#and by being able to control my environment but i already knew that one

[riverofrainbows]

Have strongly reduced work hours (yes i get paid enough still) and wonder oh wonder i am suddenly thriving and able to brush my teeth. (Now that i am living alone and my mental health state is much better, and i am not ground down by my work load constantly, as mentioned). Would you look at that. I even have the mental capacity to change things in my environment, which i can now change to support me and facilitate the things i want to do, and i have put on a nice body spray that calms me down for sleep, aired my place, had dinner, put away my dirty landry and, as mentioned, brushed my teeth.

[dukeofankh]

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[atyourmerci]

† Salvation †

Read pt.1 and pt.2

†

Summary: finale of repent series! Drabble of abby and readers life after abby comes to terms with her sexuality. Happy ever after lesbos<3

Warnings: smut, MDNI, switch!abby, switch!reader, religion play of course, strap usage, refers to strap as cock, cunnilingus, overstimulation, bondage, smnophilia, dirty talk yurrrr, some fluff

A/N: thank you so much for all of the love on this series!! Religious guilt/trauma is a tricky subject and I’m glad that I was able to portray it in a light that most of you could relate or sympathize with. And yall im so bad at writing fluff that’s why this is so short lmao that’s why I only write smut. I’m so excited to write through more niche experiences and topics. Love you like always<3

†

That night was nothing like the first. Your God showed mercy, wrapping your cold, shaky body with cloth and carrying you to where it all started.

This time she held you and never left, she was there was the sun came beaming down, drying out your soaked hair. While you were asleep she had removed her cross and strung it along your neck. Maybe there was no need hold a token of a god she had already met, maybe she wanted everyone else to know- you never cared to question her antics.

After your mission had ended she immediately broke things off with Owen, reclaimed herself within the community. And she for one took no shit with the commentary from anyone about the two of you. Her life mission was to protect you at all costs now, you were all she knew. She wouldn’t leave your side anymore. Anything you did she made sure she was there to protect you, she wouldn’t put your life in anyone else’s hands but her own.

There was a lot of things you had to teach Abby, and by teach, that meant showing her with your legs wide open. On a mission you both were sent out on to look for resources you ran across a run down sex shop. You found a girthy dildo with black leather straps, it was bigger than anything you’d ever taken but with the look of excitement on Abby’s face you couldn’t say no to her. You told her you could use it on her but she insisted on fucking you right there over the counter at the dusty sex shop. She wasted no time dragging your pants down to your ankles and ripping your panties seams to get inside, ”I’d tell you to suck my cock first but you’re so fucking wet already, how bad have you wanted this,hmmm?” She promised she’d go slow, walking you through it, “fuck you’re doing so good, taking me so well for your first time.” After your pain had been replaced with sheer pleasure she couldn’t hold back anymore, pumping into you so hard there was sure to be bruises all over your hips. After abusing your hole for an hour for her own amusement she finally let you cum while drawing circles around your swollen clit as she pounded deep and slow thrust into you. you were so cockdrunk she had to carry you back to the truck and finish the mission herself, it went by quickly as she imagined things she could do to you next with her cock.

She loved showering with you at night, she never let you lift a finger, washing your body gently after sneaking in the strap into the showers. Maybe it was because she learned how to fuck you in the showers that it made her so dominant in that environment. She wouldn’t let you touch her in there even after you begged her while she pinned your arms against the wall, overstimulating your clit over and over again until she was done with you. After she’d run you a bath and hold your fragile body as she ran soapy strips up and down your bruised skin, making sure to kiss every inch so that never missed an atom of your being.

Abby only regressed back into her old ways when she let you take complete control. She’d let you tie her to the bed you shared edging her till she was in tears, babbling prayers to climax. You’d tie her cross necklace around her clit and tug on it while you used your tongue to fuck her dripping hole. You’d only let her cum after she got on her knees like a whore eating away at your cunt while you shamed her for her sins.

Your life with abby wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced before, but there was no before her, or after her. There was only your god, and hers.

Maybe she had still repented for her sins, maybe she had reached salvation at the mercy of your own sins.

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson2 @lanafresitas @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed

[misspelledwordswizard]

I would love to see the chain react to reader from the atla universe or just one that uses bending in the same way? Just using bending unconsciously and freaking them all out because of it.

I love Atla, I loved writing this! I didn't know what kind of bending you were expecting, so I did waterbending, I hope you like it.

A notice about orders; I'm doing them in order, so if yours takes a little longer, it's probably because I'm working on others, but they'll all be done! And I'm very happy with them too, don't worry about it, you can send them, I'm loving your ideas.

It was a hot sunny day, so much so that Chain mutually agreed to take a break to go into the nearby river. It was a calm river with a small waterfall that made a pleasant noise in the environment. Wild and Wind were the first to jump in, excited as children, well, at least one of them was one. I couldn’t have been happier. You could say that the water is my territory, so on a day like this, being in cold water was paradise for me. 

Little by little, the others started to enter the river too. It was easy for them, they could just take off their tunics and equipment and get in, while I had to temporarily separate from the group to change and put on a bathing suit, but that was okay, it didn’t take long. Soon I was also entering the river to enjoy the sunny day. 

The cold water touched my body bringing a welcome feeling of relief, cooling my hot and sweaty skin, but this moment of peace was short-lived after I felt a wave of water hit me directly in the face, followed by the sound of childish laughter. That brat.  I imitated his attitude, pushing water with my hands towards him, hitting him with everything and stopping his laughter. The sailor still had the audacity to better himself with indignation, as if he hadn’t been the first to start. I could hear the others laughing in the background too, but they didn’t have the courage to get involved in this. Now it was war. 

Soon the area of the river where we were became a mess of water being splashed in all directions incessantly. Until I could feel a particularly strong attack coming from Wind, and instinctively wanted to retaliate even more. The movements so natural to me happened without me even being able to think about it, soon a small wave, but bigger than any I could generate with my bare hands, appeared next to me and went towards the Sailor, strong enough to make him stay underwater for a few seconds, raising his head in surprise and confusion right after. 

— Aha, I won! – I exclaimed excitedly, but my excitement died when I saw the lack of reaction not only from the sailor, but from all the boys. – What happened? Was I too harsh? 

— How did you do that?! – Wind was the first to speak, coming towards me excitedly. Only then did I understand my mistake. 

— Yeah, was that some kind of magic? – Wars asked, intrigued. 

— I’ve never heard of magic like that. – Hyrule replied, looking curious and suspicious at the same time. 

— Well, that’s because it’s not magic. – I replied, creating even more doubts in everyone, who remained silent waiting for me to continue. – You know, you may not know much about the place I come from, but there’s no magic there. On the other hand, there are people there who can have some control over one of the elements of nature, using specific movements. We’re called benders. 

Even when I tried to explain, they seemed terribly confused and incredulous.  Of course, they already knew I came from a different kind of world, and had somehow ended up here through a strange portal, but I’ve avoided talking about my home to them, precisely because I thought it might be too much for them to take in. Just as it has been for me. 

— So, you can simply control the elements of nature? – The Champion questioned, not very confident about it. 

— Not all of them, and we call it bending. There are four main types of bending, water, fire, earth and air. People who have this ability can only bend one of the four, with the exception of the Avatar. – I can’t tell if throwing all this information out was useful or just made the situation worse. 

— That’s cool! – Wind exclaimed. – Show me more, that’s really cool! 

— Well, that’s definitely interesting, could you demonstrate more of that? – Time asked, and I could tell he wanted to analyze it better. 

— Yeah, what do you normally use it for? – Twilight was the next to ask. 

— Well, waterbending can be used as a medicinal method, and each bending can be used for various everyday things, and for fighting. 

— You mean you could have used it to fight this whole time and you just chose not to?! – Legend seemed indignant at that. 

— Well... I already imagined it would be difficult to explain about this.  – I replied, while using my bending again as they had asked me to, making a large ball of water float over the river. 

— Cool. – Wild said. – Now that we know and you can use it, I’m sure it can be very useful. 

— Yeah, you said it has medicinal properties? That would be really good. – The Traveler questioned, receiving a positive answer from me. 

— Guys, you’re forgetting the main thing! – Wind said, getting everyone’s attention. – Have you thought about the games we can play with this? 

Everyone snorted at the boy’s childish answer, when we expected something a little more important than that. I was afraid to talk about it with them, but they ended up being much more understanding than I imagined. That’s good. 

— But I must admit that I’m very curious about this too. Can you show me other things you can do? You said there are four main bends, does that mean there are other smaller bends? – Sky asked excitedly, and everyone seemed as curious as he was about the subject. 

— Hey, this would be really useful for forging swords, can you help me next time I work on the Champion’s sword? – The blacksmith was the next to ask, which created a gap for a flood of different questions. 

— Can you close wounds? 

— What exactly would an “avatar” be? 

— How does earthbending work? 

— Can I be considered an airbender? 

— How do movements influence this? 

Soon, I was surrounded by curious blondes and being drowned in their curious questions. I think we’re going to spend a good amount of time on this subject. 

[fireflysummers]

Good Omens S2

Okay so.

Excellent Job, Gaiman

Ouch???

I don't like to publicly talk about my personal life. My academic life is my professional life is my artist life. But my personal life? Not so much, outside of vignettes.

But for the past several months, I've been deconstructing a lot of personal baggage and trauma surrounding both family and religion, after leaving the cult I was raised in (mormonism).

It's terrifying to realize that the framework you built your entire self on is false. It's exhausting and painful to deconstruct that framework, to disentangle your identity in the way that won't destroy you.

And it's slow.

Nobody ever tells you how slow it is to heal. You can't control the rate you heal either. You just have to be patient with yourself, and give yourself an environment where that healing can occur safely and naturally.

Anyways.

Good Omens, and its weird tendency to be exactly what I need when I need it.

I first read Good Omens in high school. And honestly, I didn't quite get it, at the time. I only knew it was different from every other book I've ever read, one that didn't treat religion as stupid or trivial, but also one that called out the blatant hypocrisy and control tactics involved. It helped me safely challenge a status quo I hadn't even realized existed.

I first watched Good Omens partway into my Master's Degree. It was everything that I could've hoped for. I understood the book a lot better, but the TV adaptation captured my struggles with mental dissonance, trying to understand and accept the parts of my identity that I was taught God didn't want.

I watch S2 a year into my doctoral program. I'm out of the cult, and it's exhilarating and painful and scary and fun, but I can still feel the scars its hooks left when they were torn out.

I feel like S2 Aziraphale is in about the same place. He's exploring his freedom, but also trying to reorient himself. He's trying to let himself be. He's healing, but his boundaries got overridden due to circumstances out of his control (naked Gabriel). He's been pulled back into the gravity of the abusive system he tried to escape, given a carrot on a stick, and isn't yet healed or strong enough to resist.

On top of that, Aziraphale is still holding onto the hope that the problem was bad individuals, not a corrupted system. He thinks if the leadership is different, things can change. He thinks if he had more authority in the system, he could make things change. And... that's not how it works.

And Crowley. Dear Crowley.

He wants Aziraphale to be farther along in his healing than he is. Honestly, Aziraphale wants it too. But again, you cannot force this kind of healing, even when it results in a loved one making some truly stupid decisions.

Crowley sees the system for what it is. He's already deconstructed that part. But he hasn't really started addressing his own trauma. He's hinged his entire existence on Aziraphale, on being what Aziraphale needs, that he hasn't allowed himself to heal either. And Aziraphale, who is vulnerable and healing, is not able to provide the support that Crowley would need to recover safely.

Which is why them separating is probably the best thing for both of them.

It won't be permanent.

But they don't communicate, and their relationship while delightful and beautiful risks unhealthy codependency that prevents either from really growing or healing.

Anyways, what I really hope to see next season is Aziraphale's realization that the system never had his back. That the system is what's wrong, and that he can't win by playing at respectability politics or gaining a higher status within it.

I want Aziraphale to get angry.

He deserves it. He's tried so hard. He thinks he's lost Crowley over it.

I want him to feel the gut-wrenching despair of realizing how conditional and fleeting the system's version of love is, and I want it to turn into a rage.

But not a destructive rage--the sort of anger that Pratchett ascribes to himself and many of his works. The sort of anger that fueled Discworld and Good Omens. The sort that can be finessed into a weapon and a shield, that can be used to protect the people who truly love you.

For millennia we see Crowley fighting for Aziraphale.

For Season 3, I want to see Aziraphale fighting for his demon.

For him to apologize, without the expectation that Crowley will come back, but because he was wrong and Crowley needs to know it. To not expect forgiveness, not even think he deserves it.

And then for Crowley--who is trying to hide his heart eyes at seeing his avenging angel coming to save him for once, who he can tell immediately has changed, and is finally going Crowley's speed)--for Crowley to give that forgiveness, without strings attached.

[cobaltperun]

Lost (11) - Into you

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 5.7k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-You said, "Time to tear down the walls You know not every thing's your fault-

She was going to pass out, there was no way she could handle this. Your scar reopened! There was blood dripping down your neck! Tara wanted to scream and cry and pass out at the same time, but she managed to hold out until you landed a finishing blow and then, when it was clear you would be a winner she passed out.

The next thing she felt was a cup worth of water being thrown into her face as she was forced to blink a few times. “There she is,” Mindy teased, poking Tara’s cheek until Tara swatted her hand away.

“Come on, T, you’ll miss your girl’s interview,” Chad joined in with the teasing and she genuinely regretted inviting the twins to your apartment. At least Sam wasn’t teasing her as well.

Tara still wiped her face with the paper towel Sam had handed to her and sat up to see you on the TV, wiping the blood off your neck as the interviewer approached you. You looked tired, it wasn’t just your bruises after the fight, it was in your posture, in your eyes, you needed to rest, and she wondered just how hard did you train to get to that point.

“The belt is yours, Y/N!” the interviewer sounded happy, and she guessed it was the one that’s been following your carrier for a long time now.

You grinned slightly and shrugged. “Not for long though, but it sure is a way to go,” you replied and Tara couldn’t even put into words how good it felt to know that you at least got the title, that you were retiring as a champion, probably one of the youngest in history as well.

It made knowing this was your last match a lot easier to handle, even though she still felt guilty.

“Any comments on your retirement and the incident in Woodsboro?” the interviewer asked and Tara felt her palms getting sweaty.

“Sure. I’d do it again without a moment of hesitation. And absolutely, martial artists should do everything in their power to keep the fights in a controlled environment, but when someone tries to kill the one you love, you gotta fight,” you sounded certain of your words, you didn’t regret this one bit and Tara felt guilt gnawing at her heart because she didn’t believe you.

“So, you think your retirement isn’t fair?” the question made her hold her breath, even though she knew the answer.

You shook your head. “It absolutely is,” you took a deep breath, already recovering somewhat from the fight. “I fought outside the cage, there need to be consequences for that. Did I know things would turn out like this? No, it never crossed my mind, I wasn’t thinking about my career, or even what would happen tomorrow, I just focused on doing everything in my power to keep her alive, the cost didn’t matter,” you had put a T-shirt on before the interview, but Tara saw most of your scars clearly just before the fight while you and Anya were warming up. “I did what I did, I’m not asking for anyone’s understanding, forgiveness, empathy, permission, whatever, and I’m not going to make a fuss over retirement either. That’s the price for my actions, and I would have paid a higher one if I had to.”

Tara felt tears filling up her eyes as Sam placed an arm around her shoulders. “I miss her,” Tara said, your shirt didn’t even smell like you anymore, neither did the apartment, and Tara desperately needed to have you back. To hug you, to snuggle with you, to hear you talking to her.

“I know,” Sam kissed the side of her head.

“One last question, Y/N. Would you have retired if there weren’t any consequences?” the interviewer questioned you.

��No idea. I didn’t think about what-ifs, but if I had to give a yes or a no answer, I’d say yes, I would,” you answered simply.

