#guess i just haven't been punished enough to quit it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allthelittlecreepycrawlies · 6 months ago

Note

Writing jam - Identity

Fae/yao nie Huaisang wants to paint with mortal memories. Meng can-not-forget-anything-ever Yao is willing to trade away some in exchange for money/medicine/something

He didn't actually have much hope of this working, but his throbbing ribs and left knee were a pointed reminder that nothing else he'd tried had worked either.

Holding the cheap, stolen brush tightly in both hands, he bowed to the pond that was the first source of still water he'd come across since leaving the city and sent out his desperate thoughts.

There was no clap of thunder or bright flash or rush of wind or... anything.

Disappointed despite himself, he straightened and opened his eyes-

-then stumbled back with a yelp when he found glowing pale green eyes staring back into his own from behind a white mask decorated in delicately intricate green and gold designs.

The owner of the eyes and masks laughed at his surprise, and she -He? Between the clothing and the type of mask, it was hard to tell- sounded surprisingly young for a creature with the reputation -he was going with he- he had.

The stranger was smaller than expected as well, almost identical to his own size.

"Well?" the stranger asked, folding his arms as he floated comfortably, almost lazily in the air. "Don't just stand there staring like a cow in a busy road. You're not a cow, you're a fox. So be a fox."

Right. He shook himself out of his shock and quickly started to bow again, but was caught with a hand under his arms.

"No need for that either, fox. Just tell me what you're here to trade for."

He swallowed hard. "This one is Meng Yao. My mother is Meng Shi, one of the workers in The Ornate Fan, a brothel in Yunping. My father is Jin Guangshan, head of the Jin Sect in Lanling."

"Ah. That one."

He raised his head, surprised by the tone of the stranger's voice. Even behind a mask, he could read the disdain there. "You know of my father, gongzi?"

It made sense, really. The supernatural creatures powerful enough to have higher thought would surely know and dislike the cultivators that hunted them. But there was just... something about the way the stranger had scoffed...

"He wants my services, but is too much of a greedy coward to pay for them himself. I haven't appeared to a Jin cultivator in years because most of them turned out to be sent by him."

Those entrancing eyes narrowed. "And what about you, fox? Did he send you as well?"

"In a manner of speaking," Meng Yao replied, not bothering to hide the bitterness he felt now that he knew they were on similar ground. "When my mother grew pregnant with me, he left her a token and a promise that she could call on him if it became necessary. She is too ill to make such a long journey from the brothel, so I did it for her."

"And got kicked out on your fluffy tail."

"Why do you keep- yes, my father had me quite literally thrown out after revealing the token had just been one of many fakes."

It was a long way down the stairs, he didn't say, but the way the stranger looked him over, he could tell it was apparent.

"Well, then. I guess the only question I have is which matters more: saving her or punishing him?"

"Saving her," he replied immediately. "I will find my own way of making him pay."

Green eyes crinkled in amusement. "Oh, I like you, fox. Very well."

The stranger held out a hand, but he hesitated, suddenly a bit self conscious about the poor quality of the brush he'd brought.

"The brush doesn't matter, only the other part."

Right. "What... sort of memories do I have to give you?"

"Whatever you're willing to part with, mostly. People who come for vengeance tend to give me almost all of the memories of the person they hate, but I really only need one."

So... one memory of his mother, plus some assorted others. That was a small price for what he was asking.

"Okay," he said, and handed over the brush.

The stranger took it, then lifted his chin with the fingertips of his other hand.

"Ooh," he breathed in delight. "Such vivid colors you have, fox. I'll be able to make something of very high quality out of you."

He probably should have been terrified by that, but instead the shiver that went up his spine was... not unpleasant.

The bristles of the brush touched his forehead, and his mind automatically brought up a memory of one of the many times he'd watched his mother do her hair and makeup before it was time for her to entertain. It was a mundane memory, but he'd always loved the meticulously elegant way she'd made all the big and small adjustments, slipping on her role like an opera performer.

It faded, first washing out like a painting that had been splashed with water, and then vanishing entirely.

He remembered the cultivational manuals she'd scrimped and saved to buy him, how they'd turned out to be fakes just like his father's promises. The lies written in them and all the hours he'd wasted studying and trying to emulate them faded, but not the awareness of their fraudulence.

It happened again, and then again, and he found it fascinating that the stranger seemed to pick and choose things with such care, leaving the lessons learned, even as he took what had taught them.

When Meng Yao opened his eyes again, he was lying on a soft patch of grass that had sprung up out of nowhere to cushion him, and the sun was just peeking over the trees.

He yawned and sat up to stretch, but before he could start wondering if maybe he'd only dreamed his encounter at dusk, a rolled up scroll floated in front of his face.

"Here's how it works," the stranger said. "You absolutely can't unroll it before you get home. When you arrive, then unroll it and tear off all four edges. Burn them to ash, then mix them into some wine. Hang the scroll over the head of your mother's bed and have her drink the wine. By the next morning, she'll be healthy again."

Those eyes bored into him from behind the mask. "Do. Not. Open it before you get home. Got all that?"

Voice sticking in his throat, he nodded, and the scroll fell into his hands. Clutching it so tightly he was almost afraid he'd crinkle it, he got to his feet and turned to go...

Then stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"Do... you ever make visits besides to make deals? Like if a-niang and I were to go lakeside this summer?"

The stranger blinked at him in surprise, evidently caught off guard by the insinuated offer, then laughed. "I haven't before, but perhaps I could. Run home first, fox."

And so he did.

#mdzs #sangyao #sangyao week #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #fanfic #catching up from yesterday

12 notes · View notes

karahalloway · 2 years ago

Text

Sleepless in New York: Chapter 10 - Darkfall

Series: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Synopsis: What if Drake met Harper on the first night of Prince Christian’s New York bachelor party? A stand-alone AU written from Drake's POV.

Masterlist: Sleepless in New York

Chapter Summary: Drake tries to navigate a rough night...

Word Count: 5,300

Rating/Warnings: E (swearing, angst, obsessive-compulsive exercise, sexual fantasy, masturbation)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Sorry this took soooo long to get out! As per usual, real life has been exceptionally busy, so I haven't had as much time to write as I'd like to.

A/N2: This is also my slightly belated submission for World Whiskey Day, hosted by @drake-walker-appreciation, and the prompt that this fits with (more or less) is 'The whiskey burns my throat like her absence burns my soul.'

A/N3: I just realised that this kinda (maybe?) qualifies for the @springfeverpitch event that was on this week (Apologies! There are a lot of events on at the moment!) In any case, this would count as domestic x home run I guess 😅

Chapter 10 - Darkfall

I kick the covers off with an irate growl.

Un-fuckin'-believable...

After the shitshow of a day I've had, I should be running on fumes.

And I am.

Yet for some reason, I’m not able to nod off. Despite the fact that I've been on the go since 6am and have barely gotten any shut-eye the night before.

Because my body’s apparently a sucker for punishment and doesn’t seem to know when to quit. And even though I know I desperately need the recharge, I also know that staying in bed’s gonna achieve nothing 'cept hypertension.

So, swinging my legs out onto the carpet with a tight-set jaw, I reach for my phone.

02:18

I run a heavy hand through my hair.

The hell am I gonna do for the next six hours?

My eyes land almost unwittingly on the ragged shirt-tail peeking over the edge of the trash can.

I rip my gaze away with gritted teeth.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

It’a bad enough that I walked out on Gale without so much as a half-assed explanation. I ain’t gonna compound my dick-like behaviour by showing up at her door in the middle of the night, demanding to pick up where we left off.

Especially not after everything I've already subjected her to today — getting her fired, burning her in front of her friends, pulling her into a fight, dragging her on a forced route march 'cross town, and then literally ripping the shirt off her back. And, if that isn’t bad enough, I topped off her night by dumping the proverbial clutch on her when I should've been taking her for the ride of her life.

I swallow painfully. No. That ship had definitely sailed...

Which means it’s high time to take my own fuckin' advice and get her — and this entire mess of a day — out of my head.

No excuses.

And since the overpriced mini bar had let me down, I’m down to my only alternative — running myself into the ground.

Pushing myself up with a resigned exhale, I trudge over to my duffle. Reaching in, I extract the exercise shorts and t-shirt that always forms part of my go-bag, no matter where I went. Because you never know when you’re gonna need to blow off some steam. And going for a run’s a damn sight healthier than disappearing down the neck of a bottle. Even if the latter’s a helluva lot more convenient.

Throwing the clothes on, along with some socks and my well-worn trainers, I turn back to the bedside table to grab my phone and gun...

...and catch sight of the shirt again.

Motherfucker.

