#so instead of panic I just am full of self hatred and dread. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

littlefreya · 3 years

Text

Easy Prey

Summary: Direct sequel to Jerk. Ring or not, August promised himself that he will make you his, in whatever mean possible and he kept that promise.

Pairing: August Walker x Reader (2nd person pov)

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: 18+, dark, kidnapping, bondage, dubious consent, teasing, dirty talk, gunplay (yeah add this to the list of kinks I gave you), sweet degradation and praise.

A/N: You thought August is going to sweet talk this one, didn’t you? Surprise! This was a short drabble brought by a prompt, turned into a one-shot and then my beta @agniavateira suggested this as a sequel to Jerk before I posted. Since most of you may be in a thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, enjoy my own early b-day gift to you! Many thanks to @wondersofdreaming and @sapphirescrolls who convinced me to post this.

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed. Your feedback is my fuel. 🖤

Easy Prey

August Walker lived his life swinging between the two sharp edges of a sword; but then, how could he not? He had to maintain a handsome prime-alpha male reputation while hiding his true cruel nature masked beneath mist and shadows.

It took everyone by surprise once it was revealed that the slick, charming agent was a vicious, Armani-wearing monster. A hard-to-swallow pill for most, but these two diverse entities were always one and the same:

August Walker was John Lark the way darkness followed light.

And how unfortunate it was of you to be lured into the spider’s web, stunned by the beauty of the pearly silk; you’ve gotten too close and had your limbs caught in the sticky threads. Now captured, you’ve earned yourself a taste of August’s sweet toxin yourself.

Fear wasn’t even close to the sensation that was gnawing in your gut.

The suite was cosy; a sleepy fire crackled in the mantle, shy beams of maple light kissed your bare breasts while you laid upon the softest pillows. It felt like a sinister joke compared to the ropes charring the supple flesh of your wrists. August had you stripped of any remnants of protection of course, save for the little jewellery circling your finger which he eyed with a blank stare that screamed in its contained silence.

Fully clothed, he stood at the fore of the bed, wearing a blue three-piece suit as if he was attending a royal wedding. A magnum was clutched in his right hand and a dagger in the other. The calmness and elegance of his appearance only made you arch and grunt in your fruitless attempts to set yourself free.

“Ropes too tight, angel?” He hummed, his voice so pleasant it felt like your lungs were floating in a void. His crystal-pale gaze dawdled upon you, invading beneath the skin, penetrating the warm crease between your legs which you fought to keep shut.

He felt it, or maybe even smelled the arousal that wafted at his direction and chanted his name.

“I’d save my strength if I were you. We’ve already proven that no one can hear your screams and we have a long night ahead of us.”

His words covered the bones of your spine with a thick layer of frost and in your searing throat, a bitter substance reemerged. Screwing your eyes shut, you wished more than anything for this to be a nightmare; but every time the binds twisted about your hands, you remembered the dreadful meaning behind the pain.

It was there to remind you of the harsh slap that was reality.

August tilted his head, a smile beginning to spread from each corner of his mouth: all pleasant and charming as if this was nothing but a couple’s naughty getaway.

“You can’t wake up from this, this is not a dream… or a nightmare, depends on your disobedience,” he assured, boding a sudden hollow in your chest. “Now, which one do you prefer? The knife or the gun?”

“Fuck you!”

Defiant, you gathered yourself to scream a trembling cry, sending your legs to kick the mattress in a hopeless fight. Only it made things worse as August was able to spot the little dew-kissed orchid between your legs, glistening-wet with invitation.

Flicking a tongue over his upper lip, he crept close. His broad shoulders strained, his posture that of an elegant predator; as you saw the large outlines of his heavy cock stretching his navy-blue trousers, even hatred and horror couldn’t mask the pang of need that shot through your core.

Despite the panic, the traitorous instinct of life whispered of undisclosed, primal lust. You wished so badly you could fight or hide it, but alas there was no hiding from August. He could sense it, see it, and even taste it on his wicked tongue.

“Gun then,” he answered and slid the knife back into the holster in his belt.

Your breath hitched as the mattress dipped beneath his weight, and you watched paralysed as he aimed the gun between your legs. Strong tremors coursed along your skin and your knees buckled and wobbled as the cold metal touched you; and yet, in that very moment, you did the impossible and moaned.

“Has it been that long since you had a dick inside you?” August observed with a vicious grin crisping his lips. It made his moustache twitch almost comically.

“Don’t worry sweet angel, we’ll fix that soon.”

Pushing the gun between your kneecaps, he forced them open and ran the barrel feverishly down your inner thighs. The metal was freezing against your flesh, eliciting little tingles to spiral beneath the tender brush. Gasping, you looked away from him ashamed. You were terrified, not just of him, but from how much the wanton centre of your sex clenched from his ministrations.

You were bound and kidnapped by a dangerous man, and yet in your mind played the sick fantasies of him unbuckling his belt and giving you his full girth hard and wild.

“You will soon have me in every hole,” August continued with a promise on his honeyed lips while lowering the brim of the weapon perilously close to your radiating heat and toying with the sensitive area teasingly. “I will make it hurt real bad, you’ll feel me there for days if not more,” he hummed and swerved the barrel between your engorged lips.

“Please!” You gasped and writhed away slightly, tugging on the binds that began chafing your delicate skin. August raised his glare to meet your pleading eyes and leaned forward, his shadow looming over you entirely. Reaching one hand to your nape, he clutched you forcefully while his icy glare pierced right through your skull.

Slow and sensual he began to run the gun between your soft petals, gingerly grazing the hard shaft at the plump peak of flesh that made you cry out with both pleasure and despair.

“Aww...” He keened and groaned. Never stopping his coaxing of your cunt with the still object, his breath huffed hot upon your cheek as he rounded his beautiful lips in faux pity. “Poor helpless little butterfly.”

Crying and dazed, you stared directly into his eyes. Words of plea kept running caged inside your head, unable to make their way out while you watched August’s large shoulder move back and forth. The movement resulting in the unwanted pleasure. Back and forth, he stroked you, gradually increasing the pace, and not without style even. Ruthless, August was keen on making you come.

You weren’t even sure what it was that you begged for at that point.

Grunts and sobs escaped your throat unwillingly. You squirmed and pushed against it, your body craving for more: not just for the rough friction that tingled at your cunt but also at the large bulge visible at his groin. The more rapture began to creep through your flowing tendons, the further you sank into delirium, wondering how he would feel like buried deep between your tight walls, fucking you the way only someone who has no boundaries would.

“Fuck!” You screamed, grinding against the metal while August leaned even closer and kissed the corner of your mouth before groaning and moaning at your lips. His hand worked hard between your thighs, the cold barrel now warm, the hollow edge coated with your elixir.

The wall of your protests crumbled as the simmering surge of climax began pushing itself down your belly, leaving you teetering between self-loathing and ecstasy.

“That’s right my beautiful butterfly, I’ll pluck your wings,” August promised in a husky whisper, watching you as you coiled and cried louder, your walls convulsing tightly around a sad, empty space as you came. If only you didn’t wish it was August choked between them instead.

As you slumped down, sweaty and breathless, he drawled a growl of content and slowly withdrew the gun to hold it next to your shivering face.

“I swear, Sloan’s assistants keep getting sluttier every year; the last one I fucked had a thing for me choking her,” he mocked while grazing the wet barrel against your cheek, “do you think you’d be into that too, sweetling? My hand around your throat?”

Rounding your eyes in utter fear, you swallowed the dryness in your throat. August sighed with a malicious little grin while twisted awe danced between the blue, sparkling sapphires that examined you ecstatically, so fascinated by how easily he managed to break and bend you to his will.

Still holding the neck of the gun pressed next to your cheek, he reached the other hand above your head. A part of you was relieved for a moment, thinking he was about to untie the bind.

But your hope quickly died as you felt his fingers rolling the ring that decorated your finger.

The diamond reflected onto the deep blue of his eyes as he examined it closely before throwing it directly into the fireplace.

“No!” You cried out brokenly, as the last memory of your old life disappeared in flames.

“Save your tears beautiful,” August retorted, his voice once again so soft it chilled your very core. He shifted his entire weight between your straddled thighs, and leaned in to kiss the wetness below your eye, “you won’t be needing it anymore.”

