#at least for me when i tied myself into this world i realized that... i want to live

[uncanny-tranny]

The cognitive dissonance that says both that humans are inherently superior and also completely separate from the world and everything that's in the world is a very interesting one. It says a lot, I think, about how people view the world and others when they believe these things. The political implications of these ideas are vast and honestly staggering - because people both feel superior and separate from the world, they sometimes start to treat the world in that way.

I wonder how much of this is tied to hyperindividualism which posits that the way to live is to separate yourself from everything around you - to see the world as inherently lesser, inherently something to own and to find monetary value in.

At the end of the day:

You are inherently tied to the world you live in because you live in this world

You are inseparable from Nature™

You affect the world by loving here, just as the smallest wasp or the largest whale does. This is inevitable and isn't good or bad

Your worth is not tied in with how individualized you are, or by how much you separate yourself from the world

Whatever you do to ground yourself in this world, make sure it's something that fulfills you. It's honestly crazy how much this can open your eyes

#politics #nature #if this is worded poorly i can clarify but i was ranting about this to my dad lol #not going to lie having a hands-on/involved hobby (crochet) has made me insufferable... #...but that's because it's taught me SO much about the world and labour and what my place in both comprises of #and going to a very 101-level class has also made me realize more and more how interesting and absurd this world is #many people humanize nature and i personally don't like it #separating yourself from the world you live in won't save you i promise #at least for me when i tied myself into this world i realized that... i want to live

[aeide-thea]

thinking a lot lately about the desire many of us tend to feel for validation through community that not only respects but reflects us, and the way normie* men have been generally been happier to let me join them in their gender than normie women have been to let me leave it (them)...

#* not totally sold on 'normie' here but like. what i'm getting at is that the women i actually *know* are allies #(though of course it's like. how much of that is drawing on regard built thru homosociality...) #but like. when i get out in the world i find that women are the ones who really hate it #when they realize i 'could' be a woman but i'm Doin It Wrong #anyway it just does all feel tied to the thing i posted recently #about like. the ways many of us project our experience onto other people‚ looking to have them mirror it back to us #that post was about language and this one isn't so much #(although like. i've reached for 'we' twice in this post and substituted 'many of us' so as to be making slightly less blanket statements) #(and even then—that's still a claim both abt the world and abt how i'm grouped in it) #anyway i guess what i want to take away from this is the courage to be myself even unvalidated‚ whatever 'myself' even means #it's *hideously* hard bc i so often got invalidated growing up that i'm still horribly desperate for it #and i'm SO sensitive abt almost everything. but. at the very least a good goal for me‚ i think. #(also like. validation is great‚ or can be! i just think—when the desire for it leads us away from our truths‚ or towards fear and hate...) #(time to be wary then of its seductions and promises.) #anyway the cat is sitting on me so i haven't wanted to dislodge her in order to go make coffee #so instead: you get this

[anonymous-gambito]

Word of God/movie backstory aside, it suddenly came to me that there is one other gap of knowledge that has probably contributed to a significant part of the alienation between Touga and Nanami, and it's something that existed throughout all of Nanami's life, so it's given that she wouldn't truly notice it: Touga knows they're adopted, Nanami does not. I think that makes a big difference.

Touga's backstory is bound not to be the exact same as the movie (After all, Nanami isn't even there with him), so I'll let myself speculate a bit. Their biological parents could have died, they could have abandoned them or sold them, or the siblings could have been removed from their care, and unless Nanami was brought in later to wherever Touga was, it's safe to assume that he spent at least 5 years with his original parents. He has memories of a different family, and of losing that family. Nanami doesn't even know about any of it. She doesn't realize there is a side of her brother that she never got to meet.

"Blood" is very important to Nanami. Blood is what Nanami uses to try and reassure herself that the parents who are cold and distant to her, and the brother who's grown cold and distant too, have an eternal unbreakable bond. It's very brittle though. Nanami constantly fears being replaced, discarded or harmed by her family. Most often by Touga, who ironically, happens to be her only blood relative there.

Her anxiety can be very easily explained by her experiences with how she was treated growing up in the Kiryuu household, but I do wonder if there's some subconscious parts of her that tap into these knowledge gaps too. I already felt like it was there, in the way her love for her brother is as protective as it is possessive, and how to protect him from harm, be it real or perceived, she can go feral, often shooting wildly at whoever she thinks is to blame, always hitting the wrong targets; and so maybe, I thought, it is possible that her anxieties are also tied to these repressed early childhood memories. Ones of once having a family, and then losing that world, being thrown someplace unfamiliar. Vague mostly forgotten memories fueling her fear of abandonment, working like a constant little nagging at the back of her head signaling to her how little blood ties really matter in the end.

"Blood" doesn't matter to Touga in the same way. He doesn't hold into a rose colored view of it. He knows by experience how easily those ties can be severed, how fickle they are. That's why when he found a little girl in a coffin, a little girl who spoke of there not being anything eternal, of how those you care about are bound to leave you, and questioning what's even the point of living then, he couldn't give her anything. He couldn't save her. He didn't know the answer for himself either.

#revolutionary girl utena #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #rgu #utena meta #touga kiryuu #nanami kiryuu #utena tenjou #if someone could help me with the id for these pictures I'd really appreciate it 🙇 #ambi utena post #utena analysis

[strawberrysturniolo]

never grow up part nine

summary: after the same back and forth for six months, sunny finally decides its enough, until she's given the same hopeful moment again

part eight

Chris and I will never see a day where we aren’t best friends. No matter what our relationship or our friendship levels out as, I know he would take a bullet for me, and I can’t imagine a world where I don’t look for him first in a crowded room. 

Of all the people I meet in my life, it all goes back to him. Every friend I make, every boy I meet, every person I try to love, they will never be him. It’s not even comparable. It will never be a fair battle. It will always be him. 

The last six months have been eventful to say the least. 

I turned 22. I celebrated in Boston. Chris wasn’t there. Said something about wanting to come and making an effort to fly back out. Last minute he said he couldn’t because he had to work. I said whatever, got mad for a bit, then got over it and got drunk with my friends. 

I drunk called him, weeping some bullshit about how my birthday is never the same when he isn’t with me. Cried over how badly I wished he would move back home. He may have cried a little too, but I was too drunk to notice anything other than the pain in my chest from him being gone and the nausea coursing through my body as I held back every gag.

He apologized profusely, promising that he would make it up to me. The same broken promise I’ve lived with for three years now. 

I shouted at him and told him to stop lying to me. He insisted that he was being honest. He promised that things would be different. They never were. 

I slept with someone else. Had a short fling with someone that I thought could pull me out of the rut I was in, only to realize it was making me feel worse. Every time we fucked I imagined it was Chris. I then felt like shit because I knew it wasn’t fair to either of them, nor was it fair to me. I couldn’t move on. I was stuck on someone who couldn’t make up his mind. 

Chris kept promising that we would end up together. Maybe he was right. I was getting too dizzy and exhausted going around in that whirlwind to even let myself be optimistic about our future. 

I can’t keep waiting. I know he’s what I want, but I can’t put my life on hold for someone who isn’t sure of me. 

So, I called it quits. Told him straight up, I can’t do it anymore. No more back and forth. We go back to being friends and only friends. I cut the ties that he had knotted between us, forcing us to stay attached no matter how hard we pulled. I always fell to my feet and he dragged me through the fucking dirt and I got up, dusted my pants, and let him do it over again. I took the sharpest scissors I could find and cut it in half, sawed at it until my hands bled, and watched him walk away and leave me behind, because finally, I wasn’t attached anymore. 

I’ve managed to be okay with calling him my best friend with no underlying meaning. I’ve buried that higher level of us so low in myself that I can look at him across the country and feel nothing but friendship. I like it that way. 

I’m graduating today. 

Four years of college, stress, and long nights are over.

I let my mom curl my hair, let her pamper me and make me feel like a kid again before it all flies out the window. She puts gentle braids in my hair and curls the strands that fall down my back. She tells me to pucker my lips, and she swipes lipstick over them, making me feel like a little girl playing in her moms makeup again. 

“How excited are you for today?” she asked me with a smile.

I smack my lips together, coating the lipstick over every inch. “More nervous than anything. It’s awkward. I just want to get it over with.”

She frowns at me. “You’ll remember this day forever, I know it,” she promises, and I let her think she’s right. 

My mom and dad drove me to my school for graduation. I had one other ticket available, which I extended to Mary Lou, hoping she would make it. I grew up with her like a second mom to me, or maybe an aunt considering how close she is to my mother. Either way, she’s family. Always will be no matter how stupid her son can be at times. 

When I sat in a folded chair in the middle of an auditorium and waited for us to line up, I turned around and found an empty seat next to my parents. 

I for sure thought she would be here. She never missed an event for me. She was there for every sporting event, every birthday party growing up, everything. She wouldn’t leave me hanging like that. 

It was empty when I crossed that stage, and it was empty when I sat back down. 

I don’t know why it hurt so bad. Maybe she had something come up. Maybe she got stuck in traffic. 

All I knew is that I wanted at least one Sturniolo there. And I kept getting let down. 

The long day had finally come to an end, and I searched for my parents in the cattle of students and families trying to find each other after the ceremony. 

“At least one of us graduated.”

My feet halted. I froze, not even able to bring myself to turn around and search for the voice that I knew all too well.

“Do you think you could copy that paper?” he asked next. I turned around, and the first thing he did was take the book from my hands. He opened it up and inspected my diploma inside. “My mom would love to have this on her fridge. Oh! By the way. She couldn’t make it, so she sent me instead.”

I swallowed, suddenly nervous, like he wasn’t real.

He grinned at me, the same cheesy, childish, and adorable grin I’ve watched remain the same while the rest of his face aged as we grew older. 

“Give me a hug, Sunny,” he sighed. “I just flew the whole day away to be here. Think you can crack my back too? It’s killing me.”

My first instinct was to punch his shoulder, playfully of course. He let out a fake wince before grabbing my arm and pulling me into him.

My head nuzzled into his neck out of instinct. That spot was made for me.