Jamming the phone and the Sig into my pockets — it always pays be prepared then be left holding your dick when shit inevitably hits the fan — I march over to the bin and yank the accursed thing out.

Scrunching it up, I turn on my heel, and stomp out of the room, snatching the keycard up on the way. Wrenching the door open, I let it bang shut behind me as I head down the corridor.

I cannot catch one goddamn break tonight...

Reaching the lifts, I briefly contemplate calling one. But given that I’m already wound tighter than a two-dollar watch, I know I won’t be able to stand the wait, no matter how brief.

So, I divert instead to the fire exit. Pulling the heavy door open, I throw myself into a jog and take the stairs upwards two at a time.

I guess I could've just as easily gone downstairs. But I don’t trust myself not to wind up at Gale's brownstone again if I hit the streets. Which means that the only place I can conceivably go is to the top-floor gym.

Which — all things considered — is probably the better bet anyway. Because going for a jog in the dead of night around the City That Never Sleeps is a risk not worth taking. And even though Central Park’s less than a block away, it’s not actually an option, given that (a) it’s shut overnight, and (b) it isn’t the best lit, and I don’t particularly feel like getting jumped by a knife wielding yahoo, or twisting an ankle on an uneven path.

Plus, I'd have to be a monumental idiot to even think about leaving Chris unattended again. Not that I expect to him go anywhere at this hour — except maybe all the way with Hayley. But I’m not about to make the same mistake twice in one day.

Christ knows I paid for it hard the first time 'round...

I feel my legs start to burn as I continue to climb relentlessly. But knowing that this is exactly what I need if I’m to have any hope of catching some zzz's tonight, I ignore the discomfort and push myself on.

Arriving on the 25th floor, I pause on the landing to catch my breath. But the short burst of exercise has merely thrown me a second wind. I still have a long way to go if I want to waste myself completely.

So, moving over to the stairwell door, I pull it open and step into the gym. Given the lateness of the hour, there's not a soul in sight, and it's just me and the view.

But there’s one thing I need to take care of first.

Locating the changing rooms, I head inside. And before I can think too much on it, or change my mind, I stride over to the dirty towel hamper and chuck the ruined shirt in...

...and dump a few towels on top of it for good measure.

Dead and buried.

Spinning quickly around, I exit the way I'd come, focusing my attention on the row of TechnoGym treadmills that face out onto the distantly twinkling lights of Harlem in the north, and not on how twisted my guts feel all of a sudden.

Picking a machine, I pull my phone and sidearm out of my pockets and place them onto the console so they won’t bang against my thighs as I ran, but still remained within reach in case I need them.

Taking a deep breath, I step resolutely onto the belt and hit go on a program at random.

The pace starts off sedately, barely faster than a speed walk. Reaching up to the console, I tap the speed up impatiently, not wanting to waste time on a warm-up I don’t need and most definitely don’t want.

I’n here to burn rubber.

The motor kicks into a higher gear, but it's not enough. Even though I’m now at a steady jog, my heart rate's barely above resting and I've yet to break a sweat. Not to mention the fact that my mind’s still fixating on the very thing I need to flush out of my system.

Gale, legs spread and head thrown back, moaning my name...

Raising my hand with a growl, I slap the panel again... and again... and again... until the belt is a blur beneath my feet and I'm pelting it like a demented bat outta hell.

The sudden speed forces my body into overdrive. My chest expands, my focus narrows, and my blood begins to pump in earnest, trying to supply my body with oxygen faster than it was being consumed.

I fall into a breakneck rhythm, limbs pumping to the rapid beat of my breath in a desperate effort to stay on the treadmill.

In... In... In... In... Out... Out... Out... Out...

The minutes and the miles tick past on the screen in front of me, but I barely register the stats. I'm too busy chasing oblivion...

...which remains stubbornly out of reach.

Because even as I push myself to the limit and my lungs start to burn and my muscles start to cramp, I can't escape her. She's still there, hazel-green eyes dancing on the edge of my awareness, the honey scent of her hair tickling my senses like smoke on the breeze.

And even as my vision begins to swim and the relentless pace pushes me to the verge of puking, I don't let myself ease up. Because that would be an admission of defeat and I’m not the type to quite that easy.

Not when there’s so much on the line.

Because beyond the fact that I let myself become consumed by a girl I barely know — an unhealthy and unsustainable hang-up that I need to nip in the bud, pronto — my continued preoccupation also ended up endangering Chris' life tonight.

And that’s inexcusable.

Not only is the guy the heir to a fuckin' throne, but he is my best — and arguably only — friend. And I let him down, both personally and professionally, by allowing myself to get distracted, just because a pretty set of legs had walked by.

And while I somehow managed to salvaged my colossal fuck-up, and we all walked away tonight without any casualties, I probably won’t m be able to pull a miracle like that out of my ass every time.

Nor should I expect to.

Especially not during the social season, when Chris is going to be constantly in the spotlight, shaking hands, being interviewed, always in an exposed setting. All it would take is one moment of distraction, one second of lost focus, for someone to pull a gun, to slip through the crowd, for our worlds to come crashing down.

And I’m not gonna let Chris — my brother — down like that.

I can’t.

So, doubling down, I dig deep and continue to pound the vestiges of my frustrations, my failings, and my regret relentlessly into the treadmill, the hard and fast staccato of my feet against the machine echoing around the otherwise empty space.

I have no clue how long I run for. Minutes? Hours? It makes no difference. Every wheeze feels like my last, every exertion a desperate attempt to break free of the purgatory of mistakes I trapped myself in.

And still I push on. Until I hit the proverbial wall and collapse against it, my vision blurry, my limbs shaking, my clothes drenched.

I stand there for what feels like eternity, feet straddling either side of the machine, the belt still whizzing at breakneck speed beneath me while I cling to the console like a life-line, trying to catch my breath.

And eventually my heart-rate slows, the buzzing in my ears clears, and I regain enough coherence to lift a hand and slap the treadmill off.

Pushing myself up to a standing position as the machine whirls to a stop, I wipe the sweat from my eyes and glance at the screen in front of me.

10 miles. 56 minutes.

I scoff wryly. Well, fuck me if that ain’t a new personal best... Who knew that self-pity could be such a potent motivator...?

Exiting the menus, I grab my stuff and move to step off the machine... only to very narrowly avoid face planting into the floor.

Oh, shit...!

Grabbing the console, I shake my head to try and clear the sudden nausea.

Christ, I feel awful...

My eyes land on the water fountain and I lurch towards it like a drunk out of a bar. Because that’s exactly how I feel like — sluggish, light-headed and stumbling around like a newborn calf. Which is no surprise considering I've just run the best part of half a marathon as if the Devil himself had been after me, having consuming nothing but two bottles of beer beforehand.

Apparently I do hate myself.

Managing to make it to the far wall without any incident — just — I lean over the dispenser to inhale the cool stream of water, nearly making myself choke in the process.

But I know I need to rehydrate myself, otherwise I’m gonna be in a world of pain in a few hours' time. So, after overcoming the initial shock to my system, I force myself to loosen up on the pace and start taking longer and slower gulps.

Having finally satisfied my body's cravings, I let go of the dispenser button to run the back of a trembling hand over my water-soaked mouth.

Sweet Jesus, I’m a mess...

I can’t remember the last time I pushed myself this hard on a workout.

But then I've never felt this way before... Like I’m an idiot, like I missed the pass, like I’m stuck in a maze with no way out.

And even though the hard run had managed to clear my mind, that latent feeling of... something is still there, writhing just beneath the surface, like an unscratchable itch under my skin.

And maybe it'll never go fully away. But I’m not about to give up without putting in a damn good fight.

Pushing myself up, I turn towards the pool. And even though I haven’t brought any swim trunks with me, my feet are already pulling me towards the siren call of the water.

Because if there’s one thing that’a guaranteed to set me right, it’s a full-body dunk.

Arriving at the side of the pool, I peel my sweat-soaked clothes off, leaving only my boxers on for the sake of modesty in case someone happens to walk in.

Taking a breath, I step out over the edge and plunge straight in.

The sting of salt hits my nose — not the same flavour as the Med, but then no pool’s ever gonna compete with that — as the water envelopes me and I let myself sink below the surface.

I hit the bottom and the echoey silence settles like a blanket around me, soothing my senses, taming my pulse.

I've always loved the water. Even before I could walk, I'd make a butt-shuffling beeline towards the end of the beach where the waves crashed onto the shore, unveiling a treasure trove of crabs, seashells and shiny rocks.