His tongue slipped out to collect the briny liquid that gathered on your cheek, and another hum of delight rumbled in his chest as his covered cock unmistakably ground against your mound, “I am your man from now on, might as well accept it and let me do whatever I want.”

Shivering under him, you took a deep breath, your body already swaying in demand as you felt him throbbing beneath the soft fabric of his pants. To your own horror, your head fell into a slow nod of shameful consent.

It wasn’t just August you were afraid of, but also for yourself.

#henry cavill #August Walker #august walker x reader #henry cavill x reader #august walker fanfiction #august walker x you #dark!fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

broken-stardust · 3 years

Text

Maybe Hotch Was Right

Summary: Spencer and Reader don't get along, but things change when Spencer finds him during a personal moment.

Category: Angst/Fluff SpencerxMale!Reader

Content Warnings: homophobia, cursing, kissing, crying

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: This was written for @imagining-in-the-margins's August Enemies to Lovers challenge, and I didn't procrastinate till the end of the month! Look at me go!! Anyway, I hope you enjoy my gay writing.

Y/N was the most insufferable person I knew. He was full of himself, he thought he knew better than anybody else, and he always had to be right. It infuriated me. It wasn't that he wasn't smart; he was. Incredibly smart, in fact. It was just that he had to make sure everyone knew it, and he'd rub it into people's faces all the time.

It didn't help that he was cute, too. If he'd been ugly, it would have made it so much easier to hate him. But he had these eyes that just drew me in. And that smile! Oh my god, that smile. If only he wasn't such an asshole.

He was nice enough, I supposed, just an arrogant prick. But everybody else liked him, and that just made my hatred for him that much worse. Why couldn't anyone see what he was doing? He was playing them all like a fiddle, but I wasn't falling for it. I knew that underneath that grin, he was just a self-consumed smartass.

He had been a thorn in my side throughout this entire case, too. Hotch kept pairing us up in hopes that we'd realize that our feud was uncalled for, but Y/N was just as stubborn as I was, if not more. The last straw had been when Hotch assigned us to the same hotel room.

"But Hotch," I whined, praying he'd have mercy on me and let me stay with Derek instead. "I won't be-"

He cut me off with a hand raised to my face.

"This isn't up for discussion, Reid," he warned. "You are sharing a room with Y/L/N, and if I need to, I won't let you out until you make up over whatever this stupid argument is about."

I rolled my eyes. Was he really treating me like a child right now? Still, I knew arguing would get me nowhere.

"Yes, Sir," I said in defeat before heading in the direction of my room.

Y/N was already in there, and I dreaded having to enter. With all the courage I could muster up, I opened the door and stepped inside.

It was dark except for the faint light coming in through the window, and I heard some sort of noise. A sniffle maybe? Was he... crying?

As the door closed behind me, I heard him scramble to hide whatever it was that he was doing. I mentally cursed myself for intruding on such a personal moment, even if I did hate the guy's guts.

"Are you, um, are you okay?" I finally asked after ages of silence.

I heard another sniffle come from his direction.

"Why would you care?" Y/N spat.

I approached slowly.

"Well, you're crying and-"

"Oh so now that I'm crying you suddenly care about me?" I stepped back again. "You don't have to pretend to give a shit just because I'm upset. You hate me, and I hate you. Let's just keep it that way."

I took a deep breath and resolved to sit on my bed, facing away from him. If he was going to be like that, I didn't want to deal with him. I closed my eyes and started going over the Fibonacci Sequence in my head to pass time.

"My parents found out that I'm gay," I heard his sudden, soft voice say through a sniffle.

My heart softened just a little bit at the words. I knew how hard it was to come out, how painful it was to get rejected. Even more so when you were forced out of the closet instead of coming out of your own free will.

"It didn't go well, then," I whispered. It was more to myself than to him, but he heard it anyway.

"What gave you that idea, Einstein?" he said bitterly. I could hear the hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry. What did they say?"

"Why should I tell you?"

I sighed and got up off of my bed to go over to his and sit next to him. With the little bit of light that was in the room, I could faintly see Y/N's face. His eyes were red and puffy, and his cheeks were stained from tears. I wondered how long he'd been crying.

"I'm trying to help," I told him. "Talk to me."

I could see him contemplate opening up to me. Eventually, he wiped his eyes with shaky hands and looked down while picking at his nails.

"They said that I'm disgusting and that I'm going to Hell," Y/N admitted. My heart broke at the words.

"How'd they find out?" I asked gently.

"I was texting with my sister about a guy I like and she accidentally texted my parents instead of me. They figured it out from there."

A single tear rolled down his cheek. I fought the urge to wipe it from his face.

"I'm so sorry," I murmured. "How can I help you feel better?"

Y/N shrugged. He looked so defeated, I felt bad about the way I'd treated him throughout the case.

"What about this guy?" I asked. "Maybe you want to tell me about him?"

"I'd rather not," Y/N said as he cleared his throat. I noticed him visibly stiffen. After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "I know I act like a dick." I kept my mouth shut. "I have to be the smartest person in the room, and I have to do everything right."

I let out a short laugh as he admitted what we'd both known all along. This must have been his way of apologizing, so I let him continue.

"But that's not really me," Y/N admitted quietly. "I'm so insecure. I feel like I need to prove myself to everyone because, well, my whole life I've been fed the narrative that I should be ashamed of who I am. I guess I try to overcompensate."

I hesitantly reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. This man that I'd hated for so long was baring his soul to me, and I felt like I didn't deserve it.

"I'm so sorry," I repeated for the umpteenth time. "I didn't know. If I did, I wouldn't have been so rude to you." Then, I decided to take a chance. "So about that guy..."

Y/N shifted away from me uncomfortably.

"I kind of like a guy too," I whispered, slightly hoping he wouldn't hear me. "If that makes you feel any better."

In the pale moonlight, I could see his eyes grow wider. He turned to me with a shocked expression, and I couldn't help but laugh.

"But-" he cut himself off before he could say anything stupid. I shot him a sheepish grin. A wave of understanding washed over him, and he smiled slightly. "Can I..."

Instead of giving him a verbal answer, I leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his lips. I started to pull away, but his hands caught my face and pulled me back in. I sighed into the kiss, and Y/N smiled. He tasted like mint and strawberries. I didn't want the moment to end.

But of course, nothing lasts forever. Once we separated, Y/N began to cry again. This time, it was a strong, shaking cry that overtook his whole body. Panic set in as I wondered if I shouldn't have done that. I pulled Y/N close and rocked him back and forth with me while playing with his hair and whispering words of affirmation to him.

"What's wrong?" I asked, afraid of what the answer might be. I desperately didn't want him to think our kiss was a mistake.

"We just... we've been fighting this whole time," he said between sobs. "We both knew. Don't lie, I know you knew it too. And yet, we spent this whole time fighting."

"It's okay," I assured him. "We can't take back the past, but we can change the future."

I planted another soft kiss on his cheek and guided him to lay down in his bed. Once he was situated under the covers, I crawled into the bed next to him. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer.

"I love you," he choked out into my chest.

"I love you, too," I told him and pulled him even closer. "We'll get you through this. I promise."

Y/N nodded and cried until he was all tired out. We held each other tightly as we both drifted off to sleep, unsure of what may lay ahead. As I shut my eyes, I thought to myself, maybe Hotch was right.

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfiction #spencer #wattpad #content warning #fanfic #fluff #oneshot #blurb #spencer reid fluff #fluffy oneshot #mlm fluff #mlm #angst #mlm angst #enemies to lovers

48 notes · View notes

sloppy-butcher · 3 years

Note

Can I get some hcs for Freddy x reader who have like very love/hate reltionship? Like they annoy eachother constantly but still seek each others company. Thanks!