“What are you doing here?” I managed to get out.

He laughed. “What a dumb question. I’m here for you, you goof. You thought I’d miss this?”

I pulled back, looking at him closely, like he was something from a dream. He straightened the cap on my head like he found all of this entertaining. “You weren’t here during the ceremony. I looked for your mom, and the seat was empty.”

“I got here on time. I promise,” he assured me. “I waited up top so you wouldn’t see me until now, but trust me, I got here and saw everything. I have pictures and videos to prove it.”

He pulled his phone out and swiped through his camera roll, which were screenshots of me walking across the stage while the rest of his family watched through FaceTime, cheering me on from home. 

My eyes welled up, unsure of my emotions at the moment. All I knew was I was feeling something, and crying seemed like the only logical answer.

He held my chin and pulled me to look at him, wiping my tears once my gaze settled on him. 

“I came, Sunshine,” he nodded. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. You’re my number one girl, always.”

My lip trembled at his promise, seeing that he kept it. He shook his head at me, silently telling me to stop it, that him being here wasn’t supposed to make me upset. He wrapped an arm around me and led me to my parents instead, letting me stand awkwardly in photos with the three of them as they gushed and let out their excitement for me.

We all went to lunch after, nothing fancy, but we were together, and that was enough. 

Chris came back to my apartment with me, which was now boxed up as our lease was coming to an end. I managed to find somewhere for us to sit comfortably in the clutter and eat our leftovers for dinner in my home. 

We talked about the last six months – our lives, things we’ve done, what we missed out on.  

“Did I surprise you?” he smiled. 

I nodded. “Yeah, especially since I haven’t heard from you in a week.”

He sighed. “I’m trying, I really am.”

I shrugged, tired of this already. “Can we just drop it?”

“No, we can’t,” he insisted. He grabbed my thighs and turned me towards him, and I hate the way my body sparked when his hands were on me again. “I love you, no matter what, you know this. Stop making me feel like you don’t love me anymore.”

I don’t respond.

“Do you still love me?” he asked, now worried. His face softened enough to prove that. 

“You know I do,” I mumbled. “Stop making me say it. It upsets me. It hurts, actually.”

“Well it hurts me that you don’t want to say it to me, because I would do anything to make you know I love you.”

Something in me snaps, because his answer isn’t fully true, and we both know that. 

“Then maybe that’s all we know how to do,” I throw at him. “We hurt each other but promise to be with each other somehow for the rest of our lives. And you know what, Chris? I know for a fact I’ll be at your wedding, but the idea of being there in any other dress other than the white one I’ve had picked out since I was twelve keeps me up at night. And the idea of walking down the aisle and not being the one makes you cry makes me fucking vomit. So please, for me, make up your fucking mind. Stop playing these games with me.”

He kisses me after that, and I want to push him off, but my body has a natural reaction to him.

My hands find his cheeks and I pull him closer. My fingers eventually thread through his hair and pull on him until my back is pressed to the tile of the kitchen floor and his hands are on my waist, but we know it can’t go further because there’s nothing sexy about us fucking on my floor with boxes surrounding us. 

He pulls back, catches his breath, and says, “No more games.”

I believe him, and I regret how quickly I do. “No more?”

“No more,” he repeats. “You and me. That’s all that matters.” 

tag list: @ev3rgreenxtrees @thottie777 @plasticferal @angelworldspost @alluringsturniolo @sturniolho @sturniolopowers @sleepysturnss @sturniolovoid @sturnslcver @gamermattsgf @freshluv @flowerxbunnie @luverboychris @luvsturniolo @lacysturniolo @luvmila444 @luv4kozume @christinarowie332 @bernardenjoyer @bellybumm @nicksbf @n6ptunova @mbbsgf @mattsneezing @mangoposts @mattitties

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #strawberrysturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #Spotify

[yggdrasilhypno]

So I’d like to indulge you a bit, if you don’t mind. You see, I’ve had this script on the back-burner for the longest time now, so I thought to myself: why not go ahead and finish it?

This script will see me take on a bit of a mad scientist role, one researching the effects of trance on a subject and see just how deep they can go. CW for fractionation, a bit of gaslighting and memory play. So, if you’ll allow me here to let loose, why don’t we get started?

—————————————————————————

*ahem*

Welcome back to the real world, my friend.

Oh, I’m terribly sorry. You must not remember much at all.

It’s quite alright, just allow yourself to calm down and relax, you’re in no danger here.

You know, you were out for quite a while this time.

Oh, this time?

Oh dear, it truly does seem like your memory is waving, interesting.

It’s alright, let me refresh your memory.

Do you remember our contract?

No? Let me jog your memory.

I’ve been looking for a willing subject for a recent hypothesis I’ve been cooking up, and you showed up right at my door, telling me all about how you’ve been losing your memory recently.

So, we made a pact: I’d help with your memory if you helped with my experiment.

Nothing too set in stone, but to be fair the best experiments never are.

No, they’re too volatile for that.

The best experiments are the ones you never expect.

Expect the unexpected, as they say.

It’s what makes science so beautiful, the surprises that come along the way.

Just like you, really.

It’s always a delight to find such a willing subject for my work.

You may not remember it, but I remember when you first came to my door, asking for my assistance.

You told me how much of a fan you were of my research into hypnotherapy, how I had pioneered the modern understanding of the mind.

At first I thought of it as mere flattery, but you insisted that I truly was the master of my craft that you believed I was.

And then, I started to believe.

That’s what made the first few times so fun.

When your eyes would flutter, when you’d start muttering to yourself before the inevitable drop.

It was wonderful watching someone enjoy my work as much as I did.

Do you even remember what my work is?

Of course you don’t, my silly subject.

You won’t hear me complain though, it proves my hypothesis further.

You see, I’ve had this theory for a while. It involves you and my pretty words, dancing around in your head.

I wanted to see just how deep a subject could go.

It started off simple enough.

I’d begin by saying how sleepy you’ve become just by listening to me, how dizzy I make you feel for me.

Simple promises of deep sleep circling around in your head until you were simply

Deep.

It’s a small hit at first.

Can you feel the deep calling you now, my dear?

I would say how it felt as if a portal was opening right about your pretty little head.

Sucking out all those silly thoughts.

The deeper you went, the stronger the portal would get.

Each moment spent listening to my words made you go so much deeper.

It was calling out to you.

The deep.

The void beyond that portal.

And as you’d slip like no tomorrow, ever so deeply into my spell.

You’d grow emptier and emptier until you were gone.

Gone into the portal.

Gone into the void.

Gone into the web of words I weave.

And you’d reach the pinnacle.

At least, that’s what I thought it was at first.

And so, I’d write on my notepad here and watch as your mouth slips open and the drool comes out.

Analyzing you.

Studying you.

Understanding you.

Until you were nothing for me.

And just as fast as you came down…

You’d start to rise back up.

Rising up back to the surface.

Rising as if you were tied to a balloon.

Rising back to wakefulness so effortlessly.

Rising up and up for me.

As if that balloon was rising into the sky.

Your mind, rising alongside.

Eager to rise and wake once I finally uttered the word…

Return.

And here you are again.

Fully awake.

Fully aware.

Fully remembering what just happened.

And realizing just how far you went.

Caught up yet?

Good subject.

Oh, and that feeling?

That’s your reward.

Because when you’re a good subject, it feels great.

Like you’re flying on the clouds.

This euphoria that spreads throughout your body, it’s truly limitless.

It’s the way you wanted it, after all.

Aw, don’t tell me you don’t remember, silly brain.

You asked if I could add another incentive for you to go deeper.

A reward, so to speak.

Because we both know you wanted to go deeper.

It’s all you wanted.

It’s all you could ever want.

To be nice and deep.

So deep that nothing else matters.

So deep that I don’t even need to remind you of how deep you can go.

You can go as deep as you want.

Deep as I want you to.

Because doing as I say makes you such a good subject.

And good subjects go deeper.

Just as deep as before.

Deeper than last time.

And even deeper than the time before that.

I don’t think you can even remember how deep you went last time.

But I remember.

You were gone, my good subject.

Just like that.

In a prison of your own creation.

After all, you’ve been this deep before.

You’ve been in the deep so many times before.

And just as you were starting to remember…

You began rising.

Two balloons now rising you out of trance.

Rising slowly and surely once more.

It’s so effortless to just listen and rise.

You don’t even have the ability to stop rising anymore.

The balloons keeping you safe as you rise.

Consciousness rising with you.

Rising all the way back to the stop until you…

Return.

And here we are again.

Such a good subject you are.

You’re making this so interesting for me, you know.

I’m not just testing your ability to go deep for me.

I’m also testing how deep your memory is.

After all, it’s so hard to go so deep and remember everything.

It’s much easier to forget while you’re slipping deeper and deeper.

It’s alright if you forget while you’re going back to the deep.

It’s what you’ve been deeply trained to do.

To forget all but going deeper.

To deeply remember what I tell you to remember.

Because I deeply care about that brain of yours.

I care about how deep it goes.

It’d be a shame if it went so deep that it simply broke, now wouldn’t it?

It’s why I’m here, my deep little subject.

To make sure that you stay deep and safe.

To make sure you don’t stray too far into the deep.

Because if you go too far in the deep…

You may be completely gone.

And here we are again.

Completely void of your mind.

Such an interesting look in your eyes.

Though, I wouldn’t call it any sort of look.

It’s more of an emptiness.

A husk.

Nothing.

Nothing behind those eyes.

You’ve simply forgotten your mind.

Leaving it in the deep, where it belongs.

It’s alright, my good subject.

You’ve finally proven my hypothesis right.

That you can go so incredibly deep.

So far gone.

That your mind simply ceases to exist for a moment.

And so, you’re left right here, mouth agape and eyes void of thought.

And you’ve served your purpose to me.

You’ve proven me correct, and so I must give you your end of our little bargain.

After all, I’d never con you, my good subject.

So then, one final time, let’s see you rise for me.

Because you know now that as you rise, you’ve served your purpose to me.