Of course, Mom'd been terrified that I'd get swept out to sea, or drown. So, to appease her fear, Dad had started taking me to swim lessons — first at the local therapy pool, but graduating quickly to the higher classes in the lap pool as I learnt to float, hold my breath, and leap off the diving board, all by the age of three.

From there my obsession only grew. I joined the school swim team, the water polo team, and even got certified as a lifeguard over the course of one summer. In short, I spent almost as much time in the water as out of it.

And then Chris introduced me to sailing.

At first I couldn't see the appeal of drifting around the Med on a sofa-sized boat when you could be swimming in it. But I've never been able to say 'no' to my best friend, so when he insisted I join him for a spin around the marina in his new Wayfarer one evening, I'd begrudgingly said yes. And had become instantly hooked. The speed, the technical precision, the feeling of flying over the water — it was all addictive.

Jack Sparrow'd had it right when he'd said that a ship is not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails. Because even though those things are integral to the make-up of any craft, what a ship — or yacht, or catamaran, or any other vessel — really is, is freedom.

And for a restless 14 year-old, there was nothing more attractive than ditching the world to hang out with your buddy in the middle of the ocean, free of worries or adult supervision, just enjoying the endless view while you fished and talked about nothing in particular.

Of course, being teenagers, we were bound to get ourselves into deep water — quite literally. Which is how we ended up deciding that it'd be a great idea to take out a much larger sloop one evening... only to end up paying for that mistake when a storm decided to roll in out of the blue, catching us off guard and capsizing our craft.

And while that particular misadventure had ended up turning Chris off sailing once and for all, it had made me even more determined to get back out onto the water and obtain my ICC license. Which I did, the following summer.

And even though I no longer have Chris to share my maritime adventures with, my love of sailing — and of being out on the water — never diminished.

Because the sea is — and always has been — my personal haven.

Feeling my lungs start to itch from the lack of oxygen, I reluctantly open my eyes and kick back up to the surface.

But I don't feel like returning to dry land just yet.

So, drawing a quick breath, I stretch myself out and dip into an easy freestyle. Half-a-dozen strokes and I reach the edge of the pool. Diving down, I flip myself around to kick off the wall, resurfacing into a backstroke.

I repeat the pattern for about ten laps, enjoying the rare sense of peace that comes with gliding weightlessly through the water, strokes moving effortlessly in time with my breath.

Eventually, though, I’m forced to call it quits as my body finally runs out of steam and my rhythm starts to falter.

Grabbing onto the edge of the pool, I pause to catch my breath, arms and shoulders tingling from the exertion...

...and I suddenly realise that I'm starving.

Which, all things considered, is hardly surprising. The last time I had anything to eat was at that Midtown stake-house at dinner-time, which was over eight hours ago. And since then I've probably burnt through 800 calories' worth of pure stress, not to mention all the physical exertion I've put myself through. So, my blood sugar levels are shot.

Pulling myself out of the water, I pad over to the other side of the pool to collect my gear.

I briefly contemplate having a shower, but quickly ditch the idea on the basis that (a) I hadn't brought a change of clothes with me, and (b) I can’t trust myself not to go rooting for the ruined shirt that I ditched in the changing rooms earlier.

So, brushing off the worst of the water, I head straight for the lifts.

I’m not expecting to cross paths with anyone at whatever time in the morning it is. And if I do... well, they can suck it up. It's not like I’m walkin' around buck-ass naked.

Arriving back on our booked-out floor, I make my way to my room. Fishing the keycard out of the pocket of my shorts, I let myself in and flick the door closed behind me.

Dropping my exercise kit by my duffle, I locate the 24-hour room service menu and do a quick scan of the options.

A couple of items jump out at me, but knowing that I'll probably have breakfast with the guys in a few hours' time, I don’t want to have anything too heavy.

But then my eyes land on the cheeseburger, and before I can think twice about it, I've reached for the hotel phone and I'm putting the order through.

And even though I tell myself that it's because I never got to finish the one back at the dive bar two nights ago, I know that I'm lying to myself...

...so, I add a bottle of whiskey to the order for good measure.

Because I don’t want to blow up all my hard work by falling back into the same emotional sink hole that I only very narrowly managed to drag myself out of just now. So, I need something to distract myself.

Hanging up, I quickly sort my sweaty clothes out and stow them in the duffle before making my way into the bathroom to have another shower.

Once done, I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt (not bothering with socks or underwear) and flick the wall-mounted TV on to find something to pass the time with while I wait for the food to show up.

Not seeing any movies or series that particularly interest me, I eventually settle on a rerun of an old Pats game...

...but I find my mind wandering.

And it doesn't take long for my treacherous sub-conscious to dig up the very images that have been stalking me all night.

Gale, up in my face out on the club balcony, testing my limits and my sanity with that sassy smile of hers...

Gale, head thrown back and ass pressed up against me as we move to the techno-beat on the crowded dance-floor...

Gale, legs wrapped around me as her nails rake over my skin, fighting to get my shirt off as my tongue invades her mouth...

I groan despite myself, shifting uncontrollably on top of the covers...

...and realise that I've already lost the battle.

Shit.

My eyes land ruefully on the tell-tale tent pole straining the front of my pants.

I huff out a tight exhale.

If there'd been one thing I wanted to avoid tonight, it’s this...

Because I know that as soon as I dip a toe in that particular Rubicon, I’m screwed. And not in a good way.

Because when you've been continuously pushed to the edge, only to be yanked back each and every time from the precipice of release, a plain ol' wank just isn’t gonna do it.

Sure, jacking one out relieved the immediacy of the pent up need. But it’s never gonna hold a candle to the real thing. In part because it’s over in minutes and in part because cumming into your own hand feels about as satisfying as throwing yourself a one-man pity party.

Because sex is a team sport. And trying to run a solo play — when you know what the real thing feels like — is always gonna fall short of expectations. Because when you’re on your own, there’s no one to share the thrill with. To kiss, to tease, to fuck to the limit before letting go so you can finally implode into each other.

Which is why I'd tried my damnedest to exhaust myself so I wouldn't find myself in this situation. At least not until we were back in Cordonia, and I could avail myself of some options...

...'cept now I don’t have a choice.

Not unless I want to greet the bell hop with a raging hard-on...

Because unfortunately for me, my dick has apparently decided that it'd had enough of being baited, and is now gonna bend me over the barrel to get what it wants.

Regardless of the fact that it’s gonna be a massive let-down for both of us.

So, even as I try to shift my focus back to the Pats game — and sideline my ever-growing erection — all I manage to achieve is an even more persistent itch in my pants.

Because despite my resistance, we both know that thanks to the missed opportunity with Gale, chances are good that I’m not gonna find anything resembling decent satisfaction until after the Masquerade Ball.

As even though we'll be arriving back to a Palace teeming with all manner of women — from maids to staff to nobles — that doesn’t mean I’m gonna be casting a net. In fact, just the opposite. I’m not the type to shit where I eat (it causes too much unnecessary mess) and I learnt my lesson about fucking aristos the hard way.

Which means that unless I’m planning to shell out for a call girl — hell'd have to freeze over first — a self-administered hand-job is gonna have to tide me over until there’s a big enough gap in my schedule that I can get away from the Palace for a couple of hours and find some stress relief.

I heave a low breath. Fuck my fuckin' life...

But knowing that I've backed myself into a corner, I reach resignedly for my belt. Unhooking the buckle, I fling it to the side to expose the top button of my jeans. Snapping the fastening open with one hand, I yank the zip down with the other.

The denim falls away and my dick springs free of its confines, its rigid length snapping to attention like an overeager hound that has just caught a scent.

And even though this particular outing isn’t gonna end in the long, hard run we both know we need, that doesn't stop the damn thing from drooling like a mutt in anticipation.

Setting my jaw, I shove my jeans down over my hips, half-heartedly wishing I had some lube or something to try and improve this runaway train-wreck as I reach south...

...and groan out loud as my hand wraps around the warm shaft.

Goddamn...

I’m apparently more deprived than I realised. Though, I guess that shouldn't come as a massive surprise. Especially after the near constant edging that Gale subjected me to tonight, combined with the fact that it's been a good two weeks since the last time I managed to eke out time for a fuck. And that had been mediocre at best.

As if to emphasise the point, my dick bucks against palm, and it's clear that I have a lot of mitigating to do.

Sliding my fist firmly down, then back up again, I set about stoking up a rhythm. And even though it's nothing different to what I've done hundreds of times before, something about the familiar friction sparks an instant fire in my veins.

Maybe it's 'cause I’m exhausted... Maybe it's 'cause my mind’s a mess... Maybe it's 'cause I've gone cold turkey for too long...

But whatever it is, it’s sending me into a tailspin.