This is the first time I have ever tried writing for Freddy and to be honest, I am quite nervous I did him wrong. Please forgive any ooc characterizations i may accidentally give him - i tried my hardest to make him accurate to the 80’s version (yes, this one will be based on old freddy not the new one (2010 remake), hope that it okay <3) i also hope that you don’t mind if i make the reader a killer as i am only comfortable writing for freddy when the power dynamics are equal

Thank you for the request and i hope these are good enough for you

Headcanons for The Nightmare (Freddy Krueger) with a Killer!S/O who have a Love/Hate relationship

When you are an obedient little dog, when you kill mercilessly and the Entity grows fat from your bountiful supply of food, the spider-god showers you with rewards. Most forms of these appreciations take a physical appearance (new and terrifying outfits to adorn during your daily workouts or new weapons for you to play with). But there were some gifts that were intangible, and otherworldly and oh so irresistible to you - dreams. The Entity lets you sleep if you do well in trials and sometimes even offers you sweet, beautiful dreams. They were indulging at first, so totally vivid in their detail and color that you could almost lose yourself completely in their daydreams. It was a spider web most wonderfully and intricately made. A labyrinth of the mind. But it did not take you long to notice the spider lurking in the corners of his creation.

You spotted him often hiding under the shadow of trees, just standing there in the corner of your eye - one look and he would vanish without a trace. You would have thought nothing of the strange occurrence had it had only happened once and in only dreams. During your walks in between realms, you’d spot the man through the treeline. He was unmistakable in his silhouette and in the way his eyes glowed a horrid orange. You did not fear him however, he was no worse a monster than you were. Rather you were annoyed by his presence in both reality and dreams.

You bend down and pick up a rock, turning it over in your hands testing its weight and size. “Hey!” You shout at the man who halted his retreat into the dark, night wood at the sound of your voice. “Stay out of my fucking dreams, asshole!” You throw the rock at him, narrowly missing him and instead, striking a tree.

“Such a temper.” A hoarse voice coos from somewhere behind and you spin around to meet it. It was him, moving faster and quicker than air and appearing next to you, closer than ever before. You got your first good look at him. His skin was a sore pink leather and he smelled like smoke. “Trust me, sweetheart, I would if I could. Your dreams,” He takes out a hand covered in razor-sharp knives and mockingly strokes the hair out your face, “, are so boring.” You snatch his hand away from your face, barely noticing the sting of blades in your soft palm and the trickle of warm blood down your forearm. You did not grimace, did not cower, and did not back down. He grins at your defiant expression. “And here I thought you’d thank me for giving you the chance to live in such a wonderful world. I’m hurt,” He feigns agony, his free hand placed sorrowfully on his chest, “, good work always goes unappreciated.”

You scoff and show your teeth. “I would prefer nightmares if it meant I wouldn’t get to see you.” The man laughed and flexed his knife-fingers, fresh blood oozing out your wound.

“Oh babe, you and me both. I don’t like this babysitter gig anymore than you do.” He leans closer grinning with his horrible yellow fangs, the scent of a recent kill seeping off his tongue. “I prefer nightmares anyway.”

“You look like a nightmare.” You spit into his face, finally letting go of his weapon and glaring at him. He laughs again.

“You are a feisty one. I think you and I are going to get along fabulously.”

Of course, he did not heed your warning for that very same night you saw him again in your dreams. Though now, he made it a point, not to hideaway. He approached you and actively talked to you, following you around your dream like a resistant plague. He commented on your shit reality, on all the things you could have wanted to dream of, and yet you only wanted to be in an empty field at the brink of dawn. He shakes his head and degrades your poor taste with even more snarky comments. You knew you couldn’t do anything to him while in his dream but in the physical world - well, that is a completely different story.

If he was going to bother you while you slept like a buzzing mosquito, you decided to bother him when you were awake. In the real world he was much less intimidating, that aura of cosmic power that bubbled around him while in a dream state, was not present in the night air and you smirked at his weakness. You mentioned his height, asking how anyone could be scared of such a small man. He’d lash out, swinging at you with both his blades and his harsh tongue. He was easy to toil, easy to wind up but a task to deal with. Freddy could take a punch to his pride and deal out damage times 10. 1 mean-spirited remark deserves 10 more.

Freddy thrived on this back and forth. Ordinarily, he would turn his nose up at the idea of bickering with another killer - sure, some of them were fun, simple minds with which to bend and manipulate in dreams but most were already so twisted in their own self-delusions that well, he just didn’t find them all that interesting. But your mind was sharp and quick, built in the skull of a hardened murder professional yet dainty enough to still yearn for the sunlight world of goodness. A perfect balance. It had been a very long time since last Freddy had had a conversation of equals - a real conversation where the table was not shifted in the favor of either one. If he said something that crossed a boundary or hit a nerve (a task he sought out to do almost every night) you would turn on him, shoot daggers at him with the sole intent of murdering his little ass. Sure, it never really scared him but there was no denying that in a way, to spare with an equal really turned him on. To be challenged.

There were times when he would become too much. Like the static on a dead radio station, he would drone on and on about a certain topic he knew would heat your blood. Always poking his stick deeper and deeper into the bear until you’d bite. Luckily it was quite simple to turn him off - just don’t sleep. You never really needed to rest in the Fog anyway, tiredness never made its claim over your bones even after a long day at work. Sleep was merely a reward, after all, a gift that could be refused if so desired. If time could be recorded within the Entity’s world, then the longest you had gone without sleep, and without seeing that little creep, would have been 2 months. He had really pissed you off when in a dream he produced a small songbird and made you watch as he melted its skin off - all for sport. A sight that did not necessarily make your skin crawl but one that irked you. It was always a game with him, a competition to see who would break first and try to strangle the other. And, to be dead honest, it was starting to annoy you more than anything he could say or do. So you stopped seeing him, stopped dreaming, and stopped seeking him out in the woods. You were tired of always trying to be bested and frankly, his childishness was wearing you thin.

But there was no denying that in that quiet that ate up the space where Freddy used to stand, a strange loneliness would grow incredibly heavy and dreadful. You missed his rather repulsive company, his witty and sharp tongue always keeping you on edge and on your toes. There was no way you could stop your head from turning around to look for him, seeking out his small frame among the dark wood. It was lonely without the flies, silent and decaying slowly.

For the life of him, Freddy tried to move on. He had never tied himself to one person before, never allowed himself to latch on to anyone save for his favorite little toys. But with you it was different. It was fun to annoy you, it was fun to torment you in dreams. It was even fun when you reeled at him, hackles raised threatening to kill. It was exciting, it reminded him of the joy of being powerful and alive (in a sense). And when you never took his bullshit sitting down, when you'd raise to meet his call, oh how it set fire to his heart. To be challenged. He could feel himself wither away, the interest that you had sharpened only seemed to dull and break off in your absence. He’d hate to admit it, but he missed you. Missed your noise and missed that sweet dream of yours.

Both of you are too prideful to confess to the other that you were lonely. But when, one day, you find yourself dreaming a familiar vision, that built-up residue of solitude melted and you turned to face Freddy eagerly.

“Did you really think you could not sleep forever?” He crossed his arms over his gloating chest, a snake tongue flickering victories in between teeth. “I always get my prey.” You smirk, not surprised in the slightest by his rather rude welcome back. You look around at the grassy field surrounding you both shining a brilliant emerald, the sun feeling warm on your back, and the fresh, clean air carrying with it the scent of spring flowers.

“Aw, you missed me, Frederick?” You tease him with his unused full name, casting a devilish side-eye to the dream-demon. You see a flicker of panic, alerting you that you had hit the nail on the head before he spits and loudly proclaims,

“Don’t be so far up your own ass!” His golden eyes gleamed pure hatred at you. “It's not a hat.” You laugh at the face of the fuming man, knowing that despite how his actions appeared malicious and distasteful, there was no feasible way to deny that the dream he had made for you was spectacular and expressed something deeper than just surface-level annoyance.

#dbd imagine #dbd x reader #dbd the nightmare #dbd the nightmare x reader #dbd freddy krueger #dbd freddy krueger x reader

34 notes · View notes

wheksojb-blog · 4 years

Note

Walking along a trail in a lush green forest, I walked aimlessly in this seemingly never-ending trail. All was silent. Too silent. There wasn’t any birds chirping nor was there a single breeze that blew by. It was like the forest itself was dead.

Your answer continues down below!

