#maybe I can continue on being a functional member of society

[the-hopeless-haze]

Worried About You

Chapter 4 of If You Want It, You Can Bleed On Me (House x reader)

“I need Vicodin,” Greg says to you, walking into your office. Well. Your office when you were here. You scowl slightly at the day-old coffee in your line of vision and think about how you’ll be scolded by the other people you share the office with the rest of the week when you inevitably forget that it’s there.

“Funny. I’m not your dealer,” you say.

You and Greg had hit it off, so to speak. Much to everyone’s chagrin and surprise, you continued seeing each other inside and outside the hospital. It wasn’t something either of you spoke about. Psychiatrists (or psychiatric doctors of nursing) are the worst patients and the best repressors. You did what you had to to be able to function like a member of society, but you were as fucked up as the rest of them. And you see Greg is similar. USA-renowned, if not world-renowned, diagnostician—but that was all he had besides a bum leg and a healthy dose of chronic depression and reliance on opiates to function.

When you finally had sex -heterosexual sex, dick in pussy sex - it was a frenzy fueled by alcohol and weeks long of teasing, and you saw glimpses of his leg in the midst of it and he saw the scars scattering your arms, but beyond the “oh, so you tried to kill yourself” he said to you when he edged you on the brink of orgasm the umpteenth time (and oh, boy, was that a mood killer) there were no comments about either.

But he kept you around and you weren’t entirely certain of why. It’s only been a month or so, and he’s not calling you his girlfriend or telling you he loves you, but he’ll still wine and dine you before railing you. And you don’t know if it’s out of obligation, if he feels like even though you’re not a hooker he has to pay you for sex, or if he genuinely enjoys your company. You think about how dissimilar you are to Wilson and how that’s the only person he keeps close. You wonder if maybe you remind him of his live-in ex that you’re almost certain he never got over. It’s a good time though, regardless. You make each other laugh. You both love The Rolling Stones. You begrudgingly agreed to be dragged to a monster truck show one night (“Wilson won’t come with me” he whined) and in return you made him go with you to see a local band perform that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in.

It was that sacrificing that made you pretty close to a real couple. Wilson pointed it out to you and he no doubt pointed it out to Greg. You made a snarky comment about his marriage and you wonder if you should compare notes with Greg to make sure you’re both not using the same lines.

You don’t know why you keep him around either, so it’s fair. It’s nice to have a fuck buddy, you suppose, and it’s also nice to almost like them as a human being rather than a sex toy. It’s certainly not because you think you can cure him, because you know you can’t. You wanted sex and you didn’t want a rehash. All things considered, he was a thorough lover and cared about getting you off as much as himself, which somewhat surprised you given how selfish he can be in other settings.

It’s not a bad arrangement. At least not right now.

But you’re fucked and you know it. It’s why you were drawn to work with kids in the first place. At least you’d always have a leg up on them. Someone out there thought you were sane enough to be rent an apartment and be a licensed prescriber.

Oh. Speaking of.

“Come on. You have a license to prescribe. Just once,” he begs.

“Yeah. No. I think you’ve got me confused with Wilson.”

“You’re much hotter,” he offers.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It got you in my bed.”

You smirk, shaking your head. “Yeah. Fair. But that’s as far as it’ll get you. You can be lackadaisical with your license, but I’d like to keep mine until I want to retire.”

“How’d I get with such a goody-two-shoes? Even Wilson will play.”

“He’s not now, apparently. What gives?”

“I bet Cuddy clinic hours that I wouldn’t take Vicodin for a week. They’re all convinced I’m an addict.”

You snort. “Okay. I hate to point it out so bluntly, but this is prime behavior for addiction. Searching all channels to get a fix because you can’t go a week without it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Okay. I’m going to do the week. But I need someone on standby. I’m only doing the week, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to get it prescribed afterward.”

“Chronic pain is outside my scope of practice. Best I could do is a suboxone MAT and say I’m detoxing you off Vicodin and keeping your substance use in check, but even that’s pushing it. There’s a conflict of interest.”

“You can’t keep the clinical and the personal separate?”

“Nope. Could you? If I was your patient this week, would you be able to? Bringing your ex-girlfriend into this is what got you into this mess. Don’t bring me in to try to fix it.”

“I’m not asking you to fix it. And you have a medical background. I’m asking you to write the order I’m asking for. I know how to manage my pain.”

“Why don’t you get through this week first? Then maybe you’ll take me up on the suboxone,” you say, crossing your arms.

“You think I’m addicted?”

“Jesus Christ, Greg, you’re smarter than this. You know what happens if you consistently take opiates. I know you need them for pain. I’m not denying that. But to think you’re immune to the side effects? It’s habit-forming. You know this. You’ve been taking it for years. You’re going to have withdrawal symptoms. You should be doing this in a detox facility if anything.”

“I work in a hospital. Opiate withdrawal never killed anyone, anyway,” he says, seeing no point in bluffing to you any longer.

“Maybe not. But you’ll suffer. I’ll meet you halfway, hm?” You say, looking up at him. “I’ll prescribe you comfort meds for the week. Ease you through it. Mirapex, vistaril, zofran, clonidine, bentyl…”

“Most of those aren’t exactly in your scope. If you want to be technical.”

“If I lose my license for any of those the board has far too much time on their hands. But you’re right. I’ll get Chase to sign them off.”

“Chase?”

“He’s the most desperate to get laid out of the three. I bat my eyelashes enough he won’t even question who the scripts are for.”

“Chase? Look at him. If he’s not getting laid none of us should be.”

You scoff. “I guess pretty boys do it for you, but not for me. But no…I can tell. He reeks of desperation.”

“It’s desperation to be liked by authority. Not desperation for pussy. He’s swimming in it.”

“Okay. We’ll see if he folds,” you say, winking.

Greg sighs. “Is this some kind of game?”

“What isn’t, with you? It’s all games, it’s all puzzles.”

“Why Chase?”

“I told you. I know you’d rather me go to Cameron, but unfortunately, I don’t think flirting would get very far with her. Foreman will never fold.”

“You don’t have other doctors you work with you could ask?”

“Greg, it’s just fucking comfort medications that you probably will have too much pride to even touch. Again. Not risking my career for you and letting people that actually respect me think I’m a nutcase because I slept with you.”

“So… you want to fuck Chase. Right?”

“Where in that insecure little man brain did you think of that? It’s your other head, right? I must want the sexy Australian because all the other girls are doing him? Because I want to ask him to prescribe meds? For you?”

He shrugs. “Matter of time. ‘Oh, I had to blow him, that’s the only way I could get him to do this’ or ‘oh, honey, good news, he said if I sleep with him three times a week he’ll prescribe your Vicodin’.”

“Stop with the immature bullshit. If I wanted to fuck him, I’d just leave you, not worry about the meds, and do it. Grow up, Greg,” you mutter, walking away.

“Then why don’t you?” he challenges, hating himself as the words leave his mouth, hating how unattractively juvenile he was coming across. But there were reasons, the need to push you away to see if he would get pulled back, the need to be contrary, the need to know. Know what, exactly, he’s not sure.

He already knows he’s in for one of the worst weeks of his life. Even if the withdrawal symptoms are mild, he’s going to be in terrible, unmanageable pain, and all the Tylenol and Motrin in the world aren’t going to even come close to touching it. And he’s going to be more miserable than usual. No pain relief. No euphoria from the high when he takes just one… or two… or three extra than he needs. He knows he’s addicted. He tries to roll it off his back, saying it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t change perceptions of him, it’s something he needs for pain, and it doesn’t affect his ability to practice medicine.

But sometimes he’s afraid. When James looks at him in concern but doesn’t offer any solutions because there aren’t any real ones, are there? He needs opiates for pain. Nothing else will work. Whether it’s pure heroin or your gold-standard synthetic hippy bullshit medication-assisted treatment… it’s still an opiate. Naloxone embedded in the pill or not. Having to go to a clinic to get dosed and having to have checks and balances on his use or not. It’s still an opiate. There’s still a stigma. It still pinpoints his pupils, lowers his respiratory rate, and hopefully, hopefully, takes the edge off so he can function but he knows. Addiction isn’t his specialty, he never wanted it to be, but he knows. One day it’ll be his last Vicodin, or the Vicodin won’t work anymore, and hey, you know what’s instantaneous? Spinal morphine. Can only use that card once or twice, have to tell Wilson he’s in excruciating pain and guilt him into enabling. He’ll only go so far. And then…well, then it’s IV heroin or fentanyl, whichever is easier to get, whichever is cheaper.

Greg knows that addiction treatment centers are revolving doors. He knows that you saw the same people back and forth and back and forth sign in and sign out, sign in and sign out. Change their medication plans a million times. And some of them still died anyway.

He’s afraid. He’s afraid of dying by his own hand by accident, alone and blue, nodding off forever. Sometimes he wishes for it, an end to the pain, but he also doesn’t want people to find him like that. A predictable end to a predictable story. World-renowned diagnostician died the same way a poor broke junkie did on the streets. Hooked on drugs, overshot it.

And it’s not that he thinks he’s better than those people. He knows he is those people. Even prior to his disability he dabbled in drugs, never enough to create a habit but enough to definitely indicate the potential of a problem. He’d tried almost every illicit substance “just to see how it felt” by your age. It feels good. Drugs feel good. It’s how they work. And your brain wants to feel good. It’s how they keep working and you keep using.

He knows. He’s in a vicious cycle he’ll never claw his way out of.

And you know it, too.

And yet you’re wasting your time fighting with him instead of walking away.

Why?

He doesn’t know that.

“Yeah. Why don’t I fuck him?” you snark back, turning on your heel and walking back toward him, drawing him out of his pity party and back into the misery he created for no reason other than to drag you down with him, make you choke on it with him. “I don’t want to. That’s why. I want to fuck you, although believe me, that thought is getting less and less appealing every time you open that fucking mouth and speak.”

“It does have better uses,” he quips, shrugging, almost visibly relaxing at hearing he was chosen, that he hadn’t scared you off yet.

You roll your eyes. “When does the detox start?”

“Now. It’s been a couple of hours.”

“So you wanted to kick it off and try to put both of us in a shitty mood to start with? Not your brightest idea, huh?” you ask.

He doesn’t say anything and you nod, feeling slightly more in control now that you rendered him silent without any arguments. “Go home. You can’t think clearly if you’re going to be actively detoxing.”

“I still have to make them think I can function without it,” he says after pausing. He would’ve lied to you too, put up a façade with you too, but that’s the thing about addiction. It’s easy to hide dependence to people who don’t know what to look for, but you do. And you would smell it on him.

“I thought you didn’t care what people think?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why take the bet at all?”

“I’ll get out of clinic hours.”

“Right. You would never do something like this to prove a point,” you say sarcastically, leading him out of the office. —————- “Why are you with him?” Chase asks. “And you care enough about him to ask me to use my medical license for a script.”

“You’ll see I don’t care enough about him to risk using mine,” you counter. “It’s comfort meds. Just write the scripts and I’ll leave you alone and we can go back to never talking, which is honestly how I prefer it.”

“I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Right,” you mutter. “I’ve heard enough, though.”

“Does he… what does he say about me?” he asks, a look between bewildered and terrified crossing his face.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Forget I said anything. You’re fine, I’m sure, I just don’t want to be entangled in the team. I already work with Wilson. One facet of House’s life needs to be separate from me.”

“Right. So you’re asking me to prescribe him medications.”

“As a doctor. Which is your job,” you point out. You sigh, looking at the pretty blond man sitting in front of you. Maybe Greg was right to be afraid. Most women your age would be begging to spread their legs at the thought of carrying this man's children. He's more stable, at least comes off that way, and he doesn't have an addiction and a crippled leg.

“Why stay with him if you know he’s an addict?”

Why are you staying?

You look at him for a second, reading his face. “You hate people that struggle with addiction, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say I hate them. I just think they don’t realize the pain they cause and it’s unfair to the sober people in their life.”

“Everyone is someone’s burden,” you say.

But why did you take him on?

“So you think he’s going to detox.”

“I know he’s going to detox. Which is why. Once again. I’m asking you to prescribe him comfort medication for the aforementioned detox.”

“You guys really like each other, huh?”

Why did he take you on?

“No. I want my week to not be miserable. This might lessen it a little bit.”

“Oh, and you’re deflecting just like he would.”

“Just prescribe me the damn meds, Chase.”

“You’re going to be miserable anyway,” he says, shrugging as he takes out his script pad. “You owe me one.”

You know he's not wrong.

“Yeah. You’ll get a psych consult on the house,” you agree.

“Why’d you ask me?”

You sigh. “Can’t ask Wilson. Too close. So it had to be one of you three. Foreman just wouldn’t. Cameron would ask me too many questions and she’d tell everybody.”

“And me?”

“Process of elimination, really. Thank you, you know," you say, deciding to leave out the part where he gets off on sucking metaphorical dick for the chance at appealing to authority. Sometimes you wish you were as crass as House. You come up with some good ones if you could only find the guts to just say them.

“He’s not going to take them.”

“Probably not. But I’m doing my part.”

“As what? His girlfriend?”

“His… friend,” you clarify, and you walk out of the office with the scripts in tow to fill at the pharmacy. Later you hand them to him and he takes them without a word. He opens all the bottles, takes one of each pill in his hand and he pops them dry. Terrible for his esophagus, you tell him, and he mutters something about how he’s wrecked his liver and everything else has to catch up. He opens a bottle of wine and you lean against his chest, barely processing the cheap soap opera flashing in front of you on the TV. He's already sweating, you can feel his shirt damp against your cheek. You don’t know why you’re here. You don’t know why he made a show of taking all those pills in front of you. Maybe to show your efforts were appreciated without having to say the words, even if he thought it was stupid. Maybe it was a desperate attempt to make this all suck less. Maybe it was because this was bending the rules a little, a detox with help, however minor, and he always wanted to see how far he could push before the consequences could roll in. Let’s cheat a little. Instead of a slice of pizza on a diet let’s have a hydroxyzine in a cold turkey detox.

