#i had several people verbally abuse me

[hobermallowed]

having the worst day so of course I come home only to be locked out of my house

[dark-fics-4-you]

possible rafe request?! rafes gf makes him mad by being too friendly at an event w wards business partners so he fucks her at the event 😈

Golden Boy

Warnings: domestic violence, noncon, toxic relationship, jealousy,

You chuckled politely, trying not to glare at the thirty-something year old man in front of you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but put a little venom in your reply, “Well, I actually do have plans outside of my boyfriend. I’m going to college right now, and I’m actually in a paid internship that I got before Rafe and I met.”

The somewhat handsome, but definitely too old to be your type, business partner, whose name you had already forgotten, gave you an annoyed look, not expecting you to respond that way to his poorly hidden dig at you not belonging at this event.

It was true, in some ways. You were far from your side of the island, and no matter how much time you put into your make up and hair or the price tags of the many expensive clothes Rafe had bought you, the Kooks could always sniff out the people who grew up with nothing.

Before he could respond though, you heard your name being called from behind. Peering past the man in front of you, you could see your boyfriend waving at you to come over to him.

You didn’t even bother telling the asshole in front of you that you were exiting the conversation, you just did, quickly returning to Rafe’s side.

“Ugh perfect timing, that guy I was just talking to was a total jerk,” you whispered in his ear as you gave him a hug.

“Baby, didn’t I tell you to try to get along with these guys?” He seemed angry and you could tell that this event was already stressing him out a lot. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides and everything about him was somewhat jittery, like he wasn’t in his right mind.

“I mean, you know I need to look good in front of them while my Dad’s watching. It means a lot to him.” You looked into his eyes at his words and noticed two things. One, Rafe said it meant a lot to his dad, but you knew it was more about how how much it meant to him. And two, his pupils were much wider than they should have been.

Rafe had obviously done some coke before tonight, trying to calm his nerves and give him some confidence, but it was only doing the opposite.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to make you look bad, but I don’t think it’s fair that I can’t defend myself in front of the people here who are looking down on me.” You shot back at him, annoyed for more reasons than one. “I’m being polite to them, but it would probably be easier for me if you were by my side to stop them from being so rude to me.”

You lowered your voice before speaking again, “And also… I don’t think you should be doing so much coke right now.”

Rafe’s burning glare alone was enough to make you regret saying anything, the return of his tight grip on your arm was just a sick formality at this point, reminding you of the previous bruise he had left in that same spot that you had to cover with makeup for this event.

After being with your boyfriend for so long, you knew the lengths he would go to when he felt personally wronged.

You learned very early on that Rafe was never one to hold back on his verbal abuse, and his physical abuse was no different, although he always tried to keep both incredibly private due to the damage that could come to the Cameron name if it ever came out that Ward’s son, the golden boy, was hitting his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, Rafe. I just care for you, that’s all. I promise I’ll be polite to your dad’s friends.” Your meager apology seemed to be good enough for the moment, and your boyfriend gave you a silent nod after staring at you for several unnerving seconds.

“Be polite, don’t share your opinion, and just keep your mouth shut for the most part. Let them talk about themselves, and they’ll probably think it was the best conversation they’ve had all day.” Rafe grumbled, but his mood improved when he tilted your head up, pressing his lips to yours, large hand still resting under your chin. You kissed him back for what you thought was an appropriate amount of time, but when you tried to pull away, he held you in place, tightly wrapping an arm around your waist and forcing you to kiss him back.

By the time he released you, you pulled away to see several people staring at the two of you, and you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Rafe was always doing things like that in public when he felt like other men were threatening your relationship, he always needed to prove himself and stake his claim on you. Let everyone there know that you belonged to him.

“Remember what I said sweetheart. Just try to act like you belong here.” He smirked at his obvious jab at the very thing you felt the most self conscious about right now, before he calmly turned heel, approaching another group of stuffy, rich assholes across the large room.

Your huff of frustration must have been loud enough to be heard by someone standing near you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

To your surprise, when you turned around you were greeted by a man who looked to be about your age.

“You’re Y/N, right?” He held out his hand, which you grabbed, giving him a firm handshake, just like Rafe had taught you.

“Yes I am, although I’m not quite sure if we have met before?” You lightheartedly responded.

“Ah, my apologies, you haven’t, I’m James, I work with your boyfriend at Cameron Development. He’s honestly a blast,” the man, James apparently, chuckled as he recalled several stories of work assignments with Rafe. This led to the two of you exchanging several funny work and college tales.

Despite never having met James before, you felt an instant chemistry with him, nothing romantic at all, of course, but you found him very easy to talk to, and to your surprise, after glancing at your watch, you realized that the two of you had been chatting for nearly 25 minutes!

At this realization, your blood instantly ran cold. Where was Rafe? Why hadn’t he checked on you? Had he seen you talking to the same guy for nearly half an hour, clearly enjoying yourself the entire conversation?

As if he could tell that you were thinking of him, Rafe suddenly appeared several yards away from where your conversation with James was taking place. There was a scowl on his face, and you could tell by the way he was advancing on you that he was pissed.

“Hey, Y/N, why don’t I give you my number, just so you have it?” James innocently asked, completely unaware of the anxiety coursing through your veins and the fact that your boyfriend was in earshot, pushing through the small crowd behind him to reach you.

Before you could even open your mouth to politely decline, Rafe was speaking for you, “She’s not interested.”

You didn’t have time to say goodbye, because your boyfriend was dragging you away from your new friend, his grip harshly digging in to your bruised arm.

“What the fuck did I tell you, Y/N?” His voice was even and calculated, but he couldn’t hide the rage simmering beneath the surface.

“You told me to-”

“I told you to get along with them, not to try to get into their pants.” Rafe growled, pushing you into the closest room with a door he could find, which happened to be Ward’s office. You landed on the carpeted floor, wincing in pain when your elbow absorbed most of the fall.

“Rafe, I promise, I was just having a good conversation.” Your voice was beginning to waver, the weight of the situation that you had found yourself in was beginning to sink in. “He’s your coworker, is it so wrong that I talked to him?”

“Stop lying! I know what I saw! You would have to be an idiot to not realize that he’s trying to fuck you too.” You would have been worried that someone could hear your boyfriend berating you, had it not been for the music playing throughout the house, and the thick walls of Ward’s study.

You realized how sad it was that you only knew that because Rafe had now loudly hurled insults at you in every room in the house he could at this point.

The blond stalked towards you, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you upright. “I mean, did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? You think that little of me, Y/N?”

“Rafe no, I-”

You felt the air in your lungs disappear as your head snapped to the side, a sharp pain in your cheek blossoming across the now reddened skin.

“You don’t get to talk back to me right now!” Your boyfriend yelled in your face. You had barely processed his slap when you felt him moving you again, although now you felt much more numb.

Numb to Rafe roughly manhandling you before he bent you over his father’s desk, numb to the feeling of the cold, hard wood on your face as Rafe held you down, numb to the feeling of him pushing your fancy dress up and rudely yanking down your panties before harshly pushing two fingers inside you, and numb to the tears that were now spilling onto Ward’s desk.

“Such a fucking slut! You’re soaked,” he darkly chuckled, but there was no hint of humor in his voice. “Is this all for me, or is it for James?” He bitterly wondered aloud, and when you didn’t give him a response fast enough, you cried out at the feeling of him smacking your ass.

“F-for you, Rafe,” you choked out through your tears.

You could hear him removing his belt, the sound of it hitting the floor was enough to trigger your body to begin quaking with fear and anxiety.

“Aw baby,” he cooed, and you flinched when you felt his fingers in your hair, lightly brushing some of it out of your eyes so he could look at you. “Don’t act so scared. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. Well, at least, not until after the party’s over.”

His laughter made you feel sick, but even worse was the shock you felt when Rafe spread your pussy and sheathed himself inside of you without warning.

You saw stars for a few moments, the surprise catching you off guard and he was able to slide deeper into your tight walls.

“Rafe!” You gasped, unable to fight back, as your arms were pinned beneath you, and your boyfriend’s large chest prevented you from moving.

His fingers tangled into your hair, gripping a handful tightly as he pushed your face into the desk. His hips were snapping against your ass, fucking you harder whenever you futilely tried to break from his hold.

Every time you tried to escape mentally, to tear yourself from the reality of what your boyfriend was doing to you, he brought you back, snapping his fingers or groaning your name into your ear as he forced himself deeper into your wet cunt.

You were sure that your hips would be bruised from bumping into Ward’s desk as Rafe fucked you against your will. Another reminder of all the lessons he insisted that he had to teach you by force.

Every sharp thrust was a warning that this was him holding back. This was him being nice. And you knew better than to further aggravate Rafe when he was on a power trip.

And that was exactly what this was all about. The power and privilege that Rafe held over you, that he used to hurt you time and time again, without ever facing any real consequences. This was about reminding you that you belonged to him and at the end of the day, Rafe Cameron was untouchable and unstoppable, the Kook King, the golden boy of one of the richest families in the Outer Banks.

“You are my girlfriend, Y/N,” Rafe growled. “It’s time you started fucking acting like it.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for faking my death to get out of an abusive relationship?

Tw for verbal + mental/psychological abuse and suicide

I used to be in a discord server with some friends, there were about 40 people in it, only around 20 who were actually active. It was a while ago I can't remember. I was in that server for about 4 months.

From the start, people would occasionally get mad at me over something I didn't do. About every month or so someone would start a rumor about me and make the whole server gang up on me, I'd tell them it was false, but everyone would still avoid me for the next couple days.

I never did anything wrong, but I was always the center of the drama, and when I asked one person, R, why, he said he didn't know and that I didn't deserve so much hate.

About a week later R was talking in the vent channel about how I had manipulated him. I DMed him to ask why, and he told me it was because I asked him if he was my friend. I thought it was fucking stupid because it's not manipulative to be paranoid, but I pretended to be sorry because I didn't want him to be mad at me.

The server also had a bot where you could submit anonymous messages, and lots of people would use that feature to make up things about me to ruin my reputation.

After a while I left the server and only stayed in contact with a few people. However, every couple days another person would tell me I'm a monster and gaslight me into thinking I'm a terrible person, and every time I asked why they hated me they didn't give me an answer.

My only real friend, T, showed me some messages from the others after I left the server, and a bunch of people were making up stories about bad things I had done to them, and people who I had never even spoken to were saying that I had abused them and was dangerous.

Once someone told me thay they understood all the things R had said about me weren't true, but said it was still my fault anyway, and even told me that R had done nothing wrong (he lied about me in front of the entire server and is the reason I lost all my friends, and he yelled at me and called me evil because I was suicidal), and then they accused me of faking having amnesia because I had flashbacks.

Eventually, only four of my "friends" hadn't blocked me, and they almost never talked to me. Everyone kept calling me a terrible person because R spread lies about me and everyone else believed him instead of me.

It was to the point where I couldn't go one day without someone sending me death threats or trying to guilt trip me with false information, and I was getting very sever flashbacks of the stuff R had said to me, and I started failing classes because I couldn't focus on anything.

Eventually I had had enough, so I tagged them all in a tumblr post about how I was going to kill myself and then logged out of both that tumblr account and my old discord account forever.

(Also about a month after I had left, I got texts from irl friends, and it turns out someone on the server found the contact info of people I knew in real life just to ask if I was dead or not. And that scared the shit out of me.)

I've left out a lot of details of the abuse because of amnesia. I have a mental disorder which makes it hard to remember things, plus the brain often blocks out traumatic memories, so I'm sorry if some info feels missing.

The only reason I feel like I might be an asshole is because once I was gone, all of them switched targets and started to harass T. They said they hated him for being on my side, and sent him death threats on anon because he was mad at them for killing his friend. They started treating him the same way they treated me, and called him a horrible person but refused to give a reason as to why, and if I had stayed around they would've left him alone.

@should-be-dead (made a sideblog so I get notified when this is posted)

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. On your way home from work, you encounter an injured superhero. You have seen his secret identity. Now what will he do about it?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x reader, (maybe a why choose with Dick Grayson as well?? Idk tell me what you guys want)

Warning: Adult language, verbal abuse, parental abuse, severe injuries

Word Count: 1.5k

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it 

Part One: Is that Trash or a Man?

There is calm chaos when working in the emergency room. You get used to the cacophony of beeps and alarms. Of moans, crying, screaming, and arguing. You get used to being on your feet all day and moving from task to task, from patient to patient. You get used to it because there is no other option. People need care and they need it now. You either step the fuck up or switch to a different unit. Or move to a calmer, cleaner, less crime-filled city. Calm wasn’t really my vibe. Maybe externally that’s what I portrayed, but internally my mind craves the chaos of the ER. It craves the chaos of Gotham. And the Gotham ER was an entirely different beast.

I finished nursing school about a year ago. A lot of my peers used it as an out. They went to more stable cities in New Jersey that had better funding and less chance of getting knifed in the staff parking lot. I was one of the only ones that stayed. I definitely was the only one that worked in the hospital. I couldn’t deny the demand for nurses was high, and the paychecks were even higher at Gotham General Hospital. And maybe some small pathetic part of my brain wanted to make the world a better place. I wanted Gotham to be a better place. Every day I worked. I convinced myself that how matter how shitty it got; I was making a difference. Even if it was only a handful of people in the grand scheme of things. 

I could convince myself that I mattered. That everyone mattered. That these people deserve more. They deserve better; they deserve a second, third, fourth, fifth chance. If I stopped trying to convince myself of that I know I would give up entirely. Seeing gunshot wounds, stabbings, overdoses, mutilations, burns, crushings, poisonings, beatings, day after day is a lot like erosion of the soul. Little by little it wears you down. You become jaded and jagged with time. Empathy becomes blame. Hope becomes desolate. Love becomes anger. The only thing you can do is gaslight yourself into thinking you’re making a big enough difference. That you’re helping enough people. After all, the brain can’t tell the difference between truth and irony. You tell yourself so many lies, you can start to believe them, right? 

Gotham City: 16 Years Ago 

“Dad, when is mom coming home?” My small voice asked. I was scared to make Dad yell at me again. I didn’t like it when I made him yell.

“She’s got stage four fucking cancer she is coming out of the hospital in a body bag, y/n.” 

I fought the tears that burned behind my eyes. Dad would get even angrier if he saw them. It was stupid of me to even ask. 

I felt him turn to me. His eyes bored into my skull. Quickly, I looked down at his feet. 

