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soon-palestine · 2 months

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Palestinian Territory - The Israeli authorities continue to enforce their ongoing arbitrary blockade of the Gaza Strip, refusing to allow humanitarian aid and necessities that are essential for survival—such as cleaning and personal hygiene supplies—into the Strip. This comes amid the spread of infectious diseases and on top of the precarious living conditions faced by the approximately 2.3 million Palestinians in the enclave, constituting a perpetuation of Israel’s comprehensive crime of genocide, which began on 7 October 2023.

Euro-Med Human Rights Monitor emphasises that the consequences of Israel’s intentional worsening of the humanitarian situation in the Gaza Strip, by blocking people’s access to cleaning and personal hygiene products, medical equipment, and sterilisation supplies, are dire. Nothing justifies subjecting the population to conditions that can cause widespread death, including by causing the spread of serious skin diseases and and infections, including hepatitis.

Israel continues to systematically and arbitrarily deny hygiene supplies and equipment to all Gaza Strip residents, exacerbating the catastrophic health crisis that Israel has caused there. This crisis has been made worse by the population’s forced, widespread, and repeatedly occurring displacement, as well as the lack of personal hygiene supplies and disinfectants in shelters and camps housing hundreds of thousands of displaced people. Israel continues to prevent and obstruct the entry of the most basic supplies into the Strip, creating conditions that are ripe for the spread of infectious diseases, water pollution, and the absence of sanitation services, as Israeli army forces have destroyed these facilities.

Since the beginning of the genocide nearly, Israel has arbitrarily closed crossings into the Gaza Strip, blocking the entry of humanitarian supplies and the flow of food and water. These actions have resulted in a dangerous accumulation of crises that directly threaten the lives and health of the Gaza Strip’s residents, most notably due to their lack of access to food, clean water, medicines, medical supplies, sanitary tools, and cleaning supplies.

Aya Kamal Ashour Abed, a 20-year-old displaced mother of two at the Deir al-Balah Preparatory School for Girls in the central Gaza Strip, spoke with the Euro-Med Monitor team. “We are more than 30 people living in this classroom for about nine months,” she stated. “A few months ago, we numbered roughly 70, but after some of the displaced individuals relocated to tents outside the school, our numbers dropped somewhat.

“We only receive cleaning and personal hygiene supplies in small quantities every two or three months, despite the fact that our number is very high and we require them constantly,” Abed continued. “Sanitation supplies, like tissues, soap, and shampoo, are extremely expensive [or] even nonexistent in the markets.”

Added Abed, “A bar of soap, for instance, now costs 30 shekels (roughly nine USD) while a bottle of shampoo costs 90 shekels (roughly 25 USD). We do not have anything to eat, so how can we afford these amounts for basic hygiene?”

Abed, who was displaced from her home in the Jabalia refugee camp in the northern Gaza Strip following its bombing last October, said that her two sons had become afflicted with allergies and bacteria, for which she is unable to provide ointments because they are unavailable in UNRWA clinics. “I showed my son to the doctor, and he told me that his entire body is seriously infected with bacteria due to poor hygiene,” Abed told Euro-Med Monitor.

Obtaining sanitary pads—which are pricey and hard to find in local markets—is one of her biggest challenges. “Even though my children’s diapers are completely unusable, I have to cut them into tiny pieces and use them as sanitary pads,” Abed explained. “During my period, I also have to use a single pad for the entire day, which has led to numerous infections and rashes.”

Approximately 680,000 women and girls in the Gaza Strip are of reproductive age. These individuals lack access to menstrual pads and other essentials, and also face other challenges such as inadequate access to water, toilets, various hygiene products, and privacy. Additionally, they must use contaminated or unsterilised materials, which puts them at risk of developing infections that can lead to infertility and uterine cancer.

Since Israel has cut off electricity to the Gaza Strip, there is a growing risk to all residents caused by waste accumulation and sewage flooding of roads and markets due to the inability to drain it. Israel has destroyed most of the Strip’s vital infrastructure, including sewage networks, and forced over two million people—the majority of whom have been displaced more than once—into shelters and tents that lack the basic necessities of life, personal hygiene, and health care.

Forty-two-year-old Mohammed Saad Abu Haitham said that his family of eight, which resides in a tent in the Mawasi neighborhood of Khan Yunis in the southern Gaza Strip, is severely impacted by the lack of cleaning supplies, laundry detergent, and bar soap. Due to its scarcity, soap is unusually expensive and therefore difficult to purchase.

“We do not have the money to buy enough meals for our children, so we cannot buy cleaning materials and soap in light of their high prices and the lack of availability,” Abu Haitham told the Euro-Med Monitor team. “My spouse and kids’ hair has been infected with lice, and we all have skin diseases as a result of not washing and not using enough soap and shampoo.”

Food dyes are used instead of traditional dyes for making liquid soap and sterilisation products, which have not entered the Gaza Strip in months due to the Israeli closure of the crossings and the imposition of an arbitrary siege. These alternative and primitive cleaning products are made locally, are unsafe, and are generally insufficient in both quality and quantity when sold in the markets of the central and southern Gaza Strip.

Tens of thousands of cases of skin diseases, including eczema, have been reported to medical facilities as having cropped up in shelters and camps for displaced people living in tents. This is particularly concerning for women, as eczema often appears on the hands of people working to clean food utensils using antiquated and dangerous materials. Meanwhile, reports from the United Nations indicate that skin rashes and skin infections, especially among children, are sharply increasing in the Strip.

The Israeli authorities have placed an arbitrary and oppressive siege on the Palestinian people there, squeezing them into a tiny area with exceedingly limited resources; denying them access to food, clean water, and other necessities; and leaving them exposed to extreme heat.

The right to dignity is an internationally recognised human right that protects people from humiliation, among other forms of unethical treatment. It is meant to ensure fairness by providing the means for people to live in dignity, as well as other fundamental needs and rights, like the right to health and the right to water and sanitation. These rights are essential to maintaining human dignity and preserving the lives of the populace.

The only way to guarantee the rights of Gaza Strip residents is to put an end to Israel’s crime of genocide, lift the arbitrary siege on the Strip, and rescue what remains of the currently uninhabitable region. Delays will either cause the region to irreversibly deteriorate, or incur significant costs in terms of civilian lives and health.

The international community is required to guarantee the entry of humanitarian aid into the Gaza Strip, including the entry of non-food essentials needed to respond to the dire circumstances faced by the Strip’s entire population. Euro-Med Monitor stresses that swift and effective action must be taken to safely deliver aid to civilians across the entire Strip, including the northern section, which is particularly isolated right now. Additionally, the international community must prioritise providing adequate supplies of personal and family hygiene products, as well as products for menstruating individuals, plus sexual and reproductive health care services to prevent and mitigate further harm to women and children in particular, and the entire Palestinian population in general. These actions are mandated by international human rights law and relevant international obligations.

Pressure needs to be put on Israel, as the occupying force, to maintain sanitation facilities and services in the Gaza Strip, as well as to guarantee the safety of the technicians charged with repairing and renovating water lines and their various sources. The main water pipelines that enter the Strip need to be restored, particularly those that enter it from the north.

In addition to ensuring the entry of enough fuel to operate the Gaza Strip’s water and sanitation infrastructure, including desalination plants, water wells, and mobile toilets, it is crucial to exert pressure on Israel to permit the entry of materials required for repair work and rehabilitation of civilian infrastructure. These services are essential to the civilian population’s survival in the Strip, and will protect them from the threat of further health disasters.

#palestine #gaza #free palestine

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finniestoncrane · 1 year

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What's a kink of each of the riddlers that you feel like you haven't really talked about?

More Riddler Kinks

Riddler Headcanons hooray, finally getting round to this one after the event!! it's a long one too oops... ok i am got INTO this. some of them i think i've mentioned before but i am so glad to put my silly little thoughts into more detail 💚 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: so many potentially triggering kinks here, cnc, piss, free use, roleplay, rough sex, violence, monster fucking, nude photography

dano

i have written about it a LOT but he definitely has a thing for cnc/rape play

and with him, it comes from a space of feeling like he's not good enough, and follows his life's trajectory of having to take things he wants rather than wait patiently for them to come to him

he wants to be in control of a situation, something he's never had before in any aspect of life

something that allows him to feel like he's in charge, that he's got the power

and at the same time, it's so emotionally fulfilling for him to be trusted by someone to that extent

to know a partner is willing to allow themselves to be so vulnerable around him, to get to be so close and intimate with someone

to feel like he's someone you have actively chosen to trust and let him take part in something like that

and to speak to him like an intelligent adult while you cover rules and boundaries and safe-words

that's so healing for him to experience, and it only amplifies his sweet and adoring behaviour outside of your more intense bedroom sessions

plus, any excuse to offer you the most satisfactorily sickeningly sweet aftercare, that's what he's really after

arkham

i play with this man like he's a fucking doll honestly there's not a kink i wouldn't give him, but allow me to delve into my most recent fixation

because i'm giving him a piss kink and no one can stop me

i don't think it's so much about the piss for him, more about the mess and the sense of control over someone's behaviours and habits

definitely about the embarrassment and humiliation

because the minute you let yourself go, the minute you're vulnerable standing or sitting in front of him

bound by his rules to not interrupt him for bathroom breaks

knowing that any mess you make is your own fault

that's when he gets his kicks

and the ability to chastise and degrade you for making a mess of yourself and having very little self-control is an added benefit

telling you how ashamed you should be, while you can see the smug smile on his face and the growing tent at the front of his stupid cargo pants

i don't think he'd piss in you or on you though. as messy as he is i think even he knows standards of good practice when it comes to germs and such