He asked you to come over tonight but he hasn’t said much of anything or initiated much either. Why does he want you here? To know he’s not alone this time, that you’re willing to face the brunt of this pain with him when it returns, like Stacy was unwilling to?

You don’t know.

You don’t want to know. It’s best he keeps that information in his own head where it belongs. You don’t want to get too attached, too close, too entangled. This is fine how it is.

But you still wake up drenched in sweat that isn’t yours.

#house md x reader #house x reader #greg house x reader #gregory house x reader #greg house x you #house x you #gregory house x you #house md #house md fanfiction

[stardustizuku]

sorry for using your inbox as a confessional im too scared to post in a tag where everyone knows each other. anyway the thing i think is most interesting about wilfried is how sylvester is characterized by his treatment of his failson. bc like the obvious answer after the ivory tower incident and at like eight other points in the story was to demote wilfried to an archnoble or to put him in the temple. bonifatius should have served as sylvester's very obvious example that like. an archducal family member can thrive and be better off if they're not forced into archducal competition beyond doing the training just in case everyone else dies. and ferdinand should have shown him that sometimes being put in the temple or otherwise demoted is better than being a target in noble society. especially once rozemyne shows up and hes repeatedly shown the ways the temple is improving and the importance of it to the duchy's functioning. and yet even in his conversation with bonifatius in i think book 5 hes so against it he would rather disown rozemyne. which you could interpret as him thinking that even if he understands all that that noble society will continue to target wilfried but it also implies that on some level sylvester did and maybe still does think that bonifatius and ferdinand have reached "bad ends", despite caring deeply for them and intellectually understanding that they are better off not being the aub. bc it's not like wilfried is completely incompetent, he's just terrible at politics. he's a skilled warrior and when he's not being coddled he's fully capable of buckling down and getting work done. but even though sylvester has been told exactly that by several people, after sylvester finally gives up on having wilfried be the unambiguous heir he's still very clearly trying to leave the path open for him when wilfried has obviously and repeatedly been shown to not have a talent or even really a desire for the position outside of not wanting to be a target and charlotte has been here the whole time. honestly sylvester's basically only done harm by reinforcing that him losing the seat WOULD be a bad thing instead of trying to improve conditions for non-candidate archducal family members if he's so worried about the fate of failsons. like idk i just think its interesting especially in light of the most recent chapter that sylvester certainly cares for rozemyne and doesn't want her to be forced into a position she doesn't want, but, like, he is still a noble, it's just that rozemyne is frequently sheltered from that fact because his interests and hers so frequently overlap. sylvester being a good guy who is still very much a noble is actually my favorite thing about him, way too often in isekai stories you get a prankster noble whose carelessness is played off as cute or funny even when it would have extremely real consequences, so having sylvester be a dude who clearly means well but is in no way immune from reinforcing systemic injustice even in his own family is very interesting. although i get why myne doesn't really clash with him over it, i do sometimes wish they kept the somewhat adversarial relationship they had in early aob and i hope that charlotte gets to conflict with sylvester more

Hi! Thank you for sharing! I was a bit busy and didn't notice the ask, but you make a great point.

Sylvester is a very well meaning guy, who sometimes (in an effort to avoid his children suffering) can be blindsided and ignore the truth.

In his case, regarding Rozemyne and Wilfred, he ignores them both in regards to what they want/need, in favor to what he believes they need.

Yes, he would rather Wilfred be the next aub and sorta of forces the position on him. But he also forces the idea of Rozemyne as his second hand, then wife, on her. He's genuinely trying to help, but he gets blinded by his own past. For a very, very long time he saw himself in Wilfred, and Ferdinand in Rozemyne.

But, even when Wilfred explicitly said he did not want it - the reason why Sylvester didn't accept him relinquishing the position was actually Rozemyne herself.

I can assume it was a huge blow, since granting Wilfred his wish would mean making Rozemyne (a commoner) into an Aub and he couldn't bring himself to do that, for various reasons. He knows Ferdinand would not allow it, it would cause problems with Florencia, and more importantly: Rozemyne herself would hate it. Sylvester actually does care for Rozemyne, in the few ways he can allow himself to care.

He knows that Rozemyne wants nothing to do with politics. She wants to make books and hang out in the temple and with commoners. At that point, keeping them together was not to give Wilfred "what he wanted", but to KEEP Rozemyne and give her what she wanted (and what he duchy needed).

Sylvester is truly a unique interesting case, because he's well-meaning, but messes up sometimes. No one can be sure if his actions are 100% correct, or if it was the best option. But nevertheless, he does try to clean up after the messes he causes, and protect his people.

#ascendance of a bookworm #honzuki no gekokujou

[impishtubist]

Okay, so this is directly related to the many takes I’ve seen about Sirius just heartlessly abandoning Regulus, but less of that and more “the Black brothers only had each other growing up and are unhealthily codependent.” All their friends, aside from maybe other purebloods who know just how batshit it is growing up in a family like the Blacks, think that their relationship is bonkers and unhinged, but they straight up have no idea how to function in a world without each other. You can’t tell me that either of them experienced actual, normal socialization as children with their family being what it was. Literally the sole reason either learns how to exist separately is that Sirius was older and in a different year; they would’ve continued being a codependent mess of amorality, power, and unhinged tendencies if they’d been in the same year (and if they were twins, they never would’ve stood a chance at being normal members of society or knowing how to be individual people)

Yeah, see, I'm of two minds about this.

On the one hand, I can absolutely see how the two of them growing up in that household together (and being only a year apart in age) would make them unhealthily codependent on each other, and that's fascinating to explore in fic.

On the other hand, I absolutely firmly and completely reject the idea that blood is more important than the family you choose, and I can't see Sirius ever choosing Regulus over James (or James choosing Regulus over Sirius). Also, I hate the takes that I see sometimes where people get mad at Sirius for "abandoning" Regulus. First of all, Regulus is not his responsibility! Second of all, you don't even know that Regulus actually wanted to leave! Third of all, Sirius has never done anything wrong in his life :)

So basically I have two conflicting headcanons in my head (as per usual) and which one I go with depends on what I'm feeling that day 😂

#your blood siblings are not more important than your friends #imp speaks #chaos night #i think

[starphyre-blooms]

I am having a feeling. It is a feeling that I do not like. What I like even less than having the feeling is the process of letting it go. Step one to having an uncomfortable feeling is allowing yourself to feel it. Admittedly, this is the part of having an uncomfortable feeling that I am the worst at. 😬🫣.

This type of education is one that is not taught in schools. Without a parent that has the capacity to navigate their own emotional experience, children are left to navigate their emotional bodies on their own. Something a child is not well equipped to do, making this very important work for people of all ages. Traditional education excels at instilling academic knowledge, often over looking holistic teachings which can be such a useful aid to so many. Understanding our bodies, beyond just their physical state of being can bring emotional balance and physical health.

Caring for the self is rarely taught, as we are taught to prioritize becoming high functioning (read, income producing) members of society. We are taught to neglect ourselves in the name of hard work, making the almighty dollar almost god like in the eyes of so many. Similarly, the necessary skills to recognize and outgrow toxic relationships ends up lacking. The crucial skill set of setting boundaries, respecting our own needs and cultivating relationships that help us grow is not found in our k-12 school systems. Education should nurture us as a whole entity, not just a physical one. We grow up and wonder how some people seem completely devoid of emotional intelligence.

So, what is this feeling that emerges from my heart space, encapsulating my entire being? Where does it stem from? What is its origin? I’ll give you a hint. It starts with “B” and ends with a “ YYYYYYYYYY😭😭😭😭😭😭😭.”

😬🫣

Let’s call him Matt. My journey into reiki started at the beginning of this calendar year. I was in a dark place and in serious need of emotional healing. I prayed before my altar for my deities to help me through my pain, and to send me true, divine, everlasting love. Then, Matt started popping up on my “For You” page on the popular app, TikTok. When I first saw him there was an instant moment of recognition. I wrote it off as wishful thinking, but continued to tune into him because his reiki felt so nice to me. Then, out of nowhere, he slid into my DMs. I was delighted, remembering that moment of instant recognition. For days before the first interaction I kept seeing his face pop into my minds eye as he would go back and forth about whether or not I would think he was a creep if he reached out to me(part of being psychic). The night before our first interaction, I had a dream he sent me a message, then woke up to a message. Being psychic, this sort of stuff is common for me in romantic soulmate relationships, but normally I have to have…… a physical exchange with someone before I can connect with them like this.

My experience of “soulmates” is as follows: we are all one, so we are all soulmates. Every interaction we have teaches us something about ourselves, making us all the master and the student. That barista that gets your order wrong almost every time? Maybe a lesson in speaking up for ourselves, or a chance to practice patience and compassion. That parent that is very negative? Perhaps a lesson in not needing external validation. There are many types of soulmates, but I think we glorify the romantic soulmate because of all of the fundamental lessons we learn in those types of relationships.

That being said, I know Matt is my soulmate 👻💕👻. After that interaction, my experience of his reiki would become much more intense. The more intimately we connected, the more intense I could feel him. Instead of healing, I would be struck by hot waves of passion as his reiki tingled parts of my body that I can’t show in public. I could feel him breathing on my skin through whatever device I watched him on. My body went from having emotional releases in response to his reiki, to wanting to have a very physical release. Then, just like that, his interactions stopped coming.

This activated my attachment system. Persons with an anxious attachment style (like me) have a deep fear of abandonment. I was being emotionally abandoned by someone that I had gone to for healing and solace for so long. For someone with an anxious attachment style, this is felt much more intensely. You see, for someone with an anxious attachment style, even someone leaving physically, and temporarily can trigger the anxious partner into a frenzy where they are overwhelmed with fear and anxiety. Abandonment fear is necessary for evolution purposes. Fear of abandonment keeps us close to others, and therefore, more likely to survive. We are all hardwired to fear abandonment. It is in our DNA. Persons with an anxious attachment style, however, have actually experienced intense abandonment, repeatedly throughout their lives, usually starting from childhood. These people fight much harder to prevent this abandonment, or even the threat of, often times in some dramatic fashion. Persons with anxious attachment will resort to what is known as “protest behaviors” to keep their partner from abandoning them. This can look like frequent communication so they know that you haven’t forgotten about them and suddenly and without warning stopped loving them. When this, or the perception of this, occurs, it is completely devastating to the anxiously attached.

Matt has an avoidant attachment style. Persons with avoidant attachment are prone to disappear or use a series of techniques to keep emotional distance from partners or potential partners. This happens because there was no emotional safety involved in the upbringing of the avoidant partner.

We were getting close, so he was pulling away. This was not a healthy dynamic for me, and on a conscious level I knew I should have just walked away right then and there. My subconscious programming wouldn’t let me. My subconscious programming needed the connection to be completely obliterated before I could let go and walk away. There are other layers. I knew Matt cared for me, as I mentioned before, I am psychic. I could still feel his energy attached to me, even though he was no longer directing his attention towards me, in an overt way.

After much ruminating, I found myself asking:

#spiritual development #spiritualgrowth #spiritualhealing #tarot #tarotcommunity #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a crystal #oracle #oracle cards #guided messages #channeled reading #channeled message #love reading #soulmates #spirituality #twin flame #the divine masculine #divine feminine #divineguidance #Youtube

[mona-randi]

The Punishment

Part 2

I only lasted two days before my tingling and seemingly continuously dripping pussy found me knocking at his office door, hoping I caught him in a good mood. Or possibly a bad mood. Whatever motivated him to touch me, or atleast, have the mercy to allow me to touch myself.

I needed release and if I didn't get it soon, I felt as though I was going to break from the inside and transform into a slobbering, panting thing just begging on her knees.

Here is my confession, Dear Readers, one I thought I would take to my grave. But after reading this, you and my therapist, will be the only other people alive on this planet who will be taking it to the grave as well.

You see, I am a Nymphomaniac.

Or a hypersexual. Whichever term magazines are using to best describe someone who thinks of sex often enough to be continually aroused and needs to be brought to multiple orgasms several times a day before they can even function as a walking talking productive member of society.

So yes, after he said I had to tell him when I wanted to cum and he had to watch, I told myself that that could never happen.

What would he do when he found out just how often I thought about sex?

Would he be as disgusted in my depravity as I am? Would he still want me once he knew just how... wrong I am?

Would he still love me if he ever found out... broken I am?

"Enter."

My brain was already thinking up excuses as my hand was twisting the doorknob open. I should just tell him that I knocked because he might need water, or maybe a snack.

My excuses shrank away from me as I stepped into the room. There on his desk, a glass full of water and a bowl of almonds.

My mind raised through every possible best case scenario as I softly closed the door and took the Wait position behind him. It is a position I've carefully practiced with him with my legs shoulder width apart, my arms clasped behind me, my shoulders pulled back, my eyes cast downward.

We have an agreed upon routine for when I need to interrupt his work. I knock, wait for his command, quietly enter, close the door, and then wait in this position until he is ready to speak with me. This way, he is able to mentally compartmentalize work and home life while not being overwhelmed with his duty and responsibility as my Dom.

He didn't turn from his desk to face me right away instead he would wait until he came to a good stopping point, then would interact with me.

I decided that I would speak to him about... getting a puppy. Ive always wanted a puppy.

But as time passed on, the tingling between my legs became nearly over stimulating. I tried rubbing my thighs together to ease some of the growing ache but it only made it worse.

My only choice was to confess my needs to him and recieve my punishment. I just...

At that thought, he excited out of his works email rook a deep breath and turned to me, his hands crossed across his lap.

"Do you have something you wish to confess, Slut?" His voice and his eyes showed no emotion.

I gulped, desperate to keep my voice even.

"I..." How do I even tell him? "I need..."

I couldn't even mutter the words before a blush overtook my face, and I cast my eyes to the floor.

"Ahh..." He leaned back into his chair, "You lasted longer than I thought you would."

Ofcourse, he knew. He could always tell when I was horny.