~X~

You felt like your entire body was one giant bruise. 'I am never training like that again,' you thought bitterly, thinking of the training from hell Thomas put you through. Intense, long, with barely any rest, and painful.  What was that asshole's problem, anyway? Was he salty over not 'making history' so he wanted to push that on you instead? Ah, whatever, it was over now. You'd have to rest for at least two more days before you could handle driving for over five hours to travel from Vegas to Woodsboro, as much as that would delay seeing Tara.

Which was probably for the best because if Tara saw the state you were in, she'd probably finish you off herself. With how beaten and tired you were she probably could do it as well.

So, instead of getting up, you just turned in your bed and went back to sleep. You still groaned at the flash of pain caused by mere movement. If it was just training you probably could have taken it for a bit longer, but the fight sealed the deal.

How the mighty have fallen. Oh, if people could see you now, you likely wouldn't be able to live that down. The world champion, too tired to get out of her bed. How embarrassing.

~X~

Luck really didn't want to cooperate with you lately. You got set back a day and were just now leaving Vegas and you'd be lucky to get to Woodsboro at five in the morning, it would be the thirteenth of December and you'd have less than a day to clear up the situation between you and Tara like a well-adjusted adult and not a kid that could only sulk and brood.

You'd go to your apartment, drop your things off, collect your thoughts and arguments, and go to Tara's place first thing in the morning. If, no when things went well, you'd be able to, maybe consider confessing sometime after this whole mess of a year ends. Maybe a bit sooner, depending on how things go when you finally see Tara again.

You should have known by now not to make plans. At half past five in the morning, you unlocked the doors to your apartment dead tired and wondering if maybe you should take a small nap so you wouldn't be a blubbering mess when you finally got to talk to Tara.

You tossed the bag to the floor and basically on autopilot went to the bathroom. Everything looked the same, Tara’s things were there as well, but it’s been like that ever since you moved to your apartment. Tara had her toothbrush and some other basics in your apartment, and some of her clothes as well in case she slept over, so you didn’t notice the difference. You barely managed to wash your hands and face when the doors opened, and you just barely noticed with how sleepy you were.

"Y/N?" Tara's voice woke you up better than any cold water. Especially since you weren't ready for her right away. She just stood there, looking as surprised as you were. For a moment, with your shirt on her, you were reminded of the night you gave her the necklace meant for her eighteenth birthday. She looked... just a bit different, with her hair covering her forehead now, you wondered when that happened. Her leg was fine now, but you saw she was leaning more of her weight on her left foot, it probably turned into a habit while her leg was broken.

More importantly, she looked sleep-deprived, as if she had been struggling with insomnia for a long time. She probably did. You approached her, forgetting all your plans in an instant, and the moment she was within arm's reach she just reached out and hugged you, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she took a deep breath. "Tara," you sighed, feeling the weight of the past few months fade away as you buried your face in her neck.

"You're back," she whispered gently kissing along the scar on your face. Your body healed, for the most part, the swelling was gone, there was a bit of pain and soreness, but you were fairly fine. The kisses, damn, you've had your fair share of burns in the kitchen, but they felt hotter against your skin than any hot metal you touched by accident.

"Yeah, and I'm not leaving, okay?" you felt her nod before she pulled back, lightly touching all the spots on your face where you got hit. There was only one explanation for how she knew where to touch you. "You've seen the fight," that must have been difficult for her. You knew how much she hated seeing you fight, seeing you get hurt, so for her to watch the hardest fight of your life… you didn’t even dare to imagine how much stress she experienced.

"I had to. I took that from you," she avoided meeting your eyes after she said that.

You would have groaned two months ago. Or maybe you would have sighed. Or reacted in a similar way to that. Not today. You just caressed the side of her neck, feeling her lean into your touch despite the way she felt. Good, it wouldn't be a repeat of the last time. Slowly you moved your thumb just underneath her chin and nudged it just barely enough for Tara to register it and tilt her head up. "Please, look at me, Tara," she did, but you could see the hesitation in her eyes. "It's a bit cold, hm?" it was as if she just remembered you were in the bathroom, and it was the middle of December.

There was a hint of reluctance in Tara's eyes as she released you from the hug. If it was any other moment, you'd probably pull her back in and lift her up, but right now you were perfectly content with letting her hold your hand and lead you to the bed.

"Sorry, it's a bit of a mess," you could see the tips of her ears turning red. It was adorable and you couldn't resist pulling her back to you.

"Nah, I think it's perfect," there was some mess, mostly a bunch of your shirts on the bed as well as Tara's laptop on the nightstand. It was good that you were a bit minimalistic with your things. With Tara's things mixed in with your own, it felt almost a bit cramped, and you just mentally confirmed that this wasn't exactly an apartment meant for two people constantly living together. That was the issue for another day, now that you could properly take your apartment in you realized Tara's been living there for at least some time. "Did something happen?"

"No. Yes. I," she paused, debating whether or not she should tell you whatever happened. "It can wait," she chose not to.

You sighed and she squirmed a bit, your breath probably tickled her neck. She would have been so cute if she didn't just basically tell you that something did happen, but she'd tell you later... "Oh, you little..." You grabbed the blanket and sat down on the sofa with Tara right on your lap. She didn’t even sound surprised when you effortlessly moved her, that was how much she trusted you to keep her safe.

Tara placed her hands on top of yours before you could cover the two of you with the blanket. "Give me a second," she turned around, straddling your lap. "All set," she smiled, somehow looking confident and still a bit bashful at the same time.

You nodded, pulling the blanket around her and then resting your arms on the small of her back. "Right, how does talking things through sound like?" you hated how hesitant you sounded there, hated how you felt her get still in your arms.

"Yeah. You left your phone behind," at least that was an easy thing to start with.

"I did," you wanted to talk, here, you had your talk. "There was a chance I would have come back if I heard your voice," especially now that you realized something did happen while you were away.

"And not hearing me helped? Do you know how worried I was?" the fear and frustration, all the worry she felt before she likely found your phone, you felt it all, you heard it in her voice, saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way her fingertips dug into your back.

"It did and I knew you'd be. Tara, you saw my schedule, you saw the last fight. If I had gone in any less prepared, I would have lost. I couldn't afford to keep my phone with me," you explained, not for a moment taking your eyes off her own. "If I could call you, I would have. If I called you, you'd see how I was after training. You'd get worried. You'd insist on coming to see me, or worse, that I come back, and I'd agree because I'd miss you even more after hearing your voice," that was the reasoning you had even before you experienced just how grueling the training was. It only proved to be correct when the training began, and you honestly wondered if you'd survive it. It was incredibly effective, but if you never had to think back to it again, you'd be thankful for the rest of your life.

Tara paused for a moment, taking what you said in. "I saw how tired you looked, but, was it that bad?"

"Let's just say I think I prefer being stabbed and shot," you weren't even joking, your pain tolerance was through the roof at this point. It all just caught up with you after the fight and Anya hit like a truck.

You could immediately see the concern on Tara's face as she pulled back slightly and tugged at your forearm. You got the message and moved your left hand until she could look at it. Her hands trembled as she traced the tiny scars littering your fist, barely ghosting over the more recent scrapes. There was no way she could hurt you; it was all healed for the most part, in a day or two anything that wouldn't leave a scar would be gone. The effect it had on her was obvious and you knew she now understood why you left the phone behind.

"For what it's worth, I wished I could be with you every day," you whispered, bringing your hand back to the small of her back, as she moved a bit closer to you but not as close as before.

"Me too. I'm so sorry I told you to leave," there was an intensity in her gaze you hadn't seen in a while. You felt the tension you couldn't quite explain, and you were suddenly more aware of the position you two were in, with her only in your shirt and underwear, straddling your lap.

"I would have had to leave anyway," somehow you figured she already knew that, and you were proven right when she nodded.

"I still told you to leave me. I don't want that. I don't want to imagine my life without you, Y/N," something in her words made you involuntarily jerk and push her hips forward and you saw her eyes flickering down for a moment.

Focusing on what was more important than physical contact between you two, you continued the conversation. "Why didn't you accept that I was fine with retiring?" you finally asked the question that had been on your mind ever since her reaction.

Tara bit her lower lip, pausing, probably to find the exact words she needed. "You love MMA and you retired because of me, because you had to protect me from my crazy girlfriend and her crazy boyfriend," the frustration in Tara's voice was palpable. "I felt guilty, I am guilty. I just," a tear slid down her cheek. "If you were angry, if you blamed me, that would make sense, but you were calm and it was my fault and it scared me," she hid her face in the crook of your neck.

"Easy, easy, I got you," you whispered softly as you rubbed circles on her back.

"It frightened me that you could be just telling me you were fine to protect me," she more or less told you the same thing she did before you left.

"Tara," you tried, but a finger against your lips stopped you.

"More than even that, I was afraid of you actually being fine with it," those words surprised you.

"Wouldn't that be good?" you asked despite the finger on your lips.

Tara shook her head. "No, because it means so much to you and you'd be fine with losing it for me."

You sighed, fully understanding what was going through her head that night now. "MMA was a way to bond with Zack at first. At that point, he already retired, due to his health. In a way I guess I understood on some instinctual level that he was living vicariously through me by training me."

Words you said to Sam were words you realized shortly after you learned you could be facing retirement. "Love built on guilt leads to regret. That's my MMA career, Tara, something born out of guilt, because Zack couldn't live out his dream and I had the chance to do it," you never said it, you never admitted this to anyone, not only because you didn’t want to talk about Zack, but because somehow, saying that almost felt like betraying him. But you nearly lost Tara and everything else became less important to you after that. And you said it in the interview after the fight, you would have retired, maybe not right away, or maybe you would have paused your career, but you probably wouldn’t be fighting professionally for that much longer. And it wasn’t just because it would make Tara happy, it was because you wanted more time with her. Professional MMA career was time-consuming, especially if you had to combine it with a job and college.

Tara looked you in the eyes, her own wide as the smile spread across your lips. "There's no denying that I love MMA itself, but training and making a living out of it are two entirely different things. I don't need to fight in the octagon to be passionate about my training," you raised your hand, wiping the few tears from her cheeks. "There's no way that career would ever be more important than you," there, you said it, you admitted what you've been feeling ever since you were told you'd have to retire.

"Y/N," it was your turn to press your finger against her lips.

"I mean, yes, I care about that as well, I'm proud of what I accomplished, there's a thrill in the fighting that I'd never find in training, but compared to you? It's insignificant. It's not worth losing you, Tara, there's nothing worth losing you," you could only hope she'd believe you, you could only hope that she’d accept the truth.

“Just so you know, I wouldn’t have asked you to retire. I’d go to all your matches, though I might have to work on not fainting,” she laughed and pressed her forehead against yours. “I’d learn to deal with the bruises, for us,” and you nodded at that, kissing her cheek softly. She then placed her hand on your cheek. "Promise me you'll always tell me if you aren't fine," there was definitiveness in her voice, faith in her eyes, you just needed to reassure her of that one last thing.

"I promise I will. As long as you do the same, so, how about you start by telling me what happened?" you nudged her lightly, trying to remain relaxed, even if you were worried.

"I cut contact with mom when-" Tara didn't get to finish that sentence.

You leaned back and abruptly pumped your fists above your head. "Finally! Fucking finally!" you proclaimed and pulled Tara in, kissed her forehead, and ruffled her hair a bit. "That's my girl! Damn, that took a while!" a thought suddenly popped in your head, so you slapped your forehead and leaned back once again, grumbling. "Shit, I missed it."

Tara went from surprised, to incredulous, to amused as she shook her head. "Y/N," she jokingly slapped your biceps. She really should have known you'd react like this.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm just happy you're out of there," you smiled sheepishly.

"She cut contact with Sam, so I cut contact with her in response," Tara explained and you nodded, calm once again.

"My excitement aside, how are you feeling?" you asked, completely serious now.

Tara sighed, snuggling closer to you. "I really hoped things could be fixed, you know. I know that's naive, that things were never good between them ever since dad left, but I still hoped. I can't leave Sam, though. I don't want her to deal with things alone again," her voice didn't crack, but you could hear she was fighting back tears.

"She won't. She has you," you assured her, feeling her breath shudder against your neck.

"I know. Anyway, I moved here because I wanted you near me, and this was the closest I could get. I know you said I could stay here to Sam, but, you don't mind, do you?" she lifted her head just enough to look you in the eyes once again.

"Of course, I don't mind," with those words providing Tara with all the peace she needed the two of you just relaxed, holding each other as close as physically possible until the first hints of sunlight began seeping through the window. "Think we should move to bed? Maybe sleep for at least a couple of hours?" you suggested.

Tara just lazily nodded, letting you handle all of it. And you did just that. You lowered her down on the bed and were about to lay down next to her when an arm around your neck held you back. "Y/N," she brushed her fingers against your lower lips. "Let's just stop pretending we don't want this."

Everything else vanished, leaving only the desire burning in Tara's eyes, the desire you were sure was present in your eyes as well. You placed your hand next to Tara's head, to keep yourself from pressing too much of your weight on Tara and leaned down. She met you in the middle, eagerly pressing her lips against your own.

You let her lead, feeling her eagerness to finally kiss you with every move of her lips, feeling it in the way she moaned into the kiss as she wrapped her legs around your hips, pulling you closer. Feeling it in the way her left hand pressed against your back, or the way her right hand frantically went from your neck to your cheek, to the back of your head, then beneath the collar of your shirt. You felt it in the way she moaned into the kiss when you slid your palm down her side, all the way to her naked thigh. The oversized shirt she stole from you rising as Tara pressed her hips against you made your head spin.

You growled, deepening the kiss, and gently nibbling Tara's lower lip as your fingers made contact with the waistband of Tara's underwear. Tara leaned her head back, abruptly letting it fall back on the pillow, moaning softly when you rested your palm right against the bare small of her back and pulled her in, smiling as she rolled her hips against you.

"Y/N," she breathed out as you kissed her neck, tugging on your jacket.

That seemed to snap you out of it for a moment and you pulled back enough to look her in the eyes. "Are we going too fast? Do you want me to stop?" you just kissed for the first time and already you were making out, and given the way things were going, you likely weren’t going to stop there unless you stopped right now.

"No, please don't stop. Just, your clothes," Tara was quick to reassure you.

That almost instantly flipped the switch and you leaned in to kiss her again, taking your time and committing the feel of her lips to your memory, memorizing every twitch of her body underneath your own before letting her breathe once more. "What about my clothes?" you whispered into her ear.

"Y/N!" Tara whined, prompting a smirk from you. If your arm wasn't planted so firmly on the bed you were sure she'd try to take your jacket off herself, but as it was she'd need your help.

"What about my clothes, love?" you peppered small kisses all over her neck. "Talk to me, Tara."

"Take them off, already!" okay, less teasing, you'd have to remember that.

"As you wish," you briefly kissed her and pulled back, slipping your hand from her back and slowly getting back up.

Tara grabbed onto your back, annoyed at reduced contact, but you just grinned, pulling her arms away from your back and kissing the inside of her left forearm, kissing up to her wrist, all the way to her palm. She watched you intensely as you kissed her palm a few times, completely still as you moved her hands above her head and leaned in. "Patience, Tara," she hummed at that, relaxing, trusting you.

"I've been patient, Y/N," she complained, but this time allowed you to pull away and kneel above her, smiling widely as she watched you take your jacket off. There was no stopping this now, both of you wanted, no, needed this.

~X~

It rarely happened, but for once Tara woke up before you. There wasn't much she could do about it; mornings were evil, and you somehow could function that early. Disciplined jerk. Her disciplined jerk. Officially her disciplined jerk. She smiled at that.

She untangled her body from your own and checked the time, only to be met with at least a dozen missed calls and frantic messages from Mindy and Chad telling her to call Sam. She checked your phone and found an identical situation. The last message from Mindy made her blood run cold. 'Sam is on her way to your apartment! Call her!'