(he's filthy, yes, but very picky over certain textures and substances, it's the autism)

plus the act of him defiling you would be too much, since this idiot harbours intense feelings of admiration and respect that he's too scared or embarrassed to admit to

gotham

i don't think i've gone into too much detail about his medical fetish, but he definitely has one

i mean, i did write that thing on the autopsy table... but anyway!

definitely veering towards the experimental side of medical roleplay

he'll get all of the correct gear on, nothing inherently sexual about it unless you're into that kind of thing

protective gear though, a smock, rubber gloves, maybe a mask

and you'll be expected to be fully nude, all of you exposed to him so that he can test the limits of each part of you

see how every square inch of your skin reacts to his touch

or to his various 'tools' that he's got, sterilised and prepared to work on you

there's no medical benefits to this, he's not aiming to fix you

but he is definitely good at making you feel much, much better than you did before you were laid down on his table

teased, torturous edging, new experiences and toys

until you're a shuddering mess, ready to be eased up for some aftercare before he cleans up for your next appointment

his desire to study you, to see what makes you tick and what makes you make the sweetest sounds is what motivates him here

and he will take rigorous and extensive notes during and afterwards

and then study them in his down time (or alone time)

telltale

corruption, for sure. like his whole personality revolves around being the best and greatest manipulator and schemer that ever was

so corrupting your innocence, real or roleplayed, gives him everything he wants from a sexual encounter

and in a relationship

it's not like he's 24/7 on with the whole "i am your master" thing

but it leeches into everyday life easily enough when you spend a lot of time in his company

any roleplay scenario where he can play an authoritative character while you are a weaker, more innocent position works for him

professor and student, master and servant, he's not beyond playing god and having you pretend to be a nun either, and there are more taboo pairings he's willing to try

there's often elements of bondage, dominance, spirit breaking, orgasm control

anything where he has the higher ground

and he can teach you and show you new and exciting, or scary, things

having you beg to show him the correct ways, to educate you, to give you a new experience, to touch you in a way no one else has

that's what gets him off for sure

twojar

100% is into breeding, and definitely barebacking

the idea of fucking you completely raw (pending your health checks. he's completely clean and fine, but you on the other hand... he needs the documents)

that's what he's most into, especially if he can incorporate some other kinks into the foreplay or actual sex

and then have the grand finale be painting your insides with his cum, letting you feel the warmth of him

but it has to end with you under him, whichever position you prefer the most he's not fussy

with his cock buried deep inside of you

cumming inside of you and holding himself there, keeping you pinned to him

thrusting a couple more times for good measure so he can be sure he's pumped his seed as deep as it can go

and holding you afterwards, telling you how good you took him

his perfect little breeding stock, his sweet little cumdump

filled up and ready to bear the fruits of his labour

btaa

there is no doubt in my mind that every waking minute that he isn't spending on schemes or building his little gadgets

is spent playing fantasy roleplay games, of any kind, on any platform, alone or in groups

he's a huge nerd! it's one of those things that he'll never outlive, once a big dweeb, always a big dweeb

so a big thing for him is roleplay, and specifically, roleplay where he can involve some monster fucking

he can either play the hero, slaying the beast and then saving the girl, who promptly rewards him with herself to use

or being the hero who sets out to defeat the creature and instead ends up fucking it

or let him be the monster and he'll show you how monstrous he could really be

as long as it involves preparation, dramatic reactions, practice and rehearsing, preferably a script with some room for improv

and, of course, the most extravagant and detailed costumes (accurate to the scenario or time period, obviously)

then he will be a very happy, and satisfied, boy

zero year

i haven't really talked about this but it's a huge one for me personally with him

but i think he's a big fan of free use obviously like he just screams it

loves nothing more than a sort of semi-permanent situation where you spend days completely naked and at his mercy

and add a bit of roleplay into it, maybe you're his live-in housekeeper

cleaning for him, cooking for him, washing him, feeding him

and whenever he feels like it, he can stick his dick in you

but you can't react to him unless he gives you permission

you gotta stand there, kneel there, sit there, lay there while he fucks you without making any sounds

and comitting to whatever task you were in the middle of when he decided to start going at you

i just think it would absolutely send him to the moon to know that when you're walking around naked, bending over in front of him

hanging on his every word and obeying his every command

he could also just decide to press his cock inside of you nonchalantly

unburied

he's literally devoutly into cuckoldery, but he's the bull

imagine watching your partner get railed by some ineffectual dweeb with a penchant for riddles

knowing that he's giving it to them with all he's got, making them scream in pleasure and shout out his name

making eye contact with him at some point

and having him wink at you? stick his tongue out? give you some finger guns?

all with the most smug, self-satisfied grin you've ever seen on a human being

and then to top it off, he's calling out sex-themed riddles?

and laughing at you when you don't get them right?

that's not something you can come back from

that changes someone, on several deep levels

and truthfully, that's the part that he likes the most

the emotional scarring on your ego, and the little stroke his gets

knowing he's so annoying that he's unforgettable, which would be the biggest crime to him

btas

i have these ideas about him that always revolve around something artsy or classy

and while i think he would be into some dorky roleplay (he's definitely pretending to be a minotaur, sorry)

i do, selfishly i suppose, think that he would be into body worshipping

specifically in the form of erotic photography

he'd be keen to take pictures of you, in poses, costumes, scenarios, roleplays

directing you, encouraging you, watching you loosen up and let yourself go

whatever you were comfortable with, that's key here

and he'd cherish seeing your face afterwards when he showed you the final products

knowing he'd captured everything about you that he loves and finds attractive

pictures that he'll keep if you want, or destroy

it doesn't matter to him in the end really

he takes them because he thinks of you as his muse, the act of photographing you, of being allowed the vulnerability

to create with you in mind

that's what he finds most erotic and exciting and ultimately, an expression of his love and adoration for you

young justice

if you managed to get him to find the courage to admit to it, you'd learn his favourite thing is uh...

well... just because it plays into his... awkwardness, and shyness, and inexperience...

just... it makes sense that he has a virginity kink

but interestingly, it goes both ways

while he's so keen to have you show him the moves, and pretend to be inducting him into your little black book

teaching him how to touch you or how to move his hips

he's equally interested in switching the roles up a bit

it's a challenge for him, sure, but he's the riddler! there's no challenge he can't live up to

even if that means weeks of practice and lessons with an acting coach to get past the initial nerves

it would all be worth it to pretend that he was confident, dominant, and knew what he was doing

that and the satisfaction of taking something from you, something important

the honour in knowing he's your first (or at least pretending)

and the lasting impression he might have on you for that

that's the kind of idea that has him rutting into you like a fuckin beast

#i spent so fuckin long on this so please for the love of god #finnie writes #riddler x reader #riddler x you #riddler headcanon #ridler scenario #gotham riddler #arkham riddler #young justice riddler #dano riddler #zero year riddler #batman unburied riddler #bu riddler #telltale riddler #twojar riddler #riddler #the riddler #btaa riddler #btas riddler

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jasmines-library · 11 months

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Needle and thread.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 19. Prompt: “no anaesthesia.” Fandom: Batfamily

Summary: Dick is forced to carry out a life-saving emergency surgery when you are too far away to reach help before it becomes too late.

Warnings: Impalement, blood, gore, stitching, needles.

Word count: 1k (short but sour, I had to do this quickly sorry.)

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Dick Grayson would never forget your blood curdling scream the moment the rebar punctured your stomach, ripping up skin and muscle as it forced its way through your back.

You had been flung sideways by the villain you had been fighting. The force of his throw has caused you to topple over the side of the scaffolding and sent you plummeting to the ground. Unluckily for you, you happened to land on the scrap metal.

He cried out, cursing as he fought to get to you. It was only supposed to be a simple patrol, but he was outnumbered. Dick fought hard, landing kick after kick and blow after blow with his sticks to reach you. When he landed heavily on his feet beside you, he could already see the puddle of blood below you. It gushed freely from your body. Raw and red and beautiful.

Your mouth was agape, panting against the pain. Your eyebrows upturned behind your mask as your face contorted in agony.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He was stuck still staring at the blood stained steel. Your muscles clenched around it as you writhed.

“Y/n.” He dropped to his knees beside you when reality hit him like a ton of bricks. “Fuck.”

“Dick…”

His hands hovered over your body; he was too afraid to touch you as if touching you was going to break your fragile body more. He was wide eyed, mind running at a thousand miles a minute. He knew he needed to move you, but the rusty metal bar was the only thing preventing you from bleeding out completely. He had hit the emergency signal on his suit, and he knew help was on the way, but he had no way to gauge how long it would be before they arrived.

“Okay…” he breathed out unsteadily. His hands trembled as they moved around your body, coaxed in your blood. “I have to move you.”

Nodding, you clenched your eyes shut and gritted your teeth. Dick wrapped his hands around yours to haul you off of the bar. You howled, muscles twitching as it was ripped through you again. Your vision blurred as he lay you back down on the ground, applying pressure hard to the wound.

“Come on, Y/n. Just stay with me a little longer. Help is coming.”

“Dick…” you forced out through wet coughs. “You have to do it.”

He shook his head frantically. He hated doing it. It was something that was only supposed to be a last resort. “No. No, I can't do that to you.”

He turned his head, desperate to spot the red and green suits heading his direction, but all he could see for miles were the lights of the city.

“Robin, where are you?” He asked into the coms.

There was a crackle before he replied. “I‘m going as fast as I can, but I’m about 10 minutes out.”