"Well?" He crossed his hands in his lap. "If you want permission to masturbate you will say, 'Master, can I touch myself?'"

"Master," I stuttered, ringing my hands, "Can I touch myself."

He waited for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You may." He gestured to the couch on the backwall of his office. "Strip and lay there. You may touch yourself to orgasm but ask permission before you allow yourself to cum."

With a nod, I slowly began sliding my clothes down off my body, until I was naked, the cold air of his office brought goose bumps to my skin, raising my nipple to taut points.

Still not breaking eye contact, he gestured to the couch again.

This was... so informal. I was used to foreplay with him. Some form of a warm up but this... felt cold and methodical.

I awkwardly sat on the couch as he sat in his office chair in front of me.

"Begin." He commanded in a flat tone. "Touch your nipples."

I slowly lifted my hands to my breasts, my face quickly warming up again. I had been exposed in front of him before but with him fully clothes and me naked this was... I had never felt more vulnerably bare.

My hands cupped my round breasts, my nipple settling inbetween my fingers.

"Roll your nipple between your fingers."

I did as he commanded, licking my lips. My nipples have always been very sensitive, even just rolling them sends shiver down my arms.

"Pinch them." I bit my lip, looking away. "Don't look away, Slut. Keep your eyes on me as you touch yourself."

I forced my eyes to him through half closed lids.

"You are playing with my toys, with my explicit permission. Do you understand?"

"Yes, S-Sir." I shudder as my finger pinch the tender peaks. He knew what a little rough foreplay did to me.

"Slide your other hand down your stomach until I tell it to stop."

I felt my hand slide over my soft skin right up until it was met with a slick slit.

"Stop." He stood up and took a fee steps until he was standing over me. "What do you feel?"

"My pussy." My face stung with his slap before I realized my mistake.

"What is it?"

"Your pussy, Master." Which was ashamedly becoming wetter by the minute.

"Is my pussy wet, Slut?" I moaned, my finger already tracing the shape of that firm little nub. My face stung again, before I remembered the punishment.

"You are not to move without my permission, do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." I bit my lip, looking back up at him. His eyes now held a fiery darkness I fondly refer to as 'His Monster'. When he was in this state, he was relentless, cruel, and down right hostile. He knew what he wanted and would recieve it one way or another.

Some strange animalistic instinct makes me want to get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness when I see him like that.

I gasped as moisture pooled underneath my fingers but I dared not move them again.

"Small circles now, Slut. And pull your nipple."

A gasp parted my lips as I felt the pull of my flesh at the same time as my fingers moving around my clit. He watched for a few moments before settling back into his chair.

He put his elbow up on the arms of his chairs as he hid his mouth behind his folded hands. His eyes were cold and calculated. His gaze fluttered over my body, on my heaving chest as I gasped and moaned with the sensations growing within the core of my femininity. My finger moved in a slow calculated circles. I wanted it to move faster, maybe plunge a finger inside the pussy that ached to be filled.

I threw my head back with a groan feeling the pleasure building up, but it only came to a certain level before ebbing away, like a wave that touched the shore before receding. If I was going to cum I needed something... more.

"Stop."

I put both hands down onto my lap, fighting to pull a deep breath into my lungs. This was tedious and slow torture. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He waited until my breath came back to a steady normal before commanding me again.

"Insert one finger into my pussy." I was so slick, the finger slid in without any push back. "Now, finger yourself."

His command was vague. So I took advantage of it. My finger slipped in and out, so slick with my juices they made a sloshing sound. Finally, I was being filled. The friction was building within me, my muscles quivered around his pussy.

I felt so honored that he was allowing me to play with it. Soon, one finger wasn't enough, and two fingers were pistoning in and out of my. The palm of my hand slapping against my clit.

"Rub your clit with your other hand."

He didn't have to finish the sentence before both my hands were working hard on my pussy.

My hips moved against my hand, riding the waves of exctasy as they build inside of me. The higher the waves, the louder my moans, the faster my hips moved. Higher and higher. Faster and faster.

I saw him adjusting in his seat, the growing bulge in his pants making it uncomfortable for him.

"Master," I need him, all of him, I need to let that Monster out of his cage. "May I suck on your cock?"

"Cum for me first, Slut." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Show me how badly you want my cock in your mouth."

His words lit a fire inside of me. I felt myself just on the edge, just about to break open, but I need something more.

"Master," I picked my lips, my body now moving against my will, but he hadnt given me the command I needed to hear, "Please choke me?"

He stood up, his massive cock creating an impressive tent in pants. He put one hand on the back of the couch, leaning over my body.

"Say that again, Slut."

"Master, please choke-" He growled. His hand moved quickly, squeezing firmly around the sides of my throat, pressing me down into the cushions.

There it was.

My mouth fell open, my tongue softly rolling out. My brain felt numb. No longer fearing or thinking. Just following his commands. Allowing my hands to abuse my flesh just because he told me to.

I whimpered as I felt my head getting lighter, finally allowing the fire hot pleasure in my core to boil and bubble out of me. Threatening to overtake me.

"Master," I struggle to speak over his hand on my throat but I had to. "Please... can... I cum?"

The corner of his mouth lifged as his eyes darkened and hee pressed his face closer to mine, his warm sweet breath mixing with mine.

"What was that? Say that again, Slut. I didn't hear you."

I clenched around my fingers, keeping my orgasm down, but his hand tightened around my throat, making the unbearable pleasure even stronger. I was going to cum soon with or without his permission.

"Please, Sir!" I scream, surprising myself. "Please can I cum, Master, I need to cum."

He took a deep breath as my eyes closed succumbing to the madness inside of me. Just as I felt the dam break inside of me, I heard his words whispered soft in my ear.

"Cum for me, Slut."

My body was no longer my own. I floated above it on a euphoric cloud. I watched as my body writhed uncontrollably, my arms and legs convulsing as if possessed. I heard my voice screaming over and over that I was his dirty whore.

And then, the peak.

Silence. Surrounded me as my body crashed back down onto the couch. The heavenly sensation, I was drowning in it, consumed by it, unable to breathe, think, speak, it coursed through my body until, it ebbed away, with small vibrating waves still randomly jolting through my body as my fingers stilled.

My heart beat uncontrollably in my heart as I fought desperately to breathe. I licked my suddenly dry mouth, still reveling in the balls of intense pain that bounced maddeningly through me. I wheezed uncontrollably with the occasional little moan escaping my gaping mouth.

"Thank you, Master." I murmured up at him though my eyes were so heavy they didn't want to open.

"Oh," I hears him chuckling above me. "You're not done yet, my little Slut."

I opened my eyes, his big beautiful cock suddenly unscathed in front of me. The sight of his rock hard warm red cock, glistening at the tip, with large pusing veins along its length, always made His Toy slick in preparation of being penatrated.

"Do that all again, and don't stop until I tell you to."

The second orgasm took some time, but with my slick already trembling walls, the third was not far behind.

I took a pause, resting my hands on my head, my hands were covered in my slick but every muscle in my hands tensed at their exception.

"Did I tell you to stop?" He growled his command, his hands on his cock. "Again."

The next two came slower, my hands unable to keep the pace. They were... less pleasurable and more painful.

"Again." His eyes locked onto mine as his hand massaged up and down his cock.

"Please, Master. I can't..."

"Have you had enough?" His hands didn't stop when I nodded, to breathless and weak to go on. "Good. Keep going."

I gulped as my shaking hands resumed their work. I was only able to squeak another one out before throwing my hands aside.

"I can't, Sir. I'm sorry I-"

He growled, jumping onto my body, pinning me down.

"You will cum until I tell you to stop. This is my pussy. You orgasm when I tell you to. Your orgasm... belongs to me.... it is for my pleasure and my pleasure alone." His hand went straight for my cunt, rubbing the over stimulated clit at the speed of a master of his craft. At his touch, lightning shot out of the poos abused pussy, my whole body pulled forward. I tried pushing his hands away, but he just pinned my arms above my head, and kept at his work.

The immeasurable pain that swept my body... like being dipped in hot candle wax and then right into an ice bath. Pain pleasure mixed all together until they were interchangeable. My throat became sore with screaming until all I could do was whimper. I lost count, and just accepted my fate as a being of endless lightning and fire. My body burned, every muscled tender and useless against the onslaught of tension leaving me a twitching heap on the couch.

I was no longer aware of who I was, or where I was, or how long I was there.

I forgot he was even there until he let go of me, allowing me to sink into the pillows. The deep abyss of unconscious beckoned to me but a sound kept me from sleep. It was moist slapping overplayed with a mans soft sighs and moans.

I tore my eyes open just long enough to notice the sounds were coming from him. His hands were rubbing up and down on his cock, as his eyes looked over my sweaty limp body. I thought for a moment, that he would use my hole for his own pleasure now, but the thought of his girth tearing my tender abused flesh apart from the inside... my thighs clenched together as my eyes fluttered back down, succumbing to darkness and the weightless unconscious.

"Open for me, Slut."

I felt a hand pry my lips open, and I dutifully let my jaw lazily fall open.

"Stick your tongue out." My eyes opened one last time, wondering if he was going to use my mouth instead, but I just watched as his whole body began convulsing with his own orgasm, he grabbed my shoulders, holding me up, as I felt slick hot cum cascade allover my tongue.

"Swallow, My little slut, don't waste a single drop." He groaned as I dutifully swallowed the salty deliciousness he left in my mouth. "My pathetic Whore. This will teach you not to play with something that's not yours."

My blissful unconscious was interrupted once again when I felt him pick me up and carry me somewhere. I whimpered at the feeling of something warm surrounding me.

"Shh... baby. It's just a bath. It's okay, baby." I felt my body floating in the warm body, supported by his arms as his hands glided gently across my body. My body jolted as a rough scrub was pressed against my raw ruined flesh. "Easy, baby. It's okay. I'll be gentle."

He whispered soft sweet things in me ear as his fingers softly cupped the pussy they were just roughly molesting minutes prior. I welcomed his soft gentleness, the yin to the Monsters yang. Each one necessary for the other to live fulfilled.

Then, a soft warm fluffy towel replaced the feel of water as I was then placed on a soft surface that enveloped me. A kiss was planted on my forehead as I fell back asleep to his sweet tender words.

"Good night, baby. I love you."

-

It was only the following day that I could get out of bed, albeit with some difficulty. It took days before I could walk without wincing and over a week before I even thought of touching myself again.

He had separated my brain from my body and my body from my... his pussy... and then destroyed it by giving me exactly what I wanted over and over again, tainting it. When we talked about it later, he compared it to the one time his father caught him smoking cigarettes so he made him smoke the whole pack. He never touched cigarettes again.

I guess that's where he and I differ.

It was merely two weeks later I found myself standing before his door again, restless, aching. But this time, I knew what was coming, and I was even more ready for it.

#bd/sm blog #bd/sm community #bd/sm kink #dom/sub #smut #bd/sm dynamic #bd/sm dom #bondge sex #bratty #Dom/Sub #sublife #subpunishment #edging kink #control kink #nsft #nsft story

[furrbbyx]

The Orc’s Obsession: Epilogue

If you haven’t seen this part on A03 then you’re going to be very happy to see it now. 

I plan to continue this story with a new Yan: (Y/N)

heheheheeehhahahhahaahhohohohoo

Anyway. Get caught up with the ending details and get ready for a new chapter.

cw: crying, court proceedings, reeducation camp, nightmares, PTSD, murderous rage, maladaptive daydreaming, nightmares come true, stalker returns

approx 700 words

You clutch at your father and best friend weeping, with your head burried in Kalani's shoulder. Around the room is entirely dark except for the harshly lite dais and the dimly lite shadow figures standing in a row in front of the accused.

The figures have just pronounced Bagul's guilt and punishment in a resonating echoing mix of their five voices. Two police materialized and took Bagul to meet his fate and reassignment at the hands of the mysterious overlords that governed.

You shut your eyes tight hoping to avoid Bagul's glare even though he can hardly see through the solid darkness that hid the jury and audience.

The nightmare is finally over.

Much of your life is back to normal for months following the trial. You start to build back your trust in people but maybe your avoidant tendencies have grown stronger. It's hard to connect with others.

Happiness returns after you're officially sure your orc kidnapper hasn't bred you. You cry for days after that weight has lifted. You still have harsh scars from the ordeal. Any normal person would. Yet, there's a surreal quality to your memories that confuses you. Sometimes you wake up with your heart beating and you honestly can't tell if you were having a wet dream or a bad one.

Sometimes you ache and tremble when you think about the intense orgasms, and the heart-exploding dash for your life. Bagul's spraying blood is the backdrop to fantasies that send cold fear rippling up your spine. If Kalani hadn't come would you really have tried something more permanent to deal with the orc?

How would I hide the body?

Those intrusive thoughts are where you draw the line, shaking your head to clear the murderous daydreams.

Nearly a year passes and you readjust so well that you're feeling healthier and more in control of your anger and bloodlust everyday.

The season was changing from the hot long nights of summer to the unpredictably cool ones of fall. But today is bright and sunny and warm, the wind still smells like freshy mowed grass. You walk into your job. Even though the customers can really try your patience at the small drink shop you're feeling so good that no Karen could ruin it. Someone waves at you enthusiastically after a few steps inside. You don't know the person but you raise your hand awkwardly to return the greeting when a shiver rolls over your skin.

"Babe!" the waver, a tall thin woman with a blunt geometric haircut, crop, top and oversized jeans squeals in a babyish tone. She's prancing toward you when you hear someone behind you clear their throat and then step past you to hug the woman.

The bulky body  of the person behind you pushes you out of the way and you clutch your bag in terror.

"Hey sweetie" The orc lifts up the woman causing delighted yelps and nuzzles her before looking over and shooting you the most heated challenging glare you'd ever seen. You felt melted to the spot sweat tricking down your back. Everything about him throws you off from his bald head to a few new piercings and silver bands on his tusks. He's dressed in all black, bulky ill fitting clothing and his beard is tied in two braids down the side of his protruding jawline.

