think the strongest aspect of this show is the characters; I love how they’re being created.

Neung is a rich boy, he’s sassy, he’s naive in certain aspects but he’s very clever in others and can manipulate situations/people to his desires.

Palm is falling a bit too fast for my tastes (does he really think of Neung as the great love he wants to protect when shooting?) but is interesting nonetheless with how he interacts with Neung when alone vs with others outside of the house vs with Neung when others are around

I think Phum was interesting because even though he’s a pesky asshole, if we were watching the show from his POV of having his father attempt suicide because some capitalist fuckers were taking their land and making them lose money, we’d be so mad at the heir of this empire, strutting around and acquiring the benefits of squashing other people

Chopper seems genuine so far, even though he keeps accidentally offending people (Ben’s intentions with Neung, calling Palm a servant). He’s also kinda funny about Ben, as if mans got his heart broken by him.

Ben listen I like him because he seems like he wants something, though I can’t tell if it’s only to be Neung’s bf or more. He seems calculated but I don’t think he’s fully evil, more like passive aggressive and wanting something.

I’m curious to see more about Chopper and Ben’s story as well.

Ep 4 (Jan 7)

I’m splitting my time reading the Trials of Apollo novels (30% in book 2) and watching this, so it’s taking a while for me to catch up here

4-1

I wonder if the Phum thing is done or he’ll continue doing things

oho, the way Palm and Neung took forever to let go of each other’s hands

Episode Name: Love

another pleasant Neung and Chopper interaction but I keep anticipating it turning sour in the future maybe

lmfao did Neung really come outside to stare at Palm washing the car in short sleeves and shorts for a minute and then go back inside

naurrr is Maggie (prev. Macky) tricking Palm to hang out or did he forget?

pls the way Neung looks down/over Palm’s body like 3 times as if he can’t control his eyes when Palm opens the door shirtless

pls Neung’s “when I hear you, nobody will hear it *smirk*”

please Neung dragging Palm up to sit on the bed and Palm’s facial expression like pls let me live i’m done

Neung’s so forceful with Palm both with how he speaks and how he just grabs his jersey, it’s acc soooo alkdjf he’s kinda mean? arrogant? condescending? about Palm’s choices of festivals though, it’s kinda interesting because that’s not how new friends would talk to each other

4-2

ohhhh interesting, in this Neung and Chopper convo, seems like Neung doesn’t want the business but Chopper does. “I never want to do it. Do you wanna do it?” “Don’t joke with me about this, sutt. I may take it seriously.” “You can take it” in a jokey manner but I wonder whether it’s foreshadowing something; Neung giving it to Chopper in a happy way the way they’re talking here or Chopper (with his dad) taking it by force

lmfao Palm and Maggie really hung out at Palm’s basketball practice?

ooh jealous Neung seeing Maggie post an ig post of her and Palm

please usually Neung finds it amusing when he gets Palm to take back to him but now Palm not doing the assignment because he went out all day + spent time with Maggie but also doesn’t say that he spent time with Maggie means Neung gets irritated at his quips

not the story of the holiday being of trails of love and separation lmfao parallels to Palm and Neung ig

what is with this showwwww “If you can [get an A], I’ll have a reward for you” “What?” “What do you want? I can give you everything.” first Neung talking about scolding Palm and now rewarding him goddammit Jojo

please the Ben and Chopper scene is so good. Chopper apologizing for insinuating Ben wants something from him and Ben confessing that he wants Neung to like him back and Chopper’s vision goes hazy. Then him encouraging Ben to confess ahhhhhh and the way Chopper tells Ben to confess is actually mind-bending, like he’s saying all his own thoughts aloud as someone with an unrequited crush on Ben but framing them as Ben’s situation with Neung

Ben: I thought we’d stop being friends after what happened that day. <-- girl what happened on what day?!?!?!?!

4-3

Palm praying as he hands in the assignment lol

naurrr Neung and Ben are so cute T.T Ben giving Neung the cut paper craft with Neung’s name and reassuring Neung about not devaluing himself, ah cute

I’m not into them more than I have into Neung-Palm but I’m sooo glad they didn’t cut this out from the mock trailer

Also interesting that Neung said he has good feelings about Ben and feels good about being told that he’s liked by such a popular guy like Ben and he’s never been confessed to before. he however doesn’t say that he likes Ben in a romantic sense, though I do think he kinda does

yeah it’s an awkward, stiff kiss but I’m not really mad about it the way people on twitter were lol to me, it’s not meant to be fireworks and passionate because that’s not really their story? It’s cute, a bit awkward, a bit fumbly, and in the end, not quite right not quite what the other needs

oof, I know that Palm saw the kiss based on spoilers but right now, the audience and Neung don’t know that

Palm’s “I don't have a right to get mad at you”

okay verrry interesting, how at first Palm was sitting down, so even though he was speaking cutly, Neung was taller than him --> Palm gets up all defiantly, making him higher up than Neung --> Neung gets mad and is like aren’t we friends? Why aren’t you telling him things? and then gets up on the higher ground so that they are on the same ground and equal height

Neung saying “You cannot hide your feelings for me” about Palm being upset about smth but like hmm lol

Neung in the closet

Palm really doesn’t trust Ben and I can’t tell whether that means I shouldn’t trust Ben either because it’s foreshadowing or if it’s showing that Palm’s jealous lol

Once again, Neung talks about being wanted by Ben but not about wanting Ben. so ig that’s where they’re heading in terms of Neung liking Ben back

Neung also likes it that he has Palm to watch his back

beautiful beautiful Neung in the bathtub tbh

oof Neung thinking about the Ben and Neung kiss only to be overtaken by Palm and himself thoughts

