#and what caused him to spiral into addiction is the pressure he was put through protecting the family and its honor which's a huge task

[borgialucrezia]

i know it's a different era but sometimes i think about the lack of empathy the family (except rodrigo) showed juan regarding his addiction issues, suicidal tendencies and yearning for validation. which i think the show accurately portrayed how addicts are often treated, even by family members who are supposed to reach out to them but instead, they saw him as an embarrassment and a failure

[piecksz]

ignite | (m)

pairing: dabi x fem! reader

warnings: nsfw, mentions of abuse, smoking, drug use, car sex, rough, sex, shotgunning, penetrative sex, choking, degradation, explicit language

summary: after getting into a fight with your parents, you meet up with dabi for a smoke session as temporary distraction from your problems, but you find yourself becoming addicted to something else.

words: 2,626

a/n: this is just a cute/smutty idea i thought of while texting my friend, and i decided that sharing is caring so i had to turn it into a “one shot-esque” format. enjoy! 

Beyond the steep incline of the cliff lookout, the city’s soft lights smoldered against the deep blue of the evening sky. The bustling streets were full of constant motion and a million faces that you’d never know, and yet amidst the clamor, everyone coexisted and operated like a hive. It was breathtaking the way the urban landscape encapsulated the very microcosm of life, something you were questioning the meaning of just moments ago.

It was the same customary procedure. Your father was the exemplar of stress when his ability to moderate his emotions became overrun. The conversation would always begin the same way, with him spouting obscenities about the financial hardship your family was in. He was the sole breadwinner of the household while your mother remained home and maintained the hearth. Her quirk wasn’t anything exceptional, and it was the reason why she was unable to find work. Only so many careers could make use of a germination quirk, the ability to manipulate seedlings, and floral shops in the area weren’t looking for any new hires. That was why you were training and studying especially hard at school. You figured if you were able to make it as a top pro hero, your parents would never find themselves arguing about money ever again. You could provide them with anything they’d ever wanted.

But of course those days were far off from your current reality. When your father would raise his voice at your mother, what else was she to do than raise her voice in retaliation? You always wanted to protect her, so you’d find yourself in the middle of it, and the three of you would erupt into an exasperated all-in-with-guns-blazing disarray. No matter how bad each argument got, you managed to make it out of each quarrel without any physical scars, which is why this time you, your mother, and your father were suddenly startled when he used his quirk on you. The empty vase on the dinner table was hurled in your direction without the culprit ever raising a finger, and you barely dodged it with the shallow cut on your cheek as proof. You didn’t even stick around long enough to hear your father’s rushed apologies as your mother attempted to discourage you from running out. You didn’t know where you were running to, all you knew was that you needed to put as much distance between you and your house as possible.

Your first instinct was to call Dabi up. You’d known him for years, and he was one of the only people you genuinely trusted other than your mother. He was the only other person you knew who could relate to your broken home, except he made his escape long ago. Faking his death as his final parting from his abusive father. As attractive as running away sounded, you knew that you’d never be able to abandon your mother. You had to keep your unspoken promise to your family, and it was your job to build the picturesque home that you always wanted.

“Stop thinking so hard.” Dabi’s languid voice drew you out of your reverie, and you glanced over at him in time to see him light the end of the joint with the tip of his finger. He took a deep inhale before exhaling the smoke out through his nose, and then he turned to you, offering up the neatly rolled paper.

You took it between your fingers and lifted it to your lips, echoing Dabi’s movements. It wasn’t long before your chest pushed out the smoke in strangled bursts as you erupted into a fit of coughs, and you hurriedly thrusted the joint back towards Dabi, which he welcomed gladly.

“I’m surprised you suggested this,” he teased. “You know you’re not a smoker.” He took another drag and let out a hazy cloud. “If you’re trying to impress me by proving something, throwing your lungs up isn’t really the way to go about it.”

“Anything to get rid of this feeling,” you responded. “Like my heart’s trying to claw itself out of my chest.” To say it felt like suffering was putting it too plainly. It was much more than that. The pain that nestled under your breast where your heart used to be was your silent killer. It was eroding you from the inside out.

Dabi grunted. “You’re an idiot.”

You turned your attention to him, confused at his choice of response.

“Maybe not an idiot. But you’re naive,” Dabi continued. “Take it from someone who’s been there.” He studied the joint in his hand as if it was an excuse not to look at you.

It was a sick cycle, even for someone like him. Dabi was born with all the fortunate ingredients for a comfortable life. He was attractive with a functional quirk and a pro hero father, yet his future turned out grim. If that was his luck, how much more could you say for yourself?

You mustered a quiet hum. You were already starting to feel the effects of the marijuana, and your limbs grew increasingly heavy as you did your best to sink further into the leather interior of Dabi’s car.

“Isn’t that the whole point of drugs? Temporary relief?” you asked.

Dabi snorted. “No. People do drugs because it’s fun getting fucked out of your mind.” He held the joint out to you, and you hesitated before shaking your head. If what he was saying was true then you figured it wouldn’t be the brightest option to get incomprehensibly high. That would only mean that when your emotions resurfaced after the sensation wore off, it would hit twice as hard.

Laughter erupted from the driver’s seat, but you didn’t bother looking.

“Come on, loosen up.” Dabi coaxed you. “You in the mood to see something cool?”

You weren’t, but you figured you could use the pick-me-up.

Dabi inhaled deeply with the joint to his lips, but this time instead of exhaling immediately you could see him gently swishing the smoke around in his mouth before setting his jaw. He rounded his mouth and pushed the fog out in a thick ring. He lifted his hand, snapping his fingers towards the top of the circle, causing the shape to cave in and form a delicate heart.

Smiling while you were sad was the emotional equivalent to getting a root canal, but your stiff frown melted into a small smile, and you looked down to hide your amusement.

“Stupid,” you grumbled idly, stifling a small laugh.

Dabi grinned, nudging you with his elbow. “You like that?”

You glanced off to the side before succumbing to your weed-induced laughter, which felt much better once you let it out.

“Let me show you something else. When I blow, just inhale. Okay?” He directed. Although they were half-lidded, his eyes were glazed, like blue glass.

You rolled your eyes but agreed regardless, only feeling pressured to back out once you slowly registered Dabi leaning over the armrest to close the space between you two.

Is he going to--?

Your train of thought came to a halt at the jarring feeling of marijuana smoke being blown into your face. What were you supposed to do? Fuck, you were supposed to open your mouth. You forgot to open your fucking mouth.

“You forgot to open your mouth,” Dabi said, repeating your thoughts.

You prayed that you didn’t look as frazzled as you felt. If Dabi knew you were frozen and flustered at the sheer thought of him kissing you, he would never let it go. The teasing would be endless, and you’d have to endure it to your grave.

“Right, sorry. I forgot,” you replied sheepishly.

“I literally gave you the easy part,” he teased.

Oh, fuck off, you thought. The voice in your head sounding louder than usual. You hoped that he couldn’t hear it. There is nothing easy about what you want me to do.

“Whatever. Try it again,” you said simply. Your tongue was now dry and felt heavy in your mouth. You could tell by the slick arch in Dabi’s eyebrow that he knew what he had done, and you refused to allow him to go the rest of the night luxuriating in his arrogance.

He went in a second time, mouth full of smoke, releasing it at the last minute when your lips barely collided. Pushing away the distraction of his hand on the back of your neck and his lips hardly brushing against yours, you did as he instructed, inhaling once the cloud left his lips.

Dabi sat back, enthused in the way your lips remained parted in surprise.

Sober, you would have hated the way he was looking at you, smug with satisfaction at the achievement of just having bewildered you, but with cannabis clouding your brain, your close proximity to Dabi was the only thing you could focus on. The feeling of his lips barely touching yours didn’t seem to phase him at all, like he was planning on it, but with the way your stare yo-yo’d urgently from his eyes to his lips, it became more obvious what you wanted.

You credited your fit of courage to the marijuana in your system because otherwise you would have never considered leaning forward to kiss Dabi, and you surely would have pulled away before the contact deepened into a filthy makeout session. The motion of your mouths were slow, like you were taking your time, but Dabi’s ravenous tongue in your mouth appeared way too eager to swap spit.

His hand found its way back to the nape of your neck just as you mirrored him and did the same in an attempt to push yourselves closer together although there was no more space left between you two.

You thought it was impossible to grow more hungry until Dabi released a throaty moan into your mouth, and your hunger evolved into an ache. Only breaking your kiss for a moment, still joined together by a string of saliva, you quickly climbed into his lap, aided by his strong hand on your lower back.

Was it control? Everything in your life had spiralled out of it, and yet in the moment control was all you had. Once you redirected Dabi’s hands from your hips to your chest, you knew you were drunk off of it. You placed your hands over his, reveling in the way his fingers flexed as he cradled your breasts in his palms, but it wasn’t long before he grew tired of the intolerable fabric between your skin and his.

“Up.” he demanded straightforwardly, his voice husky and low. He tugged your blouse off brusquely, still looking hot, bothered, and unamused until your bra, too, was strewn over the passenger seat along with your shirt.

The way in which Dabi exhaled labordly at the sight of your bare chest was enough to send heat racing to the tip of your ears. Naturally, you would have responded scornfully to his smutty remark about how “your tits were way better than what he imagined whenever he jerked off”, but in seconds his mouth was on your skin, his hot, wet tongue teasing your nipple as he used the tip to flick them tauntingly.

Sinking your teeth into your lower lip did nothing to stop an innocent whine from spilling, and you descended even further when it intensified into you crying out Dabi’s name.

So much for control.

But Dabi adored your lewd cheers while he experimented with different combinations, pinching, pulling, and sucking your delicate mounds to see what would elicit the loudest response.

The throbbing between your legs worsened, and you could tell, or rather feel by the firm tent against the inside of your thigh that Dabi needed relief too. You began rolling your hips, the tip of his erection prodding the top of your clit through irritating cloth.

“Stop doing that,” Dabi chewed out, looking mildly annoyed by you.

Each second that passed felt like an eternity. It was as though the cannabis exacerbated whatever sense of arousal you were feeling by tenfold. You felt insatiable.

“Fuck you,” you breathed. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I might strangle you.”

Your casual and brattish tone did nothing to quell Dabi’s displeasure, and you felt his hand close assertively around your neck, his thumb digging into the side of your throat.

“Bold of you to talk to me that way when you’re the one sitting in my lap.” He bit back. “And what if I decide not to fuck you? Then what?” His gaze was dangerous, yet you were fully cognizant of the fact that Dabi wouldn’t suffocate you, much less get physical with you, but with the current lack of air circulating to your head, you could only smile dumbly.

“Watch the way you talk to me, you dirty whore.”

Initially, Dabi planned on fucking you into oblivion for the pleasure, but now he figured it would be even more exciting fucking you as punishment, dominating the most vulnerable part of you so there was no question who was clearly in charge.

He forced you around in his lap, leaving you unsuspecting while he unbuckled his belt. You were incredibly irked that you weren’t allowed to see how hard you made him, and you feared Dabi’s temper if he caught you managing to steal a glimpse over your shoulder. The sight alone was obscene. His hand was wrapped around his thick cock, pulsating and raw from the lack of sexual contact.

You could only hear Dabi’s shallow breathing and grunts while he pumped himself slowly, but nothing could have prepared you for the pain that erupted across your pelvis once he thrust himself into you without notice. You doubled over in his lap, hands across the dashboard as he bucked his hips forward, burying himself even deeper inside of you.

Dabi guided your hips up and down, ramming himself into you quicker and then even quicker with each jolt. Eventually the sharp discomfort eased into a comfortable sting once you both fell into a sloppy rhythm, his car rocking along with your motion. Dabi dipped his slick fingers into his mouth, coating them generously with saliva before sliding them down to your clit where he opted to rub tantalizingly slow circles onto the sensitive bud.

Your vision melted into hot white light, and the way your body began to tremble violently under Dabi’s touch was a sign you were closer to your orgasm than you thought.

“Are you gonna cum?” Dabi entertained, subtly picking up the pace once your fingers enclosed around his wrist. His honeyed voice was damn near condescending, he knew you were on the brink by the way your moans became louder and more discordant.

When you came you collapsed over the steering wheel, and Dabi followed not even a moment later while your futile pleas were muffled by your bended posture.

“Motherfucking hell,” he groaned, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as he emptied himself inside of you. He pulled out his cock, wiping the crude mixture of both yours and his release on the inside of your thigh before his body went slack against the driver’s seat.

The car windows were now misty with condensation from heat, now obscuring the view you originally came to see.

You could feel Dabi’s hand on your back, rubbing tender circles into your skin in an effort to praise you since he was jaded and at a loss for words. He unenthusiastically shifted around in his seat, searching for a stray napkin to clean you up with, but you only grinned lazily, finding amusement in the new discoverance of your own personal drug.

[enthusiasticharry]

Maybe one were Y/N is a virgin and Harry is her first one but he is so horny that he goes to far or something...

Try Again Later

summary: you're a virgin, and think you're ready to have sex but you quickly learn you're not. 

word count: a lil’ 2.6k word blurb of smut and a small little scene that some people may find uncomfortable, so this is your warning. (not proofread again, i'm too tired.)

You weren’t completely sure about how you’d gotten yourself into this position. It was a good position, to say the least, but one that you hadn’t expected but wouldn’t change for the world. It wasn’t as though in the past you’d shy’d away from relationships, because that hadn’t been the case. You just hadn’t met the right person. 

Fresh out of university, you certainly hadn’t given any thought to your love life. It was almost as though for the past three years you’d been in a bubble of your university work and not taken any notice of anything around you. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just different to the people you were friends with. 

That was until you met Harry. 

It was completely on a whim that you met him, but you couldn’t be more thankful for that whim. You were in one of your favourite bookstores, flicking through the Historical Fiction category to add a little to spice to your quite bland reading habits that you’ve had over the past three years when he mistook you for an employee. You had started talking, and you obviously explained that you thought he was talented and that you liked his music and the rest is history. 

It’s hard for you to believe that was only a few months ago. 

“Whatcha doing?” You jump out of your skin, placing a hand firmly to your chest to calm the hammering that he had caused. 

“Fucking hell, H.” You sigh, “Give a woman a warning. You can’t just sneak up on me like that.” 

He wraps his arms around your shoulders in a hug, placing a small kiss to the top of you head, “Where’s the fun in that?” 

He laughs as you roll your eyes. 

“It’s only fun for you.” 

“I know.” He drops a kiss to your neck, “Missed you, that’s all.” 

“You saw me this morning.” 

“That was hours ago!” He counters back, “Can I not miss my girl?” 

He’s always been good at making your heart flutter, “Course you can. Just be a bit louder when you greet me again.” 

“Will do.” He presses his teeth into your skin gently, “I think it’s time for you to put this away.” 

You try to hide the small smile that flutters onto your lips, “I need to get this project done.” 

“I’m sure it can wait.” He starts to trail his hands down your body, “Missed you.” 

“I know.” You sigh, “You’ve already told me.” 

“Missed you in more ways than one, love.” 

Sex was something that you two had spoken about, but not a lot. You weren’t ashamed, or anything, you had no reason to be, but it was just a sensitive topic and Harry understood that. He never did anything to make you uncomfortable, he checked you were okay with everything that you two did. He was amazing. 

Going into your relationship with Harry, you knew he wasn’t a virgin. It wasn’t something that you focused on for too long because it could send your mind spiralling and you tried to do that as little as possible. 

It hadn’t come up in conversation un til the first night stayed over, which was a month into your relationship. Since you hadn’t been in many, and Harry had been in a few where he admitted that he went too fast and it consequently made it harder, you both decided to take it slow and you were okay with that. 

Harry was human though, and he was attracted to you and even though he wouldn’t dar do anything if you weren’t comfortable, you couldn’t blame him for trying. 

He was a little shocked when you told him you were a virgin, and you weren’t surprised. What did surprise you, however, was how supportive he was. He asked you questions, made sure you were okay to answer them and you did just that. You explained that you weren’t against relationships, of having sex, but you just hadn’t found the person or really had the want to do it with anyone just yet. 

After finding that out, you were scared that he’d ask you to leave. Anyone would be scared of that but he didn’t. He kissed you like he hadn’t before and you cuddled and watched films until you fell asleep. 

You slept over more after that, and you started noticing small things that he’d do that you didn’t know if you found flattering or confusing. You’d sometimes wake up, and you’d feel something resting upon your behind. It, of course, sparked a curiosity in you but before you could say or do anything about it, he was kissing your cheek and getting out of bad and to the bathroom. 

This continued for a couple of weeks, or so, until you finally grew the balls and said that even though you didn’t think you were quite ready for sex, you were open to doing other things. 

You had no idea what you’d been missing. 

In the past, there had been many occasions where you’ve felt a little stressed and needed to relieve yourself. That was nothing compared to the way Harry’s fingers and tongue made you feel. It was almost as though you became addicted to his touch, and he certainly didn’t mind. 

He helped you navigate your way through pleasuring him. One of the things you were most nervous about was the fact that you had no idea how to pleasure a man properly apart from what you watched in porn and on TV. Harry had no problem teaching you how to make him feel good and you eventually ended up being a pro, if you do say so yourself. Harry certainly had no complaints. 

He was happy. You were happy. Everything was content within your relationship. He knew that at this point, that was all you were comfortable in doing and he wasn’t going to force you to do anything you didn’t wan to do. That didn’t mean that he didn’t think about what it would be like, feeling you around him. It was an orgasmic thought in itself. 

It’s hit a point where you’re also curious. In your mind, you think you’re ready. You hadn’t spent every second of every day thinking about it, obviously, but the few times you had thought about it, it wasn’t as nerve wracking to you as you had found it. There was still a part of you that had worries and fears but you knew that Harry would do everything in his power to make sure that wasn’t the case. 

You were ready, or at least you thought you were. 

“This morning wasn’t enough?” Your tone is teasing, his lips parting in shock as you swivel around in your chair so that you’re facing him. 

“This morning was plenty enough.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your cheek, “I’d love to wake up with that every morning.” 

This morning, for some reason, you had a sudden splurge of confidence and after feeling Harry rutting his hips into your behind in his sleep, you decided to wake him up in a way he was certain to enjoy.

He certainly enjoyed waking up to your lips around his cock, his eyes fluttering open to watch you rhythmically bounce your head up and down upon him. He felt as though he was in heaven, and he words couldn’t describe how he felt. 

“In your dreams, H.” 

“You are my dream.” 

“Always the charmer.” You giggle as he drops down upon his knees in front of you. 

He smirks, “You fell pretty quickly for my charm.” 

“Not just your charm.” You counter, “You have a pretty nice ass as well.” 

“Always knew you were a bum girl.” 

“What can I say?” You shrug, “It’s perfect and so plump. Like a peach.” 

You knew exactly where this was going. If it hadn’t been obvious before, the feeling of his hands dancing up and down your clothed thighs certainly made it obvious. 

“Can I take these off?” He asks, letting his hand mess with the drawstring of your jogging bottoms. 

You hum, watching as his fingers undo the bow and hook into the waistband. You lift you hips up, making it easier for him to pull the material down your legs. It hadn’t occurred to you that this would be happening today, so you hadn’t really dressed for the occasion but that didn’t matter. 

“Watermelons?” You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at his reaction to your underwear, ones that you had bought on a whim, “Nice touch.” 

“Thought you might like them.” You bite your lip. 

“I love them.” 

He kisses your knee, starting there and working his way up the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs open as he does so. It was slow, sweet and sensual but also had you withering in your seat. You started to breath quicker, the feeling overwhelming your senses all of a sudden. 

You jump slightly at the feeling of a kiss to your clothed clit, the throbbing between your legs intensifying by the second. 

“Soaked for me poppet.” He starts to run his finger up and down your centre, feeling your arousal that had started to soak through the think material of your underwear, “Got yourself in a little bit of a mess.” 

“S’your fault.” Your back arches off the seat as he presses a kiss to the top of your pubic bone, “Fuck, H, stop teasing.” 

“Why?” He pouts, looking up at you from in-between your legs, a sight that you want imprinted on your brain forever, “I quite like teasing you.” 

“Prepare to be teased later then.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Make me come.” You sigh, “Then I might reconsider.”

“Your wish is my command, Darling.” 

He presses a small peck to your clit, teasing you before he wraps his lips fully around your sensitive nub. The pressure of his lips, mixed with his tongue lapping and flicking at a quick speed you’re putty in his hands. He knows the exact pressure, the exact speed to have your toes curling and erotic sounds leaving your mouth. 

“H.” You drop your hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, doing a mixture of pushing him further into your core and tugging his hair, “Faster.” 