I feel my head tip back against the headboard with a low moan as I'm pulled rapidly under by the throes of my self-gratification.

And as my eyes shudder closed in the face of the rising tension, I give myself up to the darkest depths of my desire...

...and in a blink of an eye, I’m back in that cramped apartment, gazing up at Gale from between her legs, the imminence of her climax written on her face, the slickness of her arousal coating my mouth and tongue.

I groan into her as she grips my hair, urging me on with her increasingly desperate pleas, her body quivering above me as she careers towards the edge...

...and I’m suddenly possessed by an all-consuming urge to have her.

Shooting to my feet, with her legs still wrapped around my shoulders, I send her sprawling back over the top of the kitchen counter.

Because I know that we don’t have much time, and if I’m gonna make this happen, we need to do it hard and fast.

And I’m not gonna let myself disappoint her again.

Grabbing her by the waist, I yank her towards me. Her hazel-green eyes widen in shock as her ass dips over the edge of the counter. But my grip on her is unshakeable and she's not going anywhere.

Not yet anyway.

Not until I've fucked her six ways 'til Sunday, and even then I probably won’t let her leave.

Because this girl sets me on fire like nobody else, and I need her to burn with me.

Bending down to give her decadent folds one more self-indulgent lick, I steady her with one hand while I rip my belt and jeans open with the other, not able to take my eyes off her as she writhed before me.

"Drake...!"

The sound of my name slipping off her lips like a fervent prayer unleashes something feral inside of me. Something I didn't even know existed in the dark recesses of my soul. Something that instantly swallows whatever vestiges of rational thought I have left, leaving only one, single-minded purpose:

To make her mine.

And in some corner of my brain I know I should be terrified. Of this rabid hunger that she's unwittingly awakened within me. Of the fact that I can’t control it... and don’t want to.

But I'm already past the point of no return. And I can’t give a rat's ass.

Because the only thing I care about is fulfilling that unspoken obsecration of hers until she’s ruined for all other men.

Shoving my jeans and boxers down with a growl, I grab her hips and ram myself into her in one, brutal motion.

Her wet heat engulfs me, taking me fully, causing my eyes to roll back into my head as I revel in the sheer euphoria of her, her deep-throated cry of agreement rising up around me.

Christ, she feels amazing!

And if the mere act of being inside her doesn’t already feel like pure rapture, she then decides to up the ante even further.

"Fuck me, Drake," she demands, arching her lower back forward.

A guttural sound rattles my throat as she rolls her hips against me, cranking up the torsion as she pulls me in even deeper.

And I could've lost it then and there.

But somehow — whether through sheer force of will, or by the grace of God — I manage to tamp down the rapidly rising swell in order to heed her command.

Because this isn’t about me. This is about her. And I’m gonna make damn sure that she gets what she wants before I let myself cum inside her.

Even if it kills me.

Opening my eyes, I meet her hazel-green gaze with an affirmative smirk. "Yes, ma'am."

She wraps her legs around me expectantly...

...and I slam us together roughly, loudly, unapologetically.

She gasps beneath me, hands flying to the edge of the counter to grip it like an anchor in a storm, her entire body reverberating with the impact of our collisions.

But I don't stop. I can't. I pound into her like a man possessed... because I am. All semblance of logic, of reason, of God-given sense has evaporated and I devolve into the basest version of myself, one that is driven purely by lust and instinct.

And even though I know I won't be able to hold out, that I'll cave in the face of her rhapsodic screams and the almost painful pressure she’s putting on my dick, I'm powerless to pull the e-brake. If anything, it makes me rev the throttle even harder.

Because she just feels too damn good, and I've been at her mercy from the start.

Lifting my head, I lock eyes with her. And in those lust-blown, hazel-green depths, I see more than just need... more than just passion.

I see complete faith.

And it undoes me.

I explode into her with a ragged, animalistic cry, my body jerking with the force of my deliverance.

"Holy... fuck!"

The long-coveted wave of release crashes over me, wiping away my thoughts and my vision, and I'd be convinced that I passed out were it not for the high-pitched ringing in my ears and the thundering of my heart.

A few more pumps, a shuddered breath as the last swell rises, and I’m left drained, floating.

I stay there, motionless, revelling in that all-too brief moment of calm before the chaos of the world spins back up around me.

Sweet Jesus, that w—

Her warm lips brush against my sweat-streaked forehead, her honey-camomile scent drifting over me like a drunken haze...

I move to lean into her. "Harp—"

...but she's already gone.

The story continues in Chapter 11 - Cold Light of Day

Permatags

@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14 @kingliam2019 @petiteboheme @angelasscribbles @aussiegurl1234 @nestledonthaveone @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @tessa-liam @alyshak92 @secretaryunpaid @princessleac1 @walkerdrakewalker @tinkie1973 @twinkle-320 @knaussal @nikkis1983 @lunaseasblog @ficloverevie @indiana-jr @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kristinamae093 @eversoaringqueen12 @peonierose @3pawandme @alexabeta @veebug8 @fangirling12566 @queenmiarys @lancelotsimp @coco-lina-s @lolablackwrites @ivyflowers13 @persephone13 @hollygirl1269 @adri-ja-96 @harleybeaumont @katedrakeohd @uneravine @choicesficwriterscreations

Sleepless in New York only

@bebepac

Picture Credits

Insomnia - Dawn - New York - Run - Swim - Drake - Pool

#drake walker #sleepless in new york #world whiskey day #drake walker appreciation #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #drake x mc #harper gale #the royal romance #trr au fanfic

51 notes · View notes

apocalypticavolition · 7 months ago

Text

Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 3: News from the Plain

Another day, another chapter, another generic image because we're off the visual map! Come one, come all, get your Wheel of Time impressions here. Unless you don't want spoilers. Then bloody stay away.

This chapter has a Wheel icon because... Moiraine talks about the weaving of the Wheel a lot, I guess.

Someday, perhaps, he could bring himself to ask her what she knew. An Aes Sedai must know more of it than he did. But this was not the time. There never seemed to be a time.

Perrin, you've had like four months, plus the month you spent with her in Fal Dara. You are never going to ask her anything at this rate.

“An accident,” she said in a flat voice, then shook her head and vanished back inside the hut. The door banged shut a little loudly.

I suspect Moiraine thinks that this was a deliberate act to try and fuck up her meeting to punish her for not having a plan beyond "Wait". And since the temper tantrum is about that, she's not exactly wrong, just assigning more motivation to Rand than is fully there.

“If something goes wrong with it, it isn’t my fault. Rand spilled half of it on the fire with his. . . . What right does he have to bounce us around like sacks of grain?”

Trust me Min, when Rand wants to be bouncing you around like a sack of grain, you will be enthusiastically consenting.

“Min, maybe you had better go. First thing in the morning. I have some silver I can let you have, and I’m sure Moiraine would give you enough to take passage with a merchant’s train out of Ghealdan. You could be back in Baerlon before you know it.”

Perrin doesn't quite seem to understand that Min is going to inevitably see horrible shit no matter where she goes, short of becoming a hermit. It is a kind offer though.

“Just because fate has chosen something for you instead of you choosing it for yourself doesn’t mean it has to be bad. Even if it’s something you are sure you would never have chosen in a hundred years. ‘Better ten days of love than years of regretting,’ ” she quoted.

It's a little funny that Min has a deep understanding of the existentialism necessary to function in her present times but has absolutely nothing to do with Rand coming to understand it himself.

He thought he had said that too softly for her to hear, but the look she gave him was full of sympathy. And agreement.

Min probably knows that even when Perrin goes home it won't be home anymore. Perhaps she even sees his parents' grave at this point. Maybe even his sisters', though perhaps they haven't been retconned into existence by the Pattern yet.

Careless. He had grown so used to the Shienarans knowing how well he could see—in daylight at least; they did not know about the night—that he was beginning to slip about other things. Carelessness might kill me yet.

Yeah, you definitely don't want to confide about your awful extrasensory perception to Min. She wouldn't know anything about that and hates anyone with magical talents they shouldn't have. She'd totally turn Perrin into the Whitecloaks if she knew he was a freak.

Min sounded so troubled that Perrin was surprised for a moment. Then he nodded to himself. She did not really like doing what she did, but it was a part of her; she thought she knew how it worked, or some of it, at least. If she was wrong, it would almost be like finding out she did not know how to use her own hands.

See what I mean? They have absolutely nothing in common. I can only assume that there was a glitch in the Pattern this winter and that all the friendship that Perrin should be feeling towards Min got assigned to Mat accidentally instead (see book 14).

Perrin made an involuntary sound in his throat. Light, did I sound like that? I won’t let a death matter that little to me. As if he had spoken aloud, Moiraine looked at him.