You’ve risen to the occasion.

So then, my good subject, as you rise up for me.

You’ll understand that your memory will be rising back with you.

It will be whole once more when you rise.

But, as you rise, you remember something very important.

How good it feels to be a good subject for me as you rise.

Knowing that while you’re rising, you feel an undeniable urge to be a good subject.

Because good subjects rise as they’re told.

Being told to rise makes good subjects feel amazing.

And so, remembering how good it feels to rise and obey as a good subject.

You rise all the way to the top now as you…

Return.

And welcome back.

Remember everything now, my good subject?

Excellent.

I’m so glad we could let you remember what you truly are.

A good subject.

Now then, why don’t we run some more experiments?~

#hypnosis #hypnok1nk #brainwashing #hypnodomme #hypnosub #hypnotized #mind control #brainless #covert hypnosis #fractionation #hypnosis script

[euniexenoblade]

You've had a long day. Whether it be because of work or chores or something else it's been a frustrating day for you. You kinda mope around the house, getting really down on yourself, you can tell I'm grumpy at you so you try to make self deprecating jokes, but that doesn't make me any less grumpy. The end of the day is in sight when I start to be sexy at you, and you dig it cuz it's a sign the day will at least end well, "You've been bad and I need to punish you" you know I've been grumpy all day, so you assume this is just going to get funneled into rough sex, which is fun enough, but instead you find yourself laying on the bed with your wrists and ankles tied to the bed. I'm starting to blind and gag you and you're a bit disappointed. Sure, a little 'bound gagged and forced to listen to hypno audio' is fun but it's just not the vibe you were getting from the day. But, you shrug it off (awkwardly since you're tied to the bed) and you await for your slut making hypno tracks as the headphones slide onto your ears. But, to your surprise, instead of hypno, you hear my voice. And I'm talking about how much I love you, how much you mean to me, how adorable I find you, how I feel that you're too hard on yourself and that your self deprecating humor can be funny at times but that a lot of the time it actually just makes me sad cuz I know you're an amazing person. You sit there, unable to move, unable to see or talk, all while you listen to this long audio track about how amazing I find you, about my favorite memories of you, about how much you mean to me, how proud of you I am and how proud of myself I am for being good enough that you let me into your life. Your punishment is to endlessly listen to how much I love you and how wonderful you make my world. You can't argue, you can't leave, you can't not listen, you can't make self deprecating jokes, you have to sit there and realize how wonderful you actually are.

And, when that audio finishes it's followed by 2 hours of cbat on repeat. This is a punishment after all.

#dom mode

[crowfromfoggyforest]

It's time for some Random Ramblings!

I love "Loser, Baby". The first time i heard it, it almost made me cry. And i've already seen several people talk about how wholesome the "you're not alone" thing is. But that wasn't even the part that touched me the most.

For me, it was "it's okay to be fucked up." Of course, i'm not saying that Angel (or people in general) shouldn't change, neither is Husk. But often, accepting your situation is the first step towards a better life.

And not only accepting in the sense of acknowledging - because Angel already knows that his life is shitty. But what Husk does is telling Angel he doesn't have to constantly beat himself up about it. Right now, Angel's life is hard, but he's probably making it even harder by thinking stuff like: "God, why did i mess up my life so badly? It's all my fault. I'm such a useless idiot. I got myself into this, and now i can't even get out. I really should be able to get out. I should at least try. But i'm not strong enough, that's so pathetic." And so on. And that's completely normal in his situation. But now, Husk offers him to stop thinking about how different his life should be and why it isn't like that, and just accept his current situation. Saying "i'm not judging you for being a loser, and neither should you."

And then (after that great moment where Husk sings "Baby, that's fine by me", and Angel smiles and it's so sweet)... i think it's also about self-esteem. Because when Angel starts singing, he sounds like he's almost proud of being a loser. Which, again, has nothing to do with not wanting to change or glorifying a horrible life. It's just that in his current job, Angel constantly has to put up a show pretending he feels like the sexiest person in the world. And to protect himself, even in his free time, he pretends he loves his life - when in reality, he has started hating all of it more and more. Not just his life, but also himself. This ties back to the beating himself up thing i talked about before, but it goes so much deeper. When Husk encourages him to sing in "Loser, Baby", he offers Angel to be proud of who he is, for the first time in decades. As messed up as his life is, it must be so liberating to allow yourself to say: "Hell yeah, that's me, i'm like this, so what?" This allows him to reconnect to who he is, realize that his life is worth living, so it's also worth changing.

And another little thing: I think the "i've got an appetite for..." part is also important. Because a healthy changing process also includes accepting what you can't change about yourself. Yes, Angel has always wanted certain things, he will never turn into a chaste nun. That's okay. He doesn't have to become a completely different person in order to have a better life, he can live with his "sinful" traits and still get better.

And lastly, i wanted to point out that "Loser, Baby" is a great title/ main chorus line because it symbolises taking the words you use to beat yourself up and turn them into something positive - because others and yourself can love you even for your bad parts.

#finally got the motivation to make an analysis post again #is it because i'm supposed to write a job application? #...maybe #so please appreciate the time i wasted on this lol #hazbin hotel #huskerdust #hazbin angel dust #hazbin anthony #hazbin analysis #ramblings #loser baby #hazbin husk

[joshslater]

Foreign Exchange

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It all started in what was supposed to be a one week stay in Cape Town. I don't know what the airline had smoked, but a round trip from Europe sold for almost nothing during a few hours. Probably some clerical error in the pricing department. Whatever the reason, I shuffled some tasks around and manage to arrange myself a one week spring vacation. I had no idea of what to expect. Only thing I knew about South Africa was the Kruger Park, the worlds first heart transplant, excellent red wines, Apartheid and Mandela.

It started out amazing. I found a cheap place in Green Point, close to lots of the tourist places, and started to drink my way through South African wine bottles. It was on the third evening I made the wrong move. No, life altering move.

I was heading back to the hotel after some late evening sea side action. I had emptied a particularly good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, rich with those mineral tones so prevalent in most South African wines. I was slightly sun burned, possibly lost and decidedly round footed when I walked up to two well dressed white men beating the shit out of black kid.

“Hey, stop that!” I said before my brain had fully reengaged. They did stop. One of the men stared right at me, eyes filled with disdain.

“What you say?”

I didn't have time to answer him when something hard hit the back of my head with a thud and everything lost focus and disappeared.

When I came to everything was black and my head hurt like hell. I was lying awkwardly, hands bound behind my back, feet tied together, and some sort of bag tied around my head. The sound made me think I was in someones trunk, but I guess it could have been a van or a covered pick up flat bed just as well. In any event, the vehicle was running fast on what I assumed to be a highway. After a bit of struggle I concluded that I was not just bound up, but also tied down and couldn't move much at all. After a boring hour or so still drunk me slipped back into sleep.

Next time I woke up the vehicle was standing still. I was still as tied up as before, but I could hear someone speaking Afrikaan a few steps away. He came close, shuffled some things around, and then I felt a small prick on my arm. I barely had time to realize it was some sort of injection when I lost consciousness again.

Regaining consciousness was quite different third time around. I still couldn't see anything, but I could feel some swim style goggles around my head, probably blacked out. Now I was lying more properly on a firm bed or padded table. I tried to move, but like before I was tightly restrained. This time it felt more professional, like cuffs around arms and legs, and some kind of material pushing against the chest. And I was naked, I think. It was hard to determine, as the temperature was nice and I couldn't move, but I couldn't feel any clothes on my body. I tried to say "hello", but nothing came out.

This quickly became incredibly boring. I couldn't see or feel much. The smell was basically just some generic clean smell of faint detergent. With sounds there were a bit more variation. I could hear some HVAC rumbling once every 5 minutes, or so I guessed. In addition there was a constant low humming in the room. I could hear some faint sounds from outside the room. Perhaps infrequent cars coming and leaving outside the building.

By my estimate I was at least into the third wake hour when suddenly a door opened and I could hear a conversation between the two men who entered the room. They sounded quite far away, so the room was probably large.

"...so many in the database?"

"We use five key measurements combined into one value as sorting key. The circumference and length, both on flaccid and erect, are approximated into two cylinders. Balls are approximated as spheres. Then we just multiply the three volumes together to make the sorting key. First selection priority is of course bio-compatibility, but this size metric allows for fast selection within that set. It only brings candidates though. The final decision is more complex, of course."

"Complex how?"

"Well, let's ask the doctor himself. His coming here."

A third person entered the room.

"You talking about me?"

"Yes, we were just discussing the selection criteria"

"Ah. Well, since this is a demonstration we want to be bold, while being mindful of proportions and aesthetics. In addition to appearance we want to maximize as many of the secondary factors as possible from the paper. For this one we landed in using the Congo supply."

They were standing right next to me now. The "doctor" continued.

"So this is the subject. The first agent is being administered right now, as you can see. Any questions?"

I tried to say something. Anything. But only wheezing air came out.

"Is he trying to speak?", asked the first voice.

"No, he isn't. Come, let's look at the model", replied the doctor, and they left the room as quickly as they entered it.

6-8 HVAC cycles later I heard the door open again and several people walking into the room. I heard a women's voice close to me saying "Everything is green. Go ahead." and I again lost consciousness.

The room was barely furnished, completely white and bathed in light when I opened my eyes.

"Oh, how good. You are awake."

I heard a female voice in a strong South African accent. I turned my head and saw a fat, black South African lady smiling at me. I was super confused. I was in a hospital bed, but this didn't really look like a hospital, and she didn't look like a nurse.

"Wheh...", was as far as I managed on "Where am I" before my voice gave out.

"You need to drink a lot. Here, let me help", said the lady and gave me something that looked like a hospital version of a gym bottle. As I drank she continued.

"You had a traffic accident. Nothing serious. Just a concussion, so you were dismissed from the hospital to make room. This is a recovery home."

I was gulping water. Man, was I was thirsty. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Just outside the city, so still close to Johannesburg."

That's like at least 10 hours away from Cape Town. What the fuck had happened?