I didn’t know how long I walked for, but the trail eventually led out of the dense forest to an open clearing. The sun lit brightly in the clear blue skies. With the warm rays that shone down upon me, I seemed to be standing on the peak of a mountain. Gazing at the beautiful scenery before me, I saw mountain ranges covered with green trees and crystal blue rivers that streamed down below. With this breathtaking scene, I glanced to my right, wondering what more there was to see. However, to my surprise, I was greeted with a male figure that stood dangerously close to the edge of a cliff. I couldn’t make out who he was from afar, but he seemed familiar. Walking towards him, the figure became more and more clearer as I got closer. Soon, I realized who it was. It was Minho. He didn’t realize I was there since his back was faced towards me. The scenery seemed to change as the sun started to set, making the skies turn into a warm mix of orange and yellow. I tried to call out to him. But to my surprise, my voice wouldn’t come out. Nevertheless, Minho seemed to have realized I was here and turned towards me. Immediately, I halted in my steps. Dread started to creep up within me as my heart started to beat frantically. Something wasn’t right. No. Something was terribly wrong. As Minho faced me, I saw tears in his eyes. The sky slowly turned bloody red. Fully facing me now, Minho’s tears started streaming down his face. As he stared at me, my heart twisted painfully when I noticed the sorrow and despair in the depth of his eyes. Breaking the eerie silence around us, he opened his mouth and muttered in a shaky and heart wrenching voice, “How could you do this to me?” Then, he took a step back. His body lurched over the edge. Shocked, I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. Running, I tried to grasp his hand; but to my horror, my hand went though his, catching nothing but thin air. Even though I was voiceless, I cried out to him. Tears forming in my eyes. There was nothing I could do. I could only watch as he fell and disappeared into the deep dark abyss below. Terrified, I started to sob as guilt consumed me. Minho’s last words haunted my mind. Holding my throat, I tried to holler out his name, but to no avail.“Serena…” A cold yet all-so-familiar voice called out my name. My heart froze as blood drained from my face. Slowly, I turned my head around. A few meters away from me, I saw another male figure standing there. It was Jisung. Unlike his usual self, there was no longer any trace of that warm energy he always seemed to radiate. Instead, his face was emotionless. Those friendly eyes of his were now filled with hatred and rage as they glared down at me. With a venomous voice that was full of despise, he spat, “It’s all your fault.” “I hate you.” The sun gradually disappeared behind the mountains. The scenery around me was starting to get swallowed up by the darkness. Frightened, I desperately cried out and tried to reach out towards Jisung, wanting to tell him that it wasn’t me and how much I needed help. But, I couldn’t do either. No sound escaped from my mouth and my body felt too heavy to move. I couldn’t do anything. With tears dripping down my face, I stared at Jisung, pleading him in my mind to help; however, Jisung just stood there and emotionlessly stared back at me, watching me struggle helplessly. Eventually, the darkness crept its way towards me and swallowed me up, turning my surroundings pitch black. I was all alone. Suddenly, I felt myself suffocating like I was drowning in invisible water. Gasping, I woke up with a fright before I started coughing like I had inhaled water. My heart pounded rapidly in my chest as tears continued to streak down my face. My body shook violently with fear. A nightmare. Even though it was a nightmare, it had felt so vivid. The feeling of losing Minho. The feeling of that murderous intent from Jisung. It felt so real. That dream… it was like trying to tell me that I had to leave the both of them soon or else… My thoughts were interrupted by a phone call. With trembling hands, I reached out and grabbed my phone to see who it was. My heart dropped like a stone when I saw that it was Jisung. I was scared. Maybe that dream was a premonition of what was to be coming soon. I didn’t know. But at that moment, all I knew was the time had finally come for me. Answering the call, my voice was shaking quietly as I weakly muttered, “Hello?” —

---

Jisung’s panicked voice was heard on the other side. Panicking was a word that did not exist in his dictionary, but when he did panic, there was something wrong. shivers ran down your spine as you listened to Jisung trying to tell you something, but his sobs and hiccups didn’t let him finish his sentence. it made you more anxious than you already were.

Jisung: i-it’s about Minho, please!

and just like that, your heart sped up even more and your breath began to grow unsteady by the second. Jisung’s words were barely audible, but you could make out very well what he was saying. Your limbs began to shake just like your voice after you had asked what he meant.

Jisung: t-thats not something for me to say, please just c-come to his house.

after that, he had ended the call, leaving you alone in your bedroom, wondering what is going on. your mind wandered back to your nightmare as a whole new load of shivers ran over your body again. the nightmare you had, wasn’t a vision was it?

You removed the smeared mascara from your face as you left your house. it was almost night by now and oh, how you loved the night sky. You had always seen it as a treat to the eye. the silver crust of the moon that shines brightly upon earth. To the silent mellow tune, darkness bounds. Darkness, something no human could escape. Darkness surrounded you on every hour and second of the day, yet it made you who you were.

slowly you approached Minho’s door as it was wide open. The feeling of anxiety came rushing back, since Minho was someone who was very neat. You pushed the door open as your eyes landed on two crying figures seated on the couch. Your heart didn’t like it a single bit when two pair of eyes met yours. Jisung immediately had walked towards you and cried on you shoulder. Your arms automatically embraced his body, but he pulled away. He walked towards the door, before turning to you.

Jisung: i’m so sorry, i am so sorry. i can’t handle the pain.

a living room, filled with Minho’s sobs as you couldn’t keep it dry either. Minho made up his mind. He just wanted to tell you what’s going on, before it was too late.

Minho: I have a disease what I’ve been living with for over a year.

one bullet trough your heart.

Minho: It’s a deadly one.

two bullets trough your heart.

Minho: i’ll pass away in three days, i’m sorry.

and just like that, your heart had collapsed along with his.

from the moment you had first met him, to the present, now almost the past. regret pains your heart. if you had known, you wouldn’t have waited so long. you were going to be alone beneath those stars.

On the night where you will see him for the last,

not knowing it would be the last.

#stray kids #stray kids drabbles #stray kids blurbs #stray kids imagines #stray kids rp #stray kids roleplay #stray kids asks #my asks #answered #han jisung #lee know #lee minho

3 notes · View notes

herald-divine-hell · 6 years

Text

Three Simple Words

Prompt/Request: Dunno if you’re still willing to take prompts, but could you do one where the Inquisitor and Leliana are together, but they’re scared saying ‘I love you’ will push the spymaster away (because we all know how aloof she can be). So when those three little words slip out? PANIC. Quick reassurances that “it was nothing” or that “you don’t have to say anything.” Poor Inquisitor just desperately wants her to stay, not because they’re holding her back, but because she wants to.

Author’s Note: I hope that you enjoy! I really loved writing this one, and I hoped that you enjoy it!

I made this slightly in an omnipotent viewpoint since I wanted to convey both the Inquisitor and Leliana felt, it is mainly in the Inquisitor’s point of view. This is a really lengthy one, so bear with me!

I love you.

How three, simple words conveyed so much in such few shorts of breaths was incessable and fascinating to the Inquisitor. She had heard the words before, from her mother and father, but never from a lover. It was far too sacred to be used on such a whim, even if the heart would have said otherwise.

The Inquisitor never heard it from Leliana. There was no need since they were capable of showing their affection in other ways. Three simple words should not have held such power, but the thought of Leliana saying it, whispering it, had made her insides become mushy, and her heart to flutter in ways that fighting and magic never was capable of.

Leliana ran her fingers through the Inquisitor’s hair, humming gently an Orlesian tone that the Inquisitor was familiar with. They were reclining on the Inquisitor’s couch, far from the duty-filled chamber of the War Room. “You are exhausted,” Leliana said, more as a statement than a question; but it was true. Administrating an entire organization bent on saving the world from an ancient magister who had an over the top, god complex typically led to people feeling more than fatigue once the day is over.

The Inquisitor smiled grimly. “Am I that easy to read?”

Leliana hummed. “For me, yes. To others, it is slightly more difficult no doubt. Your mask is slowly getting harder to decipher, I will grant you that.”

“You always did know how to read me.”

Leliana grinned a grin that made the Inquisitor’s heart race and her pulse quicken. “I know more than simply reading you.” A finger traced up the Inquisitor’s arm, and she swallowed, cheeks warming considerably.

“You’re terrible, Leli.”

“You would not have tried to seduce me if I was not.”

The Inquisitor laughed: a true, genuine one. It was far too long since she was capable of performing such a feat. The destruction at Haven and the fall at Adamant weighed heavily in her mind. “That’s accurate.” She grinned. “I always love a good challenge.”

There it was. A simple sentence had revealed more of the Inquisitor’s cards. If Leliana had noticed her small metaphor, she did not comment on it. Knowing her, however, the Inquisitor knew that she did.