4-4

ooh i’m so excited to see terrible shitty drunk Neung

oh Neung grinding his teeth with jealousy at Palm and Neung

hehe Neung and Ben are cuuuteeee idk idk

insane shot of Neung taking shots while in the bg Palm and Maggie are talking about going on a trip with a fishing boat

Also this screenshot from @/justafriend-ql from this post about this scene playing out the 4 rules of firearm safety from ep 3

Neung looks beautiful why drinking as well + his watch on his left wrist

upon rewatch: someone pointed out that Palm says ‘Neung’ while trying to dissuade Neung, not Khun Neung ahhhhh guttaral screaming

ohhh terrible horrible words from a drunk Neung hurled towards Palm which contradicts how he had been trying to act so far but really got Palm where it hurt

upon rewatch: after Neung’s said the words about Palm being his servant and lackey etc, Palm goes back to saying Khun Neung

“You can dance with her but you can’t dance with me, huh?” Oh Neung is fucked in the head rn

oh so that’s how the fight happened? I was wondering how they’d have that in the middle of a cute dance party

oh gross they really had spit and vomit on Neung’s mouth after his retching, fascinating choice

oh Neung was nottt doing well “Palm, I can’t breathe” :0

This episode was so good, it gave me things I wanted (Neung-Ben) and things I didn’t know I wanted but are great (terrible words from a jealous, possessive Neung)

When they added Perth to the cast, I was afraid that they'd scrap the Ben-Neung storyline from the mock trailer or tone it down but no, they're giving me what I wanted!!! We got cute Ben-Neung interactions where Neung’s entertaining it because he likes the attention and Ben might like him genuinely or may have hidden intentions. It’s so good. I saw some people upset that the Ben-Neung kiss happened and that it happened before any Neung-Palm kiss which I don't understand because why would you want Neung-Palm to happen and then for Ben-Neung to happen? bffr. also people were annoyed that it was an awkward kiss but like? i’m pretty sure it’s supposed to be? Ben’s into it but Neung’s not really super into it bc he’s using Ben to feel good, not because he’s romantically interested. I love Neung stringing him along, he’s so selfish and also into Ben being romantically interested in him rather than his wealth or power.

terrible Neung lashing out at the end but ahhh that was so good to me like the whole entire thing with Neung's initial jealousy while playing the piano, followed by the Neung and Ben conversation, the shots of beautiful Neung drinking with Maggie and Palm in the background talking about going on a fishing boat, terrible horrible words from a drunk Neung hurled towards Palm which contradicts how he had been trying to act so far but really got Palm where it hurt (+ Palm’s Neung --> Khun Neung) and then the “You can dance with her but you can’t dance with me, huh?” is soooo fucked. the fact that they had spit and vomit on Neung’s mouth after his retching? fascinating choice. and then Neung was nottt doing well the way he was reaching for Palm and the “Palm, I can’t breathe”

It’s kinda not fun to read the reddit on-air thread or watch tiktoks of ep 4 thoughts because everybody hates ben and/or neung diao but like goddamn there’s no reason to hate ben beyond “eww he’s getting between my ship” (+ some people mentioned him negging Palm in that dance class but like? he’s a jealous boy trying to get his mans? and he seems kinda sus but the hatred seems disproportional to what ben has done so far). with neung diao, the point is that he’s flawed and traumatized and doesn’t know how to have friends and is terrible, like idk whatever it’s just not fun to read rants because i’m having fun with the choices the show is making

Next Ep 5 Preview: I didn’t watch it but ofc I’ve been spoiled anyway. Someone spreads the photo of Ben and Neung kissing across the school and I think Ben’s terrified of his father or something. Ahh so fucked

I’m excited to watch this for the next 2 months! My second on-air show!

#ep by ep commentary #never let me go #never let me go the series

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threenorth · 1 year

Text

Vent warning,

So your probably expecting me to call at 11,and your probably twiddling your thumbs, I would of

Thought about calling you, it's now almost 1am (12:41) we're say 1 because by the time I will be done...

It's almost 6am for you,

I went to A&E while I waited for the nurse on the phone, for free to return my call, she said on the phone I should get this looked at, so I then went to A&E saw the nurse, then waited and about 3 hours later ...i told the doctor, I told him I've had predozine, 20mg x 3, friday, Saturday, Sunday (today) and now I'm beginning to weez, and I have hit my daily to asthma limit of asthma steroids for the day, and I'm worried about waking up In a nightmare state unable to use asthma meds, where he said it's past midnight so I'm aloud 6 emgercy doesages, he suggested I wake up fully from my sediated state from the quetipin, some how do my asthma 6 puffs and breath, then to try relax and have a have a nice cup of tea, to calm me down then hour to recall back asleep no matter the time ie 5am or 6am or whatever, where as depending how bad it is, I sometimes either wake up and csnt get back to sleep for 2 hours or lucky enough to fall back a sleep within the 15 minutes, but yesterday I had the same dream repeat 5 times in a row, side to side and I flipped over, turned my head side to side... and still didn't wake up so easily...

He seemed to think I should ask my psychtraist to increase my anti axeirty med, as he couldn't hear me weez, wouldn't surprise me if they have a good air system in the A&E post covid, where as this damp, mouldy house obuisly does not...

And I talked alot because it calms my stress levels... Sometimes, the spike you can see in red, is probably me venting to my mom at how terrible I felt, the way he basicly had to the audacity to hint my ptsd as I haven't asked it was from childhood truma to confirm what I alreday know,...