He cursed. You were too far out for him to reach the bat cave and Damian was still too far away. 10 minutes and you would have lost too much blood.

“Do it.” Yo pleased. “Dick. Please.”

He took a deep breath and turned his head away, before pulling out the needle and thread that was kept in the small Medkit you carried in your suit for emergencies. Dick struggled to thread the needle with the way his fingers shook. But after finally sterilising and threading the small tool, he positioned it above the wound. It was still bleeding heavily.

“I’m so sorry.” He muttered as he made the first stitch.

You bucked forwards, contorting at the stabbing against your skin. He tried to be quick, but that did nothing to stop you feeling every stitch as the thread tugged against your skin to close the rift. You had almost blacked out by the time he had rolled you over to stitch up the entry wound. Every second was nothing but torment that seemed to replace the blood you lost.

By the time he had pulled the last stitch closed, you were a whimpering mess. Your face was stained with tears and your hair was a mess. Your whole body felt like one giant bruise; everything ached and your joints felt like a hinge that needed to be oiled.

Dick had tried his hardest to keep you awake, whispering sweet apologies into your hair as he rocked you back and forth in his arms, though you weren’t 100% sure who he was trying to make feel better; you or himself.

Your body had slowly begun to go numb after a while as you waited anstily for Damian to arrive. A chill had begun to set into your bones. By the time he had finally arrived, the pain and your senses had dulled into almost nothing at all.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 18 ⛤ DAY 20 ->

Taglist:

@senjoritanana

@deans-spinster-witch

@amaryllis23

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tbgblr2 · 9 months

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Vega and Altair's twins

This is a story I've written for a follower on here who is doing an art for story exchange, and wanted to remain anonymous. It's a story of the birth of the twins from their own characters, Vega (female) and Altair (male) - bit of a heads up, they had a previous miscarriage earlier before they successfully managed to bring this pregnancy to term, so it is mentioned in the story. Timezone is set before any modern conveniences. Hope you enjoy...

Vega groaned, a deep, sorrowful keening sound coming from her mouth as she felt the latest in a long series of contractions finally release her from it’s grip. She had been feeling them since this morning, and all through the day until finally at the arrival of dusk, she sent Altair out to do something useful rather than fussing over her.

Both of them knew that the process of getting the babies out of her will take a long time, especially with her first. Both of them had seen enough babies born between them to know it was quite often never a quick process. Both of them knew how everything was meant to happen – but when it was happening to you or your loved ones, that threw everything out of context.

As dusk settled in, and the day started to become cold, she sent out her husband to gather firewood to both heat the house, and boil water to sterilise their tools. Altair grumbled and protested, but of course, he knew that Vega had made the logical choice, and whilst he didn’t want to leave her side in this, her greatest time of need, he knew fine well that she was in the best place she could be right now, and – he admitted – the firewood stocks were getting very thin on the ground.

Vega wrapped a shawl around her as she hefted herself up off the rocking chair she had been seated in. Still very wary about removing her clothes, she had used the excuse that she would need to keep warm until the very end of her labour to conserve her energy and not waste it shivering needlessly. Her bump was massive, protruding several inches in front of her frame – along with her breasts which had grown beyond their already substantial size during the pregnancy, both ripe and ready to feed the children she currently carried.

“Two babies…” she muttered. She had seen it happen only once, and she remembered the horrible, wailing sounds the mother made as she had to go through the ordeal twice in quick succession. What she remembered well though was the pure elation that the mother had felt after all was done, and both babies were in her arms.

She padded over to the door stepped through, then stood, resting her weight against the railing outside watching Altair put logs out onto the cutting area, swing down with his axe and split the logs into shards ready for putting onto the fire. She kept silent, observing her husband as his muscles rippled as they heaved back and forth splintering logs one after another. It was only the onset of the next contraction that broke her reverie as she gripped the railing hard and let out a loud gasp.

Altair immediately dropped what he was doing and dashed over to his wife. His hands wrapped around her from behind – quite the task considering the girth of her midsection – but he had practiced a grab which gathered under her belly and in turn, gave a small lift, relieving the pressure on her abdomen.

“You should be inside, you were complaining about lack of heat earlier.” Altair scolded.

“I couldn’t just sit there and let these happen, I need to move. And I was curious how you were getting on.” Vega retorted, a smirk on her lips, lost to Altair who was behind her. “Seems that the babies wanted to say hello as well.”

Altair let go with one hand and pushed aside Vega’s long, white hair and pressed his lips against the back of her neck – an act which sent shivers down her spine, something not lost on the large man who in this setting all but dwarfed his wife.

“How are you doing my love?” whispered Altair, his breath warm against the prickling back of Vegas neck.

“You know… feeling like I’m being pushed inside out… and right now my legs want to buckle… but that’s nothing to do with our little bundles of joy.” Altair repeated his kiss, an errant breathy groan escaping Vegas lips.

“I want to rest in water. I’ve seen how good it helps with aches and pains.” Vega announced matter of factly. “And I want it warm… so that means more wood.”

“Your wish is my command my dear. Let me bring this load in and we can set the pot to boil to warm the first bath load, by the time I’ve chopped the next we should be able to get a good cycle for as long as this ordeal takes.”

“My hero…” Vega muttered as she was cut short by the cramping sensation taking her breath away, all she could do was moan through the pain until it passed. Altair stayed glued to her until she eventually regained her composure and shooed him away, complaining that if he kept on waiting every time she had a cramp, the babies would be here before the water was even warm.

Altair was reluctant to leave, but knew he must. He walked out and grabbed the first handful of wood to take it to the hearth and set it on fire, whilst he filled the large cooking pot with water and set it away. He made 3 more trips back and forth to gather the rest of the logs that were split and put them into storage for later, whilst finally making another trip to carry the bath into the main room of the house and fill it half way with cold water to be heated by the boiling water later.

During this time, Vega made a conscious effort to not make any noise, though her contractions were unrelenting. She had almost succeeded by doing her breathing exercises (in through her nose nice and deep, slowly blow out of her mouth) and keeping her eyes scrunched tight closed, but she couldn’t help but moan through the peak of the pain. Altair kept on giving worried glances over at her as he passed her on his way back and forwards in and out of the house – she never moved from her position, just swayed her hips back and forward, rocking side to side, taking small steps raising and lowering one foot then the other in some sort of meditative mantra.

Finally, Altair said the water was boiled and started to fill the tub with the remaining scalding hot liquid. He tested it time and time again, adding a little more each time until he decided the water was finally warm enough – he knew that hot water would make Vega sleepy and may hinder the progress of the labour, but water too cool would not provide the relief she desperately wanted.

He walked out and took her by the hand, leading her to the tub. As she was about to step in, he pulled her back.

“Its traditional to be naked during a bath…”

“But I do not like my body. My stomach is all red and scoured by stretchmarks, and my breasts are veiny. I can labour in the clothing I have on and pull off my underwear when it is time.”

“Nonsense… you are beautiful. Your stretchmarks are testament to the work your body has done to grow our 2 babies, and your breasts – as magnificent as they are – are like that to do what nature intended them to do and feed our children. You are beautiful, and I want you to be comfortable. All you will do if you get into that tub whilst wearing clothes would be to end up having them stick to you and be uncomfortable… and you need to have comfort, now of all times… we both know there will be scant time for comfort when the time comes to push.”

Vega smiled, her heart warmed by the words of her partner. She knew he was right of course, but it went against all her inner thoughts to do so. She stepped back away from the tub and started slowly, removing her shawl, to the encouragement of Altair. Next was the dress, and then finally her underwear wrappings across her breasts and her crotch. Finally she was stood in the middle of the room naked, and on full display to Altair.

“Good girl, you know this is for the best.” He added encouragingly.

“I know, I know… but this…” she rubbed across the expanse of her belly “is both beautiful and grotesque. You shouldn’t need to stare at it.”

“Nonsense you silly moo!” he bellowed, somewhat louder than he intended, nerves for the upcoming labour overriding his own sense of decorum – he wanted his wife to be as comfortable as possible, and her old hangups about her body were not something that would help this situation. “You are the most gorgeous creature I have ever seen.”

“You’re right of course… it still doesn’t feel right…. But I yield to your superior knowledge. Now help me into this tub, I don’t think I can balance with this load in front of me!”

That brought a chuckle to Altair’s lips, lightening the mood as he held Vega as she stepped one leg then the other into the warm water. She got down onto her knees, then finally sat down and swung her legs out from underneath her until she was submerged in the large tub up to her breasts, her belly under the water.

Having such a large tub was a pain to move around the home when they needed it for routine wash nights, but it was always made to double up as a birthing tub, and it being large enough to move around in without being restrictive – and for Vega to open her legs wide in – was part of the intended design.

The sigh as she sank into the water, the warmth soothing the aches and pains in her back was almost musical to Altair. He stared at her as she sat there.

“What?” Vega asked.

“Nothing, I’m just amazed by you. Let me get the next load of water on to heat in case we need it.”

Over the course of the next 20 minutes or so, Altair fussed around the room fetching buckets of water and stacking them up 5 deep in case they needed them and he couldn’t get away, cycling them over the fire so no specific one got too hot or cold. Vega allowed herself to relax, breathing deeply and groaning through the contractions as they happened, focusing inward to try and combat the pain she felt radiating through her time after time.

Suddenly there was a sigh from Altair as she sat and stared into the simmering water in the cooking pot.

Vega opened her eyes and looked over to him. “What is wrong, love?” though she had her own ordeal to undertake, the sigh caught her off guard enough to want to see what was up.