It's rather funny to see early!Perrin on the other side of the "I understand your emotions better than you're trying to let on to me" exchange.

Perrin shifted—the Horn was where no Hunter on Almoth Plain would find it; where he hoped no Hunter ever would find it—and she gave him a cool look before continuing.

Seriously, Perrin apparently learned one hell of a lesson from Moiraine. And it's good to see the Hunters of the Horn aren't all total idiots. They should have arrived ages back.

“Or the first part of it. The Children have announced that their purpose is to bring peace, which is not unusual for them. What is unusual is that while they are trying to force the Taraboners and the Domani back across their respective borders, they have not moved in any force against those who have declared for the Dragon.”

Lan suspects this is a Whitecloak plot, but it's probably Carridin trying to thread the needles of his orders. By always letting Dragonsworn get away, he can seem to both being trying to kill them and not.

“One died by poison, two by the knife. Each in circumstances where no one should have been able to come close unseen, but that is how it happened.” She peered into the flames. “All three young men were taller than most, and had light-colored eyes. Light eyes are uncommon on Almoth Plain, but I think it is very unlucky right now to be a tall young man with light eyes there.”

These are the victims of Grey Men presumably deployed by the Forsaken who actively hate Rand, or perhaps Moghedien who is vaguely in the area. Striking unseen is very much her MO. Again though, the Dark One doesn't want Rand dead so it's not the official plan.

“So nothing has changed,” Perrin said glumly. “Not really. We cannot go down to the plain, and the Dark One wants us dead.” “Everything changes,” Moiraine said calmly, “and the Pattern takes it all in. We must ride on the Pattern, not on the changes of a moment.”

Moiraine, I've given Perrin a lot of shit so far this book so now it's your turn. He's accurately summarized the situation as it stands: your current plans aren't changing. You're just muttering a bunch of nonsense to seem mystical.

Since it is not possible to set two kinds of warding at once, I leave the scouts and the guards—and Lan—to defend us, and use the one warding that may do some good.

I don't recall if this comes up again. If not, I bet that one of the things the bright new minds of the Fourth Age will come up with is creating new ward weaves that are effectively combos while still obeying the one weave rule. Though obviously they won't be worrying about Shadowspawn at that point.

He had a hut to himself, a small thing of logs barely tall enough to stand in, the chinks filled with dried mud. A rough bed, padded with pine boughs beneath a blanket, took up nearly half of it. Whoever had unsaddled his horse had also propped his bow just inside the door.

Where Rand and Mat are equal parts panicked and embarrassed over being treated like nobility, Perrin is not really good enough with people to even find it worthy of comment that for some reason he gets his own hut. He probably just assumes he should for the same reason that Loial and Min probably do, even though there'd be different reasons for each.

Ah well, we can only hope that at some point, perhaps ten to sixty years after Tarmon Gaidon, Perrin will be just a wee bit better at social cues.

Next time: A dream sequence!

#let's read #wheel of time #wot #robert jordan #wheel of time spoilers #wot spoilers #perrin aybara #moiraine damodred #min farshaw #lan al'mandragoran #rand al'thor #uno nomesta #loial

4 notes · View notes

cocogrrrl · 1 year ago

Text

rendezvous

Chapter 1: Tale of Two—The Black Stones

an introduction to one of our two leads, yn.

wc: 716 no cws kindly read the things to note about this series first here in the masterlist if you haven't yet!

an: the first two chapters are pretty rough but it gets better i think

To Opial, for being my best beta reader and sudden motivation. To Cadence and Muffy, for putting up with my shenanigans. This is by no means a sort of masterpiece at all, but you three know how much this means to me. <3

You lived, breathed, and wanted him. He’s everything you were sure you hated, and yet, here he is, lying in your bed. Fuck, were you rethinking your life choices.

Whoops! We started a tad bit too deep in the story. Let’s start off with introductions first, alright? It’s the more formal thing to do anyway.

“So, I was totally, like, ‘Fuck off. I’m going to castrate you if you come two steps closer to me.’ Cool, right?” You said to your best friends—Bebe Stevens and Red McArthur, absolutely wasted. You were recounting the events of the other day, a regular Tuesday.

Okay, not quite the most formal introduction, but yes. This is you, YN LN.

“So let me get this straight,” Red stopped you. “You were mugging this guy, and then he seemed like he was about to jump you, so you pulled a knife out and threatened to castrate this guy…?”

“Mhm!” You nodded.

“That seems like bullshit, YN.” Bebe rolled her eyes. “You’d pull out a gun, not a knife.”

“Okay, okay,” you sighed. “Maybe I am bedazzling my story a little, but I totally got that guy. Promise.”

“Totally.” Red clicked her tongue as she replied sarcastically.

Okay, who exactly were you three? You and your small gang are the Black Stones—probably the most notorious crew in the town of South Park.

How long have you been doing crime? A few years. What crimes were you known for? A lot, but you guys were most known for your shark loaning business with incredibly high interest and incredibly harsh punishments if the money wasn’t returned. Besides that, you and your friends also committed robberies, vandalism, and possession of copious amounts of illegal substances. Nothing too out of the blue, but definitely serious enough to get the attention of the police here.

How did you get away? You three are just skilled enough to get away with everything, of course.

Also, because the police force here is honestly fucking shit. They work inconsequentially—not caring if justice is served or not. Innocent until proven guilty? More like innocent regardless of the situation.

Whatever, at least you were pretty much always off the hook—even within their line of sight, right? You had free reign to do whatever you pleased, and nothing and no one was going to stop you.

Currently, a few months later after the first memory shown earlier, you’re in your usual hangout spot with the girls—The Zones, a local bar that was tasteful enough for your styles yet dingy enough for your comfort. Look, despite the fact you three made big bucks off of peoples’ debts, it did not change the fact that you guys would rather take the cheaper drinks. They weren’t as good as the more pricey stuff, but at the end of the day, you’re just finding a way to loosen up.

“Oh, my gosh, Bebe.” You leaned into her, reaching to whisper in her ear. “I’m sooooo bored. We should get out of here.”

“That’s like the eighth time you’ve said that tonight, YN,” Red spoke up. Perhaps you weren’t too quiet at all. “We still got that person we need tending to in a bit. We’re just killing some time.”

“Can’t we kill time somewhere else?” You groaned, smacking your head against the counter.

“Honestly, YN’s right.” Bebe nodded, holding your body up since you seemed so restless that you didn’t even want to move from your hunched-over position. “I don’t wanna get bored of this place.”

Red sighed, looking over the two of you. “I guess you two do make a point.” She said, collecting her things as she got up for her seat. “Let’s go?”

You and Bebe followed suit, grabbing your bags and other items as you tidied yourselves up.

You were about to leave, your body was ready to do so, and your mind was set on the task. You would’ve made your way out already if it weren’t for one thing: a loud ‘bang!’ by the entrance that caught your attention.

next chapter.

#cocogrrrl's writing #south park fanfiction #south park x reader #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle broflovski x y/n #kyle broflovski x you #kyle x reader #cocogrrrl's rendezvous series

16 notes · View notes

linagram · 1 year ago

Text

hi i'm in the mood to infodump and i almost started typing something that is a very big spoiler to the second timeline so instead i'll talk about something that we already know which is. sanada brothers' relationship.

so i think i haven't talked about any of the possible t3 covers (except mentioning yurika's deco cover on my main) but like. yes i've said it before and i'll say it again rabbit girl outfit kei will be real in like. a few months probably. i mean i've drawn him before so he's already kinda real

HOWEVER what i didn't mention is that i was thinking of giving him mozaik role as his possible guilty cover! but then he got absolutely hit by that innosweep so yeah. no kei mozaik role.

but i listened to it again earlier and i was like. hold on. hold on. these lyrics are. kinda kei AND eiji coded.

obviously, it would have a more platonic meaning in this case (it's so hard to work with deco's songs sometimes, it's like i KNOW pretty much all of his songs are about romance and i'm like. b-but what if i need something different..), but like. look at this. please stay in this space with me.

so you're staying with me here? good!

so, let's point out some of the kei-coded lyrics.

"i compared the fluid that leaked out of the wound to love". YEAH. yeah, this is kei with his "pain means love btw <3" beliefs. if you're wondering how and why did he even start to think so, in his first interrogation he says that it's what eiji and kei's mother always used to say and i overall kinda tried to imply that he's VERY attached to his mom. (i am planning to make a post about her and eiko's mother soon!)