Anyway, he made me feel my symptoms are all in my head, and I'm a crazy wacko who needs more drugs, he didn't seem to understand my peakflow was at 500 when he put me on a nebuliser then dropped to 350 as he said it should last forever as far as I could understand, then had to wait 10 hours to be told here's an asthma med, Goodluck and the respotiry instuite isn't to till December, picked up this bug, the last A&E doctor gave me penosline and then last Friday my doctor wasn't happy with my lungs within two seconds, put me on steroids within two seconds.

This weez I haven't had in years, really scared me but might be a good thing to have my lungs maybe still kind of alive in some way, so I could make it back to mountain town.

I'm sorry it's 1257.

I'll text you have a great day, but I don't know maybe 730am/12 noon (for you) I'll be wake.

Tonight was awful, and I have to keep telling myself... (as it's now 25th September) 78 days to 11th December to see the lung/respority specialists...

My mental health is taking a hit, but not bad... Nothing I can't take but with meds makes it easier but with low breathing harder to get grounded in a constant state of...

I can't lie to you, you see right through me,

But I'm grateful to have you here... With me.. "kind of"

I'm going back to work today / as it's Monday.

I'm gonna work the satalite office up the road from me... Well time to go sleep.. *yawn*

--*text*

Maybe I should look at getting a double flask tea thermist with hot water on stand by before I go to bed, t2 had some cool ones I thought about getting you one, for that local loose tea place near the dikon?

Away, 105.

*blows a kiss east*

I sent you a text.

Good morning beautiful, have a great morning.

Thinking about you all the same.

Even my phone knows in the little we've talked how special you are.

It's great to see your name and quick tabs, pop up in my phone.

*yawn*

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daedalmirage · 2 years

Text

livide (2011) | franz | trial 3.1

Pity would be an improper offering at the shrine that’s been made of Nina’s body — the gazebo roof like a baldachin over the place the martyred sinner sits, bleeding Christlike from a wound in her side — and so Jesse does not even consider extending his. He suspects she would despise it.

He knows he would despise it.

(And he believes they are expatriates of the same private country. It has no name and no summer and you can only escape it by wearing someone else’s skin. Its emigrees do not talk to each other if they can help it. They left home to escape people like themselves.)

Instead he looks at her and blinks snow out of his lashes and thinks only that this was probably as good a death as a double-cursed young woman could have hoped for.

And that he admired her fortressed heart.

And that she would have made a wonderful vampire.

—

Jesse does not touch the food.

He never does.

“That’s an interesting thing to note, Gawain,” he says when Gawain finishes. “The evidence could suggest Inkyo may have dragged from her post without being lifted off her feet. We found her by following a trail of scuff marks on the floor. It’s only a guess, of course, but — “

He puts two gloved fingers on his notepad and begins to move them backward, letting the fingertips continue to brush the page.

“— if an unconscious person were being dragged backward, you can see how their heels might create similar scuff marks on the floor. The marks did, at any rate, match Manako’s shoes.”

He takes his hand off the notepad and uses it to adjust his glasses.

“But we then have someone lifting Nina up to take her to the gazebo. Nina and Manako are very close in size, so — why lift one and not the other? The most obvious explanation, to me, would be that one person drugged and moved Manako — potentially Nina herself — and a second, stronger person killed Nina and moved her body. Although that’s just conjecture at this point.”

The toe of his shoe begins to tap at the floor like it always does. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

“On the topic of the sleepy-time vodka, there were bloody towels in the bar bathroom when we went to check on it. That and bits of wet toilet paper on the floor. I didn’t look very closely at the latter.”

Would you? I mean, honestly.

“And in the department store, we found a bloodied backpack containing a pair of women’s gloves, a hammer and a flashlight. I believe the hammer could easily have been used to break open the magazine-case lock, but more importantly — it seems possible it may match some of the wounds on Nina’s body. There were bruises on her head and the back of her neck, and a small but swollen bruise on her abdomen near the stab wound. It would make sense for bruising like that to come from being attacked with a hammer, wouldn’t it?”

He glances around at the group, looking for inaudible signs that they either agree or have an idea he hasn’t considered. Whatever he sees, he continues:

“There are a few things bothering me, here. The first is the number of people involved. How many do you all think? There’s a series of question marks listed on the report, which means we have an unidentified discoverer. The names don't help at all because Bella and Tezuka are at the beginning and end of our alphabet spectrum. So. This is either Manako, who is lying when she claims to have been asleep and not to have realized Nina died, or a fourth person who isn’t Nina, the killer or Manako. And if there’s a fourth, this just — becomes an even bigger headache.

The second is the actual cause of death. We don’t know, do we? We know Nina was stabbed with something and can potentially infer she was hit with a hammer, but we don’t know for sure which one of these actually killed her.”

Finished, he inhales and exhales slowly through his nose.

"Marigold's right. This is an unusual one."

#daedal mirage #ch3 #ch3 trial #franz #submission

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chyanxrene · 4 years

Text

His obsession

♡ Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

♡ Summary: Draco has an Obsession with Y/N who has up until this time not given him the time of day, until she finally caves in at a Slytherin house party.

♡ Warning(s): Pure smut, hair pulling, choking, degradation if you squint

It was no secret Draco Malfoy was in love with Y/N Y/L/N, he would drool over her as soon as he laid his eyes on her. She was all he could think about. However the same couldn't be said for Y/N, despite Draco's numerous attempts to get the Slytherin princess to fall in love with him, nothing worked.

In Y/N's mind, he was just another player, who only wanted one thing from her. Why would she give him the time of day when she's witnessed him with a new girl everyday? Sure she found him attractive, but then again who didn't.