“I just keep on thinking about our previous baby…” referencing an earlier miscarriage the couple had suffered in Vega’s early pregnancy. He was cut off as Vega groaned, the next contraction catching her off guard herself as she was too focused on Altair to prepare herself. He jumped into action and grabbed her hands over the edge of the tub and gave her somewhere to grab. She sequeezed as hard as she could, yelling out as it hit it’s peak, the pain leaving her gasping for breath as she panted through it.

“That was tough…” she whined as she recovered from the worst of the contraction.

“Sorry my darling, I made you lose concentration.”

“No… you had a legitimate worry. I think about the earlier baby too. At first I liked to think he or she was looking over us, a guardian angel of sorts. But now, as I feel these babies move around inside of me, I like to think he or she has been reborn with their brother or sister, and we still get to meet that elusive child… though I may have to have words with it very soon after it pops out, as it has been giving me some serious heartburn and kicking me in some very inopportune times.”

The light hearted comment helped soothe Altair’s worries, and he was left smiling. He stood up and kissed Vega as she leaned her head back against the side of the tub for support, allowing Altair’s kiss to press deep into her, their tongues intertwining, the passion for each other not lost over the years.

Suddenly Vega’s hand grabbed the back of Altair’s head and pulled at his ponytail. She yelled out as a new sensation hit her. “Baby… my body, it needs to push! The first babe, it’s coming!”

“Go with it!” Altair commanded. “You have seen this happen before, know what must be done. I love you, lets bring forth our babies!”

Vega grabbed the underside of her knees and pulled them back as she roared, eyes clamped tight shut as she put effort into the push. It released and she went again, strain showing on her face as she put in the effort. Altair moved into position behind her in the tub as he pulled out a washcloth and dunked it into the tub next to his wife and rung it out, dabbing it over her forehead as she strained.

The contraction let up enough to allow Vega to regain her focus. “This is both so much different to how I imagined it, and at the same time, exactly how I expected it to feel…” she panted with effort before the next contraction begun. Altair shrugged, not fully understanding what Vega was saying, but he knew his job was to just offer encouragement no matter what Vega was feeling right now.

“You can do it my darling. That was such a good effort.”

“Pfft…” Vega made a derogatory noise. “The effort hasn't even started yet… save that for later, when the babe crowns. But here we go….” She once again pulled her legs back and pushed. A good 30 seconds passed, with 3 good pushes involved, gasping breaths between.

Altair gave what little platitude he could to the proceedings with calls out of “good, go again, baby” and “that's it keep it up” at opportune times. He placed his hands into the water and found the tub to be getting cold – noticing Vega shivering a little between contractions.

“I will be back in a second baby” as he stepped to grab an empty bucket and pull out a load of chilled water from the tub. Vega’s eyes followed him around the room as he walked forward, grabbed the bucket, sunk it into the tub and threw its contents unceremoniously out of the door into the world outside. He grabbed a full bucket and slowly emptied it into an area where the hot water wouldn't scold his wife, who yelped and let out a “quick, quick!” command as she once more pulled back her legs and got back to pushing.

Vega felt a little out of sorts without her Altair close to her as she continued to push, but there was no other option as far as her body was concerned – her ability to stop pushing was as unlikely as trying to hold back the waves at the ocean. Her movements caused the newly added hot water to swirl around the tub though and that helped give her something else to focus on other than the gripping pain around her midsection and the feeling of unrelenting fullness between her legs.

Altair looked up from his task of dropping the water into the tub and noticed something between Vega’s legs as she pulled them back.

“I see something!” he sounded excited. The commotion caused Vega to gasp and release her legs as she kept her eyes closed still pushing, one of her hands probing to the folds between her legs. There… probing at it with her fingers, was her bag of waters starting to poke out.

Vega was gasping as she managed a few words between contractions. “The waters… they haven’t broken yet. It’s bulging out of me.”

“Do I break it?” Altair enquired.

“No!” Vega was quick to admonish him. “Let it happen naturally.”

As she let off the pressure of the push as the contraction force ebbed away, the bag slipped back inside, and once more all she could feel was her skin to her fingers, the sensitive lips and nub between her legs which Altair had, on so many occasions, played with and sent sensations through her spine right to her brain. She wondered…

As the next contraction started, she only pulled back a single leg. The second hand rested on her clit and she rubbed slowly. Altair’s eyes opened wide at the view in front of him.

“You… you’re?” he was flabbergasted. “You’re playing?”

“Shhhh…” came Vega’s response. “I want to try this, see if it takes the edge off.”

Vega didn’t speak further, two of her fingers rubbed back and forth as her face scrunched up and she pushed. The effort was there, the bulge appeared back between her lips, the bag bulging out until finally she yelled. Simultaneously, the bag popped underwater, the thin membrane floating away into the body of the tub. Vega flinched as it happened, but she had no time to rest, the contraction was still upon her. She rubbed and rubbed at the sensitive area between her legs, her head lolling back as she groaned mid-contraction. She gasped “It’s working” as she finally felt the contraction release, a gasp escaping her lips.

Altair was transfixed at the display in front of him. Eyes hyper focused on the fingers doing the work. “Your… erm… your bag broke” he managed.

“I felt it… it brushed against my hand as it floated away” Vega managed, still panting with her exertion. She stopped her rubbing activities as the contraction ebbed away. “Surely the head must be close… let me see if I can feel it.”

She inserted her finger within her folds and smiled. “It’s there I can feel the head of our first baby. I can feel the progress my body is making!” she sounded elated, but it was short lived. The next contraction ramped up quickly, and she resumed her rubbing activity. Her moan started almost instantaneously this time though, and soon escalated to a yelling shout. She couldn't enunciate her words given the situation, but as the contraction started to fade she managed a weak “no bag of waters… it hurts so much more… direct skin on skin contact, rubbing… stretch…”

Altair saw the frustration in her face and scrambled around to be beside her where he laid his hands on her arm. “What can I do…” he was frustrated himself, he was so used to being actively involved, and felt useless at this point.

“Get me a drink love, my throat is dry…” groaned Vega, her voice suddenly sounding very horse and scratchy. Altair pushed himself up off the ground and headed off to get a cool skin of water. As he was away in the kitchen he heard Vega’s yowling pain echo through the family home.

He rushed back in to a scene of Vega having let the second leg go, so they were both thrashing in the water, her fingers rubbing against her clit as much as possible, her second hand thumping on the side of the bath in whatever effort she can do to stave off the pain she was feeling. Altair grabbed the hand and held it tight, feeling Vega respond, squeezing as tightly as she possibly could. He looked down between her legs and his face lit up – he could see something emerging from between them.

He leaned over and took his second hand, grabbing the one that was rubbing her clit, and moved the fingers a few inches south, to feel the skin between her lips. Vega’s eyes shot open, and Altair nodded. “It’s working!” he bellowed. The break in concentration caused Vega to stop pushing and the head shrunk back behind the lips once again, causing Vega to wail “No… Don’t go!”

Releasing the hands he held, Altair instead placed his hands on her face, and kissed her. “You, my darling, are pushing out a baby. You know it will slip, and come, and slip again. You know this in your heart. Don’t get discouraged and work with your body. You know what to do.”

Vega nodded and asked for a drink, which Altair offered her, slowly lifting the skin to her lips as she drank deeply. It was soon time to push again though, so she pulled up her legs with both hands and went back to it. Altair stashed away the skin for future access and situated himself behind Vega, his hands rubbing her shoulders as she tensed up with the push. He lifted himself up on his haunches to see if he could see anything between Vega’s legs as she pushed, but her belly was in the way, and Altair couldn’t get a good enough angle to see anything. He cursed under his breath that he didn't think to have a mirror or something set up in the bath – something he would look to bring a metalworker into the home in time once the babies were born for the next time.

Over the course of the next 15 to 20 minutes, the couple didn't move from their location. Time after time Vega went from wailing in pain, to gasping for breath, back to wailing in pain and so on as she worked seemingly without end to push the head of her first babe out from within her. Altair was frustrated not being able to do anything, just hold onto her and give her platitudes as between pushes, Vega reached down between her legs and felt the progress of her work, at first the head disappeared each time as she let off the push, but slowly and surely the head remained peeking out at the end of each push, each time the stretch feeling greater and greater for her until finally she yelled out a shrieking, horrible scream.

“It burns, it burns, crowning baby, crowning… ooooh” Her wail didn’t end until finally about 30 seconds later she grabbed the sides of the tub, releasing her legs, and almost lifted herself up out of the water, her legs scrabbling backwards trying to find purchase on the slippery base. She jumped and yowled as she finally managed a weak “the head is out… get around and check for a cord.”

Altair didn’t wait, jumping up and dashing around the edge of the tub to see the head of his child poking out between his wife’s legs. The water was tinged with blood, he couldn't tell at this point if it was just coming from within Vega’s womb or if she had torn in the process, but he put that to the back of his mind as he reached in and felt around the neck for a cord. He was happy that there was no risk to the baby, so breathed a sigh to refocus his thoughts and took in the scene.

“How is it…” Vega sounded weak and exhausted.

“It’s beautiful… our baby.” Altair managed. He then realised the thing that was playing on his mind. The head was face up. Normally babies were born face down so their spines could bend with the movements through the birth canal, but if they were in posterior position, or back to the mothers back so they came out face up, that meant it was a much tougher process. Now Vega’s wails were explained.