“Who does not?” Leliana joked. The day was slowly coming to a close, the skies of Thedas grew into a soft, melted velvet, shimmering with pearly-white flames.

It was during the night when the Inquisitor had a chance of tranquility. Her room placed her further away from the action of rulership, and she did not know if that was a good or bad thing. It was fine with her, she had Leliana there to keep her company, and the spymaster was more than enough, definitely.

“Will you be heading to Emprise du Lion tomorrow?” Leliana questioned, relishing the softness of the Inquisitor’s hair, enjoying how the golden-red light of the fireplace lit her face into an ethereal glow. These moments grew so few and far between these days, the growing prominence of the Inquisition after their narrow escape had gained the attention of the nobles of Thedas, requiring the Inquisitor’s full energy to be able to keep up. Leliana had reminded her that Josephine was fully capable of her duties, but the Inquisitor had simply scoffed and said that she would be remiss if she allowed her Cheif Diplomat to suffer at the dry stories of the Orlesian and Fereldens. Leliana believed that the Inquisitor secretly enjoy the power that she wielded over the nobles; their fear, awe, and not-so-subtle desire were intoxicating, Leliana knew that.

The Inquisitor sighed. “Yes. I would have preferred if I was allowed a few moments of rest, but alas, the world is never patient with their heroes.” She glanced up at Leliana, smiling softly. “I wish not to leave you, my nightingale. I just have only returned from the Emerald Groves, but I-”

Leliana placed a slender digit over the Inquisitor’s mouth. “Do not apologize, Inquisitor. You have your duties; and though I dislike it, I must share you with the world.”

“I don’t get a say?”

Leliana smiled, teasingly, and the spymaster looked so much more beautiful when she smiled. “Of course not.”

A giggle passed through the Inquisitor’s lips, and she felt the Inquisitor’s lips pulled into a small grin against Leliana’s finger. They were so soft...

“Just,” Leliana said, a growing fear that always appeared these days whenever the Inquisitor left for her adventures, “please be safe. I understand it is hard for you, but-”

I’m afraid to lose you. Leliana wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose that smile, those shimmering eyes, your light. I’m afraid to be left alone in the world again.

Instead, she said, “the Inquisition needs you, as do I.

The Inquisitor hummed, raised a slender hand to Leliana’s own and brought the spymaster’s knuckles to her lips, grazing her soft lips against it. “I promise I will return to you.”

It was the same promise that the Inquisitor swore after Redcliffe, to the broken Leliana, and then to her Leliana in the present time. It was a promise that she swore annually, and she had kept it so far, even after the Fade.

It had happened before the Inquisitor could have stopped herself, and she wondered if she even wanted that. “I love you.”

The room fell silent, dead almost, besides the flickering and churning of the flames. Leliana’s face was covered in shadow, and the Inquisitor could not read her eyes. She often could not, anyways, but the silence unnerved her, reminded her of the corpse that was Leliana during Redcliffe. No, she thought. That one was dead, empty, and walking corpse; filled with such bitterness and hatred. My Leliana is life itself, burning with hidden passion. Alluring and eternal. She is fire, while that one was ice. Cold, distant. Almost like Leliana when I first meet her. She pushed that thought away and raised herself from the lap of her spymaster. Leliana had come so far since their first encounter. There was slight bitterness, the lingering of self-hatred and contempt, perhaps that will never go away, but she was far more lively, around the Inquisitor that is. She trusted the Inquisitor, they even shared the same bed, felt each other’s curves mold into one, their heartbeats synchronizing into a gentle melody. The Inquisitor did not want to lose that: the spymaster’s trust. It was too precious, and that is why she kept herself from uttering those words, to swearing her undying affection. To confess and reveal all that she was to Leliana. To form a nonspoken oath. Maker, why did she say it?

Did I go too far? She tugged her bottom lip. Her stomach turned and twisted this way and that. Did...did I ruin it?

“Leliana,” she whispered, her fingers twitching to hold her. “Leliana, please, say something.” Anything. The fear gripped and drove a sharpen knife through the heart, ever so slowly. She felt her cheeks tremble, a hollow feeling of dread engulfed her very being. Don’t leave me. She felt hot tears prick her eyes, and she sniffed, holding them back. I am the Inquisitor. I have to be strong. She swallowed, glanced away from the woman that sat beside her, and towards the velvet purple sky. She felt like jumping off the balcony when she said, “It-” she swallowed, but it felt as if her heart had clogged her throat. “It was nothing.” It was everything. “You don’t have to say anything.” Please, just say something. “I can escort you back to your chambers if you like.” Please stay with me.

“You shouldn’t have said that.” Huh?

The Inquisitor whipped her head, staring bug-eyed at her spymaster, the light of her life. “Pardon?”

Leliana did not look at her, instead of resting her eyes on her hands. Her short, flaming red hair was lit by the flames, and the Inquisitor believed that she looked far more beautiful than any other thing in the world. “You...you should not have said that. It was...inappropriate.”

The fear mixed with silent anger. “Inappropriate?” She questioned, and she felt hollow, weak, dead. “How is that inappropriate, Leliana?”

“Unnecessary, than. We are collegue-”

“You're making up excuses,” the Inquisitor said, the quiet anger mixing with the fear and the dread.

Leliana looked up at her, and what the Inquisitor saw erased all the anger and dread in her heart and replaced with guilt. Tears plagued Leliana’s eyes, and her lips trembled as if it was even worse for her to bare. “Inquisitor,” her voice was thick with sadness. “We-I can’t be what you want me to be.” Her eyes, Maker, the Inquisitor could not pull away from her eyes. The flames lit it the blue orbs in a strange mixture, but they were filled with conflicted emotions: Sadness, happiness, anger, regret....guilt? “I want you to take back that statement, and used it for someone who is more deserving of it.”

The Inquisitor laughed, bitterly, almost broken even. “I can’t take it back-” she said, grinning, though her heart was seemingly ready to shatter.

“You must,” Leliana insisted.

“Because person who I am looking at right now is deserving of that confession; of the oath. Of that promise.” The Inquisitor took Leliana’s hands into hers, and she felt her pulse quicken once more. They were so delicate but rough at the same time. She gently squeezed them. “Leliana, you are deserving of this world, deserving of all its affection, of its mercy, of its kindness. It wasn’t Andraste who stopped Cassandra from tearing my head off during our first meeting. It wasn’t Cassandra who insisted that we help the mages when no one else would. It wasn’t-” She inhaled deeply, the memory of the demons that terror that woman apart in Redcliffe resurfaced with great haste. “It wasn’t the Maker who saved me from Redcliffe, who gave me the urge to keeping fighting on It was you. The woman who I go for guidance, who - despite her best efforts - is soft, kind, and gentle beneath all that armor. If you want us to forget about this, forget about this relationship, if you desire a more professional correspondence between us I will happily grant you it, but I will never retract those words, nor will I ever apologize for saying them.” She inhaled again, regaining her breath after that speech.

Leliana stared at her, eyes distant as if processing what the Inquisitor had stated. After a few moments of silence, the spymaster of the Inquisitor spoke, soft and gentle, “I don’t know what to even say, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor glanced away, not bearing the intensity of her spymaster’s stare. “You don’t have to say anything, Leliana,” she said. “Y-you can go.” Please stay. You're my strength.

“Good,” was her reply, before she felt hands grip her face and lips coating against her own. The Inquisitor gasped, warmth spreading across her body like the anchor whenever if flared, but this was nice, tranquil even. Everything that was the Inquisitor and that was Leliana was pulled into that kiss: love, worry, happiness, fear. Fear of death, of losing the strength that they both gave themselves. Of losing that pleasant humming in their minds, the warmth in their hearts, the flipping of their stomachs. If they could, neither would have let go, staying together in each other’s arms, far from the cries of war, it was blissful, but they were mortal, and life was never truly fair.