Tara quickly called her sister and, unsurprisingly, had to move the phone away from her ear when Sam began yelling.

"Why aren't you picking up your phone?!" this was not how Tara wanted to start her day. Or continue her day? She wasn't entirely sure. "I'll be in your apartment in two minutes, you better have an explanation for this."

"No!" she cried out so loudly you jumped out of the bed ready to punch whatever made Tara scream. Tara wasn't sure whether to laugh at you or cry at the idea of Sam coming to your place right now. "Don't come here! Please, I'm fine! I'm sorry I overslept!" this was definitely not the moment she wanted to spend with her sister, or anyone other than you, really.

You came back to bed and hugged her, and she felt a bit better as she felt your touch against her bare skin. The realization then skyrocketed her worry because there was no way she’d have time to get decent before Sam came in. "Sam?" you whispered softly as Sam kept insisting she was almost at your door.

Tara nodded and you placed your hand on her phone, silently requesting to take it. Tara gladly gave it to you. "Sam, it's Y/N, let us sleep, see you tomorrow," for a moment Tara wondered if she ever told you how much she liked the sound of your voice immediately after you woke up.

"Sam, you're like my second favorite person in the world, but if you don't let me spend the day with Tara, I will absolutely take your spare key away," it was an empty threat, all three of you knew it. You've given Sam your spare key just in case, but you weren't going to take it away. Sam definitely knew it as she unlocked your doors. "Fuck off, Sam, we overslept, had a long night, figure the rest out yourself!" you finally snapped when not even the empty threat helped.

You hung up. Tara moved so she could hide behind you for at least some semblance of decency. The doors, however, got locked once again and you heard a muffled and embarrassed 'Sorry!'

With crisis averted Tara fell back on the bed, tugging you down with her.

"Well, this is a fun way to start our morning," you muttered into her neck as she leaned back, smiling brightly as you left kisses from her neck all the way to her lips. The kiss was soft, slow and gentle, and Tara pushed her body against you.

"It's almost two p.m. Y/N," she teased once you separated to catch your breath. She gently ran her fingers through your hair.

You paused, taking what she said in. "Sam sure was patient then," Tara laughed at that and it didn't take long for you to join in.

"I really don't want to leave bed today," she confessed, perfectly content with where she was at the moment.

You had other plans though. "Hear me out. Bathroom, breakfast, back to bed? I'll even make pancakes," how could she refuse that.

"And then?" she whispered in your ear.

"The Babadook and cuddles?" she could work with that. Oh, she could definitely work with that.

"Up you go then," you didn't move though.

"You know you have to let me go, right?" you teased, lightly poking the tip of her nose.

Begrudgingly Tara agreed to let you go. Not without a pout though, and seeing the pout on her face you gave her a peck on her lips and jumped to your feet. The pout didn’t quite vanish, but it was smaller. Everything was still so new and fresh and so long-awaited that she really didn't want to let go. She didn't even hide the grin or try to be subtle as her eyes followed your every move.

~X~

Half an hour later you were making a conscious choice to ignore the pancakes in the pan for the sake of kissing Tara again. You switched between quick kisses and making out, tongue inside Tara’s mouth as she pressed her body against yours, feeling your muscles under her fingers as you kept your hands on the small of her back. As much as she enjoyed the kiss Tara could smell the pancake and if you didn't get back to it soon it probably wouldn't turn out to be good. "Hmm, pancake, Y/N," she laughed when you groaned and begrudgingly turned your attention back to the breakfast.

"Pancake, Y/N," you repeated, feigning annoyance as you dramatically flipped the culprit that kept you from Tara. It was absolutely adorable.

Who would have thought you'd be this eager for her? Tara loved it. She moved from her spot next to the sink and hugged you from behind. She had never really done that before, now that she thought about it. Not like this anyway, not with her cheek pressed against your shoulder blades, or her fingers slipping beneath your shirt to trace your abs.

You huffed a bit, trying not to laugh. "Tara, that tickles," there was definitely a difference in the way you said her name now, as opposed to the way you were saying it in the morning. It was gentler, more, she couldn't really put a finger on it, but she could hear it. "I like this," you muttered as you served the pancakes on the plates.

"Hmm?" Tara hummed.

"You hugging me like that. I dunno, it's just nice," she'd definitely keep that in mind. She let out a content sigh, enjoying the moment you two were currently having. Also, the pancakes smelled lovely.

You reached out for syrup and Tara let you go, choosing to instead stand next to you. Hugging you from behind was really nice, but like this, she could see the smile you somehow couldn't get off your face.

"You know, I've always loved making pancakes for you," Tara knew, you never told her, but she knew. It was because she would always have a huge grin on her face while you made them. They were simple, tasty, and she felt like she was never too much of a bother if she asked you to make them. Currently, however, she had something else on her mind.

"Oh yeah? Well, I can name a few things I really loved last night," and there was an adorable grin on your face, not that she was much better. You were both grinning like fools.

"Just a few?" you playfully pulled her into you side and kissed the top of her head. "Such as?"

Tara pretended to be in deep thought. "See, I'm not sure. How about we do it again, you know, just so I can give you an answer," and then her stomach growled, and she blushed and she wanted to hide her face so she did just that. Why did her stomach have to growl in such an embarrassing moment?

"Sorry, I didn't catch that last bit," you were just being mean to her right now. Not that she had a chance to retort, as you lifted her up, prompting her to instantly wrap her legs around your waist. "That's new. I like it," you grabbed the two plates with one hand, a trick she still had no idea how to do without dropping at least one, and carried her to the bed. "Breakfast in bed then round two?" you offered with a charming grin on your face and, honestly, how could she resist.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[mmikmmik]

One underrated aspect of Mouthwashing is that it's really good as a video game.

I thought the player feedback was super strong. There's so many little gimmicky nightmare worlds and "minigames" and the game really helps you understand them very quickly and keep up the momentum. There were only a couple times I got stuck for long enough that I felt like it was breaking me out of the narrative, and I was able to resolve them pretty quickly. And one of them was my own fault - I was trying to use an item somewhere the devs had already indicated it was impossible, because I forgot about the little framing that pops up to indicate you can go into "interaction mode". That's a great little UI mechanism for making it super obvious what is and isn't interactive while still being unobtrusive and letting you feel immersed in the ship environment. Oh, and using the birthday cake scene to introduce the sawing mechanic? So when the player saws at Curly's leg, it's an incredibly powerful callback and the player already knows what they're supposed to do, defending the emotional punch from a "wait... which buttons am I supposed to press for this...?" moment? Brilliant.

Mouthwashing also has beautiful interplay between its gameplay elements and its storytelling. I think of Mouthwashing as "movie-like", because I feel like the pacing + tone + themes remind me very much of horror movies, but this story is meant to be a game. Think of the scene where Jimmy is basically telling Curly that he intends to destroy the ship. It starts with the player controlling Curly in first person POV. But right as Jimmy is talking about how Curly doesn't have agency in his own life ("You're standing at the top. Feet in cement. I get it now.") the camera escapes Curly's perspective and moves into a third person perspective, giving us our first look at pre-crash Captain Curly.

That was the last moment Curly had to avert the tragedy. He knew Jimmy had attacked Anya. Anya told Curly that Jimmy must be physically prevented from accessing the means to hurt the rest of the crew. Jimmy said it would be best if they all just died and then walked away saying "I'll take care of it" and Curly stood there watching him and did nothing. In chronological order, the next scene is the first time the player controls Jimmy. The agency and control, the status of "player character", has left Curly. He let himself become a character in Jimmy's story. And by the time he gets control again, it's already too late.

(Not that I think the game is actually presenting "player character" status as something that's true or real. Look how much Anya's internal life and deliberate choices shape the story, before and after the crash, even as Jimmy casts her as an annoying quest-giver NPC.)

I also really like how much playing through the little nightmare vignettes have the player recreate Curly and Jimmy's decisions. Like when Jimmy is forced to stare directly at the post-it note that's telling him to take responsibility (or whatever the exact words are), but he simply backs away from it. It's all about the way he finds mental and emotional loopholes to get away from what he's done, no matter how directly he's forced to confront it. What other medium could so intimately guide you through that metaphor, to express its internal logic so clearly without words? God, I love video games.

[theshiftingwitch]

hi i hope you’re well! i asked a couple others this question but i was curious about your input! :

i was wondering what you think about people saying loa is a scam? ive manifested things such as green eyes that people would comment on how they were changing and longer lashes. and much more other things. i thought since getting this proof i’d finally believe fully and be able to finally manifest more things i want. but im so frustrated i read someone saying how metaphysical stuff is all fake which obviously they’re allowed to have their opinion but im sensitive lol. also, im pretty sure the CIA did studies on metaphysical stuff and found evidence that it is legit but also it didn’t always work/show evidence. but also im pretty sure someone said decades ago how they’d give a large amount of money to anyone who shows proof of any metaphysical powers within a controlled environment. but no one has done it yet. i also have literally astral projected but a part of me is like oh it’s just my brain playing tricks on me. or like with shifting i always see flashing lights and feel being touched and hear things i scripted to hear once ive shifted. but i also heard that symptoms dont mean anything :/ i was curious if you had any advice please? sorry if this is a lot of word vomit lol! 🤍 thank you!!

Surprisingly, this isn't the first question I get about the law assumption being a scam. You can go on my blog and search other articles where I discussed this particular topic if you wanted to see my opinion.

I understand doubt. Even master manifesters who have shaped their entire realities according to their own will still have doubts and fear. That is part of the human experience. If we were meant to be fearless, all-knowing creatures we would not have come here to experience humanity as a whole. The fact that you have already manifested green eyes and people actually saw the difference in them and commented on them and you still doubt your own power is such a typical, expected experience that I have heard of many times.

You are sensitive to other people's opinions and point of views because you still don't believe in your own powers. Because let me tell you something, if you knew that you manifested your entire life, if you got your dream body, your dream hair, your dream person, your dream house, your dream job, and you got it all out of thin air only by the power of your imagination, you would not give one single fuck about what anyone else is saying, especially people who do not believe in the law. The only way to fix that sensitivity is to work on your own power. Keep manifesting. From small things like rainbow cars and red butterflies and black ice cream, to big things like people texting you out of thin air or being asked out by every guy or girl you see or being famous overnight. The only way to grow your power is to use your power. Think of it as a muscle. The longer it goes without being used, the more useless it will become.

As for shifting, feeling like you're being touched and hearing noises you scripted you would hear once you shift are not in fact symptoms. Symptoms are tingles across your body, flashing lights behind your closed eyelids, dizziness and feeling like you're falling... Feeling like you're being touched, hearing noises, smelling things... Those are all signs that you have shifted. It is what most people in the shifting community call a mini shift.

And now, let's address the whole CIA debacle. Most of the documents that we know today like the getaway experience, have been an experiment that ran in the 80s 90s or the early 2000s. And only were classified years if not decades later. So let me ask you this, if the CIA had actual genuine proof of manifestation, of the law of assumption, of shifting, of astral projecting, of us being the universe having a human experience and everything that that entails from powers that we know and don't know of, do you actually think they are going to let us common folk know about that power?

The power that be, the people that are leading the world, they want us to be subservient. They want us to be powerless. They want us to be stuck in a state of not owning up our own powers and not knowing what we can do. How else would they remain in power? So instead of giving all of your attention and time towards agencies and entities like the CIA and NASA and whatever else, turn that time and energy inward and focus on yourself because that is where your true power lies.

In a world where celebrity culture is so rampant, you have people like Jim Carrey and Ariana grande and so many others telling the public that they have manifested everything that they have now. Ariana grande manifested her dream role in wicked and Jim Carrey wrote himself a check for $1 million dollars and said that he was going to cash it one day through acting. And they both got exactly what they wanted. And yet we still think that it's just a trick, or a coincidence, or pure fucking luck.

At the end of the day, you'll have two choices. You either listen to everyone else's opinion and limit yourself to their limiting beliefs. Or you decide fuck it I'm going to try and I'm going to do whatever I want and I'm going to see where this experience takes me. Because what the fuck do you actually have to lose? In 10 years, you can be wherever you want to be and have manifested everything you want, or you can be 10 years older and wondering where you went wrong.

Happy manifesting ❤️

[nohoney]

♡ crumpled photographs of me ♡

notes: the first part to the teddy bear series! it stays somewhat in the canon universe of bnha, while hawks still works for the commission. i remember reading a lot of ‘secret relationship with hawks’ fics when i really started to like his character and of course want to add my own silly little contribution.

♪ Now I'm finding knives under the sheets / Crumbled photographs of me ♪

warnings: yandere hawks (more soft tho), reader is very distressed, somewhat dubcon-ish (nothing explicit) but it’s how the reader has to cope with her environment

words: 5.6k

synopsis:

All photographs of you.

Keigo sat on the couch when you walked further into the apartment, just nonchalantly taking pictures out of a photo album from your apartment and crumpling them first before throwing them aside.

“I want these to be filled with only us now, okay? I don’t like thinking that you had a life before me.”

There was a time that you were willing to pose in front of a camera and smile for a picture. You weren’t exactly always prepared for your picture to be taken but you at least knew how to angle your head in a flattering angle and give a little smile that made it seem like you were picture ready. Back then, you preferred your photos taken in private. A few photographer friends would ask to use you as a subject on occasion or on the rare moments that you decided that you needed to update your resume photo, most of your best pictures then were taken in a more controlled environment with someone to guide you.

For a while, you had a small appreciation for film cameras.

There was a nostalgia to getting the film developed and then seeing how the pictures came out with no preview aside from just trusting the lighting through the viewfinder and a little flash.

It was a silly little thing that you enjoyed with him at first, going through stacks of developed pictures and picking out the best ones and laughing at the worst ones. Even if you could never take photos out in the world like a regular couple, you still cherished being able to have this special privilege with the number two Pro Hero, whom the outside world would only know as Hawks but to you he was Keigo Takami. It felt special to be photographed by him and to be the only person in his camera roll.

You had started to feel much differently about that fact when you had decided to end the relationship.

Loving Keigo was a choice that you made, starting a relationship despite the risks that came with dating a Pro Hero was a choice that you made, and walking away from Keigo was the hardest choice you had to make when it proved too difficult to attempt to maintain a normal relationship with him. It was already hard enough with all of his duties that were expected of him on the daily and it was even more difficult trying to circumvent the commission that had trained and raised the beloved winged hero of the country. You wanted to believe that his wings would always shield you from the prying eyes of the outside world and it would block out anything that would come between you.

“We can try harder. I know this is tough on you but please, I want you by my side.” Keigo was gently pleading to you while you avoided his heartbroken gaze. “Don’t you know how crazy I’ll go without you?”

At the time, those words were just a phrase that you didn’t take very seriously.

Thirteen days after the break up, you didn’t think Keigo would be standing in front of you again but with the most eerie gaze you had never seen him sport before. He threw a folder onto the countertop of the kitchen with pictures sliding out easily. Pictures of you that he’d taken in intimate moments, pictures that you agreed to be the subject of when he had brought you to a sexed up high and thought it would just be good fun. “What are these?”

“My favorite pictures of you.”

His tone was so soft yet his gaze on you was so hard. You remember how he slowly looked over the photographs with an intensity that left you unsure what to do. Nudes and sex selfies of yourself had never made you self conscious during the relationship but you worried if this was meant to be some sort of blackmail. Keigo didn’t seem the type for revenge porn but the possibility of it still hurt you.

“You never pose for me anymore, dove. It makes me a little sad. I miss that part of our relationship.”

There was nothing playful or joyful about getting your picture taken anymore. Keigo had ruined that beyond repair. He frightened you into being scared of being photographed by him. Just because you weren’t willing to have your picture taken by him doesn’t mean that you were allowed to deny him however. The first few times you resisted, you were learning about Keigo’s true temper underneath all the easy-going breeziness that was instilled as a means of masking his true intentions.