Suddenly Vega gasped “Hold the head” as she pulled back her legs again and pushed hard, the contraction forcing her to comply, accompanied by a howling yell all through the push. Altair held the head as he first saw the first shoulder, then the second slip out from between Vegas legs, he gently pulled as the torso followed, and the legs. Vega gasped as she felt the weight pass through and out from her, finally releasing a triumphant yell of success as Altair fished the first child out of the bath water, holding it up as high as he could, still attached by the umbilical cord.

“We have a baby girl my love… our daughter. You did it. I’m so proud.” Altair was babbling with joy as he handed the baby over to Vega to hold against her chest, who in turn was crying tears of joy at the completion of the first of her two labours. The babe was making loud and screeching yells until she finally found Vega’s breast and almost without hesitation, latched on for her first feed.

Life was calm and quiet, at least for a few minutes. Altair didn’t make much noise, just simply stand and observe the currently 2 most important people in his life. Vega made cooing noises at the baby, who was more than content to suckle, having undergone her own tortorous journey a short while earlier.

Vega’s wincing face signified the calm had passed and the contractions starting up once more. “Is there anything you need my love?” Altair enquired, very conscious that the baby added an extra dynamic to how she had pushed before.

“No… I don’t feel the need to push with this… let me just…” she groaned, unable to finish her sentence. Altair knelt next to her in the tub, one hand stroking the head of his daughter as the other hand rested atop Vegas on the side of the tub. He looked over to her and noticed the water with its pinkish hue, and the vibrations of Vega’s body signifying her shivering. He dipped his hand into the tub and realised that over the time the water had become chilled.

“I can’t keep you in here, the water is filthy, there’s blood and viscera in here, as well as other waste… I think you should get out.”

Vega nodded. “I think I'll need a hand… my legs are a bit wobbly no doubt.”

Altair knelt to the side of the tub as Vega wrapped her free arm that wasn’t holding the baby around his shoulders. Altair supported Vegas weight under her arms as they stood up together, the blood pink water running down her body as she stood. She took a tentative step out of the tub, and with Altair’s help, finally managed to get both feet onto the ground and stand in front of the fire, using the heat to dry herself off.

The baby didn’t let this movement and jostling distract her, as she continued to feed. The sensation of feeding causing Vega’s contractions to ramp up, and her second breast to leak, something which went unnoticed as the water sloshed up and down over her belly when she was in the tub, but the milky white droplets dripping onto her belly and rolling down the rounded surface was mesmerising to both Vega and Altair now she was out of the water. The grunt of a contraction pulled them both into the moment though as Vega managed to say “I’m pushing…” as she stood bow legged in front of the fire, one hand gipping tight to her newborn and the other reaching out for Altair to grab.

Vega focused on a long, hard push, gravity aiding her in her standing position. Grunting through the length of the contraction she suddenly gasped. “What was that?”

Altair looked down and realised the baby was breech. “That… that was a leg.”

Vega gasped, a look of panic on her face. She had of course seen this before, and she knew that giving birth to twins most likely meant one was upright and one was upside down in the womb, just for the babies to take up the optimal space… but when faced with it happening to you, when you’re already overwrought from the earlier parts of the day… she wasn’t fully aware of it all.

Altair jumped in. “Focus, baby… focus. Nothing new. Just need to push out the body then the head rather than the other way around. Nothing you haven’t done before.” Vega could only nod, the next contraction upon her, her thighs dipping to open up into a squat, her groaning push resulting in the flop of the second leg out from between her own.

Altair realised that Vega was shivering, either a side effect of adrenaline, or simply just because she was cold from the water not having fully dried off her body, so he took the opportunity in between contractions to have her rest against a chair as he dashed to grab something from the bedroom.

Vega watched wide eyed as Altair left, the contraction forcing her to keep on pushing, the next baby’s hips now dangling between her legs. It was moving, slowly but surely, her already raw lips spread around the girth of the body. She whimpered as she pushed, not feeling the need to yell or tire her throat just yet, but very wary of the pain building as she pushed more and more towards the width of the head.

Altair dashed back into the room at full sprint, carrying a fur with him to drape over Vega’s shoulders. She kissed and thanked him as he took back over holding her weight, Altair’s arms wrapping around her torso, in the space between her breasts and her belly. She rested the baby on her thigh as she lowered down into a deep squat, her weight supported by Altair, the widening of her pelvis as she lowered down almost heavenly compared to the tight space she could manage by keeping her balance by herself. With an almighty push, the body was born to the shoulders, the deep squat meaning the legs and body rested against the floor.

“Stay low my baby, push hard… keep that deep squat so our child doesn’t have far to fall when it’s born.” Altair instructed. Vega couldn’t respond verbally, but nodded, her focus remaining entirely on pushing, now the contractions were on top of each other.

Altair started to fret, this breech baby enough of a concern to set his nerves alight and as he held his wife closely whilst she struggled through her ordeal, his eyes darted around the room to see if there was something, anything, he could use to aid in this situation. He suddenly saw the large dressing mirror over the far side of the room. Gently rotating Vega’s body so her legs would follow suit, he moved her the quarter circle he would need to get a view over her shoulder of the reflection in the mirror. At this point Vega had not opened her eyes for over a minute and was pushing with all her might.

Altair saw the red, stretched lips of her vagina stretching out over the slowly emerging head, the baby dangling between her own legs like some sort of parody of a puppet that had it strings cut – just hanging there completely unable to move. But then he realised that it was moving. The legs kicked and the arms wiggled left to right. The baby was fighting to get out as much as it’s mother was forcing it out… but the lack of any where for it to get its limbs to touch were entirely to its detriment.

“Vega, darling, look forward.” Altair said. The calmness of his words cut through Vega’s concentration and she looked forward. That’s when she saw it too. Her second baby. The first still on her thigh, the second dangling there. The head reaching a wide point, and whilst she could only see the back of it, she felt the nose right there tugging against her inner walls. She knew she could do it, she could see the head coming out, and she pushed.

She yelled out, eyes no longer closed watching the show in the mirror. Her squat deepened, her hips widened, and as her voice cracked, her battle-worn throat no longer able to make any more noise the head slipped out.

The noise could be described as a splat. The baby slipping out from between her legs, a splash of amniotic fluid following it down and puddling around the shape on the floor. The room was eerily silent after all the commotion in the moments preceding it. Not the first baby or the second made a noise. Altair gently lowered Vega down to sit as he dashed around in front of her to see to the second baby.

Gathering towels he rubbed the baby vigorously, trying to stimulate it. “Breathe, breathe!” he gasped, panic now starting to set in at the baby’s silence. As if the two children were intrinsically linked the little girl’s eyes stared wide at her sibling, no noise came from her. Then suddenly it came. A watery weak cough, then a second go, much stronger than the first, and the second baby’s wails echoed around the house.

The first baby joined the chorus, and along with Altair’s and Vega’s tear-streaked faces, relief swept over the room. Altair looked down at the bundle held in his arms, still connected to it’s mother by the umbilical cord, and saw between its legs.

“We have a son!” he exclaimed. Bringing him close to Vega, handing him over and then finding something to tie and cut the cord. Finally, the baby was released from it’s connection in the womb, and the four sat in a huddle in the room, simply existing in the moment and not considering anything else.

Finally it was time for Vega to bring forth the placenta, and after a short while, Altair rubbing Vega’s deflated belly as she pushed with the contractions, two separate meaty lumps were caught in a bowl for examination. She laid the babies down and along with Altair, they checked both over and were happy everything suggested everything had happened exactly as it should.

“The two placentas would suggest that they are not identical.” Altair commented.

“I can see that dear… one has a penis, another has a vagina.” Vega chuckled at the obviousness of the situation that Altair had not realised as she kissed and hugged her husband. She certainly needed sleep, and she just hoped her two new additions would give her that small mercy after the night she had bringing them forth to the world.

#birth kink #fpreg #birth #labor kink #pregnancy

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sokkagatekeeper · 7 months

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Hey uh this might be a weird question (and cw for eugenics and racism mentions, feel free to discard this ask if you don't want to engage with those topics) but i saw an old post of yours abt the antrophologist guy who measured aangs skull. And like. That was always so INCREDIBLY jarring to me. I'm swedish and here those things are p exclusively known as a symbol of eugenics (specifically the "racial hygiene" aspect of eugenics, including things like forced sterilisation of indigenous people) Like, in school history books, the eugenics section is p much always illustrated w pictures of sami (indigenous) pp being forced to have their skulls measured. And idk if those devices are less known in america? If they have different associations? Or at least not the same symbolic value/immediate eugenics association? Because i WANT to believe that they didn't actually intentionally throw in an eugenics symbol like that. Especially for a character that's supposed to be somewhat sympathetic. Avatar might handle some heavy topics but this was just thrown in there so flippantly, I was legitimately shocked the first time i saw it. Idk it's just insane that i've never seen anyone talk about it, so surely that association might not be as prevalent in other countries or something?? Right???? Or how have people just brushed over this???? What the fuck actually

oh i mean i've definitely seen discussion of this in the fandom before, if mostly somewhat flippant references to how bad that was. yes, phrenology has been used as a tool of racist oppression in far more places than just sweden. it's possible that it's less known in other places, but i'm american and was able to recognize it. my inclination is to believe that the scene with professor zei measuring aang's skull was written thoughtlessly, by someone who had seen references to skull-measuring at some point but didn't actually know what it implied. it's possible that they were trying to subtly imply something about zei (maybe that he cares more about knowledge for knowledge's sake than about how that knowledge is applied and who it harms). that would also go along with the fact that he refers to aang as a "living relic"—a truly insanely offensive thing to say to him—and really does seem to think of him as an object of study rather than a person. he then, of course, ends up being buried in the library, because of the very fact that he values "knowledge" in the abstract without caring about being able to accomplish anything material with it. but again, this may be too generous of a reading; even if this is what the writers were going for, i still think it's pretty distasteful to show a skull-measuring scene completely out-of-the-blue like that in a children's show without properly addressing it. like you said, atla handles heavy topics, but this really only works if the audience recognizes the device for what it is and what real-world history it has, which many of the children for whom the show is intended would not.