You whimper at the sudden coolness, “What?” 

“Faster.” 

“Oh?” He tilts his head to the side, “You want it faster.” 

Letting out a groan, you push his head back down towards your heat. He laughs and flicks his tongue, up and down before sucking gently with his lips. You soon feel his finger dancing up and down your slit, collecting wetness that laid there before pushing his finger in, just the one for now. 

“Harry.” Your fingers dig into the arm of your chair, “Another. I want another.” 

Your wish is his command. He pushes a second finger in, and uses his free hand to push your stomach down so you stop moving your hips.

You’re unsure whether its the pleasure you’re feeling, or the way you feel for man between your legs but your muttering the words before your brain can catch up. 

“I want you.” 

His movements stop, his eyes lifting to look at you. 

“Wot?” 

You swallow briefly, “I want you.” 

“Like now? Do you want me to do something else? How to do you want me?” 

“H.” You rest your hand on his cheek, “I want all of you. I’m ready.” 

“Are you sure?” He furrows his eyebrows, “If I’ve pressured you in any way, you don’t have to do anything.” 

“Harry.” You smile, “I’m ready.” 

“Fuck. Okay.” 

You squeal as he wraps his arms around your thighs, picking you up and walking you towards your bedroom. He captures your lips, and you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongues. He drops you upon the bed and removes his shirt, exposing his tattooed torso to you. 

You pull your shirt over your head, your nipples immediately pebbling at the cool air and the nerves that bubbled in the pit of your stomach since you hadn’t worn a bra. It was started to become hard for you to differentiate from your arousal or nerves. 

“You sure about this?” You watch as he unzips his trousers, discarding himself of the fabric and the restraints of his boxers. 

“Positive.” You swallow, flicking your eyes from his throbbing member, stood proud at the end of his happy trail and his face. 

His eyes flicker over yours once more and you smile, offering him a small nod of reassurance. You did want this, with him of all people. 

You watch in shock as he walks over to the bedside cabinet at his side of your bed, reaching into the drawers and pulling out a condom. 

“Were you expecting this to happen or something?” 

“No!” He’s quick to respond as he opens the packet, “I just wanted to be prepared.” 

“I’m only teasing, bub.”

You don’t watch him as he puts the condom on, instead you lay back on the bed and look at the ceiling. You try to contain your breathing as he does so, focusing on the fact that Harry was going to do anything in his power to make you feel comfortable. 

“Are you 100% sure?” 

“Yes Harry.” 

“Okay.” He hovers over you, “I’ll go slowly.” 

He does, for the beginning. He watches the discomfort on your face as he pushes in, inch by inch. That is until all he can feel is you squeezing around him, tight and warm. He tries to be slow, and wait but once you nod your head, he can’t help but thrust his hips back and forward hard. 

You were uncomfortable. It hurt, not as much as you thought it would, but it did. Harry was enjoying himself, and you could see the pleasure laced over his featured but you weren’t. You had a sudden urge to cry, which you didn’t think was normal but you closed your eyes to mask it. 

“Fucking hell, love.” 

You bite your lip to suppress a sob and that when you push his body away, uttering a, “Stop!” 

Harry’s face drops, a look of concern over his features as he looks at you. He almost cries out himself when you reach for the duvet to pull over your body. 

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” 

You manage to not let out any tears, which your thankful for, and you shake your head. 

“I’m sorry, H.” You shake your head again, “I don’t think I’m ready still.” 

“Hey.” He drops down next to you, reaching over to take your hand in his, “It’s okay, yeah? It was probably my fault.”

“It wasn’t!” 

“It was.” He admits, “I went too far, and I didn’t check on you. I’m sorry, baby.” 

“H.” You touch his cheek, “It’s not your fault. It’s mine for being a pussy who’s too scared to get dicked down by her boyfriend.” 

“You’re not a pussy.” He shakes his head, “There’s nothing wrong with you. There’s no pressure to do anything, okay?” 

You lean forward and peck his lips, “I know.” 

“I love you, YN.” He smiles, “I would never want to do anything that would upset or hurt you. I’d hate myself.” 

“I love you too.” You beam. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” You nod, “And you didn’t do anything to hurt me, I swear.”

“Good. That’s good.” He drops his head to your shoulder, “We’ll just have to try again later.”

“Try again later.” 

[dreamescapeswriting]

Min Yoongi || His Weakness [MafiaAU]

Summary: Your father sells you to Min Yoongi, the Mafia leader…lmao read it bitches

Genre: angst - fluffy? -

Word count - 6,350 (This was supposed to be short lmaooo)

Warnings: MafiaAU, violence is mentioned a lot, abuse is also mentioned so if you’re not comfortable with it please don’t read as I don’t want to trigger anybody as I know how that feels. Swearing is involved a lot too.

A/N: Credit for the edited Yoongi picture @lovies-kpop-fan-fiction​ love you boo boo

You were a lot of things but stupid wasn’t one of them, your father was addicted to gambling and alcohol which wasn’t a great combination given the line of work he was in, you knew he was involved with bad people, you’d grown up with everything going on around you, it was hard to shelter yourself from it, your mother tried her best until the day she had enough and left you alone with him, that was almost six years ago and ever since you’d been the mother of the household. Looking after your father when he came in from one of his missions or late night drinking binges, you cleaned up the house and looked after anyone that came round with wounds that needed healing, it was your job now seeing as though you were the only woman of the house. You’d grown to expect a few surprised being thrown in from your father, like the time he brought home a man with a bullet wound in his arm, telling you, not to heal him, but to make him worse. Pressuring you about how it’ll make you stronger as a person, once you refused that was it, a smack across the cheek, it was nothing to some other things you had received in the past from him.

What you didn’t expect though on a Sunday at 5 am when your father normally stumbled through the door with his suit a mess, his hair in state and eyes starting to shut from the night he’d had, was the front door being booted open and six men rushing into the home aiming guns in every direction until they found you resting on the kitchen island in your short Pyjama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, a mug of tea in your hand as you’d just woken up to start your day off.

“We’ve found her boss.” One of the taller men out of the six came forward, his face covered back a black hood the only thing you could see was his eyes that were staring into yours, you nervously put down the cup you were holding and held up your hands, no clue if they were police or another one of your dad’s friends, but from the way you were acting you gathered, they weren’t friends at all.

“On your knees, hands where we can see them.” A shorter one demanded in a deep voice, you slowly slid down off the counter top and got down onto your knees, bringing your hands to your head and holding them at the back of your skull, you’d seen your father arrested a countless number of times and knew what to do in this situation.

“Boss said to get her in the car and bring him straight to his, blindfold.” The same taller one from before ordered, taking a blindfold from another hooded member and covering your eyes. You heard the metal before you felt it against your skin, the cold handcuffs making you shiver as they were slotted against your wrists, you wanted to call out and ask what was going on but you knew better than to question someone who was aiming a gun at you.

Being thrown against a carpeted floor was not what you had planned for the morning, your knees burnt as you scraped them along the rug, you heard shuffling around you and muffled speaking, you knew you were in a room in someones home that was around thirty minutes away from your own, having counted in the back of the van you were placed in after being taken from your home, in a secluded area because whoever was driving wasn’t used to coming down back alleyways to get here with a van you were in.

“Be careful with her.” Someone barked, you weren’t used to anyone’s voices and you couldn’t tell anyone apart, you heard a door open and close before a chair was moved and people fell into a completely silent, the only thing that could be heard was people breathing.

“This her?” Someone asked in a thick accent, you frowned under the blindfold still confused as to what was going on around you when you heard another voice speak, a voice you knew all too well in the years of him raising you.

“Yes, that’s her.” The blindfold was ripped away from your eyes, the sudden exposure to bright light caused your eyes to water before tightly shutting, having no time to even adjust to it. Slowly you opened them, the light not bothering so much as before, you glanced around the room, six men and your father were all standing around looking at you, while another was sitting in a giant leather chair behind an oak desk, his hands on the desk in front of him studying you. He was dressed in an all-black suit, thick-rimmed black glasses were on his face, you looked down at his neck to spot a rose and tiger tattoo, then back to his face again taking in his facial features, dark eyes that were boring into yours and bleach blonde hair.

“She cooks, she cleans, she’s real housewife material I promise Yoongi sir,” You blinked at your father, Was he trying to sell you off for more money? Or worse drugs? The man at the desk leaned back in his chair and continued to stare at you before directing his attention to your father, it was now that you took in your dad’s appearance, he was knelt on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, his face badly bruised and bleeding from his nose, lips and a cut above his eyebrow, you’d seen him in worse states but his hair was a mess, messier than if he’d been on an all-night drinking binge.

“She will do until you pay me what you owe me.” All eyes were back on you, yours meeting the man who was sitting in the chair he looked as though he was contemplating what he was about to say before he slammed his hands onto the desk and stood up.

“Take her to her room Jin, don’t talk to her.” He warned giving someone a warning look behind you, you were yanked up by two different arms and you were staring at your father, tears in your eyes as he was uncuffed and sent out of a separate door while you were still cuffed and being dragged away by a man you didn’t know without any explanation as to what was going on, you were being dragged towards one when Yoongi’s hand went up to signal for the men dragging you to stop, they did instantly and you were able to stand up alone instead of having your feet dragged along the floor and receiving more carpet burn. The blonde got up from behind the desk and made his way over to you, he was shorter than the rest of them but not by much, you were still shorter than him, he took a deep breath frowning a little as he came closer to you, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen from your messy bun down into your face.

“Don’t start crying, you’re mine now until he pays back what he owes.” The blonde said with no emotion in his voice or his face, he nodded and you were being turned around to walk with the man who he had called Jin before, you were being taken to a set of metal spiralled stairs.

“Don’t worry too much about him, Yoongi…he’s tough but just do what you’re told and there won’t be a problem.” He whispered to you as you reached the top of the staircase coming onto a hallway that consisted of three doors.

“Like you’re doing as you’re told?” You questioned as he spoke to you after being told not to, he scoffed opening the last white door at the end of the hall and ushering you inside.

“I can do what I want, I’m not his prisoner.” He said before pulling the door closed and locking you inside.

“Don’t you think for one second I like having you around here, you’re here because your father is a filthy scum bag who owes me money,” Yoongi spoke as you were on the floor of the kitchen, you’d come down to clean up as he’d told you to and now you were scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees as if you were Cinderella and not an actual human being with feelings.

“So my father should be the one scrubbing instead.” You spat back not expecting him to hear you as he’d left to go into the living room but he heard and came back into the room, picking you up by the scruff of your Pyjama shirt you were still dressed in.

“Did you say something?” You didn’t even flinch, your father had done worse, you just looked down at the floor in silence, knowing not to talk back to people like that, it would only make their anger worse. You’d been here half a day and you were already worse of then you were at home.

“Your father better hurry up with that money, he neglected to tell me about your smart mouth.” With that you were dropped onto the floor, your knees smacking against the tile, you looked down at the floor, he was still standing in front of you.

“While you’re here, I’ll tell you some ground rules. You can go anywhere in the house except my office, I want this place kept spotless at all times, I’m assuming you cook, if not learn, I want food on the table for certain times.” You nodded, continuing to avoid his gaze.

“Understood?” You looked up and you knew he wanted an answer from you, so you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Yes, Sir.” You managed to squeak out, he nodded before leaving the room and then up a flight of stairs, you looked around the kitchen. The floor was covered in muddy boot prints and a few dirty dishes so you decided to start with those and then go up to your room, hoping to find something to do or change into instead of being stuck in your Pyjama’s the entire time you were going to be there.

Things weren’t terrible at the house, or at least they were better than they were at your home. As long as you stayed out of his way things were fine, you’d only ran into a few problems since being there, the first was a clothes situation…

It had been two days of sitting in the same clothes and you were growing disgusted with yourself, you made a promise to try and find someone who wasn’t Yoongi to help you, except you only knew Jin the one who brought you up to your room and you had no idea when you could ask him about clothes, the only time you saw him he was with the five other men at the dinner table eating the food you cooked for them so it wasn’t as if you could just go up and ask then, it would be rude.

“Here,” Jin said interrupting you from your thoughts, you were currently sat in the window seat of the bedroom you’d been given and a suitcase was pushed further into the room, you slowly got down from the seat and made your way over to it, picking it up and laying on the bed to open, inside was an array of different clothes, from jeans, skirts, shorts, long-sleeved and short-sleeved shirts and dresses with different shoes all in your size.

“Thanks,” You mumbled to him, not wanting to seem ungrateful for the clothes, he shook his head.

“Not from me, Yoongi sent them. He’s sick of seeing you in the same clothes and your dad won’t send anything to him. You’ll pay him back.” You nodded and with that, he left the room, so you began to unpack the bag and put everything away in the wardrobe that was also in the room. You couldn’t complain about the space, it was a big bedroom with an en-suite, everything you could ever need except something to keep you busy when all of the cleaning and cooking was complete, if you were at home you would just walk to the nearby cafe and read but that was out of the question, especially considering the giant brick wall that ran around the house, stopping anyone getting in or in your case, getting out.

The second issue you ran into with Yoongi was being in his way…

You were cleaning up the living room after one of his parties and he came down the next morning for something, you did your best to stay out of the way but you needed something that was behind him, you were going to wait it out but when he saw you standing there and doing nothing he flipped, it was as if a switch went off in his mind.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned to months and you were still in the same house for 6 months. Things had gotten a little slacker, he was allowing you to go shopping, under the careful watch of one of his men, of course, Jin was taking you at first but all of a sudden that stopped and you were being taken by another man who you’d gotten to know as Hoseok, he was nice. He brightened up your day whenever you went out together, he would take you to the same supermarket for food shopping that had a small charity shop next door that sold books, you stopped yourself from asking to go but he saw you glancing whenever you entered or left the supermarket so he took you over.

“We’ll keep it as our secret, he won’t have to know about it.” He promised you, picking out a book you liked and paying for it. You hid it inside one of the grocery bags for later when you could sneak it up to the bedroom and read over and over again.

More and more time passed and you thought you must have been near the end of your father’s debt or at least he was coming to pay back for you but he never showed up or you’d never heard about it until Yoongi came down the stairs one day pissed about something, you’d just made dinner for his six friends and they were all sitting down to eat, you getting ready to leave because you never ate with them when a sharp slap hit you across the cheek, the blow from it knocking you back onto the floor after you hit the bottom of your back on the kitchen counter.

“What the fuck?!” Jin yelled, both him and Hoseok on their feet while the others all stayed seated, eyes staring at the food in front of them knowing better than to go against Yoongi, but Yoongi never tore his eyes away from you, they were burning into the front of your face while you tried your best to hide the tears that were springing to your eyes.

“Where’s your dad?! Huh?!” He yelled kneeling against the floor and looking at you, but you looked away from him not wanting him to see how much he’d hurt you.

“I asked you a fucking question!” He barked pulling your face forward to face him, your eyes were bloodshot and your cheek was bright red with a slight white mark from his hand print, the rings also leaving indents across your cheek.

“I don’t know, I’ve been here the whole time.” You stuttered out staring back into his eyes, wanting him to believe you but knowing he probably wouldn’t.

“You’re coming with me.” He grumbled pulling you up from the floor by your hair and hauling you through the living room and up the staircase towards his office on the second floor, the only time you’d been in there was the first night you came, you were shoved down onto your knees in front of his desk and the door slammed shut, you flinched a little and he came closer to you.

“Where is your scum bag of a father?” You looked up at him, too afraid to not look at him in case he hit you again, you racked your brain trying to think of all your dad’s hiding spots, places he went when he needed to escape from everything going on around him, when people came looking for him.

“Well!?” You looked down a the floor biting down on your lip before thinking of the one place he would always go.

“If he’s hiding he’s probably in the safe house he owns, it’s just outside of town, looks like a run-down farmhouse…he took me there a few times when he was on the run.” Yoongi stared at you, shocked that you would just give him information so easily without him having to pressure you like he did everyone else.

“He’s nothing but a dirty cheat who runs away when he has no other option…that’s probably why he gave me to you because he doesn’t care about me.” You continued to ramble on nervous as Yoongi hadn’t said anything, he leant back against the oak desk and ran his hand through his bleach blonde locks and you looked at him, his eyes were studying you as you tried desperately not to cry.

“Well you’re a bargaining chip now, if he doesn’t come out of hiding we’ll kill you.” You nodded in agreement with him, you knew not to question people in authority.

“With all due respect Sir…that won’t work, my father he’s never been the loving kind…he’ll keep playing you on saying he’s getting the money but he won’t…You can threaten my life all you want but you would have to threaten something more dear to him than me.” He looked at you dumbfounded for a second, you were just giving him everything he needed to know.

“What’s more dear to him than his daughter?” You resisted the urge to laugh at his question, and you looked at him, he was holding out his hand for you to take, you took it and he helped you stand, allowing you to sit down in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, him still leaning against it.

“I would start with his men, they mean more to him than I ever could…or maybe the house, he has memories there of my mother before she ran off.” You cleared your throat, the tears that were once threatening to roll down your cheeks gone, the thoughts of being scared of him gone and replaced with the feeling of relief, he walked around to his side of the desk and began taking notes on what you were telling him, the names of your fathers men, the ones you hated most since they all hit you too but not telling him that, then where the address of the farmhouse was.

“You’ll come with me to the farmhouse, to prove something.” He stated, closing his notebook, the door to the office opened and in walked Hoseok who looked rather worried.

“Take her to her room, bring some food for her and make sure those books you’ve been collecting for her keep her entertained.” He said not looking in either of your directions as he turned to look out of the balcony window.

After threatening a lot of your father’s men your dad came out of hiding from the farmhouse, he took one look at you and knew you were to blame for Yoongi finding him. You were standing between Yoongi and two of his men, Namjoon and Jungkook who were both armed heavily, one wrong move and everything would be over, you knew your dad always carried and you’d warned them about it beforehand.

“You’re a little bitch! Couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you!? Just like your mother!” He screamed in your direction, you didn’t flinch like you would have done before if you were alone with him, instead, you stayed still looking at him as he pleaded to Yoongi not to kill any of his men or the burn the houses down.

“You’d rather save a bunch of men than your daughter?” Yoongi questioned walking closer to your dad and leaving you behind with Namjoon and Jungkook, you watched as Yoongi rolled up his blazer sleeves exposing more tattoos that you didn’t know he had.

“Yes…she’s nothing, just some silly little maid girl. I promised I would get the money but she will do until then right. That was the deal!” He yelled but Yoongi was shaking his head, he cracked his knuckles and you wondered what was about to happen.

“Family is everything.” He told your father walking around the back of him, your father on his knees watching Yoongi walk small circles around him.

“Family is more important than anything else in this world…you should cherish your daughter.” He whispered bending down to your dads’ ear and looking at you, he nodded and Namjoon and Jungkook pushed you to your knees, you screamed as a blade was pushed against your neck.

“Tell me again how she’s nothing to you.” Yoongi egged on, your father looked at you and you stared back at him with pleading eyes, begging for him to say something that would change your mind about what you thought of him all these years.

“She’s nothing.” He spat looking you dead in the eyes, Yoongi sucked on his teeth shaking his head and the blade was removed from your neck, you were yanked back up onto your feet and being moved back into the van.

“I’ll keep her as insurance, but your house and men are all on the line if I don’t get my money soon.” He barked at your dad who was now getting to his feet, you sat in the front of the van in the middle passenger seat in the front and watched as Yoongi climbed in next to you, Jungkook in the driver’s spot and Namjoon in the back.

It had been a month since that day with your father happened and things back at the Yoongi mansion had calmed down, you were allowed to roam freely around the house and gardens as long as you didn’t leave the gates without one of his men accompanying you, and you were allowed more books than before. You were treated less like a slave and more of a family member, it was nice. You finally felt as though you belonged somewhere, but things were getting weirder. Yoongi was accompanying you more and more places with another guard watching you, he’d even taken you to a gallery opening in town which he was funding but the rules were strict, you couldn’t leave his side, not once. Went to meals together out of the house, you had long conversations about your upbringing and your father and it felt as though you were getting along, no more abuse from him, no more forcing you to clean up or cook, you still did those things but it wasn’t forced upon you like it was before. You were even allowed to eat with them at the table, getting to know every single one of his men on a friendly basis.

You awoke one night during the week to a gunshot, you clutched the sheets around your body and looked around the room, you could have sworn blind the shot sounded as though it was right in front of you. You heard another two and you rushed out of the bed throwing the bedroom door open and racing down the stairs, you heard some men talking that you didn’t recognise and then another shot, you squealed holding your hand over your mouth to try and silence it, the voices turning into hushed tones now.