"you gave me a sweet lie that "it's okay to be a coward", have i been able to escape?" even though eiji is the younger brother, he's the one who always protected kei from other people and kei is actually very dependent on him, i mean, he literally calls him his older brother sometimes. "wait who did he have to protect kei from" first of all, this hasn't really been talked about before, but i think it's easy to guess that kei always kinda had this weird kid kind of reputation. which would lead to. yeah. bullying. and also.. um. mrs sanada believed that pain means love and kei also thinks that she loved him more than she loved eiji. i think that's enough information. (it also should be mentioned that right now eiji is 19 and kei is 25 and the age difference is actually quite big, which means that when 16 y/o kei was in trouble, A LITERAL 10 YEAR OLD TRIED TO PROTECT HIM. AND KEI CALLED HIM HIS OLDER BROTHER EVEN THEN. DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHY EIJI IS LIKE THIS NOW.)

"what's wrong with killing me, me who you hate" well. i think we all know this. no matter how much eiji says that he hates kei, no matter how messed up their relationship is and no matter how badly kei treated (and still does) him, eiji simply wouldn't be able to actually kill him. yes, he punished and tortured him, but he wouldn't be brave enough to actually sentence him to death.

now, about eiji-coded lyrics.

"i will be sick of you by the end of this", "i will drink up all the tears that you gave me". pretty self-explanatory, but the second one can also refer to the fact that even though eiji does recognize that the way kei treated him was abusive and unhealthy, he still can't let him go for some reason, so sadly, he will just continue to ruin himself while claiming that he hates him and kei deserves to die and also visiting him and checking up on him every day, "just because he wants to see kei in pain", yeah, sure. he cried so many tears because of kei, but he will still drink them up.

"is this called "i loved you"? where i struggle to cling to you". again. eiji, sweetie, make up your mind. this is the part of eiji and kei's relationship that is so heartbreaking to me because even though eiji himself knows how toxic their relationship is, he's still attached to kei and still cares about him. i don't know, something about him still trying to take care of kei who abused him both physically and emotionally and believing that kei still needs him (and he's not wrong) is so. 😔😔😔

and the lyrics that fit both of them!

"and yet, i love you", "what's wrong with me loving you, bound together, so nobody can touch you" these two are so codependent, it's scary. and actually, i SHOULD talk more about how much these two depend on each other because if you think about it, both kei and eiji try to fight for independence in their own way. kei's way of fighting is having as many relationships (that last like a week or two) as possible, almost as if saying "yes i DO get bitches, but i can easily leave them as soon as i'm bored, i am sooooo cool" and doing illegal and creepy things such as. yeah. literally taking pics of people being tortured for money and his own personal amusement, like he's saying "aren't i so cool for doing this. aren't you afraid of me. please say that you are, give me a reason to feel like i'm in control here". meanwhile eiji not only hates criminals because he associates them with kei, but he also punishes them in the worst ways possible and enjoys it because he wants to feel like he can do something himself, without anyone's help, and he wants to prove that he's strong. look at him, a 16 y/o kid got a horrible head injury because of him and it's possible that he will die soon! eiji is so strong, isn't he? he even had enough courage to punish his own brother, who already had scars and was afraid of eiji touching him! he also forced yurika to relive the days of being a maid even though she hated every second of it! w-what do you mean, that's.. bad?

so yeah, both sanada brothers just want to be seen as cool and mature and be treated like adults, except they.. don't even know what being an adult is like. their mother is a toymaker who was basically a child pretending to be a grown-up, eiji was forced to become an older brother figure even before he went to middle school, kei literally sees everything through rose-colored glasses, eiji believes that violence is the only way to show that he's stronger than others and kei tends to unconsciously age regress when he's panicking or in an unsafe situation. yeah, these two want to and will beat each other up. and yes, they love each other in the most twisted way.

"this is fate as well, it will disappear, disappear, our world of love" SO U H . i feel like if i say anything, it will be a spoiler, so let me just say this. both sanada brothers were/are/will lose something that feels like home to them. kei misses ruka and he committed his crime exactly because his world started to fall apart and he started to think that ruka will be taken away from him (surprisingly, he actually did it not in a yandere way and it wasn't really a result of obsession, but him realizing that he cares about him. after all, he did say in his first interrogation that "he thinks he really did love that person".). and we know that all of this is going to end one day, but we don't know what is going to happen to the guards after their job is done. and considering that eiji finally feels like he has found what he was made for and what he likes to do.. yeah. yeah, it's possible that his world is going to disappear as well.

my brain is running out of brain juices, so let me just show these screenshots. do you see my vision

#uhhhh if you guys want me to ramble about everyone's covers and smth like that let me know!#i do try to explain why i picked each song in their profiles but it's usually very short though i usually have a lot more thoughts about it #because yes it's obvious that rabbit hole is very keicore because of the themes and aesthetic and everything #BUT THERE'S ACTUALLY MORE TO THAT SO LIKE. YEAH. WATCH ME PSYCHOANALYZE RABBIT GIRL KEI HSJDKASS #anyway y'all wanna talk about how eiji's t1 cover is animal so its like both of them have animal symbolism going on #both of them try to be something they're not. it's like both of them are wild animals who are pretending to be human and trying to fit in.#eiji is the “barefaced animal who does it wild even if it's ugly and can't do sit and can't even do stay”#meanwhile kei is saying “if you get lonely find anybody just get lucky” and he “loathed to love but it gave him life”#anyway in the end i think they should bond over their fursonas or something #📱linagram timeline 📱#🍓prisoner 005: sanada kei 🍓#🗡️guard 001: sanada eiji 🗡️

5 notes · View notes

watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 2 years ago

Text

Thank you

masterlist

tw: self harm, forced self harm, depression, captivity, triggering someone on purpose, knives, blood, non-con touch (non sexual), threats, blood loss, breaking someone’s psyche beyond repair basically, kidnapping mention, weightloss and malnutrition mention, dehydration, healed scars, multiple whumpers mentioned, flashback

I wrote this on my way home from university for the weekend (which is like a 4 hour train ride) and I made myself cry with it, and I haven't been able to proofread it or anything so,,, here it goes i guess

Tw again: This is a very fucking heavy piece, i cried through writing it im not even joking biggest dead dove do not eat

To be fair, she was totally unphased by the sight of the knife in Cole’s hand. She welcomed the pain that was to come as an old friend, crying or begging never helped, there was no relief when she was angry at the world, angry at the people keeping her captive, so she just accepted it. It was quiet and calm, maybe not the best decision, but the circumstances left her no choice.

He walked back to her from the table where he kept the array of knives and other fun devices to torture the girl.

“Stand up, please” he reached under her chin, lightly touching the skin. As she was standing up it looked like he was lifting her by the chin just with one finger, and though physically it didn’t work like that, the sheer threat behind the touch basically lifted her. She was a feather and he was the wind making her float.

She was noticably smaller than the man, even though they were almost the same height. Her figure was frail and weak. The long sleeved t-shirt she was wearing covered both her arms, whose muscles used to show through them, not in a bulky way but in one that earned some respect at the gym and she walked around freely, without worrying about being overpowered by someone; it took years of martial arts classes and trainings. It was all gone by now. She didn’t remember how or when it happened but she stopped caring. They didn’t allow her to work out even though she was promised to be let “doing her thing when she wasn’t needed” at first it was the restraints, then the comments turned into threats and punishments that slowly made her stop. It has been too long.

Now she was standing in front of the man, not being able to even breathe without his permission. Cole was always stronger and now he seemed superhuman compared to her.

He looked her up-and-down, twirling the knife in his hand. He seemed to have decided when he looked back to her face, patiently waiting for her to make eye contact.

“Roll your sleeves up” he gestured towards her lower arm with the knife. He grabbed her hand when she did so, and glided the knife playfully over her arm.

He must’ve felt the unevenness of her skin because he held the blade away from her and started carressing the barely visible scars.

She shivered from the touch, it wasn’t necessarily cruel or mocking like it usually is when he touches her, but these scars were different and he seemed to treat them differently and somehow that was so much worse. It was unpredictable.

“Was it… was it Luke?” he asked already knowing the answer was no. She looked away to the floor, felt her cheeks blush with a feeling similar to guilt but she couldn’t quite put a finger on what it actually was.

“No” she whispered. His hand stilled for a moment before carrying on with carressing her skin and turning the knife back towards her.

“Then you’ll be comfortably familiar with this feeling” he smiled and without a second of hesitation drove the knife into her skin. The blade didn’t go too deep, just enough to draw blood.