#asks #anon #s #*#idk what else to tag this. also thank you for sending an ask i miss asks on this blog #oh also i'm curious what post of mine youre referring to. i wasn't able to find one #i remember there being a post by tophagentofchaos about this but i couldn't find it #the tumblr search system is so bad.

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watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees · 3 months

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Lessons learnt

masterlist

TW: electrocution, conditioning, whipping (mentioned), captivity tw, pet whump

Alyssa barely had the will to fight Luke's iron grip on her upper arm as he led her downstairs to the basement.

Compared to the one at the old house, the new basement was luxurious and pristine. The floor was covered in slick black tiles, instead of plain concrete, there also was a drain built in the middle of the room. The walls were painted black, giving the illusion to whoever was stuck there that the darkness surrounding them was infinite. The ceiling was high up, level with the ceiling of the ground floor, providing enough space for the metal balcony stretching over one side, if spectators were to watch they comfortably had the space to do so.

The side opposite from the entrance held the display for a wide array of tools, torture instruments. Various chains and hooks were attached to the ground and other walls, if one squinted well enough past the lights, they could make out the place for them on the cross beams that supported the structure, running from the gallery to the wall across.

Alyssa was torn, she knew she wouldn't have to think about the risk of infection caused by the dirt and germs all over the old basement that was impossible to sterilise, the new place was tenfold as horrifying. She was sure she would've gone insane if Luke kept her down here after they moved.

"Sit" he pointed to the floor next to one of the hooks on the ground and pushed her towards it.

"Luke, please, I'm sorry, I won't run off like that ever again" she started, as if she could any sense of humanity in him. A futile attempt to appeal to his nicer side, calling him by name. Please. Don't hurt me.

"I know you won't" he said simply and started tying a rope between her collar and the hook.

"Please, please, please, I'll be good, you don't have to do anything I'll behave" There were tears threatening to spill over her waterline already, as she pleaded frantically for an ounce of mercy, which she wouldn't get.

"Shhh, none of that now" he cupped her face, just for a moment and let her lean into the touch.

"What do you think you should get for embarrassing me yesterday, hm?" he asked, with a deceptively soft and genuine tone.

"Please, don't- just please" he stood up and strolled over to the pegboards and shelves of displayed tools running his hand along them.

"I'm thinking a whip" He ignored her crying and settled his hand on the familiar leather handle "Fifteen lashes sound reasonable, right?" he called over his shoulder before actually taking it off the shelf and walking back to Alyssa.

"I asked you something" he stared down at her.

"Please don't"

"Not up for debate, I'm afraid, fifteen with this and we can forget it" She nodded miserably as a response.

"But first, we need to take care of something else" he crouched down and she picked her head up, locking eyes with him confused.

He reached into his pocket and took a small black rectangular object and dangled it in front of her. Alyssa's eyes widened in fear with the realisation. It was the remote to the electrified box attached to her collar.

"You told me yesterday that I confused you, right? We'll fix that in no time" She nodded, more or less accepting her fate. "Tell me what you called me just a few moments ago"

"What?"

"You called me by my name, love, say it again"

"Luke?"

The shock was instantaneous, piercing through her neck and burning through all her muscles. It was over before she could scream.

"Say it again" he instructed calmly, after she finally caught her breath.

"Luke" he shocked her the same. Her body contorted in agony, and this time she did scream.

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" No. But she wasn't completely clueless either. It was something that had to do with Claire, a woman she knew almost nothing and everything about at the same time, and yet again it was her drawing the short end of the stick. She shook her head, sending a wave of uncomfortable twitches running through her body at the movement, her muscles still spasming from the aftershock.

"I don't want to keep hurting you" he stated and fixed a strand of hair behind her ear. She flinched. He didn't seem to care. "But you keep making me, and I'd like to fix this before I go overboard again. I know you're doing your best, you're doing so much for me, and I want to help you out so we don't have to keep coming back down here, okay?" She couldn't keep her face straight, Aly was falling apart at the seams, and she couldn't hold back her crying. Luke not wanting to torture her was almost laughable, but she didn't have it in her to find it funny. "Say it again" he prompted gently.

"Please, Sir, I get it, I won't- I know not to-"

"Say it!" he was calm as ever on the surface, but the twitch in his thumb hovering over the shock button proved otherwise. She obeyed miserably preparing herself for another shock.

"Alright, alright, there we go" Alyssa ended up on the floor this time. He gently pulled her back up to kneel, ignoring the spasms and twitches that made it infinitely harder for both of them.

"Now, did we say fifteen?"

#electrocution tw #conditioning tw #whipping tw #captivity tw #pet whump #whump #whump writing #oc whump #danse macabre original story #whump community #lady whump

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good-old-gossip · 2 months

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Israel’s blocking of cleaning, hygiene supplies is another way it perpetuates its genocide in Gaza

A Palestinian mother bathes her child in a makeshift tent in the Gaza Strip (social media)

During my period, I have to use a single pad for the entire day, which has led to numerous infections and rashes - Aya Kamal Ashour Abed, a 20-year-old displaced mother of two in the central Gaza Strip

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maria021015 · 4 months

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SPOILERS AHEAD FOR CHAPTER 33!

“Are you sure you wanna go through with this, Scotty?” Stiles whispered in a questioning tone as the wolf pushed open the front door to a dingy little tattoo parlour downtown. The neon sign in the window was the main source of light in the dark alleyway.

“I don’t think his answer has changed from the other three times you asked him on the drive over here,” Zaida pointed out with a roll of her eyes as she followed closely behind Scott. She was starting to get good at handling her feelings around Stiles now, even though it did nothing to calm the way her heart raced or how her cheeks flushed whenever he brushed past her. There was nothing much else she could do about that though, save for waiting for her affections to pass. As the werewolf spoke to the man at the front counter, her eyes roved over the stencils on display on the walls, catching on some beautiful fine-line floral designs.

“Why are you even here?” Stiles shot back at her. She’d sort of showed up at Stiles’ house and invited herself as an excuse to avoid going with Allison and Lydia tonight. It was the Argents’ first day back in Beacon Hills and Zaida was not looking forward to the awkwardness between her and Allison resuming right where they left off.

“My other option was to go with the girls to a ‘hang-out’ Lydia organised that she claims was definitely not a triple date. Though she’s kind of right. It’s not a date so much as a hook-up.” Zaida shrugged and Stiles let out a choked sound. “Needless to say, I’m not interested.”

“Boy, it's a good thing you drew me a picture…” The burly tattoo artist looked down at the scrawled visualisation Scott handed him as he sat in the chair with Stiles and Zaida standing around him. It was a scribbled sketch of two lines of varying thickness - not exactly the most informative design.

“Hey, Scott! You sure you don't want something like this?” Stiles snickered and held up a sample folder, which opened to a page with a black ink creature that looked eerily akin to the Kanima. Scott stared at his friend with a raised brow. “...Too soon? Yeah…”

As the tattoo artist prepared his ink and sterilised his tools, Stiles grimaced once more. “I don't know, man. Are you sure about this? I mean, these things are pretty permanent, you know?”

“I'm not changing my mind.” Scott insisted, evidently excited about it.

“Okay, but why two bands?” The boy asked his friend, not quite understanding the purpose of something so seemingly unimportant.

“I just like it.” Scott shrugged, and honestly, that reasoning checked out for him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to think too deeply about anything and it was something Zaida had grown fond of.

“But don't you think your first tattoo should have some sort of meaning?” Stiles tried to make sense of it. “You know, or something?”

“Getting a tattoo means something.” The werewolf pointed out eagerly.

“I don't think that's-” Stiles began sceptically, but the tattoo artist nodded in support of Scott and scooted his wheely chair closer, preparing to start.

“He's right. Tattooing goes back thousands of years. The Tahitian word ‘tatua’ means "to leave a mark," like a rite of passage.” The man explained.

“Yeah, see? He gets it!” Scott nodded enthusiastically.

He's covered in tattoos, Scott-” Stiles scoffed, eyeing the man’s inked skin stretching down both of his arms in completed sleeves. “Literally.”

“God, I wish Xander was as cool as Melissa,” Zaida shook her head, watching on longingly as the artist hovered the needle over Scott’s left bicep. Scott’s Mom had signed the permission slip for Scott to get his tattoo, and she’d even allowed him to buy a motorcycle with the money he’d saved up from working at Deaton’s.

“Okay, you ready?” The man double-checked. “You ain't got any problems with needles, do you?”

“Nope!” Scott answered excitedly, raring to go, and the tattoo gun hummed to life.

“I tend to get a little squeamish, though, so…” Stiles said weakly, scratching his face as he peered at the needle puncturing Scott’s skin again and again at rapid speed. Within seconds, Stiles was on the floor with a loud thud, and Zaida’s head snapped towards where the boy had only just been standing.

“Oh God, what do we do?” She asked in concern, rushing to his side to check him for any injuries, but he seemed fine.

“Just leave him there. Carlos will get him.” The tattoo artist answered her casually, not so much as batting an eyelid.