Draco never gave up, he'd send her flowers, chocolates he even wrote hand written notes to the young witch, some asking about her day others begging for a chance. But she didn't budge, she'd just shake her head, laugh or consume the edible gifts he gave her with her friends.

His friends told him to get over it, it was becoming comical the amount of times he had been rejected, but he didn't care. Her boldness, cunningness, sense of humour was everything he wanted in a woman. Draco Malfoy liked a chase and he would not give up without a fight.

Y/N rolled her eyes when she sighted the ice blonde strolling down the stairs with an unknown Ravenclaw witch. This was the second girl she had seen this week and it was only Tuesday. She never understood why he continued to have relations with all these other girls when he desperately tried to pursue her. Perhaps it was his way of making her jealous, but it only made her resent him more.

The poor Ravenclaw witch left, batting her eyelashes at Draco. Everyone knew he would never see her again, but she didn't, which made Y/N feel sorry for her.

Y/N smelt him before she saw him.

"You coming to the party tonight darling?"Draco sat down next to Y/N, interrupting her thoughts.

She closed her book "are you going to be there?" She asked Draco who was flickering his gaze from her lips to her eyes. He licked his bottom lip and nodded eagerly.

"Then no."

Y/N stood up and walked out of the common room. Draco was left utterly confused, did she not like the roses he had left her?

"Come on Malfoy, give it up, she not interested" Blaise Zabini joined his friend in the seating area.

"I don't get it, why can't she give me a chance?" Malfoy huffed, confused at his latest rejection.

Blaise let out a loud laugh, holding his stomach as he watched Draco.

"What?"

"You seriously don't know?"

Blaise then dropped his face realising his best friend really didn't understand what he was doing so wrong.

"Malfoy, you fuck a different girl every other day, Y/N sees all of it, why the hell would she want to date someone like that" he laughed.

Draco's face went into a scowl, his tactics clearly weren't working.

"I thought that would've made her jealous."

"Jealous? Crabbe has more of a chance dating her than you" Blaise cackled.

Draco stood up, stomping to his room. There was no feelings involved with the other girls, just a quick fuck, he would only think of Y/N whilst he done it anyway. But she didn't know that, so he would try again, tonight.

Y/N had left the common room only to be shoved into a wall by Hufflepuff who was crying her eyes out, running down the hall. At first she was angry but once she realised the witch from the year below was distressed she couldn't help but feel bad.

"What's wrong?" Y/N asked, rubbing the witches back.

The poor girl couldn't speak, she was stuttering all over the place, but one name made Y/N's hairs stand up Draco.

"W-we had sex and now he's with someone else."

Y/N consoled the younger witch and promised her she would deal with it.

Draco was wide eyed when he saw Y/N storm into his room. Red with anger, she threw her books onto his bed. Her hand was raised, ready to add some colour onto the pale boys skin, but she was too slow, he caught her wrist mid air and pushed her hand to her chest. Backing her against the wall.

"I've dreamed of moments like this, however in them you weren't trying to hit me" Draco drawled, his nose ran through Y/N's hair, inhaling the scent he loved so bad.

"You're a bastard" Y/N gritted, shoving Draco off her. "Don't fucking touch me!"

Draco's eyebrows furrowed "what's the problem darling?" He asked the girl he admired the most.

"You need to stop messing with these girls Draco, they're all distraught after being with you" Y/N growled.

Draco let out a small laugh.

"And you don't think I am? The girl I want the most can't even give me the time of day" he shouted back.

Y/N's mouth closed abruptly, she would not give in to him. "There's a reason for that, you're just a lad, someone who just wants to get there dick wet!"

Draco's frown turned into a smirk "I've only ever wanted you to wet my cock."

Y/N's breath hitched in her throat. Numerous conversations with Draco and he'd never used such vulgar words towards her.

Draco noticed this and a light bulb turned on in his head, maybe this could be his new approach, he was a master at dirty talk. He could easily make a girl cum by just his words alone — which he has done before.

He was slightly surprised that this is what Y/N liked, this only made him want her more, if that was even possible.

"You like that don't you?" Draco purred.

He stepped towards her again, a light pink shade painted on her cheeks.

"Stop Draco."

Y/N's hand went to reach the door knob behind her but Draco's cold hands stopped her.

His warm breath on her ear, he'd never had her in this position before "do you like when I talk to you like that?" He whispered.

A small whimper came from her throat.

"You filthy girl."

"Fuck, I could do so many things to you" Draco's knee pushed in between her legs, spreading them apart.

Y/N's breathing was heavy, she felt herself becoming wet, her underwear sticking to her pussy. She had to stay strong, she would not give him the satisfaction.

"I'd make you cum so hard, everyday" Draco breathed. "Fuck, I'd ruin you for every other man, stretch you so wide that you would be accustomed to my cock only" he growled.

"Shit."

She felt Draco's thigh coming in direct contact with her clothed clit.

"Let me make you mine Y/N, I want nothing more than to pleasure you and make you happy" Draco left a small kiss on Y/N's ear.

A knock came from behind them, bringing Y/N back to reality, she pushed him off her and swung the door open. Outside was another girl, she looked between them both, Y/N scoffed and walked out of his room. Draco was left in awe and a boner, which the unknown girl would be made to satisfy.

Later that night the party had come around Y/N wore her tight fitted forest green mini dress. It had a low back and a small slit on the upper thigh, she wore some black strappy heels to match with her outfit.

Whistles and cat calls were made as she walked into her houses party.

Y/N joined her fellow Slytherins, she was always down for a good time. Drinking, dancing and having fun in general.