If you had to take a few measly photos then you’d deal with it, it was just Keigo’s impeccable timing that made you reluctant to cooperate. It was often at times that you weren’t prepared mentally for the task because he insisted on candids. And when he takes a photo with you looking upset, Keigo in turn gets his feelings hurt that the pictures don’t come out like they used to. If you were going to make him happy, you had to gather the mental energy to do so.

Taking photos then and taking photos now was so different.

Thinking about this, your chest tightens and you feel an invisible pressure on you that’s weighed down on you since you were locked away in this luxury apartment.

You remember being escorted through the hallways to the front door of your prison, the men around you hired from the very people who had trained, raised, and invested in the beloved Pro Hero Hawks. It was an agreement that you had no choice but to agree to. It was of no issue to shackle down one quirkless girl to keep their invested project from going rogue.

Your job was simple enough: keep him happy.

Keep him happy and you will be cared for, none of your personal information would be ousted.

They threatened to make you a pariah with just a click of their fingers and all because Keigo didn’t know how to handle a breakup. If you had known that it was going to be the result of falling for Keigo Takami, you would have never looked his way in the first place. You wouldn’t have been lulled by his quick wit and humor, and you would have never unknowingly signed your life away to a Pro Hero that all of the country fawns over. Even though he is the other half of the relationship, the public would immediately take his side because he is someone important and you are not.

When you stepped into the luxury apartment, there were balled up pieces of trash that littered the floor. There was a crinkling that you could hear further down but you were reluctant to investigate at first. Your escorts provided no help, only having done their job and promptly shut the door to your prison. When you picked one piece up, you slowly unfurled it only to find it to be a photograph of yourself a few years ago. It was taken with a group of friends for a going away party for one of them. The next one was of you just lounging in a beach chair and then another was of you captured when you were mid-laugh.

All photographs of you.

Keigo sat on the couch when you walked further into the apartment, just nonchalantly taking pictures out of a photo album from your apartment and crumpling them first before throwing them aside.

“I want these to be filled with only us now, okay? I don’t like thinking that you had a life before me.”

You had a life before him, one that was fulfilling even if it did come with some painful parts. There were regrets and mistakes before but it was your life and you cherished it. Truly you had wanted to fit Keigo somewhere inside your life, tried to realign his piece where you thought it should fit but the two of you were from different worlds. He had an invisible hand hovering above him to tell him how to navigate his world both on the surface and underneath, and you had freedom.

You had freedom but it was dashed away the moment you decided to break things off with Keigo.

He took it away.

These words have rung throughout your mind ever since Keigo locked you into this prison. They weigh heavily on you as you stare out the floor to ceiling windows, looking out towards the other high rises and down to the concrete ground where the civilians, other heroes, and sidekicks walk with no clue that you wished you were among them. It repeats over and over as you scrub yourself underneath the shower spray and lather fancy soaps and shower oils into your skin.

Keigo had gone to his agency upset with you.

He had woken you up with the flash of his camera and it had disturbed you. All he had wanted was just a simple photo of you sleeping, that’s all. The only thing you had to do was just close your eyes and play the part but you turned away with a quiet plea to let you rest. Even with your eyes shut, you must have still looked stressed so you didn’t look the part of a peacefully sleeping girlfriend when Keigo tried to ready the camera for another photo.

The film camera was slammed down on Keigo’s side of the nightstand and he left home without another word.

When he used to take pictures of you sleeping back when you were happy, you’d rouse with a playful ‘fuck off’ but happily pose for Keigo. Now it just felt violating when he tried to recreate what you thought was innocent before. Even with all the disgust you have, it’s still expected of you to do as he wants.

Keigo still wants the relationship to continue on as if you’re not threatened by the safety commission to remain with him, to act like this is all your own will.

You managed to salvage photographs of your old life, it’s the only thing you can hold onto that reminds you that you had freedom and your own will to do things. They’re hidden in your own special place, a little area that you’re sure to never give away because Keigo would be mad that you held onto something of your life before him. Photos of you living your life before Keigo Takami ever came along.

The ruined lines of the pictures make you upset since they were so pristine before but it’s all you have.

Staring at the you in those pictures makes you jealous but then also with pity.

If only she’d known what was in her future. If only you could touch this photo and tell yourself in the past, “Do not fall for the Winged Hero Hawks.”

You can’t allow yourself to wallow though; Keigo will be home soon and you need to put him in a good mood.

So you tuck your old pictures away and go through your walk in closet. There’s a drawer of intimates that are specifically Keigo’s favorites. He appreciated all forms of lingerie on you but his favorites were sheer nighties with the matching colored thongs. So you pluck one out from a drawer and discard the silk robe to dress yourself instead. You build up the mental strength for when Keigo will come back home and you’ll need to do your part to make sure that he’s a happy man.

“Keigo! Ew, what if it comes out ugly! You have to tell me when you’re taking a picture of me!”

“Nonsense baby,” Keigo would chuckle and ready the camera again, “you always look perfect to me.”

You do miss the happy times with Keigo but you couldn’t recreate them anymore after everything that happened.

Inside the apartment you can hear Keigo having just come home so you take in a breath to steel yourself before presenting yourself to him. Taking the film camera on his side of the bed, you hold it in your hands as you walk out to greet Keigo. You try not to be scared when his eyes naturally look to you coming out from the hallway, his eyes drawing up and down before he sees the camera in your hands. “I’m home.” He announces as is the usual custom of any person returning from the outside.

“Welcome back Keigo,” you greet him and slowly pad your way over to him, “thank you for all your hard work today.”

Not that you know what his work always entails now that you know the hero commission is the one that handles many of the biggest cover ups and secrets that are supposed to serve the interest of society. The world of a hero was a much darker place than you had imagined it to be. It was more than just taking down bad guys in the streets and being a symbol of protection; there were dirty and bloody secrets kept at bay to keep the image of hero pristine.

You are one of them after all, a dirty secret to keep the number two hero happy and compliant to work under the commission.

“What’s all this?” Keigo asks with a touch of wariness but also an excitement that you’ve learned to recognize in your time together with him. He’s shrugging off his jacket after dispersing his feathers off and discarding his gloves as you approach, some of his feathers tickling your face as they float around you when you get close enough to him. “Lovebird?”

Keep your composure. Make him happy.

“I… I’m really sorry about this morning Kei. I was just in a bad mood and I took it out on you. Lemme make it up to you?” You ask in your sweetest voice. You reach one hand up to take off his glasses and headphones, setting them aside on the most nearby surface before brushing your hand through his feathery hair.

Waiting with bated breath, you wonder if he’ll be happy or if he’ll still be upset.

When he turns his face to kiss your palm, you’re relieved that it will go in a good direction.

“You really hurt my feelings this morning but I forgive you. You’re so lucky that I love you so much.” He forgives you, adoration shining in his eyes but you can see the twisted affection that’s mixed in as well. It does not sit well with you, it stirs uncomfortably in your stomach, but you can not fight him nor could you run away.

You agreed to this after all, to be his caged bird and let him believe that this life was the best for you.

Taking him by the wrist, you walk with him past the windows that overlook the city. The city that he protects, the city that you wished to be a part of again. You guide him to the bedroom where you’ve set up for what looks like a romantic date. There’s flower petals sprinkled onto the bed and candles lit, two wine glasses sit on a fancy wooden tray along with the wine bottle.

It almost looks like you’re on a honeymoon.

“Oh lovebird, all this for me? This is why you’re the sweetest.”

God, you wish you could just smash that glass over his head and run out the door. You wished there was some place you could hide and never be found. You wished that Keigo used to be his normal self before this.

You hand him his glass and clink yours against his, taking a sip to at least make you a bit more relaxed so that you could give him what he wants. “Easy baby, don’t drink too fast.” He reminds you after sipping and swirling the red in his glass. But you need to do this fast, get this over with so that you can rest as peacefully as you can.

“Sit on the bed for me, drink it slowly okay.”

Keigo sets down his glass on the wooden tray and readies the camera towards you. You had a friend that would take boudoir photo shoots, you’d attended with them before to watch them direct the model to look sultry and sensual. Thinking back on the memories, you can hear their guiding voice as you pose for the first photo.

The wine glass is emptied and your mind is fuzzy already, you’re grateful that you’re a lightweight. All you needed was just that first glass to get through the excruciating start. It makes it easier to do all this, tilting your head a certain way, posing your hand against your lips, lifting the sheer skirt of the mighty to tease with a flash of the pretty lace underneath. At one point your glass is refilled and you’re grateful that more alcohol will make it easier on your poor, stressed mind.

Photo after photo taken until Keigo is satisfied.

“Fuck baby, you turn me on so much. I’m glad we did this.”

Strangely enough, you’re turned on too but you believe that it’s the wine that makes your head swim with desire. Your drunk mind sees Keigo’s glass that he hasn’t bothered to pick back up and drink, mindlessly reaching and going for a third glass for the evening. There’s too much enthusiasm in how you attempt to polish off Keigo’s drink, a drop of the wine dripping down and then falling onto the sheer nightie. “Ah baby, slow down. You got some on you.” Keigo chastises you lightly.

Keigo takes away the glass along with the tray off the bed. Wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand, you lick off the traces of wine first before looking down and sighing down at the single drop of red wine. You lick at your thumb and see if you can rub the spot off even though you know that it needs to be treated with club soda first before giving it a wash.

“Baby, let’s get that off you alright? Can’t have you wearing this now.” Keigo’s hands are gentle as he slips the nightie off of you and a few feathers carry it to the laundry basket inside the walk-in closet. More feathers slowly separate from his wings but fall gently down on top of your body as you lie back. They tickle you and feel so soft as they land on top of your skin. With the wine in your system and your inhibitions lowered, you look exactly how he’s wanted you to when taking photos.

Soft and vulnerable, almost close to the person you used to be before you became a prisoner.

All that’s missing was the love in your eyes but he’ll settle for your stupid, drunk gaze at this moment.

“God, you drive me wild… you know that right? I thought about you all day,” Keigo mutters more to himself but you manage to catch his words, “I was so mad at first. I just want us to be happy but you’re so much more difficult these days. I do everything for you and I can’t believe how ungrateful you were!”

Your eyes watch as a feather takes position in his hand and recognize how it hardens to a sharpened edge. His feathers are soft but they can cut through stone like butter if he willed it. It’s held close to your neck and you instinctively cower from it. You’ve never seen his feathers do any harm and you wouldn’t like to know what it would feel like. “I’m sorry… I said I was sorry!” You start to sniffle, “Keigo, I’m sorry…”

His anger melts away and then suddenly he’s dropped himself on top of you with the feathers softly dropping by your head. His head nuzzles into the crook of your neck and he grips the bedsheets right by your head. This is what it’s like with Keigo now, to stand on your tiptoes around him and be ready for any mood swing he has. And he seems to only have two: either insanely lovesick or just resentfully in love with you.

You’re not comfortable with either but you know which one you would rather deal with.

When he barges into your personal space and nuzzles you with affection even when you don’t want to be touched, you’d prefer that over when he’s disappointed in you. That when he gives you the cold shoulder and he gazes at you with a lot of love and just as much disgust when you don’t act right, it’s more stressful to make up with him and make him happy with you again.

Because in the end that’s what you are there for.

It’s what the hero commission demanded of you.

Make Hawks happy and keep him happy.

So you hold Keigo close to you, your hand curling to the nape of his neck while the other rubs circles over his back. Your touch makes him melt and you hear a happy little sigh from him that it’s almost relieving to hear. When you feel his lips press to the pulse of your neck, you turn your head so that Keigo has more access to do as he pleases. The wine makes it easier for you to allow this to happen but it also makes you a bit more sensitive. He elicits sounds out of you that you aren’t sure yourself are acting from your end or genuine. Because Keigo has a talent for blurring the lines for you.

Underneath the fear you have for him, there’s still a bare string of love that hasn’t died. Love for him that he doesn’t deserve with what he’s done to you, but it remains even when you cry in your prison.

You tell yourself that relying on that last shred of affection of who Keigo used to be is what will be your survival tactic.

“Wanna kiss you, c’mon.” Keigo is capturing your lips before you have a chance to say anything. It’s not like you’d have the option to say no to him anyway. The wine in your bloodstream makes you a little lazy, just letting yourself receive his kisses rather than show equal enthusiasm. But your hands wander up his arms, touching his shoulders before sliding down to a zipper that lies at the back of his shirt.

This part is familiar to you as it is to him.

It’s an easy chore for him to move his feathers out the way when he either dresses or undresses himself. It’s what comes with having a quirk like his and it’s not something he’s had to think about at this point in his life. You pull the zipper down from the back and Keigo does the work of undressing the top half of his body, shrugging his arms out the sleeves before tossing the shirt aside. One hand presses into the space beside your head, the other hand taking yours right at his belt buckle. “Undo it for me.”

Your fingers are a little clumsy but you complete the task, pulling his belt from the loops and tossing it off the bed.

“This is yours, I’ve been waiting to give it to you.” Keigo mutters lowly as he smooths his hand over the print of where his cock lies. “Do you deserve it though? After making me mad this morning?”

You don’t want to be reminded of how upset he was nor do you want him to bring it up. You’re doing what you’re supposed to; being soft and compliant, wearing the clothes he wants, and just trying to avoid making him angry. The wine, the camera, and lingerie are all for his pleasure and none of yours.

“Is this… not enough?” you ask, your mind struggling to find the words at first, “You’re not happy that I did this?”

You’re given a gentle smile and he chuckles, like he thinks you’re being silly. His hand cups at your breast, the pad his thumb ghosting over your nipple and awes how it hardens under his touch. He says nothing to your question, he’s allowed to not answer your questions but you have to answer every one of his.

So when he asks, “You want me happy, right?”

You reply, “Yes, I want you to be happy.”

Keigo tells you, “Say you’re mine and that you love me.”

You have to repeat, “I’m yours and I love you.”

Keigo melts over your words and for now, it smothers the scary glint in his eyes that you’re too wary of. He’s sick on whatever his version of love is for you and you need to make him happy. The tip of your finger draws along the lace of the panties you still wear, catching his attention and a lustful groan breaches his lips. “‘M horny Kei… want you.” you mutter.

“Yeah? Can you show me? Go back to the pillows and show me, okay?”

You crawl towards the headboard where all the soft pillows lay. He doesn’t see how you’re blinking to get your bearings in order, flopping against the pillows and opening your legs for him. Pulling the panty to the side with one hand, you shudder as you drag a finger against your pussy and keep your eyes lowered rather than on him.

One finger teases into you as you hear Keigo unzip his pants, deciding to discard the rest of his clothes and he wraps his hand around his cock. He slowly strokes himself while his eyes are trained in between your legs.

Keigo watches as you finger yourself for him, drinking in all the whines that you yourself are unsure are for his entertainment or if you actually are enjoying yourself. Because it does feel good to finger yourself but it’s only being done since you had to make it up to him. There is no such thing anymore as Keigo apologizing to you for when you’re upset.

“Baby, you are such a pretty thing.” He mutters more to himself than to you. A feather floats into his hand and he crawls towards you. Just like before, the feather suddenly sharpens and you become scared. Your body seizes and you’re about to beg Keigo to not hurt you but he shushes you before anything is said.

He slices off the panty you were wearing, careful not to knick you and pulls the flimsy little thing off you easily.

You’re relieved when the feather softens and it drops gently to the top of the bed.

“Why were you scared?” Keigo asks, his tone of voice hard and his eyes narrowing at you.

Oh god, maybe you shouldn’t have drunk all that whine to relax you. You stutter over your words, speaking before your mind can actually produce a thought. “I thought you were gonna punish me…”

“Punish you?”

You nod your head dumbly, “‘Cause I made you mad today. You were right to be mad. I made you mad.”

A few tense seconds pass.