“Have you tried again?” He asked. His tone clipped. I knew he expected a timely answer.

Involuntarily, my fingers ruthlessly picked the skin around my nails. The sting was grounding in a way. 

“No, sir. Well yes, I have tried, but I… I failed,” the last word felt like a hot poker being placed through my throat. 

“Look at me.” Breathing became difficult, but I looked up at my father. He leaned his face close to mine. I could smell Jack wafting off him. “What good are you? What good is having healing powers if you can’t heal your sick mother?”

The simple hangnail became a chunk of missing skin. I lowered my head. Fighting back tears. 

“Sir,” my traitorous voice wobbled as I tried not to cry, “I keep trying but… I don’t think my power is that strong. I can close cuts, fix broken bones, but tumors are… hard.”

My father tilted his head back and laughed. Hard. He grabbed my wrist as quickly as a viper, “If I could put your mother’s cancer in you I would. You’re about as useful as a wet match in a dark cave.” 

I couldn’t help the tears that fell down my cheek. It felt like I was involuntarily waving a white flag.

Gotham City: Present Day

I had to be stealthy with my gift. I couldn’t heal every one of the patients to full health right away. That would lead to suspicion. But if I could help it I could stop the major damage. I would heal internal organs. Replenish blood. Reduce ten fractures to two or one. It all depended on timing and if people were watching me. 

I was walking home from the hospital. I only lived about three blocks away. I got off shift at around 20:49. I didn’t start my next stretch for another three days. And I was milking my walk home. Stopping to smell the roses or whatever. That is normally not a very smart thing to do in Gotham at night, especially as a woman. But part of me didn’t care. 

Earlier, I looked at my phone and frowned when I realized the date. 

Thursday, May 19th. 

My mom died 16 years ago today. Waves of emotion flooded my senses. Anger at myself for not remembering. Sadness that she had been gone more of my life than she had been in it. Restlessness for what my father might do or say. Some years he likes to reach out. Others he doesn’t. But most of all I was feeling reckless. Like I wanted someone to give me a reason. Obviously, I would only hurt someone to defend myself or others. But there was so much anger living in my body, part of me hoped some idiot would try something with me tonight. 

So, I walked home. Slowly. 

Normally, you keep your head down and you keep moving. You don’t look or gawk. You listen out of necessity. I was listening just because I could. It was the normal stuff. Men smoking cigarettes and catcalling. Women were offering their nightly services. Random people either praising or damning superheroes. Drug deals. Graffiti artists. Fights. And of course, people who simply were walking home from work. Gotham had range and was never boring that’s for sure. 

But something picked up on the very edge of my senses. Despite my better logic, I turned toward the very quiet sound. It could have just been rats, but it sounded so familiar. It sounded like a death rattle. The thing you hear just before shit hits the fan and the patient codes. 

Without thinking I ran down the alley toward the sound. At first, it was nothing. Just trash and rats. But then I saw it. He almost blended perfectly in with the shiny black garbage bags. His cape was the same color but reflected the light less. 

“Sir? Sir, are you alright?” I walked hesitantly forward, grabbing my pepper spray just in case.

The man did not answer, he only garbled and coughed. My work brain took over my fear. Instantly I rolled the man over and began assessing him. I suppressed a gasp when I rolled him over and a familiar cowl mask came into view. It was cracked down the middle. His face was bleeding from an unknown location. His breathing was labored and staggered. 

Calmly, I closed my eyes and pressed my hands against his chest. 

Oh yeah. Batman was dying. He had several broken ribs. A pneumothorax. A bruised liver, kidney, and pancreas. His cardiac output was a joke. The man had no perfusion. 

I didn’t think. I didn’t hold back like I do at the hospital. I just healed. And healed. And healed. I healed him down to his bone-on-bone knees, sprained ankle, and fractured wrist. 

God, this guy had a lot of injuries. 

I was close to passing out by the time I was done. I had done too much, ate, and slept too little. My powers were demanding when it came to energy. If I didn’t eat or sleep within 30 minutes I was about to pass out next to bat boy himself.

I gave him one last assessment. After double-checking that he would live and that I didn’t miss anything I finally looked at his face again. 

This time I gasped. Batman was the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne? I shook my head like I was clearing cobwebs. I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Much like Batman, I didn’t want people to know what I could do. The last time people knew…

Just as I turned and took a few steps I rolled my eyes at my nagging thoughts. 

What if someone sees him before he wakes up?

Reaching into my tote bag I pulled out a black medical mask. I not so gracefully MacGyvered it across his exposed face so that it was covered. And with that, I made my way home.

My cat, Hashbrown, eagerly greeted me at the door. I nearly fell asleep locking it. I bent down to pick her up and gave her a kiss on her perfect little cat head. I ripped my gross work scrubs off, threw them in the wash, and crashed on the couch in my underwear before my brain could process what happened.

I healed Batman. 

I healed… Bruce Wayne?

Part Two, Part Three

[geeky-politics-46]

Kinktober 2023 - Day 2

Adultery with Arthur Shelby

"Just One Bite"

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Summary: You & Arthur take comfort in each other's arms after Linda aims her wrath at both of you.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - adultery/extra-marital affair, injury/blood (only a little), jealousy, reference to potential verbal/mental abuse from Linda, swearing, pet names, fingering, creampie, vaginal sex, light dirty talk, little bit of fluff, little bit of angst

From the moment you had been moved into the position of Arthur's secretary, his wife Linda had marked you as a whore out to steal, or at the very least corrupt, her husband. 

It was like she thought you had been sent personally by the devil to lure him away from Linda and negate her religious appeals to Arthur. You were the snake in the garden of Eden and yet somehow also the apple. Tempting Arthur to take a bite of you. You were an apple Linda was sure her husband could never resist. He would never be able to resist you and all that came with you after just one bite of your forbidden fruit.

None of that had been your intention, of course, at least originally. When you saw Arthur, you saw a man who needed help. You saw a man struggling to hold onto himself as he was pulled in all directions by opposing riptides. You just wanted to be the buoy to help keep him afloat or the lighthouse shining in the distance, showing him where the shoreline was. You wanted to help him and the rest of the Shelby's, and so that became your job.

It was Linda and her cruel behavior towards both you and Arthur that had driven the two of you together. That first night anything happened, it had all been because of her. She had stormed into his office at the Garrison in a rage over something, and once she was done with Arthur, she was still hungry for more blood. So she set her sights on you. Verbally abusing you and destroying your desk in the process. You knew she was probably high on cocaine. That was the only way you could explain the venom that she unleashed that night towards both of you. 

After she had finally left, silent tears started to slide down your cheeks. You refused to let her see you cry. Her words had cut far deeper than the damage done to your belongings and the business papers she had thrown around. In silence, you got down onto the ground and started cleaning up the mess. Uncrumpling and trying to piece together torn bits of paper. As you worked, you hadn't realized that Arthur was watching you or that you had kneeled down on shards of glass from a broken picture frame until he said something. 

"You're bleeding." 

His voice made you jump, and suddenly, you felt the small cuts on your knees. Stinging with the sudden movement. Quickly rocking to your feet to relieve the pressure on your newly discovered injuries. Blood smeared on the floor, several papers, and yourself. 

"I'm so sorry, Arthur, uh, Mr. Shelby. I'll get this cleaned up right away, and I'll retype any papers that I soiled or were damaged before I leave tonight." 

Just as quickly as you finished talking, Arthur responded. Your eyes snapped back up from the papers you had been trying to gather up. A softness in his blue eyes. You weren't sure whether it was sadness or caring. Maybe it was a mixture of both.

"No. No, you won't. We will clean this up together,  but only after you let me fix you up. Don't want one of the only nice, tolerable people in this city out sick because she let some silly cuts get all infected." 

You gave him a soft smile for his kindness. Still planning to dismiss his gestures, but he didn't give you the chance. 

"Come 'ere. I got a kit in my desk. Besides, it was my wife who made this mess. It's my job to clean it up, and that includes you." 

After quickly pulling the tin box from a drawer and grabbing a bottle of alcohol he patted the top of his desk. Signaling for you to sit there as he plopped down in his regular chair. He took a long swig from the bottle of whiskey and offered it to you. You followed suit. Needing something to calm your nerves, both from Linda's explosion and from the fact that you were currently sat on your boss's desk and you knew his head and his hands would soon be rather close to your most intimate places. You couldn't help but notice the flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

You crossed your legs at the ankles and squeezed your thighs together as you pulled your skirt up just over your knees. Your stockings were clearly ruined. They had become more or less shredded from the glass and tinged red from your blood. A sad sigh fell from your lips as you surveyed the damage. Arthur surreptitiously casting sidelong glances at you as he unpacked the first aid box. 

"These were my favorites too." 

"I'll make sure you get a little extra pay this week. To replace them. It's only fair. It's my fault, after all." 

You shrugged at his statement. If Arthur had his way, he would blame everything in the entire world on himself. That was one of the things you desperately wanted him to see differently. 

"Linda seems to think it's my fault."

"Yeah, well Linda's fucking mental. Not sure anything could ever be your fault. I'm not sure you've ever even made a spelling error, let alone any of the shit she's on about." 

You giggled at that. Your smile making his freckled cheeks blush just a tad.

"Well, if you think I've never made a spelling error, you may need your eyes checked, Arthur." 

You both shared a little smile. The flutter in your stomach picked up again as you looked into his eyes. A flush started to show more clearly on his cheeks before he quickly looked down. Starting to survey the scrapes on your knees. Clearly unsure of where to put his hands. 

"Ummm… I think I actually need to take these off. To make sure there isn't any glass in the cuts." 

He waited for you to respond, glancing up at you under his thick eyelashes. Part of him was waiting for you to shove him away for even suggesting he take off your stockings, but another part of him was ready to beg like a dog for a chance to touch you. 

Perhaps there was some truth to some of what Linda had accused him of. He did harbor a bit of a crush on you, but he was sure you were completely unattainable to him even if he wasn't a married man. Someone so sweet, intelligent, and drop-dead gorgeous would never fall for him. You were so far out of his league that you were in a completely different ballpark, and yet you didn't act like it. You didn't snub your nose at him or his family the way Linda always had. 

"Oh, um, okay. I trust you, Arthur." 

Your voice was a little shaky as you said it. Only because you couldn't read his emotions. Did he want you to do it? Or did he want to do it himself? 

In all honesty, you kind of wanted him to do it. You were already getting blamed for having an affair with him, when in reality, you just had a stupid school girl crush on your boss. This was probably going to be the closest you ever got to living out one of your fantasies. So, without another word, you kicked off your shoes and waited to see what would happen next. 

Arthur slowly placed one hand on your shin, gauging your response before slowly moving it up to the outside of your thigh to find the top of the stocking and your garter. Making sure you didn't protest before his other hand followed, this time on the inside of your thigh. Your legs spreading just enough to allow his hand access. Slowly pulling your garter off and setting it to the side before moving back to slowly start peeling your silk stocking down your leg.

His breath hitching when his fingertips brushed the supple skin of your inner thighs. You were so warm, and your skin was so incredibly soft. He had to bite on his tongue to keep from groaning. He repeated his actions on your other leg and had to fight the urge to touch you further. To spread you open for him just a little bit more. Just enough so he could bury his head between your thighs. He was sure you would taste better than the sweetest sugar.

You were suddenly very aware of the heat growing at your core as you watched his gentle movements. He touched you like you were a porcelain doll who would shatter if he was too rough. His calloused fingertips ghosted over your inner thigh. So very close to where you secretly wanted him to touch you. Where you thought that maybe, just maybe, he really wanted to touch you too. 

Once both your stockings had been discarded, Arthur started studying your wounds a little closer. Looking for any shards of glass that may have gotten stuck in your skin.. Bringing your feet up initially to rest on his chest, just below his shoulder, before realizing how much the image of you like that made his head spin. Settling to let your feet rest on his thighs Not that that worked to diffuse any of the sexual tension in the air that was growing thicker with each passing second. 

You could feel the strong muscles of his legs shifting under the soles of your feet as he moved to pour a decent amount of whiskey onto a clean rag. Part of you wanted to be exactly the kind of woman Linda already thought you were. How short a distance you would have to move your foot to start caressing Arthur's crotch. Wondering what he would feel like as you rubbed him. Wondering how big his cock was. The sounds he would make if you did. There was little point in denying what felt so obvious between you at that moment. 

You wanted him, and he wanted you just the same. You made a silent promise that you would treat him far better than Linda did. Your mind was thinking of all the things Linda probably refused to do that you happily would. There was no way she wasn't a prude in bed. You wondered just how many pleasures you could grant him that she wouldn't. How many pleasures he was used to being denied.

It was Arthur's voice that pulled you from your wicked thoughts.

"Right. This is gonna sting like hell." 

That was all the warning you got before he pressed the whiskey soaked rag onto the cuts. He was right. It hurt. You grabbed at your skirt, holding the fabric tightly in your fingers as you tried to breathe through the pain. Balling the fabric up in your fists and without realizing it, causing it to ride up, baring more of your thighs, and even granting Arthur a peek at the gusset of your panties. 

They weren't particularly fancy. A simple silk in a soft shade of mauve. He knew he was an absolute goner as soon as he saw them and how they were clinging to the plump lips of your cunt. He could practically feel you clench and relax your inner muscles as he moved the rag off of your now clean scrapes. He barely managed to keep his damaged mind focused long enough to place a gauze bandage on each knee. 

His resolve finally cracked completely when he had the idea to place a soft kiss over each bandage. A sweet gesture on its own, but when paired with his now dilated eyes, one that you knew meant he had more sinful desires on his mind. Your hand reflexively went to brush through his hair as his lips touched the first bandage. Gripping the longer strands when he moved to the second. 

His face began nuzzling the inside of your knee. His gruff whimpers against your skin, giving you a last chance to tell him to stop. To push him away. It only made you pull on his hair harder and spread your legs for him farther. A needy whine pulled from his throat before he bit the flesh of your inner thigh and began sucking a dark bruise there. His large hands had already moved to grab at your ass under your skirt to pull you closer to the edge of his desk.

Now that your body was well within his reach, he lifted his head from your lap and brought his lips to yours. Kissing you fiercely. Your teeth nipping at his lips and your tongues chasing one another without shame. The glowing embers of need blossoming into a full-fledged flame. 

"Arthur, are you sure about this. After everything that happened earlier. Are you sure you want this?" 

