#and EXQUISITE INTERPERSONAL PAIN

[bleachbleachbleach]

Fic comment:

a;slfka;lkf I love the thick descriptions of how these training plans and Hell expedition work and who’s on what and how one gets notified of what and the LISTS and the LETTERS and all of it. B3, it’s scene-setting information, and sure it is but it’s WORLD information and PAPERWORK information and I love it so much. Even as it becomes exquisitely painful, when Hinamori finds her name removed from the expedition—and then pieces together who orchestrated it. I say exquisitely painful in the finest, most complimentary way—oh my god, this whole fic is SO painful my nervessss—!!!

All the moments where conversation or recognition gets shunted away, or where the perfunctory layers over that seed of betrayal (a new, worse, real flavor), only for it to break the surface in lines like and evidently, there were still people that doubted her.

AAAAaaaAAAAAaaaAAAA I am deceased please help I will never recover

But setting aside that puddle of myself for a moment, I also love the way you’ve built out the workings of the kidou-weaving, the pieces and process and the stretch of it as Hinamori tries to demonstrate and explain  and keep tabs on Hitsugaya/be present in the wake of his whole thing all at once. The difficulty of holding all the intermediary steps while fielding questions and being off the pace of how one might usually weave the spells—delicious.

And the mentions of Hinamori on Vizard camping trips with Shinji! LET SHINJI FISH 2K24.

And back to me being a puddle, because normally Hinamori would be completely unbothered by Hitsugaya’s commentaries, but not tonight. Because it really was such a shitty thing to do, in ways that are so different from anything else he’s ever done, whether he sees it that way or not. The way Hinamori reasons through the various bureaucratic pitfall traps that could also be part of the situation to point out that he’d overstepped not only her autonomy as a VC but also Rukia’s as a Captain—OUCH. And Hinamori bbbbb feeling no righteousness and just badness and remorse on account of stewing in negative feelings ToT <333333 Especially when what she is feeling is, again, so different from points in their past, negative or positive. Positive silences. Hinamori mourning a little, Hitsugaya’s honesty. Which is one of his best features, but also one that feels genuinely core to him. It makes me feel like the badness Hinamori’s feeling is about what he did, definitely, but also about her watching someone she cares about warp away from their truest self. And Hinamori knows a little to a lot about that; it feels like something that would hold a lot of intense emotion for her.

I’m glad that whatever misfortunes their midnight visitor also entailed (lol), the bunny also served to dispel some of their tension. The final lines here are so, so beatiful: Sometime during the night, Momo felt her hand being pulled, and held tight. That even if they drifted in dreams under the stars, she was grounded and safe, held tight to home. I love ethe cadence of that final phrase, held tight to home.

Aaaaaa I really enjoyed this. I read it last night—first all the bits outside the cut, on my phone, like some kind of feral animal circling future prey lol, and then again in full. And then AGAIN in full this morning, and it was such a delight every time, and it makes me so happy that this fic exists and that it was written for ME. Thank you so much! What a fantastic start to 2024!! <3333333

For your reblogs milestone requests (congratulations!!) If this pings you, I'd love to see Hitsugaya + Hinamori + CAMPING. Good trip, bad trip, planned, unplanned, business, pleasure... Any kind of camping and any kind of tone!

how to start a fire

Rating: K+

“Hinamori, you’re imagining things—go to sleep.”

“I am not,” she hissed, with a little more bite than intended. She was still bitter about their squabble. “I know there’s something out there.” She turned to her backpack, fumbling around in the dark as she searched for the flashlight. “Did you read the information pack that Hisagi-san had sent? Apparently, this used to be a habitat for bears.”

“Yes, and I read the amended version Ise-fuukutaicho sent—the local bear population has become endangered. The only thing we’re in danger of is losing our sleep,” he grumbled.

…

Momo is sent to train Toushiro in the World of the Living in combination kido.

Word Count: 3670 words

Setting: after the Bleach Anniversary Hell Chapter

Prompt: @hitsuhina-week Gift Exchange 2023 for @whipplefilter

"maybe we didn't argue, but we don't agree"/ "Hitsugaya asks Hinamori to teach him her kidou-weaving"/"HitsuHina from unexpected/outside POVs"

Authour’s Note: This is SO LATE IN ALL THE SENSES. Firstly, because Whipple sent this request in like, summer. And then I was matched with them for the Gift Exchange which I thought I could make! but holidays! & falling sick! (are we really ever as productive as we would like over the holidays??)

(Thank you @rays-of-fire-and-ice for being understanding!)

When I saw the prompts that Whipple sent, I immediately thought of their initial fic request & thought it was such a perfect thing to combine! Unfortunately, I couldn't get in the Hitsuhina from an outside POV but maybe one day in the future!

I had a lot of fun trying to flesh this out and was really happy to go back to writing after so long! However, I believe much like the rest of the fandom, life is going to get busy in the coming months for me and I won't be as active in writing as I would like to :( I hope to still participate in events but it does really inspire me reading everyone's work when I come back to try to write on me own!!

Happy New Year everyone! Here's hoping 2024 is one with happiness and laughter and fun for everyone!!

I hope you all enjoy this!

---

Momo dropped her duffel bag and began to rummage around it, pushing overnight clothes and toiletries aside. “Here’s a clearing: we can proceed here.”

Toushiro looked around skeptically, noting the abandoned fire pits and wooden pavilions in the distance. “Won’t we be disturbing the humans?”

“Soutaicho had reserved the whole camping ground area while the Twelfth Division set up a barrier that would send any human that would walk towards the training facilities, confused but turned around.” She swallowed the gikon pill, feeling her human body leave her as if she were shedding a coat off.

The tenth captain raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t the Kido Corps have facilitated that?”

Momo shrugged, though she admitted she wondered about the ethics of the research division sometimes. “All the training leaders were assured that they wouldn’t be harmed. Nanao-san also reiterated that each cell would be allocated a parcel of the forest—so we don’t have to worry about anyone else while we train.”

With the new frontier of Hell on the line, the Gotei 13 were implementing new training tactics to prepare for the unknown battle. Each division had received a list of candidates for leaders of the cell groups—specific internal training groups to provide targeted instruction on skills soldiers may find lacking. Momo had been selected from the Fifth Division to lead high level kido proficiency, specifically on combination spells. The leaders ranged in rank, from captains to lieutenants and even high ranked seated officers. She had heard later from Matsumoto, Ikkaku had been selected to lead swordsmanship skills, Isane for healing during combat, a fourth seat in the eighth division for defensive spells among many. The cell groups would then be volunteers from across the Gotei 13 that would train with the leaders in World of the Living on a reserved human camping site.

Momo had been flattered (even when her captain had bemoaned jokingly why he hadn’t been picked) but was also left feeling disconcerted at the letter.

A few weeks ago, there was an expedition team sent out earlier to understand the spells and mechanisms that opened Hell’s Doors as well as scope its initial terrain. The list was short and concise with only a few captains and lieutenants selected. Renjii & Rukia were on the list as they had already prior experience in the hellscape. Momo had been keen to go, as she heard her name was nominated by Rukia to help with kido to break down the entrance. However, the day before the mission, her name was taken off the list with a curt note saying that her kido services would no longer be required. During the prior lieutenant’s meeting Renjii looked at her with a regretful glance, squeezing her shoulder sympathetically and she later received an apology Hell Butterfly from the Thirteen Captain before the expedition team left.

Momo had walked back to the Fifth Division in a daze, feeling a bit bereft at the sudden change in plans. The shock must have been evident on her face as her captain immediately took one look at her before bringing her to the couch and placing a warm cup of tea in her hands.

“Hitsugaya-taicho seems to have requested you for your first training session.”

“Why?” Momo asked. She had been reviewing the list of volunteers who wanted to train with her and was surprised at the number of people. If she were to spend time with each one, she would have to remain in the World of the Living for at least a month.

However, she had not seen Toushiro’s name on her initial list—much less expected him to volunteer. The tenth captain was quick on his feet in battle and she never assumed his skills were lacking.

Hirako-taicho shrugged. “Maybe he wants a brush up as well? I know he had gone on the Hell Expedition Team & him and the little Kuchiki realized there was some reworking off spells to be done.”

That got Momo to pause as she was sorting through the files. It had been a couple of weeks since the team had returned from Hell. “Hitsugaya-taicho had joined the expedition?” As far as she knew, he was never a candidate for the expedition, and he hadn’t mentioned anything like that to her.

Her captain stilled, his eyes avoiding her questioning look. “I believe he was the last-minute change…”

“Hirako-taicho—why did Hitsugaya-kun go on the expedition?”

He sighed in quiet exasperation. “I heard from Abarai that Hitsugaya-taicho requested you off the mission,” he said reluctantly. “And when there was no other candidate to go, he volunteered himself.”

“And why would he do that?” she asked quietly, still processing what she had heard.

Hirako shook his head, his bangs falling away from his eyes. “He never brought it up at the captain’s meeting. He went directly to the Soutaicho & the expedition team.”

The news sat with Momo as she prepared her training plan and packed her bags to go the World of the Living. The unease festered inside of her, leaving her with feelings of self-doubt and anxiety. She found herself unable to sleep well and only when she stepped onto the campgrounds and breathed in the fresh air, could she feel the tension loosening in her shoulder.

Momo had an earlier departure time and was preparing the grounds when the Tenth Captain dropped in, much later in the evening when the sky was hedging into dusk. It had been the first time they had seen each other in a long while, and Momo was still feeling unsettled—so introductions were short, and she immediately led him to the training area where she was now beginning a demonstration. If the boy noticed anything unusual, he made no comment and followed suit.

Momo slipped into teaching mode, something she had learned while part-timing at the academy to help compartmentalize her life as a lecturer separate from a lieutenant.

“We’ll start off with one of my prior combination spells in battle: from during the Winter War era when Rangiku-san and I had to fight the three arrancars.” She avoided looking at Toushiro for she knew much after the fact that he hadn’t approved of her coming onto the battlefield—which apparently, things still hadn’t changed between them. “Let me show you first.”

The girl lifted her hands in front of her, demonstrating as she spoke. “The strength of the spell also comes from the foundation of the pose. I know after we graduate and go into battle, it’s very easy to skip this step as we’ve become comfortable with the incantations.” She moved her hands as if they were framing a triangle. “However, as we introduce combination spells, I find that there’s strength in using combative stances with defensive spells and vice versa.”

Her student nodded along, with a furrow in his eyebrows that Momo knew he was mentally taking notes.

“It started off with Hadou 12 Fuishibi: I had used it as a defensive base before obscuring it with a concealment spell.”

“That was Kyokou, right?” Toushiro piped in.

She nodded in affirmation. “Yes—that was the key to catching the arrancar off. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to blindside them in the initial attack.”

Toushiro’s eyebrow raised slowly, almost as if he were impressed if Momo had to guess. “That’s quite commendable that you were able to weave that many kidou together—especially for your first time.”

Momo had to stop herself from reacting openly to that. She hadn’t remembered telling him that it was her first attempt, a decision crossed in between luck and adrenaline. However, she had a lot to prove—and evidently, there were still people that doubted her.

“However, the key is finding the right igniting spell: Shakaho is a common one and it doesn’t matter how proficient you are in kidou—it’ll still give you the right amount of power you need.”

She beckoned with her head, her arms still held in front of her in stance. “You can follow me for now and then we can try separately on our own, Hitsugaya-taicho.”

When he mirrored suit, she started reciting the incantations—pausing in between lines to explain the steps.

“You start trying to imagine a series of lines, crossing each other. Imagine the intersection and focus on that. Personally, for me, it helps to visualize the centers becoming brighter to build a stronger net.”

“Like Bakudo #4, Hainawa?”

Momo winced, sensing the kidou web pull away from her. “Not really. It’s the foundation—it’s not the main goal. You’re setting up trajectory for the blast to follow.”

“Is it necessary to recite the full spell?”

“Sort of—I find it helpful to not focus fully on the incantation but instead what it represents. Breaks down the rigidity of the tradition and make it more malleable in combining different spells.”