His hands are gentle as he rests them on your thighs, his touch reassuring and he coos over you. “You are such a good little bird. What did I do to deserve you?” He asks, pulling your hand towards his lips so he can suck the slick off your fingers.

You don’t deserve me. You took me away from my life.

“I um… don’t know. I’m just me.”

“And that’s all you have to be. You don’t have to think or do anything for yourself anymore. Just be you.” Keigo states for you. He moves to lie on his stomach, making himself comfortable as he starts to lick at your pussy with his hands resting on your lower belly. He does it gently, he’s always done it gently first before he gets more enthusiastic, working you up until you end up a whiny mess.

The sounds you make as he eats you out are real. They’re not made from an intention to lull him to a sense of calm; they are actually real. Keigo has always been genuine in wanting you to feel good, it’s where he puts most of his heart into. Everything else has changed but him wanting you to still enjoy sex has remained the same. He’s a giver in this sense but you can’t forget how much he’s taken from you.

“Oh god… oh fuck…” you whisper, one of your hands tangling in his hair and the other grasping his hand. Your hips shift in want, writhing and grinding onto him as you get closer and closer to that peak.

If only this were like before everything had changed. Before he locked you away with all your rights taken away. As giving as he was, even if you hadn’t planned to break up with him, would he have taken away your life eventually? Done it little by little until it was too late to notice?

If you could fight him, you would.

“Oh fuck, I need you right now. So badly, you want me too right?”

But you let him take from you in order to live another day. To keep your sanity in check, you pretend when he kisses you that it’s the old Keigo that used to make you feel safe. He brings you to that high even though your mind is swimming. Your head is in a daze and you’re drunk and dying for him to let you reach that peak of heaven.

He drags you by your hips to pull you closer to him. Keigo wants to be in missionary and your brain rattles a little inside your skull. You’re drunk, whining as you attempt to focus your gaze, feeling feathers on the bed and just wanting to rest now at this point. You haven’t done much but you never have much energy these days when your mind is so stressed out. “Keigo. Kei, ‘m dizzy…”

“It’s okay, I won’t be too rough then.”

He leans down to give you a little peck before readying himself before you. The tip pushes in and you groan, feeling how he shallowly thrusts into you, like he’s teasing and making you want it. You’re not sure if you do but you have to act like it for him. So you beg him in the way that he likes, your voice a little pitched and breathless, telling him that you’re aching to be full of him. Missed you, I missed you, I miss you.

“Okay dove, okay. I’m here, see? Feel me here?” Keigo punctates the last word, sharply pushing himself into you with a grunt. He’s sheathed fully inside and he’s absolutely lovesick all over again as he looks down at you. “You miss me?”

I miss the old you.

“Mm-hmm… don’t leave me. Stay here.” you beg of him.

Words you used to say to him before everything changed. When you and him would make love before and you knew that he had to go back to the outside, you’d beg him so much to stay another day with you. To leave all the work to his sidekicks and make another sex video or take nude photos to put away in a secret box. Your head replays old memories of before as Keigo fucks you slowly, the sensual way in how he moves his hips into you making your eyes roll to the back of your head and you realize that you’re not acting anymore in the moment. “I’m about to cum, I’m gonna cum!”

He’s brought you to heaven in this hell.

Keigo tells you to keep cumming for him, rocking harder into you, cursing how good you feel around him and praising you for being such a wonderful little thing for him.

Your mind goes blank, voice catching in your throat, and your toes curl.

And then he’s rough, fucking hard into your cunt to meet you where you’re at.

Even after everything, Keigo still is beautiful to you as he cums. His eyes get lidded, the sounds he makes have the butterflies fluttering in you, and you can pretend for just a few seconds that it used to be like before. He used to drop down next to you, breathless but happy, and you’d revel in the short time you had together with him before you had to return to the daily routine of maintaining the life you built.

But now all you have is time to do nothing and all you are is just a bird in a cage.

“I just want a comfortable life for you. I love you, you don’t have to do anything.”

He claims to love you.

That’s why he didn’t like it when you broke up with him, because he says he loves you. That’s why he had to get the commission involved, because he was too heartbroken to continue his hero duties and obsessed even harder over you. That’s why he wants to erase any life you had before him and just fill it with him only in the same way only you consume his thoughts.

Just Keigo.

The high of an intense orgasm has you gasping for breath, almost emotional as you hiccup and tears come to your eyes, and you don’t know where all these emotions are coming from. You try to stop crying because you’re scared Keigo will take it the wrong way. He needs to be happy, it’s why you put yourself through all that.

“Shh baby, it’s okay. You were so good.” Keigo hushes to you without coupling with his usual tender touches. You wipe at your tears, looking up at him just in time to see the camera poised in his hand.

Flash!

A few days later, you look at the photos that were taken of you from that night. Your stomach burns uncomfortably as you look at the pictures, unable to recognize the girl in them knowing fully well that it was you photographed. The very last was Keigo’s favorite, the one of you with tears on your face and looking… beautiful actually.

You look at the photo, admiring it briefly before you turn it over.

For a while the camera goes missing. Keigo finds it later hidden inside your drawer of underwear, but he decides to let it go. All the pictures he took were accounted for, which was what mattered more to him.

[dramaticl0vers]

HERE SHE ISS

SAY HI TO OLENNA AND HER HUBY

@amoexii here she is, I tried my best 😭,and also I changed her name from "Dhelia" to "Olenna"

Information about this beauty:

-In the beginning she I named her Dhelia, but in the end I decided that her name will be Olenna, which means "Ray of light or sun", for the reason that I will soon explain

- She is the eldest daughter of Hades and Persephone ( I love this couple a lot in the series, because in the original mythology it is...well, TURBIOUS)

-The reason for her name: Hades called her Olenna because living in the underworld, which is such a lonely and dark place, her birth symbolized the entry of a “ray of light” into his life and that of Persephone, which brought with it joy, love, union and the feeling of never feeling alone again.

-After her are her little brothers, Zagreus, Melinoe and Macaria (WHICH I DON'T KNOW WHY THE HELL THEY DIDN'T INCLUDE IN THE SERIES, LET'S HOPE SHE JUST HAS NOT BORN YET)

- She has blonde hair like her mother and eyes like her father, a kind of lilac combined with gray.

- Although in her physical appearance she is more related to Persephone, in her occupations as a deity you can see a mixture between both parents, mainly dominated by Hades, given that she is the goddess of peaceful death, protector of the living and the dead and guardian of the Elysian fields, but at the same time she is also the protective goddess of flora and fauna.

-A curious fact about her is that she had really fast growth, to give you an idea, she was already an adult millennia before the events of season 1 happened.

- She has powers, they are a kind of purple “fire”, and she can also make some plants bloom, but she doesn't like to use the first ones because when she was a child she tried to control them and, not being able to do so, she always hurt someone and that scared her a lot, especially when she once accidentally hit Persephone with they.

- The flowers related to her are: Forget-me-nots (her favorites), lilies, bells and white jasmines.

- As for her personality, she is quite reserved with people she doesn't know, but she is pleasant and fun when he gains confidence.

-she doesn't like to talk a lot. Olenna is afraid of ruining things with people outside her close circle, other deities, for example. Therefore, when she is in a social environment and her close ones are not around, she prefers to remain silent and express her opinion only when it seems necessary.

-She does not usually get angry easily, but she HATES it when those she loves are bothered, she has grown up in a home full of love and has a high emotional responsibility, she is willing to defend her family no matter what the cost, she learned that from her parents.

-Try to avoid Ares at all costs. (Why did they make him so bad? He is so good in the original mythology, he literally killed the person who raped his daughter, my baby😭)

-She doesn't like Demeter. She doesn't hate her, but she doesn't want to form close ties with her either.

-now, what you are all here for, OLENNA AND HERMES💕

- She knew Hermes, bah, she had seen him a few times from the balcony of her room in the Underworld. , leaving the souls with Charont, but never approached him, and then had the opportunity to meet him in person when he arrived at Olympus.

- Regarding their relationship:

- They both love each other in such a way that they feel empty when his partner is not there.

- Olenna, as I said before, has a great emotional responsibility, she hates seeing Hermes sad or downcast in any way and she feels truly fulfilled when she can feel that he feels loved.

- Demonstrations of affection are both sentimental, physical and material.

- Sometimes, when Olenna is in her garden taking care of her plants, or talking to Artemis and Athena, among others, he passes by her side using his speed skills and alone He places a kiss on her lips or cheek before continuing with his work, it always catches her off guard, but she loves that.

- They are quite passionate and fiery, you wouldn't want to share the same sector of rooms after they didn't see each other for a week because of their duties. .

- They both have long hair, which is why they both love to brush and comb each other's hair, especially Hermes.

- Neither of them really likes the idea of sharing their lover, Olenna is quite territorial when it comes to his loved ones and the idea of another deity having the pleasure of sharing the love of his life is not something he likes very much, to tell the truth. As for Hermes, he is more than satisfied with having his wife, he is not TOTALLY CLOSED to having a threesome, for example, but he prefers Olenna first.

- Hermes would definitely dedicate his career victories in the Olympics to her and Olenna would be like : “Honey, you know that if you wear sandals that give you speed it's technically cheating, right?” and he would respond like: “I didn't see any rules, darling.”

[nie7027]

Related to the all persona au I have that I have briefly mentioned before...

I've been thinking about my headcanon of how persona users become stronger/more powerful the longer they have had their powers and how that coupled with my headcanon about how the P1 and P2 casts are leagues more powerful than the neo persona casts (a single person from P1 or P2 would be able to take the the whole SEES or the Investigation or the Phantom Thieves on their own) because unlike the neo persona casts they received their powers directly from Philemon while the neo casts received it from the remnants of Philemon's power that Igor has means the P1 cast HAS to be introduced before the P2 casts in my all persona au.

Because the P1 cast being the ones to receive their powers first (and from Philemon) are the most powerful of them but they are also the ones who have been able to grow up accustomed to that power, to learn to control it as it develops and be aware of the huge responsability of it whereas the P2 cast didnt have that chance.

They are time bombs.

They have a huge amount of power they don't know how to control, they never got to learn how. Due to their circumstances they aren't even aware of the great power they have. They have no memories of that.

And if the memories ever return they would cause such an emotional overload that it would leave the person completely unstable. If only for a few minutes.

A few minutes too much considering the great amount of power they are unaware they have.

Decades of power they never learned to control accumulated along with mental unstability... That's an extremely dangerous combination

They are time bombs only someone from the P1 cast would be able to manage, not someone from P3/P4/P5 (maybe Minato/Minako but they are... you know.... Dead....speaking of Ryoji would also definitely be able to take them on but yeah he's unavailable too)

Even someone like the Real Tatsuya who actually got to grew up using his power isn't free of that because yeah he has decades of experience using his power but he also was trapped in a post apocalyptic dimension filled with shadows.

He's traumatized.

He lived for decades in a permanent high stress environment with next to no support (or none at all if he lost Katsuya at some point which is most likely the way im going) and accustomed to using his power without any constraint (there's only shadows around him, there's no need to care if he goes over the top and destroys everything in his path).

Upon returning to this side Tatsuya will be unaccustomed to living in a society, to having to restrain his power. And he will be in another highly stressing environment except completely different from what's he's used to because all will come from his head. His trauma.

He will hear a dog bark(having no heard anything but shadows for years) and he will go completely nuke over it in mere seconds launching super powerful attacks before he can even realize what hes doing. Just pure instinct and reflex he had to forge to survive the way he lived but that it's no longer useful to him here, back in the normal world.

He will need a therapist.

And Maki will be perfect for the job.

Not only is she a psychologist and a persona user who received her power directly from Philemon even before Tatsuya(so actually more powerful than him, if not one of the most powerful even in her own group) but she's also someone close to Tatsuya. Someone he knew and considered a friend.

Maki would know this and probably prepared for years for this (never losing hope that she would someday help the kids she couldn't help when she was younger).

She would appoint herself as Tatsuyas therapist the moment he steps back into our world, already applying all the psychology techniques she knows to help Tatsuya start processing his trauma way before Tatsuya or anyone else even realizes what she's doing.

It also fits nicely in my au because she's already also Akechis therapist which gives me an excuse to give them something in common, something that would help them get to know each other and bond over.

I imagine either Akechi or Tatsuyas exiting Maki's temporal office in the Shadows ops headquarters just as the other is arriving for their respective session and making small talk while Maki gets ready to receive the other.

Or them talking/complaining about the exercises Maki has ordered them to do and how much they frustrate them.

Just. I love when the au builds on its own

[redredribbon]

OKAY SO. Endgame, and all the choices that came before. I got positives and critiques. This is gonna get long. Spoilers all over the place, especially for end game.

Choice rundown:

Saved Treviso (my Rook's logic was Minrathous has a standing army and Antiva is much more at risk of everyone getting blighted, even if it means the Venatori grab power)

Romanced Harding

Punched the First Warden

Harding: embraced compassion

Taash: embraced Rivain

Bellara: freed the archive

Davrin: sent the griffons to Arlathan

Emmrich: resurrected Manfred, no lichdom

Lucanis: imprisoned Illario

Neve: shadowy protector

Inquisitor (I used my solas romance for this one, not my "canon" inquisitor): told to DUMP HIM

Endgame choices:

Chose Davrin to lead the 2nd team over Harding (I saw the writing on the wall. I turned to my roommate who had already finished and said "Is this an Ashley and Kaidan situation?" They would not answer so I knew. And romancing Harding? I would have had a breakdown watching her die.)

Chose Bellara to undo the wards

Everyone survived, all factions in tact, except for Davrin (and Assan 😭😭😭😭😭 WHY)

I talked Solas down with Mythal and my inquisitor. He went it alone.

I did get the "secret" after credits ending.

Overall, I do think this was a very solid entry into the DA canon. I guess I'll sort of break down my thoughts into categories.

Gameplay

Positives:

I loved the new approach to combat. I think it changed things up in a very satisfying way with a new system that wasn't difficult to learn and maximize.

I played a rogue and being able to seamlessly switch between bow and blades was stellar. LOVED that change. It was so fun and so easy to learn, I found it incredibly rewarding.

I really liked not having to control my companions beyond maximizing their abilities. I didn't feel any loss of the third party member of previous games.

I appreciated how much more fast paced and imminent the combat felt, and loved how much they explored new avenues with the kind of enemies and attacks they did. It felt much more dynamic and exciting.

Loved how much more interactive the environments felt. Adding more things to climb for or balance on, having to get more creative with reaching hidden things, it reminded me of why I loved the Descent so much.

LOVED the appearance mechanic for armor. While I do miss how intimately customizable things were in DAI, it was so nice to pick a fave armor appearance without having to sacrifice stats.

Speaking of stats, I like the departure from the old D&D system of stats. Focusing more on abilities and passives without how it's affected by stats made it easier to focus on the play instead of the build. I get why others might not be fans of that, but I really liked it.

I appreciate that environments felt more dynamic, too. I think limiting the space was a good choice over the semi-open world of DAI. It really allowed attention to detail. I love DAI, don't get me wrong, and the environments were gorgeous. I just think the smaller environments served this game's structure better than open world would have.

The game did an excellent job of giving you immersive reasons to return to other places that didn't have active quests. I liked that you got pulled back to Arlathan or Hossberg or the Necropolis not for minor fetch quests but for side quests that did feel important.

THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME PET THE PETS

Critiques:

It's not a major detriment, but I would have liked to be able to decorate the shared spaces of the Lighthouse more myself, especially amassing so many decorations I couldn't use. I liked the themes, but more of a mix of control there would have been nice.

This may be the fault of playing on super easy mode, but I 100%'d the Crossroads in Act 1, and got Mythal's cooperation in Act 1. After that, I basically did not have another reason to come back and skipped over it for the rest of the game. I wish more of it had been level-locked. Forcing the player to experience Solas's memories and regrets more over time would have added more flavor, and made the Crossroads more worthwhile to return to over time, instead of just get re-attacked by the same enemies in the same places. I also would have liked more memories to fill in more of the things left unaddressed in elven lore, which I'll expand on below.