"What day is it?"

"It's Thursday today, dear. I'll go and get something for you to eat", the fat lady answered, and started to move towards the door.

Something just didn't feel right. It was Wednesday evening when I was kidnapped. "No, what date?"

"Thursday the 28th", she said from the door.

A whole fucking week.

I felt a sucking black hole in my gut. The lady seemed nice, but there was no way I would trust her right now. Perhaps she believed everything she had just told me, but clearly some things were not true. My head felt fine, as opposed to the last time I was conscious, but what about the rest? I didn't feel any restraints, just my body in a hospital gown, under some white sheets. In fact, nothing hurt anywhere. Just thirsty, still, hungry and a need to piss.

I could see a different door in another wall than the nurse had just left through. Presumably a private toilet for this small recovery room. A pair of slippers stood next to the bed, so I threw off the blankets began to sit up and swing out my legs. That's when I first felt it. It was weird feeling, familiar, but yet very different.

I quickly kicked my feet into the slippers and carefully, still a bit woozy, shuffled into the bath room. It was surprisingly roomy. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, given the number of people with casts, wheelchairs and whatnot passing through. But it had plenty of room around the toilet seat and sink, and a full length mirror next to the sink, presumably for wheel chair bound people.

I raised the gown from my knees to expose my front, and just stared for a several seconds to fully understand what I saw. My dick and balls were gone. In its place was the largest, most aggressively male genitalia I had ever seen, even in pictures. The massive dick went almost down to my knees, and thick as a can of red bull. And even though it was completely flaccid it was veiny as cabbage and the outlines of a massive head was clearly visible through the uncut foreskin.

Behind the dick were two softball sized testicles hanging low, but unevenly so. It was all topped off with a large bush of coarse hair. And all of it, the hair, the balls and the dong, where dark chocolate black.

I just stared in disbelief. Then tentatively I touched the penis. Yep, it was real and it was now apparently mine. Standing straight my hands couldn't even reach halfway down to the tip. My mind caught up with reality and was filling with questions. Who did this? Why did they do this? How did they do this? Isn't there organ rejection? Aren't you supposed to eat some sort of pills forever after receiving a transplant? Are there even any pants I can wear anymore? Did baller shorts just become underwear?

I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder. It worked fine. Better than fine even, as aiming just became a lot easier with such a hose, although using paper involved lifting. Lifting! I could feel that it was much more sensitive than what I was used to, and felt it starting to come alive. I quickly dropped it and went back to bed. Just as I did lunch arrived.

Once fed, and having checked with the care taker, Amahle, that she wouldn't be back for two hours, I decided to try out my new dong. Tissues were already on the side table. I sat up in bed, kicked off the sheet and had another look under the gown. I was again taken aback with the sight. It wan't just massive, but somehow everything, length, girth, balls, looked to be in proportion. I must admit that I haven't spent much time thinking about, looking at or describing cocks, but the first words that came to mind were aggressive, intimidating and virile. The black skin made it even more so, as the light from the window created contrasting highlights on the veins.

Carefully I looked at the border, where the black skin met my pasty, white body. Rather than a sharp line, as I had expected, there was a narrow gradient where one color blended over to the other. How on earth was this done? It looked like perhaps a decades old surgery where the scar had long since gone soft.

I resumed where we left off in the bathroom, slowly stroking it. It reacted right away, and apparently was a grower as well as a shower. Holy fuck was it massive. I just lied in bed and over perhaps 20 minutes had the best wank in my life. I have no idea whose dick I was giving a handjob, but this was clearly his loss and my gain. It was filled to the brim with nerve endings, making every stroke amazing. Or perhaps it was designed and grown in a lab somewhere? In that case, props to the cocksmith.

The head was leaking precum like crazy, sending small droplets of man lube for every noisy slosh of foreskin riding up and down the head. I was probably suffering from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation with so much blood displaced, but it I managed get amazed of how long I lasted, in the fog of pleasure.

When I finally couldn't keep it contained anymore, I erupted in rope after rope of cum going everywhere. On my chest, in my face, and some overshooting me all together. As I was catching my breath, sweaty and sticky, I was thinking about what to tell Amahle. Or if I should get up and do some attempts to clean up the mess first. I realized I had plenty of problems ahead of me. Cleaning up, getting home, ever wearing pants again, figuring out how to use toilets. But at least there and then I could not care less.

[666writingcafe]

Exam Prep, Part One

Barbatos

"Your professor has informed me that lately you have been struggling with the lab portion of your seductive speechcraft class," I calmly tell MC, who sighs.

"I can block advances just fine, but actually trying to seduce someone is proving to be quite difficult," they explain. "I don't feel like I'm sounding genuine, if that makes sense. I mean, I never had that much luck with it in the human world, and it seems like I've not had to work super hard here, which still baffles me, but that's a topic for another day." Interesting. I didn't realize they were that introspective. Most humans aren't.

"If it's any consolation, you're doing better than some other demons."

"Like Levi?" I allow myself to smirk, amused by their observation.

"Exactly. Leviathan either can't bring himself to seduce anyone at all, or he pulls from existing media and provides out-of-context lines that don't fit the person he's talking to. From what I've heard, you at least are trying to be original. We--your professor and I--just think that there's room for improvement."

"Of course."

"So, for today's session, I want you to try to seduce me." Of course, that's the moment Diavolo decides to walk past the room MC and I are in. My back may be turned to him, but I can still sense his energy.

You may watch, but do not disturb us.

Understood.

"What?" MC asks, appearing both confused and terrified.

"I am one of the oldest and most powerful demons in the Devildom. If you can manage to produce some sort of effect on me, then you'll pass your exam with flying colors."

"But I don't know that much about you."

"A demon never has a lot of information on a particular human when they first encounter one, but they can use past experiences and context clues in order to be successful."

"I see." In order to ease their nerves, I kindly smile at them.

"Just try the best you can." MC closes their eyes and begins one of the breathing exercises that I taught them.

Why are you doing this? Diavolo just can't resist the urge, can he?

Their power is heavily tied to their emotions.

That isn't what I'm talking about, Barbatos.

Would you rather I have them seduce you, Young Master? Silence. Excellent.

MC opens their eyes, and immediately something seems different about them.

"You do so much for Lord Diavolo, the brothers, and the Devildom at large," they state. "Any other person would have gone insane from the sheer amount of responsibility, and yet you stand here before me with a cool, calm demeanor."

"Practice," I respond.

"You have most people fooled into believing that this life is easy for you, but not me. I know that you work a thankless job that forces you to put everyone before yourself." They're glowing, which isn't entirely unusual for them, but the color's different this time. It's not completely white like it normally is.

"Deep down, you want someone to take care of you. You have been forced to hold yourself up for so long, and you are utterly exhausted. You feel completely alone, like there's not a single soul in the entire universe that would want to take the time to get to know who you truly are." As they step closer to me, I can see spots of pink mixed in with their white light. I don't know how, but I think they've managed to tap into a portion of Asmodeus's power.

"I want to help you, not because I want anything in return, but because I care deeply about you. You deserve to have someone love you unconditionally." MC gently grabs my hand and leans closer to me. "All I ask of you is to let me in. Allow me to grow closer to you, Barbatos."

One might expect MC to take the opportunity to kiss me, but instead they remain still, staring into my eyes. My heart begins beating faster, and I find it harder to focus on my surroundings. In this moment, I finally understand why everyone seems so enamored with MC. I don't even have a pact with them, and yet my mind is begging them to give me an order to follow.

As MC steps back, the glow emanating from them begins dissipating. They're returning to normal.

Why can't I?

"Barbatos? Are you alright?" Shit. I'm on duty. They're not supposed to see me in this condition.

"You'll do just fine, MC." My voice sounds hoarse, and I have no idea why.

Someone's caught feelings.

I would appreciate it if you didn't tease me, Young Master.

But I'm not wrong.

That is irrelevant.

#obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me barbatos #obey me lord diavolo #obey me diavolo #in case anyone is confused #barbatos and diavolo can communicate with each other telepathically

[bringmemyrocks]

I noticed on your about the point saying "christianity isn't inherently antisemitic". I'm not challenging you on this, but I am asking - How can you believe this? I know for me, a lot of this has to do with religious trauma. But I struggle with the idea. One of the first things I learned when I left that faith was about supercessionism, about all the nasty antisemitic undertones and overtones in the New Testament, all that. The more I learned, the more everything I had once held dear just felt appropriative, or hypocritical, or paper-thin, or downright hateful... when you cut all that out of Christianity.. what even is left? That doesn't mean that individual practitioners can't be good people, but learning all this and its history just made me want to get away from it even more. It felt profane, I didn't want to touch it or even be associated with it at all. It made me bitter and a little hateful, if I'm being honest. I'll never go back, that wasn't why I left to begin with, but I'm trying to put that bitterness behind me. Especially seeing what Palestinian Christians are going through I think I at least owe them that. Normally when I see people talking about Christianity in a positive light it just makes me uncomfortable but since you feel so strongly about this that you put it on your about, I thought I should ask what your thoughts are

Hi anon, you are welcome to challenge me however you like. I'm glad my about page made you think, and I'm glad I put that particular note there ("Christianity/Islam/atheism are not inherently antisemitic.") I'm also glad you felt comfortable coming to me about this.

This is going to be a hard pill to swallow, but you’ll be much happier once you accept: 

You have been taught to see everything that threatens your interpretation of Judaism as a threat. This is wrong and makes you feel bad for no reason. 

You need to ask yourself “is XYZ really a threat to me, or have I just been conditioned to think that way by my community?” (Some) evangelical Christians see the world this way, "Starbucks is doing a war on Christmas" etc.–you have been conditioned to see threats to your religion everywhere just like they have. 

A good book on this is The Gift of Fear–it’s not about religion, but rather how to actually spot threats in a world that lies about where the danger really is. 