“How do you control the scale of the net?”

“It’s all in the visualization—you need to imagine it,” she responded quickly as she felt herself faltering. The net grew dimmer and wilted, like a flower causing Momo to repeat the previous line again. She wasn’t used to being interrupted so often.

“When do you switch hand positions?”

“Hold on Hitsugaya—”, Momo could feel the net pull away from her like a storm wind catching hold of a kite. She proceeded forward and, in her haste, she skipped two lines ahead in the incantation.   

The effects were immediate with the strings of the net burning brighter and brighter. Momo faltered, immediately stopping the incantation but it was too late. The net hummed in power before it exploded, sending sparks back at the shinigami & the wooden structures.

Momo could only watch as Toushiro immediately called a cool wind forth to snuff out the embers, leaving just a sizzling trail of smoke as the remains of the misspell.

“I think we better call it for the night,” he said with a measured tone, evaluating the scene.

The slip back into their gigai was so quiet and routine that even the shift of corporeal bodies couldn’t cut the thick tension between the two. The moon was hanging high & alone by the time they had returned silently back to their campsite.

Momo immediately started collecting broken branches and twigs to start the fire. She kept her head down, repeating the recent events in her head over and over. Even though Toushiro had been peppering her with questions, she knew she was accustomed to that from teaching new recruits—and inwardly Momo knew that it was her earlier feelings towards the young captain that made her mess up the incantation. There was a strong part of her that was ashamed for getting her emotions get in the way of teaching—something she had promised herself she would learn to keep professional and private matters separate.

Momo sighed deeply, walking back to their clearing, and dumping the wood into the firepit. As she rearranged the pieces into a tented position, she could feel Toushiro’s eyes on her—much like earlier, observing quietly and learning.

“It’s to help structure the flame,” she explained quietly. Momo pulled some newspapers she had brought with her and began shredding them over the pit.

“How do you know how to do this?”

“Hirako-taicho and I went on camping trips as a way to get to know each other when we first started working together. The other Vizards would also join us as well.”

Toushiro rolled his eyes. “It still amazes me how he can circumvent rules to do it.” It was an offhand comment, nothing out of the ordinary for the young captain. However, at that moment it deeply grated at her nerves, and it struck raw.

Momo snapped a branch in her hand. “Hirako-taicho completes his work as necessary. He also doesn’t cross the line—unlike you Hitsugaya-taicho.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about, Hinamori?”

“You pulled rank and took me off the Hell expedition,” she said curtly, yanking out the matchstick box from her pocket and snapping the match strong against the box.

There was a pause where Momo could only hear the friction of the match. “You’re not ready,” Toushiro said carefully, as if he were approaching a skittish creature. “There are far too many unknowns, and the risk is too great.”

“You had no business deciding to do so.” The match didn’t catch, and Momo cursed under her breath as she flicked it to the ground. She pulled another one out and began again.

“Other lieutenants were pulled off as well, it came down to essential personnel only.”

“No, Hitsugaya-taicho, you are a captain of the Tenth Division and were overstepping your bounds. Kuchiki-san had requested me on that mission for my skills and you decided to pull me off.”

The match ignited brightly in her hands. Momo dropped it into the pile of wood where it immediately spurred into large flames. She looked up to see the fire reflecting in his turquoise eyes, resolute.

“If I had to do it again, I would,” he said solemnly, holding his ground across the fire from her.

“Well that’s the difference between us, Hitsugaya-taicho—I would be honest with someone if I didn’t think they were good enough.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he sighed.

Momo straightened her shoulders back and stared firmly back at him through the flames. “I am a lieutenant of the Fifth Division, I have earned my way to serve the Gotei 13—whether you like it or not.”  

--

Dinner was a quiet tense affair with the two of them eating their packed meals quite far and separated from each other. Momo had already started to feel awful from such negative feelings, but on principle she held her ground, quickly scarfing down her onigiri.

They had changed in silence to their sleeping clothes, each taking turns to watch shift before tucking into their respective sleeping bags across the fire pit. In the absence of a “good night,” Momo felt remorse, and found herself consciously holding back from asking if Toushiro was awake.

When they were younger, they’d climb up onto the thatched roofs to stargaze during the night. The hay would itch at bare skin and it would always take the two of them a while to get settled, but when they had found their spots, it was like the world quieted again and they lost themselves in counting the constellations. Sometimes she would speak and Toushiro would respond, in either one sentence responses or noises of affirmation—but always honest. And when it became too quiet to speak, the two would just lie in silence. It was those peaceful moments that would ground Momo whenever she was away studying in the academy; where it felt like possibilities were endless, but home was right behind her, keeping her grounded and safe.

But that felt like a different lifetime with too much death in between to tie them to the same life.

A loud rustle startled Momo from her stupor.

She pushed herself up off the ground. “Did you hear that?”

There was another sound, a creak.

“Hitsugaya-kun,” Momo called out, a twinge of fear creeping into her voice.

“I’m trying to sleep,” he groused.

She persisted, sitting up and listening carefully. The fire crackled and hissed, and Momo strained to hear through the crackle of the fire. Internally she felt at lost without being able to detect the rieatsu of whatever was out there.

“Hinamori, you’re imagining things—go to sleep.”

“I am not,” she hissed, with a little more bite than intended. She was still bitter about their squabble. “I know there’s something out there.” She turned to her backpack, fumbling around in the dark as she searched for the flashlight. “Did you read the information pack that Hisagi-san had sent? Apparently, this used to be a habitat for bears.”

“Yes, and I read the amended version Ise-fuukutaicho sent—the local bear population has become endangered. The only thing we’re in danger of is losing our sleep,” he grumbled.

“I forgot how grumpy you get when you don’t get your sleep,” Momo murmured.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

A rustle was heard and Toushiro shot up, his eyes much alert. “I think there’s something approaching.”

Momo fought the urge to roll her eyes as she fished out the flashlight. “That’s what I was saying.”

A twig broke and immediately Toushiro slipped a gikon pill in, his human body falling back onto the sleeping bag.

“I’m not going to use Hyourinmaru—the weather changes will alert the humans nearby.”

Momo rustled through her duffle bag, pulling things out rapidly. “I can’t find my gikon pills—I must have left them at the training site.”

Toushiro stepped in front of her sleeping bag, his stance defensive as he mimicked Momo’s earlier pose from the training session. “I’ll handle it. I’ll use the kido weaving to stop whatever it is in its tracks.”

That got Momo to pause. “Wait, Hitsugaya-kun—I’m not sure if you’re ready.”

He started to chant, slow and steady as the noise picked up. Momo could only focus on her heart racing that she almost missed the slip of incantation: Toushiro had skipped a line—a very crucial line.

“Hitsugaya-kun—you forgot—”

The threads burned amber, casting a bright glow against the surrounding boundary of trees before they began to constrict against themselves. The woven net grew and expanded, closing in around the two of them instead of pushing outward. Toushiro realizing his error, quickly turned around and crouched over Momo as the net imploded into great sparks, rivaling a fireworks show.

The rustling noise got louder and two of them could only look up as the bush rumbled and rustled—before a bunny slipped out. It stared comically at the two of them, cocking its head to the side before hoping through the campgrounds as the two childhood friends watched.

A bubble of laughter escaped from Momo’s mouth which earned her an exasperated look from her friend above her. “I can’t believe Toushiro’s hair was mussed with grey soot streaking the spiky edges; he looked like the human confection of a burnt marshmallow—which made Momo laugh even harder.

“This isn’t funny,” he grumbled, swiping away at his face with soot coming off.

“It kind of is,” she continued to laugh. “I’m sure when you get back into your gigai, it’ll go away.”

Whatever previous tension that was there before, disappeared and now there was a lightness as the two young shinigami cleaned up the area. The campfire that had been blazing strong before had calmed down to a dying ember, its small spark still burning bright against the night.

Momo cleared her throat, sheepishly looking down. “Would you mind if we pull these closer?” she gestured towards the distanced sleeping bags.

Toushiro shook his head. “No, not at all.”

After rearranging the bags, the two settled in quietly, lying on their backs and looking up at the stars. Momo sighed in content, feeling a lot more at peace than before but still wanted to clear the air about one more thing.

“Hitsugaya-kun,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry for yelling at you today.”

There was a long pause and she had wondered if he had heard her. “I deserved it. I apologize for not being transparent with you.”

Momo raised an eyebrow. “The great Hitsugaya-taicho is apologizing to me?”

“Oh, shut it.” Even though it was dark, she could hear the eyeroll in his voice. “And I’ve done it before,” he added softly.

“I know.” Momo remembered it well, especially after the Winter War. “But those for things that were out of your control. This is for something you deliberately did.”

The young girl heard him sigh deeply. “It’s something I’m working on,” he conceded.

“Rangiku-san put you up to it?”

“Something like that…” he drifted off.

“Well…” Momo tucked the blanket around her tighter her shoulders. “Thank you.”

When he didn’t say anything back, she continued on, speaking softly. “You need to trust me—I understand you’re worried, but you can’t go around making decisions on my behalf without talking to me.” She turned onto her side and faced him. “I can take care of myself, Hitsugaya-kun.”

He sighed. “I know you can—I don’t doubt it at all.”

“Then what makes this different?” Momo whispered.

Toushiro was silent for a while before turning to her. “It’s what we don’t know—everything we’ve been taught feels…upended.” He grimaced & even in the dark she could see the storm brewing in his eyes. “Ukitake-taicho, the Soutaicho…they’re all there now. It feels like the rules have changed and things are out of control.”

Momo smiled sympathetically before reaching a hand across, and gently placing it on his shoulder. “I know. I’m scared too. I’m scared for everyone at the Fifth, for Hirako-taicho, Rangiku-san.” She paused and stared into his eyes. “I’m also scared for you.”

His eyes widened slowly. “Hinamori…”

“But I won’t let that stop me from wanting to protect everyone—to protect you.” She squeezed his shoulder. “That’s why I became a shinigami, right?”

Momo could sense his inner storm abating and smiled in relief. “So—trust me, okay? Like I trust you to stay safe.”

He sighed deeply and stared back at her. “Okay—I will try.”

She chuckled quietly. “That’s all I ask.”

Momo let her hand fall in the space between them. “Now let’s go to sleep. We still have to finish training tomorrow. I can’t send you back not knowing how to do one combination spell.”

“This will definitely be an experience I will never forget,” he said softly.

She smiled, her eyes already closing shut. “Good night, Hitsugaya-kun.”

Sometime during the night, Momo felt her hand being pulled, and held tight. That even if they drifted in dreams under the stars, she was grounded and safe, held tight to home.

---

Authour's Note: Again, this happens late at night because I am a sucker for late night conversations. I had a lot of fun trying to write Momo's teaching methods for the kido (as if I know anything lol) I also just love that something doesn't go splendidly well for Toushiro (though I wish there were more people to witness it hahahaha)

Until next time everyone :)

[thesandsofelsweyr]

BOY TOY

《 CHAPTER 1/2 // READ ON AO3 》

While the Bird's away, the Clown will play.

《RATING》 🔞 Explicit 《WORDS》 1,094

《PAIRING》 Joker x Jason Todd/Robin

《TROPES》 Hurt No Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

《WARNINGS》 Somnophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Ownership, Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Genital Torture, Caning, Blood and Injury, Scars, Underage, Non-Con

《TAGLIST》 @aaliyah-wayne @ladytauria @betty-1880 @deans-spinster-witch @hlg8 @plantixst

Written for @dcdarkweek 2024

Day 2: Consent Issues: Somnophilia, Forced Orgasm (Ch. 2)

Day 3: Interpersonal Dynamics: Underage

Day 5: Power & Control: Ownership

Day 6: Graphic Violence: Stress Positions, Genital Torture, Caning

《NOTES》

This is a DARK FIC so please be aware of the tags!

There will be smut in Chapter 2. It will be my first attempt at writing M/M

If you enjoy the read please kudos, comment, and reblog 💛

《 READ ON AO3 》 (excerpt below the cut)

Exquisite. 