“That would be the maid, sticking her nose in business she doesn’t belong in.” You heard Yoongi snarl, you’d not heard him like that since the night you told him about your fathers’ hideouts, the door swung open a man you didn’t know dragged you inside by your hair dropping you in front of Yoongi who stared at you blankly then back to the man who was still holding your hair.

“She’s a maid? She looks old enough to be a loved one Yoongi…is this the one you’ve had accompanying you everywhere?” You stayed silent and Yoongi was smirking at the men, he looked down at you and shook his head, acting nonchalantly about the fact you were being pulled by your hair, then that’s when you noticed it, blood all over the carpeted floor, your eyes followed the pools and you saw two bodies lying there, one on top of the other. You weren’t scared by it, a little shocked yet but not scared. You’d seen and done worse yourself, remembering back to times when you had to kill someone who came after your dad and you in the process

“Maybe I should keep her seeing as though you took my best men?” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and you were pulled up and back into the man’s chest, him leaning down so close to your neck you could feel his breath with every word he spoke.

“Make her my little plaything, what do you think Yoongi?” The barrel of a gun was placed against your right temple.

“Maybe I’ll just kill her instead.” Yoongi continued to act as though he wasn’t bothered, or maybe it wasn’t an act. Maybe you’d read too much into the fact he was letting you have all the different types of freedom and taking you out with him.

“Do what you want, she’s nothing. I’ll get another maid in no time.” The man sniggered and the gun was lowered from your head, you stared down at the ground when you were suddenly pulled under the man’s arm and into a side hug.

“You’re coming home with me then doll face, we’ll get you all prettied up and I’ll show you a good time.” The gun was put away and you were being walked out of the office door, you looked back over your shoulder at Yoongi pleadingly but he was avoiding your gaze, staring at the blood puddles and worrying about how he was going to clean it up.

You were on the last step of the staircase when a gunshot rang through the air again the man next to you falling onto the floor with a loud thump, you stayed still too scared to move in case whoever shot him was going to shot, you next, it wasn’t until Jin came running into the hallway to see what was happening you realised Yoongi had shot the guy, you were relieved at first, he wasn’t going to just let you go, maybe you weren’t thinking it was all in your head, maybe he did care. You turned to look at him and he was pissed. Red in the face and staring you, the body by your feet was, being dragged away leaving nothing but a drag mark of blood.

“I told you! Never to come into my office!” He yelled coming down the stairs, you backed away from him hitting the front door and looking at him, he was closer to your now, so close that you could smell the mint chewing gum he had.

“I wasn’t in the office.” You whimpered, as he put the gun away in his pocket.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done!? You’ve just left us exposed! Everyone is going to think you’re some kind of weakness to me when you’re nothing but a silly little girl!” He yelled his hand raising and causing you to flinch but it didn’t come into contact with you, it reached into his pocket pulling out his phone.

“You couldn’t just do as you were told, could you?!” He screamed staring at you, you looked down at the ground.

“A weakness! Nothing but a stupid little girl!” He yelled in your face, that was it. You looked behind him and darted up the stairs, the front door heavily guarded but the one door that wasn’t was his office balcony door, you rushed inside climbing out of it and shimming down the drainpipe, you knew you wouldn’t have long to get out of the yard before Hoseok would spot you, you knew their schedule like the back of your hand, he was patrolling the front lawn so you had about three minutes to get out of the back gate and then try and find a way out of surrounding area.

“HOSEOK!” You heard Yoongi yell from the balcony as he watched you sprint towards the back gate, the back door opened and Jin stood there watching as you turned into a faster sprint, making it out of the gate and into the surrounding woods.

You’d been walking for what felt like hours when you heard something behind you, you looked over your shoulder and saw nothing, it was pitch black outside, of course, you saw nothing. You wrapped your arms around your chest, you were dressed in nothing but some thin pyjama’s, why did you do this? You should have just stayed at the house where it was warm. Another noise alerted you and your head snapped around to a light coming from behind you, you darted behind a tree and a car came closer, slowing down, you knew it wasn’t one of Yoongi’s cars or men so you watched as a figure got out of the car.

“You okay miss?” You studied the man for a few seconds, trying to determine if they could be trusted when you couldn’t tell you thought it would be best to leave him.

“Yes…just out for a midnight walk.” You lied, doing your best to sound convincing enough but the man came closer to you, you stepped back, standing on a twig and flinching.

“You don’t seem okay, you lost?” He questioned again, you bit down on your lip, wanting nothing more than to get into his car and be warm but you didn’t know who he was.

“I’m not lost, just walking. Clears my head.” Who would be out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night if they weren’t up to anything good?

“Come with me, I’ll take you somewhere nice and warm…we’ll get you a nice hot chocolate and you can warm up.” You shook your head, you knew he couldn’t see you but the way he was going on and on made you anxious.

“I should go back to my boyfriends’ house, he’s probably looking for me.” That’s when you heard it, someone calling out your name in the distance, both your head and the other man’s shot up to look in the direction it was coming from.

“Yoongi?!” You screamed out, praying for it to be him, you would gladly go back to him being mad than being stuck with a creepy man.

“Yoongi? The Yoongi? Interesting.” The man lunged for you, and you sprinted in the direction of Yoongi’s voice, he sounded angry still but you didn’t care, you needed out of there.

“Yoongi!” You squealed seeing him between some trees with a flashlight, the light was shone in your direction and you continued running when you heard a gunshot again, you wanted to cry out when you heard it, you were sick of hearing them tonight.

“Y/N?!” He yelled, all sense of anger gone from his mind and concern rushing through him as he saw you rushing towards him, you collapsed onto your knees in front of him, and the man from before came out from behind you.

“Yoongi…We finally meet.” He spoke, Yoongi’s eyes went from you to the man behind you, he stepped in front of you and took out his gun aiming it at the man.

“What do you want? I just killed off three of your men don’t think I won’t kill you as well.” He barked, Jin and Hoseok were running towards you now and you watched Yoongi as he protectively guarded you.

“So she is your weakness? She comes running out in the middle of the night and you come running after her?” Jin helped you to your feet and wrapped a blazer around your shivering body, Hoseok was now aiming his gun as well.

“Get the goons out of here, this is between us.” Jin and Hoseok took the look from Yoongi and left, leaving you behind. You couldn’t even comprehend what was happening when it happened, shots rang out of both guns, the man in front of you hitting the ground and blood flowing from his head and then Yoongi stumbling backwards, you stared at him and then your eyes met hole in his blazer with blood coming from it.

“JIN! HOSEOK!” You screamed as they weren’t that far away, they came rushing over and you nodded at the body.

“Deal with him, I’ll sort Yoongi out.” You cried, throwing his good arm over your shoulder and walking back with him to the house, he stayed in silence the whole walk.

He sat in his office chair while you dragged a stool to his side, you’d taken off his blazer and shirt to find the bullet had entered his arm missing anything major but still bleeding a lot.

“This might hurt.” You whispered taking the tweezers you’d sterilized and reached for the bullet inside his arm, he hissed and bit down onto his fist as you got it out.

“Hold still.” You ordered taking his arm and trying to look at it but he yelled out at you.

“If you hold still it won’t hurt as much!” You yelled at him, he shook his head.

“If you hadn’t have run away this wouldn’t have happened!” He argued back at you, you stood your ground.

“If you hadn’t scared or yelled at me I wouldn’t have run off!” He rolled his eyes and you did the same.

“You shouldn’t have been near the office.” You scoffed wiping the wound with the antiseptic wash and then grabbing and needle and thread.

“You need to learn to control your temper.” He scoffed back at you and you began sewing the small wound back together, he watched as you bit down on your lip to concentrate on what you were doing.

“Where did you learn to do this?” You shrugged your shoulders, he was calmer now more relaxed as you helped him.

“You know my father, he’s an alcoholic… I learnt to patch up myself and others.” You said giving no example as to what had been done to you in the past, only lifting your top to show the scar where your kidney was.

“Stabbed me because dinner wasn’t on time one night.” You answered letting it drop down and continuing your work, finally finishing and washing it with some more antiseptic wash.

“You don’t deserve that kind of treatment.” You took the bloody bandages and threw them into the fireplace, coming back over and wrapping his arm in some new ones.

“Life’s a bitch.” You said putting the stool away and cleaning up the first aid kit you’d been using.

“No.” He said taking hold of your wrist and stopping you from going anywhere, you looked at his hand and then up to his face, he looked genuinely concerned and you bit down on your lip.

“I know I haven’t been the greatest of people to you but…I want you to know I don’t mean to shout and scream…I just, I have anger issues and then watching him hold you like that earlier…it made me worse, seeing someone else touching you the way I want to, the way I’ve been working my way up to with taking you out.” You stared blankly at him, so it was true. You were his weakness.

“It made me-”

“Jealous?” You finished for him, he nodded sheepishly and you swallowed a lump that was forming in your throat from nerves.

“You don’t need to be jealous.” You whispered taking your spare hand and putting it on his cheek, he leaned into your hand and you smiled softly.

“I’m a bad guy…you shouldn’t care for me.” He reminded you, you stared at him, a small laugh wanting to escape your lips.

“I’ve grown up around worse than this…my father introduced me to this lifestyle a long time ago, if I didn’t have this it wouldn’t feel normal.” You whispered, he surprised you by pulling you down onto his lap, you were straddling him now, his left arm around your waist and his right injured one cupping your cheek making you look at him. You moved your head closer to him, he was frozen with both fear and excitement, you leant in and your foreheads rested against one another.

“Thank you.” You whispered to him, he frowned a little and you smiled softly although he couldn’t see you.

“For what?”

“Saving my life.” You leant down and connected your lips, in all the time you’d known him you never imagined how they would feel pressed up against your own, your brain lit on fire and the warmth spread throughout your entire body, you were addicted after just one small kiss, it was nothing like the books you had read described, it was something more, it was more passionate than anything anyone could ever try to describe into words. His hand moved from your cheek to around your waist to meet his other arm and he pulled you closer, hissing as his arm stung to move so much, you both pulled away and studied each other for a moment, you felt a blush deepen on your cheeks as he looked at you, the once rough and scary Yoongi, who was covered in piercings and tattoos, who killed people for fun was gone and sitting in his place was a softer and more gentle Yoongi who didn’t care about anything right now except you in his arms.

[yandere-lovehotel]

I accidentally deleted the ask some one sent for yandere hypnotist x female reader but here it is

SFW headcanons

You were a young woman who had started going to Dr. Evan Parkson, a hypnotherapist, for insomnia

But while you were finally sleeping better, that sleep was accompanied by strange dreams.

Dreams of a faceless man kissing and caressing you. Holding you close and whispering things you could understand in your ear. This would eventually lead to...other activities in your dreams.

You always woke up flustered

Dr. Parkson would freely admit that what he was doing was wrong. Using his talents to put a woman under his control in order to steal kisses (among other things) was wrong.

But he didn't care.

He wanted to take you away from the world that caused you so much stress. Hide you away from people who would hurt you.

He wanted to keep you safe and away from the filth of the world.

If he was being honest his interest in you started from the moment you walked through the door of his office.

And quickly spiraled downwards when he saw your beautiful smile.

He quickly began following you outside of your appointments, learning you the best he could.

He wanted to help you when he saw how your insomnia affected you, how tired and drained you seemed.

If he gave a few suggestions for your dreams at night...well it's just because he loves you and wanted you to have sweet dreams.

Really he should probably hurry his plans along because the day would come when you no longer needed his assistance.

______________________________________

NS/FW portion beginning.

Warning: this story is Noncon. reader is hypnotized. 

I decided to make this a small drabble instead of headcanon s because the idea I had was too good to pass up.

Evan smiled as you passed under the haze of hypnotism. Finally. You had cancelled your last appointment due to being sick so it's been too long since he's touched you.

He grabbed the top of your jeans, carefully unbuttoning them and drawing the zipper down. He went slowly to drink in the sight of your enticing lace panties and lovely thighs being revealed inch by inch. Once they were all the way off he folded them and set them aside. 

Evan crawled over you, pressing soft kisses to your lips, trailing down to your neck, aching to suck a dark bruise into the flesh but knowing a mark would be suspicious and settled for savor the soft fragrance of your skin. He pulled away reluctantly, shifting down until he was face to face with your lovely mound.

He layed kisses on your right hip trailing slowly to your left, flicking his tongue out to taste your skin. Halfway there he stopped, bowing his head to place a feather soft kiss to your clit over your underwear. Your hips twitched ever so slightly at the feeling. He continued his trail to your other hip. Once he reached his destination his lips started to trail down your soft thighs. You were making the softest noises, so soft he would have missed them had not been paying attention.

Evan slid his hands underneath your knees, hiking them over his shoulders. His lips slid closer and closer to your now damp panties with ever kiss. He finally stopped to press his nose to the mound of your cunt, inhaling the beautiful aroma. You smelled like heaven. He licked a gentle stripe up your clothed cunt, the buck of your hips more noticeable this time.

Evan groaned low in his throat, his pants becoming tight as he tasted you. Even diluted by the cloth you tasted amazing. He could die happily with his head right here.

He sat up, hooking his finger around the band of your underwear, slipping it up and off your legs. He proceeded to undo his own work pants, freeing his now achingly hard cock. His head reclaimed it's position between your thighs, licking his lips slowly as his mouth salivated at your scent.

Evan flattened his tongue against you, giving a long, languid lick. He heard your breath catch in your throat at the action. His hand made hard slow strokes against his dick, thumb rubbing the sensitive head, his own hips bucking downwards. He pressed his tongue into your entrance, flicking your wet, spongy walls gently with it as he brought his free hand up pinch and tug at your clit. You became louder now, whimpers increasing in volume at the slow back and forth thrust of his tongue into your pussy, his fingers playing with your swollen, red button.

'God I'll never get tired of her taste. It's almost addicting.' he thought to himself.

Your entrance was practically weeping with arousal at this point. He pulled his back as his fingers took the place of his tongue, slipping one slowly inside of you. He could hear your breathing slowly speed up, as your cunt stretched around his finger. He moved it slowly. Back and forth, back and forth, attempting to loosen you up. His lips clamped down around your cutely swollen clit, suckling gently and flicking it with his tongue. 

He crooked his finger in a 'come hither' motion in time with each stroke of his cock. Heat was pouring from his neck, down his shoulders and back, and settling in his groin.

Once Evan deemed you stretched enough, he slowly worked a second finger along side the first. 

"Ahh-nngh-agh" your moans seat a stab of lust straight to his dick. He began stroking himself faster, carefully scissoring his fingers while trying to find the spot he knew was inside of you to make you really sing.

"AAAAHHH-nnnnnggh" looks like he found it. Not surprising. This isn't his first time with you.

With renewed vigor he began thrusting his finger faster, abusing your sweet spot as he sucked your clit harder, occasionally pulling back to rub his tongue harshly against it. He wasn't worried about waking you. The tea he gave to every patient was meant to keep them under easier. He could feel you clenching rhythmically around his fingers. He knew you were getting close and needed just a little bit more to throw you over that edge.

He twisted his wrist, corkscrewing his fingers in and out of your pussy, each pass rubbing against the sensitive sponge of your g spot. He sucked harder on your clit, flicking his tongue skillfully over the red bundle of nerves. His hand never stopped moving on his cock. Just a little more and-

"Mmmmahhhgghhhh-ahhhhhhHHHHH" 

'there we go'. Evan thought to himself he carefully slowed his ministrations to help you slowly ride the aftermath of your orgasm. Once you had calmed down, he pulled his fingers out and placed them in his mouth, his eyes rolling back and closing at the taste of your cum. Once he had thoroughly cleaned them he pulled them out, a thin line of saliva connecting them to his lips. He placed his tongue back into your hole to clean you of the mess you made. As he pulled away, savoring the taste of your release on his tongue, his other hand never stopped it's motions. The head of his cock was angry red, begging for release. Tingling pleasure raced through his body. The pressure in his gut was ready to explode. He knew that he wasn't going to last much longer. He brought the opposite hand under the head, stroking faster and faster.

"Annnngg- fuck fuck! God I love you so-nnnnggh- so much! I love you, I love you, I love-" his words were cut off with a choked gasp as his release hit him hard and fast. Every nerve felt like it was on fire as his cum spurted out in his hand. He milked himself harshly until pleasure threatened to give away into overstimulation. He sat back on his knees, breathing harshly. Once he caught his breath he cleaned his hand off and redressed you and himself, proceeding to do his job like normal.

When you woke up you didn't suspect a thing

[irispublishersmedicaljournals]

Iris Publishers - Current Trends in Clinical & Medical Sciences (CTCMS)

Pain Physical and Emotional

Authored by Andrew Hague

Introduction

Only the fourth option is acceptable, and this paper will show that it can be done. Unfortunately, the other three options are too common. There are three components in the body that are always found together. If one does not work, the other two cannot work. They are the nerves, veins and arteries. Repairs must suit all three components. Veins and arteries carry blood. If there is no blood at a place in the body, that place cannot be healed. Blood is the life support liquid. In humans even maintaining its temperature is essential.

Nerves carry signals to the brain which is the body’s control centre.

Every cell in the body is connected to the brain. The language of the nerve network is pain. From a finger pulling back from a hot surface to the workman stopping to eat, messages flow to the brain and action is taken to keep the body operating. If a message is unable to reach the brain, harm will continue with consequences that can be disastrous. If pain continues and the brain is unable to make a repair, the person suffers. The body’s operating system depends on the requests for help being answered and, like an unanswered telephone, will continue ringing until it gets help. It is that perpetual pain that is the subject of the essay.

Masking the Pain

Drugs can switch off the brain either drastically or slightly. They are never a remedy. Ethanol, a popular poison known as alcohol, has been used by humans since fermentation was discovered by early farmers. Interestingly, reports of animals being allowed to drink alcohol show that the animals also like to be inebriated [1]. If alcohol was originally reserved for celebrations, it eventually became a crutch to carry people through their daily life. Compounding this inadequate answer to a problem is the fact that dependency on the escape or mask becomes addictive.

Worse, whatever the trouble the person wanted to avoid becomes more difficult and they enter a downward spiral (Figure 1). [2] Archaeologists investigating the Neolithic ages, 7,000 years ago, found poppy seeds used medicinally. Before the poppy is ripe, the seed pod can be cut to allow a latex to ooze out and be collected. Observe babies, they put everything in their mouth. Little imagination is required to accept that humans discovered the use of the poppy as an anaesthetic. Poppies are the raw material for opium from which heroin, methane, codeine and thebaine are derived and the synthetic forms of oxycodone, hydrocodone, hydromorphone, and other semisynthetic opiates.

The Opioid Crisis

In the American Civil War, the Union Army used 175,000lb (80,000kg) of opium tincture and powder and about 500,000 opium pills [1]. During this time of popularity, users called opium “God’s Own Medicine”. Opium’s anaesthetic and addictive powers were well known by the 20th century. Britain had used it to profit from China by forcefully cultivating poppies in India and militarily pushing them on the Chinese [3]. By 1840 there were 10 million Chinese opium addicts; largely due to illegal British imports. Sales were sustained by the users’ addiction.

In the late 1990s, around 100 million people or a third of the U.S. population were estimated to be affected by chronic pain [4]. Lower back pain, arthritis, post-surgery pain and cancer were the usual causes of pain and without a cure the patient wanted escape. Pharmaceutical derivatives of opium were the low cost, highly profitable answer to demand. When the pain relievers were launched, they were claimed to be non-addictive. That was soon found to be untrue. “An investigation by the US Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs detailed the financial ties that exist between opioid manufacturers, advocacy groups, and medical professional societies.

The report exposed patient advocacy groups and professional societies spending millions of dollars to promote messages and policies favoring the interests of the pharmaceutical industry [5].” The patients were addicted to the drugs [6]. Every day, more than 130 people in the United States die after overdosing on opioids. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that the total “economic burden” of prescription opioid misuse alone in the United States is $78.5 billion a year, including the costs of healthcare, lost productivity, addiction treatment, and criminal justice involvement.

Death

100 million American adults live with chronic pain, many of them with pain so bad it wrecks their work, their families, their mental health and their lives. There are no hard data on how many people with chronic pain die by suicide every year. But there are inferences. The suicide rate among people with chronic pain is known to be roughly twice that for people without chronic pain [7]. Being unable to cure the cause of pain and having a prescriptible anaesthetic for home use available, the doctors put the patients on an addictive drug. When the government saw the folly, they passed laws restricting the amount of opiates (anaesthetics). That left people in pain, doctors in guilt and still no answer [8]. The drugs intended to make life tolerable were doing the opposite. They gave patients a way to kill themselves when they had realised they had two choices: live in pain or die [9]. The doctors were in contact with the patients, not the pharmaceutical companies. The referenced articles are heart breaking (Graph 1 & 2).