Surely enough, a younger guy who looked to be in his early twenties came over from one of the back rooms, nodding to her before pulling Stiles’ limp form up and half-carrying, half-dragging him over to a small couch by the front window, just a few feet away from where Scott was being tattooed. “It happens more often than you’d think. He’ll be awake in no time.” He smirked at her, looking her up and down with grey eyes. His tousled black hair brushed the top of his eyes. “See?” He added when Stiles shifted and groaned, starting to come back into the land of consciousness.

“You look a bit young to be a tattoo artist,” She struck up a conversation with the guy, noting the lack of ink on his body. He had a few small, tasteful tattoos along his forearms and a tooth hanging from one ear, but that was all.

“I’m still an apprentice.” The boy - Carlos - gave her a lazy half-shrug. “I noticed you looking at my sample book when you came in. My work is at a discounted price, but for a pretty girl like you…I could hook you up with something on the house, if you want?”

“You do fine-line?” She raised a brow, her curiosity piqued. He must have thought she was of age, and she wasn’t about to correct him if she could get a free tattoo out of it. She’d always wanted one. “I’ve heard it’s a difficult style.”

“Yeah, it is. But I’m great with my hands,” He winked at her and Stiles scowled at him as he clutched the top of the couch to haul himself into a seated position.

“Hey, buddy? She’s sixteen.” Stiles warned threateningly and Carlos’ grin dropped from his face. “Oh, and did I mention, my dad’s the Sheriff?”

The boy immediately left without so much as another glance in her direction, and Zaida glared at Stiles, crossing her arms over her chest. “You just cost me a free tattoo.”

“Yeah, and I just saved him from a court case.” He snorted and pulled himself to his wobbly feet.

“You’re as pale as a sheet, Stilinski. Sit back down.” She rolled her eyes and pushed his shoulder, forcing him back onto the couch as she sank into the seat beside him. “I can’t believe you actually fainted.”

“And I can’t believe you were actually letting that guy flirt with you to get a free tattoo. Seriously, his lines were awful. ‘I’m great with my hands’? What was that? That’s disgusting.” Stiles gagged. “You know as the oldest of this particular trio it’s my responsibility to make sure you two make good decisions, and neither of you is making it easy for me!” He called out purposefully so that Scott would hear him, turning to look back at the boy who was still under the needle and immediately regretting it when he felt queasy again.

“We’re all the same age, you bozo.” She shook her head, not counting the months that were undoubtedly between their birthdays.

“Nope, think again little-Xander,” He smirked. “I’m seventeen.”

“Little-Xander?” She repeated the nickname with an upturned nose. “Also, since when? I could have sworn you were sixteen.”

“Yeah, you’re exactly like him. You’re both stubborn smart-asses with a mean right hook and a temper. And I was sixteen. Until I turned seventeen.” Stiles shot back with infuriating smugness and she narrowed her eyes at him, forcing him to yield. “Okay fine, my birthday was April eighth.”

“Shut up, there's no way!” Her jaw dropped open in surprise, but she could tell he wasn’t lying. “But that was ages ago! Why didn’t you tell me? Did you guys do something for your birthday without me?”

“No, we…uh, we didn't do anything for my birthday.” His playful mood died down and she could tell she’d struck a nerve. April eighth, why did that date ring a bell?

“Oh,” She realised. That was why. It was the night of the Lacrosse grand final, when he’d been kidnapped and beaten by Gerard Argent, and she’d been worried out of her mind.

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded somberly, knowing she’d figured it out. Thankfully, the morose atmosphere was cleared when Stiles picked up a sample folder and pointed out a fine-line tattoo design of a long-stemmed rose. “That would look nice on you.”

“I thought you didn’t like tattoos?” She asked him with a raised brow.

“Doesn’t matter what I like, it’s your body and you like them.” He shrugged genuinely and her heart warmed at his sentiments. “Plus, you could make anything look pretty.”

Zaida suddenly regretted her choice of hairstyle for today as she found herself unable to hide her blush behind her hair as she usually did. Instead, she fanned herself, pretending it was due to the temperature of the shop. “Phew, is it hot in here?”

“Nope, just you.” Stiles winked and she knew it was a joke, but her heart stopped.

“Oh, man…” Scott groaned from the passenger seat of the Jeep, pulling up his shirt sleeve to inspect the bandaged tattoo.

“You okay?” Stiles asked him, eyes flickering off the road for only a second before he refocused.

“Kinda burns…” Scott winced, gripping his bicep tightly.

“Yes, you just had your skin stabbed about one hundred thousand times with a needle…” Stiles’ words were dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, but I don't think it's supposed to feel like this.” Scott reasoned and groaned in pain. “No, it's definitely not supposed to feel like this! Oh, I gotta take this thing off!”

“No, no, no, no, Scott!” Stiles pleaded with a horrified expression as his best friend tore the bandage off to reveal his fresh wound. Zaida, on the other hand, peered over the seat for a better look. “Oh, Scott, please stop!”

“Oh, no! What? No, no, come on!” Scott sighed in disappointment as the ink faded away back to his normal tanned skin tone. “It healed.”

“Aw, thank God. I hated it.” Stiles wrinkled his nose and blurted out in relief. Scott frowned at him. “...Sorry.”

“What happened to ‘it’s your body’?” Zaida snorted and the boy ignored her jab.

“I can’t believe summer break is already over.” He changed the subject instead.

“Tell me about it, I was grounded for the whole thing.” Zaida huffed. “I am absolutely dreading school tomorrow.”

“Hey, at least Allison will be back.” Stiles nudged Scott with his elbow, trying to cheer up the boy who was now moping about wasting his money on a tattoo that lasted like ten minutes.

“That’s if she’s even gonna show up,” Scott mumbled back, not having heard Zaida and Stiles’ conversation at the shop earlier.

“You haven’t spoken to her at all?” Zaida questioned. She’d have thought they’d at least have messaged each other a few times, but Scott had clearly not talked with the girl, otherwise, he’d know she was returning to Beacon Hills High.

“Nah, we agreed to give each other the summer - no texts, no calls,” Scott explained. “And after everything that happened, I'm not sure she's coming back at all…”

“I think she is,” Stiles said as they pulled up at a red light beside a much smaller car. The road was completely empty at this time of night. The boy turned his attention to that black car next to them. “I'd say it's pretty definite, you know...Like, one-hundred-percent…”

Zaida instantly recognised it, and though Scott might not have noticed whose car it was, he certainly recognised the two girls inside of it. “What are the chances?” She shook her head with a snort.

“Oh, my God! Oh-” The werewolf panicked, his dark eyes going wide as he sank in his seat. “Can we just drive, please? Stiles?”

“Scott, it's a red light!” Stiles exclaimed in exasperation.

“It’s not like that’s stopped you before,” Zaida reached over the seat to lightly slap the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, have a bit of mercy for your best friend.”

“I think we should talk to her. I just think we should say something.” Stiles leaned over Scott to roll down his window as the werewolf began to lose his shit.

“No! No, no, Stiles! Come on! Oh, my God, dude, no!” The wolf floundered, but Stiles ignored him and plastered a broad smile onto his face.

“Hey!” He called out but the black Beetle beside them simply sped off in response, straight through the red light. Stiles pulled back from Scott’s window with a casual shrug. “...You know, they probably didn't see us.”

“I think they saw you, Stiles.” Zaida scoffed and shook her head. “Hence the dramatic exit.”

“What are you doing?” Scott freaked out as the light turned green and Stiles resumed along the same road, pulling up behind the girls’ car.

“I'm driving...?” His brows furrowed, not quite getting what Scott didn’t understand about that.

“We're right behind them.” The wolf whined, gesturing at the black Beetle in front of them.

“Okay, well, do you see any turns?” The boy pointed out with a huff.

“I don't want it to look like we're following them…” Scott explained his thought process.

“It’s not like we have a whole lot of options right now, Scotty boy. It’s either we keep going like any normal person would, or we just break in the middle of the road like crazy people and wait for them to get far enough ahead before continuing.” Zaida rose to Stiles’ defence.

“Is that what you want me to do? I can stop.” The boy offered and Scott looked at them both with his mouth opening and shutting like a goldfish, not being able to decide which option was better right now. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don't know - anything?” Scott exclaimed in frustration and Stiles slammed on the brakes, throwing Zaida forwards so her rib cage went barrelling into the seat she was currently leaning over, effectively knocking the air flat out of her lungs.

“So you chose the crazy people option?” She wheezed out through laboured breathing, clutching her chest as it ached.

“Wait, they just stopped too.” Scott peered through the darkness, and he was right. The black Beetle had come to a pretty sudden stop too.

A sudden wave of sickening anxiety washed over Zaida, and she held up her hand for both of the boys to see how violently her body was shaking. “Something’s wrong.”

Stiles immediately flipped the gear shift into park and threw his door open, pulling his seat forward for her to clamber out of the back. He offered her his hand to help her jump down, and she accepted it, too busy worrying about Allison and Lydia to allow herself to blush at his touch as she now usually would. A loud smashing of glass echoed through the silence, snapping all three of their heads towards the Beetle. None of them wasted time, sprinting over as both girls got out of the car.

“Are you okay?” Scott got there first, and Stiles was next, going straight to Lydia.

“It came out of nowhere!” The redhead cried out and Zaida averted her eyes as Stiles checked her over for any injuries. She turned her head instead towards the windshield where the largest buck she’d ever seen had apparently crashed straight through the centre of the windshield - its neck lacerated by broken glass and its pelt soaked in blood.

“It ran right into us!” The redhead reported in a shaky voice.

“Are you okay?” Scott asked Allison tenderly, and the taller girl nodded her head.