The sight before him inspires many words, but exquisite is the one Joker likes best. He sighs a contented sigh as his eyes crawl up and down the unconscious figure before him, from matted black hair to bruised and broken toes. His latest pair of Batman imposters had left the naked kid dangling by his bony wrists after their playtime was over, and Joker can’t help but think of this mutilated slab of boymeat as an offering, a sacrifice to him. Batsy’s little lambchop led like a sheep to the slaughter, and he’d been waiting, bib tied ‘round his neck, knife and fork in each hand at the ready. A slavering wolf cartoon about to devour his long-awaited feast.

Joker slips off his lavender gloves, finger by finger by bleached-white finger, while he stalks toward his ensnared prey. Toddy’s head hangs dejectedly between dislocated shoulders. Swollen eyelids swim in pits of purply-black bruises and hide behind a veil of stringy hair. His cherub face is puffy, streaked where tears cut tracks through the caked filth. Protruding ribs rise and fall as his lungs gasp for air, each coveted breath sucked in with an adorable wheeze. His toes are curled like a proper ballerina, desperately reaching for the merciful floor below. Fresh blood dribbles down his skinny arms from where the metal cuffs bite into that paper-thin skin.

Joker’s ravenous grin splits wider as his mind drifts back to his little bird’s last playtime. After the bogus Bats had beaten him silly, they’d stripped the jailbird of his orange jumpsuit and cut away his briefs before stringing him up for a flogging. That big brainless brute Blockbuster turned out to be an expert at wielding a bamboo cane, leaving the kid’s backside striped bloody, from the nape of his scrawny neck to the hollows of his knobby knees. Oh how his bird had begged while his skin was shredded to ribbons all over again! But that wasn’t the best part of the performance, no sirree. Before leaving the kid to his tears and fears, Catman had squeezed the baby birdie’s bruised balls in a gauntleted fist until he’d passed out from the pain.

And here they are now: his darling boy still sleeping unsoundly, brain still scrambled from the good Doctor Quinzel’s overdose of hallucinogens. Joker stops short before this tapestry of torture. Resisting the urge to trace the puckered ‘J’ forever seared into his boy’s delicate cheek, he instead takes a moment to admire the full expanse of his handiwork. When the Boy Blunder had fallen into his lap like manna from heaven, he’d been built in the Bat’s own image: a well-muscled adonis with a roleplaying fetish. But after months of depravity those bulging muscles had all but withered away. Now only pallid skin remains, hanging loosely from broken bones. Deeeee-licious!

Read the rest on AO3→

[musette22]

Hi Minnie! Sorry this is not Stucky related at all but the talk of Kieran Culkin on your blog had me thinking - I believe you’ve mentioned not being huge on watching a lot of films (apologies if I’m mistaken), but if you are ever looking for a new movie to watch, A Real Pain (the one Kieran won an award for at the Globes this year) was a really touching story that I think you may like! It’s about two cousins on a Holocaust tour in Poland and it deals with interpersonal family dynamics/how people process trauma, but it’s also quite surprisingly funny and sweet. It’s like an hour and a half and really well-paced so it flies by. Seb also mentioned it as one of his favourites of the year which further goes to confirm my biased hypothesis about his exquisite taste, haha.

Hello sweetheart! Thank you for your message 💗 Aahh yes that's right, I am unfortunately very bad at watching movies, which I realise is ironic considering I am in a movie/actor-based fandom 😭 But yeah, I have some issues with always needing to feel productive and watching a movie does not classify as that in my weird brain (even though reading does, kinda). So I really have to hype myself up and force myself to sit down to watch a movie, which is why it only happens a few times a year 😅 (don't worry, I'm in therapy lol)

None of this means that I don't like or appreciate movies and the effort that goes into them, though! It really is just a weird brain thing. I do want to work on it though, because I'm missing out on so much great cinema..! So thank you so much for this recommendation, it really does sound like a movie I'd like 🫶🏼 I actually edited a review of it recently for the newspaper I work with, and I saw the trailer at the film house I occasionally work at (I know 😭) and it did catch my eye! So maybe all of that combined with your message (and the fact that Seb liked it too, of course 😉) is a sign that I *should* watch it 🙏🏻 I'll do my best, thank you so much for thinking of me and dropping by with this rec, I really appreciate it!

[jeanmoreaux]

Girl your post/reblog on ‘love treachery. love betrayal. love to see the sacred bond of mutual trust being shattered and torn apart’ got me hoLLerING

I like pain when done poetically, written beautifully, and through insane tragedy (mainly how the author writes it)

you 🤝 me ((happy the reblog resonated; that‘s what i‘m here for lol))

the flavour of interpersonal pain and tragedy can be so exquisite if done by the right person. there is just something about the breaking of trust, betrayal, the tragic transformation of characters and relationships, and the corruption of love that makes me absolutely feral. love, Love, LOVE to be a witness to that in fiction. it manages to evoke so many different and complex emotions — it‘s a pleasure to lose yourself in that every now and then.

[thegildedbee]

10.28 [ ghosts ]

Halloween is just 'round the corner, so this final Friday of fic recs means it's time for the list to expire, and to join the sheeted dead: it seems appropriate, then, to give over week 4 to ghosts. Sending out wishes to one and all for a splendid All Hallows' Eve, snug in the knowledge that the ghostly presence of 1895 continues to reappear in so many variations across the future, and, most compellingly of all, due to the fabulousness of fic writers and the gifts they bestow. 👻

previous weeks 10.21: most spine-chilling adversaries 10.14: occult transformations 10.7: tricks to treats ......................................................................................... ~in order of word length~ The Haunting of 221B Baker Street by earlgreytea68 (2012), rated M, 10388 words. We know from the start that: Sherlock hasn't survived the Reichenbach Fall; is very much a (spectral) presence; and is surreptitiously resident at 221B. Unaware of the latter two facts, John has decamped from Baker Street, but when Mrs. Hudson has trouble keeping tenants because they report the flat is haunted, he comes back to investigate. Experiencing a moment of emphatic ghostly dramatics convinces him that "if anyone was going to figure out how to be a ghost just to be a pain in everybody’s arse, it would be you" -- and he promptly moves back in. 221B is something like a deserted island in which two shipwrecked flatmates -- one alive and one not -- negotiate the perplexing terrain engendered by that great divide. The bittersweet premise starts out weighted more toward the bitter, although their journey through various forms of emotion (reminding me quite a bit of the film Inside Out) eventually delivers them with a never-to-be-forgotten rightness to the other end of the spectrum. A stunningly-executed love story that takes you on a deep dive into John's and Sherlock's personalities as revealed through their interpersonal dynamics -- which is why we read Johnlock fic, yeah? -- this is a fic that is supernaturally good, in all senses of the good word good.

podfic by magiccranberries

A Thousand Kisses Deep by Susan (2017), rated E, 12689 words. This fic is such an exquisitely cut gem that it is thrilling (I guarantee that sentence will make perfect sense once you read the fic). A soul-satisfyingly second chances reversal of time narrative, in which a Sherlock who is old in body and spirit is informed by a ghostly visitor one sleepless night that a wish by John is being granted -- that is, if a Sherlock returned to 2010 can set things right. The incredible amount of readerly fun that results from following Sherlock's high-spirited romp as he makes his way through his gob-smacked deductions (about his reinstated younger body, about the perfection of his only consultant in the world London life, and in aid of his race to outwit the fates), brings about an equally incredible amount of heart-melting readerly rapture at the romantic entanglement that ensues. The different bits of call-and-response literary flourishes evoked in the text lend an already deeply-layered story an extra-dimensionality that goes beyond the temporal paradoxes. The epigraph to the story is from Leonard Cohen, and is a perfect distillation of the story that unfolds: And fragrant is the thought of you / The file on you complete / Except what we forgot to do / A thousand kisses deep.

podfic by podfixx

He's Coming To Us Dead by Vulgarweed (2014), rated E, 13397 words. Part of the Bone Fiddle universe (but can be read alone), set in 1970s Appalachia, a place where enigmatic trouble-magnet Sherlock Holmes has drifted to, and to which Vietnam war vet John Watson has returned home. The two have semi-secretly taken up with each other in ways undeniably mutually satisfying, although the strain that possible apparitions place on their connection turns out to be scarier than the 'haints' themselves. This is a classic ghost story, steeped in local and Doylean lore (tragic love for the first, Baskervillean unease for the second). A fic full of questions answered and unanswered, in which Sherlock observes, "when we've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable -- is still fucking impossible." Like everything in the BF universe, this is a totally absorbing ride through the ways in which Sherlock and John reveal themselves to each other and to us, indelibly inscribed in smart, funny, captivating prose that gives us an addictively realized picture of them.

De profundis by darcylindbergh (2017), rated M, 32036 words. This is a charmer of a tale, sprung from the premise that since the age of 12 Sherlock has been able to see ghosts, and which uses that fact to ingeniously repurpose the elements of A Study in Pink in all kinds of clever ways. The ins-and-outs of what seems to be his singular ability to attract the attention of ghosts upends Sherlock's life, accompanied as he often is by the dearly-departed-although-not-yet-gone, and the fic's depiction of his inventive interactions with them -- exasperated, yet tolerant and kind and gentle -- has a winning sui generis tone that is sweetly absurdist. The chief plot point hinges on Sherlock's uncertainty when he meets John Watson as to whether or not he's alive or dead, a question that is stubbornly resistant to resolution over the course of the next day as he and John become increasingly enamored with each other as they team up to tackle the serial suicides, leaving the reader with an enticing puzzle to try and solve before Sherlock does.

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (2015), rated E, 102493 words. Since John Watson was a boy, he's had to contend with the terror that grips him due to the "formless spirits and ghosts that it seems only he can see," which press against him in threatening ways as a darkly massed cloud, chilling him to the bone, whenever he dares to venture outdoors. The desperation he feels one day suddenly lifts as he flees down a familiar street and ends up at the door of a building he's never seen there before. He tells the woman who opens the door that he has no idea why he's there, but the deep rumbling voice from the man at the top of the stairs gives him one word in reply: "Inevitable." Sherlock is the proprietor of a wish-granting shop, and the fascinating series of events that take place reveal the many mysteries of Sherlock, John, and the ways in which their lives have been entwined. The Sherlock series’ characters turn up in especially memorable ways, along with an enchanting cast from the Japanese manga the fic it is fused with -- including what is the most ridiculously cute animal in all of Sherlock ficdom, a Pipe Fox spirit creature, whose mysterious nature brings John and Sherlock closer in many endearing ways.

........................................................................ *fic reblog recruits, perhaps??? ❤️ @totallysilvergirl @blogstandbygo @mydogwatson @keirgreeneyes @helloliriels ........................................................................