HOW! your mind cries out trying to come to terms with the possibilities, with this new reality. Bagul should be kilometers away being retaught how to function as a productive and rule-abiding member of society.  And he definitely shouldn't be anywhere near your job

"Oh my GOSH I'm so glad you're out! I missed you!"

"Heh" Bagul chuckles putting down the woman. He grasps her shoulder and they walk towards the exit.

"Without you to keep me sane I never woulda got out on good behavior."

You're still standing in the middle of the shop dazed and utterly overcome by flashes of your kidnapping. Your mind seems to short out and a strong sense of fight or flight wracks your body before it settles in the pit of your stomach as a fight response tinged with rage and desperation. The indigestion of it all feels like the worst heartburn.

"Why were you in there anyways?"

"Ah nothin too bad...." The voices float away but your confusion, anxiety, and raw fear stays. You're suspended as your mind spirals, trapped again like you were back at the cabin.

NO! Please!

NO! another voice inside you growls furiously. You snap with an over-loud maniacal laugh that turns shrill and hysterical.

I wont let him get to me, you vow and clench your fists tight enough to make them ache.

I'll kill him first

#terato #yandere vibes #orc #monster lover #chubby!reader #cross posted on ao3

[one-abuse-survivor]

Firstly, i want to say thank you, so much, for hosting this space. I cannot tell you how much love I send your way foe that or how much I appreciate it. And if you ever need any help answering anons or anything like that, feel free to ask, I know I'm not the only one who would be glad to help if you need it. (This is not me pushing you to answer faster, just an offer if you ever want or need help.)

💜 I hope youre doing well. -Luci

Hey nonnie, thanks so much for your kind words and your offer ❤️ having this blog is, and has been since the beginning, a great experience, and it means so much to me to know this space is meaningful for others as well. Sending lots of love right back at you, and I hope you're having a lovely day!

Answering asks isn't usually hard, but I've been really low on spoons in the last few months. So much has happened 😅 I hope you don't mind if I use your ask to give a small life update! (separated from the rest of my reply so it can be easily skipped)

Since last September, I've started studying something new, quit because I couldn't handle it, somehow managed to find a job and spent the next 5 months trying to adjust to it instead of letting it consume me, and made a bunch of new irl friends who, despite being really cool, have put a strain on my social battery. I also very recently got diagnosed with a neurodivergence I'd always suspected I had, which has made me have to recontextualise basically my entire life experience, including (or rather, especially) my abuse and how I processed it. I'm just now overcoming the grief and anger this caused me.

But somehow, despite all that, I'm... doing well? My therapist is really impressed and proud of how I handle everything life throws at me, and I'm slowly starting to pick my hobbies back up and feel in charge of my own life again.

To reply to your help offer: this sideblog is one of the parts of my life I've had to leave on stand-by while I figured out how to be a functioning member of working society, but I really want to go back to being more active here again. I don't want to co-mod this blog and that's unlikely to ever change. But, that being said, I really, really appreciate it when my followers leave comments on the asks I answer offering further help and support, and when I get asks from anons wanting to help/support one another.

So maybe, what I could do is try not to worry as much about giving long and complete replies to every ask, and trust that some of you can help me by continuing to support one another via comments and asks? I know not everyone has the tools or the energy to do that, and that's okay, but... Maybe some of you do? How does this sound? If anyone has any thoughts on this, let me know!

#Ask #Luci anon #Lovely ask #Abuse mention

[queenofbaws]

well hello there your majesty long time no see

im so glad youre feeling better now :)

could you write number 5 about jossam and the twins please

have a nice weekend

six(ish) sentence weekend ;P

Her socks skidded across the laminated floor as she took the corner a little too quickly, causing her heart to jump out of her chest and into her throat. In her wrists, her neck, even the fleshy spot underneath her tongue, she could feel her pulse racing, beating hard to enough make her whole body shake. Moving like her life depended on it, she scrambled into the dining room, nearly rolling her ankle as she grabbed the cordless phone and backed herself up against the farthest wall.

“Hello?! Hello?!” she breathed into the receiver, pressing herself that much further against the wall. “Someone - anyone - please, I need help! Oh God, oh my God, oh shit, someone help me, please!” Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates as a silhouette appeared in the doorway, no doubt drawn by the sound of her voice. “Jesus Christ, we need help here! There’s a maniac on the loose and, and, and...” Her eyes tracked the shape in the door as it slid into the room, approached the phone’s cradle, stopped before it could hit the hang up button. “And since I just caught her kissing my fucking brother, there’s just no telling what other sick shit she might be planning.”

From where her hand still hovered over the phone cradle, Sam slowly turned towards Beth. “Please tell me you didn’t actually call 911 just now.”

She drummed her fingers against the phone, posture going looser and looser until her horror movie cringe became a teen comedy slouch. “I should’ve,” Beth said defiantly, dropping the phone from her ear only to point it at her like a loaded pistol. “Still might. Haven’t made up my mind yet, actually.”

After a halfhearted swipe at the phone, Sam gave up, grabbing onto the edge of the table and leaning down almost to the point where her forehead touched the table. Once, twice, three times she started to say something before trailing off, eventually giving in and folding her arms into a makeshift nest around her head.

“Is this shame?” Beth asked, giving the phone a little toss and flip before walking around behind her, hanging it up again. “If it is shame, maybe there’s still some hope for you. Not our friendship, obvs, that’s dead and buried - ”

Sam groaned something that could’ve been “Beeeeeeeth,” but it was so hard to tell, given how muffled her voice was.

“ - totally dead, Sam. Dead, dead, dead. Deader than disco. Sorry. But if you’re ashamed of yourself for the truly abhorrent thing you’ve done, then like. Maybe you still have a shot of fixing yourself. It’ll take time, I’m sure, but maybe by the time you’re, like...mmm...fifty-seven, you’ll have a shot at being a functional member of society again.” As she crossed behind her again, she couldn’t resist reaching over and giving her ponytail a single joking tweak. “All the people at this party - all the fucking people at this party, Sam! - and you kiss Josh?! Josh. JOSH!”

That time it was “Beth,” that she said. Pathetically, too. In total and complete agony.

“So now that we’re definitely not friends anymore, and never will be again, uhhh...pressure’s off. Wanna maybe try explaining yourself?” She hopped up onto the table beside her, playfully swinging her legs as they dangled. “I mean, don’t get me wrong - there is no explaining behavior that rank, but you can try.”

When Sam finally lifted her head, it was with a timid - but not guilty - smile. “I mean...to be fair...youuuu definitely weren’t supposed to see that, sooo...”

Beth swiveled her head to glance her way, eyebrows high and legs momentarily going still. “That’s your defense? ‘I didn’t think I’d get caught?’”

“Pretty much.”

“Wow. Wow, Sam, just...wow.” Then, despite herself, she snorted a laugh, shaking her head. “You think you know someone.”

“Beth, oh my God...”

“You think you know someone,” she continued, raising her voice to speak over her, “And then they go and kiss your shitty older brother...”

Her head dropped back into her arms - a sure sign of defeat. Still, her body shook with laughter. Probably the embarrassed kind. “I get it, okay? I get it! Can we maybe just agree that this whole dumb thing is punishment enough? You making fun of me?”

She pulled in a long, long breath that ended in an even longer sigh, returning to slowly kicking her legs through the air. “Hmm...have you suffered enough...have you suffered...enough...I guess that’s like, the big question, right? Have you learned your lesson...well, okay, let me ask you this: Do you promise you’ll never do that sick shit again?”

Sam peeked up from her arms again. “By ‘sick shit’ do you mean ‘kissing J - ’”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious I mean kissing Josh, Samantha Giddings.”

There was a moment of silence that told her all she needed to know, and it was for that reason that when Sam finally did answer, Beth was staring her full in the face, mouth open wide as her eyes. “I...cannot make that promise, no.”

Her mouth snapped shut after a moment, and she stared through Sam as though trying to solve a difficult math problem. “Hmm. You know what? Okay. If that’s how things are gonna be...” In one fluid move, she hopped back onto the floor, preparing for what was sure to be a hell of a race (Sam was, after all, probably the worst one of their group to try and outrun). “Then I don’t think you’ve suffered enough. And that’s why...I’mtellingHannah,” she said as quickly as she could, immediately springing back out of the dining room before Sam could register what she’d said, laughing wickedly the whole way.

#save-the-dandelions #six sentence weekend #queenie writes supermassive #jossam #until dawn #well hey there!!! long time no see indeed!! ;P sorry you had to wait for this one!!!

[daimonclub]

Celebrities and gossip

Celebrities and gossip Celebrities and gossip, top news and gossip From 24-7 Press Release Newswire and youtube video collections. The lowest form of popular culture - lack of information, misinformation, and a contempt for the truth or the reality of most people's lives - has overrun real journalism. Today, ordinary Americans are being stuffed with garbage. Carl Bernstein I have no use for people who throw their weight around as celebrities, or for those who fawn over you just because you are famous. Walt Disney Not all celebrities are dunces. Carroll O’Connor I hate celebrities. I really hate them. Billie Joe Armstrong I can’t stand the gossip of celebrities’ lives, all the time! Every minute! William Shatner I don’t like celebrities; I don’t hang out with them; I don’t relate to that life. Lady Gaga Look at the way celebrities and politicians are using Facebook already. When Ashton Kutcher posts a video, he gets hundreds of pieces of feedback. Maybe he doesn’t have time to read them all or respond to them all, but he’s getting good feedback and getting a good sense of how people are thinking about that and maybe can respond to some of it. Mark Zuckerberg Adriana Lima Victoria's Secret Runway Walk Compilation 2003-2016 Gossip About Vips and Celebrities. The psychological aspect. By nature, humans are chatterers, says psychologist Robin Dunbar. He suggests that gossip is the human version of social grooming-a behavior common among other social primates in which one ape or monkey strokes the fur and picks fleas and ticks from the coat of another ape or monkey to strengthen group ties. Like social grooming, which helps other primates form alliances based on codependence, gossip helps humans develop trusting relationships and foster social bonds. Without that instinct to share the latest on a friend, peer or family member, there would be no sophisticated society, Dunbar claims, suggesting that societies depend on the individual’s ability to rely on others and understand something of the workings of another’s mind. About 65 percent of people’s discussions involve gossip - often to entertain or help strengthen group ties. One might think celebrity worship is a modern phenomenon, but from the gods on Olympus in ancient Greece to the bobby-soxers swooning over Frank Sinatra in the late 1930s and ’40s to Brad and Angelina today, adulation of the stars is an age-old pursuit, psychologists say. The public’s fascination with celebrities “may seem new because we are such a media-immersed society, but it’s really not,” said Stuart Fischoff, senior editor at the Journal of Media Psychology and emeritus professor of media psychology at California State University, Los Angeles. When the composers Frederic Chopin and Franz Liszt performed in the 19th century, women threw their underwear at them. And 80 years after the death of silent-film star Rudolph Valentino, fans continue to visit his grave, Fischoff noted. Celebrities tap into the public’s primal fantasies and basic emotions, lifting people from their everyday lives and making them believe anything is possible, said Dr. John Lucas, a clinical assistant professor of psychology at Weill Cornell Medical College and an assistant attending psychiatrist at New York-Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. Humans at the core are social beings, and research has shown that the less connected people feel, the more they turn to celebrities, said Adam Galinsky, an expert in ethics and social psychology and a professor at the Kellogg School of Management at Northwestern University. “It’s a very adaptive and functional behavior.” Lucas added, however, that while worshipping the rich and famous is harmless in itself, it could be perceived as symptomatic of a rootless culture in which many people feel a sense of isolation. “What we know of celebrities through People magazine and other media sources fills a gaping and painful void in our lives,” Lucas said. The dwindling influence of religion adds to that sense of yearning in people, he added, making the stars’ exploits and eccentricities, their loves and losses, more than a form of entertainment. “Religion is faltering, and in the process people are grappling with infantile wishes, with magical thinking,” he said. Social instinct, suggests research by Frank McAndrew, PhD, an applied social psychology professor at Knox College. Our interest in celebrity gossip-as well as dirt on our family, friends and acquaintances-may be a byproduct of our evolutionary past, McAndrew says. Natural selection, he theorizes, pressured people to learn as much as possible about the people in their social network-be they an authority figure, potential romantic partner, teacher, political ally or enemy. Knowing about other group members helped people eschew risky alliances, by informing them, for instance, which group member might double-cross them. “If you weren’t curious about others, you’d pay the consequences,” McAndrew says. In the process, gossiping also helped facilitate bonds by showing others we trust them enough to share information. Throughout most of human history, McAndrew explains, humans not only had to cooperate with a social network of about 200 people for food and protection, they also had to compete with those same in-group members for the most desirable mates. His research about the appeal of gossip is part of a growing body of literature indicating that we’re drawn to gossip because it keeps us informed about the lives of the people in our social circle. That social circle is now much bigger, and so less tied to our survival, but the instinct to gossip is just as strong. Because we see and hear celebrities’ images and voices on television, radio and magazines, we gossip about them as if they are members of our social network, McAndrew says. “Gossip is like chocolate,” says psychologist Charlotte DeBacker, PhD, a University of Santa Barbara postdoctoral fellow and author of the forthcoming Dutch-language book, “Gossip: Why Gossip Can Be Healthy” (MOM/Unieboek, 2006). Humans are drawn to fatty, sweet foods like chocolate because such high-calorie foods were once our lifeblood in lean times. As a result, people crave those foods-even when they are not in dire need of calories. Likewise, the pleasure that people derive from gossip can create a tendency to “dish dirt” even when the subject matter doesn’t affect our lives, such as with celebrity gossip, or when divulging information could be more risky, such as at work, says DeBacker. In a follow-up study published in the same article, Dunbar and his colleagues examined the topics within that social banter by grouping the discussions into four categories: whether people were keeping track of other individuals in their social network; bragging about themselves as a romantic partner, friend or ally; seeking advice; or condemning slackers or free loaders. He found that the first two topics dominated conversations, suggesting that the exchange of social information may be one of the primary functions of language. As such, Dunbar agrees with McAndrew and DeBacker’s suggestions that the pleasure we derive from gossip is a side effect of an evolutionary pull to gain knowledge about one’s group. “Language evolved for social purposes, not spreading technical information like whether it will rain or how to get from New York City to Washington, D.C.,” he says. “Knowledge of the social world has a much deeper purpose... It’s not just the fact that I saw Jimmy kiss Penelope, but how that incident relates to me and the group.” Top 10 Most Important People Around The World Top 10 Richest People In The World Top 13 Richest Celebs Under 25 in the World Top 10 Most Famous Female Models in the World Top 10 Most Popular Male Singers 2017 Top 10 Most Iconic Female Singers of All Time Top 10 Richest Actors in the World 2016 Top 10 Most Successful Youtubers Top 10 Famous Speeches People  http://feeds.reuters.com/reuters/peopleNews Celebrities  http://rss.24-7pressrelease.com/rss/ae_celebrities.xml Read the full article