You caressed his cheek with the back of your hand. Opening your eyes to stare into his icy blue ones. 

"I'm sure, love. Even more now. It seems you and I are already cursed for something we weren't doing. Might as well get some fun out of it, and I'd gladly damn myself for you." 

He moved to kiss you again, but you pulled back again. Wanting to make sure this wasn't just a fleeting desire and that you would be canned by the next morning. A secretary was much easier to get rid of than a wife. 

"What about Linda?"

The mention of her name made his nostrils flair. Clearly still upset from her tantrum earlier. He brought his hands up to cup your face so you were looking him straight in the eye.

"Fuck Linda. You're the one I want. For a long time now. I don't want to deny it anymore. Just never thought you would want a sad old bastard like me."

You sighed and nodded. Giving him your permission to let his lips meet yours again. The soft tickle of his mustache making you smile as you kissed. Your arms slowly moving to loop around his neck and your legs moving to loop around his hips. Pulling his body into yours.

"Wanted you just as much. You may not see it, but you are incredible. Now, fuck me please, Arthur"

Arthur was all long limbs and taut muscles. A sharp contrast to your soft curves. Little did you know that was one of his favorite things about you. That you had so many curves and soft spots for him to touch, kiss, and explore. His hands were already moving up and down your sides, groping your ass and then your breasts as you kissed. 

You set to work on the first few buttons of his shirt. Reaching inside to feel his chest. Pulling your lips away from his to place a soft kiss on the cross tattoo over his heart. 

Arthur quickly followed suit. Leaving wet kisses down your neck before starting to pull at your blouse. His large, rough hands threatened to tear the fabric right off your body. It was like he couldn't possibly wait any longer to touch your bare skin.

"Careful Arthur. I still have to have clothes to walk home in, and I've already lost a good pair of stockings today." 

Your teasing tone told him you weren't upset at his overzealousness. He chuckled in your ear and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a bear hug. You could feel his hips starting to rut into you. His excitement now becoming apparent in more ways than one. 

"Sorry, lovey. I've just wanted to touch you like this for so long. It takes every ounce of control I have not to pull you into me lap every time you come in here. You're re always so fuckin' sweet and nice to me even when I feel like shit."

He pulled back and started unbuttoning your top with a much more careful touch. Leaning in to kiss your lips with each button he undid. Gazing down as your bra came into view. It clearly matched the panties you were wearing. It was the same mauve silk but with a lace edging along the tops of the cups. 

Arthur groaned as he drug the back of his fingers along the lace. Your breath catching in your chest and making your breasts bounce slightly. With Arthur distracted by the sight of your lingerie, you took over the task of undressing. Shrugging your open blouse back off of your shoulders and tossing it to the side. Letting him bring both of his hands up to play with your tits while you moved back to finish unbuttoning his shirt and removing it. 

His fingers moved to pinch at your nipples through the soft fabric as you began undoing his pants. A soft moan falling from your lips at his touches. You slipped your hand into his pants and palmed his hardening cock through his boxers. Starting to slowly stroke his length.

"Fuck, love. You keep that up I'm gonna cum in your hand."

You smiled against his lips. Your wicked side was beginning to show more as your encounter went on. You reached behind your back with one hand and unhooked your bra. Only pulling your hand from Arthur's pants to finish removing your bra so you could toss it to the side into the growing pile of discarded clothing. 

"Well, we don't want that. Better hurry up and finish undressing me then."

You hopped off the desk and brought Arthur's hands to the hook and zipper of your skirt. Bringing your lips to his throat and starting to suck and bite at his neck. Half tempted to leave your mark there for Linda to see. So she could see what she had driven the two of you to do. 

You restrained yourself, though, at least for now. Knowing that both you and Arthur would want this to be more than a one-time thing. There would be a time down the road for you to flaunt your dalliances.

Your skirt soon hit the floor, and you pushed his pants down to match. Leaving you in just your pretty mauve panties and him in his simple white boxers. Your hands exploring each other's bare skin as you kissed. His hands slipping into the back of your panties to grope your ass. Slipping them down enough for them to fall to the floor on their own. Kicking your feet to rid yourself of them completely.

He lifted you back up onto the desk now that you were totally naked. Bringing one hand around between your legs as you settled. Letting his long fingers finally touch your cunt, feeling how wet you had gotten for him already. Nuzzling into your neck, his mustache tickling you as he whispered in your ear.

"Holy fuck. You're so wet darling. You are an eager little thing ain't ya? All of this really for me?"

You mewled at his questions. Knowing that he already knew the answers. Letting your hips start to roll against his fingers, trying to urge him on. Sighing in relief when you felt two of his fingers sink into your heat. The little bit of stretch making your back arch and your nails grip into his biceps. 

Arthur pulled away to watch his fingers thrust in and out of you. Growling at the sight of your slick coating his fingers. It was something he thought he would only ever fantasize about. Occasionally stroking your clit with his thumb and making your hips jerk forward. 

A smile on his face as he watched your eyes start to roll back in your head. Pulling his fingers away when he felt you starting to clench around them. Denying you your orgasm and making you pout. Your bottom lip pushed out and looking oh so biteable.

"Arthur, please. I was so close."

He chuckled as he licked your sweet nectar from his fingers. Just one taste, and he knew he was already addicted to you. Frankly he couldn't wait until he would get a chance to eat you out, but right now he needed to fuck you.

"Uh uh love, the only time you are gonna cum tonight is on my cock." 

With that, he pushed his boxers down. Finally freeing himself and giving you your first real glimpse of his cock. Standing proud and hard, just for you. His dark pink tip wet with precum. You couldn't help but whimper at the sight of him. Your legs immediately reaching to wrap around his hips and pull him to you. 

He happily let you. Loving how much you wanted him. How impatient you were to have him inside you. You were almost more impatient than he was. Your hips were bucking as soon as you felt his long length stroke through your wet folds. 

"Don't worry, love. I'm gonna give you exactly what you want. Just want to hear you ask for it. All sweet like you are when you ask me for stuff during work. Like the good little angel you are." 

You purred at his statement. You could be his little angel if that's what he wanted, but you also wanted Arthur to see your devilish side, too. So, with one hand, you braced yourself on his desk and wrapped the other around the back of his neck. Giving him your best doe eyes and letting your hips wantonly grind against his shaft. Hitching your legs up even higher to spread yourself open more for him.

"Please Arthur, I want your cock inside me. I want you to fuck me so bad. I've wanted this for so long. I've wanted you for so long. Please fuck me. Make me yours Arthur." 

He growled and quickly positioned his fat tip against your weeping hole. Cursing at how wet you were. He had never felt Linda anywhere near as turned on as you were, and even though he knew that what you were about to do was wrong, it felt oh so right. So, without even thinking, he pulled off his wedding band and threw it somewhere in the distance. Not caring about having to find it later.

He grabbed a hold of your hips and kissed you fiercely. His short nails leaving imprints in your skin. He slowly started pushing into you. Your moans quieted by his kisses as he stretched you open. Eventually, bottoming out and leaving you feeling impossibly full. 

Arthur waited a moment, trying to calm his breathing and letting you adjust to him. He could hardly control himself when he looked down between you and saw his cock nestled in your cunt. Your pussy lips hugging him tightly. He couldn't help but start shallowly thrusting in and out of you. His hair falling in front of his face and his nostrils flaring. His animalistic side clawing beneath the surface. 

"Go on, Arthur. Fuck me hard. I know you want to." 

Now that he had your permission, he did exactly that. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you. His thrust was so hard your hips lifted off the desk. He waited a few seconds to see if you would object to his hard thrusts, and when all you did was grip onto his neck tighter, he began pounding into you faster. The desk was starting to rock underneath you and scrape across the floor. His lamp falling and the ledger books dropping to the floor with a heavy thud.

Neither of you cared, though. Your moans and grunts growing louder with each passing moment. Arthur biting into your shoulder and neck as he fucked you with abandon. Surely leaving marks that you would have to deal with tomorrow. The force of his cock knocking your breath from you.

Arthur moved one hand behind your back to hang onto you as he brought the other to your clit. Starting to stroke his thumb over the sensitive bundle of nerves and immediately making you clench around him. His thrusts started to become sloppy and irregular. 

"I'm gonna cum inside this perfect little cunt. You want that, eh? Just felt you squeeze me tighter darlin.  I think you're gonna cum too. Cum on my cock and I'll fill you up so good. That's it, love. Cum on your boss's cock." 

His words pushed you over the edge. Crying out Arthur's name as you spasmed around him. Your legs were shaking, and your body was threatening to collapse onto the desk below you. Arthur pulled you into his chest, keeping you upright as he kept frantically fucking you. Chasing his own high. Grunting and growling in your ear. 

After another few thrusts, you felt his hips stutter and the warmth of his release started to fill you. The most beautiful moan fell from the normally intimidating gangster. It was full of vulnerability and made you hang onto him even tighter as he filled you up. His orgasm seemed never-ending, but frankly, both of you were quite content to stay in this moment forever. Just the two of you.

You held each other as you came down from your orgasms. Kissing and wiping the sweat from each other's brows. Caressing each other and letting your heart rates fall. Both of you groaning when Arthur finally pulled out of you. Taking a moment to watch his cum start to leak out of you. 

With a cheeky smirk on his face, he scooped it back up and rubbed it over your swollen sex making you gasp before bringing what was left on his fingers up to your lips. You opened your mouth and sucked his seed from his fingers. Your tongue dancing and licking up every drop. His smile growing and a soft 'good girl' quietly fell from his lips.

The two of you slowly helped each other redress. Arthur, taking an extra moment to admire the sight of you in your beautiful silk underwear before helping you with your skirt and blouse. You couldn't help but smile as you redid his bowtie for him. His fingers drawing little shapes on your lower back as you did. Brushing his hair back into place and smoothing down his mustache before standing on your toes to press a soft kiss on his lips. Neither of you quite ready to leave the imaginary world you created together. 

He let go of you and went out to your desk. Watching him gather your jacket and handbag as you slipped your shoes back on. Coming back and placing your handbag on his desk while he worked to straighten out your coat.

"Come on, darlin'. Let's get you home, eh? I'm not letting you walk home alone at this time of night with those gorgeous legs bare and on display."

You slipped your garters into your handbag. Having no use for them now that your stockings were in Arthur's trash bin. Letting him slip your coat on before taking his own long dark coat that was far too large for you and slipping it over your shoulders. You buried your nose in the collar. Inhaling the scent of Arthur's cologne.

You looked out at the mess still sitting on the floor around your desk. Sighing at the work that still needed to be done.

"What about that mess, Arthur? I still need to clean all of that up."

He took your hand in his and started leading you to the door. Not really caring if anyone saw him holding your hand. After tonight he really couldn't give a fuck who saw you together. Come the light of day he knew he would probably feel guilty and tomorrow he would probably find himself crawling around the floor of his office to find his wedding ring. It wouldn't stop him from coming back to you again and again, and he knew both of you knew it. Tonight though he just wanted to indulge in you without the guilt. 

"Fuck it. I'll make Finn and Isiah do it in the morning. You've got more important work now. Besides I'm thinking you'll be a bit tired tomorrow by the time you come in."

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[youremyheaven]

Ashlesha & Toxic Relationships

Tw: abuse, incest, rape, death, domestic violence

I feel like Ashlesha's mommy issues have been covered by others before but I really wanted to explore how Ashlesha nakshatra natives often find themselves in toxic relationships, be it in their own homes or in romantic relationships. I think many of the patterns many people repeat in adult relationships has its roots in their childhood relationships with their family and I see this very evident with many Ashlesha natives. They're often abused at home and later suffer abuse at the hands of partners.

Halle Berry Ashlesha Sun

Halle's father was a violent man who abused her mother repeatedly. He abandoned them when she was 4 and she's been estranged from him since.

She moved with her mother and sister to an all-white neighbourhood where she was exposed to racial discrimination while attending school. Halle admits that these struggles motivated her to succeed. Later in the ’90s, when she moved to New York to pursue her acting career, she was forced to stay in a homeless shelter for a while because she couldn’t afford accommodations.

In 2011, Halle said: "It was only when I was in an abusive relationship and blood squirted on the ceiling of my apartment and I lost 80% of my hearing in my ear that I realised, I have to break the cycle."

Halle is divorced from Gabriel Aubry (in photo with her above) who, she accused of being a racist (he used racial slurs towards her and their daughter), refused to acknowledge their daughter as biracial and court documents revealed that Berry accused him of having been in an incestuous relationship with a family member, abusing their daughter and even revealed the couple only had sex three times a year, with Aubry struggling with the effects of his incestuous relationship.

Charlize Theron- Ashlesha Sun, Moon & Mercury

One night, when her verbally abusive alcoholic father came home with his brother after drinking heavily, he threatened her mother with a gun. He began shooting and Theron's mother grabbed her gun and shot back, killing Theron's father and wounding his brother. Police later determined it was self-defence. They later moved to America so Charlize could pursue an acting career.

Lily Collins, Ashlesha Moon

Lily Collins says she was once in a toxic relationship where she faced "verbal and emotional abuse" that made her feel "very small." Looking back, Lily says her then-boyfriend silenced her feelings and even fuelled emotions of "panic" and "anxiety" -- and it's something that still affects her even though she’s now in a healthy relationship.

"He would call me 'Little Lily'…and he'd use awful words about me in terms of what I was wearing and would call me a whore and all these things," she said on the "We Can Do Hard Things" podcast. "There were awful words and then there were belittling words. I became quite silent and comfortable in silence and feeling like I had to make myself small to feel super safe."

Tina Turner, Ashlesha Rising

Tina’s violent marriage with Ike Turner is well known, largely thanks to the film based on her life, What’s Love Got To Do With It. In the film the singer suffered severe beatings, was raped and had cigarettes stubbed out on her body. Her husband Ike is portrayed as a violent, controlling sociopath, and when Tina’s autobiography was published Ike actually admitted that the book was largely accurate. The pair were married for 16 years before Tina had the courage to leave. Ike is now dead.

I found something she said in an interview to closely correlate to Ashlesha:

"Part of my spiritual practice is to “change poison into medicine,” to take negative situations or roadblocks and transform or remove them through positivity. The force of my positivity pushed all the discriminatory “isms” standing in my way right out the window."