[un-pearable]

not fully decided but i’m losing my mind i need this “yoink everyone from the most awkward/painful possible times” story so bad so rough ideas:

kai - the only one actually from the current point in the show, has to both step up and readjust to handling all of his teammates and their individual AND interpersonal crises. kai focus story

zane - “youngest”, pre-robot reveal zane who is nowhere near the reliable figure they know now. still figuring out who he is and is both very thrown by all the social cues and in jokes he’s suddenly not getting again bc everyone thinks he’s just. you know. zane. and instinctly treat him they way they do their zane, which is both surprisingly helpful (bc the early ninja are accidentally very mean and over time they got better at. not being that) and very confusing bc he still doesn’t really Get It. and everyone else is freaking out trying to decide whether or not to break it to him. this only gets worse the longer it goes on.

lloyd - mid s9 when the core four + wu are stuck and he thinks everyone is dead arc, conflict bc he’s been trying to step up as the leader and also overcompensating for how genuinely terrified he is at the thought that he actually lost them all

nya - mayyyyyybe mid hands of time? extremely excited at the idea of having reunited w their parents and frustrated, angry to find out that they didn’t actually stay connected and blames kai for a bit bc he both hid that they found them from her and for them having a bad relationship

cole - pre dotd? skybound for some fucky shenanigans about who does and doesn’t remember certain things? mb when jay’s captured. idk smthn about him feeling left behind by his friends while he’s a ghost bc everyone else has filled his role as leader, three way conflict of kai (actually knows what’s going on but has so little experience) lloyd (is used to a world where he HAD to be the ones calling the shots) and cole (insecure bc he feels his friends no longer need him and thus WILDLY overcompensating bc he thinks it’s for the good of the team) cole and zane connect over the feeling of disconnect but everyone is so fucked up over whether to just tell zane or not it’s a mess

jay - easy way out is directly from THE most angsty possible everyone-is-dead part of skybound. which would be self explanatory, but i’m very keen on balancing it out a little and pulling him from either s3 or s4, or for max ouch right in the middle when they think zane’s dead (real fun right there for techno), bc then we get the exquisite potential of hands-of-time nya remembering skybound and jay doesn’t, and cole living through skybound and jay has no idea why the two of them are acting so weird, and nya and cole are confident in their friendships but jay feels like he’s ruined everything with BOTH of his best friends on top of losing zane and now he’s faced with versions of all three. funsies >:]

pixal - too good for this shit leave her alone. i think pixal and kai deserve to have a bit of a team up. extremely awkward situation regarding The Zane Problem, they’re probably fighting about it but bc literally everyone has an opinion on it and early zane has two hobbies of a) chilling with his friends doing this :) and b) wandering aimlessly (dangerous given he is Incredibly Recognizably Not The Titanium Ninja) so he keeps walking in on everyone’s tense conversations bc he is now the baby of the group :]

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Painted - Chapter One

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was.

10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting.

Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would.

Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter One

Everything has a color. To Y/N, violence was red. She pulled back her arm, her fist colliding with the heft of her punching bag with a soft thud . One, two, kick. She liked training alone, it centered her, cleared her mind. She didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches, avoiding the knees when she kicked. The biggest danger was the skin on her knuckles, which were expertly wrapped.

It all started as self defense, a way to ease her mind as she walked back to her Jeep on the dark nights, but it had evolved to something else altogether. She didn’t fight because she was afraid, she fought because she was pissed . She was pissed that she had to learn to defend herself; that other women did. She taught classes so that her community would be safe, so that they’d find less women abandoned in ditches beaten to death.

But when she was alone, it was something else completely. The why of the thing was a mystery most of the time, even to her. People used to ask her if she was afraid she would see him again. She wasn't, not really. But she kept fighting anyway, and she would be lying if his face wasn’t the one she pictured every time her fist collided with the bag.

The beat of her music throbbed in her ears like an angry heartbeat as she went for an uppercut that rattled the bag. She was panting, sweat rolling down her temple. Each hit was a beat of her heart, causing the bag to come alive. With each swing she made, it swung back at her. She was strong, and she wasn’t holding back. One, two, kick.

Her watch chimed to alert her that she hit her workout goal for the day, but she had more fire within her that needed to be extinguished. It was a long workout, even for her, but she had a lot on her mind. If she was thinking about the ache of her knuckles and burning in her biceps, she was less likely to obsess over the things she couldn’t control. So she hit the bag again and again.

The sun was starting to speckle through the blinds on the storefront window, making the sweat on her arms glisten like diamonds. She considered, just for a moment, how the coast would look against the purples and oranges of the sunrise. She could have a coffee and just enjoy the silence. Or she could keep fighting. That answer was easy. She didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty in life. She hadn’t for a long time. All of the colors had lost their brightness, the depth that he used to talk about so frequently. The thing that kept him mixing until it was just right.

She hadn’t thought of him in so long, so when the thought came to her, she didn’t react fast enough to the bag swinging back toward her from her last hit. It collided directly with her face, sending her backwards onto the mat. A loud, painful crack echoed through her skull as her nose collided with the bag. She laid there for a moment, groaning. She tried to sit up, her nose throbbing and her mouth filling with blood from the hit. “Fuck me,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Trauma was black. According to her therapist, there were different types of trauma. Y/N learned that they all could be sorted into one of three main categories: acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over a little t trauma.

In Y/N’s life she’d seen her fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-three year old woman should’ve. She’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to herself, and continue to happen in case after case that she worked. She saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

She was always told that trauma healed over time, like a bruise, but for her, trauma was a cut that kept reopening. It was a scab that she couldn’t stop picking at, a bruise that seemed to deepen to a darker purple before it ever yellowed. Her eyes stung from the hit, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The only way she knew how to heal was to move on, leave the trauma behind. Her therapist told her to imagine herself placing the memories in a box and locking them away. Sometimes, when she was alone, she could hear that box screaming, banging, and begging to be opened. She resisted the urge, especially today.

She forced herself to stand, her head spinning. She leaned against the wall to regain her balance before she walked out to her car, her head tilted back. She could feel the blood roll down the back of her throat since it was unable to escape her nostril. She’d be pissed if she broke her nose, but, from what she could tell, it seemed intact even though it hurt like a bitch.

Her headphones were askew, but still playing her workout mix. She adjusted them and spit some blood from her mouth. She wouldn’t be thwarted by a fall; no, she wouldn’t be taken down so easily. If she fell in the gym and no one was there to witness her humiliation, did she even fall? The answer to that depended on if anyone would notice her bruised nose after the fact. If they didn’t, as far as she was concerned, she had a perfect refreshing work out with no issues whatsoever. Maybe with enough makeup her secret would remain her own.

10 years earlier

The sound of his paintbrush swiping delicately against canvas was soothing to Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, atop black satin sheets, resting on her hands, her back arched and her legs spread just right. Her long strawberry hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves onto the sheets.

“Just like that,” Lucifer murmured, a blonde wave falling into his eye. He was focused, his tongue partially out of his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t able to see the painting from her vantage point, but she knew what it was. It was always the same. I just can’t get you right, he’d complain, his voice laced with pain and disdain. She thought he made her more beautiful than she ever could be on her own.

When she’d met him, he was so focused on his art. He would eat, sleep, and drink his paintings. His clothing was speckled with oil colors, his fingers calloused from gripping paint brushes for hours on end. She found him sexy and mysterious. She was dying to know the man behind such beautiful pieces of art.

It didn’t take long for his obsession to shift from his art directly to her. He doted on her endlessly, showering her in flowers, candy, candlelight dinners. They made love constantly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Let me paint you, Y/N,” he’d purr between her legs. “I just want to paint you.” It took her weeks to say yes. She’d always brush him off, blushing and insecure. “You’re exquisite. Please let me paint you.”

She struggled to deny Lucifer’s requests when he asked as his breath tickled the inside of her thigh. It was hard to deny him of anything , if she was being honest. The first time she said yes, he arrived in her bedroom and asked her to drop the floral robe she was wearing. He’d seen her naked dozens of times, but she was still nervous, vulnerable, staring at him. She brought him a bag, insisting that he look inside before she disrobed.

He stared at the bag, confused.

“They’re body paints,” she explained. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They made love on the apartment floor, painting designs on each other's skin until she was swollen and wanting, gasping his name into the night.

When she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she found him painting her image onto a canvas laying splayed out, covered in swirls of sex and paint. “Don’t move,” he instructed calmly. She wanted to be angry, but she still felt drunk from being ravished, and his eyes examining her were sensual and slow. She watched his wrist spin and curl, and a chill ran up her spine.

“Lucifer, how much longer? ”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“No,” she murmured, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“We will fix that,” he promised. “You will always be this beautiful.” He was talking to her, she logically knew that, but from her vantage point she could’ve sworn he was speaking to the canvas.

Present

Y/N entered the code to unlock the front gate to her property, leaning half out her car window. Thankfully, her bleeding had stopped, but her upper lip and chin were still crusty with blood. She looked like a mess, if she was being honest, but the only one there to judge her was her chocolate brown pit bull, Castiel, and Y/N figured that Cas wouldn’t care much either way.

The iron gate opened with a groan, sliding to her right. She slid back into her seat and shifted out of park to pull forward down the driveway toward her house. It was modest, nothing too big or magnificent. The outside was grey brick, a two story home with a large green yard and a pool in the back. As she pulled up, she could already see Castiel’s nose pressed against the window, her head through the thick curtains. Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the sight. She wiggled her fingers at Castiel in a small wave.

Castiel greeted her at the door, his tail wagging excitedly. She knelt down to pet his chin only to be met with deep blue eyes and a pink tongue. “I know, buddy. I need to shower somethin’ fierce.”

She kissed his nose and murmured. “I’m good. We’re good.” Half the time she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She locked the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her arms ached and her heartbeat was still residing in her sinus from her fall. She let her hair out of the tie that kept it up in a high ponytail, letting it fall down her back. Her head was sore from her hair being up for hours. She massaged her scalp with a wince. Everything hurt and she couldn’t wait to wash her problems down the drain and start fresh.

Her work out clothes were discarded on the bathroom floor, the sound of running water and the steam accumulating in the air were already starting to soothe her. She took a deep breath in through her nose with a wince before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.

Y/N faced the water, letting the heat roll down her skin. The water ran brown from sweat and blood. She braced her hands on the walls of the shower to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, letting the baptism wash her worries away. Time has a way of wrecking a person, she knew that much. It gave a false sense of security, a sense of growth and change. She spent so much time trying to put her past behind her, locked away inside of a box.

She opened her eyes and looked at the half sleeves covering her wrists and forearms. The flowers and vines twisting around her arms, climbing, and growing out of thick, pink scars - creating something beautiful out of tragedy. She had hoped, when she got them, that they would help her heal and forget. She could laugh now at that naive girl who thought anything would let her forget. Time heals wounds, yes, but the greatest ones still ached in the cold and the rain.

Suds from soap and shampoo swirled down the drain, and she reached down to turn off the water. She wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into her robe. She could hear Castiel whine outside of the bathroom door, unusually unhappy with not being able to see her. “You’re good, Cas,” she called out, wiping the fog from the mirror. She examined her nose. It was a little swollen and already beginning to bruise. She cursed to herself and just hoped that it’d be dull enough that her painted foundation would cover it. The last thing she needed was to worry those around her.

Castiel scratched at the door again, and she opened it, her dog circling her legs impatiently. “What is your deal?” Y/N reached down and scratched behind her ear, eliciting licks from Castiel.

Towel drying her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and rounded the corner. Her eyes were heavy, and her head pounded from the hit. She needed coffee, bad . As she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, her towel falling from her hand. Castiel whined insistently, nudging Y/N’s leg with his nose. She stared face to face with something so familiar that it made her gut tighten, acid crawling up her throat.

A painting hung at her eye level in the hallway near the bathroom. Fine brush strokes of pale peach skin, strawberry twists of hair splayed out on black satin sheets, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and freckled legs spread out, exposing a delicate pink vagina tucked between them.

Y/N stared at herself. Her eyes closed, her swollen mouth, her pink cheeks on a face and head that belonged to her. Her freckled neck blended downwards onto heavy breasts with dark nipples and a mole under the right that she’d never seen before.

Her knees were weak, and she stumbled back, bumping into Castiel and tumbling backwards. She fell, hitting her tailbone on the wood floors with a hard smack . Tears burned in her eyes, from pain or fear she wasn’t sure. Castiel came to her, licking her cheek in concern.

Anxiety crept into her chest, pressing down heavily. She gasped for breath and clamped her eyes shut. She pictured the box inside of her mind, thrashing and pulsing with anger, begging to be opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she forced herself to stand on shaking legs. She made her way to her bedroom and quickly spun the code on her safe, pulling her gun from it. She clicked the safety off and held it in front of her.

With each room that she checked she only found an emptiness that overtook her home with a heaviness that seemed to engulf her completely. Nothing seemed strange or out of place other than the large depiction of her naked body that hung on her wall.

She kept her gun positioned outward and pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number that she could never forget. All she could hope for was an answer, and as a ring met her ear she let out a sigh of relief. It had been so long, she had expected a disconnected tone. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as she heard his voice.

“Y/N?”

“He’s back.”