 Learn to Live with It

Is this possible?

Cure the Cause of the Pain

This is possible and available now. Medicine can be seen in two groups, what can be cured by drugs and what cannot. The pharmaceutical cures include antibiotics and vaccinations. There are also the anaesthetics described above. If the purpose is pain blocking during surgery, then the benefit is clear with the expectation that the pain will pass as the wound heals. What cannot be cured by drugs includes diabetes, cancer and the brain diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Diabetes is more debilitating than painful, so it does not grab the emotive headlines that cancer does. It is the pain from cancer that often alerts the patient. Medical advice is to be checked regularly for cancer and if it can be caught early it can be removed. Maybe it can by selective poisoning of the cancer cells or by targeting with radiation, both methods with side effects. The chemo-radiation cure rate varies from low to dismal.

Cancer

CellSonic has the only known cure for cancer. I made the discovery almost three years ago. The technology uses a nonsurgical, irreversible electroporation whilst simultaneously applying a short duration, high pressure pulse to the tumour. The explanations, protocols and procedures are already published [10] (Figure 1). When I received the report from the doctor with this photo, I was shocked. We seldom see cancer. It is usually inside. Here a breast tumour has spread to the skin. This is stage 4 cancer, the stage at which most oncologists have ceased trying to stop the cancer.

The lady had lost faith in the usual chemo-radiation methods. They didn’t work and had cost her a fortune. Word of mouth led her to a CellSonic specialist who was not advertising that CellSonic can treat cancer, but the specialist had previous experience and knew that only CellSonic could help. The doctor asked the lady about the pain on a scale of 1 to 10. She replied 14. It was agony. He gave her one treatment and the pain went away. It is not clear how quickly the pain was quashed, whether it was immediate or within hours. It was also reported that the scales of scabs started to dry out. The doctor was both pleased and perplexed. The result was better than he expected, and he asked for my opinion. I told him that the result was predictable as we know from cancer cases going back almost three years. There are no side effects. On the third day, the patient feels different. The load on their immune system is greatly reduced and this translates to feeling better.

I said to the doctor that he had shifted from cancer to plastic surgery but to not rush into anything. See if the scabs fall off. Will the tumour, causing the swelling, dissipate or need removing surgically? Now benign, there is every chance that the tumour will be removed by the immune system. He should also be aware that with the pain gone from the breasts, she may become aware of other pains hidden by the predominance of the breast pain. In other words, could the cancer have spread to other organs which have not yet been treated? With such visually obvious damage, there had been no scans. Thus far, there are no further reports of cancer elsewhere.

We await the next report

Cancer is the replication of mutating cells. Researchers in England have measured the permittivity of tissues and found cancer to show 9.6 and healthy tissue 3.2 on their scale with nothing in between. The CellSonic pulse delivers a high voltage electromagnetic field lasting less than a nanosecond combined with a short duration pressure pulse causing the replication to switch to healthy cells. Laboratory research on cells in Austria four years ago found the same results. No drugs are used and must not be used. The cancer cells should be in good condition so that they respond to the magnetic field. An attempt in Belgium to cure cancer patients failed. The ensuing discussion with the doctor revealed that all the patients were fully loaded with chemotherapy making their cancers unresponsive. He assured me that it would be impossible to find any cancer patients in Europe who were not on chemotherapy.

Non-Cancer Pain

The traditional view of physiotherapy is that it teaches a few simple exercises and by pressing with fingers some pain can be alleviated. Worse than that, a physiotherapist is said to be inferior to an orthopaedic surgeon. Whether that was ever true, it certainly is not now. Instead of pressing with fingers, the physiotherapist has a new tool in CellSonic that performs non-invasive surgery, does not use drugs and has no side effects. Patients come in bent and walk out straight. Quite apart from the benefits to patients, the status of physiotherapy is enhanced, the business improved, and earnings increased. With their knowledge of the anatomy, all a physiotherapist needs to master the new technology is a few minutes training on how to operate the machine and then they are working inside the body from the outside.

Cellsonic VIPP (very intense pressure pulses) damage or provoke. This is a simplification because the complete explanation is complicated. Damage is done to infection, germs are killed, calcifications shattered, and blockages released. Provocation is the stimulation of the immune system to make a repair by bringing stem cells to the site, increasing vascularization and blood cells. Muscles are enhanced and nerves repaired. Additionally, and very simply, the replication of mutant cells is stopped, and they then only replicate healthy cells. In other words, cancer is stopped without drugs, non-invasively and without side effects. It takes a physiotherapist five minutes to realize that they can do more than they were trained to do. Quite apart from curing cancer, which is the easiest treatment to perform, an athlete can be given a 13% improvement in performance. A geriatric marooned in bed with a catheter and pressure sore can be restored to mobility and dignity. Half the population all of whom have lower back pain can be relieved. What cannot be done easily is to placate orthopods who sense that physios have encroached on their patch.

CellSonic has no apologies. The story of CellSonic is one of discovery. It started with breaking kidney stones with sound waves forty years ago. This is now done in all hospitals of the world and millions of patients have been treated safely. Since then the technology has changed, the machines became smaller, weaker, hand held and cost much less. New applications were reported by users, usually doing something that was not recommended but they thought they would try it. The fact that CellSonic has no side effects made everything possible. This is unique in medicine where all drugs have side effects. Gone is the notion that the body is the sum total of its chemistry. The pharmaceutical industry still has an important role to play but it is no longer the only force in medicine.

Back Pain and Arthritis

rely on reports from users of CellSonic for confirmation of the effects of the technology. Here is one from Poland: Below I’m sending a short report from Neuromedyka Clinic in Żyrardów in Poland. Jarosław, 41 years old patient with a heel spur. Mr. Jarek had a very big problem with his leg. He felt a strong pain even he doesn’t walk. We did 3 treatments to solve his problem. It took us 4 weeks. After 1st treatment he doesn’t feel significant improvement, but he decided to take all treatments. After 2nd treatment he felt much better only pain appears after all day when he walked. I called him today, it is 4 weeks after last treatment and asked him how he is feeling? He said that he doesn’t remember that he had any problems with his leg. He feels great.

 Vipp for Treatment of Calcaneal Spur and Fasciitis

The next report is from India. Bony spurs on the heel of foot may be a cause of pain in individuals, which may increase in intensity after prolonged periods of rest. Walking, running or lifting heavy weights may exacerbate the condition. These spurs are a result of repeated stress due to which calcium deposition occurs. Similarly, plantar fasciitis is a condition that occurs in individuals, commonly due to prolonged standing. The condition is due to inflammation at the site of insertion of ligaments into the bone. Pathologically, micro tears, collagen breakdown and scarring are observed. Pain is the main feature of plantar fasciitis, which is usually most severe on taking the first step after prolonged periods of rest. Both conditions, commonly being associated with constant stress on legs and feet, treatment comprises of pain-relieving medications, lifestyle modifications and physiotherapy exercises.

A new treatment modality utilizing CellSonic VIPP technology has shown improvement in both conditions, as seen in patients treated at StemRx Bioscience Solutions Pvt. Ltd. 5 patients with spur/fasciitis were given a total of 3 sessions of VIPP treatment. First and second sessions were given at an interval of 3 days, while the 3rd session was given a week following 2nd session. 200- 500 shocks were given at intensity level 2-4. Pain relief was the immediate effect noticed. At 3-4 weeks follow-up, all patients were pain free and had improved comfort in walking ability. All patients have stopped pain medications. “It is amazing to see positive results in a short period of time. Being a non-invasive, drug and side effect free procedure with no hospitalization requirement, CellSonic VIPP is a hit among patients with calcaneal spur/fasciitis”, says Dr. Mahajan.

In all the cases, drugs are not used, nerves are repaired, vascularization improved to carry oxygen and stem cells of the right type to the right place in the right quantity and infection killed without anti-biotics (Figure 4). Lower back pain could be the predominant pain world-wide (Figure 5). Usually one CellSonic treatment is enough for permanent relief. The ultimate test on spine repair is a severed spinal cord. I am now aware of three cases, one in Hyderabad on a girl whom I met so I can vouch for the authenticity and two cases from Dr Mahajan in Mumbai whom I know well and have watched him treating patients.

Spinal Cord Injury Patient Treated with Cell-Based Therapy and Cellsonic VIPP

The patient had a road traffic accident and sustained injuries in his spine in September 2017. He was paralyzed below the waist and was bedridden since the accident. He did not undergo any major treatment at his home country. He was brought to our hospital on a stretcher. With cell-based therapy and CellSonic VIPP plus neurorehabilitation, the patient was able to stand with the help of callipers within a month of treatment. This is tremendous improvement as the family was told that the boy will remain bedridden. He had developed bed sores due to lack of movement. With the combination treatment of cell-based therapy and CellSonic VIPP in the wound area, we could accomplish rapid healing of the sores. Overall the improvement is very encouraging. After few months of follow up, we will look to publish this case. We have few more cases in the pipeline, and we hope to publish them in reputed journals after the required follow up period.

Emotional Pain

Physical pain causes emotional pain. It is a downward spiral. The body is healed by the immune system which depends on a positive frame of mind [11]. The expression, Mind over Body, cannot always apply. I have heard it used with reference to cancer so it may be possible to think yourself well but for the general population it is not an easy remedy. People have emotional states that range from fragile to robust. For some, a day of sky covered cloud with no sign of the sun brings on doom. For others, they can emerge from battle in a war zone and continue their lives as though nothing dramatic has happened. Somewhere between these two extremes are most of us. The trick is to find what makes you smile. Not to laugh or be giddy. Just something that is pleasing, and you find yourself saying, “If it could always be like this!” You then have something to aim for because those pleasant times are repeatable.

I cannot think of anyone I have known who has been on drugs (anti-depressants) to shift them away from the gloom end of the spectrum who has been able to permanently achieve equilibrium. If at first the drugs improved the patient’s outlook, before long they were damaging the brain’s emotional balance. The factors involved are the amount of the dose and its duration. When a patient says they are on a low dose and believing it is not causing dependency they are not realizing that every day a piece of their brain becomes permanently inactive. The damage is accumulative. The drug may help them to struggle on, but it is preventing a cure.

The human brain evolved to cope with life’s swings. Our emotions exist for a reason. Combined with memory, they are a protective mechanism. I have often been tempted to write an article entitled, “Blame the brain” and when I assemble my thoughts, I found I was entering taboo areas such as religion and politics. My purpose is to help, and the measure of success is more people recovering. If my conjecture is taken to be critical of some beliefs, then I cannot help and will avoid the subject. You must work out for yourself what avoids friction.

We are gregarious. Who would choose to live alone? Has a hermit an enquiring mind? Do they ever smile? Those around us depend on us as we depend on them. Be amenable. Within a range of moods, all people are the same and I say that knowing people from all around the world. Only the ignorant can be xenophobic.

You must exercise [12], eat the right food [13] and never smoke, drink alcohol or take narcotics. If you damage the brain, all is lost [14]. When people continue to use opioids beyond what a doctor prescribes, whether to minimize pain or induce euphoric feelings, it can mark the beginning stages of an opiate addiction, with a tolerance developing and eventually leading to dependence, when a person relies on the drug to prevent withdrawal symptoms [9]. Writers have pointed to a widespread desire among the public to find a pill for any problem, even if a better solution might be a lifestyle change, such as exercise, improved diet, and stress reduction [10-12]. Opioids are relatively inexpensive, and alternative interventions, such as physical therapy, may not be affordable [13].

I have put the key words of the above quote in bold: a pill for any problem. And that is the problem. Medical practice has created the problem. From the Opium wars inflicted on China in the 19th Century to the present-day Opioid Crisis, the people suffer because they allow themselves to be weak and ignorant. Doctors who take a stance can be ridiculed and even banned from practicing.

Causing Happiness

CellSonic has been used on many people for enough years to observe a phenomenon I do not yet understand, it makes them happy. As reports flowed back to me, they almost always said that the patient enjoyed the treatments, looked forward to another treatment and the spouse also would add that the patient felt happier. It assumed this was the charm of the doctor and almost painless, quick treatment. Eventually, as the stories accumulated, I had to accept that there was more to it than a smiling doctor. The effect was most noticeable where many shocks were applied and had to be repeated every few days on such as gangrene, kidney failure or the severed spinal cord. CellSonic pulses were making the patient feel happier.

I do not know whether we have a non-pharmaceutical cure for depression. At some stage it will be worth gathering some depressives who are not on medication and treating them. The hypothesis is that it does to the brain what exercise does and, importantly, carries nothing into the brain that can destroy connections or cause blockages. This is the next frontier or at least one of them. Other projects for CellSonic are diagnosing cancer harmlessly

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[conelly]

( luke hemmings, twenty-two, cismale, he/him ) did you see BYRON CONELLY walking down main street earlier?  you know who i’m talking about, they’re a DECKHAND.  everybody in town says that they’re SANGUINE & NONJUDGEMENTAL, but have a tendency to be IMPRESSIONABLE & VOLATILE too.  BYRON has been in town for ONE AND A BIT years. c'mon, they’re always requesting SWEET CAROLINE by NEIL DIAMOND at karaoke nights.  well, i’m sure you’ll see them soon! ( ooc: sunny, 22, she/her, est )

hi thanks for tuning in, SUNNY here to tell you all a lil bit about westmere’s very own new nd improved favorite loser below. sorry for this summary being all over the place, it’s kinda how my brain works heh which is kinda perfect bc byron will for SURE be all over the place too ( u can rly tell at a certain point i was like ok i give up + i’m posting mf ). let me know if u have any questions about ‘em and most importantly, lmk if you would like to plot a lil connect or sumn 😙

@westmerestarters​ 

FAMBAM + BACKGROUND

born 14 years after the elder conelly ( wanted brother connect !!! ) entered this word to two parents who didn’t seem to read the job description, it was clear that byron wasn’t planned. and down the line, he’d soon realize through the tumultuous household he was brought up in - perhaps never even wanted.

byron’s parents had one constant - and that was fighting. over anything, all the time. there just wasn’t any love between the two and they stayed together for whatever meaningless reasons until byron hit middle school. ( there might’ve been a super short lull in toxicity once byron was born, but it had to be short as his first memories are nothing shy of toxic. )  it was a messy separation ( they never paid the full legal fees for a full divorce ) - his father moving to the coast of nj & his mother moving to a smaller apartment nearby her own mother ( which, due to the negative relationship among his mother + grandmother, also called for more tension ). he’d often be dropped off @ his grandmother’s house for baby-sitting or when he was ‘ becoming too much to handle. ’ eventually his grandmother moved into his cousin’s house ( MONROE ) and although grateful he made a practically new brother, similar tendencies of feeling unwanted occurred when byron noticed their grandmother praising and coddling and favoriting monroe just a bit more.

( his mother was a struggling addict ( and had been her whole life ), but the loneliness, newfound pressures and whatever excuse she was able to name caused her drinking to spiral worse than byron remembered ( even at his young age ) before. )

( his father was rarely in his life, but when he was, he was THE coolest. always played good cop in any situation regarding his mother, despite choosing not to have an active role in byron’s life. byron looked up to him like no other. when he WAS around, he taught byron how to surf, skateboard, play sports, they’d play video games, they’d eat junk food - honestly anything that byron wanted to do. his dad was an adrenaline junkie and created the stepping stones for byron to be one too. he was a marine biologist & pretty successful at that. passionate,  intelligent, but seemingly finding his newfound life a lot better than his previous - which is why he never wanted byron to stay too long, the boy reminded him of her, of the past. )

( his older brother moved out of the house when byron was just a lil kid, they’re not very close and don’t have much in common ... or so it seems. he lives in nyc and they only talk here and there on holidays. he was never a huge part of his life, but it does bum him out to think what could’ve been / could be. )

TO GET THE GIST 

due to never receiving the attention he craved from his family members, he made up for it tenfold in school. he was always talking to everyone, loud, boisterous, gregarious, life of the party; he wanted people to like him and they did. he become a total people pleaser, molding himself to make sure everyone was content and stayed around. impressionable, adaptable. he felt less this way towards adults and had a bit of a rebellious phase, hanging with the wrong crowd & getting into things he probably wouldn’t do otherwise. old habits die hard and he still tries his best to make everyone crack a smile, to remember him - since he believes he won’t be remembered for much else.

after he just barely skated by in high school ( his grades were never as good as his cousin’s and never lived up to his father’s expectations ), byron felt a bit lost. a lot of people had plans, were heading off to college - but already under the assumption he couldn’t reach any expectation in that realm ( a lil self fulfilling prophecy am i right pals ), he stayed in town - caring for his mother who hardly had anything together, his uncle who got sick very quickly & passed, spending time with his grandmother, while he himself fell into a rut. most of his days meant he drove out towards his dad’s place ( dad hardly there now, out and about with his new family ), surfing, smoking, and grabbing some cash doing odd jobs any way he could. he lost any purpose he once had ( but yall would never know it bc who wants to be in someone’s life who’s a buzzkill ? all smiles, baby, all smiles. )

IN WESTMERE

when his cousin offered the opportunity to travel cross-country in his van, byron had nothing to lose. always adventurous in spirit, he immediately said yes - deciding to ignore that ‘obligation,’ that feeling to make sure they were a-ok that he felt towards his parents. he needed an out and this was it. 

after landing in the small connecticut town for the night, the two fell for it - especially since when they got there along the water, it was a summer night + everything landed into place. they decided to stay there a bit longer ... and that eventually turned into more than a year. still antsy to keep traveling and to move around, byron has been ready to head out ... but stays for a few reasons - and them all being people ( bc lbh the surf is not even on point here ok )

his current job is a deckhand ( on a bunch of boats, ppl prob hired him as word of mouth got around that he knew what he was doing ). prob got that knowledge from being by his dad’s on the water when younger ( he’s ... obsessed with the water ) ! and also he’s just a quick learner ok ( ps: if your charrie has a boat pls let’s make somethin happen )

TO KNOW [ headcanons + more ]

his fav karaoke song is sweet caroline bc he knows everyone will be able to sing nd party along. he does it for the ppl, ppl.

he never saw too many baby / kid pics of himself which was kind of a bummer bc he really only remembers negative times - somehow they overpowered ( i bet lil byron was cute as fuck too fml )

he’s super into drugs, hallucinogenics, honestly you name it. it started off w/ him being impressionable, then bored, and now he just enjoys it. despite his mother’s addiction running through his blood, he still continues to do his thang.  

longboards around town so watch your toes

uses 🤙🤙 all the time and not ironically 

has an existential crisis on the daily about purpose but keeps that to himself most times 

WANTED CONNECTIONS

someone pls give me a sugar mama idc how we plot it out they don’t have to hook up they can idk idc i just want someone giving him money or expensive things it can be so much fun ok ,, pool boy ? idk sign me up

pls if your muse has a boat, let him be the deckhand ok it will also be so fun and potentially angsty if he fucks something up

a fling 100% - even multiple ? idc listen he is currently sharing a tiny VAN with his COUSIN he needs a place - like an actual bed - to crash on at night

can he save someone who was potentially drowning pls??? he used to be a lifeguard, it can be a cool/fun thread to write out

omg off of that can he teach someone how to swim 

look if anyone is into marine bio, can they somehow know byron’s father ?? i feel like that could make room for a cool plot

also i have an older brother connect on the w/c’s page lmk lmk

give me a good influence that will somehow have him open up + tell him that it’s weird to be so sunshiny all the time. maybe someone who witnesses him at his worst + stays, ya know ??

a bad influence plot where y/c takes this impressionable young lad and puts him through the ringer tbh ( srrsly he’d do a lot for ppl, so ask him to do something illegal for them it’ll be fun )

party pals, smoking pals, on the water 24/7 pals, 

co-worker, other ppl that work on the water ( fishermen?? more deckhands?? captains??)

gimmie someone he accidentally bumped into while longboarding ( he’s a large human it might’ve done damage ok )

i want and need enemies ok i know he’s chill as fuck and wants everyone to like him but there’s always a way to find enemies >:o. anything angsty for REAL.

unrequited thing? where he led someone on?? i’m sure he does this constantly

don’t ruin the friendship thing omg plsssss always so fun

look i’m open for it ALL. every plot u have in mind so lay it on me

[farcryfuckmeup]

Heya, I was curious if you could do something with John seed x a reader with old self harm scars, maybe the reader feeling pretty unconfident about the scars that are all over them and wanting to just hide from everyone? I totally understand if you don't wanna write anything about this. But thank you if you do!