[rat-in-a-cloak]

sui venting

anyway i feel like death and i keep having panic attacks. im leaving to go back to campus in two days and i honestly don’t expect to survive this semester. i can barely function right now, and i have an entire support system here (aka my partner and my cat). it’s gonna be absolute hell when i’m alone.

being alone in a fucking city where no one needs to know my name? sounds lovely, right? sounds like a fucking paradise for a time bomb like me. free for all, can self destruct as much as i want. but it’s only good if i want to die. and i….don’t, right now. most of me does, but a sizable part doesnt. i just want this to be done. im so fucking exhausted. i just want to play pokémon with my partner and i wanna listen to new music and make stupid little ghost drawings and maybe plant a garden. but there’s not going o be anything left of me, if i’m even alive come graduation.

once i finish my thesis and get my degree in may, i have no fucking goal to keep going for in life. may is the tentative date where my entire existence grinds to a halt. and there’s no fucking reason to continue after that. there’s nothing for me to do. im not making any difference. im not gonna be able to work like a functioning member of society. im a fucking lost cause and it seems like i’m just waiting for the best fuckinh excuse to call it.

im so fucking tired. idk. im fuckinh tired. and everything is fuckimh hopeless and i’d tom understand why i continue to try. but i guess i’m still trying anyway. just. fuck this.

[choupichoups]

✎ Coup d’État 

“You seen the new kid yet?”

“Gangster pants, black hoodie?”

“Yeah, how much you wanna bet he’s another Ares punk?”

“Ugh, no, as if we need any more of those.” 

“Oooh, maybe Hades? He’s got the style for it.” 

“What, like he just rolled out of the dumpster?”

Or: A PJO au snippet where Eliott, son of Apollo, meets his trash baby panda of a soulmate— until he’s not (a trash panda, that is, he’s still his soulmate)

@salutmonmec

✶

It’s so fucking hot.

“You seen the new kid yet?”

He’s going to burn if he stays a second longer under the sun. 

“Gangster pants, black hoodie?”

Hoodie? Who wears a hoodie in this weather? God, what’s the point of his father being the literal god of the sun if he’s still affected by this hellish heat? His dad’s a real jackass for not giving them immunity. 

“Yeah, how much you wanna bet he’s another Ares punk?”

“Ugh, no, as if we need any more of those.” 

Eliott splashes sadly, the lake water barely reaches his chest even when sitting down so he has to awkwardly hunch over in order to submerge his entire body into cooling off. 

“Oooh, maybe Hades? He’s got the style for it.” 

“What, like he just rolled out of the dumpster?”

A chorus of laughter. Someone snorts like a pig.

“Hey, Eliott, what do you think?”

Eliott looks up, blinking sleepily up at his half brothers. “I dunno.”

“Thank you for your input, enlightening as always.”

He flips them off, sighing as he drops his chin down and makes bubbles into the water. 

“Let’s get out of here before we start looking like raisins.”

“You already look like a raisin, Chad.”

“Fuck off, Hunter, at least my skin has room to breath. You’re one protruding vein away from being a walking block of ham.” 

“Hey!” 

The guys start dragging their dripping bodies out of the lake but Eliott lags behind, unwilling to part with his newfound home. Yes, he thinks he’ll stay here for the rest of the summer. 

“Eliott, come on bro, we don’t wanna miss the bonfire!” Hunter is the last to wade out the water apart from Eliott, turning around with wide, expectant eyes. 

“Right, don’t want them longing for your wonderful voice too much,” Eliott says blandly. 

“Damn right!” Hunter pushes dark blond strands off of his face, bending down to retrieve the clothes he’d discarded by the rocks. Evidently, the guy miscalculates as his back collides with a protruding boulder and it sends him bouncing back into the water like an inflatable mascot.

Eliott laughs so hard he tips over and accidentally dunks his own head underwater. When he resurfaces, everything is a hell of a lot blurrier than it had originally been. 

Great, his contacts got washed away again. Fucking Hunter.  

“Are you two done being morons yet or do you need more time?” Chad calls out from behind a tree, already dressed in his damp shirt and basketball shorts. 

Hunter grumbles all through slotting his legs back into his own shorts, shirt nowhere to be seen. Eliott could have sworn all of them had shirts on before hitting up the lake earlier. 

Begrudgingly, he crawls back on land, figuring he’s already left the medic bay long enough for at least one camper to probably pass out from loss of blood. From a papercut. Demigod children can get quite dramatic in the face of pain. 

He takes his time getting dressed, not minding at all when the voices of his brothers get too far from him to hear. They’re headed a different direction from him anyway and Eliott is very much not ready to leave the breezy comfort under the shade of these trees as of yet. 

There’s a rustling from the nearby bushes, followed by what sounds like the rushed footsteps of about four or five people. Eliott sticks his head out curiously, squinting to aid his vision. 

A group of Ares campers are charging towards a lone figure, led by Nathan, a particularly nasty addition to the Ares cabin. Eliott can’t clearly identify the dark blob they’re targeting from this distance but he’s guessing it’s the new kid. Fits the bill— loose dark clothing despite the heat, face obscured by the low fabric of his hood. 

Eliott moves to approach just as they have the boy surrounded. He looks tiny compared to them and Eliott can’t help it— it’s in his nature to care. He knows it’s nothing too bad, he’s all too familiar with the Ares cabin’s toilet dunking initiation rules. Many brave souls have tried to upend this ritual but to no avail. But maybe if Eliott makes his presence known, they’d let the boy off the hook for the meantime. 

Though before he could take another step, something peculiar happens.

There’s no real explanation for it— the shift in the atmosphere is subtle, but the air seems thicker somehow, smelling of something sweet. So sweet Eliott’s almost tempted to move closer, dive into it and drench himself in its presence. 

And... everything looks pink? What?

He quickly shakes his head, physically flailing his arms around as if to swat the feeling away. When he looks up, the new guy’s back is to Eliott, facing the Ares kids now with his hood down. There’d be nothing too shocking in this picture if it weren’t for the fact that Nathan and his lackeys are completely immobile. Eliott can’t quite make out the exact expression on their faces but from what his blurry vision allows, it’s pretty easy to spot them all slack-jawed, maybe even dazed.

The boy replaces the hood over his head and walks away, untouched. 

What the hell just happened there?

✶

✶

The other campers start gathering around the campfire almost immediately after he gets back to the medic bay, his half siblings being the first ones present, taking turns on the guitar and belting out songs to their hearts’ content. Although Eliott has always been too shy to sing so publicly, he’d normally be out there listening and laughing along with them. 

But he’s honestly feeling so gross right now. It’s probably the worst summer day of this cycle so far— he’d spilled coffee on himself shortly after his little dip in the lake, ruining the fresh shirt he’d put on right off the bat. The stain is a glaring map over the center of his chest and the many, many kids (an atrocious amount, considering there’s been less than an hour between the time at the lake and the campfire) that got sent to the medic bay in danger of a fucking heatstroke didn’t let him forget about its existence. 

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Eliott sighs, wondering if he should even bother to change or at least try to wash out the stain. On one hand, it’s late in the day and they should all be headed to sleep soon anyway while on the other hand, Eliott just wants to feel like a decent human being before hitting up the bonfire. 

The decision is made from him when a commotion starts up, the air ringing with anticipation and a few gasps from the younger kids resonating above the shocked silence from the rest. 

Eliott stumbles out, cold coffee in hand and medic coat thrown haphazardly over his dirty shirt— not that it helps any, as the thing’s unbuttoned and still showing off his spectacular stain. He stands beside Tristan and Hunter, eyes following the human shaped pink glow from across the campfire. 

But the fire rises in tandem with the campers’ heightened excitement, a golden barrier between Eliott and the occurring spectacle. Slowly, he steps to the side, long legs carrying him forward to where he can see clearly. 

And what a dizzying view it is. 

In front of him stands the new kid, except not really. The boy is surrounded by a pale pink light, and gone is the hideous hoodie and baggy pants combo— he’s dressed in a white shirt, soft and loose, showing off more collarbone than the boy is obviously comfortable with, considering how he crosses his arms over his shoulders with an audible squeak. His pants look equally soft, but fitted, dark fabric displaying a pair of legs that a part of Eliott’s brain can’t seem to stop observing. For science purposes. His skin is lightly tanned, looking like the smoothest cut of marble one might ever have the privilege of running a hand over. Eliott admits that he’d go to great lengths to prove that theory right. 

The boy takes a small step back, appearing one breath away from bolting. Eliott feels the stress rolling off of him in waves. 

Eliott must’ve twitched, breathed too loud, done something, because the boy’s eyes, wide and slightly panicked, flicker straight to him, meeting Eliott’s surely idiotic expression with a flutter of unfairly long lashes. Fuck, that pink glow is yet to fade away. He looks like an angel, it’s downright devastating. His hair’s been pushed back from his face, like a hand had brushed through it to make the most beautiful mess. Eliott’s eyes are free to wander, following the sharp cut of cheekbones down to a perfectly angled nose. He reaches dangerous territory at the sight of a pale rose lip bitten and trapped under the boy’s front teeth.

His eyes snap back up and their gazes lock, Eliott’s glasses slipping down his nose a minor occurrence that he pays no attention to. Not when he’s busy immersing himself in those eyes— a glittering pool indescribable. Eliott is a prodigy of the arts, one of the few things Apollo has done right by his children, but he feels the need to create a whole new spectrum of colour to justly describe the hue of this boy’s eyes alone. And isn’t that some food for thought. 

“Wow,” he blurts out, unable to withstand the utter beauty being presented right before him and the consequent poetry his mind is spewing all over the place.

Except he says it a little too loud and now the attention’s all on him. 

He sputters, shocked into movement like an old engine stuttering back to life. Unfortunately, he forgets about the cup of coffee he’s been holding onto so his halted flailing sends more coffee dripping down the front of his shirt, creating a new stain to keep the first one company. 

“Ah!” The cold shock of it sends him stumbling backwards and his own two feet tangle in his rush to save himself from accidentally falling into the fucking campfire. He’s thrown sideways by the force of his misbalance and he goes diving onto the ashy pile of dirt beside the fire, landing in front of his siblings’ gleeful faces. 

“Nice one, Beli.” Chad snickers, large hand coming down to pat at Eliott’s hair.

He doesn’t have the energy to protest the nickname. Instead, he pours out the rest of the coffee from his paper cup and chucks it at Chad’s head. It hits him right on the forehead, Apollo’s godly aim blessing Eliott for once in his life. 

When Eliott looks back over, a pretty flush of red has settled high atop the boy’s cheeks, spreading over his nose in an adorable show of embarrassment. Some of the others let out an infatuated sigh at the sight of it, and Eliott would’ve too, probably, if he didn’t feel like he’s gotten hit by a freight train once and then backed over twice for good measure. 

Jenna, counselor of the Aphrodite cabin, jumps up from her position on the ground and takes the new kid into her arms. “Finally!” she screeches, ruffling his hair roughly. The other Aphrodite girls happily join in to form a big group hug. They look like an overexcited party of unfairly beautiful nymphs. “Welcome home, brother!” 

✶

✶

Much later that night, Eliott ventures back out of the cabin— Hunter and Chad haven’t stopped yakking about the amount of protein intake they need to balance out their carbs while still maintaining an acceptable sugar level and Eliott really isn’t in the mood to join in on the conversation. The temperature’s much cooler now that the sun’s fully gone, enough that he has to change into a long sleeved shirt to keep the chill off of his skin. 

He hasn’t walked very far when he spots a figure curled up atop a tree stump, gazing up at the stars with a hopeless sorrow that tugs immediately at Eliott’s heartstrings. Being an empath is both a blessing and a curse. Over time, Eliott’s learned to temper the part of him that latches onto another’s emotions. He’s tuned it out well enough for him to ignore the impulse most of the time. 

But this boy radiates loneliness like a bird shot and abandoned, helpless yet surrendered to its fate. 

“Hi.”

He tenses at the sound of Eliott’s voice so Eliott makes sure to approach slowly, waiting until the boy is fully turned towards him, watching his every move, before he takes a seat on the neighbouring stump off the new kid’s left side. 

The boy nods but doesn’t say anything before tipping his head back up, eyes on the night sky. 

“It’s a pretty nice spot, huh? We can see the stars clearly from here,” Eliott says, tilting his head until all he can see are the speckles of stars against the black backdrop. “I’m Eliott.” 

From the corner of his eyes, he sees the boy fiddle with the ends of his sweatshirt— seems like he’s found another hoodie to hide under. “Lucas.” 

Eliott turns his head, the speed of which it happens is almost outside of his control. It’s a strange feeling, being affected by the sound of a voice. Lucas breathes out the name soft and lilting and he’s sure Lucas doesn’t mean to do it, but the way he speaks is unerringly attractive.

Oh. Eliott whips his head back up to the sky, not wanting to make Lucas uncomfortable. That must be why he’s so damn quiet all the time. 

They sit in silence for a while, Eliott privately steeling himself for the next sound coming from Lucas, who’s still curled up in his seat, legs folded in half and arms surrounding them tight. 