------

Chapter Two

Read on A03 Here

Tag List: @lyarr24

@dean-winchesters-bacon

@waywardbaby @akshi8278

[thai-elements]

Ajahn Khunping Yabiqi, Northern Thailand, "Love in Khun Paen·Harmony Charm"

• Now following Ajahn Chongchi and LP Bin’s apprentice, the spells are inherited from the Kubanbai Tiger Temple

• Supervised in 2564 Supervised production, all 19 in total

• The materials are all used by the most famous "Shen Niye" charm method and specific enlightenment blessed by the master's spiritual practice period.

Rare specific materials are ground and mixed with manual compression molding

• Mainly based on "108 species" special rare herbal blends and xY materials

• After completion, pass the unique charm to Tibet on the back. Mainly strengthen the magic effect and ability. The effect will be longer if you insist on wearing it.

·The official consecration and blessing are completed and opened to the public (2564 carefully recommended works of art in the limited law department)

—————————————————————

• Comes with exclusive scriptures to make a wish

•Good power for sex•love•charming

Popularity, love, charm, business and wealth, transfer, protection, gambling, gambling, partial wealth, windfall, particularly effective, sincere worship, do more good deeds, the effect will be better

—————————————————————

The inheritance of the master’s spells is accompanied by a number of famous masters. It is also an ancestral law book from "Shen Nipai"

The Charm Method of "Shen Ni Ye Method" appeared as a mixture of a variety of popular charm bay herbs. As the name suggests, all these herbs are attractive because they are all recognized by the wisdom of the Lanna tradition.

Wearing Master This issue of "Love in Khun Pain-Harmony Charm" is for attracting the opposite sex or the same sex to attract people around you, making people around you fascinated by yourself, helping to effectively lock your lover from having any chance of affair

If you work in business premises, work night shifts, or even do any sales that need to be directed to customers, you will attract all same-sex and opposite-sex customers to attract customers to be obedient to yourself

·Everything is very special·Very precious·Very special

—————————————————————

·It only needs to be worn sincerely·It does not require any worship

—————————————————————

·Insist on wearing for a long time·Believe and be grateful·Life gradually improves·

—————————————————————

Wear it with you to directly increase your own charm. Bring love encounters

Popularity becomes prosperous, lucky transfer, various interpersonal relationships are harmonious, welcomed by others, power and money, etc.

It is more effective for the advantages of money and wealth, business store sales, and love, popular charm, power status and momentum.

·This is close contact with the holy object·

·Can be hung on the neck·

·Easy to wear · Very suitable for you who love charm and humanity sacred objects

·Taboo Xiaoxu·Easy to collect·This glamorous holy relic

·It only needs to be worn sincerely·No worship is required·

·Do more good deeds·Do more good deeds·

·The effect will be better if you insist on wearing it·

🙇🏽If you are interested, please check with the owner 👇🏽 • No bargaining

Wearing any amulets and holy objects must do more good deeds more good deeds accumulate good yin virtues

—————————————————————

All amulets of this art party are blessed by Temple Long Po, Northern Thailand and Cuba or Acridine in White

•The cladding is exquisitely handcrafted, no bargaining

Any amulets custom-made gold shell / rose gold shell / silver shell / waterproof shell are welcome

—————————————————————

I hope that through sharing, more people will understand and understand that Thai Southern Buddhism is not only a kind of belief, but also a thousand-year-old culture. They have come into contact with or experience a mysterious and magical art in amulets.

If you are interested, please inquire

Phone/ Whatsapp/Signal: +852 96272088

WeChat: nuo1816

Instagram: thai_elements

MeWe: Elements Thai/ 96272088

Facebook: The 90s Datura Mandala

—————————————————————

#泰佛牌#佛牌#韩代购#四面神#复合#招财#香港#人缘#朋友缘#改运#水晶批发#搵快钱#thailand #hongkong #lgbt #bangkok #Travel #日本代购#降头# Purchasing #amulet #onlineshop #hkstore #泰#刺符#rafsimons #lgbtq #清迈#九尾狐#Spell

[eaglehealthworks]

Lots of words, lots of meanings Pt. I

This entry is intended to bring a little educational understanding to those who are unsure of what all the different terms mean in the world of people with drug/alcohol/behavioral issues. For the sake of discussing the individual, he/she/they are known as such and will be in active use, active recovery, or active wellness (complete remission, perhaps). There are those that will state that one cannot be cured and there is only a state of recovery because the individual is never not addicted to whatever caused problems. I contend that an individual can achieve active wellness which would include complete abstinence and a life without psychoactive substances and/or other excessive repetitive patterns know as behavioral addictions (e.g., gambling, sex, shopping &c.) in healthy, sustainable, and satisfying ways.

Yes, if someone who has been in the throes of chemical dependency or behavioral disorder return to the substance and/or behavior, the cycle begins where it left off for many biological reasons. The point is it is absolutely possible and very much achievable to never return to that way of existing. If you follow medical orders after realizing a high blood pressure diagnosis, the problem becomes completely manageable. If you get your blood pressure down then revert back to a lifestyle which caused it to increase then guess what, it will return with a vengeance. Same exact thing.

I’ll step off of my “You can live well” pulpit and get into the terminology because the layers to wellness are many, deep, and worthy of their very own post(s) .

What is drug addiction, and should we use the term or its derivatives?

According to the National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA, 2019), it is “a chronic disease characterized by compulsive, or uncontrollable, drug seeking and use despite harmful consequences and changes in the brain, which can be long-lasting”. Note how it is considered a medical disease by the established medical community. This gets some people in a tizzy and those are often heard exclaiming, “You did this to yourself!, It’s not a disease!, Cancer is a disease!”, &c. The number one cause of death in these United States is heart disease caused largely by; you guessed it, the sufferer (Weatherspoon, 2019). Smoking, diet, overweight, sedentary, all contribute significantly to this problem. Those previously mentioned anger mongers will often retort “Yeah, well it is also genetic!”, and so is chemical dependency (Johns Hopkins, 2021).

Whether or not the term is used or not is always up for debate, and only time will determine its existence. Addiction as a term is fairly straightforward and accurate; however, the term addict is filled with negative connotation, stereotype, and stigma. I can assure you that easily half of everyone I have ever treated looks and behaves just like every other citizen walking around in any neighborhood anywhere. Rich, poor, elderly, young, and all points in between describe people with substance use disorders and behavioral addictions, many of whom you would never guess. I have also known many straight edge folks who the average American might easily mistake for someone who abuses drugs based on appearance alone.

How does someone get diagnosed?

Well, it must be done by a licensed and qualified medical professional who has spent many years in study and has the student debt to prove it. Or you can generally ask someone who is suspected of having a problem with drugs, alcohol, or circumstance and they will know if it can be controlled or if help is needed. This does not take into account those in denial or fear of losing something by the very nature of the question (like safety, shelter, liberty, &c). In the case of the former, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders Fifth Edition (DSM-V) by the American Psychiatric Association (APA) uses the following criteria to determine whether a problem exists and/or the degree of severity if present (APA, 2013):

A. A problematic pattern of [insert substance or circumstance] use leading to clinically significant impairment or distress, as manifested by at least two of the following, occurring within a 12-month period:

1.     [insert substance or circumstance, e.g., alcohol, opioids, gambling, &c.]  are often taken in larger amounts or over a longer period than was intended.

2.     There is a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to cut down or control [insert substance or circumstance] use.

3.     A great deal of time is spent in activities necessary to obtain the [insert substance or circumstance], use the [insert substance or circumstance], or recover from its effects.

4.     Craving, or a strong desire or urge to use [insert substance or circumstance].

5.     Recurrent [insert substance or circumstance]  use resulting in a failure to fulfill major role obligations at work, school, or home.

6.     Continued [insert substance or circumstance]  use despite having persistent or recurrent social or interpersonal problems caused or exacerbated by the effects of [insert substance or circumstance].

7.     Important social, occupational, or recreational activities are given up or reduced because of [insert substance or circumstance]  use.

8.     Recurrent [insert substance or circumstance]  use in situations in which it is physically hazardous.

9.     Continued [insert substance or circumstance]  use despite knowledge of having a persistent or recurrent physical or psychological problem that is likely to have been caused or exacerbated by the substance.

10.  Tolerance, as defined by either of the following:

a.      A need for markedly increased amounts of [insert substance or circumstance]  to achieve intoxication or desired effect.

b.     A markedly diminished effect with continued use of the same amount of an [insert substance or circumstance]. (Note: This criterion is not considered to be met for those taking [insert substance or circumstance]  solely under appropriate medical supervision.)

11.  Withdrawal, as manifested by either of the following:

a.      The characteristic [insert substance or circumstance]  withdrawal syndrome (refer to Criteria A and B of the criteria set for [insert substance or circumstance]  withdrawal).

b.     [insert substance or circumstance]  (or a closely related substance) are taken to relieve or avoid withdrawal symptoms. (Note: This criterion is not considered to be met for those individuals taking [insert substance or circumstance]  solely under appropriate medical supervision.)

NONE – Presence of 0-1 symptoms

MILD – Presence of 2-3 symptoms

MODERATE – Presence of 4-5 symptoms

SEVERE – Presence of 6 or more symptoms 

Questions? Anyone? Let’s keep moving. Now with this information held firmly in your mind, you still need to be properly credentialed in order to affix a legitimate diagnosis to anyone, so this is for informational purposes only. Here are a few more terms to add to your lexicon though:

1.     Drug Intoxication. This is elusive because many people with a substance use disorder(s) have been using for so long that their strange and erratic behavior has become accepted traits. Often the presence of intoxication is a sudden change in demeanor, i.e., one moment a person is restless and anxious, they go to the bathroom and after emerging proceed to pass-out after sitting down anywhere (opioids). Or an individual is nervous and even a little shaky but after a few moments alone returns happy, smooth in gait, and chatty (alcohol). Perhaps a loved one is lethargic and grumpy, but after returning from the bathroom is full of energy and talking a mile a minute (cocaine, methamphetamine). Of course, there are many indicators, but you get the point.

2.     Drug Abuse. The continued use of a psychoactive drug or behavioral patterns despite the knowledge that it is causing social, occupational, psychological, or physical problems (APA, 2013). Put simply, doing something to excess where the consequences outweigh the benefits; An ice cream cone is great, a half-gallon  makes you vomit (in most cases).

3.     Drug Dependence. Maladaptive pattern of use resulting in significant impairment or distress, as shown by compulsive use, increased tolerance, withdrawal, and obsessive thoughts about it (APA, 2013).

 You know, the word withdrawal has been presented several times in this post and it deserves its own little section because it is this experience alone that keeps more people in active use than any other single precipitating factor. The human mind is in a constant state of seeking homeostasis or normal acceptable functioning. All people, not just those with drug/alcohol issues seek the avoidance of pain. Ok, somewhere there is a body builder claiming no pain no gain but let that pain be a sciatic or tooth nerve and he/she is reduced to a tower of gelatin seeking immediate relief.

 This next sentence is a value statement directly from the horse; withdrawal is an exquisitely harrowing experience engulfing the entirety of the human experience and reducing it to the most detestable overall sensation of prolonged living death. The only relief which is desperately sought and despised simultaneously is more of the substance that caused it. I really don’t know a better way to explain it. I know of septuagenarian Rockwellesque grandmothers who have sold themselves for heroin because their medical provider overprescribed opioids for years and due to pressure from governing authorities cut them off, just to avoid withdrawal. People question this but its sadly true, and not even the worst of the stories.

 If you ever want to chat with me about this or anything else related to relief from substance and/or circumstance please contact me here or at the clinic. Feel free to click on any of the links provided for more reading. Thanks for taking the time, enjoy.

-        Edesepam

References

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed.). https://doi.org/10.1176/appi.books.9780890425596

Johns Hopkins. (2021). Substance Abuse / Chemical Dependency. Retrieved from https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/substance-abuse-chemical-dependency on 2021, June 30.