Old Scars

i hope this is what you were hoping for! sorry it took so long i scrapped what i had a few times but here it is!

my requests are open and so are my commissions! 

TW: HISTORY OF SELF-HARM, MENTIONS OF SELF-HARM, SELF-HARM SCARS

Your back slammed into the dirt and rock that had once been beneath your feet, and your face contorted in pain as some of the sharper rocks dug into your skin.

You groaned softly as you rolled over onto your stomach, but climbed to your feet nonetheless and headed to a bush for cover.

How you’d gotten stuck out in this shit storm was beyond you, but the Resistance members were shooting anything that even remotely looked like a Peggie until they found you.

Thankfully you hadn’t gotten far from the Seed Ranch when the Resistance ran you off the road, so with careful steps and keeping Jacob’s training in mind, you managed to slowly make your way back.

Trees and shrubs allowed for plenty of spots for you to hide and catch your breath before pushing on again.

Your feet had started to ache and your t-shirt was sticking to your back by the time you appeared at the tree line, and the nearest guard trained her gun on you before realizing who the intruder was.

“Brother John, she has returned! Let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” She hollered for the herald and grabbed your elbow gently after lowering her gun to usher you inside.

The back door to the ranch closed behind the two of you, but the noise was drowned out by the hurried footsteps echoing throughout the dining room. You limped over to the sofa with the woman’s help, for as your adrenaline rush began to fade, the amount of pain you felt increased.

“You’re back,” John exclaimed as he took long strides toward you while you let yourself drop onto the sofa with an exhausted sigh. “You said you were leaving and then there were reports of gunfire and an ambush.” 

Strands of his hair were beginning to fall over his eyebrows and there were light pink streaks on the skin of his neck. You only noticed these things after he sat down next to you so he could examine you.

“You were worried about me?” You let John’s fingers come up under your chin and move your head every which way so that he was assured you weren’t seriously injured. He paused with eyebrows as high as the Eiffel Tower and you could guess what he was going to say before he actually did.

“How hard did you hit your head, my dear?” He moved his hand up towards your eyes as he opened your eyelids a little wider, and you couldn’t help but chuckle and swat him away.

“Not hard at all. I fell on my back after-would you knock that off?” You grabbed his wrists as he tried to make you stand up so he could give you a once over. He was one of the few people you permitted to be affectionate with you, but even then sometimes he was a little suffocating.

John was an acquired taste when the two of you had started dating. You used to get uncomfortable with the amount of affection he showed you because you simply didn’t believe that you deserved it. After patience, space, and time, you’d come to accept that John was a light in your life. There were still some days where you felt like hiding under the covers and sleeping until the ache in your chest dissipated, and John understood that.

“Let me check your back, clean you up, and then I’ll be done,” John’s hands were resting on his hips, fingers poised to poke and prod some more. When you shot him a look of disbelief, he held his hands up in surrender. “I promise, darling. I promise.”

You winced as you scooted forward a few inches on the sofa and rotated your body so that John didn’t have to struggle to see your back. You could feel the fabric pull away from your flesh as you moved about.

“Each and every last one of those sinners will Atone, and I swear to you it will not be an easy one.” John’s voice had lost all playfulness when he saw the dark puddle soaked into the fabric of your shirt. Sure, the lacerations and punctures stung where the rocks had damaged your body, but either it was worse than you thought or John was being dramatic.

You trusted the latter.

“I’ll go get the antiseptic and bandages, and then I’ll come back to help you undress.” John’s eyebrows pushed and pulled apart as he worried his hands. Panic took off in your chest at the word ‘undress’, but before you could object John has vanished in search of first aid supplies.

Your skin began to burn in various places on your body as your mind raced. What would he think? Would he care? John himself had plenty of scars on his body…but would he not mind them if they were on you?

Instinctively you began scratching at your arms through your sleeve, then transitioned to your thighs, and spots that had the insatiable need to scratch. 

It was one of the reasons why you and John hadn’t been intimated with each other before. He’d have to see you naked with the clusters of thin white lines that striped your skin. Some were thicker than others and some were harder.

“Do you have bug bites or something? I think I have ointment or something for that if they’re itching.” John’s caring voice broke through the spiral your thoughts had sent you in, and you couldn’t help but stare at him dumbfoundedly for a moment.

“Huh?”

“Your arms, love. You’re itching them like your skin is on fire. Are they scraped up too?” He set the bandages and antiseptic down on the coffee table in front of you, his eyes trained on you so that you knew you had his full attention.

“No, I uh-I don’t need my back taken care of. They’re just scrapes I can shower it away.” You shook your head and put a hand to his cheek as he knelt down before you, but he balked at the notion of letting you fend for yourself.

“Nonsense! Let me help, please?” John pleaded with you, but furrowed his eyebrows as he noticed the sullen and panicked expression on your face. “Is something else the matter?”

You tried to recall if you’d ever told John about your past addiction, but being on the spot so suddenly fried your brain and you couldn’t remember if your life had depended on it.

John watched you squirm for a moment before his eyes widened ever so slightly, a small gasp escaping his lips.

“I love you for your scars and all, you shouldn’t feel insecure about them.”

“Uh, it’s…I don’t want you to change your opinion about me.” You mumbled softly and tried to look anywhere but the shiny-eyed man in front of you. John’s fingertips brushed against your bottom lip as he caressed your face in a gesture of comfort.

“I would never think any differently about you, sweetheart. Please…let me take care of you?” John asked softly one last time, but if you said no you knew he’d leave it alone and let you do your thing.

But you didn’t want to say no. You were tired of keeping him at arm’s length because you were uncomfortable with having your scars on display. John was nothing but caring and loving towards you, and you wanted to reciprocate.

“No, no. It’s…I think it’s time I showed you anyways.” You nodded firmly, both to confirm to yourself and John that this is what you wanted to do. 

The two of you shifted and moved carefully as he helped you peel the shirt off your back and over your head, both of you attempting to keep the number of blood smudges to a minimum.

You expected John to sit there and take in the scars that were visible, so you were slightly surprised when he continued on his business with unraveling the first aid kit.

“Turn a little bit so that your back is facing me, love.” He requested politely and you hesitantly turned on the couch so that you were facing the cushions and your back was to John.

You could feel the sting as he began to clean the scrapes and cuts, but it didn’t necessarily hurt. His touch was gentle and he didn’t apply any more pressure than was needed. It was a welcome feeling and made your chest warm.

You turned your head over your shoulder to look at him, and he snapped your bra strap playfully. You chuckled softly and turned back to look forward as a blush crept up on your cheeks.

He hadn’t mentioned your scars at all yet, and if he was looking at them he was certainly being inconspicuous about it. You felt relieved. You had figured John would’ve made a big deal about them, but instead, he was treating you as if they weren’t even there. It was a nice change of pace from the stares that motivated you to keep the scars covered in the first place.

While John cleaned your cuts the two of you sat in silence aside from the occasional hiss or yelp of pain from one of the deeper cuts, and by the time he was done the burning was beginning to subside.

You were turning to face John when you felt him press his lips to your cheek as he mumbled, “I love you so much.” 

Your cheeks heated up as you turned to face him, and he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You kissed him back gently in quiet thanks as his hands found yours, his thumbs rubbing against the raised scars that covered the skin on your wrists.

“I…I expected you to stare or something.” You blurted out and John smiled charmingly, causing butterflies to take off in your stomach.

“I have scars from cuts I inflicted on myself. Granted they served a different purpose than those you did, but they are still there nonetheless. We aren’t what we wear on our skin. Our scars remind us that we can change and be better people, and they remind us where we come from. You don’t need to be afraid of who you are, my dear.” John pressed a kiss to your forehead, then the tip of your nose before finding your lips again.

“You always did have a way with words, John Seed.” You giggled against his lips as his hands found your bare hips, his skin blazing against yours. Goosebumps formed on your skin when he pulled away after touching his forehead to yours, and you whined softly at the loss of his touch.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you into something comfortable before those cuts aren’t the only thing on your pretty skin.” John winked as he picked up your bloodied t-shirt and held an arm out so he could help you up the stairs.

“Why thank you, such a gentleman today.” You chuckled as his arm snaked around your waist once you were on your feet, the two of you flirtatiously bickering back and forth as you made your way to John’s bedroom.

tag list: @villainfuckers-world  @thecultofedensgate  @talkingshitpost  @fiendinthenight  @atomic-bomn  @caminante-no-hay-camino90  @sharkybabe9  @hollymelissawrites  @elizabethlynn99  @argetlam007  @thirstyforjohnseed  @jacobseedcullstheherd @deputyhope @thecreepypeeper @noviiko @schafal

[witchesweird]

Some of my ghost experiences.

I wrote this down for @urbanspellcraft , who has quite a thread of lore and ghost stories.

These are mostly not lore or stories but firsthand experiences of unexplained and apparently ghostly encounters.

The house I grew up in is extremely active with the unexplained. When my brother and I were kids, the neighbors all told us the local lore about watching spirits walk through our fields in a low-lying fog. There had once been a house on the same hill as ours, and that house had been haunted. Behind our house, in the cedar forest behind our pond, a couple of witches got into a fight and killed each other with axes. The Cedars were always still and quiet, slightly cooler than the surrounding hardwood forest, and have always felt to me like there was something else in there, like maybe a “door”.

As kids, my brother and I would get all wound up by the neighbors and we would hold “seances” in the dark, and about one tenth of the time, something odd would happen. Once, at “give us a sign” being spoken in the hall, there was a solid bang on the door behind us, and no one was in our room when we checked. Sometimes at night we would wake up to see a dark person-shaped shadow leaning curiously over us and a scream or a turning on of a light would make it disappear. We never warned guests about this, and most of the time, overnight guests would see it too. In spite of the scares, it or they never seemed malicious. Once, my brother was chasing me with a sheet over his head, pretending to be the ghost, when he looked in a room and saw another person standing there with a sheet over their head. We were alone in the house. Seems corny but that’s what we experienced as kids.

When our grandmother was in the hospital she complained of the small crowd all dressed in black that had assembled in her room—no one but us was there. She died a few days later and my brother and I spent the night in her house that night—across the street. Her house’s ambient noises quieted to absolute silence, and then a strange sound began; sparse little “tic” sounds like grains of rice hitting the wood paneled walls. Before I could figure out what it was, the sound was all around me against all four walls and grew to an avalanche of tiny tics and headed down the hallway... to my grandmother’s door, where there was then a loud KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Silence. Ambient sounds returned. My brother came to the door of the guest bedroom where he was sleeping and both of us swore that once again neither of us had knocked.

Strange things persisted through high school. Occasionally someone would say they’d been speaking to us for several minutes because they’d heard us walk into the room and start moving things around, when actually we were at the other end of the house or not in the house at all. Footsteps without people became common phenomena.

My parents divorced when I was a senior in high school.

After I went off to college, my dad remarried someone. I mean I’d never met her before and they’d dated for approximately 7 weeks before getting hitched at the courthouse. I was one of the first people he called. “Oh really? To whom?” She seemed nice enough at first, but fake nice. Her kids came over and wrecked the house one weekend, leaving my girlfriend and I to clean up after them. Dad came home and immediately started yelling at me for the mess, grounding me and taking away privileges, and I took him out on the back porch to explain what had just happened. His wife sat watching me and then lunged forward to point her finger in my face and tell me her kids had just as much a right to make a mess there that I did and that I was causing trouble, not them, and that she wasn’t responsible for my parents’ divorce (wait, what?) and that they could make a mess if they wanted to (yes, you said that) and that I was just lazy and that this was HER house now, not mine... and this monologue of hers repeated every 45 seconds for a solid hour before I finally just left. I had discovered her mental illness. She would sit at night in the dark waiting for me to come home, ready to resume the same tirade. I would wake up with her standing over my bed, waiting to resume the same tirade. Eventually I stopped visiting my dad. His wife had him write me out of his will, and replaced me with her daughters. He gave each of her daughters credit cards from his account, bought them cars, bought her a car, paid for their apartments. He told my college I wouldn’t be returning for what would have been my final semester, and I took two jobs to support myself. I’d call him when things got really hard financially or to wish him a happy birthday, or to flinch on our game of chicken on my birthday and I’d call him. She always answered the phone. She always took a message. He never called back.

Dad called one Thanksgiving to tell me she had moved out. We started talking and visiting and then he called the following spring to tell me he was dying of cancer. He changed his last will and testament, but after he died, I still saw the X’d-out pages where “she” (let’s call her Susan) had bullied him into writing me out. They have to leave that stuff in, they just mark it out. We never discussed what happened in any detail because he was dying. I decided to be a good son instead of an angry, selfish one.

After I’d gotten back from my Dad’s funeral and everyone had left the house, I went into the room where he kept his tools so I could “borrow” his/my electric drill for a project at my house. As soon as I picked up the drill, I heard my Dad’s voice, loud, agitated and booming “ADAM!” My girlfriend came running from the other end of the house because she had also heard it. Since we were alone, natural explanations eluded us.

I began renting the house out to friends and tenants but no one stayed there long.

I returned to the house a couple years later to do some work and experienced an entirely different vibe than before. Something sinister seemed to be watching me and my son. The microwave and oven clocks in the kitchen were synced but when I left the room and came back several minutes later, one time had paused and the other had advanced normally. As I pondered this, a cracking and popping sound started coming from the hallway at the front door. I went and stood in the front hallway and watched cracks slowly spread through individual tiles until they would explode, rupturing out of the surrounding grout. That area of Alabama has never had an earthquake, by the way.

Feeling thoroughly creeped out, I took a glass of water to my old bedroom where my son was sleeping and got in bed with him (this was the only bed in the house at that time). The room was dark and completely silent, and a pressure built up in the room around me. The pressure peaked out and there was a “tiiiink” sound from my water glass. The pressure released. Then built up again: “TING!” went my glass again. I figured the ice in my glass was melting and cracking. “TING!” Wait. The ice maker here doesn’t work, so I didn’t PUT any ice in my glass of water! I turned on the light and sure enough, it was only a warm glass of water by the bed.

We packed up the car and left. Any time I came back to visit or work on the house, I noticed the trees on the hill were slowly dying. The deer and raccoons and birds that were so abundant for my childhood didn’t seem to ever visit the hill anymore. I had the strong sense that while maybe my Dad’s presence had been there, Susan had invited something else into the house that had stayed.

I couldn’t stand being in the house. Neither could my brother.

A little over a year ago, my mother had to flee an abusive relationship with a downward spiraling opioid addict and had nowhere to go. I offered her the very house she had raised me in and I paid for her to move there. I told her to make it into a restorative and peaceful environment, a place where she could heal. She fixed the place up, planted things, put feed out for the animals... the first time I went back to the house on the hill for a visit, I detected no strange presence. Nothing malicious, nothing curious... nothing whatsoever. The unexplained incidents have stopped. Mom entered rehab of her own volition a little over a year ago and the house continues to be a place of healing. Now that it seems to be all over—for now—I wonder... what the hell really happened with all the supernatural stuff?

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

I’m going to try and put my thoughts down into words, because lately things have been stacking up and I’m breaking under the pressure. My problems all feed into each other until it’s just a mess.

To start with, two years ago, I injured my ankle. As a result, I have chronic pain and another problem that doctors have been unable to identify or treat. I’ve been to see four doctors and have been misdiagnosed and dismissed by three of them. The last one I’ve seen gave me options to try and treat the secondary problem. They think it’s a ganglion in the join that’s causing pain but the specialist I went to see said that it shouldn’t cause pain when it’s as little as it is. So, I’m still without answers and the pain leaves me unable to walk and on medication that only dulls it a little (I’ve tried stronger medications but they messed with my head and cause a whole lot of issues, so I’m stuck with the medication that only just work).

I’ve spoken before about the kind of hypocrisy between fanart and fanfiction in that fanartists can sell their work, they can sett up support platforms like Patreon and get paid for their work, whereas fanfiction writers can’t sell their work, they can’t set up Patreons. The best we can do is set up Ko-fi or PayPal and beg for donations or commissions (which aren’t as popular as fanart commissions). I have nothing against fanartists, and I wish I could support them more. I just wish there was some way that fanfiction writers could reach the same level of support for their work. But we can’t.

Mid-December, my mum tried to get me to practice driving again and it flared up until I couldn’t walk for three weeks. Because of that, I couldn’t work, and because I was out of work so long, I lost my job (it was shitty, underpaid, and I hated it, but it was an income). So, now I’m without an income and can’t find a job (I’ve applied to nearly 30 jobs since January, only heard back from one and that was them saying no).

I’ve contacted the government support about getting a concession card so that I can afford to go to the doctor (and get my ankle looked at again because the last treatment didn’t work and it’s worse than ever before, to get my medications script renewed because it runs out in a week, to afford to go to my psychologist before this all gets too much and I spiral into suicidal thoughts again, because it’s getting really damn close), to afford medication, and to afford travelling on public transport to find work. But every time I try to contact them via phone, I get hung up on, all the emails I send them are ignored, and I’m all out of options. The one person I talked to demanded I go on the unemployment job search program, but I can’t because I can’t meet the requirements—I need a doctor’s certificate for medical exemption and I can’t afford the $90 doctor’s appointment for that, and I live in a rural area and have applied to jobs everywhere near me, so I can’t meet the ’send out 20 resumes a month’ requirement.

I live with my mum, and she demands that I pay her rent weekly. She has control over my bank account and transfers the money out herself, without telling me when or how much. She did this for four years before she thought to tell me. So when I thought I had saved up enough money to move out or to ready myself in case I couldn’t find a job after university, I was shocked to find I had $50 savings in my bank account. In the past month, I’ve gone through all the cash I have saved up in a jar in order to pay for medication, food, and rent, and whatever money I get from commissions or donations, my mum immediately takes for rent. (Meanwhile, my cousin is staying with us while she studies—rent free—and because of her, our power and water bills sky-rocketed, and my rent went up). And not a day goes by that my mum doesn’t remind me that if I don’t pay rent, she’ll throw me out of the house—and at this point, I don’t know if she means it and I’m terrified to find out.

There’s a lot of drama going on with my brother: his current girlfriend’s ex is trying to kill him, he’s smoking again (I have nothing against smoking, but my brother has asthma and an addictive personality that nearly killed him last time), he’s constantly making decisions that financially puts my mum at risk of losing out house since she’s guarantor on his mortgage, and – this might be petty – but after demanding that I pay $80 to buy his girlfriend a Christmas present (after I had met her once for all of 2 minutes, and knowing that I didn’t have a job or savings), he didn’t get me or our mum a birthday or Christmas present—not even a card.

On top of this, as some of you may know, I have severe anxiety, episodic depression, and suicidal thoughts and tendencies. And after everything that’s been happening, it’s just getting to be too much. I have enough money to buy food and medication for one more week, but after that, I have no more savings and I won’t be able to pay rent.

I feel like I’m barrelling towards a cliff, and unless something happens in the next week, I’m going to go off the edge. And I don’t know what happens after that. It’s like I don’t have a future; there’s just nothing. I’m terrified of what the future holds.

I feel like I’m slowly breaking under the pressure, and if one more thing goes wrong, I might just break beyond repair.

I feel like I’m a burden on everyone, and everyone would be better off if I just stopped existing.

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Jenny you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Isaac Bones

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Jenny, I can’t explain how excited I was to hear you were planning on returning to us! Your application for Isaac blew us away, and we’re so happy to be welcoming not only another Bones sibling, but you back into the family; your way of capturing his voice and explanation on how he views the war and his family life are so thought out and we know that he’s in good hands with you. Welcome back! *Your faceclaim change to Oliver Jackson-Cohen has been accepted

application under the cut.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Introduction: Jenny, 24, She/her, back in the good ole EST

Activity: 7-8/10, I’ve moved home from school and am applying to jobs, so I’ve got a good amount of time on my hands.

How did you find us? OG Crew <3 But originally through the Harry Potter RP tag.

Anything else? I’ve missed you guys so so much <3

IN CHARACTER

Desired character: Isaac Louis Bones

+ Isaac -> “he will laugh”, of Hebrew origins

+ Louis -> “renowned warrior”, of German and French origins,

Birthday / star sign: 10 March 1950 / Aries

Occupation: Isaac used to be a Curse Breaker for Gringotts, but transferred to a desk job after his sister’s abduction in order to become more involved with war efforts.

Faceclaim: Oliver Jackson-Cohen, or Dan Stevens if he doesn’t fit.