Whitney Houston- Ashlesha Sun & Venus

Their turbulent relationship is well documented, but even though the rumors were that Bobby used to hit Whitney, she actually claimed it was the other way round. In an interview with the Associated Press over 10 years ago, the singing star said: “Contrary to belief, I do the hitting, he doesn’t. He has never put his hands on me. We are crazy for one another. I mean crazy in love, love, love, love, love. When we’re fighting, it’s like that’s love for us. We’re fighting for our love.” Brown, however, was later arrested in 2003 for misdemeanour battery, several years after Whitney said this. The pair eventually divorced after 15 years of marriage in 2007.

Unfortunately, Whitney passed away in 2012 and I firmly believe Bobby did it. Her daughter, Bobbi Brown also passed away in the exact same way in 2015 and there's just no way those 2 deaths were a coincidence. Anytime I hear news of anybody dying in their bathtub after overdosing on a cocktail of drugs, I just know they were murdered. Its very easy to write off deaths as suicide or to make it look like one. Its all the more convincing if the person has a history of drug abuse.

Sridevi, Ashlesha Sun & Rising

Sridevi was forced into acting by her mother (who aspired to be an actress and had failed in her pursuit) when she was 2-3yrs old. Sridevi never received formal education and appeared in 200 films by the time she was 25 years old (she did 300 films total). Her mother and stepfather had another daughter whom they favoured. Sridevi was the cash cow of the household. It was once reported that Sridevi would come home from a long day of filming and spend many hours massaging her mother's feet at night instead of sleeping. Her mother once locked up Sridevi in a dark room and starved her as a 5-year-old because she was too scared to do a scene that involved fire. She became a heroine at the age of 11 years and was paired opposite men who had played her grandad onscreen when she was a child star🤮🤮🤮she was sexually assaulted by many of these men as a child and teenager. Sridevi's mother managed all her finances and did not permit her to go out or meet others and she did not even know how to do virtually anything by herself as her mother kept her under lock and key.

Her husband Boney Kapoor is a movie producer who was married to another woman and had 2 kids when he first met Sridevi. He creepily wooed her for 10 years but Sridevi paid him no mind. In 1995, Sridevi's mother passed away and Boney took full advantage of her vulnerability because even though she was 32, she was basically a child due to the way her mother forced her to live. Sridevi had no one to rely on (her stepfather had died many years prior and her sister sued her for properties and since she was so isolated, she had no friends despite being such a huge star) and Boney took her in. She lived with Boney and his wife and kids but before you knew it, Sridevi was impregnated by him and he soon divorced his wife and married her. In 2018, Sridevi was found dead in a bathtub in Dubai under suspicious circumstances. The case was wrapped up pretty quickly and no one really knows what happened. She allegedly "drowned" but like I said, I dont think all these celebs drowning in their bathtubs is a coincidence.

Zsa Zsa Gabor- Ashlesha Moon

She was married 9 times and many of those marriages were hella toxic. She was married to Conrad Hilton (Paris Hilton's great-grandfather)

She said of the marriage:

"Conrad's decision to change my name from Zsa Zsa to Georgia symbolized everything my marriage to him would eventually become. My Hungarian roots were to be ripped out and my background ignored. ... I soon discovered that my marriage to Conrad meant the end of my freedom. My own needs were completely ignored: I belonged to Conrad."

Gabor's only child, daughter Constance Francesca Hilton, was born in 1947. According to Gabor's 1991 autobiography, One Lifetime Is Not Enough, her pregnancy resulted from rape by then-husband Conrad Hilton.

Marilyn Monroe- Ashlesha Rising

Marilyn had a very difficult life. She grew up in foster homes, her mother was schizophrenic and her father was an alcoholic. Her marriages were unhappy and she was treated like shit by the industry. I don't want to elaborate too much because I feel like everyone already knows about her life story but its truly tragic how things were for her :((

Lucille Ball- Ashlesha Sun

She was married to her onscreen husband Desi Arnaz and they had a horrible toxic marriage where he cheated on her repeatedly and emotionally abused her. He was also an alcoholic.

Bella Hadid, Mars in Ashlesha atmakaraka

"I constantly went back to men -- and also, women -- that had abused me, and that's where the people-pleasing came in," Hadid said on the Victoria's Secret podcast, "VS Voices."  "I started to not have boundaries, not only sexually, physically, emotionally, but then it went into my workspace….I began to be a people-pleaser with my job and it was everyone else's opinion of me that mattered except for my own, because I essentially was putting my worth into the hands of everyone else and that was the detriment of it."

Everybody already knows that Yolanda is toxic as hell, made Bella get a nose job at 14yrs of age and in Bella's own words she was made to feel like the "uglier sister".

Viola Davis, Ashlesha Sun

She and her sisters were sexually abused by their brother. "Sexual abuse back in the day didn't have a name. The abusers were called 'dirty old men' and the abused were called 'fast' or 'heifers,'" she wrote in her memoir.

Davis wrote about the volatile relationship between her empathetic mother and her violent, alcoholic father. With brutal candidness, she channels the unrelenting terror of living in a household of domestic abuse: “There are not enough pages to mention the fights, the constantly being awakened in the middle of the night or coming home after school to my dad’s rages and praying he wouldn’t lose so much control that he would kill my mom.”

Lil Kim, Ashlesha Moon

When she sat down for a candid interview with Newsweek back in 2000, the rapper revealed that she developed a complex about her appearance thanks to a string of unsavory suitors. "All my life men have told me I wasn't pretty enough — even the men I was dating," she revealed. "I'd be like, 'Well, why are you with me, then? I have low self-esteem and I always have," she admitted. "Guys always cheated on me with women who were European-looking. You know, the long-hair type. Really beautiful women. That left me thinking, 'How can I compete with that?' Being a regular black girl wasn't good enough."

It wasn't just the men she dated in her early days that messed with Lil Kim's head — according to the rapper, her own father added to her issues. Her parents divorced when she was 8 and, despite the fact that she wanted to remain with her mother, her dad won custody. When she spoke to Newsweek ahead of the release of her second studio album, The Notorious K.I.M, she revealed that her father would regularly make her feel as though she wasn't good enough. "It was like I could do nothing right," she recalled. "Everything about me was wrong — my hair, my clothes, just me."

Ella Fitzgerald, Ashlesha Rising

At a young 15 years old, Fitzgerald was left motherless and fatherless. To make matters worse, she began being abused by her stepfather. The beatings were physical, but they scared her emotionally as well. She was a beaten and battered child. Her grades fell to be nearly unrecoverable, and she began skipping school regularly. It was an era of racial segregation and Ella is also believed to have been physically abused by her teachers along with some other black students.

Ella and Marilyn were good friends and are said to have bonded over their similarly traumatic lives.

Katie Holmes, Ashlesha Moon & Rising

She escaped an abusive marriage with the sociopathic Tom Cruise and his cult??? need I say more?? I am so happy she is alive and well and that she has managed to protect her daughter as well. Scientologists are insane people who absolutely destroy the lives of anybody who tries to leave their system so its a miracle that Katie is alive and doing well.

Glenn Close, Ashlesha Rising

I don't know what it is about Ashleshas and being trapped/escaping a cult but I've noticed several Ashlesha natives all have this experience

Oscar-nominated actress Glenn Close, for example, was part of a cult called the Moral Re-Armament, from the young age of 7 all the way up to 22. “If you talk to anybody who was in a group that basically dictates how you’re supposed to live and what you’re supposed to say and how you’re supposed to feel, from the time you’re 7 till the time you’re 22, it has a profound impact on you,” she once told The Hollywood Reporter.

Patricia Arquette- Ashlesha Moon

Oscar winner Patricia Arquette wasn’t just raised in Virginia’s Skymont Subud cult, but her parents were the founders of it. The so-called “spiritual movement” was known for not allowing access to bathrooms, electricity, or running water in the name of “inner guidance.” 

While still living with her family, she and her family left the commune to return to a more conventional life. Per ABC, however, the Arquette family wasn’t any better at that time either. “There was a lot of drama in the house,” Arquette said in an interview with Oprah Winfrey. “There were a lot of chairs flying around.”

Brie Larson- Ketu in Ashlesha

Brie starred in two movies, The Glass Castle & The Room that both deal with abusive relationships (she is the one stuck in them)

Our Ketu placement is where we draw our creativity from, so its interesting that Brie has played so many characters who have to deal with toxicity.

According to Hindu mythology, Ashlesha nakshatra is associated with the story of the Naga King Vasuki. It is said that Vasuki and his wife were cursed by a sage to become snakes. In order to lift the curse, they sought the help of Lord Vishnu, who advised them to perform a penance in the ashram of a sage named Jaratkaru. After performing the penance, the sage granted their wish and they were able to regain their human form. Since then, Ashlesha nakshatra has been associated with transformation and the power of penance.

In the list of celebrities I have mentioned, many of them survived their abuse and went on to live good lives but many others met with tragic ends. Being "cursed" is part of Ashlesha's mythology, which is why they receive an unfair share of bad experiences and abuse but to perform penance is very very important and something not many are going to be able to do. When so many terrible things happen to you, you're bound to think "why me? I'm a good person, I don't deserve this" and that's absolutely true, no one deserves abuse but the ones who can outlive these negative circumstances are the ones who can in Tina Turner's words "turn poison into medicine". Penance literally means inflicting punishment upon oneself but what it actually means in this context is to turn all your negative experiences that feel like you're being punished into something you can rise up above against. Poison is also part of Ashlesha's lore and while this does make Ashlesha natives rather malicious and manipulative towards others, they need to be able to use this poison as medicine to heal themselves. Otherwise, they end up succumbing to it.

[dfortrafalgar]

Looooooved ILY! Kudos! It was chair-gripping, tear drenching, rot your teeth fluffy and a bunch of other things in between! Brava! 🥰

If you're still accepting requests (I don't know if you have already been flooded by messages or not) I would like a story about being part of the Kid Pirates but reader is in a really sour mood because it's the anniversary of readers's parents death (you can make up a story if you'd like) and reader disobeys a direct order from him and, to top it off, reader talks back at him in front of the crew, earning the reader a severe punishment (up to you). Eventually Kid finds out why reader's mood is so sour and tries to talk it out except Kid can't be soft and that just makes things more awkward. Could be SFW, could be NSFW, I'm leaving all this up to you. And the ending as well because I only got that far. I hope you like the idea and get excited.

I love your work! ❤️🥰 Thank you for sharing your talent.

HI ANON!!! thank you so much for your request and your super kind words over IMLY, that means so much to me!!!! i know i keep saying this but yall make me smile every single day when i log onto tumblr and see your messages <3

I also really loved writing this request! i really love Kid, but i also wanna kick his ass on the playground if that makes sense, and i think that sentiment came through in my writing ;w; I hope you like it!!! and thank you again!!! (Also, i kept the reason for your parents' death ambiguous, because i know some people (myself included) read fics with their ocs in mind, so you're free to fill in the vagueness with your own personal ideas if you want!)

Feeling Overhaul

Eustass Kid x Fem Reader

The anniversary of your parents' death always leaves you feeling shallow, but your boyfriend's lack of social and situational awareness crops up to make your day even worse.

Warnings: SFW, hurt/comfort, reader being understandably upset, descriptions of an argument with some veeeeery slight verbal abuse, once again hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort. communication is key loves

Your sour mood had been steadily building over the last few days, but your sorrow reached its peak on the last day of the week, according to the barely legible crew calendar that was based off of when the messenger coos arrived with the weekly paper.  It was a day you despised thinking about, the memories associated with the day leaving your throat tight, an uncomfortable malaise in the pit of your stomach.

All things considered, you thought you were doing a decent job at keeping your emotions in check while performing your usual duties on the Victoria Punk.  The bow of the deck needed a thorough scrubbing, a few spots in the walls of the crow’s nest needed repairs from a recent run in with a smaller, weaker pirate crew, and a few secondary sails needed their holes patched up.  It was a perfect day to distract yourself from your woes.  Drowning your discontent in your work had become quite a valuable skill.

Until you slipped on the soap that lathered the hard wood of the bow and fell flat on your ass.  When trying to stand, your hands gave out under you and you hit the deck once more, one of your crew mates tossing you anxious glances as you struggled to regain your bearings.  Climbing up to the crow’s nest, you were plagued with a sudden wash of grief over the day, so much so that you lost your grip and slipped down the Jacobs ladder, your foot catching on one of the wooden rungs beneath you.  Wire was directly under you, climbing as well to assist with the crow’s nest repairs, and his method of helping you after your slip involved gripping your arm so hard it left a bruise.  You bit back your tears at the pain of your crewmate’s hand around your limb and the humiliation of almost falling 12 feet onto the hard wooden hull, but you once again bit back your shame and finished your arduous climb up.

By the afternoon, word had gotten around the Victoria Punk that your work was lacking, that you were clearly struggling with something, that perhaps you weren’t feeling well.  When it finally got around to Captain Eustass Kid, who doubled as your beloved partner, he was less than pleased.

The last thing he wanted to do was deal with your emotions, and the last thing you wanted to do was deal with his abrasive, apathetic attitude.

“Care to explain why the hell the entire crew has caught you slacking off today?” he demanded, thundering toward you in one of the upper corridors of the ship’s hull.  You were still returning some of the tools you had used to patch up the ship’s sails when he accosted you in the hallway.  It was almost dinner hour, and many of the crew were bustling through the same corridors finishing their afternoon tasks before meal time.

“What?” you snapped back, caught off guard by his threatening question.

“Don’t ‘What’ me.  Why have you been tripping and falling everywhere?  What kind of joke are you trying to play?”  His face was angry, livid even, not granting you even one second to explain your plight.

Your eyebrows furrowed.  “I’m not trying to bumble around the boat like an idiot.  I’m just not feeling well and haven’t been able to focus.”

Kid scoffed.  “Then get over it.”

Perhaps you were being irrational, but at the same time, you had officially had enough of the entire day.  You dropped your supplies on the floor around your feet, heat radiating off of your body in waves.  “What did you just say to me?”

Your captain bent down to be at your level, which was insulting to your current state.  “Get.  Over.  It.”

Anger boiled in your lungs, lighting your heart on fire, blinding the corners of your vision with a fuzzy white light.  You tried to turn your back to him and escape down the corridor, but yelped when Kid grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward him.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?” he asked.  He really couldn’t control the sound of his voice, regardless of his current emotion, and the volume of his shouts filling the space made your body tense up in fear.  Eyes watching the scene unfold around you widened.