NIDA. (2019, January 17). Treatment Approaches for Drug Addiction DrugFacts. Retrieved from https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/drugfacts/treatment-approaches-drug-addiction on 2021, June 30

Weatherspoon, D. (2019, March 29). What Are the 12 Leading Causes of Death in the United States? Retrieved from https://www.healthline.com/health/leading-causes-of-death on 2021, June 30.

[inanawesomewave]

IT IS DOUBLE PLEASURE TO DECEIVE THE DECEIVER

Today I want to talk about what happens when the antisocial personality disordered service with complex care needs and behavioural issues -- ah fuck it -- the sociopath, finds out they have been lied to.  What’s your normal reaction when someone you trust and/or love comes at you with a lie? It may take you a while to figure it out, or maybe they’re a bad liar or have lied to you before and you can watch the lie play out as it comes out of their mouth, and a normal reaction would be anger, sadness, despair, all of those things. So what would you do in the wake of that lie? If you were healthy and strong, you might confront it in a controlled way. No matter how strong you are, you may behave irrationally, you may become suspicious or go into paranoia overdrive, perhaps you’ll find yourself becoming increasingly sarcastic or mean, you might just burst into tears, and all of those are normal reactions when you find you’ve been lied to. But today I want to talk about what I think might be the antisocial reaction to lies.  When I’m lied to, there will always be a part of me that feels wounded and in pain, if the person lying to me is someone i’ve let into my life and my mind. Yes, it’s true, we feel pain. I probably won’t know the name of the pain I’m feeling, and when this lack of emotional connection to myself happens, I react with -- yep, you guessed it -- rage. That’s my default setting. I’ve been told in the past, “what you’re experiencing is despair”, “it’s probably because you feel so insignificant”, “it makes sense that right now you would be going through a sense of unease”, or whatever, and when it’s pointed out to me, I can sometimes grab onto that description and root around in my psyche to see if that was a correct assessment, and if it is, I can latch onto it somewhat. But anger is what happens to antisocials who experience alexithymia (an inability to identify or explain one’s own emotions). Like this: 

I often need someone to tell me what they think I’m feeling, and then, if it starts to make sense, I’ll assume that’s what’s what. I’m not the kind of sociopath who will brag about how little I like to hear about other people’s emotions, because really, I love hearing about people’s emotional worlds. Yes, perhaps I despise the assumption that it’s my job to feel on behalf of someone else, that being a good person isn’t so much tied in helping someone with a problem as it is feeling that problem, but listening to how people process their emotions is useful to me, and also kind of fascinating. If you’ve heard that sociopaths have no feelings, what’s perhaps more accurate is we don’t know we have feelings.  So, we lash out. Anger is the most deregulated emotion in antisocial personality disorder, and I believe that’s because it’s our real emotions that are deregulated, but rage and hostility is the other mask we wear, the most pervading one, the one that we have even convinced ourselves with.  So, when experiencing a lie, we’ll get angry.  But it doesn’t end there.  Antisocial personality disorder comes with many choices. I once likened it to living in a constant click-and-point video game, and I stand by that. In moments of violent conflict or threat you might see a glass bottle on the ground and quick as lightening your brain will light the thing up and you’ll run through the options: do I want to pick up this bottle? Do I want to use it as a weapon? Do I want to hide it and come back to it? Do I want to leave it and scan the room to see what else is here? And, in times of interpersonal conflict, something rather more abstract, you may experience anger, and the angry part of your brain will light up (🎵hello amygdala my old friend🎵 ) and your rationale (if we can ever really have that) will say: what do I want to do with this anger? Do I want to direct it to the threat? Do I want to harm them with it? Do I want to pretend it isn’t there? Do I want to hide it and come back to it? Do I want to leave it and scan my brain to see what else is here? But then there comes the big one -- do I want to accept the truth of this anger? Do I want to display it?  Do I want to play the game? 

When you are used to anger being your default setting, you learn lots of different ways to express it, and whilst the explosive kind of “FUCK YOU AND FUCK EVERYTHING YOU STAND FOR” is what we’d most likely think of when thinking of what rage looks like, there’s many ways it can come through, and the example I gave here of reacting to a lie I think is a good place to start when talking about this. Because anger isn’t always fireworks. A lot of the time, it’s silence. Amusement. Catharsis. Comedy. It’s like we have to take the “generic bad” feeling, reroute it to anger, and let it come back out as something else. It’s like, when it comes to our feelings, we have taken a sentence, run it through Google translate into a foreign language, taken that foreign language and put it back through Google translate again, and try to make something of the broken English we’ve come back with. 

You’re trying to humiliate me and now I am angry lie. My angry lie is that I think you’re a bad person. I think you’re selfish. I have never liked you. This is hilarious to me. I deserve better than this...  I deserve better than this is the biggest lie we tell when we’re lied to, because deep down, we don’t think we deserve better than this at all. If antisocial personality disorder has its roots in deeply embedded cynicism, pessimism, isolation and trauma, then every single mask we wear is one of ultimate power, control, self-assuredness and confidence. I deserve better than this can never be true, because that would require empathy, and our lack of empathy is most evident when it comes to talking about ourselves. If we don’t know the names of our feelings, we cannot empathise with them.  So what’s the next step? You know the old saying, “fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me”? When you have a lowered ability to experience remorse and guilt, no propensity to feelings of regret, shame doesn’t come into it. I’m not ashamed I let myself be lied to. I’m... what’s the word? What’s the name of this? Oh right, that’s it. I’m angry. But I did the shouting, kicking off, the big display of ego when I was fooled the first time. The second time, the lie lights up in my head: do I want to pick up this lie? Do I want to confront this lie? Do I want to pretend it isn’t there? Do I want to leave it there for a second whilst I scan whatever else is going on, for example: does the liar seem to also be sad, confused, misunderstood, are they nervous? Playing with their hair, looking off in different directions, are they shaking or babbling or misdirecting? And what do I want to do with that? Do I want to tell them my suspicions? And just what is this? Why are these things lighting up? Is it a game? Is this a game?! Can I win it?! And this is why Machiavelli once famously said, “it is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver”, and this is why Machiavellianism forms part of the Dark Triad of psychopathy. Because it’s abnormal to see a lie as a game, it’s clinically weird, psychologically speaking, it’s crazy cuckoo. Why would anyone watch someone lie and feel a sense of relief washing over them (in an awesome wave)? Why would anyone in their right mind see a lie happen, and then wonder for how long the rally of lies can go back and forth, to see who will break first, to take the liar and lie to them so hard they’ll regret ever lying to you? As I outlined at the beginning of this blog, there are normal reactions to lies and even the explosive and distressed ones are normal. What’s abnormal is the willingness and even eagerness to throw oneself into the pit and get right into it. Because people with antisocial personality disorder are always seeking out conflict. Even when we’re evolved, doing better these days, in therapy, writing a blog -- we don’t like the things you don’t like, and nobody likes being lied to. The motivation, however, to not come back fighting and transform the sadness into rage and the rage into a comedy that only amuses ourselves is antisocial. It’s an unwillingness and/or inability to read the social situation, and it’s cynicism distilled. It doesn’t matter who, it doesn’t matter when. We believe that everyone is capable, more than capable, of badness, deceit, immorality and sadism, and what drives our utter lack of faith in humanity is the lie that people tell themselves to prove they would never display those traits. When someone shows their hand, a good person without a diagnosis, it’s double pleasure. It’s the pleasure of overcoming whatever pain you almost felt, and the exquisite pleasure of finally having your worst fears confirmed. Because after all, if it really is a dog-eat-dog world, as evidenced by someone else’s deceitfulness, then chaos can thrive. And, being justified, it doesn’t need to hide behind a mask. And it’s hard to trust a liar again. Our personalities are built around distrust, so the best we can hope for is to feel/not feel that way, and make it work for us. That’s what ASPD is. That’s who we are. And for you, the thought that people are fundamentally bad and self-serving might be a terrifying prospect, so it would make sense you’d want to protect yourself from that. But for us, that thought is what protects us, and it protects us in more ways than you know. 

[boyslaughplus]

Brassica Valentine's Day Special

Hello Tumblr! What a day to start this off! <3

Because it's Valentine's Day, we decided to release a little short story set in the Brassica universe. It takes place a few months before the game but aside from some recurring characters it's independent of the main story (though maybe not insignificant...)

If you haven't played the game, don't worry, this story doesn't need any knowledge of its plot. If you have played the game, you might appreciate some of the details and hopefully enjoy this story that is a little more Ode-centric than the currently released acts.

But without further ado, here's the Brassica Valentine's Special:

Walking into the room, it felt like entering another world. The festive decoration stretching through the entirety of the castle foyer, the exquisite looking food stacked on the tables in the main hall, and of course the colorful crowd of royals, dressed in extravagant suits, robes, and dresses—everything seemed to shimmer and gleam in the light of the chandeliers. Ode certainly wasn’t new to these kinds of events but he still experienced a mild culture shock whenever he attended.

His cousin, Lord Valentine of Barah, had once again invited him to one of his famous birthday parties, or Valentine’s Day as many people called them. It was an event that was famed for the bonds it created, both interpersonal and political, due to the gathering of many young royals and the chance to confess to a crush or to court someone you fancy. Valentine himself chose among about half of his guests a select few who were given a rose. This rose should then be given to someone else who caught your interest and it was looked down on people who left the event not having given away their rose. Similarly, not receiving one marked you as being socially inept, undesirable even as some harsh voices would put it.

Ode did not care much about this custom. Especially this time his mind was set on other matters because more than just attendance, gifts, and well wishes were expected of him: he had been asked to perform for all the guests.

His parents, the king and queen of Barah, liked to boast about Ode’s musical talents since he rarely concerned himself with politics and state affairs. Ode didn’t like to play the role of a musician, less so that of a performer. He liked music and singing, but his audience was usually just the local wildlife and his best friend Friedrich. And that was it. He had never meant to make music a defining part of his public persona.

Even so, Ode didn’t mind the request. If his cousin wanted to hear him sing, he would gladly rise to the occasion. Or so the prince thought before he arrived. Now that he was amidst the cheerful crowd that was basking in the joy and the glory of attending an event as high-class as this one, Ode couldn’t help but nervously eye the stage he would soon be on, under the piercing gazes of everyone in the room.

Searching for his cousin to give his regards and discuss the details of his performance, the young prince of Barah looked around the hall. But with little success. It surely didn’t help that this was a masquerade ball!

In his search for Valentine, Ode passed many eccentric figures. Among them, a dashing royal in a dark suit embroidered with gold and complemented by his long turquoise hair and the rainbow of colors that was his crystal covered mask. A large group of what seemed to be avid admirers, flocked to the man and Ode made sure to steer clear of them as he rarely fared well with such people. He could still hear them laugh as he passed the vegetarian side of the buffet where a lone, lean, golden figure stood. Between most other outfits his wide pants almost seemed exotic though they were still overshadowed by his lack of shoes.

“What a bold choice for a ball in February,” Ode thought to himself.

Taking another look at the dainty royal’s outfit and his mask full of triangular ornaments, Ode wondered where he might have come from to be dressed this way. But there were more pressing matters at hand!

His search continued for a while and subdued the nervousness regarding his performance. When he finally found Valentine, the festivities were already well underway, and it didn’t take long until Ode found himself behind the stage, talking to the string quartet that had already been playing for most of the evening. Now too they would provide the backdrop for his song. A ballad that had resonated deeply with Ode and so he wanted to recite it this evening. Clutching his flute to his chest and with a pounding heart, Ode walked onto the stage to Valentine’s excited announcement.

For a moment he looked at the audience that was quieting down, their expectant gazes locked onto the tall prince who was more than glad to be wearing a mask himself right now.

His nervousness spiked briefly before disappearing completely once the sound of a cello resonated through the hall, indicating the start of the song.

It was the first time they performed it together, but the string quartet was well practiced and it didn’t take long before Ode went along with their rhythm. Unsteady as his flute play was sometimes, Ode had also been told it had character. He stopped to think and just played without worry; A melody a little solemn, if hopeful, he thought, to preface the first verse.