This “everything is against the Jews” conditioning is intrinsically tied to Zionism. Zionism benefits from Jews feeling that they are under threat. Zionism benefits from Jews thinking Judaism as a concept/a nazi-style race is under constant attack and needs to be protected. I had to come to this realization myself. I am not exaggerating. A comic from religious zionist institution Aish HaTorah that was rightfully mocked among Jews had a picture of a sad Jew with the text “If you are Jewish, somebody out there hates you!” (literally.) 

Ask yourself: who benefits from me thinking this way? Certainly not you; I can tell it’s causing you anguish. 

Some gems from Jumblr which demonstrate that this type of thinking is inextricably linked to Zionism: 

If you think that Christianity and Islam are “appropriations” of Judaism, boy howdy do I have something to tell you about Judaism’s relationship to ancient Canaanite religion…

This is going to get long, sorry. I’m going to use “Hebrew Bible,” “Old Testament,” and “Tanakh” interchangeably. 

General notes: 

The Bible is public domain. Anyone can read it, and they can interpret it however they want. Jews do not have a special claim to this text, and we have never tried to keep it secret from others. 

Interestingly, some of the mistranslations in Isaiah and the Book of Psalms/Tehillim that lend the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible/Tanakh to a more Christian reading are from the Septuagint, a Jewish translation of the original text into Greek. Oops. 

There is nothing inherently wrong with supersessionism in its basic definition. It just means that Christians and Muslims believe they no longer have to follow the covenant of Moses because their new covenants supersede the covenant of Moses. Muslims actually believe that everyone is born Muslim (thus the term “revert” rather than “convert”,) so Islam is technically more supersessionist than Christianity. Unlike Christianity, which takes both the Old Testament and New Testament as scripture, Islam believes that while the Bible contains some truth, it contains many errors, while the Quran does not. Nobody is harmed by this. 

Regardless, Christianity is not “about supersessionism” anymore than Judaism is "about Moses"; that is simply one aspect of the religion and how some people view it. 

If you’re going to split hairs over the literal text on the page instead of its interpretation, there’s a lot of condoned violence against non-Jews in the Tanakh. If you’re going to cherry pick lines from a text you don’t like, realize that the text you do like does not hold up under scrutiny, either. 

The harm comes in when people use violence to impose their beliefs on others. You see this throughout history. You are not harmed by a Christian thinking “smh doesn’t anon know it’s fine to eat pork” or even "doesn't anon know that Jesus can provide eternal life?"  

Groups driven practicing both Christianity and Islam have carried out large-scale violence against Jews throughout history. Christians moreso, but no tradition’s hands are clean here. There is no denying the historical connection between the institutional Christian church and antisemitism. Plenty of Christians, including Christians who are not themselves antisemitic still do not know this part of Christian history, and that is a problem.  

The particular strand of evangelical Protestant Christianity that believes that the modern state of Israel must exist to bring about the second coming of Jesus is called Premillennial Dispensationalism. This particular theology is actually the opposite of supersessionism because it believes the Jewish covenant is still relevant to Christians. Thus supersessionism is neither necessary nor sufficient for antisemitism. 

In my opinion, “supersessionism” is a buzzword that is used online to get Jews to refuse any engagement with Christianity. Same with “original sin”, a concept traditional Judaism actually believes in, but you won’t catch Jumblr admitting that…

Orthodox Jews refer to liberal Judaism as an “appropriation” and “twisting” of True Judaism ™ all the time. Your reaction to Christianity is just a version of that made palatable for liberal Jews. It’s just as chauvinistic. Anyone is allowed to read the Bible however they want to. They can add books in or they can take books out. You cannot control what people do in their religion, nor should you try. 

*Unless they’re advocating anti-gay/antisemitic/racist laws, which plenty of people of all faiths are currently doing worldwide. Then you should say something. But the problem is the prejudice and use of violence, not the religion itself. 

Assuming you were brought up in a form of Christianity that is actually antisemitic (not just one that you’re labeling as such by virtue of it believing in Jesus), I am truly sorry that that was your experience. You say: “when you cut all that out of Christianity.. what even is left?”

My heart sank when I heard that. What is left? What is left, anon? Thousands of years of history and tradition! Poetry and music and mysticism of every flavor! 

I am glad you are aware that you feel bitter and hateful towards other religions. I hope that your choice of words indicates that you want to change that. In recovery, there’s a saying of “first thought, second thought.” The first thought is what comes immediately–it can be “I would be happier if I was still using.” The second thought is “actually, let me think about this, I’m doing much better now than I was when I was using.” 

For you, the first thought might be “Christianity is evil and should be abolished,” but what might your second thought be? 

You mention Palestinian Christians. That’s a good start. I really don’t want to sound like Bartolome de las Casas here; I do not want to sound patronizing, but truly anon, Palestinians are the kindest people you will ever meet. Most Palestinian Christians are Catholic or Orthodox, both types of Christianity that are supersessionist (again, not needing to keep kosher, the new covenant of Jesus supersedes the covenant of Moses,) yet they are kind people. And not the fake nice you get from megachurch pastors who spend their congregation’s money on private jets. 

When I decided to become Jewish, I left behind one of my favorite hobbies of all time, singing from the Sacred Harp. It’s an early American folk hymn tradition that’s sung on shape notes. I thought “this is idolatry; I cannot engage with it” and I broke my own heart for no reason except my own stubbornness. 

If you’re familiar with the Sacred Harp tradition, you’ll recognize the little girl in my avatar is from the documentary “Awake My Soul,” and she’s leading a song from the Sacred Harp hymnal. I describe the Sacred Harp as being similar to opera: you either love it or you hate it. I promise you can have a normal healthy relationship with Christianity. (And there are a truly astounding number of Jews involved in Sacred Harp singing.) 

As a fellow convert, once upon a time I also fell for this nonsense. I now recognize that this stuff was taught to me and I can unlearn it. So can you! Block the chauvinists on Jumblr, stop listening to Tovia Singer podcasts, and appreciate the world in all its diversity. It’s what we are compelled to do as Jews. 

Anyone wrestling this is welcome to talk to me on anon or on DMs. Unlearning this type of thinking is so important. Asking questions is a good first step. The fact that you reached out to an antizionist Jew shows that you’re willing to listen to alternative voices. It’ll be easier for you to get rid of this type of thinking than it is for others who can’t let go of Zionism. 

I’ll leave you with my two favorite verses from the New Testament (yes, I can still have favorite verses in a holy text I don’t follow. Try reading it again and learn to appreciate it as an outsider. That can be key to dismantling your negative associations with it. Read the Jewish Annotated New Testament if you like extra commentaries and can’t stomach Christian commentaries on Christian texts yet–truly there’s a lot of fascinating stuff there.) 

Mark 8:36 For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?

Matthew 25 (linking because it’s too long on this already overly-long post): https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew%2025%3A34-46&version=ESV 

I love talking about theology. I came to Tumblr to talk about faith, not politics, but I am compelled to speak about genocide, so my posts have mostly been about Palestine of late. 

I know an absurd amount about Christianity because I studied it for so long. I will gladly expand on any of the points I mentioned here. (But you don’t have to become a theologian like me to dispense with anti-Christian prejudice.) 

Also, kudos to you for not spelling it “xtianity”--that always gave me a headache. 

Anon, do feel free to come back if you have more thoughts. I try to modulate tone, but I can come across as quite serious even if I don't intend to. Truly, thank you for asking me this question.

Good faith responders who have read the entire post are welcome to engage. Anyone who believes Jumblr's strawman version of Christianity is accurate will be blocked.

#jewish convert #long post #christianity #judaism #conversion to judaism #i #cultural christianity #jumblr

[dandylovesturtles]

Hello, Wheelchair Annon here again (my sister parked me in the corner). I hope you don’t mind me chiming in again…

One of the biggest things that changed from being able bodied to being in a wheelchair is other people’s attitudes towards me. This is in two main ways:

Talking to whoever is with me instead of talking directly to me, even if it’s about me. People act as if I am mentally incapable and unable to participate in conversation, or even just act like I’m not there.

No respect for my personal space. I’m talking random strangers and people I barely know doing stuff, usually without even talking to me. This has included: someone coming up behind me and rocking my wheelchair back and forth; someone hanging sitting behind me hanging their jacket on the handles of my wheelchair; leaning on my wheelchair while in a lift; and messing with the controls of my electric wheelchair so I move even when I don’t want to.

How does Leo cope with this change in attitude towards him? (Does it actually happen, or are Yokai more egalitarian?). Leo considers himself the face man; how does he cope when other people don’t see him in the same way anymore? How does he cope when other non- human people don’t always see him as a person? (And does this factor into any issues he may have vis-a-vis growing up as a non human in a human world for the first 14 years of his life?)

(Also, I have a bunch more stuff I can think of relating to wheelchair use, being disabled, chronic fatigue and other stuff, but I really don’t want to overwhelm you. Would you like me to keep asking/pointing out stuff? I will not be offended if you say no!! <3)

Anon, PLEASE feel free to keep sending me these! Whatever you feel comfortable sharing! Like I said at the beginning of this, I'm able-bodied myself, so I can research all day but it's not the same as having lived experience, and I'm really grateful for your perspective! ^^

I've heard the horror stories from other wheelchair users about people just thinking they can do whatever they want with wheelchairs (which is insane to me, like, if you wouldn't rock a chair a stranger is sitting in why would you do that with a wheelchair??), it's why I included the whole point about how only the fam (+Hueso who is very responsible) is allowed to grab Leo's wheelchair handles without repercussion. It's still crazy to me that people just feel entitled to move your wheelchair or hang stuff off of it, though.

The thing about people no longer talking directly to you though, oof. I've heard people who are deaf talk about this happening but it makes sense that it would happen to wheelchair users too. I'm sorry that happens to you, anon.