Around the corner behind Kid’s back, Killer darted forward, alerted to the sounds emanating from the narrow passage.  “Kid, chill out!”

“Are you going to care about me any more if I tell you?” you demanded back, trying to pull your wrist away from his grip.  His flesh hand held firm, however, almost burning your skin.  He shrugged Killer’s own hand off of his shoulder forcefully, completely ignoring his friend’s plea to calm himself somewhat.

Kid rolled his eyes.  “It better be damn important if it’s got you almost falling off of the Jacobs ladder.”

You steeled yourself, sucking in an uneasy breath and facing your stubborn partner head on.  “Today’s the anniversary of my parents’ death.  I’ve never been able to feel alright when I think about them.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence that floated between the two of you, the air in the hallway thrumming with a suffocating tension.  Kid’s grip finally relaxed on your wrist, allowing you to yank it away and rub your sore skin.  His red-painted lips finally parted, and all he graced your ear drums with was, “That’s it?”

Your heart dropped.  “What do you mean ‘that’s it’?”

“Parents die all the time.  What makes today so different?”  His narrow eyes were back to their scathing glare.

At this point, however, you had had enough.  You were practically shaking with a barely contained rage of your own as you stepped closer to your captain and spat in his face, causing him to stagger backward, giving you enough space to let your emotions bubble outward.  “I don’t have to tell you shit if you’re going to talk to me like that!  In front of the entire crew?!  Just because you’re my captain doesn’t mean you get the excuse to accost me in the hallway and berate me for slipping a few times.”  You frantically dug through your brain for words to add to your outburst, perhaps asking how he had the sheer gall to have such an attitude toward you despite dropping his walls and being so kind toward you on an average day, but all you could muster in response was, “Fuck you, Kid.”

You stepped away from him, narrowly missing another one of his lunges to get you to stay.  His voice was low and intimidating.  “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Then don’t tell me that my day of grieving is stupid!  Fuck!  You!” you spat back, finally turning on your heels and sprinting out of his reach, down the hallway and into the ladder well into the lower deck, desperate to get as far away from your captain as possible.  You knew he was prone to struggling with empathy, and kindness had never been one of his strong suits, but to be talked to in such a way, have your feelings belittled after you had almost severely injured yourself as a consequence of your lacking mental health, hurt more than a stab to the liver.

Kid’s burning gaze followed you as you fled, harshly turning on his own heels to slink to the galley and drown his frustrations in whatever liquor the crew had acquired from the last island.  He bumped Killer’s shoulder, forcing the blonde to the side.  The crew watched as their captain rounded the corner out of sight.

---

You didn’t arrive for the dinner call, your usual seat left unfilled and the plate uneaten.  A few crew mates who hadn’t witnessed the explosive scene from an hour ago asked around for your whereabouts, but the only one who bothered to stand up and search for you was Quincy who quickly ate her meal and abandoned the table.

Kid was pounding back alcohol like no one’s business, leading to many a concerned glance.

“Kid,” Killer muttered.  He rested his masked head in his hand, desperate for context at what he had previously run in on.  “What happened?”

“Nothing,” the red-head grumbled, throwing back another mug of golden beer, some of it dribbling down the side of his mouth.

The few straggling crew members who remained around the large dining table shared worried looks.

“It’s clearly not nothing,” Killer countered.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” snapped Kid.  Even at the age of 23, he was still no better than a bratty little child when things didn’t go his way.

Killer dropped the subject with a sigh, the sound escaping the holes in his mask with a subdued hiss.

Quincy, on the other hand, carefully opened the door to the women’s bunk room where she found you, curled on your side on the mattress that used to belong to you when you first joined the Kid Pirates, your face buried in a pillow and your shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Darling,” she cooed, silently tapping across the floor to sit on the side of the bed, her gentle hand ghosting over your arm.  “What happened?  Why didn’t you come to dinner?”

The sound of her voice unraveled you from your coil, your tear-stained face and puffy red eyes meeting her concerned stare.  “Kid and I had a fight,” was all you said.

“About?”

You rolled onto your back, clutching the pillow that was thoroughly drenched in your salty tears to your abdomen.  “Today’s the anniversary of my parents’ death, and when Kid asked me what was wrong, he told me, ‘What makes today so different, parents die all the time.’  Like…?” your voice wavered, “Who says that?  And to his girlfriend nonetheless!”

Quincy made a disappointed tsk sound with her tongue, sympathetically rubbing your arm through the sleeve of your shirt.  “Honey, he’s stupid.  But still, he was wrong to speak to you like that.”

You sniffled, wiping some snot from your face with the arm that wasn’t being caressed by your close friend.  “I know… but it still hurts.  I wish he could just… I don’t know… be nicer to me?”

For what it was worth, both of you knew that Kid wasn’t truly ‘stupid.’  He was strong, strategic, and resilient, but when it came to matters of the heart, his brain dwarfed to the size of a peanut.  It was only a matter of getting the headstrong captain to realize how he had truly hurt you.

“Honey, sleep in here for a few nights to get a proper rest, away from him,” Quincy offered, standing up from her seat on your mattress to approach one of the wardrobes, pulling out a comfortable shirt and baggy pants to relax in.  “Let this blow over for a little while, and then you can try to talk it out with him.  We can help if you need it.”

You sat up yourself, gratefully taking the clothing from her arms, a small smile on your lips.  “Thanks, Quin.”

The curly-haired woman left the bunkhouse to let you change, passing by Killer trudging through the hallway, a towel draped over his scarred arm.  “Hey, have you talked to Kid?”

“He’s drunk off his ass right now,” Killer grumbled, dragging his free hand down his mask in a display of exasperation.  “I couldn’t get him to tell me what happened, but he’s gonna be out of it for the rest of the evening.”

Quincy bit the inside of her cheek as she assessed the first mate’s message.  “I’ll tell you.”

---

It had been about three days since the argument Kid had blasted you with in front of your crew mates, your humiliation and anger toward your captain burning a hole into your lungs.  You couldn’t contain your tears for at least six hours after your initial outburst, the grief of losing your parents in the way you had all those years ago now partnered with the anguish of screaming at Kid… and spitting on his face.  The act was so beneath you, and yet.  Dive and Hip, who had seen the argument first-hand, had helped to assure you that you weren’t in the wrong for what you had said, reassuring your stance that Kid was far too intimidating when all he wanted was a simple answer for your strange behavior.

Heat had come to you with a covered plate containing the dinner you had missed, informing you that Kid still had a very poor system of managing his emotions.  While you understood this first hand, being his partner for the better part of a year, you still didn’t believe that was a proper excuse to diminish your emotions in the way he had.

After those three days of your absence, strategically avoiding him at all hours of the day, Kid was fed up.  He needed to talk.  His bed was too empty without you.

Killer told him it would be a bad idea to call you to his quarters, but he did it anyway.  And when your anxious knocking reverberated through the thick wooden door of his cabin, he was quick to call your name and grant you entry.

You stepped in, shutting the door softly behind you, keeping your head low.  Kid stood from his mattress, clearing the floor in broad steps and trying his best to lay on the charm, wrapping his large arm around you and cooing his best, casual greeting, “Hey, babe, I’ve missed you.”

You shrugged yourself away from him, your eyes downcast.  You looked… hollow.  “Did you want something from me, captain?”

Kid felt a foreign pang deep in his chest.  You hadn’t been referring to him as your boyfriend or partner.  Right now, he was strictly ‘captain,’ and that notion left him feeling far too empty and vulnerable for his liking.

Fuck, he wasn’t good at this in any way.

Your gaze bore scorching holes into his own eyes, silently demanding the apology that you knew you deserved to hear from him.  With a deep sigh, Kid turned around and stomped back to his mattress, dropping his head into his hands.

“I didn’t know your parents died,” he blurted.

You stayed quiet.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”  His voice was a low grumble.

You suppressed a scoff.  “How about, ‘Sorry for yelling at you in front of the crew?’  Or, ‘I’m sorry for saying that your feelings don’t matter.’  Something like that, maybe.”  Your voice, in comparison, was eerily level, your time to be physically upset with the situation having expired two days ago.  Now all you were left with was an uncomfortable feeling of unease, a hole in your heart where Kid usually sat now being emptied and replaced with a barren cavern that desperately wished to be occupied by the man you loved once more.

Because you really did love him.  You knew his lifestyle, his behaviors, his tendencies toward cruelty.  And yet, he remained kind toward you.  He allowed you to open up to him and did the same in turn, and he nestled himself perfectly, albeit clumsily, into your life.  You didn’t want to lose that.

Watching as Kid clearly struggled forming those two little words on his tongue was like watching someone perform self-surgery.  His pride had impeded his sense of empathy for so long that the simple notion of apologizing was such an estranged concept for him.

How stunted.

But you held firm, remaining in front of his closed door as he kept his head in his hand, his thick fingers teasing through his slightly greasy red hair.  After what felt like an eternity, he finally picked his head up.  “I’m sorry.”

There it was.

He continued, sucking in a shaky breath.  “I really didn’t know it was the anniversary of your family’s death.  I wish I asked you about it sooner instead of… that.”

You stayed quiet.

“... Instead of yelling at you like that.  And attacking you for something that was out of your control.”  He kept his voice low, as if he was carefully picking out his words from a small bucket inside his thick skull.

After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, you released the tension in your shoulders with a sigh.  “And I’m sorry for spitting on you.  And for cursing you out.”

“No, you shouldn’t apologize,” Kid stated, finally picking up his head and gazing at you, his eyebrows furrowed.  “I deserved it, really.”  His fingers anxiously rubbed the rough fabric of his pants.  “Killer sat me down and gave me a bit of a beat down.  Physically and verbally.  Because I know I’m not good at this.  I’m not a good person.  And I really fucked up with you.”

You remained firm with your feelings, but you finally approached his bed and sat next to him, leaving a comfortable gap between your bodies that your captain, your partner, didn’t try to close.  He kept his distance from you, silently ensuring that you were allowed, and encouraged, to open up to him when you were the most comfortable.

“I just want to make sure that you actually mean it,” you whispered.  “And that you’re not just saying that without believing it.”

“I mean it,” Kid confirmed, his voice unwavering.  “I really do.”

You gazed at him apprehensively.  “... Promise?”

Silently, Kid held out his pinky toward you.

You looked at his finger, confusion glossing your features.  “What are you doing?”

“Have you never made a pinky promise before?” he asked.

Your mouth threatened to curl into a small smile.  “Can’t say that I have.”

Kid released his hand only so he could take yours, folding your fingers down so only your own pinky stuck out from your fist.  He repeated the motion with his own hand, curling his smallest digit around your own.  “It’s a promise that I mean what I said.  Killer and I used to do this all the time as kids.”

Your composure finally broke as you snorted, your own finger curling around his.  “That’s sweet…”

“The point is that, if I break the promise, you get to break my finger,” he explained.

“Suddenly everything makes sense,” you uttered, your lips finally curling into a grin.  “Don’t give me an excuse to break your finger.”

In response to your lighthearted plea, Kid raised his hand with yours still attached and pulled back down in a handshake gesture.  “Never.”

Your finger stayed curled around his as you gazed at your hand.  “I’m still kind of upset with you.”

Kid’s shoulders stiffened.  “I get why.”  After you stayed silent for a few extra moments, he finally asked, “What can I do to make it up to you?”

Your eyes bore into his once more, his gaze remaining steady as well.  “You can start by not jumping to conclusions… or being accusatory without any context.”  You sighed.  “I’m not telling you to change your entire personality, Kid, because I know who you are.  And I fell in love with the normal, regular You.  But I just ask for a little bit of kindness.”

Kid released your pinky in order to lace his entire hand with yours.  “I’ll give you more than a little.”

“Or I can break your pinky?” you asked once more, another small smile breaking out on your face.

Your partner grinned.  “I’ll throw myself overboard if you ask.”

You finally closed the gap between your bodies, tentatively laying your head on his shoulder.  “No… I wouldn’t want to lose you like that.”

[holdmymetaphor]

okay heres some things about houses childhood i think about

theres clearly a few dynamics here

-he hates his father, resents the abuse, recognizes that bad things were done to him

-probably when he was very young, he didnt understand why bad things happened to him, was not intentionally A Bad Kid

-because he surmised his dad was not his dad at 12 i assume the abuse started from a young age.

-house mentions ice baths and sleeping outside, but he also mentions his father not speaking to him for months at a time, which is interesting to me. when house tries to qualify the severity of abuse to eve he says "not as bad as your [trauma] if how your acting about it shows how bad it is." which to me is pretty noncommittal. was he doing that bc he was still kind of lying, trying to get info out of her? if not, it seems like house is actually unsure of how to qualify his own abuse, which would lead me to believe it was largely emotional and verbal. although i suspect that his father did physically abuse him at times, to me this exchange implies that house thinks the ice baths and sleeping outside were the worse of it (interestingly both acting on his whole body and ability to regulate temperature)

-at some point he acts out intentionally, instead of unintentionally, bc his father is Wrong and shouldnt be abusing house in these ways(the fact that the thing he wanted to hear from his father was "you were right, you did the right thing" 😭😭)

-this leads to worse and more cruel punishments, which house both detests and wants to avoid repeating. furthering his resentment, but reinforcing his fathers authority

- despite his knowledge that his father is wrong, his dad claims to do these acts out of love, to teach dicipline, to toughen him up. (in this way his struggle with god is really an allegory of his father: is it better he hates me (i deserve pain) or loves me (i dont deserve pain) when he does awful things to me? or is it better for him to not exist at all (things just happen, there is no deserving)?