The Inquisitor was the one who pulled away first, though it took great effort to even do that. During that kiss, Leliana had somehow gotten onto of the Inquisitor’s lap, and the leader of the Inquisition realized with a small blush coating her cheeks, both in embarrassment and in some other sort of feeling that one would dare say, love, that Leliana was a tad bit smaller than her. “Le-”

Leliana’s eyes were fierce, the worry and sadness of before had been disrupted like lightning. “Promise me,” she said, low and soft, her lips were so close to the Inquisitor’s, “promise me like all your other promises that you will never have to say those words again. Promise me that you will never have to utter those words again if you keep coming back to me. If you promise that, those words would not compare to the sight of you coming back home, smiling, alive. That will be our ‘I love you’. Promise me that.”

The Inquisitor smiled slyly. It did not need to be a promise, because she would also return to Leliana, alive preferably, because she had a feeling that if she did die, her beloved spymaster would have crossed into the fight just to kill her again.

“A promise worth keep, my nightingale,” she said, “but promise me that you will stay. Tonight, and all other nights till our time in this world forces us to depart.”

Leliana brought her head closer, her lips a mere breath away. “I promise.”

I love you.

22 notes · View notes

weightdemons-overeater-blog · 7 years

Text

Nothing but fat

Nothing but fat I’ve never liked to talk about my addictions, It’s my secrets that are painted on my skin for everyone to see; but if I don’t talk about them, then I can pretend that no one can see what I’m doing to myself, all through the powers of addiction.  I can’t remember a time that I’ve not been addicted to some sort of health risky substance that invades my body like the plague making me feel momentarily strong and happy to then feel hollow and numb after the euphoric effects have died down.  FOOD - it’s always been my issue, I spent many years counting every calorie, not ingesting more then 500 a day, going days at a time without even eating and living on illegal substances instead, the memories of those times are full of finding food disgusting and I’d feel agitated when I’d have to eat when my parents would ask me round for dinner and they’d watch every mouthful I took. I also remember feeling invincible, powerful. That I could keep myself so so motivated not to over eat even though I’d had the dreaded emotional eating curse since a child. I made my goals and I touched them every time….BOOM! I was getting into all the clothes I wanted to, I could walk around in my underwear in front of men without feeling too uncomfortable, mainly through the confidence of drugs I might add. When I’d look in the mirror I never liked what I saw. Vile flesh looking back at me, freckled pale skin, big green eyes and masses of curly ginger hair. I could zone into every inch of fat I thought I had and I’d squeeze it, hating myself for not being skinny yet, all the time wanting to binge eat my hatred away for myself, but back then I had drugs so I substituted them for every binge I wanted, and that was extremely often.  And then I found a man that I truly truly cared for, he made me laugh, made me feel safe and although I didn’t feel attractive enough to warrant love, I felt that maybe I could spend my life with him. We quickly moved in together, and many happy times were had. Until he found my stash of drugs and told me he couldn’t be with a drug addict and it was either them or him…..I chose him, well he thought I did, I just hid my drugs better and only ate when he was there and generally kept talking all through a meal whilst I messed around with the tiny bit of food I had on my plate. (Being a man, or the kind of man he is, he never thought I had any issues and really believed I was off the drugs for good - he obviously didn’t understand about ‘cold turkey’ or withdrawals or didn’t care, not sure which even to this day)  Some how, with the state my body was in and not having proper periods for years, I fell pregnant and we were so so happy and that’s when I knew I had to stop the drugs, not for me but for my little baby. So I did……..I honestly did. The withdrawal were terrible, i couldn’t eat (which was great but I needed to for the baby) my moods were erratic and I felt like I was dying. All that as well as the crazed effects pregnancy has on your body, I was a mess. Everyone just put it down to pregnancy hormones and left me to it. A blessing really in many ways but the lonely struggle to deal with going cold turkey from years of drug abuse (to stop my addiction to food) and becoming a mother was depressing me. So after the initial ‘not being able I eat’ I found myself in the spot I always do when I’m feeling low, angry, sad, anxious or basically any emotion…..I found myself craving food. The first burger and chips tasted so so good I could see how people said that some food was better than an orgasm. The milkshakes, the chocolate, the Sunday roasts, good everything tasted so good…until I’d ate it and then the remorse flooded in. I started to try to eat healthy, 3 meals a day and push back the feels that my life was spiralling out of control, to the back of my mind. I even brought cinched knickers to hold in my pregnancy belly at 7 months pregnant, as I didn’t want to go to a New Year’s Eve party looking fat. I was so angry with my body for looking the way it did that I would binge on things I didn’t even like just to punish myself for being a fat ugly slob…..I was pregnant and wanted my baby so much I just didn’t want to look pregnant.  That was 11 years ago. The path since then is filled with over eating, hatred towards myself, eating more and becoming less and less of a person, my second daughter came along 8 years ago and I was diagnosed with post natal depression, not the way most would think. I was completely connected with my daughter (one thing I know I’m good at is being a mother, i truly love being a mum) I never wanted to hurt her, I just hated myself, I was so low that I nearly took my life as I could face seeing myself anymore and going out the house would leave me in complete panic attacks as I didn’t want people seeing me so big. My family never understood, my partner was as patient as he could be but became completely unattracted to me, I found porn on his laptop, porn pictures in his bag, he didn’t want to have sex with me and admitted that he wanted to have sex with someone close to me and couldn’t stop thinking of other women. This all left me feeling broken, I had been in a terrible relationship in the past and was emotionally, physically and sexually abused in that relationship (that’s when I found drugs) and I didn’t want anything like that happening again. Thankfully it didn’t go that direction. But we’ve always had our issues with him loosing interest in me and wanting other women (he’s not one to stray physically but to think about it and having fantasies is just as bad at time I’ve found) all the issues, all the self hatred has made me put on a lot of weight and I weighed 19.6stone at the beginning of this year and at 5.3’’ tall I was like a beach ball with legs and arms. I’ve lost two stone this year and could of done more if it wasn’t for my love/hate for secretly bingeing on food. I stuff my face with high sugared, high fat food and it makes me feel warm inside whilst I eat it, well at the beginning and then I feel sick with myself for doing it to myself once again and then carry on eating to punish myself for being such a pathetic human being.  Food has always been my addiction, always been my way of punishing myself for looking the way I do. I’ve found other forms of addictions/punishments in the past to help me through my weight demons but now I’m a mum I can’t take drugs, I can’t self harm by cutting so I do what is socially excepted…..I eat, but society now sees my addiction all the time, it sees my fat and my lack of motivation to stay healthy and that just makes me feel worse. I am in a spiral of hatred for who and what I am, eating due to that hatred and hating that I’m eating.

#over eating #confidence #mental health #mental illness #mental disorder #addiction #addictive #body image #binge eating #binge #craziness #healthy #inspiration #body hate #food #sickness #thin