Again minor, but I wish there were more casual wear option separate from the armor.

What is happening in the helmet department???

Companions

Positives:

I LOVED how much each one of the companions felt like whole, independent people. One of my favorite things about DA2 was how much the game did to convey that the companions had lives and friends and jobs/commitments outside of Hawke. It shines here too. It makes them so much more colorful and interesting!

Such a huge fan of the companions moving around the lighthouse to talk to each other. What a great way to get extra banter, and again just convey that they're connecting with each other outside of Rook.

Love the personalized rooms and spaces, and how they fill in as you progress their personal quests. It's so fun to get to see what changes and how they settle in.

There really wasn't a companion I wasn't compelled by. I have my favorites of course, but there's always been a couple companions in previous games I didn't jive with at all and just didn't really end up caring about much. That was not the case here.

I appreciate how natural most of their growth and personal quests felt over the course of the game. I liked that you were forced to progress their connections gradually, it kept them all really engaging the whole length of the game, rather than maxing one out and never having anything else to say again.

I'm not sure if this will be controversial, but I liked that some of your choices strained your relationships with the characters. That felt honest and natural.

Loved the side romances. Neve/Lucanis is very sweet. I didn't get to see Taash/Harding but I like the idea.

Critiques:

While I do think this improved from DAI, and did often feel more like giving advice than actually making the choice for them, I still didn't love how much I as the player figure into telling some of the companions who/how to be? Particularly thinking of Taash here, which I'll get more into in a minute. But pushing them to embrace Rivain or the Qun felt like a choice I was not qualified to make for them. It also felt like a clumsy vehicle for their identity struggle to me, it didn't quite 1-to-1 there with the gender struggle when this is a cultural choice. It worked better in other places, like I did like that you don't get a say in whether Illario lives, that felt right to not have Rook's input on.

So, Taash. Let me preface by saying I would defer to trans/nonbinary friends here on how successful or well-represented their journey was. I am not qualified to judge that. I very much like that it was included, and I want game developers to keep trying. It felt much more thoughtful than how Krem was handled. But it did still feel clunky to me, a little too formulaic and clinical in places, and I really, really wish they had come up with an in-universe term instead of "nonbinary"? I know that comes with its own pitfalls but it felt so out of place and took me out of the story a lot. Especially when you're including the Qunari culture in it, who define gender a little differently and a little more tied to role. The apology scene with Isabela felt even more cringey to me on top of things. Again, I appreciate they're including this and it was a big step up, so I'll take that

Really did not love the choice for Taash's mother to die. That felt like a deeply unsatisfying lack of resolution. I think it would have meant so much more if that quest was the catalyst for them to talk more openly. I don't think it was intentional but it felt like we resorted to killing off mom to free Taash up to be themself. I think it would have been more meaningful to show them starting to find understanding with each other.

Honestly... I know how this will sound, and believe me I'm not trying to simplify this down to "everyone was too nice," but I really felt like we needed more conflict that took more than one banter to solve between characters. I did not need it more grimdark, I actually like that it wasn't despite the themes. I like that everyone is more encouraging and finding a lot of hope. Just more tension or having to butt heads a little to find common ground would have meant more. There were some good moments of this here and there, especially early game! But as time went on, some of those differences seemed to resolve a little too easily, at least for me personally. Like Lucanis and Davrin back down from their conflict almost immediately. Harding goes a little overboard apologizing to Lucanis later for being pretty reasonably suspicious. I don't need another Fenris and Anders situation, but I think DAI had the best balance of the four with this, and I do miss it because some tension could really enhance character dynamic a lot.

I enjoyed the factions, but it did feel very weird to have the Crows presented as scrappy underdog freedom fighters when they're... assassins? They're fighting for the right to continue to be assassins? Yes the patriotism was genuine, and I loved the whole crew as characters, but the last 3 games have depicted them as cruel and dangerous, they've done a lot of awful stuff. This worked in Minrathous because it's a group fighting against established tyranny, but the Crows kind of are the established tyranny in Antiva (I know that's oversimplifying), so it's harder to buy them as equal. While I appreciate a new perspective, I couldn't shake the overall feeling of trying to paint this mafia crime family of killers as sympathetic in a way that I'm not sure I liked.

Small nitpick. I like that there was a side romance involving an NPC, but I do have to confess Emmrich/Strife fell flat for me. I just didn't really get any chemistry or build up, and it felt a little forced for me.

Lore

Positives:

Looooooved getting so deep into the elven lore at last. I am such a huge fan of the twist of the gods just being tyrannical mages. This is so juicy to me. What an interesting way to turn all we knew so far on its head.

Very much loved seeing the trickster side of Solas in full swing. I didn't trust him for a moment and for good reason, it turns out. But it really highlights what a mastermind he is and why he was such a legend.

Sooo cool to get more information on the Forgotten Ones, and have them start to be more than just codex whispers.

I really liked seeing new kinds of magic and magical abilities! It makes a lot of sense that countries more willing to embrace magic would have talents and abilities we've never seen, and it felt like a natural way to upgrade gameplay and still be true to the story. Same with having the environments more affected by magic and enchantment.

Honestly, incredibly amused how much this game makes Ferelden look like Our Weird Hyper-Catholic Cousins

LOVED the lore reveals in Solas's memories. I had correctly guessed some of it, and my roommate called that Solas was originally a spirit back in DAI times, but learning they were all originally spirits was so interesting. And using the titan blood to create bodies? I have questions we'll get to in a second but very intrigued by the idea. And that it created the blight! No wonder Solas is upset with himself!

Such a breath of fresh air to see some new cultures, customs, and approaches to the world. I love all the games and seeing all the different lands, but it's really nice to break out of the mold and see radically different attitudes and ideas serving as the foundations of new societies.

Critiques:

I feel like this is the area I was ultimately the most disappointed in, so apologies if this gets even longer.

I definitely understand the journey this game went on, having to rebuild from a scratched MMO and losing so many veteran developers. So I am grateful we have a game at all, and not only that, but a very enjoyable one.

It's hard to separate how much of a deep lore nerd I am from picturing this as a new player. I have way more of a lore recall than average (for me) for this game, and for me, that created some unsatisfying gaps, or things I wanted more explanation for. Top of the list: what happened to the other gods? I was assuming they were in other prisons, but then the reveal at the end that killing Elgar'nan would bring down the Veil implies everyone else is dead if the Veil was tied to their life forces. Did they die when their archdemons died? If so why? Did they just fade out over time? Seems weird! And it just felt really unsatisfying to know they just died off screen and now we'll never really have a chance to get their real stories and memories and perspectives. This is another place that having additional memories to unlock in Crossroads would have really enhanced things.

We got some reaction, but man I would really have liked to have more from the Dalish finding out their gods are monsters. More denial? More doubt? I think this could have been handled with codex entries, found letters and things, but it would have been nice

I would also really have loved any reaction at all from the Chantry. Don't get me wrong, I was absolutely thrilled to get away from it and hear from other religions and customs, but it feels very weird to have them be Sir Not Appearing in This Game, and not to have any voice at all to bridge the gap. Especially when the Black Divine and the Tevinter Chantry had been so built up as looming, foreboding figures in the south. I was looking forward to seeing the reality and it was just nonexistent.

I was looking forward to seeing how the breach and the events of DAI had affected the north, and what the fallout was as far as mages and acceptance or fear of magic. It was disappointing not to even get a point of comparison. I know magic is less restricted outside Ferelden and Orlais and the Free Marches, but I guess it would have been nice to just have more acknowledgement of the impact of that conflict up north. More comparisons to the demons hitting Minrathous at the beginning to what it was like when there were Fade tears, things like that? What even are circles like in Antiva, etc.?

That also extends to the party in some cases. I was surprised everyone was pretty accepting overall of Lucanis and Spite after some initial suspicion? But more than that, acceptance from the Crows? Even just overhearing some conversations asking Lucanis if he was going to try to separate from Spite or questioning him more? Don't misunderstand, I like him and Spite and am in favor of them being accepted, it just felt a little too easy?

The nonchalance around the eluvians and living in the Fade was also jarring. In DAI, entering the Fade bodily is cause for intense alarm and a lot of religious upheaval. Here it's more like "oh okay this is weird but I guess we live here now." Even the companions don't seem to have much of any reaction to it, when this is not a normal thing? Traveling by eluvian is unheard of and still largely secret from the population? It just felt so strange to have very little reaction to it overall.

While I love and accept the lore reveals, I have questions about the mechanics I felt went unanswered. How did the spirits know they could use lyrium to make bodies? Who figured that out? Who even figured out titan blood specifically had properties of magic? 

In the same vein, while I think it's an interesting explanation for the blight, I still feel sort of confused on red lyrium being corrupted titan blood but the blight also somehow resulting from the same process? So they're two separate substances? I'm confused about the nature of blight as a substance, I guess.

On the subject, I know they probably don't want to address it, but darkspawn springing fully formed out of blight pools is definitely a change from the brood mother method lol. Curious if that is just because Ghilan'nain is super powerful and can command the blight in unique ways whereas without the gods there's not enough power to do that? I dunno, just got some questions there lol.

Establishing that dwarves came after the titans were made tranquil raised some questions for me. If they didn't already exist, how were they created? Was the tranquilization a cause? Was it a last act of defiance? If all dwarves were originally like the Sha-Brytol, were dwarves almost like a titan immune response? Like white blood cells? And what made them erase the titans from the memories, at least in Orzammar? Was it out of shame for selling lyrium? Something else?

I felt like there were some lore contradictions I was also a little confused by. Previous lore had that Arlathan was sunk into the earth by Tevinter, and no one knew where it was precisely I thought? Hence my theory that it was the Black City, which I think may still be implied. But to see part of it still there and everyone acting like of course it's there felt weird. Couldn't the Dalish have explored it sooner? Like I'm totally fine with finding out maybe that was false or rumor or anything else, it just feels weird to have had the option to find some of this history sooner.

Smaller thing, but I did feel a little disappointed that DAI spent so much time canonizing different metals and fabrics and that all kind of disappeared here. I get that it was simpler to implement, and again, it didn't make any kind of gameplay difference. But I liked all the dynamics of the variety and that it even impacted the world with the types of mines you find.

I think that's all I can think of right now. Again, overall, really enjoyed it. Surpassed my expectations for sure. And gave me hope for future games, which I did not have going in.

[tinybirbwrites]

Losing Control (batfam/reader)

this was part of that one idea i talked about a while ago. it’s unfinished, but i thought i’d share it anyway. small warning for language and mild violence, also attempted sexual assault but it’s not very detailed and doesn’t get very far.

tried keeping reader genderneutral, not sure if i missed anything.

hope you enjoy reading!

____________

The first time it happened, I got angry during training. 

Sparring with anyone from the batfamily would rarely lead to a victorious outcome—they were too experienced, too talented, too ambitious. I didn't expect to win, but a tie would be nice. And yet, I always ended up on the ground, or trapped in someone's hold. I rarely landed a hit myself, and barely managed to dodge. 

It was frustrating, and more often than not, I found myself getting angry at the guys for never giving me a chance, but mostly at myself for being so weak.

But never had I blacked out like this before.

One moment I was on the ground, pressed down by Jason's weight, the next I was standing upright and staring down at him, his chest beneath my foot. He was frantically tapping my leg, and I realized that I was pressing down on his ribs hard enough to break them.

I immediately stumbled backwards and sat down, trying to recall what had happened, while Jason groaned and sat up. He didn't seem hurt, thankfully, just out of breath and surprised.

“Well,” he said, “that one was new.”

We didn't get to talk about what happened afterwards.

It was getting late and I was on my way home when it happened again. I remember being followed and touched by three tall guys, terrified to the point of being unable to move, to defend myself. 

Next thing I knew, all three men were on the ground, knocked out with broken noses, covered in strange bite marks and scratches. I called the police and went home, scared and confused.

_

The third time it happened, Damian was yelling at me because I had made a mistake. It was on patrol, and I usually stayed back so I wouldn't get in the way, but Dick had told me I should get involved more, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to learn anything new. But of course I had made a mistake, and Damian thought it necessary to burn it into my brain. 

I loved Damian, but I hated being yelled at. The anger came easily, and next time I opened my eyes, I was being held against the wall by Bruce himself. 

“Calm down,” he said. He was using the Batman Voice, sending chills down my spine and making me go limp immediately, scared of having made him angry, and scared of what I had done this time. Was Damian okay?

Luckily, Damian was unharmed, but he looked a bit pale and kept staring at me with wide eyes. 

I told Bruce about my blackouts that night, so he took me back to the cave to run some tests.

_

“The causes are high surges of adrenaline,” Bruce stated calmly, “In other words; anger, or strong fear.”

“So I'm the Hulk now?” I scoffed, but it just turned into an exhausted sigh. Bruce had taken some of my blood and insisted on doing the tests now instead of waiting until tomorrow. I was about ready to pass out.

“I want to see the effects up close in a safe environment. Only that way will I be able to tell what's happening to your body.” Bruce was already walking towards a platform with a big cell made out of see-through, bulletproof glass. 

“Can this wait until tomorrow? Please?” He stopped and looked back at me with a frown. “I know this is important, but I really need some sleep, and I don't even know if I can make it happen on command.”

He considered me for a long moment, making me squirm under his piercing gaze, before he finally nodded. “Go.”

_

“Damian?” I whispered, lightly knocking on his door. He had been sent away to bed early, leaving before I could apologize for what had happened. “Are you awake?”

The door unlocked, so I slowly opened it. Damian was already back on his bed, lying down with his back leaning against the headrest, arms crossed. He avoided my gaze, stubbornly staring at his feet instead.

I closed the door and leaned against it for a moment, unsure where I stood with him right now. Was he angry? Upset? Scared? 

“Damian,” I started cautiously, “I'm sorry. I don't know exactly what happened, but I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

“Wasn't scared,” he mumbled. 

I couldn't help but smile. “Okay. But it's alright to be scared, you know that, right?”

He just gave a grunt. 

“You also know I love you, yes? And that I'd never want to hurt you?”

He pulled his legs closer to his chest, turning his head away more. I could see his embarrassed pout before he could hide it. 

“Damian?” I pushed gently. He let out a breath through his nose and mumbled something incoherent.

I slowly sat down on his bed near his feet. “What did you say? I didn't catch that.”

“I said,” he sighed, talking louder and more clearly, but still not looking at me, “that it's me who keeps hurting you. I knew that, but I didn't really see how much I hurt you until earlier today.”

He looked at me then, eyes full of shame, “I do not understand how you can still care about me.”

I was taken aback by his genuine words, as I was so used to his harsh shell. He rarely showed any softness or openness to anyone, aside maybe from Richard. I lifted a hand to gently cup his cheek, and he leaned into my touch like a cat.

“You're complicated to get along with, I'll give you that,” I said, “But I can see your heart, Damian. And I want to keep it safe. I know you don't always mean what you say, and no matter how much some things hurt, I will always care about you.”

He frowned, giving a thoughtful hum. “So you're just going to take the beating?”

I sighed. “Well, I don't want to, but what am I supposed to do? Yell at you? Besides, you don't always want me getting all emotional like right now. If I don't want to lose you, I'll just have to roll with the punches and deal with it and not take it personally.”

Damian gave a huff, then started shuffling around and pulling at my arm until I was lying down with him, letting him curl up in my arms and press his face against my collarbone.

“I will… try… to be less… harsh,” he muttered into my shirt. “I... don't want to lose you, either.”

_

“High adrenaline surge caused by anger is the initial trigger. It seems a part of their brain falls asleep, but the rest stays active, controlled by an unknown force that has yet to be understood. Physical changes are getting more apparent the longer they stay in that state. Increased length and sharpness of teeth, especially the canines. Aggressive behavior, borderline animalistic. No usage of vocabulary, only hissing, growling and snarling. The skin on both hands and arms starts turning dark black after one minute, and after three, the same happens to the eye whites, gums and tongue. It’s like tar slowly seeping out from every pore, covering what’s underneath.”