-in my perspective, especially as house got older, into his teens, he was actually probably really "well behaved" finally smart enough to fake social cues and swallow his pride so that his father wouldnt hit him or what have you (which is why he regresses to a child often as an adult, because he was not allowed those things)

its interesting to me, to see how all of houses character is shaped around the shadow of his father. the parts where he is similar: rigid, principled, yell-y, and where he is intentionally different: encourages independent thinking, respects challenges to his authority (only when he has authority lmao that all falls apart when people take his power(read:agency) away, his biggest trigger)

and none of this even gets into his mother, blythe (a word which means both happiness and bland disintrest) which is a whole nother can of worms. the fact that at the funeral she said that "the war was over" (which implied that no matter how much house actually listened to his father, there was still a part of him that couldnt help but to point out the logical issues, and therefore continued abuse)

lastlly, she had said that john loved him. which i think house believes to be true. especially when he tries to talk to his dead father in season 6, he says "i think i focus on the wrong things," implying that he did want to find some peace with that relationship, and that he wanted his fathers love, despite it being illogical, painful and confusing.

that he was willing to look past the abuse was shocking to me, because house is right his father shouldnt of abused him. but it was coming from a place of love, however ill concieved.

this is as close as we get to house praying to god. to admit that the suffering of life cannot be defied or denied, and grasp for the love nestled in between all the pain, however flawed, wrong, or illogical.

in a lot of ways, his story is so much about houses struggle with the body, its agency, its disability, its doom. he literally becomes a doctor to grasp with this ideologically (at times paradoxically) instead of physics because his question isnt really about existance in general

its about why he exists in the broken, painful way he does. and at the end of it, he sets down his need for an answer, righteousness, and admits that despite it all, his body cant help but love. and that love is the death of him. the end of his suffering.

[not-poignant]

so earlier this year a psychologist i'd never met before gave me an autism assessment, diagnosed me with level 2 autism (talking at length about how the levels are mostly just useful for accessing government support) and then strongly advised me to access a national disability insurance scheme (known as NDIS) in australia.

she sent me a 20 page document, detailing all the ways i needed support, and i kind of sat back and cried a little, because something she said really stuck with me, which was basically: 'pia, you would always have been diagnosed with ASD at any age, you were never 'atypical' in presentation, people knew before you were verbal and then went out of their way to make sure you never had the chance to get diagnosed, in case it reflected poorly on them, due to their own stigma.'

it's true. my dad was diagnosed with autism and hid it from me. from all of us. he was the most strongly opposed to any behaviour in me that was not neurotypical, or his version of it, which frankly was still pretty fucking autistic. i lived with his abuse until he left us.

but i look back and think, i should've had an education assistant in school and at university. i should've had people around me helping me all along, if i wanted as much access to equality as most neurotypical people have. and now in early october, i'll be meeting with a support service and we'll start talking about the support staff i'll likely need for the rest of my life.

a lifetime of chronic illness and constant burnout (both from illness and from autistic burnout) was recontextualised. a lot of things about the way i live my life made sense.

but it's scary to have these sorts of meetings when you've spent your entire life being threatened with severe consequences if you behave certain ways, or ask for help.

i write the stories i write for rather obvious reasons, basically, and life has been unafraid of making 2024 a rather challenging year.

not just for me, i know, but for many of us.

i'm wishing you all some comfort and kindness, and hoping i can find a bit more myself, in the next few months.

shit's been hard lol

[sheydgarden]

a reminder

i haven't been posting much here in a few months. part of that has been work-related - putting a lot of my time into illustration projects that i can't share, & also doing a lot of prep for a local Hanukkah market i both co-organize & vend at (which happened this past weekend). i tend to use this space as a sort of less-formal gallery, only posting work i consider "finished" or reblogging things related to projects i'm involved in. in the past i've been more talkative & more apt to share WIPs & personal things on my other social media (Twitter, Instagram, Bluesky), which is still true even though i've had to take several steps back from some of those platforms lately for my mental health.

all this is to say that if you only follow me here, you haven't seen me make any kind of statement about the crisis in Israel/Palestine, because that isn't how i've been using this particular site. i do not think of my art as apolitical & i am not secretive about my politics, but over & over again, i find myself followed by people who appear to be shocked to learn that i am proudly & actively anti-Zionist. i have been for my entire adult life. as a Jewish artist making visibly Jewish work, this puts a target on me, not only from garden-variety antisemites but also from fellow Jews who feel "betrayed" by my solidarity with Palestine & threatened by my vocal opposition to colonialism, apartheid & genocidal violence (as well as the very idea of ethnostates). in fact, the harassment & abuse i receive online is primarily from Zionists, which is not something i would have ever expected with so many white supremacists & neo-Nazis crawling all over the current internet!

so, this is just me cleaning house now & again. i don't feel the need to post signs shooing away folks who should be getting that message very easily from my work (if you hate queer, trans, fat, disabled & Jewish people i truly don't know why you'd follow me), but it's very easy for Zionists to see much of my Jewish-focused work & decide they like it, only to turn verbally abusive when they realize i don't share their views. here's your sign! if you want to bail, do so quietly & civilly like an adult please. thank you.

[vodika-vibes]

Chasing The Moon

Summary: There is a legend in the small town you call home. A legend of a mighty wolf, larger than a building, who would protect the village from all harm, so long as he receives a sacrifice on the Autumn Equinox every year. In truth, you thought that this was nonsense, but shortly after your 21st Name Day, you’re chosen by the Village elders to be this year's sacrifice. And you realize that there is some truth to all of the legends.

Pairing: Ordo Skirata x F!Reader

Word Count: 4631

Warnings: Mentions of people being sacrificed, but no one dies in the story, reader is described as having hair long enough to wear in two buns at the base of her head and having a temper.

A/N: So, maybe I should write more when I have a fever since I pounded this out in a couple of hours. But also, if no one else is going to write for Ordo, then I guess I will. (I have a fever of 101, I'm gonna watch cartoons after I post this).

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“You missed a spot.”

For a moment, just a moment, you consider flinging your broom at the face of the woman standing at the top of the stairs. You don’t follow through with your threat because the Temple Matriarch steps out of the bathhouse to the right and pins you both with a severe glare.

“Sisters,” The old woman says as she leans her weight on her cane, “You are not fighting, are you?”

“I am just trying to give our newest sister some guidance, Elder Sister,” the woman—you think her name is Talia—says demurely. “It appears that she’s never used a broom before.” She adds snidely.

You’ve always had something of a temper, you’re pretty sure that is why you were chosen as this year’s sacrifice, and Talia’s words make your temper flare, your hands tightening around the broom as you consider if the punishment for assaulting an Elder Sister was worth the satisfaction of making her eat her words.

“You are being unduly cruel to our youngest,” The Matriarch warns Talia.

“It is not my fault that she is, thus far, useless.” Talia’s words are like a drill into your brain, each word pushing your explosive temper just a little bit closer to the breaking point. “Honestly,” She continues, “I wouldn’t be surprised if her parents asked the Elder to make her the sacrifice. Imagine having such a useless child—”

And that’s the breaking point as the memory of your mother’s tear-stained face when your name was announced as this year's sacrifice wavers in front of your eyes.

Before you can consider the consequences of your actions, you draw your arm back and fling the broom at Talia. The bristles hit her in the face, and Talia tumbles backward with an undignified squawk. 

She sounds like a bird you think as a laugh tumbles from your lips.

And then the Eldest Sister shouts your name and grabs your arm in a surprisingly firm grip, “We must never assault our sisters!” She scolds, a heavy frown on her wrinkled face, “What were you thinking?”

“What? She’s allowed to verbally abuse me, but I’m not allowed to retaliate? How’s that fair?”

“She didn’t physically harm you—”

“Oh, come on!” You jerk your arm out of her grip, “That,” You point at the broom, which is lying on the stairs forgotten, “is the consequence of her actions.”

Eldest Sister sighs, “You have something of a temper, don’t you young one?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that!” You counter defensively.

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, “Sister, we are exiled to this temple for the rest of our lives. We have to learn how to coexist—”

You open your mouth to say something, hotly, but you’re interrupted when she holds her hand up.

“Talia is going to be punished for her cruel words,” She says, “However, physical retaliation is unacceptable, so you are also going to be punished.”

You fold your arms over your chest with a huff, “Fine. But I’m not going to apologize.”

“No, I rather think that we will be keeping you and Talia separated for the time being.” Eldest Sister replies dryly, “I have no desire to deal with the fight that will happen if I put the two of you together.” She lightly taps her cane on the ground, and then nods, “Ah. I know. You are going to report to Sister Rosa and help her with her chores for the next, oh…I think a month is a good amount of time.”

“A month!?”

“Would you like it to be longer?”

“Uhm…no ma’am. A month sounds fair.” You say sheepishly, “...who’s Sister Rosa?”

Eldest Sister blinks, and then she smiles, “Ah, you wouldn’t have met her yet. Sister Rosa is the Temple Herbologist. You can find her in the Greenhouses.” She shoots you a stern look, “Sister Rosa is not half as charitable as I am, behave for her.”

“I will if she does—” You yelp as Eldest Sister’s cane smacks your shin.

“Behave!” 

“Yes, Elder Sister.”

The old woman nods, and then she turns to head up the stairs, while you turn to hurry to the greenhouses on the other side of the compound.

The Sacrificial Temple, the home to all of the women who have been sacrificed to the Great Wolf, is wholly self-sufficient. There’s a massive farm where chickens, cows, and sheep are tended by several of the sisters for their eggs, milk, and wool respectively. 

There’s a lake at the back of the temple, which is where the majority of the meat for the temple comes from.

The rest of the food is supplied by the series of eight large greenhouses. Three of them are for seasonal crops, three are for fruit trees, one is for cooking herbs, and the last is for medicinal herbs.

As the Temple Herbologist, Sister Rosa's domain is the medicinal herb greenhouse. You’ve never had any reason to enter this specific greenhouse, in fact, this greenhouse is largely off-limits to anyone who isn’t medical staff.

You push the door open and wait the fifteen seconds it takes for the decontamination spray to finish its work, and then you step into the greenhouse proper. 

Much to your surprise, the greenhouse is almost bare.

There are a few planters that are growing dazzling purple plants, but most are empty. And, near the back of the room, an older woman with salt and pepper hair is moving from one planter box to the next.

She’s a surprisingly large woman. Easily the same height as your father, if not a little taller, and very solid looking. She looks strong, you’d bet that she never had any problem moving heavy objects.

You approach Sister Rosa, and she must have supernatural senses because she whirls on you so quickly that you release a startled squeak. “You! Who are you?” She demands, jabbing a dirt-covered finger at your chest.

You hold your hands up, to try and fend off the accusing finger, and hastily introduce yourself.

“Oh. You're the new girl.” Sister Rosa says, “What?”

“Eldest Sister sent me here for punishment.” You admit.

“...what did you do?”

“I…may have thrown a broom at someone.”

“HA!” You jump at the sudden laugh, and then you jump again when a sheet of paper is shoved into your hands, “Go outside the walls and collect as much of this stuff as you can fit into these.” These are decently sized canvas bags, “Be back before moonrise. Now get out.”

“W-wait! I don’t know what these plants ar—” Sister Rosa shoves you out of the greenhouse before you’re able to finish your complaint and slams the door in your face. “...I’m sure this isn’t going to end terribly.” You say to the closed door, before lifting the list and squinting at it and then shrugging, “Whatever, I’ll do the best I can.”

You head away from the greenhouse and back to your room, where you grab the satchel you were given when you first arrived, and change out of the flowing robes and into trousers and a tunic, and then you head to the security office to sign out of the temple.

You’re given a small knife, a watch, and a map by the sisters who work at the Security office, as well as a warning to return before nightfall, and then you step outside of the temple walls.

Several hours later, you find yourself at a lake. A different lake. And while you’re confused as to how many lakes a forest really needs, you’re grateful because it gives you a chance to rest your tired feet.

You sit on the stump of a felled tree (it looks like it was felled by man, but that’s silly, no one comes out this far unless they’re a sacrifice and this lake is too far away from the temple for the builders to collect wood from here—) and focus your attention on the small plants growing near the water.

Lavender is…a flower, right? You’re pretty sure it’s a flower at least. And so is Chamomile. You’ve never seen Aloe before, so maybe one of these plants is aloe.

You slide off the stump and crouch near some plants.

Mother kept aloe vera at the bakery to help with burns, so maybe if one of these plants is mashed up it turns into the gel? That makes sense, right?

You rest your chin on the palm of your hands. This plant is shiny, has three leaves, and the leaves are red. You’re pretty sure aloe is green…but maybe it changes color in the autumn?

You reach out to cut the plant near the roots. You’re not sure what it is, but someone at the temple will probably be able to identify it, and then you pause when you hear a branch snap behind you.

You turn your head and find yourself staring up at a massive man. Tall and broad, with dark hair that looks like it has a curl to it. He’s wearing leather armor and has a crossbow draped across his back. A hunter, maybe?

To his credit, he looks as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

“What are you doing?” His voice is pleasantly deep and has an unfamiliar accent, unfamiliar but still pleasant to your ears.

“I’m collecting herbs.”

“...that’s poison ivy.”

You blink at him, and then at the plants, and then back at him, “No. Poison Ivy is green.”

He sighs and presses his hand against his head, “In the Autumn, Poison Ivy turns red.”

Is that right? That can’t be right. Although, most plants to start turning red this time of year…

“How did you even get out here?” He asks.

“I walked.” You reply simply as you turn your attention back to the plants. Maybe, if you wear gloves, you can collect the poison ivy anyway and use it against people who make you mad—

Wait. Does that make you a bad person?

“Obviously you walked,” You glance at the man, who’s now standing a little closer to you, “From where? No one lives around here.”

You huff and stand, giving up on the idea of collecting the poison ivy, you didn’t bring gloves, “And how would you know?”

“Because I live here.”

“Well, you’re obviously a hunter of some kind, but I don’t think there are any villages or settlements in the area.”

Your comment causes him to make a strange face, and you’re about to question it, but he starts talking, “I am a hunter, in a manner of speaking. My family lives a couple of miles that way.” He jabs his thumb behind him, “Names Ordo. And you are?”

You scowl at him but you offer him your name. And just your name.

Ordo sighs, “And where are you from?”

“I…live at a temple about an hour from here.”

He pauses and shoots you a suspicious look, his gaze dropping to your practical boots, the grass-stained knees of your trousers, the loose green tunic, the small knife in your hand, and the twin buns at the base of your scalp. “You’re a holy woman?” He sounds doubtful. Valid. You would be too in his place.

“I never made that claim.”

“You said you’re from a temple.”

“And I am, but that doesn’t make me a holy woman.”

“Then what are you?”

You fold your arms. Technically you’re a prisoner, just like all of the other sisters. But you can’t very well say that to a stranger, what if he shoots you?

The truth might be the best in this case.

“I’m this year's sacrifice to the Great Wolf.”

He stares at you, and something dangerous slides through his gaze. Suddenly, you feel like you’ve come face to face with a predator and your grip tightens around the small knife in your hand.

“I beg your pardon?” For all that he feels dangerous now, his tone is still very polite and almost kind.