2 notes · View notes

weightdemons-overeatter-blog · 7 years

Text

Nothing but fat

I've never liked to talk about my addictions, It's my secrets that are painted on my skin for everyone to see; but if I don't talk about them, then I can pretend that no one can see what I'm doing to myself, all through the powers of addiction. I can't remember a time that I've not been addicted to some sort of health risky substance that invades my body like the plague making me feel momentarily strong and happy to then feel hollow and numb after the euphoric effects have died down. FOOD - it's always been my issue, I spent many years counting every calorie, not ingesting more then 500 a day, going days at a time without even eating and living on illegal substances instead, the memories of those times are full of finding food disgusting and I'd feel agitated when I'd have to eat when my parents would ask me round for dinner and they'd watch every mouthful I took. I also remember feeling invincible, powerful. That I could keep myself so so motivated not to over eat even though I'd had the dreaded emotional eating curse since a child. I made my goals and I touched them every time....BOOM! I was getting into all the clothes I wanted to, I could walk around in my underwear in front of men without feeling too uncomfortable, mainly through the confidence of drugs I might add. When I'd look in the mirror I never liked what I saw. Vile flesh looking back at me, freckled pale skin, big green eyes and masses of curly ginger hair. I could zone into every inch of fat I thought I had and I'd squeeze it, hating myself for not being skinny yet, all the time wanting to binge eat my hatred away for myself, but back then I had drugs so I substituted them for every binge I wanted, and that was extremely often. And then I found a man that I truly truly cared for, he made me laugh, made me feel safe and although I didn't feel attractive enough to warrant love, I felt that maybe I could spend my life with him. We quickly moved in together, and many happy times were had. Until he found my stash of drugs and told me he couldn't be with a drug addict and it was either them or him.....I chose him, well he thought I did, I just hid my drugs better and only ate when he was there and generally kept talking all through a meal whilst I messed around with the tiny bit of food I had on my plate. (Being a man, or the kind of man he is, he never thought I had any issues and really believed I was off the drugs for good - he obviously didn't understand about 'cold turkey' or withdrawals or didn't care, not sure which even to this day) Some how, with the state my body was in and not having proper periods for years, I fell pregnant and we were so so happy and that's when I knew I had to stop the drugs, not for me but for my little baby. So I did........I honestly did. The withdrawal were terrible, i couldn't eat (which was great but I needed to for the baby) my moods were erratic and I felt like I was dying. All that as well as the crazed effects pregnancy has on your body, I was a mess. Everyone just put it down to pregnancy hormones and left me to it. A blessing really in many ways but the lonely struggle to deal with going cold turkey from years of drug abuse (to stop my addiction to food) and becoming a mother was depressing me. So after the initial 'not being able I eat' I found myself in the spot I always do when I'm feeling low, angry, sad, anxious or basically any emotion.....I found myself craving food. The first burger and chips tasted so so good I could see how people said that some food was better than an orgasm. The milkshakes, the chocolate, the Sunday roasts, good everything tasted so good...until I'd ate it and then the remorse flooded in. I started to try to eat healthy, 3 meals a day and push back the feels that my life was spiralling out of control, to the back of my mind. I even brought cinched knickers to hold in my pregnancy belly at 7 months pregnant, as I didn't want to go to a New Year's Eve party looking fat. I was so angry with my body for looking the way it did that I would binge on things I didn't even like just to punish myself for being a fat ugly slob.....I was pregnant and wanted my baby so much I just didn't want to look pregnant. That was 11 years ago. The path since then is filled with over eating, hatred towards myself, eating more and becoming less and less of a person, my second daughter came along 8 years ago and I was diagnosed with post natal depression, not the way most would think. I was completely connected with my daughter (one thing I know I'm good at is being a mother, i truly love being a mum) I never wanted to hurt her, I just hated myself, I was so low that I nearly took my life as I could face seeing myself anymore and going out the house would leave me in complete panic attacks as I didn't want people seeing me so big. My family never understood, my partner was as patient as he could be but became completely unattracted to me, I found porn on his laptop, porn pictures in his bag, he didn't want to have sex with me and admitted that he wanted to have sex with someone close to me and couldn't stop thinking of other women. This all left me feeling broken, I had been in a terrible relationship in the past and was emotionally, physically and sexually abused in that relationship (that's when I found drugs) and I didn't want anything like that happening again. Thankfully it didn't go that direction. But we've always had our issues with him loosing interest in me and wanting other women (he's not one to stray physically but to think about it and having fantasies is just as bad at time I've found) all the issues, all the self hatred has made me put on a lot of weight and I weighed 19.6stone at the beginning of this year and at 5.3'' tall I was like a beach ball with legs and arms. I've lost two stone this year and could of done more if it wasn't for my love/hate for secretly bingeing on food. I stuff my face with high sugared, high fat food and it makes me feel warm inside whilst I eat it, well at the beginning and then I feel sick with myself for doing it to myself once again and then carry on eating to punish myself for being such a pathetic human being. Food has always been my addiction, always been my way of punishing myself for looking the way I do. I've found other forms of addictions/punishments in the past to help me through my weight demons but now I'm a mum I can't take drugs, I can't self harm by cutting so I do what is socially excepted.....I eat, but society now sees my addiction all the time, it seems my fat and my lack of motivation to stay healthy and that just makes me feel worse. I am in a spirally hatred for who and what I am.

1 note · View note

odyssey-of-a-human-being · 7 years

Text

Konta vs Ostapenko - a Saga in Three Parts Lemonade, Two Parts Vodka, One Part Pimm’s

It’s June 29th at time of writing and I am sober. As an unemployed, unemployable man it always feels quite natural to watch the television. As circumstance would have it, I happened upon a tennis match on BBC2. “This will have to do,” I lamented to my warm can of comfort (beer). Fate had thrust me into a match between two female women’s-tennis players: the teenaged Latvian wunderkind Ostapenko, a spunky, highly aggressive player whose meteoric rise to tennis fame put me in mind of a meteor (ascending, rather than crumbling to nothing in the atmosphere), and whose endearing frustrations translate in sporting terms to not just personality, but a personality, the highest accolade any woman sportsman can hope to achieve. She was battling against her opponent, Konta, who was quite tall and wore pink.

It was obvious who the home favourite was, particularly after John Inverdale remarked that she was “the home favourite here at Eastbourne.” As it transpired, Konta – Jo Konta – was in fact the British number one women’s-tennis player and number five women’s-tennis female player worldwide. And then I pitied her – I could see the weight of expectation that had been imposed upon her. Every broken microwave, every smashed up toaster from every penalty shootout in the modern era dangled over her like the Sword of Damocles. Because it’s always been a source of deep shame and secret regret to the English that the greatest tennis player in the world - perhaps in the entire universe - our national hero, our homegrown British champion is not in fact English, and soon will cease even to be British. Moreover, Murray, busy with training, never developed his personality, let alone a personality.

Sponsors, event organisers, broadcasters, journalists, content distributors...they can make him juggle cantaloupes, trim his neckline, play instead with a squash racket for Sports Relief (for money); they can tee him up with softball questions desperate for some kind of humorous aside, but it’s symptomatic of our denial: not only is Andy Murray - our national Hero - a foreigner, he doesn’t even possess a personality. Off court, he may as well walk into his airing cupboard and power down until morning practice. Observe the relationship with his wife and you’ll see there’s about as much chemistry in it as a North Korean chemistry GCSE – which is to say there’s some but that it’s essentially false, with some rather telling errors and glaring omissions betraying a blatant misunderstanding of the basics of chemistry. Long have I wondered what she sees in Sir Andy Murray. I suppose I pity her, too.

The days of Henmania – days of hope for our nation’s greatest semifinalist – are long over, and soon history shall forget him, as indeed it has forgotten multiple Doctor Who episodes, charity wristbands and custom ringtones. Or perhaps he shall instead be vilified? Which would he prefer? Shall we judge him for demoralising the British spirit, for that time he got disqualified in 1995 – thankfully in the doubles – for hitting a ballgirl in the face. Will we happily forget that it was with a tennis ball? Shall instead it be his racket, or his Scottish fists?

Jo Konta - the Heroine of the Hardcourt, The Queen of Clay, The Grass Goddess - is she doomed to a similar fate? Doomed to the mercy of our damaged hopes, a victim to our scorn, the goat to our damaged scapes, the nationally despised national hero, shall She die for our sins? We accept we cannot have an Englishman champion but we have a Scottish one, so who is to say we are not ready for a female woman one? Surely we’ve moved past all that. Can we not welcome her likewise into our needy arms, as we did indeed Mo Farah? Is this our new prime candidate…is this Henwomania?

And then, out of frenzied panic, I googled her: that was when my hope crumbled like so much vintage cheddar, for ‘Jo’ was a deception. Perhaps you thought it was short for Joanna? Nein. It’s Johanna. And Konta – Mr. Konta isn’t drinking Carling down at the Red Lion and moaning about the surnames of the senior England football squad. Mr. Konta isn’t tagging the Kontas of this world into anonymous hateposts. Yes, you’ve got it – her parents are South African and she played for Australia – quite naturally, having lived there until she was 14. I can understand a Scottish champion, but surely it is beyond our pale to root for a South African Austro-Anglian woman’s-tennis player. I pondered on all this, and having found it to be profoundly sobering I poured myself a Pimm’s (& vodka) and lemonade.

After the first set (Konta nudged out Ostapenko in a deciding game) I decided to invest fully and totally into the match - and it was only then that I noticed an ugly tension in the atmosphere. And I understood it immediately. The crowd…old, white, crusty Tories, they were not rooting for the South African Austro-Anglian, they were rather wishing failure upon the Latvian Latvian. And then it took on an altogether political tone. The Old Tory Brexiteers, upper middle class, upper middle-aged men, perving on women they despise – men mercifully unaware of private browsers, let alone Google Chrome. The top 2%, the only people worse than the 1%: in this sense, Eastbourne is considerably worse than Wimbledon – ask any self-respecting tennis-hating tennis fan. Look at them, in their brown brogues and authentic Ray Ban’s, enjoying a perv and a Pimm’s – “It’s Perv o’Clock!” I overhear one of them say, rubbing his hands together – wrinkled with time, not toil. Unwittingly rooting for their immigrant. An Australian, no less. But shall we forgive them for they know not what they do?