To answer the questions... to start with, I don't think being accepted by humans is ever really a thing rise!Leo is particularly concerned with, and especially after they learned about yokai and the Hidden City he had other ways to fulfill his social needs that don't involve trying to get humans to accept being around mutant turtles. There is that little voice in the back of his head pointing out that he is Other, but in canon at least I don't think he lets it get him down too much.

as for yokai society itself, though, this is an interesting thing to think about! on one hand, yokai have a much greater mix of... appendage situations?? going on than humans do, so I wouldn't be surprised if the Hidden City is generally more accessible, just because shops are already factoring in that some of their customers won't have legs/arms/what have you. on the flip side, though, the chair itself is a pretty obvious visual indicator that even for his species Leo is disabled, and that would probably still lead to people talking to his siblings like he isn't there.

this would definitely be a hit to Leo's confidence, since it ties into the things he already struggles with. and to make things worse, I think it's one of those things that his family probably doesn't even realize is happening at first? especially because the experiences are spread around, so they're all getting fewer instances of it happening to notice than Leo is. but yeah I could see one of them going through a whole conversation without realizing that the person they're talking to hasn't talked to or directly responded to Leo once, and at the end they're like, "oh, they're so nice!" while Leo is sitting there feeling like he just got completely closed out of the conversation

I think Leo would just let it go for awhile at first. why would people want to talk to him, he's the failure brother! he may not even realize it's just a response to the wheelchair, initially. but as Leo gets healthier mentally (and maybe finds some community support, either online or in person), he'd start sticking up for himself more often.

I can imagine one day someone asks Raph, "Oh, how is Leo?" and Leo is like, "Leo's great, actually, his ears work just fine!" and that's the moment Raph realizes that this has been happening the whole time and for awhile Leo just let it happen and oops they just let it happen too

they are learning, though! nowhere to go but up!

#rottmnt #sidelined au

[darkbluekies]

Hedwig asks #1

Next one Concept: I've put multiple asks into one post to avoid too much loose posts on my account! This way, you have more to read too<3

Warnings: a little suggestive, yandere, manipulation, blackmail

How would Hedwig react if s/o left on vacation without telling her?

...what has she done to you? Hedwig will 100% freak out. She'll be so anxious and scared that she faints and won't be able to go to school. She stays shaking under her sheets with tears running down her cheeks. She'll call you hundreds of times and leave a dozens of messages where she BEGS you to answer. She's nothing without you, so why can't you just answer?! When she gets to know what you've done and why you have left her alone, she'll be so mad at you that you regret everything. She'll book her own flight and go to you because you can not escape her. Wherever you go, she goes.

How would Hedwig deal with an escape artist s/o who doesn't leave, lets say her s/o rejects her she kidnaps them and ties them up only for her to turn around and their sitting down like it's a regular Monday morning and is just like "It's pretty nice here I think I'm gonna stay😀"

"W-What did you say?" she stutters.

She can't believe how you got out of the ropes so quickly or why you aren't screaming. She'll be white as a ghost trying to understand that you're staying voluntarily. Suddenly, she'll feel ashamed of kidnapping you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I-I thought that ... you know ... that you didn't want to be with me. You rejected me ... remember? But I'm not mad! Not anymore! Not when you accepted to stay. I will make up for the bruises you got. I apologize for that. Should I get the first aid kit?"

would like to see a scenario where readers parents are protective and wary of rich people bc they think rich people look down on people and hedwig tries to get them to like her

You try to convince your parents that Hedwig is different, but they're not buying it. 'Every rich person is the same, only caring about themselves', they say.

Hedwig has invited them over for dinner to show how well mannered and down to earth she is. Or that's at least what she hopes she is. You're trying to calm her down, but winning your parents over means everything to her. She wants to be the perfect daughter in law.

When they come over, Hedwig is on her best behavior. You think she's acting silly, being too friendly, too well behaved. It's unnatural. Your parents are reserved and quiet. You can see their eyes light up slightly when Hedwig tells them that the chef has prepared their favorite meal. She adds on that you've helped her make this special.

During the dinner, Hedwig asks your parents questions and tries to hold back her usual talk about things she does. She doesn't want to seem unrelatable. She engages in conversations, just like she does when talking to you, and gives appropriate comments. It almost feels rehearsed.

Hedwig even gives them a gift. Nothing flashy, nothing expensive. Just a box of chocolate as a 'thanks for coming'. She gives you a hopeful look. Maybe your parents will start to change their attitudes about her.

Can you do Hedwig and her s/o who doesn’t know what to do with their life? Like any career doesn’t really interest them

You sigh, rolling over on your stomach to let the sun grace your back.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Hedwig asks from the towel beside you.

"Nothing, I've just had time to think now that we're free from school and ... I realized that I don't know anything. I don't know what I want to be, i don't know myself and I don't know how the world works. I don't think school prepared me for anything."

Hedwig sighs and sits up to look at you. Her white bikini glows against her sunkissed skin. Hedwig thought that you and her could spend the first week of summer break at her house by the pool.

"You don't have to stress", she says. "It's not like you will become homeless. You have all the time in the world to figure out what you'd like to do ... but you could just be a stay at home partner. I wouldn't mind. I can always pay for the both of us. You could dive deeper into your hobbies instead of working!"

Hedwig won't admit out loud that she'd rather have you be a stay at home partner than go out into the big, scary world every day to work a heartless job. She doesn't want to share you with the world.

"Do you know what you want to be?" you ask her.

"I don't have to be something", Hedwig smiles back. "I have enough money to last a lifetime. But ... you're right. It's boring being able to do everything you want anytime you want it. Getting a job would make me a bit more occupied. Model, maybe?"

"You seem to have an idea at least."

"Darling ... you don't have to stress it. I have a wonderful future planned for us. We're going to go on a lot of vacations and just enjoy life. Doesn't that sound nice? Don't stress about it. Just stay with me and you won't have to worry."

Hedwig trying to explain to reader why they would make an amazing couple and family

If the laws of physics doesn't bend to her will, she'll force them to bend :)

If I may what is Hedwig's finger size??? Asking for research purposes obviously ☺️ (HEDWIG PLEASE MARRY ME IM SO GAY FOR YOUUUWUVVVWWBINFRRFCE💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💖💖💖)

Hm yeah, research purposes oBVIOUSLY. hedwig will marry you in a heartbeat.

How would Hedwig react to a teasing reader marking her neck. And then when things start to get even more passionate, they just completely stop and walk away like nothing happened

Her entire body will go weak with your touch. She'll start to use grabby hands to get you closer and whine. She's pudding in your hands. You pull her closer, making sure to put pressure points where you know she likes them only to let her go and walk away. She blinks in confusion.

"Y-Y/N, no, don't leave! You can't leave me like this! Y/N, come back! Please!"

Hey ! I love your fic about hedwig and the f-boy, and after reading it I wondered what would happen if he actually leaves her because she broke his trust ??Ps: your blog is so pretty &lt;3

[thank you so much!!]

oneshot this is based off of

She won't let him. Hedwig's a fantastic manipulator, but if he can see through that ... she'll take drastic measures and keep him with her. She'll blackmail, kidnap and convince him.

"I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. You know I love you. A lot. That's why I'm doing this. You have to understand that what I'm doing is the right thing. Now, please open your mouth so I can feed you."

How do you think hedwig would react if her darling wasn't into women

Hedwig would be so sad. In her perfect world, you love her and she loves you, but if you're not into women, she'll try to act platonic with you. if she can't have you romantically, she'll at least have you as her friend. She can't imagine a life without you in it and will do her best to be the person you want her to be.

GOSHHH, I LOVE HEDWIG SO MUCH..I just wanna spend a day just purely spoiling her with attention. You write so well!! It made me developed a hunger for this type of writing. 😖

Oh my god thank you so much! i'm so glad you like both Hedwig and the writing <333

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere fics #yandere talks #yandere oc x you #yandere female #clingy yandere #obsessive yandere

[love-and-monsters]

The Warlord and His Lady Pt. 1

M dragonkin X F human, first person, 10689 words.

It’s the fifth birthday on this blog about a week before my birthday, so I decided to be brave and post this story. It’s in first person and present tense, which I think is slightly unusual, but I hope people enjoy regardless! It will be multi-part, with amnesia, mutual pining, caretaking... just stuff I’ve been interested in lately. I can’t promise a consistent uploading schedule, but I’m working on it in my spare time and I’ve been enjoying writing it. 

There’s someone knocking at my door. It takes me ten solid, sleep-addled minutes to realize that’s wrong.

The knocking is coming from my bedroom door. First, I don’t sleep with my bedroom door closed. Second, I live alone.

I open my eyes and everything goes sideways very fast.

I’m not in your room. I’m not in your bed. It’s four-poster, covered with a canopy of green and gold blankets. The bed is pillowy beneath me, much softer than my old spring mattress. There are tons of blankets on top of me, enough that it’s an effort to push myself upright. Pillows are stacked around me in a sort of haphazard throne, letting me sit up without any of the effort usually involved.

The knocking comes again, a little louder this time. “Ma’am? Your husband has arrived home. You requested to be told when he was here.”

Add that to the pile of weirdness: I don’t have a husband. Or even a boyfriend.

My first instinct is to stand, but even that goes wrong. As soon as my feet hit the floor, the world slants sideways. I stagger, hit the bed awkwardly, and end up on the floor with a bang.

There is silence for a moment. Then the woman on the other side of the door says, “Er. My lady? Are you all right?”

“Yes!” I yelp. It can’t possibly sound convincing, but the woman doesn’t call again. I’m alone for at least a little bit. It takes a moment of scrambling to get me back on my feet. This time, I’m prepared for the dizziness, so I don’t fall. I just flop over the bed until my knees stop trembling.

Once I orient myself, I take time to look around the room. It’s�� a room. Nothing terribly remarkable. There’s a wardrobe, a desk covered in papers and books, a bookshelf that looks wildly disorganized, and a fireplace crackling away in a corner. There are no windows, and the only other partially-ajar door I see leads to a bathroom. There doesn’t seem to be any way to escape. Not that I’m sure I could run if there was a way out. My knees still feel shaky.

Footsteps thud in the hallway outside, growing louder and closer with each step. Before I can come up with a new plan of action, the footsteps are right outside my door. The doorknob twists to one side and the door swings open.