“I said, I’m this year’s sacrifice to the Great Wolf.” You repeat.

Ordo stares at you, and you think you must be losing your mind because you’re sure that his eyes are brown not gold. “I’m afraid,” He says slowly, “That I’m unaware of this tradition. Would you be willing to let me escort you to my home, so you can explain this tradition to my family?”

“Um…” You glance at your watch, you still have time before you have to start heading back to the temple, but Sister Rosa will be so mad if you return without any of the herbs that she sent you out here to get. And you don’t want any additional punishments added to your month-long punishment.

But, at the same time—

You glance at Ordo, he’s still watching you with those eerie golden eyes, you have the feeling that this isn’t a request that you can refuse.

“...yeah, alright.”

He smiles at you then, “Thank you.” The dangerous feeling is still there, but for whatever reason, you no longer feel like you’re in danger. In fact, you’d even go so far as to say that you feel safer than you have since the day you left your village.

Ordo is a good companion, you think thirty minutes later as he leads you to a collection of homes. He made sure that he walked at your pace, and he took the time to point out the various medicinal herbs that you would have completely overlooked while walking.

He even took the time to warn you that he, and his brothers, are all identical save for several scars and tattoos that they use to differentiate each other. 

You appreciate the warning, but it wasn’t warning enough when, as you enter the small settlement, several identical men walk over to the pair of you. Several of them glance at you, curious, though other than a polite greeting, they largely ignore you in favor of their brother.

And then a shorter man approaches the pair of you. He’s older than the brothers, and you know, instinctively, that this man is their father. For all that he doesn’t look like them, the way that they defer to him reminds you of how you used to defer to your father.

“Well now,” The man’s voice is rough, but his smile is kind, “It’s been quite a few years since we’ve had a visitor. My name is Kal Skirata, welcome to our settlement.”

“Thank you,” 

You jump when Ordo places his hand between your shoulder blades and introduces you to his father. “I brought her here because there’s something, I think, you should hear.”

“Oh?” Kal glances at you, and then he nods, “Well, lunch is almost done, and we have enough for one more person to join us. Please, follow me.”

You swiftly find yourself seated at a table between Ordo and Kal, a bowl of some kind of stew and a glass of some kind of sweet fruit juice in front of you. You’re introduced to the rest of Ordo’s brothers, and the conversation is light, and cheerful for a time.

And then, at Ordo’s prompting, you explain who you are and how you came to be this far in the forest.

It surprises you to hear that these men are unaware of the Legend of the Great Wolf, and it surprises you even more to see that they’re deeply bothered by the knowledge of sacrifices.

Somehow, your reassurance that no one has been actually killed in years does little to lift their foul moods. And when you question Ordo as to why your reassurance doesn’t help settle them, he looks deeply pained but doesn’t answer.

No one will answer you, actually.

And, before you know it, your watch is chiming that it’s time for you to head back to the temple. It quickly becomes apparent that they don’t want you to leave. 

Kal offers you a room of your own, and a nice filling dinner and breakfast. He warns you that the forest is dangerous, even when the sun is still up, and that you would be safer here.

But you refuse. Your sisters would come looking for you if you didn’t return, and you would hate to be the reason that any of them got hurt late at night.

You try to refuse the satchel of medicinal herbs that Mereel shoves on you, but he won’t hear your refusal. You also try to refuse Ordo when he insists on walking you back to the temple but turns out that he’s more stubborn than you are.

You didn’t think that was possible, to be completely honest.

But, as the sun sinks behind the mountains, and the forest is cloaked in darkness, you’re grateful for his solid and steady presence.

“See, aren’t you glad you didn’t refuse me now?” Ordo asks as he lifts his lantern a little higher, casting the light a little further, and allowing you to see that you’re about to trip over a rock.

“You didn’t give me a chance to refuse,” You counter, “I didn’t know it was possible for someone to out-stubborn me.”

He tosses a grin at you, and you turn your head away from him as you kick the rock to the side, “Well, I’m glad you didn’t out-stubborn me. It got dark fast tonight. You’d have gotten lost.”

“Would not.”

“Would too.”

You open your mouth to say something when a low growl interrupts you. The hair on your arms stands on end, and you shudder slightly. The growl is so low that you almost don’t hear it, but it’s somehow even more intimidating that way.

Ordo throws his arm in front of your chest and shoves you behind him, taking the moment to shove the lantern into your arms. He presses his hand over your mouth, and you watch as his gaze darts from one side of the animal trail to the other.

Once again, his brown eyes have turned golden.

Ordo presses his hand against your chest, and he pushes you so roughly that you topple back into a bush, and the lantern shatters as you break through the branches, the light going out.

You try to get back to your feet or to crawl out of the bush, but you freeze when you hear the sound of dogs fighting. The fight sounds continue for, what seems like, hours. But in truth could only be maybe fifteen minutes before the forest falls eerily silent.

Finally, you crawl out from the bush and look around the dark forest. It’s almost too dark to see, the only light coming from the moon and stars above.

It’s so dark that, at first, you don’t realize that you’re not alone on the path. But, as your eyes adjust to the dim light, you catch a glimpse of movement to your left.

You think it’s a dog, a stray perhaps, that got lost from the settlement. But, as the shadow approaches you, and gets bigger and bigger, you come to the heartstopping realization that it’s not a dog.

It is a wolf.

A massive black wolf.

You scramble back away from it, your back bumping against a tree, while you try to keep your breathing calm. What do you remember about wolves?

Nothing, not really. You remember facts about dogs though.

Specifically, the fact that if you run, it’ll chase you and you’ll lose that fight.

Maybe, if you’re really quiet and really still, the wolf will get bored and go away. You can only hope.

But, much to your surprise, the wolf keeps approaching you. And then sits in front of you. Close enough, even, that you can feel the warmth of the wolf’s body through your clothes.

Your heart races in your chest, and you’re coming dangerously close to hyperventilating, and your mind is completely blank. You can’t remember anything about surviving a dog attack, let alone a wolf attack, though you know your mother covered it with you when you were a child.

But, as one minute turns into two and then into three, and the wolf still doesn’t attack you, your breathing calms. Your heartbeat slows into a steadier rhythm, and some of your mother’s words come back to you.

Stay calm and move slowly.

Know what aggression looks like in dogs.

You know she said more, but you’re still too panicked to think clearly.

Slowly, you lift your gaze from your knees to look at the wolf. Your gaze flickers to his ears, which are perked up rather than flat against his head. His body is loose and not tense. And his tail is slowly wagging against the ground.

He’s…not aggressive at all?

You flicker your gaze to his eyes, and then your breath catches in your throat.

Gold.

His eyes are gold.

“...Ordo?” You whisper, there’s a strange sound that you quickly realize is the sound of his tail rapidly wagging against the leaves on the ground, and the last bit of your panic slowly starts to fade away. “You turned into a wolf.”

That’s…impossible, right?

Although, now that you think about it, it would explain why he and his brothers were so bothered at the notion of people being sacrificed to the Great Wolf. Especially, if they are the Great Wolf.

You move to your knees, and reach your shaking hands out to lightly cup his face. You’re not sure if you’re shaking from fear or adrenaline, maybe a mix of both.

His fur is soft. Soft and thick, and you dig your hands into his fur, “I’m sorry for getting scared.” You whisper to him.

Ordo inches closer to you and his tongue laps up the side of your face, and then he presses his cold nose against your ear and huffs against you. You don’t speak wolf, but you have the feeling that he’s telling you not to worry about it.

You wrap your arms around the wolf, fisting your hands in his thick fur. He hasn’t changed back into his human form. Maybe it’s because he can’t? Or…

You think about it for a moment. Maybe his clothes got ruined when he changed? That would make sense, right?

Wolf Ordo is warm and comforting and you can finally think again now that you know you’re not actually in any danger. The final traces of panic are finally leaving and you no longer feel like you’re going to cry.

You’re also yourself enough to know that bringing a wolf to the temple is asking for trouble. The sisters are, understandably, terrified of wolves.

“We should…we should head back to the Settlement.” You decide, “Do you think Kal will let me use that room?”

Ordo nudges you with his nose, and you take that to mean yes, obviously. Don’t be stupid.

Slowly you get to your feet, you feel weak and shaky, like you have no energy at all and Ordo presses his weight against you. You’re not sure if he’s there for comfort or to help you walk, both probably.

It doesn’t take you long to return to the Settlement with Ordo acting as your guide. And, just like earlier that day, the pair of you are swarmed by his brothers and father.

Kal ushers you away from Ordo and into a private cabin, he gives you some clean clothes and some toiletries, and then vanishes, likely to go and check on Ordo, giving you the privacy you need to shower and get cleaned up.

It’s less than 40 minutes later, after you get out of the shower and get dressed again when there’s a knock on the door. You pull open the door and find yourself facing Ordo.

He’s wearing casual clothes, which is the only reason you can see the bandage around his arm. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing,” Ordo replies, his dark eyes scan you quickly, “Are you okay?”

“I’m not hurt.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You stare at him and then sigh and move to the side to let him in the small cabin. He takes a seat in one of the two chairs in the room, and you sit in the other one. “I’m okay,” You finally say, after thinking about his question.

Ordo leans forward slightly, “I scared you.”

“Yes, you did.” You press your hand over your heart, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid in my life.”

He closes his eyes, “I’m sorry.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and then you shake your head, “You didn’t mean to. And as soon as I realized who you are I wasn’t afraid anymore.” You pause, “Do you all turn into wolves?”

“Yes. It’s what my people can do.” Ordo replies, “The Great Wolf must have been one of our Ancestors—” He sighs and leans forward to take your hands in his, “I don’t want you to return to that temple.”

“I never wanted to go there in the first place, but I didn’t have a choice—”

“So stay here. Will anyone there miss you?”

“Mm…probably not. But, will Kal allow me to stay?”

“Of course he will. He just wasn’t sure how to broach the topic.” Ordo squeezes your hand once, and then releases your hands and stands, “I’ll let you get some rest, we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Yeah, alright.” You walk him to the door, but before he leans you lightly take his hand, “Ordo?”

“Something wrong, Princess?”

“Thank you.”

He looks momentarily surprised, and then a pleased smile crosses his face, “Anytime.”

It’s been a year since that day, and you never returned to the Temple.

So far as you’re aware, no one even bothered to look for you. Maybe they assumed that you were killed by monsters in the forest.

To their credit, you probably would have been if Ordo hadn’t been there.

But things haven’t really changed for you all that much since that day. You’re now a member of the Skirata clan, which means you’re learning how to hunt from Kal. 

You’re not very good at it, but you’re slowly improving every day.

You have become quite adept at identifying plants. Ordo insisted on it after the first time you brought home a poisonous plant thinking it was a medicinal herb. (Fi thought it was hilarious, and asked you to bring more poisonous plants home with you since he wants to cultivate them).

No, you would say the biggest change for you is your relationship with Ordo.

Your friendship with him blossomed into something that started delicate and unsure but grew into something as solid and dependable as he is. You know that you love him, and you know that he feels the same, though he has a harder time with the words than you do.

You shift so that you can stretch out, properly, by the lake. You’re slowly weaving a new net for fishing, as a storm damaged the old one, and this is a chore that you don’t mind, all things considered.

Ordo’s head is pillowed on your lap as he holds the ball of cotton that you’re using to weave the net.

Life has become peaceful. You’ve met Ordo’s extended family (which is a lot bigger than you ever thought), and you know that they’re working to end the sacrifices to the Great Wolf which, apparently, happen all across the country.

But that’s no longer your concern.

Ordo opens his eyes and you favor him with a small grin. He tugs the net from your unresisting fingers and tosses it to the side, so he’s able to sit up and crash his lips against yours.

You lean into the kiss with a happy sigh.

Yes, your life is good.

And to think, it all started because of a broom.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

@n0vqni

@bad4amficideas

@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

@trixie2023

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@falconfeather23435

@etod

@bb8-99

@kiss-anon

@continous-mistakes

@yoitsjay

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@cc--2224

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@silly-starfish

@lonewolflupe

[criminalamnesia]

obsessed with the Traitor series, it’s really resonating with my traumatized and abused ass lmao

I definitely want Reader to line their asses up before she goes and deliver the cruelest possible verbal blow to each of them. Price? A coward and a senile bastard who will never deserve the family he dreams of, not with what he’s done. Johnny? An obnoxious, overzealous mutt with no spine or initiative of his own, who deserves to have that sunny energy tortured out of him just like he did to Reader. Gaz? A sleazy, hypocritical asshole who never comes through when it matters and will never be as liked as he wishes he was, not after the crimes he’s committed.

And Simon?

“You should have done us all a favor and stayed put in that fucking grave. Worm food is all you’re good for, anyway, and those bastards still gag at how rancid you taste.”

idk I just want to fucking wreck them. If I was in Reader’s position I would genuinely go out of my way to ensure they’re miserable as hell. Fuck, if I got a notice saying one or more had killed themselves from guilt, I’d celebrate and come to piss on their graves. The people who hurt me don’t get to be forgiven. Not after how severely they shattered me. I only wish I could do the same to my IRL abusers for murdering my childhood.

damn, those insults. If I were the 141 I’d never recover from those tbh.

but jokes aside, I’m sorry about what you’ve gone through. I know sorry doesn’t mean much, but I’m here for you 🫶

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I broke up with my girlfriend for not taking her meds?

My (24M) girlfriend (28F) has bipolar and BPD. We've been together coming up on 3 years now. For the last half a year we were together it was pretty rough and turbulent, she was unmedicated and was having suicidal breakdowns almost every day, ended up in hospital several times, threatened and got into physical altercations with other girls who spoke to me or she thought were flirting with me, and I was spending almost every single day of my life having to take hours to talk her down from suicide or self-harm. It was emotionally exhausting and as someone who's also had suicide attempts in the past it was also incredibly triggering and damaging to my own mental health.

For additional context as to why I feel the way I do, my last girlfriend also had diagnosed BPD and NPD and when she stopped taking her medication she became fully abusive both physically and verbally and it took me a year of being absolutely beaten down to finally snap and leave her.

(Obvious note: I'm not saying everyone with bipolar, BPD, or NPD is abusive or that these illnesses inherently make you abusive. They were an abuser who just happened to have those things, and that played into how they acted and thought/felt.)