Under the faint touch of campfire, he glows— a supernova crafted by Aphrodite herself. Eliott isn’t sure whether it’s the effect of the goddess’ blessing at work or if Lucas, unhindered by the weight of prying eyes, simply carries the moonlight under his skin. 

“Do you see your favourite?” He tries again, hoping to get a lengthier response this time. The only way to get used to the allure of Lucas’ voice is to hear it over and over after all. 

“Favourite?” Lucas speaks faster this time, although still a little wary. 

“The constellations.” Eliott points up at the sky above them, tracing Lyra with the point of his finger. “They’re everywhere.” 

Lucas mumbles an answer but Eliott fails to catch it. His listening skill is one Eliott takes pride in but Lucas talks inhumanly low even for someone as attentive as Eliott. Lucas clears his throat when Eliott gives him a blank look. “I don’t know. I don’t have a favourite.”

A whooping two sentences. Eliott feels a sort of warmth come over him at the sound of it but it’s nothing he can’t handle. The thought brings a grin to his face and Eliott soon feels himself relax, humming as they continue to stare upward. 

“Mine is Pegasus.”

“Really?” 

The voluntary response only furthers his giddiness. “Yup, it’s cute.” 

“…cute.” 

“Adorable! See, look.” Eliott hops up and crouches beside Lucas’ tree stump so that they’re viewing the sky from the same angle. “Follow my hand, see it over there?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t guess, it’s right there!”

“Okay.”

“You see now?”

“I guess.”

“Come on, Lucas.” 

Gazing up at Lucas is quite the revelation. Lucas has to look down to where Eliott’s crouched down and from Eliott’s angle, his eyelashes are stupidly long. Or, well, not stupidly— rather beautifully, insanely, captivatingly. The blue in Lucas’ eyes are lit up with mirth and his lips, full and red and pursed, are quirked up in the corners with the smallest hint of a smile. 

At the risk of sounding like a bad romance heroine, Eliott is instantly breathless. 

“Eliott?”

His name coming from that voice quite literally knocks him on his ass. Eliott loses his balance and tumbles backwards, plopping into a seated position over dry grass instead of the careful crouch he’d opted for at the start. 

“Yeah, yes, Pegasus, the cute bastard,” he rambles, barely saving the moment. “The constellation reminds me of a kid tryina draw a horse.” 

Lucas is frowning up at the sky now and Eliott can practically hear the gears in his head turning. “That’s not cute, that’s ugly.” 

“Jesus, you’re gonna make a child cry someday.” 

He sees Lucas duck into the space between his chest and folded arms. Curiosity has Eliott subtly peeking forward and while Lucas’ smile is hidden behind his own arms, the curve of his eyes give him away— Eliott, emitting a surprised laugh at successfully making Lucas smile, wonders what he has to do to uncover that sight. 

“Cassiopeia,” Lucas says only seconds into the next bout of silence. 

“Hm?”

“It’s my favourite.” 

“Oh.” His name is Lucas and he likes Cassiopeia. Eliott thinks that’s a pretty good start. “Cool.”

#fictag #elu fic #skam france #greekgodsau #maybe I can continue on being a functional member of society #now that I've written at least a bit of this #I know I know #thats a funny joke #me?? posting a thing without a photo to go with it?? who am I?? #have a pencil

[cconstant-ccraving]

God Only Knows

Chapter Two 

Episode: S01xEP06 

Pairing: slow burn Aaron Hotchner x fem!OC.

Warnings: Mentions of stalking, shootings + wrongful incarceration. 

Summary: Gideon interrogates Captain Y/n Miller and unveils her past. Hotch and the team watch on from behind the glass, feeling like they couldn’t have made a bigger mistake. 

one two three four five six seven

The door to the interrogation room opened slowly as Agent Gideon stepped into the room. y/n had her head in her hands until he stepped into the room and she sat upright. 

She waited until he sat down to speak, “Is um- is your Agent alright?” 

Gideon slightly cocked his brow, not speaking. He thought it was curious that she inquired into his well-being. The profile they had put together while in the conference room established the unsub as a narcissist. 

They sat in silence until she continued, “If you could pass on my apologies, I would appreciate it. That was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Unbeknownst to her, the team sat behind the one way glass, listening to her every word. Morgan’s nose had stopped bleeding but it was broken, he had it reset by the precinct medic who had advised him to keep it, and himself, out of trouble until it healed. 

Gideon sighed, opening the file in front of him, taking out the crime scene photos, “My name is Agent Gideon. I’m with the F.B.I’s behavioural analysis unit. Ex-special forces, huh? You did three tours, that’s impressive. You went to college, you’re educated. You’re a functioning member of society and, yet, none of that stopped them from incarcerating you.” 

He watched her for any movement. He thought he’d see her freeze, see her jaw lock or tears spring in her eyes. She just sat there, looking back at him. 

“So, you got angry,” he continued, “you wanted to cause as much trauma and pain for other people as the state of Illinois put you through. So you shot six people and murdered one.” 

He slapped the images of the victims closer to her on the table.

She shook her head, jaw now clenching, “I didn’t do this.” 

“Just like you didn’t murder your college professor? You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if you did. It was such a convenience when someone else claimed your crimes wasn’t it? Did you know him? I’m sure he was your biggest fan and just had to follow in your footsteps of murdering college professors. Probably made sure that you would get out of jail, continue the legacy huh?” Gideon raised his voice at her. 

This is when she jerked forward, “You know nothing about me! Nothing! I didn’t kill anyone, that much was proven in court. Yes, I was in jail for a crime I didn’t commit but I moved past that a long time ago, Agent. I went to therapy, I shed my tears and I moved on.” 

---

Hotch watched her from behind the glass, feeling as though he had made a mistake. He watched the way her mouth moved as she spoke, her lip split and bleeding from being pushed on the table. Her forehead was bruised but her eyes were focused on Gideon. 

Derek stood up from his seat and wandered closer to the glass before speaking, “I don’t think this is our unsub. Think about it, she has the position, she has the admiration. We profiled they would feel unseen, unheard. They are narcissistic and have a severe paranoid personality disorder. She’s not showing any of those signs.” 

Hotch sighed, rubbing his hand on his neck before looking at the team, “I still think it’s a good idea to keep her in custody until she can provide an alibi. I don’t want to take any chances.” 

“Don’t you think she could still be of help to us Hotch? She is a professional marksman, she’d have more insight into the L.D.S.K than most of us here. If what Gideon said was true, that we’ve never caught one of these guys with a profile, maybe we should let her go, ask her for help?” Elle spoke. 

“That’s assuming she would still be willing to help us. I almost feel bad for her, she may have broken my damn nose but she was likely reliving the trauma of being arrested for a crime she knows she didn’t commit,” Morgan spoke again. 

---

“Where were you then? During the shootings? You say you’re innocent, prove it,” Gideon asked her. 

She hesitated. 

“There’s a florist, along the high-street. It’s called Bluebells nursery. I was there at the time of the first shooting, before you were called in. I used my credit card there to purchase a bouquet of chrysanthemums. There’ll be a receipt and security footage,” She spoke softly. 

Gideon analysed her movements, “And after that?” 

She sighed, leaning back in her chair, looking up to the ceiling before looking back to Gideon, “Livingstone Cemetery.” 

Gideon fell quiet, taking the time to consider his next move. Before he could continue she spoke, “I may not have killed her, Agent Gideon. But it’s because of me they’re dead.” 

“How do you figure?” Gideon asks, genuinely curious as to how this young woman carried so much guilt over a murder that wasn’t her doing. 

“In your investigation of my background you will have missed some things due to my expunged record...” y/n stopped, leaning forward she clasped her hands together on the table, “Professor Jennings was helping me prep for my interview with the admissions panel for the masters programme. So, naturally, we spent some time together. James Hanson, was a high school senior who had been stalking me after he watched me speak in a debate hosted by their school for prospective Harvard students. He had been following me for 6 months and when he saw I was spending time with someone that wasn’t him he broke into her office and murdered her after one of our meetings. He wore gloves, cleaned up after himself. My prints were all of her office. Once he started killing he couldn’t stop, even after I went to jail. He then killed another Professor and their TA, who had walked in on him. He got sloppy. The TA, her name was Alison Brown, she dialled 911 before he strangled her with her own belt. The other Professor was on my admissions panel, his name was Russo Bianchi. When he was arrested he admitted to the all of the murders and said that he did it because he loved me, and they were standing in the way of my success.” 

She paused, making sure she looked Gideon right in the eye, “So, no. You don’t get to sit there and accuse me of gunning down the father of three children. You don’t get to sit there say that I am grateful to the man who killed three people in my name and you sure as hell don’t call him my biggest fan...” She paused. “So, if you are not charging me with anything, I would like to leave. Now.” 

--- 

Hotch lent an arm against then wall and sighed. Morgan sat back down in his chair, his head in his hands. The team sat in silence. 

Morgan sat up straight and said, “Jesus, man. We just traumatised this woman and for what? The fact she slightly fit our preliminary profile? God damn it!” 

“There was no way you guys could have known, it’s not your fault,” JJ spoke softly from across the room. 

The door to their side of the room opened and Detective Calvin stepped in, “There’s been another shooting at a restaurant downtown. Three more victims, all non-fatal wounds again.”

“Greenway, Morgan, you come with me to the scene. I’ll go tell Gideon he can let Captain Miller go,” Hotch said as the team dispersed. 

--- 

Before Gideon could respond Hotch knocked on the door and walked in the room. Y/n’s eyes jump to him, her face still stern. Something Hotch noticed while profiling her is that her eyes were always expressive. 

Meanwhile, y/n looked at him. He was tall, handsome, clearly admired by his colleagues. He was the leader, despite Agent Gideon clearly being the oldest. 

“There’s been another shooting,” He spoke, stepping fully into the room. Gideon looked from his colleague, back to y/n. If Gideon hadn’t spent so many years in the BAU, learning how to hide his facial expressions and disguise his body language, his face would show guilt. Remorse. Gideon leaned forward and unlocked her handcuffs, letting her stand up from the desk. She didn’t look at Gideon as she walked out, gently brushing Hotch’s chest as she squeezed between him and the door frame. 

Hotch’s gaze followed her as she spotted her weapons on the desk directly opposite the interrogation room. Her colleagues stopped their work and looked at her, before looking away again as though nothing had happened. They have complete trust in her, Hotch thought to himself. Even when she was arrested, her coworkers didn’t believe she had done anything. The team had received many distasteful looks and refusals to help them since they’d arrested Captain Y/n Miller. 

Gideon stepped up beside him, watching as y/n walked out of the precinct and into her car. Frowning, Gideon spoke, “In my thirty years of profiling, I don’t think I have ever regretted interviewing a potential suspect. Until today.” 

---

next chapter 

#aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner angst #hotch imagine #hotch x reader #bau #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #constantcravingwrites

[jbk405]

I just finished reading Crier’s War and Iron Heart, a fantasy duology where the struggle is between humanity and the Automae.  Automae are artificial beings created through alchemy who overthrew humanity 50 years ago, and who now rule over the oppressed humans while aping human customs and institutions.  They look human, all Designed to be beautiful and stronger than any normal person, but perhaps missing that spark which makes humanity more than just another animal.  Then again, maybe they’re not missing that spark at all.

The story is told through two perspectives.  Ayla is a human maidservant who works in the Sovereign’s palace, but is actually a member of the human Resistance who is plotting to kill the Sovereign’s daughter in revenge for the death of her whole family years ago when the Sovereign’s forces burned down her village.  The other perspective is that very Sovereign’s daughter, Lady Crier, an Automa.  Crier is something of a human-sympathizer, she even advocates for human representation in government, but she is very much naïve as to what their society is actually like and advocates from the White Man’s Burden perspective (’I oppose brutal oppression, but since we are better than humanity  it is still right that we rule, we just need to be nice about it’ and so on).

Crier’s “father”, the man who commissioned her and helped Design her, is Hesod, Sovereign of Rabu.  He claims to be Sovereign of all Zulla -- the continent they inhabit -- but the Varn region achieved independence years ago and Tarreen is ignored to the extent that it’s functionally independent without anybody in the capital quite realizing it.  Hesod is a “traditionalist”, an Automa who feels that their society should continue human traditions and customs that were already in place at the time of the overthrow.  Marriages to seal political alliances even though Automa do not reproduce sexually, feasts to celebrate momentous events even though Automa do not need to eat, etc.  He is facing internal political challenges from Kinok, the leader of the Anti-Reliance Movement, which argues that since Automa are Superior to humanity in every way then they should not borrow anything from humanity.  Kinok wants them to exterminate humanity completely, burn down all their cities and destroy every relic, and rebuild completely from the ground up with a new Automae society.  To co-opt Kinok’s popularity and make him invested in the current system, Hesod engages him to Crier.

When Ayla accidentally saves Crier’s life, she is appointed to be her personal handmaid and so their two lives become suddenly intertwined.

I think the story made the wise choice of not making the society a metaphor or parallel for any particular real-life nation, revolution, or point in history.  The Automae are physically stronger, faster, and in some ways (But only some) smarter than humanity, so trying to map that as a metaphor onto American Slavery or the British Empire would have fallen apart right away.  It can condemn the oppression without saying “This is just like XXXX”, which I’ve seen a lot of other fantasy stories try to do and not understand why it fails or why it’s offensive.

I loved the examination of Traditionalism as a particularly cruel form of cultural appropriation, since it has no real respect for what it claims to be honoring.  Hesod talks big about how they are learning from humanity, but it’s all surface-level.  He’s the asshole dressing up in a costume of your people for Halloween and then insults you when you aren’t flattered.  It’s clearest during one of the banquet scenes, where Crier actually hears Ayla’s stomach rumbling but knows she can’t eat anything because she’s a servant.  The big feast is literally going to waste: Automa are physically capable of eating (Of putting food in their mouth, chewing, and swallowing) but they get no nourishment from food.  So while the servants are starving, the Automae are pretending to eat.