“Well, I'm not okay! I am totally freaking out!” Lydia interrupted hysterically. “How the hell does it just run into us? I saw its eyes right before it hit us, and it was like it...It was like it was crazy.”

“Animals don’t just commit suicide,” Zaida murmured, walking around the bonnet with the shattered windshield crunching beneath her shoes. She reached out for the buck, her fingertips just barely grazing its fur before Stiles lunged forward and pulled her away.

“Careful, there’s glass everywhere.” He said with concern etched into his furrowed brows.

“It was scared,” Scott corrected Lydia’s assessment of the creature.

“...Actually, terrified.” Zaida agreed, holding up her still-shaking hand to the moonlight. She and Stiles exchanged worried glances. Her mother had warned them something was coming to Beacon Hills. Maybe it would arrive sooner than they’d thought.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #stiles stilinski #stiles #stiles x oc #teen wolf fanfiction #lydia martin #female oc #female original character #scott mccall #allison argent #scallison

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boonoonoonus · 1 year

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People only care about House Velaryon as much as it pertains to creating this upotian idea of racial neutrality. However, when you press to say the optics of whiteness perpetuating a form of ethnic cleansing in the House, everyone is blind. They can't see that, and the reason is because whiteness can never see itself as anything but ulturistic. People cannot comprehend, nor can they write anything that treats non-white characters as people with their own motivations, beliefs, and sense of morality because then they'd have to stop using them as tools. Laenor Velaryon is used in this way in fandom to prop up the Targaryens narrative concerning white supremacy, colonisation, and classism. It's ludicrous that's there is no fanfiction or meta or anything interrogating the possibility that House Velaryon could be justified in their dislike of the succession crisis Rhaenyra causes or that Laenor may be upset with her. He is never more than her gay best friend because that is the only role a gay biracial man can play for a white woman.

This is problematic in as much that making a biracial man support someone who is representative of systems of oppression in any which way without critical engagement is dangerous and an oversight. Making House Velaryon black could have been interesting. Instead, it's invited white people on mass to prop up black people as support for their racist fantasies. By that, I mean any writing/headcanon/thought experiment that sees House Velaryon just be Rhaenyra's strongest supporters without explaining why, is just erasure and tokenism. (Sidenote, no one ever gives a why and I think in part it's because media literacy is dead and whiteness has become so ingrained as the standard people cannot fathom why you would never just support the main white character no matter how asinine they are. There is no good argument, and no one wants to do the work to try to create one. Fair enough, no one can demand your labour, but it leave black characters in a sidelined and tokenistic position that supports white people taking them out for brownie points when needed.)

Laenor isn't a person, he's a mesh of plot relevant reactions and external support to make Rhaenyra and the writer by extension look and feel better. Both Laenor and Laena are shown in fanfiction and the TV show to be useful by the very act of their disposal, and no one pauses to wonder if that is a violent act. (It is. It's antiblack and plays into hegemonic violence against black bodies).

Also, the breeding kink of the white supremacist line of thinking shows itself in the way in which people argue the importance of Rhaenyras line continuing by blood, but conveniently saying that the choice to adopt on behalf of House Velaryon is progressive and their blood doesn't matter, choice does. The parallels between this argument and the likes of the Tuskegee experiment or sterilisation of non white persons with vaginas in hospitals and prisons whilst encouraging white people who are capable of giving birth to do so are immense. The willingness of people to fall into white supremacist lines of thinking when arguing for a fictional character is astounding, however its ultimately a pet peeve on my behalf. There are very few critical spaces in which blackness is welcomed in life, and existential alienation extends into the digital and fictional worlds. People are comfortable with prejudice and white supremacy ,it's is the basis on which the West builds legitimacy and precedent, it is not remiss then to say that the inheritors of these social precedents replicate the behaviour and line of thinking.

This is not to say people are unaware, but often the "fun" of whiteness is to be able to not have to worry about the likes of Black, Indigenous, Asian or Pacific islander people because preservation of white happiness is more important. White people get to live in a utopian ideal all the time when it pertains to race and have the freedom to say that discussions on such topics harsh their vibe so they do not have to engage.

But whatever, who cares what I think, I'm just a Black person on the Internet.

#Ryahmidnightmusings

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daughter0fslaughter · 7 months

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Orin’s lesbian experience with loneliness.

Orin the Red is a bitter, snappy, spiteful woman with murder on her mind and a burning desire for… recognition.

Recognition in any way, shape and form. Leaving her name on letters at her crime scenes. Developing a recognisable, artistic style in her slaughters and an unforgettable appearance. She is extremely well spoken - remarkably so - and her vocabulary is uniquely gory to suit her and everything she does. Orin the Red stands out in almost every way possible. Everything about her is special from the bizarre swirls beneath her skin to her deathly childhood, all the way through to adulthood. And yet she finds herself bumping heads with other Bhaalspawn and being subjected to competition despite the air of entitlement she was raised to have.

Orin does not understand the lack of flair and artistry in other Bhaalists work. She views herself as far above everyone else (fairly so, given her extreme skill) and operates accordingly. Underlings are there to serve her and Bhaal, yes, but they are also there to learn from her vastly superior killing ability. She educates those willing to learn. Orin demonstrates high anatomical knowledge and masterful understanding of the tools at hand to those wishing to improve in their own craft. It disappoints her that though they copy her and hit the correct locations, it is not the same. It does not have their emotions, their thoughts, their artistic intentions embedded within the flesh. It results in murder, but it is not beautiful. They don’t seem to care or want to change that. They admire her efficiency but nothing more.

It gets her thinking.

She does not understand why they do not care for art in blood, or why they speak plainly. They do not consider each move yet their impulsivity is almost as bland and boring as a full itinerary. But they find community with each other (regardless of how fragile) and a life of choice. Orin was born into this community and has spent every single second of her life dedicated to Him, but she does not feel like she is part of that community. Orin does not have any friends. She does not have coworkers. She has underlings. She does not understand how to connect and even empathise, nor does she understand how to communicate with them outside of barking orders. These people are the closest to Orin that Orin will ever find. Almost everyone else on the planet would view her as a barbaric entity completely void of humanity. Bhaalists would agree but with a glimmer in their eyes. All signs should point to Orin having a very accessible plethora of friends yet she remains without real connections or long-standing friendships.

If Orin was to be asked for her closest friend, her mind would very briefly flicker over Minthara Baenre. Not really a friend, not really a coworker, barely an underling... Orin kept her close regardless. She had no respect for Minthara's personal space, wants or wishes. She commanded Minthara to do this and that as she pleased, and she allowed Minthara to worship her. The "friendship" was completely and utterly imbalanced. One serves, one commands. Orin and Bhaal. Minthara and Orin. In Orin's head, Minthara existed as her "chosen". A stern, swift, neglectful hand dealt upon Minthara as was once dealt upon Orin. The only difference is Minthara manages to escape it and it seems like Orin never will. Always the student, never the master.

Despite this, Minthara had a "luxury" very few have been given, if anybody. To brush Orin the Red's hair. To casually chat with her as she sharpened her blades. To see the isolation and bloody sterilisation that makes up what it is to be a Bhaalist experiment. A child raised entirely without love, surrounded by slaughter. A child without a childhood. Born to be a murderer - a slayer, if you will - and yet...

Not one, but two people given a fighting chance by her hand.

A tadpole in her bloodkin's skull, and a tadpole burrowed deep behind Minthara's eye. Orin could've easily killed them both. Her illithid infection didn't exactly come from a place of mercy but perhaps an acute exercise of freewill and choice. To infect her bloodkin, one whom outranked her, was a flex of power and maybe even an attempt to humiliate. To infect Minthara was to dispel her from her side, all while keeping her under the heel of the Absolute and ensure the occasional contact despite its sparsity. Orin didn't want to get rid of Minthara. Why?

Did she love Minthara? Is she capable of that? Does Orin believe that she was raised with love, and reflected that behaviour onto Minthara? Maybe. Maybe not.

Intimacy doesn't come naturally to Orin, nor does romance in general. Given her time constraints in day to day life and her "fondness" for Minthara, it isn't unlikely that Minthara may have been the first Orin trusted. A new form of release, and a new experience, built on the back of actual trust. Orin would've had firm control over it and Minthara unwaveringly loyal. No risk of things slipping out of her hands. Maybe that even for the first time, Orin exercised restraint and gentle hands.

Those displays of vulnerability towards Minthara could've been Orin's way of communicating love (unlikely) or even mutual respect (even more unlikely). Maybe Orin just liked someone devoted to her. A change.

Did Orin love Minthara, or did she love her devotion?

Orin loved Minthara the only way she knows how; through control and abuse, and acute displays of freedom.

After Minthara was expelled to the goblin camp, Orin returned to extreme self-isolation and being "respected" out of necessity. She no longer had the release she had before - not without running the risk of trusting another person - and now exclusively had to focus her frustrations and desires on the plan at hand. A part of her wondered if she truly wanted to bench Minthara or if Bhaal wanted that for her. Had he ever wanted anything for Orin outside of her absolute devotion? No. Not really. Orin convinced herself it was his gentle redirection to focus her properly. Minthara's absence, her lack of distraction, must've meant that Orin was well on her way to truly being accepted by Him... right?

To be unable to connect with anyone, trust anyone, live alongside anyone, all while being surrounded by people who should want to worship you.

Orin does not understand. She understands that she does not understand, and that is the hardest part of all.

#smelly orin #bg3 #character analysis #orin headcanons #Orin is autistic and deeply abused she's so toast #I will always love you Orin #my smelly girl #Minthara Baenre

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