Current girlfriend eventually got medication and has been doing much better for most of the time since then. When she's on her meds she's a wonderful and generally pretty healthy partner - she's supportive, understanding of my boundaries, checks in with me, she's a year clean from self-harm, hasn't displayed any kind of self-destructive behaviour. She's gotten a job and managed to hold it down (got fired from several jobs in the past because of her daily meltdowns meaning she wasn't attending work), she's started exercising and going to the gym, she's picked up new hobbies, made new friends, she's just been doing great in general.

For about the past month though, she started going days without taking her medication and when I reminded her she would say she didn't want to, that she hated taking it, that she doesn't like the way it makes her feel etc. This is something my last girlfriend said too, and I know it's really common for people with BPD (and maybe bipolar too?) to stop taking their medication because they feel emotionally flat in comparison to how they feel off of the meds. I pretty much said that I couldn't handle going back to how she acts when she's off of the medication again and that if she was going to stop taking them then I didn't think our relationship would last through that kind of period again because last time it completely destroyed my mental health, my sleep, my life and several of my relationships due to how much energy and time I was having to put into her vs. myself and everything else. I suggested asking her doctor/psychiatrist/etc. for another dosage change or meds switch again to see if that would work better (though up until recently they have seemed to be working great so I'm not sure how good of an idea switching it up again would be).

She agreed at the time but I was kind of concerned about whether she'd been keeping up with it or not because over the last few weeks I've already noticed things devolving again - her screaming at me out of nowhere and having mood swings, intense jealousy and possessiveness, impulsive behaviour, even a couple of breakdowns again and having to talk her out of self-harm for the first time in over a year. True enough, today I found out she's been pretending to take her medication and throwing them out. When I confronted her about it she admitted she hasn't taken her medication for weeks.

I pretty much withdrew after that and didn't say anything at that moment but after a while she asked me why I was being so quiet and I basically repeated what I'd said to her in the last conversation, that I was honestly rethinking whether or not the relationship would work because I can't handle that kind of emotional exhaustion and constant sacrifice all over again. I don't mind some emotional support and some labour of love in a relationship because of course I'm going to need to look out for her mental health and reassure and comfort sometimes, that's the reality of loving someone who struggles, but I can't do it 24/7 again. I can't once again put talking her down for hours every day and weathering screaming and violent lashing out all the time at the expense of even my own basic needs and my own mental health struggles (for example my c-PTSD from my last relationship).

When I said that she got very very upset and basically said I was forcing her to choose between me and freedom or being able to live a normal/unmedicated life (which I mean, I guess I can't argue with because in a way I am making her choose between me and stopping her meds), and that I couldn't control her like that. I told her I wasn't doing it to control her and that if she's really determined to go off of them she could, but that I would have to make my own personal choice to walk away as a result of it for my own sake.

She said she'd think about it but ever since that conversation I've been going back and forth in my head on how much of a dick move it would be to flat out just do a black-and-white "Either you stay on your meds and regulate your behaviour or I leave"

TL;DR Girlfriend wants to go off of her medication, but when she's off her meds she has almost daily suicidal breakdowns and lashes out at me physically and verbally. WIBTA if I broke up with her if she goes ahead with stopping?

What are these acronyms?

[crystallizsch]

A Reunion

yuusha tala x jamil viper (oc x canon) word count: 800+ words cw: n/a??? i guess??? pure fluff jumpscare. notes: takes place post-nrc, several years after graduation, both of them haven't kept in touch in all those years, inspired by this lmao.

Jamil Viper.

That was him alright. Right there. Standing straight and proud with an air of confidence. At least that's what it appeared to be. He always knew how to fool people.

But Yuusha had learned how to see through his disguise.

She had to admit, he'd changed — at least on the surface, mostly. But she still recognized him to be the same as ever. Jamil still kept his hair long — styled in intricate braids and decorated with golden accessories.

Oh, how she wanted to run her hands along those silky tresses again, hearing the soft bells ring that were tied in his hair.

And then he turned.

Shit.

The eye contact.

And Yuusha was entranced all over again, falling into the soft darkness of his eyes.

She was quite sure no magic was at play. Not this time.

The girl felt her breath hitch in her throat, her feet heavy and frozen in place, and her arms stuck to her sides. She couldn't move.

But she wanted to run. Run.

That's what she was good at anyway. It seemed like she also hadn't changed.

Would she run towards him or in the opposite direction of where he was?

Admittedly, the latter felt more tempting.

It didn't help that he decided to make the first move. Jamil walked with a strut in his step. He'd look so sure of himself if it weren't for the expression on his face betraying it.

Again, Yuusha could see past his disguise.

Run away. Just run. He doesn't deserve you.

Jamil stopped in front of her as if he was just meeting someone casually. Although looking at him, his face was plastered with so many emotions—guilt, sadness… relief?

He was the first to speak.

"Yuu, I—"

As if compelled by a powerful force, Yuusha pushed herself into his arms the moment his voice reached her ears. She let out a shaky breath as if she had been holding it in this entire time.

Jamil stood there momentarily stunned. He had expected a slap, a punch, some kind of verbal abuse, or simply just a pained look on her face that would guilt him to hell and back.

He didn't expect…

This.

Yuusha didn't expect to fold this way either. All her feelings of anger, bitterness, and resignation throughout the years dissipated as soon as she buried her face in his shoulder.

She missed him. She missed him so much.

There was a heaviness in her heart that was lifted. A heaviness she didn't even realize she had been carrying.

Jamil's arms awkwardly floated around her sides, not knowing what to do with them. When she embraced him tighter, he finally felt his disposition crumble against his will.

His arms snaked around Yuusha like a whiplash, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he squeezed his eyes shut. He'd gotten taller since then. It was funny seeing their height difference now, although Yuusha was still fairly taller than the average girl.

Jamil thought this to himself as if to try to distract himself from tears forming in his eyes.

He hated to admit it, but he missed this just as much. He missed her embrace. He missed her presence.

But Jamil had no room to talk because he had caused this anyway. He was the one who had denied himself these feelings.

They didn't know how much time had passed until they decided to finally, regrettably, pull apart. Both of their faces were visibly flushed.

Yuusha sniffled with a teasing smile on her face. "It's been a while, vice housewarden."

"You can't call me that anymore… prefect," Jamil quipped back.

Yuusha let out a genuine laugh.

He missed that too — their banter. The sound of her voice, her laugh, the way her eyes flickered with mischief, and how her lips quirked up with childlike joy.

It was as if all those years without each other were nothing but a blink in the grand scheme of things.

Jamil didn't want to lose this again. Not anymore. He'd make sure of it this time.

[sassykinzonline]

sometimes its actually alarming HOW uncritically the naruto fandom looks at the text like because something isnt "shown" in canon/on-screen (it usually is, but just implicitly) people think it means it couldnt have happened and therefore making sweeping statements about the character like "theyre just weak" or "they make no sense"

as usual im going to focus on naruto (😌) heres an example but it applies to many others (itachi, gaara, neji, hinata,...me)

here are some things we know about naruto:

he is inexplicably talented at taijutsu despite having no mentor

he created sexy jutsu for attention from older men (he craves a father figure)

he is rather repulsed by affection aside from certain people

he relies on shadow clones to outnumber his enemies and protect him from damage, as well as acting like diversions (he only later on seems to learn to use them practically as well, and he doesnt use them as an actual team iirc)

he represses his memories and life severely if they cause him distress or negative emotion, and when he doesnt do that it causes him to lose complete control of himself in anger

some of these things are basic signs of a child who has been abused in multiple ways (particularly verbally, physically, and sexually), but also just logically how is it possible that naruto became proficient at taijutsu when he didnt train with anyone and had no teacher to correct him? why would it be important to naruto to have, what are essentially, human shields? why does naruto freely tolerate physical abuse he receives while others openly complain about it? why would that lead to naruto eventually wanting to defend/protect everyone in tandom with ANOTHER orphan who feels the same? why would WE not be able to have a clear directly depicted answer to this as a reader?

idk to me personally there are a lot of things people say are "headcanons" are just things they logically put together based on subtext, and theres a reason why a vast majority of people who read the same text come to the same conclusion. it seems like this is a lot less common in manga form (i dont read manga so i wouldnt know, i understand different mediums have different communication norms but some things are just literary basics), so its the first time ive encountered this "why does everyone believe in [some idea not said in plain english]? it's never said anywhere!" logic...it doesnt need to be. there are certain clues and patterns youre supposed to be able to draw conclusions for based on common life experiences (archetypes/universal symbols).

if you can do these above steps and come to a conclusion, and a plurality of people come to the same conclusion, it was probably intentional on the author's part. if the author explicitly states its not intentional, then sure, but that doesnt take away from how/why the story is impactful because the author may not even realize theyre doing it. an easy example i can think of is tsunade's fear of blood, where its meant to symbolize death, but in her case also ends up symbolizing love wrt her relationships with naruto and jiraiya. and thanks to blood gaining this symbolism through tsunade, when you see uchiha tears of blood, you instantly make those same connections. then you think back to gaara screaming about having never seen his blood (coming from his forehead where that tattoo of his is......), then the eventual resolution of that being an inversion of the symbolism the manga establishes when he battles his father during the war.

more than anything though i find it kind of concerning that adults sit around laughing at obviously what is meant to be traumatic. as if there arent people in your life who sit around with these same experiences and signs, with something they havent told you about because theyre afraid youll laugh at them.

[elicathebunny]

HOW TO REDUCE MALADAPTIVE DREAMING.

(suggestion post)

I have actually experienced this since the age of around 9 or 10 years and only managed to reduce and basically almost get rid of it after 5 or 6 years. I am no doctor or professional, so all of this is just by experience mixed with online research.

WHAT IS MALADAPTIVE DAYDREAMING?

Maladaptive daydreaming is a mental health issue that causes a person to lose themselves in complex daydreams. These daydreams are usually a coping mechanism for other mental health conditions or circumstances. It's common — but not required — for people who have this to have a history of childhood trauma or abuse.

SYMPTOMS:

Extensive, sometimes compulsive, absorption in fantasy for several hours a day

Inability to stop daydreaming

Having very detailed fantasies, including plot lines and characters

Having real-life reactions to fantasies, like facial expressions, body movements, or verbalizations

Difficulty concentrating or focusing on other things

Sleep problems (especially falling asleep)

Replacing human interaction

The urge to continue fantasizing when interrupted

In some cases, maladaptive daydreaming can also be characterized by the need for additional stimulation, which can be expressed through extensive book-reading, watching films, or gaming.

TRIGGERS:

some of the triggers may include listening to music on headphones, watching movies, and hearing specific conversation topics.

In addition to processing trauma, other causes of maladaptive daydreaming include:

Wish fulfillment

Entertainment (regulating boredom or isolation)

Regulating distress

MY EXPERIENCE: I would spend hours upon hours with storylines that I have had for years. Those stories gave me comfort and I would get lost in the experience of daydreaming. I would even put on music to put myself deeper in my thoughts and would get irritated if someone ruined my thought process by speaking to me. I realised it was a problem when I began to randomly fall into my daydreams without much control. Simple thinking turned into detailed storylines and I would constantly seem lost in thought and lose track of time. This obviously isn't helpful when you have important things to do when you need to focus. I would try to stop daydreaming but would always catch myself doing it because it become normal to me. All the characters and scenarios in my head represented me parts of me that I wish I was in real life, or even things I wanted to happen in my life. Sometimes the dreams happened so frequently that I couldn't differentiate between my memories and dreams. Before I acknowledged it as a problem I never actually wanted to get rid of it, such a big part of me would be lost. I had been daydreaming for such a long time that I became emotionally attached to the characters I had made.

WHAT HELPED ME:

Doing things that take up a lot of brain power and time: e.g. Doing a workout, Dancing, or Solving a difficult equation.

This gives you 0 time to even think about anything, let alone daydream. Go out with your friends, and force yourself into situations that require you to use your full attention. Because I never really went out much or did anything frequent enough to take up my day, I had too much time to myself and became stuck in my own head. Doing things and picking up extracurriculars, ANYTHING will help.

Because I am no longer at home as much as I used to and interact/learn new skills much more than I did before. I simply do not have time to be in my own head, I forced myself to learn to get out of my head and achieve the things I would daydream about.

I am now engaging in improving myself instead of dreaming about the version of myself/life I wanted so badly. Those dreams and characters were just glamorised versions of deep-rooted emotions I had left without facing them. Uncovering the true meaning of why I daydream and the details of the things I was daydreaming about will help you get out of the daze.

NOTES I'VE FOUND ON QUORA:

ONE:

Open up. Speak about it to others. Express yourself. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You need not share your daydreams, just share that you daydream. It's okay.

Write your daydreams down, or type them out… whatever. Get them out of you to have a better look. They are trying to tell you something about yourself. Have you ever noticed that you can't completely control your daydreams? And when you do try to change something critical in your plot it just doesn't “feel right”?

Boil them down to mere feelings. Strip away all the illusory layers of good looks, grand mansions, heroic acts and so on. The truth lies in key moments where the characters feel something deeply for each other. Find those feelings, and question the difference between you and your characters. Ask what is blocking you from experiencing them for yourself.

Realize that you are the reality, not your characters. If you imagine a nobleman or a beautiful girl, it is your nobility and beauty that you impart to those. All your characters are merely objects animated by the light of your imagination and feelings.

Understand that all your daydreams have nothing to do with others, and everything to do with you, and your relationship with yourself. When you realize this, you stop comparing them with your real-world relationships and start relating them to various aspects of yourself.

Know that when you successfully come out of this, you will actually not lose the ability to daydream or run out of feelings to pour into your imagination. It is just that their purpose will have been served, and you will not resort to daydreaming again out of lack or compulsion. You may at any point daydream again and even use it as a tool to know what your Soul is trying to tell you. Yet, you will realize that a moment of self-awareness is more rewarding than a lifetime of daydreams.

TWO:

Here are some serious tips to avoid them:

First of all, make sure you really want to get rid of this, because a lot of MDers get emotionally attached to their imaginary characters.

Disable /avoid the triggers. Block YouTube if you have to. Those websites you visit. The images saved on your computer - delete them. Plenty of apps for that.

This might be rude, but start avoiding the topics or the friends who keep discussing these topics.

Get busy doing something else - take up a hobby, meet new people. Try to stay in public places or with other people. Plenty to do in life other than dreaming.

Avoid that one music/ song that acts as a trigger.

DO I STILL MD? Yea sometimes, but now It is an okay amount. It doesn't consume my life anymore.