Reason for chosen character:

I had been contemplating Isaac even before I had to leave before. At first, I loved the idea of having siblings on different sides of the war, and having to manoeuvre the complications that came with that. However, now with the latest plot drop and the change to Amelia’s character, this brings a different, but still very intriguing plot should someone come and pick her up! More specifically to Isaac, I have yet to play a character like him. I’ve tended to stick more to lawful good or lawful evil characters before, so playing someone who falls mostly into the chaotic good category is something that would help me broaden the realm of characters I right, and helping me personally grow as a writer.

Having spent the first part of his life an only child, Isaac has had to make adjustments ever since the birth of his sister. So much that it became second nature to him for a long time. He’s had to supress a lot of his discomfort and internal discord because of this. This has created a very guarded, almost two-sided character: the jovial, loving and devoted son, and the hardened, cynical soldier. He works very hide to keep these two sides from ever meeting, or revealing themselves at the wrong time. With the recent change in his sister, this is becoming increasingly hard for him, though he is questioning whether it’s time to show both sides to his sister, as a sign that the two could possibly live in harmony.

Preferred ships // Character sexuality // Gender & Pronouns: Isaac is male, preferring he/his pronouns. He is bisexual, biromantic, with a slight preference for women. This is a vague label, but he prefers not to label anything these days, as romance is far from his priorities at the moment. Barring the right person, that is.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER

Trait expansion:

✓Jovial

Despite throwing himself into the war, Isaac loves the rare times were he and his friends let loose. He loves finding ways to lift peoples’ spirits when the time called for it, loving finding the individual ways to crack each persons’ smile. While he could tend to seem ruthless, those close to him know that for the most part, he could be a teddy bear, one of the most loving people you could have on your side.

✓Clever

Isaac’s father often teased him that he was going to end up in Ravenclaw, something he was actually quite proud of, despite ending up in Gryffindor. He was always the kid who found more creative solutions to his problems, sometimes to the awe of his younger siblings. His mind looked at things differently than most people would approach things, something he never let anyone train his brain otherwise. This is what led him to become a curse breaker in the first place.

✕Irresponsible

No one ever pegged Isaac for prefect or head boy. While he took his studies seriously, he was always known as someone who liked to push boundaries and do his best to get away with breaking rules. Once he gets an idea in his head, he has to see it through or the thought continues to eat at him until he does. He’s gotten a better handle on this as an adult, but recent events have started to drive him back into his old ways.

✕Cruel

For the most part, Isaac is warm and caring. This, however, does not extend to his enemies. When faced with someone who stands against him, a switch flips in him, and he can show a side of him his loved ones have never seen. Until recently, that is. His rage directed to the war has caused him to lash out, letting people see this darker side to him. He will stop at nothing to get revenge on the people that have hurt his family.

Headcanons:

Isaac was terrified when the realisation hit him as a child as to what being an older sibling meant. He loves his siblings to death, but the pressure he built on himself seemed to be heavier than that which others put on him. He could never let them see any other negative sides of him, never wanting to sway their beliefs as children. He’s had to cultivate a fine line now as adults, trying to lead by example and get them on his side, while also attempting to make sure they kept their own minds.

(alcohol tw) Due to the stress of the war, Isaac has developed a problem with alcohol addiction. He’s been able to keep it under wraps, but now with everything that has happened with his siblings, its begun to spiral a bit out of control. This has also seen a rise in his more violent side against the deatheaters, and has put him in some rather dangerous situations. Its most important to him, however, that he is able to hide it from his sister as to not put more strain on her.

Christmas is his absolute favourite time of year, because it’s one of the few times he actually allows himself to enjoy more than a moment of jovialness. Even during the war, he’s gone out of his way to make sure that the holiday remains important to his family, and makes it a time for them to relax and let loose, when he’s become much more serious other times of the year.

An old, worn teddy bear sits on a high bookshelf in his flat. This was the first toy his mother had ever given him, and aside from his first toy broom, the most important. Though he never tells anyone, this bear brings him a sense of comfort, a reminder of a life that was far simpler than the one he currently lives.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

Do you think it is more important to be feared or loved? Which would you rather be?

“I think it’s actually good to have a balance of them, depending on who you’re talking about,” Isaac replied after a moment. “Loved by the people you care about, feared by the people against you. In the context of war, fear is definitely preferred. Peace time may yield a different answer.”

What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I didn’t do enough to help win the war. That’s pretty much the reason I joined Aversio, to make sure I was legitimately doing every possible thing to save the people I love and care about, no matter what risk it entailed.”

If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it!

“A potion to speak a different language when needed would be insanely useful, especially when curse breaking. Definitely would have gotten be out of some rather… unpleasant situations.”

What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

“Family versus cause. Especially when it comes to my sister,” he reluctantly replied, running a hand nervously through his hair. “We’ve not always seen eye to eye on this war, and it’s been incredibly hard at times.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Nothing has made Isaac happier than to see the change in his sister’s beliefs after being rescued. Having his sister fully on his side now lights even more of a fire within him, and he is more invested in ever in being the thick of the action. Seeing her in action at the Quidditch World Cup, he felt a swell of pride in his chest. While his loyalty to Aversio has never faltered, with his sister by his side, his ferocity towards the cause has grown tenfold. Once his brother was found and better, perhaps the two could help him see things the way they do.

Isaac is insanely grateful to Marlene, for forging ahead to find his brother. Despite his gratitude, and that his brother was found, this also causes inner turmoil for him. He becomes guilt ridden that he was more focused on Aversio work than doing everything he could to find his brother, making it two siblings he was unable save himself. This could potentially lead to a distance between him and his siblings.

WRITING SAMPLE

Routines are too monotonous.

The itch was only growing stronger, sitting at his desk.

Fresh out of school, he had been ecstatic to get a job at Gringotts. The job allowed him to work around the world, never staying in one place too long, and being the cool older brother who brought stories home for Christmas. He could also work, and also be useful to Aversio by being covert in finding information.

That all changed when Amelia went missing.

He, as well as his parents, believed he needed to stay closer to his family, to the heart of the fight. He felt like he had failed as a big brother, and as a fighter, that he could not keep her safe. And he needed to do whatever he could to fix that, even if it meant spending monotonous days sitting behind a desk, rather than being in the thick of things.

That was saved for after work, with the pent-up aggression and drive border lining into dangerous territory.

You’re wasting time behind this desk.

Then the day came that finally broke the work rut he had fallen into. The most bleak, boring day broken by a more than welcome owl flying through his office and landing directly in front of him on his desk.

He almost didn’t believe it when he read the paper it offered him. Not because he did not want it to be true, but because he wanted it to be true so badly it felt like a dream. A dream that came with the risk of not coming true.

She’s actually alive.

Without even uttering a word, he raced from his desk, disappearing in the swirl of his cloak and the familiar pop sound. Once they heard, they would understand. They had had to deal with him for past year, anyway.

You should have been the one to find her.

Arriving at the hospital, he was hardly even able to utter her name before he was whisked off to room being circled by a number of people. Some he recognised, some he had never seen before. Luckily, the resemblance in his face was enough for people to part and let him through to the doorway. His foot had not even crossed the threshold when he heard a familiar voice, filling him with both relief and an odd sense of dread.

But you weren’t the one to find her.

But there she was, right as he stepped in the room. He had dreamed of this moment, all of images and scenarios now flashing through his mind with each step. As his green eyes met hers, his mind quieted, focusing on all of the changes and familiarity in front of him.

And it’s all in her eyes.

There was no way of knowing what she had gone through, but the result was clear as day as he looked at her.

He had always seen her as a kid, even when he knew she had joined the fight. No matter how long she had been an auror, she would always still be his baby sister. The age gap was initially to blame, but he still had not been able to fully accept that both of his siblings were now adults and in the same fight he was. It was only that moment, finally, when Isaac saw a woman standing in front of him, and not the little girl he remembered.

She’s seen more than you could dream of.

“‘Melia,” he was finally able to breath out, a true smile reaching his face for the first time in what felt like forever. “Thank Merlin.”

They were going to fucking pay.

[salamoonder]

Words Fail

All those long nights are finally getting to Logan. (Sanders Sides)

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: Semi graphic self harm

A/N: I don't recommend reading this if you're in a bad headspace. Yes, there's self harm, and it's not terribly graphic, but I did go into quite a lot of detail about Logan's emotional state. This is the first and probably the only songfic I will ever write. Also!! sidenote, this takes place in an established platonic LAMP universe.

|| Read it on AO3 ||

There’s no dramatic inciting incident. Nothing huge that pushes him over the edge; no screaming match or offhanded, deep-stinging insult. No failure.

It’s just late, and he’s just tired, and when he goes to get up his wrist catches against the sharp edge of his spiral bound notebook and it breaks the skin. He turns his hand so the blood wells up and doesn’t drip, walks to the bathroom, rinses the cut, swipes over it with an antiseptic, and bandages it.

Then he returns to his room and conjures a knife.

His hands are shaking. He lays the knife on his bed and runs a finger over the bandaid on his left hand. It’s weird. He’s read about this. He’s clinically familiar, keeps an eye on Virgil to make sure he doesn’t flinch when people brush against his arms, that he’s not scared of rolling his sleeves up. But he’s beginning to understand that there’s quite a big difference between reading something and practical knowledge.

There’s a surprising sort of relief in what remains of the pain in his wrist. He knows a flood of chemicals went straight to his brain, dopamine among them. It’s odd that knowing something and experiencing it would be so different.

He should be horrified at himself. Absolutely disgusted.

Instead, all he feels is the numb tiredness of his third three AM study session in a row. The gently aching void in his chest where the ping of caffeine should be. The softness of his sheets, the warmth of the room.

None of those are real emotions.

He smooths his thumb over the bandaid again and he feels it. A tiny jolt of pain. An even smaller jolt of pleasure. And underneath that, mind blowing relief. Again. He presses harder.

But it isn’t enough. The pain goes away after a moment, and then it’s just vaguely unpleasant pressure.

Logan locks the door of his room and strips down to his boxers.

He knows, looking back, that he didn’t do much that first night. Not in comparison. But it felt like a lot, watching the blood bead along each slash mark on either of his thighs, trailing the knife a little further to make them symmetrical. He was exhausted and high on a feeling he’d never experienced before. Not quite pleasure, not quite pain. Something like a shot of adrenaline mixed with fear and a deep, strange contentedness that was almost satisfaction.

Two neat, perfect lines. He didn’t go any further that night. He felt overly sensitive, like someone had scraped off a layer of skin and left him open to contagious emotions.

Well. He supposed someone had.

Logan summons the energy to clean and bandage these new cuts and then climbs into bed. He lays flat on his back, turns out the lamp, and tries not to strain his eyes looking for the ceiling. But he can’t help it. He doesn’t like sleeping on his back; it makes him feel vulnerable. He usually sleeps on his stomach or curled up on his side, but he doesn’t want to reopen the cuts on his thighs.

It takes him a good half hour to fall asleep, and when he finally does he has nightmares. Something’s chasing him, and he’s tearing through the dark with his hands outstretched, trying to clear away the cobwebs in front of him. He’s running down a long hallway that swirls and bends with colors that make his head pound. The something has loud footsteps that sound faintly of Danse Macabre each time they hit the ground. Snippets of sound. Snippets of the clarinet solo and dancing strings and the colors hammering into his head like what he imagines an acid trip must be like, and it’s all crashing over him like a tidal wave and he can’t have a panic attack in a dream, can he?

“Logan?”

He sits bolt upright, grabs at the sheets to be sure they’re covering his legs. Patton’s hovering in his doorway wearing an absolutely heartbreaking look of concern. “I’m fine,” he says without prompting. “Merely a nightmare.”

“I heard you yell,” says Patton slowly, inching the door further open. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No-” says Logan too quickly. “No, I’m fine.” He doesn’t add anything else so that Patton can’t make an objection about it really being no trouble.

“Alright…” says Patton, frowning at him and not moving. “Yell if you need me.”

“Will do.” Logan fumbles for his laptop to switch on his sleep playlist and waits for Patton to leave. He does, reluctantly, letting the door click softly closed behind him.

It’s essentially all over after that.

Every night after dinner Logan slips into his room and reopens perfect, symmetrical cuts along his thighs. They have to be even. If they're not, he lengthens one or the other until they match. It fascinates him to watch the skin peel away from itself, like he's coming apart in slow motion. It doesn't even hurt anymore.

He’s rationalized it a thousand different ways, because that’s what he does. He rationalizes. He reasons. That’s his damn job. He’s not causing any permanent damage, it’s not affecting his brain the way acid or crack would. He knows it’s addictive but that only means that he trails the knife further down his leg, waits a couple days, and then returns to a spot higher up, waiting for the first cuts to heal. Over and over. Straight, thick red lines. Symmetrical. Calming.

He doesn’t realize how distant he’s become. He doesn’t need anything from the other sides; his first solution is a closed door and a knife. It’s more efficient. Efficient is what he does. Not needing anybody is part of him, and he believes the other sides know that.

So when he opens his door in the middle of the night and hears a surprised squeak along with the soft thump of wood hitting flesh, the first thing he wonders is where he went wrong. How did he give himself away?

More importantly, how does he cover now?

It’s too late, though, Virgil’s already standing up and rubbing his back, a snarl half locked onto his face. “Watch it, Logan.”

“I- wh- Virgil, what are you doing up? Outside my bedroom? Wh- what?”

He’s trying to back away but Virgil’s eyes have already swept downwards and raked over each even line stacked along Logan’s legs. “Jesus, Logan. I...wow. I knew something was wrong, but.” He stops, whatever snarky thing he was going to say dying on his lips.

“It’s nothing,” says Logan, with no options left but to lie spectacularly. “Goodnight.” He starts to close the door but Virgil’s already jammed his body into the doorway.

“Logan,” he says. “Stop. Lemme in. Let me help.”

Logan frowns. “Help with what?”

Virgil’s mouth falls open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before Logan can continue the charade, Virgil’s closed the door behind them both and turned to face Logan fully. “Look, man, I get it, denial and pretending to be fine is like, a recreational sport with you. But would you just- just slow down for five seconds and let someone else in before you do something you’ll seriously regret?”

Logan falls backward onto his bed, resigning himself to Virgil, and bites his lip. “I…” he takes a deep breath. “I can handle it.”

“Bullshit,” says Virgil swiftly. He clicks the lock on the door on and sits next to Logan on the bed. “You’ve been sneaking out of your room in the dead of night for weeks.”

Logan startles. “How do you-?”

“Logan, I’m friggin anxiety. If something’s wrong, if anything in this whole place is the slightest bit off, I’m gonna notice it. And this-” he waves a hand vaguely at Logan, seemingly unwilling to gesture directly at the cuts, “is very, very, off.” He glances down, then looks back up quickly to face Logan. “At least you’re sanitary. You are taking care of it, right? That’s why you’re sneaking out?”

Logan huffs out a breath. “Getting an infection doesn’t exactly seem fun or productive.”

“This isn’t fun or productive either! Logan, how the fuck are you so smart and so short sighted?” Virgil’s gritting his teeth. He looks like he might be on the verge of a panic attack, so Logan stands up, just to have some semblance of control over the situation. He doesn’t need taking care of. He needs Virgil to not be distressed over something so insignificant as Logan’s emotional health. He tries to ignore the outburst, moves toward the door. “I’ll take care of it,” he says, trying to diffuse. Virgil looks ready to vibrate into pieces.

“I’m coming,” he says, standing up as Logan opens the door and trailing him to the bathroom. Logan doesn’t protest. He figures allowing Virgil to see him taking care of himself will get him off his case.

He goes to get bandages out of the cupboard but Virgil lays a hand on top of his. “Let me.”

“Virgil-” Logan starts, frustrated, but Virgil’s already shaking his head. “It’ll calm me down. Please.”

“I...I suppose.”

“Great. Sit on the counter.”

Logan does as he’s told and stares at the wall, jaw clenched. Virgil runs the water, dipping a finger in to check the temperature every few seconds. He dampens a cloth and starts cleaning the cuts furthest down Logan’s legs.

A few moments pass in silence and Logan thinks maybe he’s escaped Virgil’s lecture. Of course that’s the moment Virgil chooses to start speaking.

“Logan...how could you possibly think this was a good idea?”

“I didn’t exactly-”

“No. Stop. Let me finish. You’re…” Virgil pauses to put down the cloth and press the backs of his hands into his eyes. “Logan, you’re kind of perfect,” he says softly. “And I don’t understand why you of all people would want to hurt yourself.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “But you can understand how...other people…would?”

“That’s different,” he mumbles, and moves one shaky hand from his eye to pick up the cloth again. “We’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you.”

“I’m far from perfect,” says Logan. Virgil snorts. “Yeah, well. Either way you’re too smart for this.”

Logan doesn’t have an answer to that. They pass a few more moments in silence, and Virgil moves on to his left leg.

“I’m just wondering why,” says Virgil, almost conversationally. “If I knew why I could help. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Logan opens his mouth to respond, and all the carefully constructed reasoning he’s done over the past few weeks falls away.

Why does he do it? Because it takes the edge off every unrewarding night of work. Because sometimes the tension building beneath his skin is so venomous that he needs to let it bleed out. Because the others don’t understand what it’s like to push and push and push yourself beyond what you’re capable of...and then keep going further. Because it’s hard, it’s punishing, to be the “perfect” one. No errors, ever.

Because there’s nothing else to do.

But he can’t say that out loud.

“Lo?” Virgil asks softly. “This is gonna sting.” He’s holding the folded tip of a second cloth over the mouth of a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He turns the bottle over once, quickly, and sets it back on the counter. “Logan. You okay?”

Logan lets out a shaky sigh and reaches out to grip the edge of the counter. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

Virgil bites his lip, then takes Logan’s hand from the counter and laces their fingers together. “Okay.”

It does sting, and more than once Logan finds himself tightening his grip on Virgil’s hand. Virgil rubs slow, soothing circles over the back of his hand with his thumb, and Logan wonders how someone who is literally the embodiment of anxiety can be such a comforting presence.

When Logan’s legs are completely bandaged, Virgil doesn’t let go of his hand. Instead, he tugs him off the counter, and they both wander back to Logan’s room and collapse on the floor.

“Talk to me?” asks Virgil tentatively. He’s leaning against Logan’s bed, and Logan has his head on his shoulder, trying to pretend that this is just another cuddle pile, just another movie night. He shakes his head, frustrated.

“Please?” whines Virgil.

“I don’t know how,” says Logan, and it comes out harsher than he meant it to.

“Logan, you’re a walking encyclopedia. How do you not know how.”

“Virgil, I’ve never had to deal with this before! There’s no precedent! And the more I research it- every time I see the word ‘blade’ or ‘dopamine’ or ‘skin’ I just want to do it all over again. I-” Logan stops, turns his face into the fabric of Virgil’s hoodie. “I honestly don’t know what to tell you,” he mumbles, his voice muffled.

Virgil’s curled an arm around his shoulder, gathering Logan to him. “You’re okay,” he says, like he’s talking to a child who’s fallen and skinned their knee at a playground. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Everything’s...it’s gonna be okay. I’ll figure this out. We’ll figure this out. Hey. You like music, right?”

Logan shrugs, trying to stay within Virgil’s grasp. “I guess. Not like Roman does.”

“You don’t have to like it like Roman does,” Virgil says gently. “I was just thinking. Why don’t you pick a song that you can empathize with? I dunno, might be a bit easier than using your own words.”

Logan looks up. “I- that’s- that’s actually not a bad idea.”

Virgil smiles. “You’re not the only side who can think, you know.”

“I never said I was,” Logan says indignantly, and pulls his laptop down from his bed to scroll through his iTunes library. It’s mostly instrumentals, classical music and movie soundtracks. Nothing catches his eye. Then- wait. Oh.

Logan hesitates for a moment, lets his mouse hover over the title. If anything it hits a little too close to home. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?” he asks Virgil, whose response is to hook his arms under Logan’s and pull him into his lap.

“For something like this? Never.”

Logan takes a deep breath and clicks play.

Ben Platt’s soft voice blankets the room, and Virgil’s eyes widen a bit. “Oh,” he says. “Oh. Logan.”

Logan shrugs again, almost embarrassed. The song is “Words Fail” from Dear Evan Hansen. And while the circumstances are quite different, Logan feels that the title, at least, is fitting.

They get to the line “I’d rather pretend I’m something better than these broken parts” and Virgil hugs Logan’s head to his chest.

He waits till the song ends. Then he says, “Logan, you know you don’t have to put up a front for us. That’s stupid. We love you. You know that.”

“I-” Logan swipes at his eyes. “Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“Say it back, you idiot.”

Logan laughs through a sob. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Virgil hauls Logan up by the arms and throws back the covers on his bed. “Want me to stay with you tonight?”