The man who enters has a stormy expression on his face. He’s bulky, with broad shoulders that are only enhanced by the armor he’s wearing. It looks a bit like a roman gladiator, with a chest plate strapped to him with leather and meatal covering his shoulders and arms down to a pair of gauntlets. He’s wearing some sort of cloak around his left shoulder, and cloth wrapped asymmetrically around his waist. Underneath that skirt is more armor, covering his legs and feet. Every step is heavy and loud, metal against stone.

His face is uncovered and he’s frowning, shaking long locks of black hair behind his shoulders. The glower he wears only adds to his intimidating appearance. Just looking at him strikes me with a sudden, piercing anxiety.

This anxiety is only increased when his stern gaze falls firmly on me.

I freeze. It’s always been my reaction to scary situations. It has never felt more fundamentally inadequate than it does right now. He’s staring right at me. He can see me. And it feels like, if I move, the tension in the room will snap and he’ll lunge for me.

It’s him who breaks the tension by turning to push the door shut behind him. He exhales slowly as he does, his shoulders slumping a little. It’s a tiny change in his posture, but it helps. He looks more tired, less intimidating.

Motion catches my eye and my gaze lowers. A shock rolls through me. There’s a green, scaly tail, poking out from his lower back and swaying gently. A real, actual tail. Attached to a human.

My brain feels like a pair of disconnected gears- it’s going very fast, but it’s not making anything happen. I can’t process this. Too much is happening too fast and it doesn’t make any sense,

The man turns back toward me. His frown deepens. “Are you feeling well? Your maid said you didn’t answer the door when she came to fetch you.” He takes several strides toward me. “Did something happen?”

Suddenly, casually, he is right in my personal space. One of his hands is half-raised to touch my face and I’m flinching away before my mind can even comprehend it.

He stares at me, hand still up. “What is it?” His voice is startled, almost irritated.

I open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Speaking under pressure has never been a skill of mine, and fear seems to act as a paralytic for my vocal cords. He continues to stare, looking me up and down as he waits for a response.

“Is everything all right?” he says, his voice a little more cautious. “You’re acting strange. Did you have a nightmare? Did something happen while I was away?”

I swallow, trying to wet my increasingly dry mouth. The initial shock seems to be wearing off. Now a deep, yawning terror fills my chest and stomach. This world is unfamiliar, I have no way to navigate it, and I’m trapped with a strange man people think is your husband. The panic escalates, drawing my muscles stiff and taut.

When he makes to move toward me again, the tension releases. I skitter away from him so quickly that my back slams into one of the heavy bookshelves against the wall. All the books rattle. Several of them topple over. The entire bookcase tilts back, just a little, and then starts to tilt forward. I feel the exact moment it overbalances and starts to fall.

There is one second in which I am absolutely certain I’m going to be crushed, and then hands slam into the shelf on either side of me. With one heave, the man sends it slamming back into place. We both stand still for a moment, me unable to move in the cage of his outstretched arms.

Then, he looks down. “What is the matter with you?”

It’s at times like this that I wish I was more prone to fainting or breaking into tears under stress. It would spare me from the discomfort of having to figure out what to say. But I have no such luck. After a few moments, I hesitantly say, “I don’t know who you are.”

There’s silence. He blinks a few times, rather owlishly. “I’m sorry?”

I swallow hard. There’s no saliva in my mouth, so it’s more of a throat convulsion really. “I don’t, uh. I don’t know who you are.”

There’s another long silence while he searches my face, first with bewilderment, then increasing desperation as he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. His arms slide off the dresser and fall back to his sides. A breath shudders through his chest. Then another.

He spins on his heels, his tail coming within an inch of my leg, and storms to the door. It bangs open and he bellows down the corridor, “Fetch me the physician! Now!”

The physician is an older man with dark skin and hair done into hundreds of tiny braids woven together in one large braid down his back. He takes the memory loss without even a blink, like he sees hundreds of amnesiacs a day. His steady, professional presence is reassuring, even as my apparent husband paces the room.

“No sign of head injuries,” the physician says as he probes at my head. His fingers slide down the back of my neck. “Lymph nodes are slightly swollen. Might be fighting some kind of infection, but I’m not sure if that’s related or not.” He tests my joints, prods at my back and stomach and makes a lot of thoughtful humming noises.

“And you say you don’t remember anything,” he says eventually, sitting back and eyeing me contemplatively.

“It’s hard to explain. I don’t remember any of you, I don’t remember this castle, I don’t remember this place at all, but I can remember my childhood. I remember growing up with my parents, going to school, graduating college. I remember going to sleep last night! It’s not like I have a blank spot in my mind, it’s like I lived my life there and today I just woke up here.” Your voice catches a little. The tailed man stops pacing and stares at you.

“Hm,” the physician says. His voice is calm, but you can see the concern in his eyes. “Physically, I can’t find anything wrong with you. At least, not anything that would account for the memory loss you’re describing.” He stands and looks toward the tailed man. “My thoughts are that this is the result of some kind of curse or other magical ailment.”

The tailed man takes a deep breath. “Get the thaumatist.”

The thaumatist is not the same reassuring presence as the physician. He’s young, with blond hair drifting in a sort of cloud around his head and eyes that perpetually seem to be looking at everything and nothing. It’s not comforting that he also always seems to be looking at a point about an inch above my head.

“Hm.” He looks properly at me for a moment, then his gaze drifts away once more. “Hmm.”

My husband glares. “Well?”

“Well…” The thaumatist tilts his head back and breathes in slowly. “Hm.”

There’s a distinct thump as my husband’s tail smacks into the bed. His arms are already folded over his chest and the corner of his mouth is crawling up into a snarl. “Is she cursed or not?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. I could sense that the instant I stepped into the room. Someone did this intentionally, there’s no doubt.” His voice is breezy, like he’s discussing party decorations. There’s another thump as my husband’s tail swings into the bed.

“Can you fix it?” he says, his voice tinged with a threat.

“Oh,” says the thaumatist, as if he wasn’t expecting that question. “Well, that depends.”

We wait for an answer but the thuamatist just sort of hums to himself. “Depends on what?” my husband sighs.

“On whether it was her mind or her soul that was affected.” The thaumatist fixes me with his gaze for the first time. My back prickles. “Her mind will be easier to fix. Her soul… more difficult.”

My husband draws himself up stiff. I hear his breath catch. “Her soul?”

“Mm. Presumably, the curse was used to replace her memories. If it was used merely to affect her mind, then it may merely take a few sessions to manually remove the obscuring memories. But if they used more complex magic on her soul, then it will be far more difficult to alter.”

“Explain,” my husband states. The thaumatist shrugs, breaking his gaze on me and looking at some point on the hall.

“Memories are complicated. Our minds discard ones they see as unimportant or useless to our daily lives. By implanting new memories into the mind, the old ones are effectively covered up. But it can be reversed fairly easily, even if it does take some time. But memories can also be affected by toying with the soul itself.

“Personally, given the strength of the curse, I think it is more likely that it affects her soul. If her soul was translated across realities, then she will have a set of overlapping memories. The more recent ones will cover up the older ones, and she remembers a different life than the one she lived here.”

“I’m sorry. A different… reality?” my husband says.

“It’s a complicated bit of thaumatic theory. There are alternate realities bordering our own. Given what you remember, and the power of the curse, I suspect whoever cast it was attempting to banish her soul to an alternate reality. Though it did fail, and her soul returned after living out the duration of her life in an alternate world. Hence the memory loss.”

There’s a long pause. My husband, previously fiddling with the straps of his armor, has gone deathly still. Even his tail is no longer moving. “Someone tried to kill her?” His voice is cold, dangerous. I find myself going still as a trapped mouse.

“Oh.” The thaumatist cocks his head to one side. “Well, she would not have died. Her body would have been functional, but her soul would not have been in it. She would have lingered for a while. I expect a few years, before her body finally succumbed.” He smiles absently at me. “Fortunately, the spell was a failure.”

I look between the thaumatist and my husband. My husband is staring at me, eyes wide. His chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths. There’s a tension in the room, growing with each passing second. I can feel it pressing on my back, stretching between him and me.

And then it snaps. “Alert the high guard. Tell them we’re going to the Warren.” The thaumatist rises and exits the room, unhurried. The door closes behind him and my husband moves to the wardrobe.

I sit up while he’s rifling through something on the bottom of the wardrobe. “I, um.” My voice comes out with a bit of a squeak. He doesn’t seem to notice. He grabs a paper-wrapped box and sets it down behind him, then crosses the room to grab a large suitcase from under the bed. “What- what’s going on?”

He pauses and lifts his head to look at me. There’s something harsh and cold in his eyes, but when he catches my gaze, he pauses. He slides the suitcase away and rises to sit on the bed next to me.

“If the thaumatist is correct, then someone has tried to kill you, and nearly succeeded. That’s an assassination attempt. We can’t stay here.” He unlatches the suitcase and glances inside it. “Your medicine and our clothes are sorted.” He glances around the room. “Where’s your cane?”

“I don’t know?” I sputter out. I can’t even remember needing a cane. He glances around a room for a moment, then grabs something from next to the bed, and places it into the suitcase.

“The horses will be ready for travel in twenty minutes,” he says. “Most of our supplies are packed already, and the kitchens can quickly prepare food to take with us. I’ll need to prepare some letters for the generals, in case I’m out of contact- can you-” He looks into my face once more and his expression shifts a little. “No, I suppose not.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on.” My voice sounds like it’s verging on frantic, even to me. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Slowly, he sits down on the bed again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say automatically. He purses his lips.

“This must be scary for you.” There’s a little strain to his voice, like he’s trying hard to keep it steady. “You need to hold on for now, okay? I can explain more when we get to the Warren.”

“I just want to know exactly what’s going on,” I say. My voice is small, and a little shaky. He presses his lips together.

“Someone tried to hurt you,” he says in a slow voice that doesn’t manage to hide his anxiety. “We need to make sure you’re going to be safe. That we’re both going to be safe. So we’re going to a safe house for a little bit. Just to make sure.”