She was known to be quite popular, she's what boys wanted and what girls wanted to be. That's one of many reasons why Draco was so infatuated with her.

She hadn't seen the Slytherin Prince yet, but Y/N knew he would be around. Probably with a different girl linked onto his arm.

Y/N found herself thinking about this afternoons conversation with him, she wanted more, but in the same breath she despised his actions.

She shook her head, maybe she was more than attracted to him but she didn't want to admit it. There was times when she would wonder how good he was in bed for girls to be crying and swooning over him. Maybe he was all talk, but she made a promise that she would never find out, even though a part of her wanted to.

Y/N had a few drinks, feeling herself loosen up and wanting to dance, she made her way to the centre of the common room. She swayed her hips to the beat, muggle music was playing which she enjoyed a lot. She closed her eyes feeling the sensual words of the song.

Draco had spotted her from when she first stepped into the party. He couldn't take his eyes off her, even when he had a red head witch attached to his arm. He wanted nothing more than to drag Y/N away and keep her locked in his room so no one else could see her provocative dance moves.

So he made his move, he left the red head alone and slithered through the crowds of wizards.

Finding his prize, he slipped behind her, snaking his long slender fingers around his waist and settling them. His hips moved in time with Y/N's, she knew it was him and purposely pushed her ass onto his groin, causing Draco to let out a quiet groan.

Her arms went behind her wrapped around his neck, her long nails scratching the back of his neck. He had to lean down as she was shorter than him, but he didn't mind, he was closer to her ear and that's exactly what she wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol but she wanted him to say filthy words to her, like before.

"If you were mine we wouldn't even be here right now" he growled, kissing her ear lobe.

"Why's that?" Y/N whispered, Draco's hands dug into her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"Because, I would be fucking you senseless, in this pathetic excuse of a dress."

Y/N moaned at his words, imagining his large hands running all over her body. Attacking her pussy with his tongue, she craved it. She was beginning to realise that she wanted Draco Malfoy, she would never tell him that though.

The music continued and so did their dancing.

"Perhaps if you we're lucky I would let you join the party again, only when my cum was inside you"

"Draco" she whimpered, one of his hands made its way up towards her neck, holding it with a light grip.

"All those other boys that eye fuck you would know you're mine, they'd see my cum running down your thighs, they'd see the wobble in your walk, your swollen lips and I would be there so they knew who you belonged to."

Y/N was wet, more than wet, she felt her arousal leaking onto her thighs. Her underwear was uncomfortable as it was soaked.

"Draco move your hand" she whispered. She felt his hand sitting in the middle of her ass, making it impossible to concentrate and dance.

"That's not my hand darling."

That was it for Y/N she needed to get away from him. "I'm going to use the bathroom" she rushed, hurrying away from him and finding the nearest bathroom.

She took a deep breaths, her nipples were erected, face was red. She'd never been this turned on before.

She stared at herself in the mirror, an awful ache down below. She needed some release, she ran into the bathroom stall, slamming it and locking it behind her. Her thighs began rubbing together but it didn't work.

Y/N growled in frustration and walked out of the bathroom stall. She was faced with Draco, he had lust in his eyes, his breathing was laboured. He leaned against the door, she watched as his hand went to the lock and turned it.

"Draco" Y/N said which came out almost inaudible.

He closed the gap between them, his erection was apparent, creating a tent in his trousers.

"Tell me to stop."

Y/N gulped, feeling his hands settle on either side of her face, cupping it gently, his darkened eyes remained on her lips.

"Tell me to stop Y/N."

She couldn't think, she was too turned on, she wanted satisfaction so badly. She wanted Draco to be the one to do it. His mouth inched further towards her own, she felt his breath on her lips.

"I won't be able to control myself if you don't ask me to stop right now" he mumbled, holding her face tighter.

Y/N had finally caved, she wanted him.

"Don't stop."

Draco's mouth instantly dove onto Y/N's. It was a desperate kiss, tongues were in and out of the others mouths. Teeth were clashing against one another's, Draco groaned at the taste of her mouth. He loved it, he knew no one else would compare to her.

Draco backed Y/N harshly against the sink, her lower back bending slightly, a small hiss came from her mouth at the force of his push. His hands were no longer on her face, they were everywhere. Y/N couldn't keep up, one moment they were on her thighs, then her waist, they brushed against her nipples.

Their mouths were still connected, they couldn't get enough of each other. Draco kicked her feet apart, one hand holding her neck, the other drew patterns on her inner thighs.

Y/N became more desperate for him, a small thrust from her hips made Draco laugh.

"Patience darling, I want this as bad as you do, but I want you to be ready for when I give you my cock, I don't want to hurt you."

His fingers brushed her clothed cunt, the friction between the lace and her clit was sending Y/N over the edge. "Fuck you're so wet, tell me it's because of me" Draco said hoarsely, it almost came out like a beg.

"Yes Draco."

Draco let out a strangled groan, pushing her underwear to the side so he could come into direct contact with her sensitive clit. He rubbed circles around it, causing Y/N to moan his name.

"Fuck, I can't believe I've finally got you like this" he moaned, feeling the wetness on his fingers. Y/N was withering beneath him, rubbing herself against his fingers, but Draco was taking his time.

A part of him wanted to savour this moment as he didn't know if this could happen again.

His middle finger entered Y/N with ease, her wetness surrounding his digit. Draco's hand fell from her throat onto the edge of the countertop, gripping it, turning his knuckles pale. He was enjoying this just as much as Y/N.