O friends, now I see, the morning draws near The moon looks upon us and all we hold dear

How we will part ways, nobody could say, How long we have left, no one could explain

The end though ’tis sure, is nothing to fear.

We sing and we dance despite illness and death Make most of the time until our last breath

When lost and in pain, we shall not lose hope, Stay resolute still at the end of our rope

’Cause as long as we breathe, there’s still some time left.

The deep voice of Barah’s youngest prince carried well throughout the room and by the time the next verse came around, Ode had nearly forgotten there were other people present, simply getting lost in the song.

But before too long it came to an end and for what felt like forever, the audience stayed quiet. Whispers began to spread among the guests and Ode could feel a wave of tension sweep through the entire hall.

Just then a thought entered the prince’s mind. Had this song really been suitable for such a celebration? What if he just embarrassed himself… his cousin… his kingdom? Lord Valentine initiated a polite if quiet applause as he took the stage.

“My dear cousin, the fledgling prince of Barah, everyone! Now after such a… unique performance, how about we welcome tonight’s main act? I’m sure you have all heard the tales of the bard who single-handedly—”

Ode felt his fears confirmed as he was led off the stage. He really didn’t like gatherings where people valued tact above genuineness. Where a single misstep could mean one’s social death. Had he cared more about the opinions of others, he might have been glum, but seeing Valentine trying intently to salvage the mood of his guests still made him feel like a disappointment.

The prince walked down the room, hearing the whispers and quiet sneers of other Royals behind him as he passed their tables.

Ode needed fresh air.

He left the hall just as the bard began to play and immediately felt relief as he stepped into the cold evening air. This wouldn’t have happened had he sung for the animals. At least they didn’t judge him and appreciated whatever he sang as long as it had heart!

Once he returned home, his parents would surely berate him for tonight’s events. If he could, Ode would just let go of all etiquette and responsibilities and leave the royal world. But whenever he came close to actually doing so, Friedrich told him to reconsider. Told him he was being rash.

Now was another of those moments. Anger rose within Ode that nobody seemed to have cared about his intentions. That nobody seemed to have seen what Ode saw in the song and instead focused only on its melancholic exterior. Without his friend to talk to him, the prince took off his mask, sat down on a bench in the gardens, trying his best to calm down on his own.

Though he would only stay alone for a short moment.

Soon Ode could hear the footsteps of someone else approaching in the distance. They came ever closer before abruptly stopping just behind him.

“Oh… hello. You are Prince Ode, correct?”

The mellow voice enchanted Ode immediately. He turned around and saw a slender, red-haired woman in an elegant dress decorated all over with pearls and flowers.

“Y-yes. That is correct lady, uh—” he hesitantly replied, wondering why she would want to talk to him.

“Sappho. Though you might know me as Seraphina of Radix.”

Indeed, he had heard of her, the crown princess of Barah’s most powerful neighbor land. Although he had never imagined that the heiress of such a mighty kingdom would look so delicate and sweet.

“Don’t you want to listen to the bard, Princess Sappho?”

She snickered and sat down next to Ode.

“Oh no. I needed to go outside for a bit. I have little patience for such mindless racket.”

Ode’s heart jumped at hearing this. Was he maybe not alone in this after all?

“I see. I feel much the same way! Although this wasn’t the main reason I left…”

He stayed silent for a moment, trying his best not to think about the political consequences this conversation could have should he mess up again.

It wasn’t by any means an uncomfortable silence, but to his relief Princess Sappho broke it soon, anyway.

“Well, I have to say I enjoyed your little performance earlier. Genuinely, I mean.” The princess took off her shimmering, cat-like mask before continuing as Ode got lost in the gaze of her bright eyes.

“Few people would have had the courage to perform it here, let alone do so from the bottom of their heart.”

The last thing Ode had expected to be met with this evening was kindness, and he smiled enthusiastically at Sappho, feeling the confidence to openly speak his mind.

“Thank you, Princess Sappho! I was worried that I made a mistake, but your words reaffirm me that the others’ reaction was not my fault! Although… Maybe I am nonetheless unfit for such festivities.”

The princess laughed.

“So what? I have talked with many a royal tonight, but this is the first enjoyable conversation I had. Just because you are not like the rest, you are not any less valid! Contrary so. You should be proud of yourself, Prince Ode!”

Never before had Ode experienced anything like ‘love’. Not in the way it was always sung about. But this very moment he thought he had gotten a glimpse of what it was like. As this realization set in, he took a deep breath to respond to the princess just to be cut short when she continued once more.

“But anyway, I’d happily go on with this conversation but I’m afraid I have to go. There is someone who is waiting for me right now and I cannot spare much more time.”

She stood up, turned to the prince and held out a rose towards him. The one she was supposed to give to someone special. Prince Ode could hardly believe it.

“Farewell Ode. I’m sure we will meet again some day.”

Hastily, Ode straightened his back and gratefully accepted the rose, looking at the princess with a multitude of feelings he could not yet fathom entirely. One of them disappointment that she was already about to leave.

“Farewell Princess Sappho! And thank you!”

A smile flashed on the Princess’s face just long enough that Ode could feel her grasp on his heart tighten. She turned around and walked away further down the path she had come from.

Ode watched her disappear in the shadows of the garden and just now noticed the quickened tempo of his heartbeat.

Long after she had left, Princess Sappho was still ever present in the prince’s mind. For a while he stayed outside, lost in his thoughts and the stars shining brightly above him.

It truly was the most special Valentine’s Day he had ever experienced. Full of determination, Ode made a silent vow. He would see her again.

And he would act upon the feelings that stirred up inside of him that day. For they were far too precious to leave alone.

[thejournaloffox]

28 November 2022

The fox reflects on the deepening intimacy of her captivity…

Although Fox had little time to note down each exquisite detail that stood out to her in the past little while, they wove through her mind like warm zephyrs of love and passion. She marveled each day at how truly magnificent her Lion was, and although she felt mere words seemed inadequate to describe her adoration, she saturated herself with thoughts of him and let the feelings he stirred in her being shine through whenever she made the attempt.

Fox often spent her evenings thinking about what wonderful things awaited them, feeling herself in growth every day the Lion was with his pet, curious about what she was becoming. The Lion’s ways were so enamoring to Fox, form his carnal growls as he made use of his Fox down to his soft sighs as he slumbered, or how his eyes burning to the core of her soul and laying it bare for him to consume, or the range of his unshakable comfort and his perverse promises, so many things were as if designed to utterly ensnare Fox. He was home to Fox.

In other ways it was a difficult day—a place dear to Fox was in great peril from a threat familiar to her. The news did not sit well with Fox, but she did not fall apart. She also made great headway in her interpersonal relationships in Foxdom, but she was also pained to come to a realization about where some of her issues with dependence came from after a family chat—a support she had recognized in hindsight she was only now understanding she didn’t really have before the Lion. All these realizations were painful, but as with so many other shifts recently, Fox felt they brought her ever closer to her Captor, their bond reaching a level of intimacy she couldn’t imagine ever being without again.

Fox was quite content to be a captive Fox.

[col22promo]

Mei Zhu Fitrei  | Thirty One;  Elite

House: Delma Status: Uninfected Elite Specification: Lab Researcher and Medical Doctor

History

Until the age of eight, Mei Zhu knew her paternal grandmother only as Granny Zhang. They had never met– in fact, all they knew of each other was the cramped, tidy handwriting that they shared, exchanged in birthday cards. At eight, though, Mei Zhu was forced to leave her home in Qingdao when her parents died in a car crash. Granny Zhang was the only living family she had left, and though England might well have been on the moon for how foreign it felt to Mei Zhu, she had no choice but to move.

Even without the loss of her parents, it would have made her miserable. She struggled with the language, and hated her classmates with their big noses and their loud voices. As many children do in such situations, she ended up spending her lunchtimes in classrooms, quietly studying and talking to her teachers. She showed particular promise in mathematics and biology, and over the years came to win several small contests in those subjects. When the time came to apply for university, Mei Zhu was already certain that she would study something related to genetics, perhaps something medical. She had no great love for humanity, but she viewed the human body as a complex machine– and she was very interested in learning to perfect them. 

While she wasn’t a technical genius by anybody’s reckoning, lacking in critical thinking and problem solving, she did have a remarkable memory. Particularly when it came to numbers, Mei Zhu could recall vast swathes of detail. It was later discovered that she had Hyperthymesia, and her ability to recall numbers stemmed from the fact that she could list details of her own life specific to any date you liked. Her final thesis for her university course wasn’t the most groundbreaking, but its attention to detail was rivalled by none, and flawless in its execution.

With the support of her grandmother, Mei Zhu sought work in the government after her graduation. She was an ambitious young woman with a craving for stability, and both of these were criteria that a government-based job could fulfil. For a few months she struggled: interpersonal skills weren’t a strength of hers, and the interview process tended to challenge her more than any technical aspects of the jobs she applied for. Though she was charming, she didn’t necessarily know the right things to say at the right time. In the end though, she settled down in London developing serums to reduce certain cancerous cells. It wasn’t the job she had dreamed of, but it did challenge her, and she had a certain knack for the formulas she worked with. 

Even after a year on the job, she hadn’t succeeded in making friends. Academically she was wildly successful, but socially she fell flat. Many invitations went unanswered; and the one evening that she did RSVP, she met Gaius. She hated him for his rough manners and enormous hands, like a bear’s, she thought. It was exactly this that made her decide to marry him. She didn’t care for romance or weddings filled with lace and champagne, but he fit into her picture: a strong man, tall, with a dependable job and excellent genetics.

When she wants, Mei Zhu is capable of a great deal of charm: and she turned it on for Gaius, inviting him out to dinners and operas and art galleries. She adored his exquisite boredom and the way he didn’t care to ask too much about her personal life. When she proposed, eight months later, her grandmother was horrified. Gaius, she couldn’t gauge his reaction– he didn’t look massively excited, but he agreed, and so Mei Zhu was happy. Their wedding was modest, and they settled down for a quiet life together. He spent many nights away, Mei Zhu had many affairs, and they were (on the surface) the very picture of happiness.

Mei Zhu Today

D-Day was a rare day indeed; not because of the asteroids, but because Mei Zhu and Gaius were home together, watching a documentary. She was massaging his hands, he was watching her more than the television. At the first sound of chaos outside, Gaius jumped into action: Mei Zhu was impressed, having always found him overwhelmingly dull and normal, a policeman just like any other. But now the tables turned, and while she was frozen with terror, he was pulling her roughly into the car and driving them out of the city before the roads could grow too clogged.

For a few weeks they survived out of that car, taking what supplies they could, foraging for necessities. They were numb days for Mei Zhu; she had always been a perfectionist, but now all of the stability and order she had held dear was falling apart. There were two days that stood out particularly as terrible: the first was when she realised she was pregnant. This was early on, just weeks after the asteroids. At first she thought her period was late due to stress, but then the morning sickness began, and she couldn’t kid herself much longer. She was too afraid to tell Gaius, who was still working flat out to support them and keep them safe from looters.

And in a way, she was right to do that. When, by her reckoning, she was about four months pregnant and probably soon to be showing, she lost the baby and experienced the second of the most terrible days after the apocalypse. Poor nutrition, stress, constantly running… it could have been any reason. That day she hid from Gaius, washing her pain and blood away in a freezing cold river, and he has never learned the truth. For another two years they survived in such a way, hanging on by a thread and trusting nobody but each other. For the first time in their loveless marriage, Mei Zhu really came to depend on her husband. It was he who saw the crusaders from Colony 22, and who followed them until he ascertained that safety lay in their arms.

On arriving at the Colony, Mei Zhu forced herself back into old ways. She showered, combed her hair, spoke in cool and charming words, and held up a facade of perfection. The information available on her in the Echo Database made her an immediate candidate for lab and medical work, and that more than anything helped her to regain her feet. She felt normal with a microscope pressed to her eye, and even now she has a habit of locking herself away for days without communicating. Those that do manage to pry her away from her pipettes and her beakers find that she is absolutely charming, though the veneer isn’t a particularly convincing one. There is no doubt that she is well spoken, and has the manners of royalty, but there is an insincerity behind it. Not because she doesn’t mean her kindness, but because she is scared stiff and fighting not to show it.