Bruce's notes were highly concerning, to say the least. He had kept a close eye on me the whole week, until, inevitably, I got angry during training yet again. He put me inside the cell and observed for twenty minutes, before getting me to calm down.

‘Getting me to calm down’ meant he sent Dick to make cooing noises at me until he got close enough to give me a hug. Miraculously, it worked wonders.

_

“You guys want me to listen to ASMR the whole day? So I won't get angry anymore? You do know that's not how it works, right?”

Bruce had invented a device that could comfortably be worn on my person, monitoring my vitals and sending a distress signal to the closest member of the batfamily in case my adrenaline got to critical levels again. Meanwhile, the boys had apparently unanimously agreed on a strategy on how to keep me calm, meaning they had put together a playlist with ASMR and calming ambience videos for me to listen to whenever I could feel my blood pressure starting to rise. 

It was really sweet, but whether it was actually going to work was a whole nother question entirely. 

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Jason shrugged, then grimaced at his own words. “Fuck’s sake, I sound like Alfred.”

_

Dick and I were on an undercover mission. It was a small one, just for one night, in which we'd have to do our best to get some information out of Subject A, a thirty year old rich woman in a red dress and big red hat, and Subject B, the owner of a big company and the husband of Subject A. 

Both were insufferable, absolutely the worst. Dick was a natural at being charming and disarming, so he had no problems with talking to either subject, though I could tell by the way he would clench his jaw whenever he smiled that he was just as annoyed as I was.

Me, on the other hand, could not stand another minute in the same room as either of those two. So I told Dick I would be getting some fresh air.

And because I had the best luck in the world, some lonely rich guy followed me outside and kept talking to me, and kept creeping closer to me until he was fully in my personal bubble, completely unprompted. 

“Oh, you look cold,” he said, and because apparently he thought he had the right to touch me, wrapped an arm around my waist to press me closer to his side, “Maybe we should go back inside? Or maybe I could bring you home, hmm? You seem lonely, like me.”

Everything about this guy was creeping me out. He smelled so heavily of cologne that I wanted to gag, and he kept breathing into my face. 

“I would very much like to be alone, to be honest,” I pressed out between clenched teeth, already feeling the familiar pounding in my head. “I did not give you any permission to touch me like this, so please, kindly back off, sir—now.”

He was murmuring something about reading my body language and subtext and getting clear signals of sexual interest, but I could hardly even hear him anymore over the pounding in my ears, my vision already fading more and more into black, as my adrenaline started to rise. 

Then, suddenly, the man was being pulled away. Then I was being maneuvered to a more secluded part of the outside area, somewhere out of sight, and Dick was standing in front of me. He was holding me by the shoulders, gently squeezing and closely watching my eyes. 

He was saying something, but I couldn't hear him. I could feel my teeth sharpen, a growl rising from my throat, hands clenching and nails slowly growing into claws. 

I wanted to find that disgusting piece of shit and rip his eyes out. I wanted to cut off his prick and feed it to him until he would choke to death—

Then Dick was holding my face with both hands, leaning closer until our noses were almost touching. I could hear him now, gently shushing me like a parent would to calm their crying baby. His familiar scent surrounded me, filling my senses, calming me. I relaxed a little. My anger was not directed at Dick. I knew I was safe with him.

Then he let go of me to search his pockets, quickly pulling out his phone and putting his earbuds in my ears. A few seconds later, the sounds of rain droned out the rising violence in my mind, making the back of my head tingle and the hot anger boiling in my chest die down until my physical transformation went away as well.

I sagged against Dick's chest, feeling tired all of a sudden. I waited a little longer, relinquishing the feel of relief and calm washing over me, while Dick wrapped his arms around me to stroke one hand over my back, the other holding me closer to his chest by my neck. 

Eventually, I pulled the earbuds out and gave them back to him. I sighed, “I hate that I'm a ticking time bomb. You can't always be there to make sure I don't go off.”

“I don’t mind,” Dick said, helping me stand up. “That’s what family’s for, right? We got your back. With B’s device, there will always be someone there to help you out. If not, you can always call, no matter what time it is or where you are. If all else fails, you know what to do to help yourself.”

I let myself lean against him for a few moments longer, enjoying the comfort he brought, before straightening myself up with a sigh. “Thanks, Dick. I guess… let’s finish up here, huh?”

He grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

[aesethewitch]

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]

[chillybarba]

Broken Banjo

Chapter One: Shattered Threshold

Ao3 | Wattpad

Welcome to the Broken Banjo AU, where Stanford and Fiddleford end up trapped beyond the portal together.

>> 4.4k words

>> fiddleford & stanford // fiddleford x stanford

>> slow burn, alternate universe, pov ford pines, hurt/comfort, young stanford & young fiddleford, alternate portal incident, the nightmare realm, psychological trauma

“Fiddleford, are you alright?” Stanford’s voice was soft, albeit concerned, but Fiddleford still flinched and spun around, nearly whacking him across the head as he did. But Stanford was quick as he stepped back then sighed, “I suppose that answers my question, although without much of the underlying context… Are you still having concerns about the portal?”

“Am I still-” Fiddleford almost laughed, “Am I still having concerns about the portal? Course I’m still having concerns! Stanford, as groundbreaking as this all is, it’s… it could be dangerous!” 

Outside of the control room, the interdimensional portal whizzed loudly and shone brighter than the light of one thousand LED light bulbs. Stanford was staring at it, unfazed somehow, and it occurred to him then that Fiddleford would never understand it. More correctly – Fiddleford would never understand him. He may as well be considered “insane” as his partner had told him many times, and he accepted that. (Fiddleford was probably right.)

“All science is dangerous in the wrong hands, but we’re not those hands. We’re going to do so much good, don’t you see? This portal, this… this bridge between worlds, it’s going to change things for the better, revolutionize all we know! Who knows what sorts of things we’ll be able to learn from other dimensions!” Stanford placed a hand on Fiddleford’s shoulder and he felt him shrink beneath it, still tense, so Ford gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry so much, Fiddleford. Today’s the test run. Whatever happens here will be in a controlled environment with a test dummy.” 

Fiddleford looked up at Stanford, but his eyes ended up looking at his feet, and he took an audible breath. He wasn’t the bravest between the two of them, or really, between him and anybody. Although he was proud of his work, he was always afraid of the possibility that his technology would be destructive rather than useful. With his son in the world, that fear had become greater with time, and he was terrified of destroying this life. Stanford knew that, and he was always reassuring him, but sometimes it just wasn’t enough – and Stanford, again, knew that. He couldn’t blame him for it.

“We’re so close, Fiddleford… We’ve come this far – we can’t turn back now,” he whispered to him, squeezing his shoulder before letting go, “Come on.” He slipped out of the control room then, trying to leave Fiddleford to his thoughts in hopes that it would help. Stanford wasn’t ever really sure what anyone needed. Already he was bad enough at taking care of himself.

Stanford went to the back room to begin gathering up the test dummy they’d thrown together a few weeks ago, and Fiddleford joined him soon after. But he watched as his hands couldn’t quit their slight trembles as he worked on tying a rope around one of the dummy’s wrists, even as Fiddleford made sure to knot it twice, leaving no room for error. Stanford watched him closely, concerned still, but knowing it wasn’t the time to talk about it anymore. He tried to help though, assisting Fiddleford in wrapping the other end of the rope loosely around his wrist.

“Alright, I’ma ready now, Stanford. Dummy’s all tied up to go,” he visibly forced a smile at Stanford but it didn’t reach his eyes. Stanford made no comment and he didn’t return the gesture either.

“Thank you, Fiddleford. How about as soon as we’re done here, we can grab some dinner? That restaurant you like…” They both knew Stanford wasn’t good at being emotional or all that caring, but he tried, and that fact seemed to settle the shake of Fiddleford’s bones a bit. Stanford knew it to be true as his smile reached his eyes then and he nodded.

“Sure thing, I’d like that. Let’s have the all-ya-can-eat, I’m already starvin’!” Fiddleford relaxed further, and Stanford allowed himself to back off of him a bit as he laughed in return, nodding right along with him.

“Sounds good to me,” Stanford replied with a genuine smile.

Stanford then grabbed the test dummy’s other arm and they walked together out to the portal. It seemed to glow brighter somehow, as if taunting them, egging them on. Like it was hungry. But Stanford shook such a crazy idea from his mind as soon as it came. He took a deep breath to prepare and steeled himself, stepping to the edge of the yellow caution tape before the portal. Beside him, Fiddleford looked at him, exchanging a last glance which he met easily. 

“To science, hm?” Stanford gave a coy grin, far too excited, and it made Fiddleford chuckle.

“To science,” Fiddleford replied gently before he looked ahead. There was the sudden feeling of impending doom, but at that moment, everything began to happen too fast, much too fast.

Without either of them realizing, the rope had tangled just enough around Fiddleford’s arm to tether him to their test dummy. So, when he believed he was letting go, he was suddenly being swept away faster than he or Stanford could stop it. Arm first, Fiddleford was grabbed by the portal’s pull, and he cried out in fear. 

“STANFORD!” His scream rang throughout the laboratory. Stanford could feel its vibration in his feet, and he jumped, grabbing hold of the rope before it was too late – before Fiddleford was taken. 

“Fiddleford-! H-Hang on, I’m- I’ll…!” Stanford stammered, possibly for the first time in the past decade, as the rope burned and tore into his hands, the portal’s gravity much stronger than him. His whole body was dragged closer and closer as he tried to hold on, desperately and painfully so, but it slipped away from him. 

Fiddleford’s pleads were cut short and the silence made Stanford’s ears ring until it drowned out the sound of his pounding heartbeat. Maybe it was that it had instead gotten caught in his throat as he suddenly felt himself unable to catch even a single breath. He looked down to the ground beside him, where Fiddleford had just been, where they had just spoken, seconds ago. And then he looked behind to where they had a few minutes ago agreed to get dinner once this was all said and done. 

How quickly it was that things could change. 

The bitter taste of panic clawed at Stanford’s chest while his mind recounted what had just happened, turning through each moment like pages in a book, trying to make sense of it. As if a cruel joke, the portal grew louder in Fiddleford’s absence, something akin to mocking laughter. Teeth clenched, Stanford seemed to realize many things so suddenly, things that should have come to light much longer ago, before everything had spiraled out of control. How blind it was that he had been. How Fiddleford strayed further and further from him. How he had been utterly beguiled by Bill’s flattery. All of it caused his one true friend to be ripped right from his hands, torn away like a kite in the wind. And if Bill wanted to help, he would, but he wasn’t there. The most crucial moment, and he wasn’t there, as if he didn’t really care enough to help. Bill, he realized, made him lose one of the few things he still cared about.

Losing Fiddleford would be his biggest failure and regret yet, and in a flash, for the first time in months, Stanford could find himself caring less about the portal. He needed to get Fiddleford back and that was all that mattered then. Though, the portal was beginning to destabilize; he had to hurry, so he rushed into the control room. There he grabbed his and Fiddleford’s magnet guns, shoving them into a bag and throwing it over his shoulder. They hadn’t come up with much else in the form of handheld weapons so it would have to do.

A crashing came from the portal room, and then a great rumbling rocked the entire chamber. Stanford was running out of time. He grabbed whatever other supplies were easily accessible before rushing back to the room, nervous for the first time since he had begun the project. After everything, it finally was occurring to him that maybe Bill wasn’t the good guy. How did he really, truly, without fault know he could trust him? What if he’d been a fool that would now end up getting himself and his best friend killed? Stanford tried not to think about it, there was no time to be afraid. He gripped tightly onto the strap of his bag and jumped forwards without allowing himself another thought, right over the yellow tape on the ground, and was subsequently pulled into the interdimensional portal in mere seconds. But the journey felt like hours. 

Around Stanford was a flurry of lightning and stars and purplish-blue hues, and he could only guess that he was in some sort of rift or wormhole. His research into them was very limited given that he had never actually seen one before, only ever theorizing about them. The closest that he’d come to something like it was the bottomless pit and the current situation was much different than that one. Stanford’s theories were that going through a rift or wormhole would likely kill someone with a mortality such as his – that was, any mortal being, humans very much included. If not the traveling through in itself, it would be the lack of oxygen accompanied by it, yet he was breathing fine. In a way that one might consider tragic, he wished that he wasn’t. 

Swirls and flashes of colors swamped Stanford’s eyes and hurt his head, but he didn’t stop looking around, looking for some type of gap or tear in the rift that could free him. He stared in the direction which was ahead – the way he was heading – and squinted. A growing pinhole was at what he could only assume to be the end of the wormhole and he felt a wave of relief. (There was always the concern of being forever trapped in one he’d learned from his studies.) There was a sudden and strong force of gravity tugging on him again before he knew it, and he clutched tightly onto his bag, swept quite forcefully out of motion and into space. 

Stanford gasped a breath as he felt the wind get punched out of him – or replaced, in a stranger explanation of it. For a split second, his entire abdomen and throat ached, but the pain dissipated as quick as it came. Instead he felt a warmth grow, and it became like a bright light within him as soon as his eyes flickered upwards to see Fiddleford floating limp through the void. From where he was, Stanford couldn’t tell if he was dead or unconscious, but lord did he pray like he had never prayed before that it wasn’t the former. 

Securing the bag’s strap around his shoulder, he reached out his arms, making swimming-like motions through the stretching void. He propelled himself towards Fiddleford and collided with him, arms wrapping around him, holding on tight. Stanford reached around and pressed two fingers against the pulse point on his neck, sighing in relief to learn that he was merely knocked out, not dead.

“Fiddleford…” he whispered, even if no one would ever hear him again, “I am so sorry.” 

In Stanford’s arms, Fiddleford stirred a bit, and he could only assume it was the warmth that woke him. His eyes opened slowly, as if afraid to find out what would be there to see, but there was a visible relief that came over him (plus a hint of shock). Stanford felt his heart skip a beat as he saw it and he could only assume it was from a correction of his anxiety.

“S-Stanford-? How come you…” Fiddleford trailed off, then continued, softer, “You came after me?” Although his voice was quiet, Stanford could hear his surprise, and his own guilt increased more than tenfold. 

“I’d always come after you. I couldn’t…” he started before correcting himself, “I wouldn’t let you leave. Especially not after everything. You’re my friend, Fiddleford.” 

Fiddleford didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t get the chance to figure it out, because there came a not-so-distant sound. An awful, wretched sound; something akin to what one would imagine to be flesh being torn from muscle, then muscle being torn from bone. And then a gnawing, a crunching, and a shrill screaming. 

When it began, Stanford immediately held onto Fiddleford tighter and kicked his legs and flailed one arm, pushing them forward. He hid them behind some space rocks and let go of Fiddleford once he did, looking around for the source of the noise. It seemed that he wouldn’t be the one to discover it, though.

“Oh- Oh, God-!” Fiddleford gasped, unable to look away from what caught his eye, and Stanford followed his gaze to it. His stomach dropped as he saw it, and the nausea came seconds after: the sight of Bill Cipher, demented, almost unrecognizable. 

The one he considered his muse was there and feasting, his exoskeleton – if that was what you would call it – removed to reveal raw, twisted flesh. His eye opened like a mouth, revealing sharp and jagged teeth, devouring his meal in less than a minute. Bill’s body stitched itself up after he was finished, regrowing and regenerating each glowing yellow layer, and it was as fascinating as it was sickening. 

At first, Stanford believed they went unnoticed, but the way that Bill’s eye locked onto them so apace made him believe that he knew they were watching the entire time. He was horror-struck, but snuck a glance at Fiddleford who was struck frozen and as white as a ghost. 