She stared at the fresh cut and suddenly she was back in her room. Some tiny red drops got onto the carpet and she was thinking about how she’ll have to scrub it out. There wasn’t anyone holding her hand, she was resting it on her lap for a moment. She promised it to herself so many times not to do it again, but she felt like she couldn’t help it when she found the tiny blade in the drawer on her desk. She held it up to the light and read the brand name again, feeling a bit sorry for the small piece of metal, it wasn’t designed for this purpose.

She drew another line on her skin, reveling in the radiating pain that shot up her arm again. It hurt so bad and still not as much as whatever she was dealing with at the time. She felt in control. And she did it again.

She caught herself falling against his chest, grabbing onto her bleeding arm. Not remembereing how she started crying.

“It’s okay” he held her by the elbow. He turned her around hugging her from the back. WIth his left still holding her wrist. The right accidentally dripping blood on her shirt and pants searched for her right hand. She desperately held onto him. As if holding his hand would bring any reconciliation. Suddenly the knife was in her palm and his hand over hers, making her hold it up. It looked so much bigger in her hand. The clean part of the blade glinted dangerously as the grey light from the window hit it. It was already dusking.

‘Your turn” he whispered into her ear, not even waiting for a response just pushing her hand back down, pressing the blade down for the fourth time.

His warmth disappeared from behind her. She was sitting at her desk again. Drawing her own blood over and over again. There was no purpose to it anymore. The pain from the wounds all mixed together it didn’t make a difference.

Why did she even do it? Everything was alright for a while, and all of a sudden it weighed her down. Did she really want something good turn for worse again? Was having it good a bad thing? She didn’t think she deserved it after all. That must’ve been behind the thoughtless movements. Breaking the skin over and over again. Opening old wounds. Creating new ones. Covering it all. That was the rhythm for weeks.

It all stopped when that particular someone held her hand for the first time and helped her up from where she was sitting in her room.

Now the feeling of the hand over hers was much colder. It didn’t radiate warmth and safety through her veins, making her feel at piece with whatever came along the way; it was empty as if Cole’s touch made it all evaporate into nothing cutting through space and time.

He rested his chin on her shoulder inhaling deeply, enjoying the shivers each breath sent down her spine. He felt the warmth of the tears that ran down her face staining his cheek as well.

“Now, thank me” he whispered, slolwy lifting her hand with the knife up. It took her a few seconds to understand the words though she still wasn’t in the place to comprehend them. “Did you hear me?” he asked gently, still threateningly. She moved her head in a way that could’ve been mistaken as a nod and that was enough on his part. He knew she wasn’t grabbing onto the knife so he let go, letting her hand fall limply down to her thigh and the knife to hit the cement ground with loud metallic clatter. She flinched back into his chest with a bit of delayed reaction time. He repeated the order, slowly and quietly.

“Tha- th- thank y-y-you” she stuttered.

“For what?” He let go of her cut up hand to reach across her torso and pull her into a snakelike hug from behind. He pushed a kiss into the crook of her neck smiling, when she didn’t know how to answer. She breathed in, but the air got stuck in her throat and no words came out.

“What are you thanking me for?” his smile grew even wider.

“F- f- for hurting me” her tone suggested she wasn’t sure of the answer being right.

“No” he answered sweetly “You hurt yourself, remember? You held the knife” he tightened the embrace making breathing even more difficult for her. She was panicking, he felt her pulse through her neck quicken.

“for holding m- … -lf” The correct answer struck her like lightning, she couldn’t get it to be audible the first time. Of course it was the one that hurt the most. She took a deep breath, and the words fell from her lips whether she wanted them to or not.

“Thank you for holding my hand while I hurt myself”

#self harm tw #forced self harm #depression #captivity #triggering someone on purpose #tw sh #tw knives #tw knife #tw noncon #tw threats #tw bloodloss #tw kidnap mention #tw weighloss #tw malnutrition #tw dehydration #tw scars #flashback tw #danse macabre original story

9 notes · View notes

showfallsquigandiris · 1 year ago

Text

/Transcript app activated/

/Turning on microphone.../

/Starting transcription/

...

[Heavy click]

[Door creaking]

[Chains rattling]

[Heavy footsteps]

[Soft thump]

[Chair creaks]

Squig: I hope you got some work done while I was gone! Or else we're going to have problems!

Malorie: Is... is this what you call a bit?

[Confused hum]

M: You said you'd be back in a bit, it's been hours.

[Quick exhale]

S: Well I figured you'd want plenty of time to work, sorry for that! But speaking of your work...

[Chains jingling]

S: Ooh!

[Paper being picked up]

[Tuneless humming]

[Sigh]

S: I can tell your heart wasn't quite in it--

M: Why the fuck would my heart be in this?

[Chains rattling]

M: You're making me design my own outfit for the televised death game you're forcing me to partake in!

S: I mean it's only fair! You made it so we had to postpone the filming due to loss of actors, so why not make your punishment to fill the place of one of the actors?

[Hands slamming onto table]

S: Honestly, we still haven't recovered all of Lily's limbs yet, and Tyler's head is still somehow missing! The whole damn thing! And there isn't even enough of Violet to even try to put her back together again.

[Long sigh]

S: In case you couldn't guess, that's who you're replacing. Since you know, complete loss. We'll probably have to replace Tyler too, but that's not something you need to worry about.

[Chair creaking]

[Silence, 36 seconds]

S: You still not going to tell me why you did it?

M: Nope.

[Sigh]

S: Then I guess I'll just take this down to Costumes. I suppose the next time I see you will be at filming bright and early tomorrow!

[Chair creaking]

S: Buh-bye!

[Heavy footsteps]

[Door creaking]

[Loud slam]

[Heavy click]

...

/Transcript app deactivated/

/Uploading transcript.../

/Upload successful!/

#showfall ask blog #transcript #encoreverse blog #genloss ask blog #squig #malorie

4 notes · View notes

leeminholinoing · 1 year ago

Note

Hey,

sorry I'm still the anon...

After saying that I'm going to let you continue to move on because I quite understand how you feel.

For the post you said I was shocked I had the feeling she was saying "it's cool they're in the closet otherwise they wouldn't be as big" it's cool to turn off a part, what do we all think of them and not a small part but a large one, reduced to silence to flourish professionally? knowing that we are not even sure that they flourish at 200% because once again we imagine what is behind the doors.

I never thought I would read a so-called larrie insinuating that the fact that they are in the closet is good after the suffering of the beginnings. I gave up on this fandom. Before we fought so that they could live freely (we don't care about their private lives, just freely)

now I see long posts that are almost to support the closet….

And the forcing closet imposed by industry will always be an abuse of power, simply an abuse and should be punished.

and yes H & L have their hands on that part too now but they only knew this way of managing their careers, this abusive way.

(And they've always been smarter, which is why it's surprising that in 2023 they've done so much shit.)

Like you said they should do a lot of therapy.

Kiss and have fun in your news adventures in your life.

I will always wish them to be happy to live their best lives and to always live closer to who they really are. They haven't disappointed me enough to stop wishing them the best the industry can offer them. Because I'm sure they deserve it.

they definitely deserved better :/

and that posts was ugly as hell I can't believe, like you, that in 2023 larries are defending the forced closet that was put onto them.

Being a larrie was always about them being able to be themselves and showing them that no matter what we would be here to support them. But I guess it has changed and people got comfortable with hl's closets to the point they are encouraging them to stay in it, just like modest and sony did/are doing.

#anons

4 notes · View notes

justanotherstory · 2 years ago

Text

Bollywood Blog!!?

I'm sure you must have heard the famous dialogue by SRK , “Haar ke jeetne wale ko baazigar kehte hai, baazigar ”. Well, I have lived that moment .

Well, I am one of those who go to school every day but attend only 70-80% of classes. No, I don't bunk or get punished for standing outside, but I am always involved in one or the other activity/competition. This is the story of such competitions only.

Okay, so during this session I took part in a debate competition which I 've already said that I won, so this is not about that. This story is about another competition i.e. Declamation Competition where we had to give a speech(I don't know why they give such fancy names to a speech recital competition).

Straight up to the story, D-DAY of Declamation Competition . As soon as I reached school that day, I went to my teacher who was mentoring me after reaching school and started giving up my speech, but I stammered once or twice and then when I gave the speech again she pointed out my 'pronunciation', which made me kinda nervous (FYI, we only had 2days to prepare for the competition). I went to the auditorium (competition location) and the participants were sitting with the audience. I was the third to go up the stage, so I constantly kept revising my speech again and again and again.