Draco's finger curved, stroking her rippled wall. The pad of his thumb still pleasuring her clit, Y/N was close, she wanted to cum so badly. He slipped in another finger, Y/N instantly squeezed them, nearing closer to her orgasm.

"You're so fucking tight, I can't wait to feel you around my cock."

Draco's fingers pumped in and out of her quickly, Y/N was panting against his neck, she sucked and bit on his pale flesh. Her mark was now on his skin, Draco saw this in the mirror and oh he could've came right then and there.

"Oh God, Draco" Y/N cried into his shoulder, he had added another finger, stretching her out and preparing her for his cock. "Cum, fuck I want to taste you so bad, cum Y/N."

That was it for Y/N, her pussy tightened around his three fingers, his thumb continued to rub her clit. She came moaning his name "that's it" Draco cooed in her ear.

He pulled his soaked fingers out, watching them with hooded eyelids. Y/N watched him with a blush on her cheeks as he dipped each finger into his mouth, sucking and moaning at the taste.

"Better than I ever imagined."

But Draco wasn't finished, he wanted to be inside her, he wanted her to cum around his cock the same way she did with his fingers. He pulled her into a passionate kiss, not an eager one like before.

Y/N was spun around, her back against his chest, she was pushed forward by his large hands. Y/N bit her lip as she watched Draco eye her backside which was now exposed to him. He was so hot, she thought to herself.

Draco looked at her through the mirror, his trademark smirk now on his face. His hand raised and fell hard on her ass, causing her to jolt forward "that's for calling me a bastard."

He slapped her again.

"That's for ignoring my gifts."

And again.

"That's for rejecting me."

Y/N was a moaning mess, she was wetter than before. Draco saw this as he watched her exposed pussy "now look at you" he laughed.

"Bending over for me, waiting for me to fuck you."

"Fuck you Draco" Y/N spat, this was why she didn't want to give into him because he was a smug prick. Y/N went to get up, Draco gripped the back of her hair, pushing his erection between her ass cheeks. She let out a small sob.

"Exactly."

Y/N was pushed forward again, his hand remained on her lower back, holding her in place. "Keep your eyes on me darling."

Y/N felt Draco snap her underwear, he unbuttoned his trousers pushing them down with his boxers. Y/N's eyes went wide, it all made sense now, why the girls were always crying, itching to have sex with him.

It all made sense.

He was big, not big like 'oh that might satisfy you'. No, he was big big, Y/N couldn't believe it, she wondered how the hell he was going to fit that inside her. She was definitely not walking straight after this, he must've hid it well because she never expected him to be that large.

"This is yours, after this" he said whilst rubbing his tip up and down Y/N's entrance. "It belongs to you and so will I."

Draco's head was thrown back as he held onto Y/N's hip tightly. His other hand was in her hair, he pushed his tip inside her, groans came out of them both simultaneously. He pulled out and pushed into her again, this time making her take more of his dick.

It was never ending for Y/N, he just kept going, inch by inch he entered her. Stretching her so wide and reaching close to her cervix. Draco's face was red, his breathing was heavy.

"I- fuck, I can't, shit" Draco couldn't form a proper sentence, he was fully inside her, his cock was hugged so tight by her pussy he knew he was going to cum within minutes.

Draco pulled out halfway and pushed into her again, he repeated this action a few times, he saw through the mirror that Y/N's eyes were screwed shut.

"Shit, are you okay? I can stop, fuck, do you want me to stop? Is it hurti-" Draco was cut off by Y/N opening her eyes.

"Fuck me Draco."

His eyes widened, he nodded quickly, both hands were now gripping onto her hips, digging into her. He thrusted hard, a loud scream came from Y/N's mouth. Draco stalled but Y/N told him to keep going.

He picked up his pace, pulling 3/4 of the way out and slamming back into her. He was fucking her hard, with determination in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was happening, especially after their conversation this morning. Draco was on cloud nine.

"Oh fuck Draco."

"I know" he growled, he pulled her hips back at the same time to meet his aggressive thrusts. The sounds of their skin slapping together echoed throughout the bathroom, partnered with distance background music. The sound to Y/N was so erotic.

She was coming close to her second orgasm, Draco must've felt her clench around him as he let out a growl and started to rub her clit.

Y/N had never had sex like this before, she loved every bit of it. Draco's face whilst he was fucking her turned her on even more. He watched his cock slip out of her and then bit his lip when he pushed back into her. He was going to cum.

Draco pinched her clit, which was it for Y/N. She was screaming his name, her thighs shaking, her vision became blurred.

"Fuck, tell everyone who's making you cum like that" he grunted, his thrusts were now short and deep.

Y/N cried out as Draco continued to fuck her in order to chase his own orgasm. "Tell them who you belong to, who you always belonged to."

"You Draco, it's you."

That sent Draco over the edge, his thrusts were sloppy as he found himself cumming. He left bruises on Y/N's hips from his fingers.

Y/N moaned feeling his cum spill inside her, rope after rope of his warm, thick cum it was so much. Draco had never came like this before, he found himself not knowing when it would end.

Y/N was filled up with it, he pulled out, two more spurts landing on her ass cheeks and then his dick went soft again. He let out a string of curse words, before he ran to grab tissue.

He wiped Y/N's red ass, removing his cum and then wiped himself. Y/N was still catching her breath as she watched as Draco pulled his boxers up, followed by his trousers.

"Are you okay?" He asked her with concerned eyes. Y/N couldn't speak, she just stared at him, her mouth agape. She watched him as if she was star struck.

"Say something."