The romance between Crier and Ayla -- I suppose this is technically a spoiler but come on you knew there was going to be a romance as soon as you learned Ayla became Crier’s personal handmaid -- I think sidestepped the big problem when it comes to trying to tell a romance between a member of the Oppressed and their Oppressor: It doesn’t happen while they are still the Oppressor.  Crier is obviously madly in love with Ayla from the first time she sees her, and Ayla has got all sorts of confusion over these feelings she’s feeling for the girl she had been planning to kill, but she can’t get past the fact that Crier’s Kind are slaughtering hers wholesale.  No matter how kind Crier is to her personally, no matter that she realizes that Crier is honestly ignorant of the worst parts of her father’s regime, she can’t get past that Crier is part of that regime.  There’s one scene where Crier -- in a moment of panic and fear -- shoves Ayla and is immediately contrite and apologizes for possibly hurting her (Because she is so much stronger than her) and Ayla is enraged that she is apologizing for something so small and not, you know, killing her parents and working her people as slaves.  At a different point in the story, Ayla explicitly points out that Crier cannot just be nice to one or two humans and have that make it all okay.

I’m reminded of that Doctor Who scene, that great scene I come back to as often as I can, where the Ninth Doctor points out that sparing a single life doesn’t counterbalance all the others.  Crier isn’t as villainous as the Slitheen, but the principle is the same: Being nice to the servant who you have a crush on and giving her extra food and the day off work doesn’t give all the other servants a full meal or a rest from their backbreaking labor.

So, despite feeling Feelings, Ayla doesn’t stop fighting and resisting those Feelings until Crier has defected and started actively undermining Hesod and Kinok.  When Crier tries to bring down the entire system.  That’s when Ayla allows herself to Feel what she has already been Feeling.

Technically, I think Iron Heart was the better-written of the two novels.  The timescale was all off in Crier’s War, with events way too rushed.  After Ayla has just become Crier’s handmaid three days before, and she hasn’t even worked all of those three days, she states she has already gotten used to the feel of Crier’s eyes on her enough to identify her watching from the darkness.  In the same timeframe Crier has noticed how Ayla’s behavior and mood as changed ‘lately’, when again she has only actually worked with her for like a day and a half.  The same with Crier’s ever-evolving relationship with Kinok, rushing between tentative trusting to boiling hatred and halfway back again in a matter of days.  I’m not sure if this was deliberate, maybe an attempt to show that it’s True Love or Love at First Sight by having emotions build so quickly, but it was awkward and drew me out of the story as I kept running into headfirst into “You don’t even know each other, calm down”.  Spreading it out a bit more, writing “three weeks” instead of “three days”, would have changed the whole vibe.

I loved, absolutely loved, the final defeat of Kinok.  Because it happened the way I thought it should happen, and which I thought the book wasn’t going to have happen.  Towards the end it seems to be leading to a big climactic struggle for power between Kinok and the ARM versus the combined armies of Varn, the human Resistance, and some of Rabu’s forces as well, except that as this happened I was extremely confused as to how Kinok could rival this power.  His most loyal followers were accidentally killed by his own efforts earlier in the novel, and he never had a large martial force in the first place, so where was his giant army coming from?  It turns out he doesn’t have a giant army.  He’s outnumbered by thousands, with barely 200 followers still with him, and even those remaining forces abandon him the second that they see an alternative.  He doesn’t have one last glorious charge to die a martyr, he’s dropped like a hot potato and then killed by one of the human’s he spent years tormenting.  Not Crier, not even Ayla, but Faye.  It made sense, and was exactly what I wanted.

#Crier's War #Iron Heart #Literature #Crier #lady crier #Ayla

[stupid-sloot-headcanons]

Asano/F!Darling: Unconventional Methods (VI)

TW: Noncon/dubcon, unhealthy power dynamic, unhealthy relationship, abuse of authority, spanking

____ didn't mind Asano's smaller outside assignments that much, especially compared to that first lesson. She knew when they would come since he only ever sent them during her breaks or outside of work hours, and having time to write a response was less stressful than being put on the spot and having to look at him. Still...Asano's questions and requests were enough to make her squirm in her seat even when they weren't sexual.

"How many partners have you had, including the ex-boyfriend you mentioned? Were you sexually active with them as well?"

"Have you always lived on your own? Do you ever feel a desire to live with someone or feel intense loneliness at home?"

"Have you ever had a near-death experience?"

"Send a photo of the toy you mentioned using. Describe its function and how often you use it each week."

"Was your family life turbulent growing up?"

"Have you ever been struck during a sexual encounter (eg. Slapping, spanking, scratching) or experienced pain (eg. hair-pulling, biting)? If so, describe the action and how you responded to it."

That last one made her feel especially worried. She'd never done anything rougher than maybe getting her hair pulled and being called a cute little slut by her ex whenever he'd talk dirty to her. And compared to Asano, a black belt who famously defeated his teacher on his third day of class, her ex wasn't much of a fighter.

____ sighed and tried to focus on the papers she was supposed to be grading in 1A's classroom while the instructor taught the students. Principal Asano was just trying to make her uncomfortable by asking her, and probably by making her wonder if he really was planning on hurting her like that during one of his lessons. Speaking of which...it had been one week since her third lesson. The last two weren't as sexual as the first, but they were just as stressful. The second lesson was almost like a regular lecture, aside from the fact that she'd been completely nude the entire time. Asano had given her a small stack of education and psychology textbooks for her to annotate and study in his office while he watched her. Any time she moved the book up or hunched over the small table he'd provided for her to hide her breasts, he'd told her to sit up straight and she reluctantly obeyed.

The third lesson had involved her "shadowing" him while he did his own work; thankfully she got to keep her clothes on for this one, but she spent the entire time in his lap. Occasionally his hands would wander between her thighs to ghost against her panties, and eventually she noticed how he was subtly rocking his hips every so often while a slight bulge nudged her backside. It didn't seem to faze him in the slightest though; whenever he'd show her one of the documents he was working on or made a phonecall, his voice didn't seem tense or strained at all while she sat in his lap.

She understood why he needed to make her so uncomfortable, and he'd patiently explained to her more than once that her personal inexperience was why so many of these lessons were sexual--you're least comfortable when trying something new. But it still felt so wrong to do things like this, even if her boss explicitly said it was okay. Is that why she didn't want to ask any of her coworkers for advice or whether they thought this was an appropriate teaching method? Asano hadn't ever said to keep it secret, after all. Still...she'd have to admit that she and Asano had done all of these things together--on campus, in his office! Even if it was to make her a better teacher--and even if the other faculty members believed that--she could never look them in the eye ever again. ____'s face flushed with heat and she hurriedly made her way down the hall to Asano's office; maybe after this lesson she could ask him if she should discuss his program with any of the other teachers.

____ knocked at Asano's door and waited for him to reply. "Come in." Immediately she stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it from the inside; now that she'd had multiple lessons in his office, she had learned the routine for the start of his lessons. Asano was at his desk and peering at the documents in his hand. "Sit." He hadn't even looked up from his papers.

____ eagerly walked to the chair in front of his desk and sat with her legs crossed. "Um, sir," she began, "Before we start, I wanted to--"

"We've already started today's lesson," Asano interrupted, his voice soft but firm and commanding as ever. "Once we've finished, you can talk to me about your concerns."

____ pressed her lips together in a line and tried not to sound too bothered by him dismissing her so quickly. "What will today's lesson involve?" She prayed over and over in her mind: nothing sexual, nothing sexual, nothing sexual...

Asano finally glanced up from his papers to look her over, and ____ tried her best not to meet his gaze. "I want to see how well you've studied the books I lent to you," he said. "Nothing too exhaustive, just a cursory review with an oral quiz." He moved his seat back and rested his arms on either side of the chair. "Put yourself on my lap, facing down on your stomach."

____ hesitantly rose up and moved around the desk to lay down the way Asano had ordered. The arms of the chair pushed against her chest and upper thighs, but not enough to be anything more than mildly cumbersome. She flinched slightly when she felt his hand move to pull up the bottom of her skirt and expose her rear end to the cool air of his office. "S-sir?"

Asano moved one hand to rest over her back while the other cupped the soft flesh of her backside. "For every question you're unable to answer, you'll get a penalty." He squeezed her ass gently and felt ____ squirm as he toyed with her. "I'll guide you to a proper answer until you manage to discover it for yourself. First: Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences is not a theory applied to most schools in Japan. Tell me why you think that is."

____ shifted in her seat. Were all the questions going to be this open-ended? "Ah...L-let me see," she murmured. It was difficult to think straight when you were upside down and your boss was groping your ass. "Well, Gardner's theory is...u-um, it comes from a Western perspective of intelligence? Kunugigaoka's teaching methods are based heavily off of, of collectivism and group efforts being important. So it may not be applicable here?"

Asano pursed his lips. "Is collectivism solely an Eastern value? Not to mention, you're forgetting one of the cornerstones of our teaching methods is behaviorism--a concept theorized in Europe and the United States."

"Oh. That's true," ____ admitted. "I'm sorry, Asano-sa--"

A sudden smack against her ass startled her followed by a stinging pain made her tear up immediately. She'd never been hit this hard before, and she immediately felt a lump in her throat as she started to cry. "Apologize by considering a better answer," Asano said coldly. "Think carefully about how Gardner's theory contrasts with different policies and standards in Japan."

____ sniffled and cried as he had spoken, and continued to after he'd told her to try again. 'I...u-um, let me...I...A-Asano-san, I..." She tried to think about the question, she really did. "I've never been spanked before, th-this really hurts..."

Asano gently rubbed the place he'd struck her and she let out a small whine; even him comforting her hurt. "It's a new experience, and an effective one," he said. "You're more likely to remember and retain what I say with a physical trigger." He squeezed her ass and felt her squirm again. "Try again."

____ bit the inside of her cheek and tried to ignore the sting and the heat coming from her skin. "Um. Gardner's theories...they imply that each type of intelligence is...a student with one strength does better with a different type of learning method, and a student with a different one would do better with an-another one," she rambled. "But school exams only test the ability to retain a-and apply information. A...a student with high kinetic intelligence, they might struggle on a written exam be-because it tests a different set of skills. R-right?" She looked up at Asano as best as she could for a sign that she had given the right answer.

Asano smiled and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear. "A much better answer," he confirmed. "A school setting emphasizes and values different types of intelligence over others, and so does society as a whole." Asano squeezed and played with her upper thigh, and ____ felt his fingers coming closer and closer to between her legs until he was pressing against her clothed slit. "At Kunugigaoka however, I've tried to incorporate the needs of students who aren't gifted with the natural intelligence that exams cover. Even if a student's resistant to conventional teaching and study methods, I've found that a forceful approach can work through that rigidity." He smirked and felt ____ squeeze her thighs around his hand as a he played with her clit. "Next question."

____ tried to gather her thoughts as best as she could while being toyed with over Asano's knee. Shouldn't she be answering these questions while NOT being so distracted? How is she supposed to give a proper response when he's touching her and groping her like this? "S-sir, I understand the purpose of being spanked--um, struck? Learning with a physical trigger. But it's distracting me and I can't focus on what I've studied..."

Asano nodded and slipped some of his fingers past her underwear, pulling them down to press directly against her cunt. She gasped through her nose and felt a wave of shame after she felt her body clench around his fingertips. "That's the point," Asano explained patiently. "If you've studied properly then you should be able to recall information easily, even under stress." He could feel a small bit of lubrication around her entrance making it easier to slip the tip of his middle finger inside. "You did study, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," ____ insisted. "I just didn't think it would be this...ah, this..." She trailed off and whimpered at the feeling of his finger rubbing against a sensitive spot; she didn't even realize that she had started to rock her hips back and forth in time with his hand. "Sir, please!"

Asano narrowed his eyes at ____ as he continued to play with her with one hand. He knew she wasn't experienced with this kind of stimulation, but that wasn't any excuse to act so childishly. "Please? Please do what? I can't stop just because you're uncomfortable, you know that. Now, for the next question. The study conducted on adolescents aged 12 and 13 is referenced often in chapter 3 of the textbook on memory I sent you. The two students in the study failed to keep up with the lessons during the experiment and suffered nervous breakdowns from the strain of the coursework. Why do the authors frame this as something positive?"

____ tried to remember the article he was asking about, but her thoughts were clouded and scattered as she felt a creeping feeling of pleasure and tension in her core. What was that article about? Not memory, that was the one in chapter 2...No, it was about the correlation between classroom size, curriculum density, and...and short class periods? "Ah...The students who had breakdowns," she started, not even sure of what she was trying to say. "The authors theorized it was b-because the intensity of the material being covered and the short--ooh...short class periods. U-um, the teaching method focused on parallel thinking and had them all studying multiple things at the same t-time, and the two students couldn't take...couldn't take it anymore..."

____ let out a frustrated groan and tried to move her hips away from Asano's hand. "Please, I can't," she insisted. "I can't do both at the same time, I can't think when you--"

Asano pulled her hips back into place and quickly covered her mouth with one hand before slapping her ass again. She screamed and started to sob against the palm keeping her somewhat quiet. "You aren't answering the question, you're re-stating it," he said irritably. "Not only that, but you're interrupting the lesson by moving away like that." He raised his hand again and ____ instinctively tried to move out of the way and tried to reach up and block him from hitting her; his eyes darkened and in one swift movement, he pushed her over against the desk and gripped her wrists behind her back while keeping his other hand on her mouth.

"You've disrupted my lesson twice now," he said icily. "If you're so eager to act like an unruly child and throw a tantrum, I'm more than happy to put it on hold to correct this." He dug his nails into the flesh of her wrists and she screamed again. "I'm going to let go of your wrists, and you're going to keep your hands on this desk until I tell you to put then behind your back. Do you understand?"