I poured myself another vodka (& Pimm’s) & lemonade, no ice or fruit or anything, and I knew then, for sure, what I thought I knew before. “This,” I said to myself, “is war. Plain and simple.” And it was that dreaded Brexit. Our minds have become enspoiled with its putrid filth, like a dangerous dangly dirty politoctopus, whose slimy tentacles invade the sanctity of our personal space, encroaching it, squirming through it, past through our eyes and our tears and our ears and into our tiny little brains, fidgeting down through to the small of our backs, its tendrils gathering like polyfiller through to our corpus callosa – the brain: an organ as predictable and as knowable as the spleen. Look at it: a great grey meaty bolus. And it was then that I vowed to be a soldier in this war: fighting the good fight. Henceforth, all my meals are to be made with non-locally sourced ingredients – my sausage shall be German, my mash shall be mashed up French fries (also German, Dr Oetker – oh yes, it will be complicated). I shall master every cuisine of the world, learn every other language, cram my brain full with enough knowledge of the vocabulary and grammatical nuance of every language, every dialect, every patois, in the hope that I will eventually expunge all existing knowledge of my mother tongue, expunge every pub-factoid, every pop-cultural frame of reference, all my slang, all my friends, my childhood memories, everything that ever happened to take place in this scuppered Isle, to get rid of all of it! Replace it with knowledge of Scandinavian politics, the etiquette of Japanese cuisine, re-learn how to cycle, but along the frigid canals of Amsterdam, spliff in hand - smoke and steam in the winter air - French cheese and Polish cold-cuts in my wicker basket, trring-trring!, with a great big massive baguette, and I’ll learn to love Finnish melodic death metal, appreciate German architecture, practice Persian poetry, study Chinese history, explore Norse Mythology and eat those little paprika crisps you sometimes find in Lidl. I consummated this noble decision - and to me it felt like a good start in the brain-damaging process – with yet another vodka & lemonade (and a dash of Pimm’s).

As I sobered up after a small nap and after a small period of time, my allegiance toward Europe and the promises I had splurted at a mirror I had mistaken for my own face, now moist with spittle, had somewhat waned. My unshakable hatred toward the wind-power couple – Murray and Murray wife – had now settled into amused bemusement. My anger towards the audience was now little more than a mild vexation – a mere frustration, a puzzling perturberance – nothing more, nothing less. And probably not even that. And the words ‘Ostapenko’ and ‘Konta’ suddenly evoked within me as much emotion as the words ‘limestone’ and ‘velcro’ do. The episode was finally over: I had drunk myself into contention and slept it off. The match finished, Ostapenko having lost, and I was at peace. As an 18-24 year old educated to master’s degree level I am naturally quite accustomed to failure, and tennis. I lost in 2010. I lost in Brexit. I lost in 2015. I lost against Konta. As indeed we all did. But I did not lose Andy Murray. That’s right – I won the Independence referendum. Which is to say I didn’t lose it. Murray’s ours, for now at least. But we should be prepared. For we shall lose him. And that’s why we need, now, a man like Joe Konta, to step into his red, blue and white sneakers (except at Wimbledon where they’re not allowed) should he no longer need them. Because Murray won’t be here forever. Look at that stony-faced expression, gazing outward in press conferences waiting for his questions to be translated, desperate to think of nothing. Desperate not to be there. There is more in that glazed expression than Murray could express in a million words. Look at him. Dare to countenance him.

Murray himself has begun to lose Murray. And losing is not an option.

#konta #murray #andy murray #johanna konta #tennis #brexit #velcro #wimbledon #dprk #odysseyofahumanman

0 notes

saleurlone · 7 years

Text

Entry 1

I wasn’t going to start this shit today but I forced myself to anyways and as the tears and snot run down my face and puddle into my cleavage (I’ll explain that later) I want you all to know that I’m doing this because I love each and every single one of you and am documenting my struggles in hopes of trying to help someone else. That being said, I knew that I was going to break today. You get this dreadful ass feeling as soon as you wake up in the morning and it’s a nagging, ugly gut wrenching feeling you have all day. I get shortness of breath and tears start to well up in my eyes. I start to panic and literally want to shed my skin and everything starts to turn white and I have to snap myself out of it. This all happens in a matter of seconds and most of the time unexpectedly. No matter how much I try to suppress it and ignore it and try to keep myself busy, if there’s one little inconvenience and it triggers me I’m fucked. For those of you that don’t know I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety and bipolar ll disorder. I was on psych meds since I was 14 and have gone through dozens of different types of medication. I go through weeks where I feel very inspired and I can’t stop writing music and I’m overachieving at work, I start 20 different things at once and don’t finish anything, at work I can’t stop cleaning everything. I clean every single thing; just seeing dust really fucks with me. It literally knocks the air out of me at work when things are out of place or they don’t look presentable to me and I obsess over it till everything is the way I want it to be. I get abnormal cravings for sex, shoplifting, spending money I don’t have, overindulging with food, basically anything that gives me some type of rush that isn’t a hard-core narcotic. Then there’s other weeks where I find it hard to get out of bed to even go to work. I lose interest and everything. I don’t even crave sex. I don’t eat as much or at all. I close myself off from people. I make plans with friends trying to force myself to get out of the house and I end up canceling on them. Which makes me feel even more like shit and get stuck in a cycle of pity and self hatred wondering why I am the way I am. My performance at work is completely hindered, instead of looking for things to do I just stand there my entire shift trying not to lose my shit. I barely sleep. I will be up till three in the morning and have to get up to start getting ready for work at six. No matter how tired I am I cannot fall sleep and I sleep no more than five hours at the most. There’s times where I’m just disgusted with the human race, including all the people that love me. My nana will walk by me and not do anything at all to me and just her presence annoys me. I can’t even stay in my house because just hearing everyone’s voices at once makes me feel like the walls are caving in on me. I don’t have full on breakdowns daily. So the fact that I was planning on starting this blog today and having a full blown anxiety attack a couple of hours ago is crazy and I wasn’t going to start this tonight but I was like you know what, fuck that. Imma sit here and let you guys know what the fuck is up. I’m not okay. And what triggered my attack was my mom. Once again for those of you that don’t know my mom is an addict. When I was 8 she went to prison for armed robbery and stabbing someone with a box cutter while she was robbing a Best Buy to support her habit lol. I lived with my nana ever since then but now my mom is living with my nana and I at the moment. My mom is the type of person that can’t be without a man and is completely selfish. My mom relapsed about a week ago (no shmurda) and every time she leaves the house I fear that she’s not gonna come back. She’s in complete denial about everything she’s done and try’s to flip shit on me like I’m crazy and have no right to feel the way I do. So she was getting ready today to go out with one of her man friends and it triggered my anxiety attack. I just got a flashback to when she was using drugs when I was younger and would tell me that she’ll be back and she’d just leave. For days. I walked into my nana’s room and just started bawling on her bed and I couldn’t understand why. Then everything hit me and I put shit together and was like “oh, I’m panicking because she’s leaving and she can’t be trusted” and it fucking blows. I’m the type of person that holds everything I feel inside because I don’t want to offend others with how feel. So since she relapsed a week ago I haven’t really talked to her about it and it kills me to be civil with her when I just want to bash her fucking face in. I don’t want to hate her and I feel like I do. I don’t hate her though. I just hate the drugs. Drugs have taken everything away from me. My family is full of addicts and so are most of my friends and it just kills me. I’m trying to save myself so I can save everyone around me. I love so hard and so much to the point that it hurts me and it turns into anger and hatred. I don’t want to be bitter at such a young age. I don’t want life to break me. I honestly don’t know where I’m going with this lol but bottom line is, you never know what someone is going through. I’m so happy and go lucky and am constantly trying to lift others up when I need someone to lift me up too. We all deserve to be loved and accepted and it’s okay to tell people that you’re not okay. I myself am working on that so hopefully writing this all out will be my first step of healing myself. If you made it to this point in my post, thank you and I appreciate you all. I love you.

0 notes