“Is it going to make you feel like I’m safe?”

Virgil shrugs sheepishly. “Um. Yeah.”

“Then of course.”

Logan folds himself into Virgil’s body, and Virgil reaches out and turns off the lamp.

“Promise me you’ll come to me and let me know if you ever feel like doing that. Or Patton or Roman.”

“I…”

Virgil sighs unhappily. “At least come to one of us afterwards?”

“I’ll try to do something before it gets that bad, Virgil. But I promise either way I’ll get one of you afterwards.”

Virgil squeezes him so tight he can’t breath for a minute. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Logan pauses. “I was going to say ‘I know’ but- is this one of those instances where I’m supposed to say it back?”

Virgil laughs. “Oh, Logan, you’re an idiot. You can, if you want.”

Logan wrinkles his nose. “I’m not an idiot. And I don’t want you to get hurt either.”

“I know you’re not an idiot. Goodnight.”

Logan snuggles into Virgil’s collarbone. “Goodnight.”

[nightcoremoon]

Callout post: me

lying, manipulative, hold grudges, constantly paranoid, would absolutely 100% check out a teenager if nobody was looking because "it's a harmless crime", liar, cycle through idealization and devaluation, 'sick of fat people trying to be the next civil rights issue and making it that much harder to get civil rights for people who are ACTUALLY oppressed like gee idk poc and muslims and the mentally ill and queer people', frequently fantasizes about committing violent acts against people I rationalize they deserve it including family members, untruthful, attention whore, pedantic AND pretentious, tells lies, doesn't believe in one sister's claim of sexual assault (went to smoke weed with the alleged perpetrator), UNAPOLOGETICALLY AGAINST ASEXUAL EXCLUSIONISM (LITERALLY FUCK YOU DUMBASS FOURTEEN YEAR OLDS WHO SHRIEK THAT QUEER IS A SLUR, SHUT YOUR GODDAM FUCKING WHORE MOUTHS YOU DUMBASSES AND GO THE FUCK OUTSIDE OR READ A BOOK), would absolutely punch a child over an insignificant internet argument, secretly sought out sexual pleasure from two friendly seemingly platonic encounters with two girls I just met within twenty four hours, overreacts to the slightest provocations and has bitches at or vagueposted at several people who did not deserve it, has used mental illness and physical handicap to evade trouble from being late for work because video games and laziness and excessive sleep, has spent maybe a thousand dollars on fast food in 2018 alone, evades bills for medical care from an actually great clinic, lying sack of garbage, gave up on calling out family's bigotry and is now an accessory to prejudice, despises terfs predominantly for their refusal to fuck me because of being trans and yet meanwhile would not engage in sexual relationship with another trans woman or cis man unless reeeeeeeeally drunk, can and will blame being sexually assaulted as a child which probably didn't even happen because I don't think I remember it, unabashed furry, probably as addicted to video games and masturbation AND LIES as I almost was to alcohol, pretended to have almost been an alcoholic just to "win" facebook arguments about addiction, doesn't give a fuck my dad almost died from heroin JUST because he's a *little* homophobic and racist and classist and xenophobic because of a christian upbringing, would literally fucking murder him if he EVER PUTS HIS HANDS ON ME AGAIN, only slightly depressed because of laziness and a lack of drive and ungrateful to my family because hey they didn't kick me out for being trans so HEY THATS SUPPORTIVE ENOUGH FOR SOME OTHER PEOPLE SO WHY CANT I BE HAPPY WITH THAT, legitimately salty about ~the friendzone~ and just makes fun of incels because everybody else does, takes the moral high ground for not being a misogynist even though I don't deserve a pat on the back a lap dance and a blowjob for not hating women, overly sensitive about stupid things, thinking about faking having a trigger warning for more discourse credit, HUUUGE ASSHOLE to men I deem unattractive for no other reason than every single ugly fat guy I've ever met has been an asshole, rationalizes it after the fact because they eventually say something shitty because all men are terrible, probably a little bit of a cisnormative misandrist because trans men tend to be much better people, finds trans men attractive (specifically and significantly more so than cis men) so must clearly be fetishizing them, relatively okay with people referring to me as deadnamed and the wrong pronouns so probably just lying about being trans to everyone including myself, not 100% okay with the hijab for 'no reason other than all organized religion is evil and opposed to its mandate and the shame it forces on many women in many situations the exact same way I'm opposed to no sex before marriage and wives being subservient to their husbands and treating women as property in the torah and quran alike because ITS ALL BRAINWASHING' so is clearly not unlearning islamophobia and doesn't want to let that go, hypocrite because I believe in the basics of judeochristianity

and loathe atheism and atheists entirely because their smugness and smarm literally sets my blood pressure through the roof of what is safe and normal and yet claim to hate all organized religion, mansplains yet gets so pissed off when other people mansplain to me, judgmental of other cultures because they don't have the exact same values that I have, james gunn apologist, talks and talks and talks about anarchosocialism all damn day but would beat the shit out of a coworker for leaving me to do things because they're lazy because "any job worth doing is worth doing well" and other capitalismisms, literally couldn't give less of a fuck that his mother is dying because people die but it's no reason to make my life slightly harder and making me work hard when I work because BOO HOO MY LEGS HURT FROM THE LITERALLY MOST MILD CASE OF MUSCULAR DYSTROPHY I COULD'VE BEEN BORN WITH, hasn't actually performed real suicide attempt ever but still claims to have done so to attain sympathy that may result in physical affection, countless other shitty terrible things that yeah I recognize are bad but CANT SEEM TO CARE BECAUSE I HAVE DEPRESSION... WHICH IS THE WEAKEST FUCKING EXCUSE IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE GODDAMN WORLD

I am not a good person, okay?

I just pretend to be sometimes.

I'm sick of doing it, I'm sick of trying to do well and earn people's approval by doing and saying the right things only to just be ignored which is a step up from receiving many anons that hey, never actually told me to kill myself, but did take my words out of context to paint me as a racist. I am not the kind of racist who would vote for trump and march with the kkk. that is one of very few good things I can say about myself. but I'm an arrogant, violent, and angry opinionated perverted manipulative judgmental lying asshole. I'm not a good person. I have let myself fall so much and I deserve to be alone. my only connections to people were built on personal gain and I swear to myself that I do love them but those feelings fall away in direct correlation to how much they interact with me. I could love you to the point of obsession and stalking and one month later be completely and totally disinterested. I'm a bigot who pretends to not be bigoted and just parrots what other people say not because I believe it but because it's the right thing to say, and I only say what the right thing is to say because whenever I say a good thing something good will happen to me and if I say a bad thing something bad happens to me. it's all just self preservation, nothing else at all. but now I'm at the end of a road of just trying to do good and I'm alone. out of the only two friends that I can really say that I have left, one is far away and trapped in a guilt spiral that I caused by being too clingy, and the other has been behaving in a way my mind has decoded as defensive around me which makes sense as I have been very... the best way to describe it would be the way a dudebro incel interacts with any person who possesses a vagina/breasts but sneakier. in both relationships I've pushed my own wants and desires in extremis... I can't for the life of me recall the last time I have ever offered something in return other than my own company or paying for a meal at a restaurant or I guess transportation. and instead of sex I just want them to express even the slightest bit of intimate platonic physical affection towards me but that's still a lot to offer someone who has clearly expressed the existence of a sexual and maybe something near the realms of romantic in one of the cases physical attraction because for this aspec it's practically the same fucking thing.

and I've manipulated them to attain this goal. at this point my shit brain has considered just fucking going to town on my wrists with a razor blade to draw sympathy so that I'll get a hug or something beyond just a simply hello/goodbye, and finding a way to induce tears to concoct a sob story to reach the same end result, and one time very briefly via threat and intimidation so you can clearly see that I've gone far too into irredeemable territory. I've been playing and replaying cry of fear because it's just too similar to my own issues and the first ending where he just kills everyone he loves and then himself... I see me in that ending. and it scares me so much more than the sprinting screaming twitching one hit kill chainsaw guy ever will. I don't want that to be me, I want to change something, but I just can't get the help that I need. I had hoped to go for a domino effect, where if I could be cuddled for like five minutes or something, I'd have the energy to be more hygienic, which would make me feel capable enough to take on two jobs, which would get me the cash flow I need to pay my bills and take care of my hormones, which would put me in the headspace necessary to effectively use psychological help, which would let me get over my illnesses and actually become a more successful person instead of the pathetic husk I am here in non-fantasy land.

but that won't happen.

I'm just sitting here in the dark angsting about how nobody will touch me in a way that would produce oxytocin, and it's making me so sick, so physically sick, that it's affecting my brain too. I'm in pain, nauseous, vengeful, spiteful, paranoid, judgmental, and lonely. I'm stuck and I can't even kill myself because my mind wants me to stay alive and suffer through all of this because "oh it gets better" people have been saying that for well over half of my life. I was six or seven years old when I asked my mother to kill me, and that same level of desperation and bitterness has only gotten worse as time goes by. when does it get better? I'll tell you when it gets better, after I'm in prison or comatose or forty five years old with a cane and bad eyes and high blood pressure and lung cancer from all the secondhand smoke I've breathed in my life. when my life is over, that's when it gets better. I DONT WANT THAT. I WANT A NORMAL FUCKING LIFE RIGHT NOW. I WANT NORMAL FRIENDSHIPS AND A NORMAL HOME AND A NORMAL EDUCATION AND A NORMAL CAREER AND A NORMAL FAMILY. or at least I want someone to hold me and make me feel like I'm not so horrible and broken that I can't be touched.

but that's too much to ask for.

[kifu]

Donatello leaned heavily on the lip of his desk, gravity straining against the confines of his carapace. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, the comforting crutch of caffeine no longer providing as useful of a service after its lengthy abuse. Logically, Donatello knew as well as all his brothers that pushing himself to this degree was counter-intuitive to his goal. He couldn’t feasibly overwork his mind and body to this degree and still expect his project’s outcome to improve. Yet, even with Leonardo periodically riding his shell with his infamous lectures, Don continued his self-negligence.

           The haunting blue-tinged glow from the idle computer screen lent merit to the running theory of Donatello’s downward spiral. It caused his already taunt and strained skin to appear a sickly off-green, lighter in complexion to his typical skin tone. The other lights situated around Don’s lab were extinguished, and the limp illumination from the monitor was not enough to see by in their absence. Subconsciously, even the run down genius turtle wanted to hang up his project for a spell.

           Stubbornness outweighed common sense, as it often did with Donatello. Suckling futilely on his mug of coffee, he tried yet again to trouble shoot his latest project.

           Donatello was not typically a practitioner of the mystic arts. Or any arts, for that matter. He was a being of logic and science with little room for true creativity, especially that of Michelangelo’s level. Don cast it aside for this particular undertaking. He’d once experienced a trip quite literally through an artist’s mind and he meant to pull his friend back into his own world.

           His name was Kirby. Don found him to be extraordinary. Not only did he openly accept Don as a friend immediately, he was creative, smart, and curious. Rarely did Don connect with someone so wholly or so quickly as he did with Kirby.

           Kirby was a creator of monsters. True monsters. Unintentional monsters. Whereas Kirby thought that he was expressing his creativity, he actually unintentionally birthed creatures into another dimension, to which he and Don ventured. Kirby stood his ground against threat as well as any of Donatello’s brothers. But he got trapped in the realm upon saving its peoples. Kirby conceded, said life was bittersweet. He practically gave Donatello permission to forget about him. But Don would not.

           The original portal to this other realm was physical, conjured by Kirby’s imagination and practiced pencil. Kirby said that it was the only drawing since discovering his crystal, granting his abilities, that didn’t disappear after a few seconds. Don even witnessed monsters peel off the paper, solidify, and then dissolve into nothing. Of course, Donatello had to explore the portal and its existence, oblivious to the prospect of its disappearance. He didn’t regret satisfying his curiosity, but he did mourn that Kirby didn’t make it back through.

           Kirby’s portal was nearly inexplicable by a scientific standpoint. But that was Donatello’s trade: build the impossible.

           None of Donatello’s brothers knew about Kirby or the adventures Don shared with him. Even April accepted Kirby’s disappearance with exasperation. But no one, not even the typically astute Master Splinter, questioned that fateful day or its events. And Don didn’t care to explain. He’d bring Kirby back and suffer in his work alone.

           “What can be so important for you to ignore your health?” Leonardo asked Don snidely one time. Don knew better than to argue. Leo couldn’t understand. Perhaps, if Donatello explained everything and helped Leo see why Don felt so responsible for getting Kirby back, he’d quit dropping such venomous comments. Don refrained. He could take Leo’s mothering if it spared him the explanation. The prospect of Don’s imminent failure if anyone else knew his mission would be even more soul crushing than Don simply knowing he failed Kirby.

           “Yer gonna run yerself ragged, Donnie. An’ then Leo’s really gonna lay inta ya,” Raphael offer by way of advice. He was right, too. Donatello kept in training, but barely. Half the time since taking on this project, he thought his brothers were going easy on him because of his tired state. Which, of course, caused Leonardo’s frustrations with Donatello to rise. Not enough for Leo to reach his breaking point, as if Donatello was Raphael, but Don could sense that it was nearing.

           “What are ya even doing?” Michelangelo asked in his infinite wisdom For Mikey to express concern, Don must really have been worrying the clan.

           Problem was, there was always “one more thing” to get the miracle scientific portal to work. Don spent so much time theorizing and blue printing, and then even more time collecting parts, he’d figured that build time would be negligible in comparison. He should have known better than to expect such a thing. The trouble shooting was taking longer than all the previous steps combined, and where Donatello lost the most sleep.

           Donatello was a self-taught engineer extraordinaire, mechanical whiz, and a decent programmer to boot. Quantum physic, which this project required, was a little steeper of a knowledge base than Don was used to. Of course, he offered himself a crash course to ensure that he was on track. That alone didn’t cross Donatello as an impressive feat.

           Still, the portal wouldn’t fire up. Donatello considered all of the junkyard parts at his disposal, compensated for their unconventional uses, and it still didn’t start. A lackluster performance could be excused; its refuse to try could not. Donatello felt that no matter what he tried, that turned out to be the result: nothing.

           Donatello didn’t know what else the project required of him. He’d lost count of the hours – the days, weeks, months – put into his rescue mission. Then again, a sense of time wasn’t exactly Donatello’s strong suit, either. He was vaguely aware of his clan quiet and asleep outside of his lab area, but he didn’t know the time. He didn’t know how long he’d leaned against his desk, staring blankly in the direction of his newest invention.

           In his exhausted state, brain function happened to be at an all-time low. He couldn’t problem solve or run through the mechanisms in his head. He could hardly pass a coherent thought at all. He wasn’t dissociating, exactly, but his brain was switching off against his will.

           Coffee. Donatello instinctually craved coffee to solve this deficiency. Yet even caffeine couldn’t impede this crash. Not only was Donatello’s mug empty, but even if it wasn’t, he could no longer feel its lent vigor. He knew, but craved the promise of its energy and focus anyway. In terms of addiction, even Donatello’s logic and practicality were rendered obsolete.

           Pushing himself into an upright position turned out to be a chore. He didn’t have the mental potency to protest the weak and exhausted muscles. By all means, the turtle should not have been awake and functioning any longer, but passed out and recovering wherever his body dumped him. He didn’t need comfort and support to sleep, as far as he had pushed himself. Yet he still moved. Through some force of sheer will, Donatello stood and crossed the room to where his failed invention sat.

           He felt frustrated. Angry, even. He put so much thought and work into this piece and nothing came to fruition. It sat inert with no intentions of fulfilling its purpose in getting Kirby back. It sat as a monument of Donatello’s continued failures.

           The frustrations at lack of progress bubbled up in Donatello, consumed him in his emotionally weakened state. While he was a normal reserved and passive turtle, in this moment he subconsciously understood Raphael’s predisposition for violence. Donatello lashed out and kicked the inoperable pile of patched together garbage despite himself. The impact cascaded pain up his leg, so much different than if he were to kick a person or brother.

           He moved to hold his foot and massage out the pain, pulling his leg up close and balancing on his other foot. But he stopped. His jaw dropped slightly agape. His eyes widened. The portal controls hummed. A Raphael solution to a Donatello problem, and it ended up working.

           Adrenaline countered his sleepiness. By no means would Donatello consider himself an adrenaline junkie, but he welcomed the energy and clarity lent to him by excitement. The happiness, however, was short lived.

           Of its own accord, the portal door began to glow, sans instructions. Don’s awe dropped to mild horror. The glowing, marking a dimensional crossover initiated, wasn’t to begin until controls were zeroed in and a connection approved. Donatello knew that he’d have a lot of work fiddling with dimensional energies, messing with wavelength and outputs, that he’d built a screen to test the portal gateway before actually opening it. An approximate simulation of the atomical arrangements as sensed by the portal’s energies. Somehow, by kicking the portal to life, Donatello bypassed those safety precautions and opened up a door. He hadn’t messed with fine tuning the interdimensional travel yet. Crossing energies like this would yield unpredictable results.

           And explosive.

           The pressure built in Donatello’s lab, either as a result of crossed energy patterns or the sound the portal gave off. It was crippling. Acutely painful. Before Don knew it, he was on his knees with his hands around his head. The throbbing pain in his foot was forgotten and overwhelmed. The noise coming from the portal graduated from a humming to a shrill whine before it finally exploded in a concussive blast. The pressure sent Donatello careening backwards, swept off his knees. His shell hit the legs of one of his tables, cracking them enough to tip the contents of the able on top of his crumpled form. He didn’t feel it yet, but he’d suffer the bruises when he woke again.

           The portal gate briefly manifested in Donatello’s absence. It threw out a form in another thunderclap-like blast. The second form, human shaped by demon in appearance, was thrown haphazardly against the wall. It didn’t move once settled, its position twisted and uncomfortable.

           Having spit out the demon, the gate collapsed in on itself in a violent fit. The blast left Donatello’s work in a twisted mess, unrecognizable from what he’d been working on. In the portal’s final flare, the screen to Donatello’s monitor flashed bright before blinking out, leaving the unconscious turtle and demon in complete darkness.

           The rest of the lair didn’t fare any better. The entire power grid Don installed for the clan burned out in the portal’s collapse, plunging the space into near perfect blackness, save for the grace of Splinter’s flickering candlelight.

           No turtle was left undisturbed from Donatello’s mishap. All three brothers jumped to attention and scurried out their doors to try and investigate the perceived attack.

           “What the hell was that?” Raphael demanded. He stopped just outside his doorway. He wasn’t quite brave enough to misstep and send himself plunging to a premature death.

           “Donatello,” Leonardo replied with absolute certainty.

           Michelangelo flicked on a flashlight, lending the brothers illumination enough to see by. Leo nodded in his direction as thanks.

           “He summonin’ the primal forces now er somethin’?” Raphael grumbled, all good natured spirit whisked out of him along with sleep. It took a lot to pull Raph out of a dead sleep, but a couple miniature earthquakes right underfoot certainly did the trick.

           Leo flashed Raph a peeved glance, but didn’t reply. Instead, he motioned for Mikey to follow with the flashlight and took off in the direction of Don’s lab. His two brothers easily kept pace.

           “No damage on the outside,” Leonardo commented at the door. “So he didn’t bring the ceiling down on himself.”

           “Small miracles,” Raphael grunted. He sidled forward and tested the doorknob. No heat. No fire. Glancing backwards to gauge his brothers’ readiness, Raph steeled himself for anything. Michelangelo held the flashlight in a death grip, fearful anticipation clear on his face. Leonardo reached for the hilt of one katana before nodded an affirmative to proceed. Braced, Raph obliged. He turned the handle carefully, and then flung the door inward with significant force.

           The room was dark. Mikey edged forward with his flashlight to illuminate the situation, careful to stay out of Leo’s way in case they needed immediate offense or defense. They were met with destruction.

           “One hellofa party,” Raphael admonished. “Didn’t know Donnie knew how to let himself go like this.”

           Michelangelo scanned the lab with the beam of his flashlight. It crossed the strewn debris from atop the broken tables. Lab equipment lay indiscernible from normal junk and clutter. Leonardo crossed the debris carefully, picking each footstep with care, to reach Donatello. His eyes continued scanning the room as he moved. The room was an utter mess, but nothing jumped out to him as immediately perilous.