____ clenched her fists and tried her best to nod while her head was turned to the side against his desk while she continued to cry. This already hurt so much, and she couldn't imagine what he'd do if she tried to run out of the room or fight back. "Mm...Mhh-mm." She sniffled and choked back some of her sobs to try and respond. Asano, true to his word, let go of her wrists and she immediately placed them on the edge of the desk. Her knuckles lightened as she gripped the wood as hard as possible, and the ache of her hands distracted her from the sting of her lower thighs and the strain on her neck and upper body being pressed against his desk.

After a few seconds, she felt his hand take one of her wrists; a strip of cloth was in his hand, and she felt it brush against her own skin. "Behind your back," he ordered. ____ complied and put her hands together again. She felt the silk of Asano's tie wrap around her and tighten until it was firmly keeping her wrists bound. He took her by the crook of her arm and moved his other hand to let her breathe more easily through her nose while he kept her mouth covered. "Back in the chair."

Soon she was back in his lap, though this time her hands were in an uncomfortable raised position thanks to his necktie. "Obviously you're not able to continue with the quiz I had in mind today," Asano said, sighing in disappointment. "Still, I'm not going to cut our lesson short just because of your outburst." ____ felt a few more tears well up at just how upset and disappointed he sounded in her. She didn't want to be a brat. She didn't want to disrupt his lesson, but she just couldn't think straight. "Instead, we'll be reviewing something much more elementary to match your attitude." Her heart sank as she felt his hand rest on the curve of her ass again. "The two of us are going to count. I think that ten should be high enough."

____ caught a glimpse of his hand as he raised it up and bit her lower lip to try and steel herself before he spanked her again. The harsh slap of skin against skin followed by a new rush of aching pain left her sobbing pathetically underneath him. His voice was soft and eerily cheery as he brushed a few fingers over where he'd hit her. "One."

Slap. "Two."

Slap. "Three."

____ heard the rush of blood roaring in her ears until she could hear nothing else, not even the spankings or her own crying. It sounded so far away, just like Asano's voice. "Four...five..."

The breaks in between each spanking grew longer and longer, and Asano could hear her wails become less and less loud and obnoxious until they died down to short whimpers after each slap. Her lips were slightly parted behind his hand, but she wasn't pouting and wincing anymore; it seemed that she'd spent all of her energy and her tantrum had finally subsided. He peered down at her slightly-tilted head and noted the glazed-over look in her visibly reddened eyes as she stared off into space. Dissociation was a common side effect when it came to his students, a clear sign that they were at their limit and--even better--their minds were much easier to mould now that their subconscious was preoccupied elsewhere. For ____ in particular, it was a key step in training her. Right now she had learned she couldn't resist him, and with the right positive and negative reinforcement she'd learn to love his guiding hand.

"Six." Smack.

"Mm..."

"Seven." Smack.

"Mmm."

An impulsive part of him, specifically the part responsible for the slight tent in his pants as he watched her stare blankly and become more and more compliant and complacent with each strike. She clearly wasn't cut out to teach, not with how well she fit in his lap and how satisfying it was to hear her soft moans. He imagined how much better it would be to see her transition from resistant and defiant, to blank and defeated, and finally to eager and adoring once he'd finally finished grooming her into his ideal "protégé."

"Eight...Nine...Ten."

#.assassination classroom #yandere assassination classroom #yandere asano #.asano #asano's darling #fem darling #tw: noncon #.myshit

[dreamhot]

who do you think is going to be the big bad of the server? like c!dream is a villain but i also think he’s being set up for not really a redemption more like a he just leaves type arc. i’m thinking dreamxd is probably gonna be the big bad with c!ranboo and maybe c!george. imagine the angst possibilities of c!george takes dreamxd’s side as a villain

this is a fun consideration because it forces you to wonder if there IS gonna be a big bad overall

obviously c!dream is the main antagonist - his actions have been at the centre (or at least a focal point) of pretty much every major conflict. however, i find it hard to imagine that he would be in any position to cause much havoc once he's gotten out of prison. sure, there's a chance he could regroup and come back with a vengeance, but ... he's just one guy, and there's no saying he would have anyone really backing him if he wanted to start shit. and what would his goal even be at this point? i don't think there's a question of 'reuniting the server' or whatever his old claims were. so like... revenge on c!q and c!sam? going after c!tommy? i find it more likely he would scarper and stay out of the limelight for a long while

that leaves the other characters who have been acting ambiguously, if not overtly villainous. i don't think c!q has terribly megalomaniacal intentions in spite of his actions, so i don't think it would be him. i can see c!wilbur causing a lot of damage if he remains unchecked, but i still don't know if he would be a BIG bad. i don't know enough about c!ranboo's lore to speak to his alignments, tho ofc the enderwalk raises a lot of questions in that regard. as to c!george ... i still feel like the cc just isn't engaged enough with the lore to take a position as a main antagonist (much tho that concept would be cool lmao). and while i would love to see dxd become a more relevant power to the other members of the smp, i couldn't say if they're invested enough in the server's goings-on to have much skin in the game

which brings us to the consideration of what it means to have a big bad - because a final boss, so to speak, implies that the story is going to end. so whoever fills that role is going to be in some capacity responsible for the end of the dsmp story as we know it. so what if the main antagonist of the story is merely ... entropy?

(credit to @strandedcrow for making me aware of this concept btw)

imagine. the server has a thousand loose plot threads dangled about. unfinished arcs, unanswered questions, conflicts with no resolution. the server has been locked in a cycle of distrust and violence for so long, so much of the sense of community lost, all while people continue to stab each other in the back or look out for their own. the server itself is ailing, wounded - or in computer terms, corrupted. and what do you do when hardware is too broken to function?

you perform a hard reset.

the big bad of the dsmp may not be a person. it could be the fact that the server can't continue in its current state & needs to begin anew, free from all the pain and mess that brought their society to a shambles. the only way out could be starting from square one - a clean slate, both for the server itself and the people involved

... but that's just a theory

#smile.ask #anon #long post #smp crit #not sure HOW it would be reset per se but . yakno

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi. I hope you had/are having a great summer break. I (INTP) am hoping for some perspective about an issue. Recently, my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in a while, became incredibly frustrated that I corrected her with an alleged “I know everything” attitude.

It’s an issue of concern because she revealed that I always do this. I guess this was the straw that broke it, especially given that what we were discussing was very trivial. (Maybe the frivolousness of the subject is precisely what made my correction seem more pedantic, unnecessary, arrogant.) She says that my attitude disregards her long life experience, and that if she were a stranger, she would think of me as a “snot-nosed brat who knows nothing about life” instead of as a “wise young person”, which is the viable alternative. She said that I am closed-minded and that I shoot everything down. (The problem of small-mindedness is what you addressed the only other time I wrote to you.)

I don’t know why I come off as arrogant. I’m sure that I’m not. I asked my mother what it was that made her think that, which she thought was a silly question because what she sensed was a general demeanor rather than specific behaviors. In the end we were only able to establish that my lack of eye contact was one of those factors. I can work on that, but surely that’s not determinant. What makes people think of others as arrogant? Should I stop correcting people? I don’t correct others in order to feel superior to them. I do it because I like to debate, in order to keep my thinking sharp, and because there is something painful about friends/family having false notions. I think it’s fair to say that my intention isn’t rooted in arrogant soils.

Granted, my suggestion of stopping correcting people is black-and-white, given that there is the grey option of changing the *way* I correct people. I’m just wondering if it’s an unhealthy habit in the first place. But given how prevalent a thought process it is (i.e. questioning people’s statements and finding faults), the process of getting rid of it may be akin to self-directed psychological violence. I mean, this is the same mode of being that makes me good at what I’m good at. (There’s also the option of keeping the thought process, but not correcting people aloud, but I don’t know what else there is to talk about other than analyzing ideas and their faults. Maybe I should analyze ideas for their strengths too, and express that side more than the faults.)

So anyway, let’s go with grey: So far I’ve tried thinking of an arrogant person that I know in order to understand my behavior, but I can’t think of anyone. Also, no matter how hard I try to put myself in someone else’s shoes in order to simulate an interaction with myself, it doesn’t really work, and I can’t see the arrogance, except if I were to just tell someone “that’s wrong” without any explanation. (I wonder if that’s what went wrong in the conversation with my mother.) Either way, this whole issue boils down to the fact that I’m not arrogant by any reasonable criteria that I found online, but that I come off as such. This was longer than intended. Thanks for your kindness and help.

-----------------------

Here are some questions for you to reflect on. They are meant to increase awareness of your underlying assumptions, beliefs, and values. Answer honestly:

Do you care about your mom? Do you care about how she's faring, what she's experiencing, what she's thinking or feeling, what she needs and desires, what she hopes for or aspires to, etc?

If you care, how do you SHOW your care to her?

If you don't care, how does that affect your behavior toward her?

Do you believe that the mother-child relationship only goes one-way? (Is it the mom's job to do for you but you owe her nothing?)

You say you like to debate to sharpen your mind. Innocent enough. I like to roller skate to keep myself physically fit. In an ideal world, I would never take my skates off. Does my enthusiasm for roller skating mean that I slap my skates on anywhere, any time? No. Surely it is inappropriate to skate around a hospital or the supermarket. Not only could I seriously harm myself, I would also be exhibiting flagrant disregard for the safety and well-being of others.

What you like to do for yourself sometimes comes into conflict with other people. If you care about people and hope to have healthy and happy relationships with them, you have to take their needs and wants into consideration in every interaction. You have to abide by ethical rules and principles that allow your needs to be met without neglecting the needs of others or interfering with their ability to get their needs met. Without ethics, society wouldn't be able to function, because it would just be a free-for-all.

You mention small-mindedness. It is quite small-minded to walk around the world only thinking about what you need/want. In the best case scenario, you are completely oblivious to others, and they will perceive you as clueless or self-absorbed. In the worst case scenario, you only interact with people for your own personal gain, and that would make you an exploitative or even abusive person. Is that the kind of person you want to be?

Do you basically treat people as though their sole purpose on earth is to debate you and help you sharpen your mind - to serve you? Do you launch into debates with people without asking for consent or checking to see if they want to be corrected? If you do, they will call you arrogant, not because you've put yourself on a pedestal and call yourself superior like an evil cartoon character, but because you are communicating to them that your needs/wants are most important AND you don't give a damn about theirs.

Webster's definition of arrogance: "an insulting way of thinking or behaving that comes from believing that you are better, smarter, or more important than other people". You believe that you know better, otherwise, you wouldn't grant yourself the social authority to intrude on people's boundaries, invalidate their experience, and correct them uninvited. You believe that you are smarter, otherwise, you wouldn't automatically assume the dominant social role of corrector. You behave as though you are the more important member of the relationship because your main priority is YOUR need to feel better (about your skills or about what others believe) while overlooking the other person's needs. Seems like you fit the definition quite well.

Despite that, I wouldn't call you arrogant because I understand that small-mindedness is a difficult problem to overcome. I see the effort that you're putting in to understand it. I'm charitable because I'm not the one who was hurt by your behavior. When people feel hurt, they often have difficulty expressing it. Maybe it comes out clumsily or they aren't able to explain their hurt without hurting you in return. Expressing one's true feelings is to make oneself vulnerable. If someone doesn't trust you to understand and validate their feelings or, worse, they believe that you will attack them for their feelings, they will not be completely honest with you. Your mom is trying her best to give you the benefit of the doubt by saying "if you were a stranger...", but she doesn't feel comfortable enough with you to express her hurt fully and explicitly as it happens. Why? Because the very reason she is hurt in the first place is that you have shown very little regard for her feelings. Following from the previous post of yours, the root of the problem is that you have such a poor understanding of feelings to begin with that you view them as inconsequential in yourself and others (very immature Fe).

I believe you have no ill-intent. I have said before that the typical Ti dom never sets out to hurt people on purpose. Rather, they hurt people unintentionally because their perspective is too small: 1) they don't grasp that other people's needs may be very different from their own and thereby fail to consider them, 2) they don't know how to empathize with different perspectives and validate them, and/or 3) they don't understand that SHOWING love and care is necessary for people to justify continued investment in the relationship.

In other words, Ti doms tend to hurt people out of negligence or acts of omission. Some of them get frustrated at not being able to solve their relationship problems. They might try to convince themselves that doing nothing means that no harm can be done, so they adopt a passive stance in the relationship and perhaps even train themselves to keep their mouth shut (self-violence). They fail to understand that there's more than one way to cause hurt. Instead of learning better relationship skills, they check out mentally and emotionally. Being checked out only makes it worse because you hurt yourself and you keep hurting others by being even less attentive to their needs.

The foundation of meaningful relationships is showing care. In a healthy relationship, people trust you to care for their emotional needs and not violate their personal boundaries. If you only attend to your own needs/wants in social interaction, you are signalling that you don't really care about the other person. This problem with your mom shows that you give little to no consideration for emotional needs and personal boundaries. If you don't want friends, it's entirely your choice to be alone for the rest of your life, pretending that you never leave any footprints behind you. If you want friends, you'll have to put out more effort to be a better friend, by paying more attention to the consequences of your behavior.

Doing things that violate trust and boundaries, even if unintentional, causes hurt. When people feel hurt and don't feel safe to express the hurt, they are liable to say/do negative things. To have good emotional intelligence is to see past the surface of their negative words/behavior and grasp the underlying emotional needs that were unmet and/or the personal boundaries that were violated. Only then can you be a morally responsible member of a relationship, in terms of owning all the ways that you impact people, both positively and negatively.

Arrogant people don't care about the social impact they produce. As long as they get what they want and don't lose anything, the existence of others is of little importance to them. If your mom is important to you, then learn how to show it better by listening to her when she tells you about her needs/wants. You hyperfocus on the literal meaning of the word "arrogant" and whether it is true/false of you, as though proving it false means that there's nothing wrong. You need to listen to the people you have hurt, if you want to understand why your behavior is hurtful. Alternatively, you need to educate yourself about emotional needs, interpersonal boundaries, and what constitutes un/ethical behavior and why.

#intp #intp relationships #inferior fe #arrogance #small minded #communication #social skills #people skills #emotional intelligence #relationships #ask