Related Bios: Gaius Fitrei

HOME | PLOT | SURVIVORS | INFECTIONS | 2157 was the end of the world.

[brittanyyoungblog]

3 Reasons People Engage in Sexual Sadism and Masochism

Sadism and masochism involve deriving pleasure from the experience of giving and receiving pain, respectively. This can take a number of forms, from spanking to whipping to flogging and beyond (for a look at some of the more and less common sadomasochistic activities, see here).

BDSM practices are popular, but widely misunderstood. A recent study published in the Journal of Sex Research helps to shed some light on the origins of BDSM interests and people’s reasons for pursuing them [1].

This study was based on a sample of 227 adults (age 18+) who reported having engaged in real-life BDSM activities for a minimum of six months. As part of this survey, participants were asked to describe the origins of their BDSM interests in their own words. I wrote about people’s responses to this question in a previous post, which identified eight different factors. 

However, participants were also asked to describe what it is that specifically draws them to these activities—what are their reasons and motivations? That’s what I’m going to explore in this article. What the researchers found was that there were really three distinct types of reasons.

First, and most commonly (mentioned by 46% of participants) was playing with interpersonal power. For many, this involved a power exchange through sexual role-playing. However, for others, it involved being turned on by being physically restrained. 

Here are some examples of what participants said: “The feeling of not being able to control my body’s reactions is exquisite” and “When I am blindfolded and bound, I felt relaxed and…different. Good. Confident. Sexy. Safe.” Many who described this motive explicitly mentioned the importance of trust and having a partner who understands the importance of consent and sticking to boundaries. 

Second, about one-third of participants mentioned that their motive was the experience of receiving pain—physical, psychological, or both. Many of these folks explicitly described the difference they see between good pain and bad pain (e.g., “Good pain, being hit with a flogger. Bad pain, stubbing my toe.”), but many also talked about having a more general appreciation for the feeling of pain (e.g., “I can remember having my ears pierced when I was 7 and liking it, then twisting the posts to feel the pain.”).

Finally, just over a quarter of participants described their motive as seeking an altered mental or psychological state, such as seeking a different level of consciousness, focusing attention, or finding relaxation. Many described experiences of feeling as though they were “floating.” For example, “If I can stop fighting…and relax into what is happening, I go on ‘vacation’ mentally to a place where I feel everything but nothing hurts any more – it’s all warm and fuzzy and I’m floating!” Also, “The good pain triggers something in me. It hurts but also makes me float.”

Participants in this study were not necessarily representative of the broader BDSM community, so it’s possible that there may be other motivations and reasons. However, these results tell us a few important things.

One is that people appear to be drawn to BDSM practices for a wide range of reasons. For example, sometimes it’s about giving and receiving pain, but other times it’s mostly about playing with or exchanging power and having little to do with pain. 

Also, some appear to enjoy pain for the sake of pain itself, whereas others utilize pain to achieve a different mental state, seeking the experience of trance or euphoria (perhaps as a function of the release of endorphins that accompany pain). However, relaxation and getting “into the moment” also appear to be common motives, which suggests that BDSM practices can be therapeutic in the sense that they can take you out of your head and allow you to focus more on the feelings and sensations.

Want to learn more about the psychology of BDSM? Check out these articles:

Fantasies About Being ‘Forced’ To Have Sex Are Common—Here’s Why

Is Kink a Sexual Orientation?

A Revealing Look At BDSM Sex And The People Who Practice It

Want to learn more about Sex and Psychology? Click here for previous articles or follow the blog on Facebook (facebook.com/psychologyofsex), Twitter (@JustinLehmiller), or Reddit (reddit.com/r/psychologyofsex) to receive updates. You can also follow Dr. Lehmiller on YouTube and Instagram. 

[1] Labrecque, F., Potz, A., Larouche, É., & Joyal, C. C. (2020). What Is So Appealing About Being Spanked, Flogged, Dominated, or Restrained? Answers from Practitioners of Sexual Masochism/Submission. The Journal of Sex Research.

Image Source: 123RF

from Meet Positives SMFeed 8 https://ift.tt/31Ak7Lc via IFTTT

[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

3 Reasons People Engage in Sexual Sadism and Masochism

Sadism and masochism involve deriving pleasure from the experience of giving and receiving pain, respectively. This can take a number of forms, from spanking to whipping to flogging and beyond (for a look at some of the more and less common sadomasochistic activities, see here).

BDSM practices are popular, but widely misunderstood. A recent study published in the Journal of Sex Research helps to shed some light on the origins of BDSM interests and people’s reasons for pursuing them [1].

This study was based on a sample of 227 adults (age 18+) who reported having engaged in real-life BDSM activities for a minimum of six months. As part of this survey, participants were asked to describe the origins of their BDSM interests in their own words. I wrote about people’s responses to this question in a previous post, which identified eight different factors. 

However, participants were also asked to describe what it is that specifically draws them to these activities—what are their reasons and motivations? That’s what I’m going to explore in this article. What the researchers found was that there were really three distinct types of reasons.

First, and most commonly (mentioned by 46% of participants) was playing with interpersonal power. For many, this involved a power exchange through sexual role-playing. However, for others, it involved being turned on by being physically restrained. 

Here are some examples of what participants said: “The feeling of not being able to control my body’s reactions is exquisite” and “When I am blindfolded and bound, I felt relaxed and…different. Good. Confident. Sexy. Safe.” Many who described this motive explicitly mentioned the importance of trust and having a partner who understands the importance of consent and sticking to boundaries. 

Second, about one-third of participants mentioned that their motive was the experience of receiving pain—physical, psychological, or both. Many of these folks explicitly described the difference they see between good pain and bad pain (e.g., “Good pain, being hit with a flogger. Bad pain, stubbing my toe.”), but many also talked about having a more general appreciation for the feeling of pain (e.g., “I can remember having my ears pierced when I was 7 and liking it, then twisting the posts to feel the pain.”).

Finally, just over a quarter of participants described their motive as seeking an altered mental or psychological state, such as seeking a different level of consciousness, focusing attention, or finding relaxation. Many described experiences of feeling as though they were “floating.” For example, “If I can stop fighting…and relax into what is happening, I go on ‘vacation’ mentally to a place where I feel everything but nothing hurts any more – it’s all warm and fuzzy and I’m floating!” Also, “The good pain triggers something in me. It hurts but also makes me float.”

Participants in this study were not necessarily representative of the broader BDSM community, so it’s possible that there may be other motivations and reasons. However, these results tell us a few important things.

One is that people appear to be drawn to BDSM practices for a wide range of reasons. For example, sometimes it’s about giving and receiving pain, but other times it’s mostly about playing with or exchanging power and having little to do with pain. 

Also, some appear to enjoy pain for the sake of pain itself, whereas others utilize pain to achieve a different mental state, seeking the experience of trance or euphoria (perhaps as a function of the release of endorphins that accompany pain). However, relaxation and getting “into the moment” also appear to be common motives, which suggests that BDSM practices can be therapeutic in the sense that they can take you out of your head and allow you to focus more on the feelings and sensations.

Want to learn more about the psychology of BDSM? Check out these articles:

Fantasies About Being ‘Forced’ To Have Sex Are Common—Here’s Why

Is Kink a Sexual Orientation?

A Revealing Look At BDSM Sex And The People Who Practice It

Want to learn more about Sex and Psychology? Click here for previous articles or follow the blog on Facebook (facebook.com/psychologyofsex), Twitter (@JustinLehmiller), or Reddit (reddit.com/r/psychologyofsex) to receive updates. You can also follow Dr. Lehmiller on YouTube and Instagram. 

[1] Labrecque, F., Potz, A., Larouche, É., & Joyal, C. C. (2020). What Is So Appealing About Being Spanked, Flogged, Dominated, or Restrained? Answers from Practitioners of Sexual Masochism/Submission. The Journal of Sex Research.

Image Source: 123RF

from MeetPositives SM Feed 4 https://ift.tt/31Ak7Lc via IFTTT

[robbiemeadow]

3 Reasons People Engage in Sexual Sadism and Masochism

Sadism and masochism involve deriving pleasure from the experience of giving and receiving pain, respectively. This can take a number of forms, from spanking to whipping to flogging and beyond (for a look at some of the more and less common sadomasochistic activities, see here).

BDSM practices are popular, but widely misunderstood. A recent study published in the Journal of Sex Research helps to shed some light on the origins of BDSM interests and people’s reasons for pursuing them [1].

This study was based on a sample of 227 adults (age 18+) who reported having engaged in real-life BDSM activities for a minimum of six months. As part of this survey, participants were asked to describe the origins of their BDSM interests in their own words. I wrote about people’s responses to this question in a previous post, which identified eight different factors. 

However, participants were also asked to describe what it is that specifically draws them to these activities—what are their reasons and motivations? That’s what I’m going to explore in this article. What the researchers found was that there were really three distinct types of reasons.

First, and most commonly (mentioned by 46% of participants) was playing with interpersonal power. For many, this involved a power exchange through sexual role-playing. However, for others, it involved being turned on by being physically restrained. 

Here are some examples of what participants said: “The feeling of not being able to control my body’s reactions is exquisite” and “When I am blindfolded and bound, I felt relaxed and…different. Good. Confident. Sexy. Safe.” Many who described this motive explicitly mentioned the importance of trust and having a partner who understands the importance of consent and sticking to boundaries. 

Second, about one-third of participants mentioned that their motive was the experience of receiving pain—physical, psychological, or both. Many of these folks explicitly described the difference they see between good pain and bad pain (e.g., “Good pain, being hit with a flogger. Bad pain, stubbing my toe.”), but many also talked about having a more general appreciation for the feeling of pain (e.g., “I can remember having my ears pierced when I was 7 and liking it, then twisting the posts to feel the pain.”).

Finally, just over a quarter of participants described their motive as seeking an altered mental or psychological state, such as seeking a different level of consciousness, focusing attention, or finding relaxation. Many described experiences of feeling as though they were “floating.” For example, “If I can stop fighting…and relax into what is happening, I go on ‘vacation’ mentally to a place where I feel everything but nothing hurts any more – it’s all warm and fuzzy and I’m floating!” Also, “The good pain triggers something in me. It hurts but also makes me float.”

Participants in this study were not necessarily representative of the broader BDSM community, so it’s possible that there may be other motivations and reasons. However, these results tell us a few important things.

One is that people appear to be drawn to BDSM practices for a wide range of reasons. For example, sometimes it’s about giving and receiving pain, but other times it’s mostly about playing with or exchanging power and having little to do with pain. 

Also, some appear to enjoy pain for the sake of pain itself, whereas others utilize pain to achieve a different mental state, seeking the experience of trance or euphoria (perhaps as a function of the release of endorphins that accompany pain). However, relaxation and getting “into the moment” also appear to be common motives, which suggests that BDSM practices can be therapeutic in the sense that they can take you out of your head and allow you to focus more on the feelings and sensations.

Want to learn more about the psychology of BDSM? Check out these articles:

Fantasies About Being ‘Forced’ To Have Sex Are Common—Here’s Why

Is Kink a Sexual Orientation?

A Revealing Look At BDSM Sex And The People Who Practice It

Want to learn more about Sex and Psychology? Click here for previous articles or follow the blog on Facebook (facebook.com/psychologyofsex), Twitter (@JustinLehmiller), or Reddit (reddit.com/r/psychologyofsex) to receive updates. You can also follow Dr. Lehmiller on YouTube and Instagram. 

[1] Labrecque, F., Potz, A., Larouche, É., & Joyal, C. C. (2020). What Is So Appealing About Being Spanked, Flogged, Dominated, or Restrained? Answers from Practitioners of Sexual Masochism/Submission. The Journal of Sex Research.

Image Source: 123RF

from Meet Positives SM Feed 5 https://ift.tt/31Ak7Lc via IFTTT