[juniperpublishersjcmah]

Pain: Physical and Emotional The only way to be released from pain is to cure the cause of the pain. Four options: 1. Mask the pain by switching off the brain 2. Death 3. Learning to live with it 4. Cure the cause of the pain Go to Introduction Only the fourth option is acceptable, and this paper will show that it can be done. Unfortunately, the other three options are too common. There are three components in the body that are always found together. If one does not work, the other two cannot work. They are the nerves, veins and arteries. Repairs have to suit all three components. Veins and arteries carry blood. If there is no blood at a place in the body, that place cannot be healed. Blood is the life support liquid. In humans even maintaining its temperature is essential. Nerves carry signals to the brain which is the body’s control centre. Every cell in the body is connected to the brain. The language of the nerve network is pain. From a finger pulling back from a hot surface to the workman stopping to eat, messages flow to the brain and action is taken to keep the body operating. If a message is unable to reach the brain, harm will continue with consequences that can be disastrous. If pain continues and the brain is unable to make a repair, the person suffers. The body’s operating system depends on the requests for help being answered and, like an unanswered telephone, will continue ringing until it gets help. It is that perpetual pain that is the subject of the essay. Go to Masking the Pain Drugs can switch off the brain either drastically or slightly. They are never a remedy. Ethanol, a popular poison known as alcohol, has been used by humans since fermentation was discovered by early farmers. Interestingly, reports of animals being allowed to drink alcohol show that the animals also like to be inebriated. If alcohol was originally reserved for celebrations, it eventually became a crutch to carry people through their daily life [1,2]. Compounding this inadequate answer to a problem is the fact that dependency on the escape or mask becomes addictive. Worse, whatever the trouble the person wanted to avoid becomes more difficult and they enter a downward spiral Figure 1. Archaeologists investigating the Neolithic ages, 7,000 years ago, found poppy seeds used medicinally. Before the poppy is ripe, the seed pod can be cut to allow a latex to ooze out and be collected. Observe babies, they put everything in their mouth. Little imagination is required to accept that humans discovered the use of the poppy as an anesthetic. Poppies are the raw material for opium from which heroin, methane, codeine and thebaine are derived and the synthetic forms of oxycodone, hydrocodone, hydromorphone, and other semisynthetic opiates. Click here to view Large Figure 1 Go to The Opioid Crisis In the American Civil War, the Union Army used 175,000lb (80,000kg) of opium tincture and powder and about 500,000 opium pills. During this time of popularity, users called opium “God’s Own Medicine”. Opium’s anesthetic and addictive powers were well known by the 20th century. Britain had used it to profit from China by forcefully cultivating poppies in India and militarily pushing them on the Chinese. By 1840 there were 10 million Chinese opium addicts; largely due to illegal British imports. Sales were sustained by the users’ addiction [3-5]. In the late 1990s, around 100 million people or a third of the US population were estimated to be affected by chronic pain. Lower back pain, arthritis, post-surgery pain and cancer were the usual causes of pain and without a cure the patient wanted escape [6- 8]. Pharmaceutical derivatives of opium were the low cost, highly profitable answer to demand. When the pain relievers were launched, they were claimed to be non-addictive. That was soon found to be untrue. “An investigation by the US Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs detailed the financial ties that exist between opioid manufacturers, advocacy groups, and medical professional societies. The report exposed patient advocacy groups and professional societies spending millions of dollars to promote messages and policies favoring the interests of the pharmaceutical industry [9]”. The patients were addicted to the drugs. Every day, more than 130 people in the United States die after overdosing on opioids [10]. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that the total “economic burden” of prescription opioid misuse alone in the United States is $78.5 billion a year, including the costs of healthcare, lost productivity, addiction treatment, and criminal justice involvement. Go to Death Click here to view Large Figure 2 100 million American adults live with chronic pain, many of them with pain so bad it wrecks their work, their families, their mental health and their lives. There are no hard data on how many people with chronic pain die by suicide every year. But there are inferences. The suicide rate among people with chronic pain is known to be roughly twice that for people without chronic pain. Being unable to cure the cause of pain and having a prescriptible anaesthetic for home use available, the doctors put the patients on an addictive drug [11]. When the government saw the folly, they passed laws restricting the number of opiates (anaesthetics). That left people in pain, doctors in guilt and still no answer. The drugs intended to make life tolerable were doing the opposite [12]. They gave patients a way to kill themselves when they had realised, they had two choices: live in pain or die. The doctors were in contact with the patients, not the pharmaceutical companies. The referenced articles are heart breaking [13,14] Figure 2. Learn to live with it Is this possible? Cure the cause of the pain This is possible and available now. Medicine can be seen in two groups, what can be cured by drugs and what cannot. The pharmaceutical cures include antibiotics and vaccinations. There are also the anaesthetics described above. If the purpose is pain blocking during surgery, then the benefit is clear with the expectation that the pain will pass as the wound heals. What cannot be cured by drugs includes diabetes, cancer and the brain diseases such as Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Diabetes is more debilitating than painful, so it does not grab the emotive headlines that cancer does. It is the pain from cancer that often alerts the patient. Medical advice is to be checked regularly for cancer and if it can be caught early it can be removed. Maybe it can by selective poisoning of the cancer cells or by targeting with radiation, both methods with side effects. The chemo-radiation cure rate varies from low to dismal. Go to Cancer Cell Sonic has the only known cure for cancer. I made the discovery almost three years ago. The technology uses a nonsurgical, irreversible electroporation whilst simultaneously applying a short duration, high pressure pulse to the tumour. The explanations, protocols and procedures are already published [15] Figure 3. When I received the report from the doctor with this photo, I was shocked. We seldom see cancer. It is usually inside. Here a breast tumour has spread to the skin. This is stage 4 cancer, the stage at which most oncologists have ceased trying to stop the cancer. The lady had lost faith in the usual chemoradiation methods. They didn’t work and had cost her a fortune. Word of mouth led her to a Cell Sonic specialist who was not advertising that Cell Sonic can treat cancer, but the specialist had previous experience and knew that only Cell Sonic could help. The doctor asked the lady about the pain on a scale of 1 to 10. She replied 14. It was agony. He gave her one treatment and the pain went away. It is not clear how quickly the pain was quashed, whether it was immediate or within hours. It was also reported that the scales of scabs started to dry out. Click here to view Large Figure 3 The doctor was both pleased and perplexed. The result was better than he expected, and he asked for my opinion. I told him that the result was predictable as we know from cancer cases going back almost three years. There are no side effects. On the third day, the patient feels different. The load on their immune system is greatly reduced and this translates to feeling better. I said to the doctor that he had shifted from cancer to plastic surgery but to not rush into anything. See if the scabs fall off. Will the tumour, causing the swelling, dissipate or need removing surgically? Now benign, there is every chance that the tumour will be removed by the immune system. He should also be aware that with the pain gone from the breasts, she may become aware of other pains hidden by the predominance of the breast pain. In other words, could the cancer have spread to other organs which have not yet been treated? With such visually obvious damage, there had been no scans. Thus far, there are no further reports of cancer elsewhere [16-20]. We await the next report Cancer is the replication of mutating cells. Researchers in England have measured the permittivity of tissues and found cancer to show 9.6 and healthy tissue 3.2 on their scale with nothing in between. The Cell Sonic pulse delivers a high voltage electro-magnetic field lasting less than a nanosecond combined with a short duration pressure pulse causing the replication to switch to healthy cells. Laboratory research on cells in Austria four years ago found the same results. No drugs are used and must not be used. The cancer cells should be in good condition so that they respond to the magnetic field. An attempt in Belgium to cure cancer patients failed. The ensuing discussion with the doctor revealed that all the patients were fully loaded with chemotherapy making their cancers unresponsive. He assured me that it would be impossible to find any cancer patients in Europe who were not on chemotherapy. Non cancer pain The traditional view of physiotherapy is that it teaches a few simple exercises and by pressing with fingers some pain can be alleviated. Worse than that, a physiotherapist is said to be inferior to an orthopaedic surgeon. Whether that was ever true, it certainly is not now. Instead of pressing with fingers, the physiotherapist has a new tool in Cell Sonic that performs non-invasive surgery, does not use drugs and has no side effects. Patients come in bent and walk out straight. Quite apart from the benefits to patients, the status of physiotherapy is enhanced, the business improved, and earnings increased. With their knowledge of the anatomy, all a physiotherapist needs to master the new technology is a few minutes training on how to operate the machine and then they are working inside the body from the outside. Cell sonic VIPP (very intense pressure pulses) damage or provoke. This is a simplification because the complete explanation is complicated. Damage is done to infection, germs are killed, calcifications shattered, and blockages released. Provocation is the stimulation of the immune system to make a repair by bringing stem cells to the site, increasing vascularization and blood cells. Muscles are enhanced and nerves repaired. Additionally, and very simply, the replication of mutant cells is stopped, and they then only replicate healthy cells. In other words, cancer is stopped without drugs, non-invasively and without side effects. It takes a physiotherapist five minutes to realize that they can do more than they were trained to do. Quite apart from curing cancer, which is the easiest treatment to perform, an athlete can be given a 13% improvement in performance. A geriatric marooned in bed with a catheter and pressure sore can be restored to mobility and dignity. Half the population all of whom have lower back pain can be relieved. What cannot be done easily is to placate orthopods who sense that physios have encroached on their patch. Cell Sonic has no apologies. The story of Cell Sonic is one of discovery. It started with breaking kidney stones with sound waves forty years ago. This is now done in all hospitals of the world and millions of patients have been treated safely. Since then the technology has changed, the machines became smaller, weaker, handheld and cost much less. New applications were reported by users, usually doing something that was not recommended but they thought they would try it. The fact that Cell Sonic has no side effects made everything possible. This is unique in medicine where all drugs have side effects. Gone is the notion that the body is the sum total of its chemistry. The pharmaceutical industry still has an important role to play but it is no longer the only force in medicine [21-23]. Go to Back Pain and Arthritis I rely on reports from users of Cell Sonic for confirmation of the effects of the technology. Here is one from Poland (Figure 4). Below I’m sending a short report from Neuromedyka Clinic in Żyrardów in Poland. Jarosław, 41 years old patient with a heel spur. Mr. Jarek had a very big problem with his leg. He felt a strong pain even he doesn’t walk. We did 3 treatments to solve his problem. It took us 4 weeks. After 1st treatment he doesn’t feel significant improvement, but he decided to take all treatments. After 2nd treatment he felt much better only pain appears after all day when he walked. I called him today, it is 4 weeks after last treatment and asked him how he is feeling? He said that he doesn’t remember that he had any problems with his leg. He feels great. These photos are from Latin America (Figure 5). The lady could not lift her arm. Fifteen minutes after a five-minute treatment with Cell Sonic she could Click here to view Large Figure 4 Click here to view Large Figure 5 In 80% of cases, tennis elbow is cured with one Cell Sonic treatment of five minutes duration Figure 6. The next report is from India: Click here to view Large Figure 6 Go to VIP For Treatment of Calcaneal Spur and Fasciitis Bony spurs on the heel of foot may be a cause of pain in individuals, which may increase in intensity after prolonged periods of rest. Walking, running or lifting heavy weights may exacerbate the condition. These spurs are a result of repeated stress due to which calcium deposition occurs. Similarly, plantar fasciitis is a condition that occurs in individuals, commonly due to prolonged standing. The condition is due to inflammation at the site of insertion of ligaments into the bone. Pathologically, micro tears, collagen breakdown and scarring are observed. Pain is the main feature of plantar fasciitis, which is usually most severe on taking the first step after prolonged periods of rest. Both conditions, commonly being associated with constant stress on legs and feet, treatment comprises of pain-relieving medications, lifestyle modifications and physiotherapy exercises. A new treatment modality utilizing Cell Sonic VIPP technology has shown improvement in both conditions, as seen in patients treated at Stem Rx Bioscience Solutions Pvt. Ltd. 5 patients with spur/fasciitis were given a total of 3 sessions of VIPP treatment. First and second sessions were given at an interval of 3 days, while the 3rd session was given a week following 2nd session. 200-500 shocks were given at intensity level 2-4. Pain relief was the immediate effect noticed. At 3-4 weeks follow-up, all patients were pain free and had improved comfort in walking ability. All patients have stopped pain medications. It is amazing to see positive results in a short period of time. Being a non-invasive, drug and side effect free procedure with no hospitalization requirement, Cell Sonic VIPP is a hit among patients with calcaneal spur/fasciitis”, says Dr. Mahajan. In all the cases, drugs are not used, nerves are repaired, vascularisation improved to carry oxygen and stem cells of the right type to the right place in the right quantity and infection killed without antibiotics. Figure 7 Lower back pain could be the predominant pain world-wide. Usually one Cell Sonic treatment is sufficient for permanent relief. The ultimate test on spine repair is a severed spinal cord. I am now aware of three cases, one in Hyderabad on a girl whom I met so I can vouch for the authenticity and two cases from Dr. Mahajan in Mumbai whom I know well and have watched him treating patients Click here to view Large Figure 7

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[seongkiran-blog]

( i’m sobbing she’s precious )

hi guys, i’m jules and i’m so excited to be a part of this rp !! i just saw that my app was in all caps by mistake bc my phone likes to fuck with me like that and i’m cringing omg. so i applied a few days ago but life got super hectic and i only just reapplied now that i’ve come up for air rip. but this is my eternally fucked, lowkey honey girl kiran who thinks she’s stoic and intimidating af but more often than not has the smallest of smiles at the v least on her face. here’s some basic — & extensive, sorry lmao — info about her ( TW: death, self-destructive behaviour, adjustment disorder/situational depression ) :

born seong kiran/kiran diana seong on march 12, 1997

scarborough, canada born and raised to first-gen korean-canadian parents

the epitome of a bitter smol™ that’s prepared to fight over everything (stubborn brat )

has twin five year old siblings that she fucking adores, which is a big deal since she doesn’t care intensely for many people

her parents were both only kids that ventured into science-based careers; her mom was a pharmacist at her late grandparents’ small clinic and her dad was a neurosurgeon at toronto gen hospital, so they were upper-middle class you could say

s u c k e d at making friends in her formative years and when she did, they didn’t stay for v long

plenty of chances for her to find new friends though since the gta is huge and has a ton of other kids around so it wasn’t all in vain

also her vanity when she was a kid was prob a turn off for others lol

smart af, like english? a’s. math? a’s french? a+

eventually didn’t suck at the whole friend thing and had a small group of people she grew rather fond of

she ended up graduating as valedictorian and was accepted to mcgill to study pre-med and become a neurosurgeon just like papa seong

always wanted to follow in his footsteps, so it came as no surprise to her parents

( TW: DEATH ) during her midterm break in her first sem, her parents decided to take the family to their cabin near muskoka for a weekend away from the city/suburbs

they were a little over halfway there when her dad tried to veer the suv away from a moose in the middle of their lane, but wasn’t successful

kiran was conscious during the whole thing, though she sustained a concussion and the twins were unharmed in their carseats; however their mother died on impact and their father suffered from a cranial injury ( .. i only just realized how ironic and morbid this is after working with this muse for a while oh my g o d )

she went with the twins to the hospital and was inconsolable over the loss of her mother alone, while her father was in critical condition and the outlook was promising, though not certain

he was put in a medically induced coma after being operated on and she and her godparents ( who advised her on the whole thing since they were docs themselves ) decided to hold out hope for a recovery

the twins were put in her care and she was left to deal with the burden of their loss, her education and the obvious, her brother and sister’s newfound dependency on her

she withdrew from the few people she became close to over the years, her grades began to slip as well, and she was always weighed down by grief and anxiety

she tried to stay in school while taking care of the twins, but it was becoming more and more difficult to do so. she just managed to keep her head above water throughout the rest of the first sem though

moved out of res, into an apartment and relocated the twins for the time being to see if she could pull it off

( TW: SELF-DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOUR ) add the fact that a part of her began to question if she could really follow in her dad’s footsteps, and that she let further anxiety from the pressures of making her parents proud get to her and she was soon on a downward spiral

she slipped away from her academics and was slowly becoming a poor guardian; soon, kiran was partying too hard and winding up in the hospital or a stranger’s dorm, skipping labs, and was generally a lost cause when the twins were under the care of a sitter

failed a couple of courses by the end of the second semester and had her godparents flying out to crack down on her dumb ass

felt hopeless and lost, but especially so when she posed the risk of losing the only family that she had left, realizing how selfish her actions were and trying to amend her mistakes

dropped out of mcgill for the time being and took up a job as a retail clerk to provide for the three of them ( despite inheriting their mom’s estate and all, as she put the money that came from it into the kids’ savings )

was soon in the clear in her godparents’ opinion and has tried to do right by her parents and siblings since then

after losing herself for a while, she found that she was right back to where she started with friend-making, but rather than it being her just not knowing how, it was that she didn’t want to let people in after everything that had happened

she didn’t remain a loner, but she didn’t have a ride or die by any means

for the sake of her a.d and bc of the bad memories that t.o and mtl held, she found herself relocating to greenville of all places

but deep down she knows mama seong would be happy about the kids growing up in a smaller town than near dt toronto

about four months after settling in, she began attending a nearby college in what would have been her fourth semester and has since maintained a high gpa after retaking the courses she fucked up in

her dad has since woken up, but he’s going through extensive forms of therapy to restore his motor, neurological, etc functions

she’d be back in t.o if her godparents hadn’t advised against it since it was still rly overwhelming for him and his three kids ( two of whom wouldn’t rly know him either ) coming back prob wouldn’t help ??

still has nightmares from the accident, the girl’s scarred for life and is thankful that the twins were too young to remember

sees a psychiatrist at the behest of her godmother bc she rly can’t cope by herself in all of this but she doesn’t like to burden others with her problems ( doesn’t like people knowing much about her regardless but )

now to her personality and extra facts ig ??? this has gotten so out of hand already, sTOP ME

the most stubborn chick alive, will never admit she’s wrong unless you weasel it out of her with some heavy guilt-tripping

she used to be a fucking NIGHTMARE to most people before everything went awry, still can be but it’s more or less an act with a little bit of it also being herself

a true instagram addict, which makes sense bc she can be p vain at times

rather intuitive tbh

can be insightful as well

feigns annoyance and boredom with people/their antics

some weird ass detachment method on her part that she didn’t shake, but question her on it and she’ll shut it tf down

but is still genuinely, easily irritated all the same ?? not even i understand this chick

curses like a sailor is she isn’t too curt in her responses

has a problem with trusting others, feels like she can only truly rely on herself so if you break through that barrier then congrats ig

she won’t make it obvious though, she’s a sociable being and will actually take to you if you pique her interest with free booze or a wild story

just don’t expect her to surrender much of her life story, but she’ll also get a bit offended if you don’t offer a bit of your own ??

the most annoying internalizer of emotions ever if you’re actually friends with her, 110% will not confide in you if you’re not one of four or five people in her life

also fears loss more than anything, so she isn’t close to many people for BOTH the trusting aspect, as well as wanting to spare herself the pain of watching more loved ones die or leave

but if you’re one of the v select few people she’s let in completely, she’ll never let you go. she’s the definition of loyal and will legit die for you

so so devoted to her little brother and sister, like she loves them more than anything and does everything so that they can succeed when they’re older

all of the sports acceptable for kindergarteners, music lessons, ballet, you name it, she’s got them registered

puts them before herself all the fucking time, her mom wouldn’t be impressed with her putting herself last as opposed to finding equilibrium

anyways, point is, you’ll never see her be more affectionate and joyful than with her family, godparents included

her being good with other kids though ?? she’s been working on it and she’s coming around

still can’t stand screaming brats though lmao

will be super polite to even her enemy’s parents mostly bc fuck that person.. unless their parents aren’t pleasant people either, then she’ll be unpleasant right back lmao

trust me when i say that she has a heart of gold and will do what’s morally right, is so so soft but will forever be in denial like i cannOT STRESS ENOUGH

defensive pessimism at its finest

fluent in french and korean

memes are lowkey the way to her heart

well, memes and food ofc

such a poutine hoe™

sci fi junkie

here for aesthetically pleasing everything

her place is almost never in disorder, oddly enough

quite the party girl, though not the same as when she was a frosh, is able to control herself when there aren’t too many stressors plaguing her

queer af, doesn’t know what her sexuality is but she knows she isn’t straight ( but for all intents and purposes, she’s pansexual )

she just needs someone else to take care of her honestly, she still doesn’t know what she’s doing with herself lmao

trying her best™ to be better in general but change doesn’t happen overnight so she’s not rushing into it, aka she’s still comfortable with being a bit of an asshole for as long as possible

you sometimes won’t know who she is from one day to the next, kind of the personification of a wild ride

so that’s kiran, if you’d like to plot just hmu or like this and i’ll come to you !! i’ll link some possible connections later bc my laptop’s about to die and i can’t find the charger anywhere ? @my mom, pls stop moving my stuff, it’s giving me more heart palpitations than my econ final last month