And finally it was my turn, I went onto the stage and started giving up my speech, and a few moments later I completely blanked out!! Like seriously, I guess if someone asked me my name at that moment, then I wouldn't even be able to answer that. I started over again but still blanked out . So I tried making up stuff. Whatever came to my mind, I just spoke it out loud and there was this line which I said that day which I guess became one of the highlights because everyone knew I was just throwing up random stuff and that line gave me a good laugh from the audience and applauds too. The line was , and I quote,“You know why I am not able to give my speech today because yesterday, instead of learning my speech, I was scrolling through social media and that's the problem of our generation .” Although the only thing I have been doing for the past 2 days was cramming up that stuff.

That day when I got off the stage, I felt so downcast and let down that I can't even describe. It wasn't like that I haven't had any bad stage experiences.Once I tripped on the stage and even forgot the steps while I was in the front position of a dance performance, but this time the feeling was worse.

The judges and other teachers did praise me that day for my spontaneity and courage and that I didn't get off the stage (I guess that's what teachers do)and that's another thing I have learnt from my past experiences, that never lose hope and give your best.

Anyways, after the competition, I went back to my class where one of my teachers who were mentoring me for the competition was teaching. She saw me and guessed the story or maybe my fellow classmate who was a part of the competition, who had already reached the classroom with a medal, told her the story . I told her my part of the story and she even grew angry at me for my negligence and scolded me and I was literally about to just burst out with my emotions, but I went back to my seat and tried to calm myself up. That day I even wrote a poem which, when read by my friends, became quite popular .

That day I learnt that sometimes we don't always need to put in that extra effort and get stressed, but rather take it easy. We don't always have to try to be the best and things don't always go as planned, so we must be wise enough to change the plan anytime!!

Well for this blog I think the poem I wrote that day is more appropriate that a mere poster .

So here's the poem titled, PHRASES:-

But wait, what's the “Baazigar thing ” in all this ? So I just realised that this story is already pretty elaborated, so instead of adding more to it, I will write up the second part in the next blog! Yeah , a sequel just like any other B-wood movie!! ;⁠)

Hope you enjoyed reading this blog and the poem too!! This was 'Just Another Story'.

This is me,

Signing off!!!<<33

#experience #lifelessons #justanotherstory #lifestories #stories #sad poetry #poetry #poem #competition

6 notes · View notes

goldendivinewrath · 6 months ago

Text

@forgivenpunishment

There's something like static while Wolfwood is lost in a swirl of his own thoughts, and for that Vash is almost grateful. It gives him time to center himself, more or less; to calm and keep focus. Bits and pieces, impressions of emotions do show up, but they're distant enough to let him breathe.

Wolfwood is going to be okay, in spite of everything. And is just as irritated at Midvalley, apparently, but he's trying not to "listen in" on that. When he's standing, uh, kind of on his own (Vash would help hold his weight anyway considering everything that's just happened), some of the tension eases. They're not completely helpless anymore, and Wolfwood is back to purposeful communication again--

Which becomes not... ideal. The information, specifically. He didn't think it would be in regards to possibly finding help in any of the fallen henchmen, of course, but he's fully unprepared for just how open the other man is about things they haven't talked about. Had no plans to talk about, with reason. Vash is aware some of that thought transfer can't be helped, of course, but it doesn't... it doesn't feel like prying, somehow. Maybe that's actually a bad thing, knowing that Wolfwood hasn't encountered the need to figure out barriers between keeping his thoughts to himself and sharing them, but Vash can't quite know how difficult that is for anyone else.

Like he couldn't have been prepared for how... cold he feels in reaction to Wolfwood confirming, giving words to, things that Vash had kept to vague assumptions. Given a title like Punisher, what the man seemed to prioritize, his skill at utilizing his weapon; Vash knew. But he hadn't been told so directly. The memory, suddenly popping bright across his vision like a flashbulb--

He goes still. Very, very still. Closed off completely, and though it only lasts for a second at most, it's noticeable. He's just... he's trying to reign himself in before it leaks through, knowing it might already be too late. The intensity had surprised him; he'd mentally fumbled, and the strength of Vash's emotions might not show much on his face, but it's a churning ocean in his head. Grief is for the slain, sure, but there's more grief for Wolfwood. The anger boiling underneath isn't directed toward the man next to him at all, but it does scatter in all directions for a brief moment. Then its searing intensity is pointed directly at Knives; and finally, resigned, back at himself. None of this... none of this should have happened--

He tries to slam a lid on the overflow of thoughts and emotions one more time, hoping nothing seems amiss. It can't-- None of it will help them. It's his to deal with later. After. Alone. "I see." Words spoken out loud along with communicated over their connection, but his voice is an uncharacteristically dry rasp, like the fleeting there-then-gone plastic smile he offers. So these people probably won't help them, but he can't just... "Do you think they'd help each other? I'd... rather not leave them to their injuries." To him, it really doesn't matter which side anyone's on; but he supposes Wolfwood knows that already.

As much as the other man has an excellent point and their time is limited. Swallowing, Vash looks around and listens. "The Plant's close." And doesn't seem distressed, but awareness of their physical forms can take a while to surface no matter what's happening, so he can't know what's going on for sure. "It's she, by the way, thanks." A moment of warmth and teasing is needed, fully necessary, because...

Legato. Yeah, he's aware, if distantly. It's not as if his brother had taken a liking to him, exactly, but... "I guess Legato's a little more powerful than I thought, huh?" Dangerous to underestimate, and Wolfwood seems to know enough about him to offer quite a bit more warning. The bandits had been more of a hindrance than a danger in the end, though he hopes he's left enough of an impression on them to keep them away from anywhere he's rumored to be for a while. Fat chance, probably.

Vash winces with the uncomfortably popping shoulder, letting Wolfwood support his own weight but deciding that staying close is the best option. "Well, at least we don't have a steamer to stop this time." He's not sure that's really an upside since they don't know the full scope of what's going on right now, but he keeps digging his heels into frustrated optimism even with the more serious subject matter. "I need to know how you are, though. If you need anything. There are places to rest and probably supplies, but..." There's a whole town, empty. Probably everything left exactly as it had been between one moment and another. Food and medicine more than likely won't be hard to find, and it's a little extra cruel how wrong that actually feels.

@goldendivinewrath

Well, his hearing is back—kind of. Instead of silence, there is the loud ring of tinnitus replacing it. So he can't hear, but the sense is coming back, even if it's taking its Goddamn time. That one was the one he'd been afraid of losing the most.

Midvalley... Player... What an asshole. He can't wait for the day he gets to turn that noisemaker into scrap metal. See him make his noises then. Wait... what if it isn't just the instrument?

...Nah, it's gotta just be the instrument that does it.

Right?

Smug assassin aside, Wolfwood uses Vash to get to his feet. His vision is best compared to someone with really poor eyesight and thick glasses. He can see shapes close and far, but can't make out the details. If he squints he can get his near-sight back, but he has to squint hard.

Okay. Time to think logically.

"Interrogation isn't a bad idea, but you'd have to find the right one," Wolfwood projects, still taking advantage of the mental link, "If they're loyal, they'd sooner kill themselves than give you information—and believe me, they have the means. You find one that wants to defect... well... they might give you something, but you have to corner them first. Defecting means getting added to a hit list, which is what my job was. A lot of my work was killing these guys that defected after a job. You know, Punisher. Punishment. That thing."

Even if he wanted to hide this information, he... can't. The thoughts are already in his headspace, it's not like speaking, where he can vet what he says before he says it.

He also can't control the flash of a memory where he killed a grunt that actually took their mask off. Like it'd save them to make the Punisher think of the humanity of it.

It didn't.

That one stands out a little. There are several flashes where the grunts shoot to kill, riddle him with bullets—sometimes the Punisher would fall prone, dead.

Unfortunately just an act, thanks to those serums. Red vision, locked onto the enemy, hot lead from the Punisher, the weapon. Though, you couldn't really separate the two. Man, weapon... he was—is—both.

"Anyway, if you find a defector, they might respond with violence or just run. Time isn't on their side if they don't want to die. Also, I'm not sure how much they know, honestly. As far as I know, they're just given their jobs and are kept in the dark about everything else."

"If the Plant is still here in town, Knives—or whoever is in charge right now—will send his lapdog to come pick it up. Her up? Them up?" Wolfwood hates this whole... stream of consciousness thing. "Legato. Blue-hair, pompous, stick up his ass—gets off on misery. That whole steamer event—where everything that could go wrong did go wrong? That was him. Besides the bandits, anyway. Don't know what those guys were about."

He stretches his arm out and rolls his shoulder as his other hand pushes against it, which causes a sickening 'pop' sound.

"God, this fuckin' hurts. Why do I put up with this shit every day? Man..."

#IC #forgivenpunishment #TriStamp-ish!Vash - Refuge and Joy #((that went DIRECTIONS))#lookitmequeue

42 notes · View notes