Draco looked around nervously, slightly feeling uncomfortable as if he'd done something wrong. Y/N cleared her throat and stood up as straight as she could. Her pussy was hurting, her ass was sore, she could feel his cum sliding down her inner thighs.

"Y/N, fuck, if I've done something wrong just tell me."

Y/N shushed him with her finger, she pulled him towards her by his shirt. Draco was confused, even more when she pulled him into a sweet kiss. He returned the kiss, melting into it, Y/N pulled away and scanned his features.

He was blushing "do you" he trailed, looking down at her inner thighs "should I get a tissue for that?"

"Leave it, I want all the boys that eye fuck me to know I'm yours."

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #dracosmut #smut #draco x y/n #harrypotter #harry potter #dracomalfoysmut #dracomalfoy #draco malfoy smut

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stephaniecobalt · 2 years

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Rose and Connor's first time alone together

Summary: Rose and Connor's first 1:1 interaction at the national quiz bowl tournament. You can read this without having read the Addicted/Calloway series, however I highly recommend the series! It's my all-time favorite

A/N: Rose and Connor are academic rivals to lovers from the Addicted/Calloway series by Krista and Becca Ritchie. Connor's first name is actually "Richard". He just prefers to go by Connor, but Rose commonly calls him Richard when she's mad at him. Enjoy! (✿◠‿◠)

Word count: 2k

Rose Calloway

I’m painfully aware of the way my Chanel headband digs into my pounding skull and the way my fingers grip the buzzer slick with sweat. This is the last question in the last round of the national quiz bowl tournament and Connor Cobalt is getting on my last nerve. He’s managed to answer just as many questions as I have, and our team’s scores are tied up. Everything rests on this last point.

This round of the tournament is technically Dalton Academy vs Faust Academy For Boys. But from my perspective, the last couple hours have been a rapid-fire, one on one duel: Rose Magdala Calloway vs Richard Connor Cobalt.

We’ve thus far established ourselves as the respective MVPs of each team by answering the majority of prompts, each of us vying to snatch a point before the other can.

My attention shifts to the officiator, who flips to the next page for our final question. Connor and I lock gazes. I wear a fierce glare while he wears his trademark and infuriatingly confident smirk. Ugh. I'm tempted to roll my eyes, but refuse to be the first to break eye contact.

Can’t he at least pretend like he’s scared of losing this last point?

I’d never admit it to anyone, but I am. This moment has been years in the making. I’ve been to dozens of competitions, studied for hundreds of hours, and written thousands of note cards in hopes of winning the national title.

No one is going to get in my way. Not even the handsome, teasing, and overconfident boy standing opposite me.

My glare must intensify with conviction, because Connor quirks a brow.

Translation: “Scared, Rose?”

My eyes narrow. “In your dreams, Richard.”

The officiator begins reading.

“In this play, a prince falls in love with a maiden due to the magical charms of the Rightful Duke of Milan. That prince went on to…”

It’s a Shakespeare question.

I’ve practically been reading Shakespeare since I came out of the womb.

Instantaneously, I know I’ve won. I slam the buzzer as my glare transforms into a confident smile to match Connor’s.

Except nothing happens.

And in the second that it takes me to press the button again I hear the other size buzz in.

“The Tempest” Connor chimes in easily.

He’s right.

My heart stops. And then I feel it drop all the way down to my Louis Vuitton heels. I feel devastated - so devastated that I barely register my teammates clapping me on the back then sliding past me to exit the room. The officiator’s congratulations and closing remarks pass by in a blur, and I'm still staring at my faulty buzzer, seething at its betrayal when I hear:

“Don’t look so upset, Rose. If it’s any consolation, it’s not you, it’s me.” Connor grins from across the room as he continues, “I always win.” He shrugs his shoulders as if to say, “it can’t be helped”, and it sparks a fire in me, snapping me out of my trance

“Don’t gloat, Richard. It’s not a good look on you.” I snarl back.

“Don’t lie to yourself, Rose. Everything looks good on me.”

He walks toward the officiator’s podium unphased and begins flipping through the packet of questions.

This piques my curiosity. “What are you doing?”

“I always review the packets after a match.”

“Really?” I say dryly. “Winning isn't enough for you?”

“No. It’s not. Winning is only a byproduct of my true goal - which is to be better than everyone else.”

This time I don’t say anything in return, not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I’d rather not share what I’m thinking with Connor. I find his admission strikingly relatable. As much as I enjoy Quiz Bowl, I’m not just here to collect trophies either. I’m interested in collecting knowledge. I like knowing things. It makes me feel in control.

With the questions packet in hand, Connor takes a seat behind the podium. He hooks his designer shoes onto a nearby chair to drag it right up next to him and gives me an expectant stare.

I feel compelled to sit down, but at the same time nervous to be in such close proximity to Connor.

“I’ll let you look, but we have to share.” he offers, tilting his head toward the empty chair.

I take the seat.

We’re close enough that I can feel his body heat in the chilly room, and the sides of our legs are almost brushing. I feel nervous at the thought of leaning closer to him, but from where I am right now it’s difficult to read the questions.

“Move the packet closer to me.” I demand.

He moves the packet until it’s mostly on my lap, but taunts “No please? Seems like Dalton needs to teach their students better literature and better manners.”

“Pity that Faust doesn’t offer classes in modesty. Although I doubt you could even meet the course prerequisites given that you’re a raging narcissist.” I quip back. Ha.

Connor wears an amused smirk and I wear a triumphant one as I turn back to the packet to review the questions.

After reviewing the packet together for 5 minutes or so in silence, I hear Connor’s phone vibrate. He slides his phone open and stands smoothly.