“Well, well, well!” Bill’s voice rang cheerily, and Stanford could hear the underlying venom clearly for the first time since they had met. He realized at that moment that it had always been there, he merely had been too blind to see – Bill had blinded him. “Look what we’ve got here. My good pal Stanford and his cute little lab partner! I didn’t expect you to end up here so soon!” 

“Bill,” Stanford had gained his confidence, overtaken by anger and feelings of betrayal, “What is this place? This… You told me-!”

“Ah, ah! I told you everything from the start! Welcome to my dimension, Stanford… You’ve made it to the Nightmare Realm!” Bill’s hands raised above his head and he laughed, squinting a smile at the two. What he lacked in remorse, he made up for in malice, his tone dripping with it and sadistic glee, and Stanford felt a chill. The full reality of their situation hit him like a freight train—this wasn’t just some otherworldly adventure; this was a trap, meticulously crafted by the very being he had trusted.

Fiddleford’s breath hitched, snapping Stanford out of his thoughts. His friend was trembling, eyes wide with terror, the horror of Bill’s morbidity paralyzing him, and it was all his fault. Stanford instinctively moved closer, shielding Fiddleford with his body as if that would protect them from what he then knew to be the monstrosity taunting them.

“Oh, don’t look so glum, boys!” Bill went on, voice dripping with mock concern. “This is just a little taste of what’s in store! You didn’t think I’d let you go on and prance around my dimension without a proper welcome, did you?”

Stanford’s mind raced, searching for any possible escape, any way to twist the situation in their favor. But all he could think of was the twisted version of Bill floating before them, the terrified Fiddleford stuck shaking behind him, and the gnawing fear that there was no way out.

“You’re insane,” Stanford spat, trying to keep his voice steady, although his distress was palpable. “This isn’t what we agreed on, Bill! You lied to me! Pulled the wool right over my eyes!”

Bill’s uncontrolled laughter echoed through the nightmare-scape, harsh and grating. “Lied? Oh, Sixer, don’t be so dramatic. I merely omitted a few… details. But you should be thanking me! You wanted knowledge, didn’t you? You wanted to see the universe in all its glory? Understand all the things you couldn’t before? Well, here you are – front row seats to the grand show!”

“This isn’t some game, Bill!” Stanford’s voice wavered as he moved forward, covering Fiddleford further, his yelling fueled by pure hatred by that point, “You’ve taken it too far, the deal’s off!” 

Those words caused Bill’s eye to narrow with anger and his body doubled in size, towering over Stanford and Fiddleford, coloring a deep red. His voice dropped to an unsettling growl. “You don’t get to call the shots here, Sixer. I decide when the game’s over, and trust me, it’s just getting started. You can’t get rid of me!” 

Stanford’s heart pounded as Bill’s presence – quite literally – loomed larger, his shadow casting them into darkness, as if divine punishment. The world around them began to distort as the Nightmare Realm itself seemed to twist and groan with his fury. Stanford felt Fiddleford clutch at his arm, a desperate grip that brought him back to the moment, reminding him that escape was their only option.

“Fiddleford, we have to move – now!” Stanford urged, his voice barely a whisper. But before they could react, Bill’s energy crackled in the air and he pointed his finger at them, sending a shock of lightning that obliterated the asteroid they had intended on using for cover. Stanford shielded his eyes as chunks of rock and dust flew out in all directions and rendered them blind within its radius. 

Choking on each breath as he inhaled dust, trapped in the mess of the destroyed asteroid, Stanford kept down his panic and swam through the cloudedness, grabbing Fiddleford without a word as he went. He held him tight by the arm, not about to lose sight of him again, and dodged stray bolts of lightning that Bill sent their way. Stanford used the blindsight to his advantage, trying to keep them in the dust cloud as best he could, holding his breath for most of it. 

“You can run and you can hide all you’d like, but you know I’ll always find you, Fordsy!” Bill said, almost sing-song like. Stanford could feel his face become red – with anger or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure. He remained silent, though. 

They hid behind the dusty smokescreen until it became quiet enough, once Bill’s taunts had settled. He decided then to propel himself and Fiddleford as fast as he could out of the debris. Although Stanford knew silence wasn’t very good – especially during a fight with an insane demonic entity – he knew it was a “now or never” moment. If they waited too long, they’d never be able to slip away, so Stanford went and brought Fiddleford closer to himself, just in case. Again, he shielded him, as Bill was far less likely to kill him than he was to kill Fiddleford. 

Somehow, by the grace of someone, their escape was clean; Bill didn’t spot them. Stanford thanked whatever god had been listening to his agonizing prayers, but after everything, he was even less sure that he believed in the existence of one. They slipped away through spacious gasses and stray stars, off into a nearby asteroid belt, and Stanford scanned each one for an entrance to hide in for cover. Some were shiny with gems and minerals, and some were dark with obsidian and coal. 

But there was one, he noticed, that looked strange, and upon further examination, there was, in fact, a way into it. A purple glow emanated from a hole in the side and Stanford felt a glimmer of hope for the first time since they’d gotten trapped. It looked to be a cave or cavern, a place they could recover and think up a plan while hiding from Bill. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Fordsy!” Bill’s taunting voice echoed through, just as soon as Stanford thought that maybe he’d given up. His laughter again reverberated around them, bouncing off of the asteroids’ surfaces and making it impossible to tell where he was. But Stanford ignored his goading, knowing they had found their escape. The purple glow from the entrance to the hollow asteroid cast shadows onto their faces, making Fiddleford look even more haggard and terrified than he already was.

“We have to get inside,” Stanford whispered urgently, tugging Fiddleford toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what would be inside the glowing cavern, but he knew that staying exposed out there was a death sentence for at least one of them. Bill was playing with them, like a cat with a mouse, and Stanford had no intention of letting them become caught in his claws.

Together they crawled through the narrow opening, Fiddleford with some struggle as he continued to run on adrenaline alone, the glowing light surrounding them as they entered the alcove within the asteroid. There they discovered what exactly that purple glow was coming from: a campfire. Specifically, a campfire with various unfamiliar beings huddled around it. Stanford immediately put his guard up, but settled a bit as they noticed him and Fiddleford but made no move to do anything harmful towards them. They simply observed the pair for a moment before looking back to their fire, talking amongst themselves in a language Stanford couldn’t even begin to understand. But he took it as a sign that they weren’t unwelcome to join, so he made his way to the corner with Fiddleford struggling alongside him while on his hands and knees. 

Initially there was a great relief Stanford felt as they were finally in shelter and not alone, but that relief quickly evaporated as he noticed Fiddleford’s labored breathing and the way he winced with every little movement. Fiddleford had been running on sheer willpower, but now that they had a moment of relative safety, his condition was becoming impossible to ignore. Again, there was that pang of guilt deep in Stanford’s chest: How had he not noticed that Fiddleford was injured?

“Fiddleford, are you alright?” Stanford asked, voice hardly above a whisper as he then helped Fiddleford lower himself onto the cool ground. His skin was pale and clammy, stark contrast to the flickering purple that bathed them both. Fiddleford tried to nod, but his attempt at a reassuring smile came off as more of a grimace. The fact that he was still shying away from Stanford nearly broke him. 

“Jus’ a scratch,” Fiddleford murmured with a hint of a slur, the way he clutched his side counteracting his words. Stanford’s heart sank as he saw the dark stain spreading across Fiddleford’s shirt – blood, and a lot of it at that. He bit back the surge of panic rising in his throat. They didn’t have the time or the resources for this, but there was no way they could keep going. Stanford couldn’t let him suffer in silence by cause of him anymore. 

At that, Stanford glanced back at the group of aliens, his mind racing, trying to figure out what he could do to communicate with them. He had no idea if they were friendly and he was sure they didn’t understand his language, but they were the only chance Fiddleford had. The injury was too severe for Stanford to handle alone. Taking a deep breath, he decided to approach them, keeping his movements slow and non-threatening.

“Please,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady, “my friend is hurt. Can you help him?”

The aliens stopped their conversations and turned their attention to Stanford. Their eyes, some glowing with the same purple light as the fire did, regarded him with unreadable expressions. For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire and Fiddleford’s labored breathing. Stanford felt unsettled, unsure if he’d made the right choice, but what other choice did he really have in his situation? 

Any response or assistance that Stanford hoped to gain seemed to not be coming, and he felt torn up and raw inside. He stood there for a moment longer, hoping they would do something, anything, but it was a futile battle. So, he nodded at their lack of answer, and swallowed his tongue. As he was about to go back to Fiddleford and try to help with what he had, his body turned away, a weight was placed upon his shoulder. Stanford jolted and looked back to see one of the aliens, briefly afraid of what may happen to him, but when he looked down, he saw they held a fabric satchel out to him. His eyes shot up to meet theirs, which were calm and gentle, and then back down to the bag. Stanford took it with shaking hands. 

“...Thank you,” he managed to get out, any other words he wished to say caught within his throat. The alien only nodded at him and moved away, allowing Stanford to go and sit back down beside Fiddleford. Silence remained in the recess as he opened the bag, taking out what was inside: a small electronic device with the indentation of K127X carved into it, as well as a vial (which he could only assume was a medicinal agent), bandages and the like, and some rations of food and drink. 

The fabric satchel was untied carefully by him, and he laid it with the resources out on the ground very carefully as the aliens resumed their background chatter. Stanford picked up the vial, a liquid sloshing around inside with a similar consistency to that of water but was instead golden colored. It shimmered unnaturally but he removed the cork, looking over to Fiddleford who looked to be having trouble keeping conscious. He should have but, he wasted no time in bringing it to his lips and tilting it up, helping him to swallow it down. 

Fiddleford drank it all and the effects occurred faster than Stanford expected. His shallow breathing evened out and his slight twitches of pain stopped, hand slipping from holding his side, seemingly no longer in pain. But his face was etched with exhaustion still, and Stanford’s brows furrowed with another ache of sadness and guilt. It didn’t help that Fiddleford remained silent, even though he had helped him. Stanford didn’t say a word about it, though. He knew he deserved that silence. As long as Fiddleford wasn’t on the edge of death anymore, he was fine with anything. At least the ache in his heart was soothed a bit as Fiddleford felt comfortable enough to rest his head on his shoulder and relax. 

And while Fiddleford began to take the time to rest, Stanford decided to try to figure out some sort of plan to get them home safe – that was, as safe as humanly possible… he hoped.

Next Part >>

[chaoshoranghae]

Dreamies and curly hair

platonic

Gender neutral

Mark - 

learning progress together 

he absolutely loves your natural hair and would love to know how to take care of it 

he wants to be able to do, at least this for you 

def a long night together 

almost have to show it to him as a presentation 

visuals, step by steps

explaining if your hair needs more protein or moisturizer 

what each product does 

simple lazy day routines 

full wash day routines 

he loves it 

its a major part of who you are and he would love to be able to know about it and help you with it 

especially on days where its a low energy kind of day but you really need to wash it, dw he got your back 

would def say he's not as good at it but would try

def talks to johnny or his older hyungs about it, how interesting and different it is compared to what he knows

would write a song about curly hair or the process, atleast mentions of it 

you finally let him do the process by himself completely alone and later on posts pics "styled by my wonderful hairstylist bf" or "did yall know being an idol is a coverup for being a hairstylist"

he would be showing everyone your post about him 

Renjun - 

hes so into self care that he naturally might know a little about it 

especially when you have damaged hair and are trying to bring your curls back 

he is bringing out all the old chinese methods on hair recovery 

he loves your natural hair so much, will get a little pouty if you straighten it

the entire environment is so relaxing, candles lit, soft music running even him singing 

the vibes are immaculate 

once he knew how good he was at it, you will never touch your own hair again 

at this point its a routine, one of the things he looks forward to 

its intimate, just you and him, he might even give you some back massages, with being bent over doing your hair has it hurting 

or hes so in control you can completely relax and will read a book 

i would trust this guy with my hair 

Jeno 

a lesson learned together 

he's so used to his hair and the stylists doing his hair he never knew this much time, effort and money would go into your hair 

when ever he's shopping and sees a hair product he sends it to you immediately wondering if this would be good to try 

he's so optimistic about it 

he's the reason why you haven't gave up on your curls and permanently straighten it 

try out a new product and completely changed the way your hair looks for the worst 

but hes so motivated 

he relates what you hair needs to like working out and if you need more protein or to cut 

would totally make use of your wash/ style day and take a bunch of pictures 

consistent praises and compliments about how beautiful your hair is 

he wants to cater to his partner and absolutely make her love her hair 

Haechan 

he would bring a binder

step by step yk with his own visuals 

he would gamify it, like him getting good at it is his increasement of level or smth yk 

or he would “upgrade” and its a new hairstyle that he has mastered 

do not talk to him until he was good at it, he would be ready to practice until he had it down 

until you had to explain to him that wetting/washing  your hair everyday isn’t necessary 

he was so sad, you swear he was going to buy a mannequin head to practice on, locked away in your room

you guys go out? he brings up your hair to all of your friends about good and pretty it is, 1) to fish for compliments 2) because he wants you to hear compliments and feel better about your hair

bro is constantly touching it/[playing with it 

he absolutely loves it

always talking about his gfs hair 

he loves doing funky hairstyles for cosplaying or halloween 

hes like mark, telling everyone but he's so annoying about it 

the members have a jar for everytime he brings it up and has to put money in

like bro will not shut 

Jaemin 

bro would have princesscore hairstyle boards for you 

if you weren’t a princess before now you are 

i feel like he already learned before you because that was your hair type and he wanted to impress you or he's just naturally good at??? 

just like jeno he is so encouraging oh my gosh 

he always organizes your products in order 

if he sees your running low he’ll subtly see if you want a replacement or a new product and buy one for you 

he is so delicate with your hair oh my gosh 

no pulling, no tangles, no pain 

if you fallen asleep without braiding it or putting it up in a bonnet dw jaemins got you 

like leave it up to him

he knows your face shape and recommend hairstyles that fit your face shape and ones to avoid 

jaemin = personal stylist 

takes such perfect candids of you and your beautiful hair 

bro even writes little notes about how beautiful you look and how 

like the self hate you have on your hair from years of people telling you to straigten is gone 

bro will take the straightener so it won’t even come to mind 

Chenle 

he’s so 

at random just bulk of hair products coming to your place with no letter or sign 

will never admit that it was him though

a person really got to you about your hair recently and you've straighten it? he’ll do perm his hair so you guys can have “matching curls” 

like how dare you hate on something he loves 

he has absolutely no clue what any product does but he's seen your likes on ig and amazon lists

so he just buys them 

i think he's a little afraid to do it himself tbh 

so you have him do little by little yk 

first the brushing

which oh my gosh, hes just a tad bit rough with it tbh 

he compared your hair to daegals fur… 

which kinda threw you for a loop but realized he meant it in a weird compliment way as he absolutely adores daegal 

like he loves brushing her fur 

not one to trust with my hair though 

Jisung 

this poor boy 

hes allowed to watch and thats it 

like honestly i think the first couple of times he would be so amazed by how the whole process works that 

like he wouldn’t even suggest to help or learn he's just amazed 

but he does wanna help so he can help you out with the process, unlike the other ones who are completely allowed to take over

he's allowed simple processes like brushing hair or wetting it. 

teaching him prayer hands to apply products is a work in process 

he almost thinks of it as like a dance? 

once he learns the new world of curly hair he will be asking everyone about it and if they have curly hair 

he’s asking his hair stylists about it 

it’s a whole new world for him tbh like 

no matter how many times you explained your hair type and if what it needs he will ask again and again

he esp likes wash day where he gets to spend time with you as he helps alittle with your hair and you can ramble about life or he does

Who I would trust with my hair 

Jaemin 

Renjun

Haechan

Jeno

Chenle

Mark

Jisung

i could not decide who would get the binder it was between renjun/haechan/jeno

i tried enough to make them all different yk