“My team is waiting for me outside. The packet’s all yours. I’ll see you around.” There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “You did well Rose. There aren’t many people that can match me, but you are my fiercest competitor. I look forward to our next duel.” And with a quick nod he slips out the door.

As soon as he leaves, I feel a little emptier. The defeat which had been so easy to forget when I was preoccupied with Connor comes back with a vengeance. And so does my anger. My anger at the buzzer. Ohmygod.

I remember that I was robbed of my rightful victory, and I’m not giving up on it yet. I race across the room quickly testing the buzzers and confirming my suspicions that for whatever reason, my buzzer blew out on the last question. My eyes are wide and my heartbeat is racing with hope.

This isn’t over just yet.

I hunt down the official and drag him into the room to show him the defective buzzer.

“Sorry sweetheart, but how do we know that you didn’t just sabotage that buzzer right now?”

Seriously?! I could scream in frustration right now, but I need to convince this man that I’m not the type of person who would break a buzzer to win this title, and I know that screaming and threatening to castrate him would be counterproductive. I take a deep breath.

“Sir, I assure you -”

He cuts me off with a patronizing smile “- Look sweetheart, we already announced Faust as the winners. Even if your buzzer did break -” He pauses and has the audacity to wink at me as if we’re sharing some sick understanding that I broke the buzzer as a last-ditch attempt to win, “There’s just no way we’re recalling that announcement.”

I have absolutely had it today. I am livid. Everything about this man grates on me, and I need to leave before I lose my composure. I shoot him one last withering look of disgust before spinning on my heel and storming out towards the parking lot.

I rip off my headband with one hand (please forgive me Coco) and massage my tense neck with the other as I stride towards my car. Halfway there, I spot Connor surrounded by his celebrating teammates, and I swear my body gets even tenser than it was before. I didn’t think that was possible.

I can’t deal with any more infuriating men at the moment, so I trudge ahead even though his concerned eyes meet mine and silently probe: “Rose? What’s wrong?”

A more prudent question would be “What isn’t wrong?”. Right now it feels like the world is against me. And for the second time today I’m losing a duel. This one is even worse: Rose Magdala Calloway vs World.

I need to go home.

I imagine myself screaming in my closet as I finally slide into my car and slam the door shut. God that feels good. My shaky hands fumble the key into the ignition and I whip my head around to reverse around only to be met with all 6 feet of Connor Cobalt standing right outside of my convertible.

“Tell me what happened.” he demands.

I hate that he’s seeing me like this. I hate that I'm losing control over my emotions right now. Tears prick behind my eyes threaten to fall with the weight of everything that has happened today, but I command them to stay out of sight. Instead of letting my tears fall, I let my words fly. Raw and unfiltered, I spit out the thoughts on the tip of my tongue.

“I hope what you said back there about not caring about winning is true Connor, because you didn’t win. My buzzer was broken, but I did buzz before you. I’ve been reading Shakespeare since before I could walk. Before I could talk. I don’t care that you don’t believe me, and I don’t care that the official didn’t believe me. You’re walking home with that national trophy, but make no mistake, it’s still mine.”

By the time I finish my rant, my eyes are wet with angry tears. I yank the car into reverse without giving him a chance to respond. And as I slam the car into drive, I speed off regretting and wondering why I spilled all of my feelings out to Connor like that.

Pull it together. You are Rose Calloway, and you will not let this day drag you down.

This mantra plays on loop in my head, and only one tear slips before I hastily swipe it away and tip my chin up.

Tomorrow will be better.

~ The next day at school ~

Sebastian, my longtime friend, strides up to my locker as I pull out notes for my first class.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations are in order. I mean things could have gone better, but considering Faust has won the last 4 years. I think breaking their streak is a pretty good deal don’t you?”

Huh?

“We lost.” I clarify for Sebastian a little more harshly than I needed to, but it’s a sore subject and this kind of feels like a mean prank.

“Umm, no you didn’t.” He replies.

“I think I would know better than you, Seb. After all, I was literally there.” I wish he would just drop it.

“So the school paper is wrong, then?” He prods disbelievingly as he pulls the paper out of his bag and hands it to me.

I snatch it from his hands and greedily read the words below the section titled: “Dalton breaks Faust’s 4 year reign at the National Quiz Bowl Tournament”. My jaw is hanging open slightly and my eyes furrow deeper with each line I read in the paper.

After a brief mixup, in which Faust was mistakenly awarded the title. This year, Dalton and Faust reign side by side as co-champions.

I read it again.

How did this happen?

I desperately want it to be true, but I keep my guard up. This weekend was enough of an emotional rollercoaster as it is, and I was hoping to put all of the Quiz Bowl drama behind me so that I could focus on Model UN.

There are only two people that I revealed the truth to. The officiator and Connor. I sincerely doubt the officiator changed his mind, which only leaves one option.

I would have bet my company on the fact that Connor would take the win for Faust. After all, leading his team to victory all four years would look great on his College apps, and there’s nothing that matters more to him than those apps. Additionally, after 3 years of being academic rivals it’s hard to picture him sticking up for me. His actions make it seem almost as if we’re on the same side, but that doesn’t add up.

For the first time, I’m not sure what I feel towards Connor. We’ve been academic rivals for so long, could we ever really be anything else?

*hint, hint* :p

Thank you so much for reading, pls feel free to send in any requests for scenes you want to read from the Addicted/Calloway universe!

#coballoway #connor cobalt #rose calloway #calloway sisters #addicted series #krista and becca ritchie #kiss the sky #fuel the fire #addicted to you #fanfiction #connor cobalt fanfiction #imagine

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