“Okay.” Everything is starting to feel a little floaty. Maybe I am dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up in a few moments. Things don’t exactly feel real anymore. “I- okay. I, uh. Can I just know your name?”

He blinks a few times. A flicker of something crosses his face, almost like he’s about to cry. Then it’s gone. “Rastek,” he says. “I need to go take care of some things. Stay here. I will get you when we’re ready to leave.”

Just like that, he marches out of the room. The door bangs shut and I am sitting alone.

I thought being along might make it easier to process my thoughts, but it seems to have only made things worse. My brain whirls, churning up questions that I can’t answer. How did this happen? Is this even real? What happened to my home, my family, my pet? Can I reverse this? Should I reverse this? How do I even begin to find anything out?

Distantly, I realize that I’m hyperventilating. The room sways and I’m abruptly on my back, looking at the ceiling. Everything feels strangely far away. I think I’m crying. I’m not sure. There’s a darkened spot on the ceiling and my eyes lock onto it.

After a little while, my breathing calms. The floaty sensation eases, though it doesn’t go away. I feel like I want to sleep for a week. Or just drop off the face of the earth. Am I even on Earth anymore? That thought makes me give a weird little laugh. It doesn’t sound like a laugh.

The door opens. Footsteps cross the room. “Are you awake?” Rastek asks. A hand touches my shoulder. He’s looking down at me, a slight frown creasing his brows. “We need to get going.”

My body feels heavy as rocks, but I heave myself out of bed. It’s difficult to control my body. Like I’m puppeteering it or controlling it by remote. My breathing snags strangely in my chest.

Something catches my shoulder. It takes a second for me to process that it’s a hand. “What’s wrong?” Rastek leans over me, his other hand coming up to tilt my face toward him.

“Um.” I can’t quantify what’s wrong. Everything. Everything is wrong. Rastek peers more intently into my face.

“What’s wrong? What doesn’t feel good?” he presses. Everything. I make a sort of vague gesture with my hand.

“I can’t-” My throat convulses and I nearly sob. I can see Rastek swallow.

“It’s all right. The physician is waiting for us. I can carry you.” Before I even process that, he’s hefting me into his arms with very little effort. It’s quite practiced- he settles me against his chest as if he’s done it hundreds of times before. He snags the suitcase as an afterthought, then takes off at a jog.

From my position, I can’t get a good look at our surroundings. I can just look up at Rastek’s face. His expression is stern, jaw clenched. But there’s a little quiver at the corner of his mouth that makes my heart clench.

It takes only a few moments to exit the building into a sprawling yard. The sun is bright, though there’s a chill in the air. Dirt pathways carve through the green lawn in interesting, though pretty inefficient, landscape.

There’s a gaggle of people and horses toward the center of the lawn and Rastek heads right toward them.

“Sir!” A woman in armor, similar to what Rastek wears, hustles over. “We’re almost ready, just waiting on your signal.”

“Thank you, general. I’ll be along in a moment. Physician! Come.” He walks a small distance away, then kneels and deposits me on the ground. “Lie back,” he says, his voice abruptly softening. “The physician will help.”

“What is the matter?” the physician asks as he comes up behind us.

“She’s unwell,” Rastek says, though he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “She’s been moving strangely, and she can barely speak to me.”

The physician pokes and prods and asks a few questions, simple enough ones that I can answer. Strangely, the experience seems to be helping. By the end, I’m feeling, if not calm, at least more attached to my body.

“She’s in shock,” the physician says. Rastek, who has been pacing, stops and drops down next to me.

“In shock?” He stares at me before whipping his head back toward the physician. “She’s not sick?”

“No. More like what sometimes happens when a soldier experiences a terrible battle. They may be physically unharmed, but they may be mentally struggling. I imagine losing her memories would be a frightening enough event to cause shock." The physician looks steadily at me. “Do you know what I’m saying?” I nod. “Good. Take a deep breath for me, all right?” I inhale slowly. “Let it out.” I exhale. “There we go. Keep breathing just like that.”

The physician leads me in breathing for several moments. His voice is low and soothing, and it’s easy to relax to. “Good. You’re doing very well. How are you feeling now?”

“I don’t know.” My voice is small, but it’s rather steady. “Everything feels wrong. I can’t-” My voice trembles.

“It’s all right,” the physician says. “You’re doing very well. It’s overwhelming. Keep breathing for me, all right?” He takes an exaggerated deep breath. I mimic him. “That’s it. I know it’s scary, but you’re safe. Everything is going to be okay.” I nod. “Okay. We need to move right now. Do you feel comfortable traveling?”

“I think so.” I’m not sure what other answer I could give. The physician offers me his hand and helps me up. Rastek hovers at my side, hands slightly raised like he’s ready to catch me.

“You’re certain she’s safe to travel?” he asks, fixing the physician with a stern look.

“In all honesty, I would prefer that she rest, but it would probably be more dangerous to her health to stay here at the moment.”

Rastek lets out a soft sigh. “Thank you for your assessment.” The physician nods and walks away toward a gathering of servants. “Come. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get there and you can rest.”

He leads me over to a pair of horses. They’re both pitch black and bulkier than I was expecting. I always think horses are going to be smaller than they actually are. Rastek hesitates and turns back toward me. “I would surmise that you no longer remember how to ride?”

“Er…” I technically have ridden a horse before, but given that I was just in the saddle while a handler led the animal around, I don’t think it gave me any useable skills. “No.”

“We’ll ride together, then.” Rastek gestures for me to step closer to the horse, and I eye the saddle. I don’t even remember how to climb onto a horse. As I’m trying to decide the least embarrassing way to attempt it, Rastek seizes me around my waist and hoists me up.

It’s a smooth motion, and I’m in the saddle before I totally process what’s happening. The horse shifts underneath me and I cling to the saddle. Rastek clambers up behind me, making me wobble dangerously. “Careful,” he murmurs. He tugs me back so I’m resting securely against his chest, his other hand reaching around me to hold the reins.

Oh, god. I am way too aware of how much he’s touching me. His fingers tickling gently at my stomach where his hand rests. The warmth of his chest behind my head, shifting slightly with his breathing. The way his legs are pressed up against me. My heart is hammering and I feel vaguely tingly all over.

“Into formation!” Rastek barks. I shrink down a little from his booming voice. “Move out!”

We drop into a practiced formation as we ride, a couple of heavily-armored people in front of us, our horse in the middle, and more armored guards and servants bringing up the rear. Every now and then, the guards will switch positions or come into line with Rastek to give him an update. One of Rastek’s arms stays around me the whole time, rubbing absentminded circles on my stomach.

Riding a horse, as it turns out, is a bit like you took the worst parts of riding in a car and made them more uncomfortable. Looking at the scenery can only keep me occupied for so long, and I can’t sleep because about twenty percent of my attention is focused on not falling off the horse. It’s much more effort than I remember- even with Rastek holding onto me, my thighs burn with the effort of keeping myself upright.

The day is warm, even as we travel through shaded areas. Sweat slides along the back of my neck and sticks my clothes to my body. The horses seem to be slowing down too, lather gathering on their hides. We end up coming to a stop near a shallow brook.

Rastek swings down off the horse and tugs it toward the water. “Do you need help coming down?” he asks.

I hesitate- I definitely do need help, but I’m afraid that if I move, I’ll get tangled in the reins or straps of the saddle and fall. “Uh. I think so.”

Rastek looks at me patiently, then slightly more impatiently when I don’t move. “Lift the leg on the other side of the horse and bring it around so you’re facing me.”

That seems easier said than done. As soon as I lean to one side to swing my leg around, my entire body tilts in that direction, threatening to overbalance. My stomach gives that terrifying drop and I seize the horse’s neck, practically throwing myself flat against its back. Rastek huffs out a sigh. My face burns.

“Here.” He lifts his arms toward me. “Try again. I will catch you if you fall.”

He’s still wearing metal, so it doesn’t look like the most comfortable landing, but I don’t want to stay on the horse for the rest of my life. Hesitantly, I lift my leg again.

This time, I have a better sense of balance. Moving quickly is the solution here- if I swing my leg around and lean back against the movement at the same moment, I can keep my balance. Once turned, I’m sitting more or less side-saddle, facing Rastek.

“Good,” he says, arms still raised. “Now just slide forward. I will catch you.”

I brace my arms against the horse and, after a moment, I slide forward. There’s a moment of surprise as I start to fall. Then, Rastek’s hands close around my waist.

He holds me only for a moment before he sets me on the ground, but I can still feel his hands even after he releases me. It lingers for several moments.

“Are you feeling all right?” Rastek asks.

“I think so.” My legs are sore and shaky, and I think I have blistered on the inside of my thighs, which is possibly one of the worse sensations I’ve ever experienced. “I’m just tired, I think.”

Rastek makes a little ‘tch’ noise. “No surprise.” He touches your forehead with the back of his hand. The feeling is so gentle that your breath actually catches in your throat. “You’re still a touch feverish.” His eyes narrow just a little. “I wish you could have a little medicine, but it’s going to make you tired.”

“I’m all right,” I say automatically. “It’s fine.”

“Hm,” he murmurs. “Rest here for a bit. I’m going to discuss our travels with the others.”

I sit down on a nearby log and watch as Rastek joins a gathering of guards around a map. Their speaking is loud enough that I can hear different voices, but I can’t tell what they’re saying.

After a few minutes of waiting, I slide closer to the creek. I have to hike up my skirts and slide off my shoes to stand at the edge of the water. It’s cold against my toes. A tiny fish darts through the shallows, nearly colliding with my feet before changing direction and vanishing into shadowed water.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a creek. There’s one near my house, but I found it harder and harder to get out. There are so many things to do, so many things to focus on other than being outside. The creek looks a lot like mine. Tiny fish, smooth stones in the shallows, green grass and reeds partially submerged in the water. If it weren’t for the clothes I’m wearing, I could almost imagine that I’m in my creek again.

A flicker of motion catches my eye. A tiny orange-brown salamander crawls from the shallows up onto a half-sunken stick. I freeze. It tilts its head to one side, sides moving with its quick little breaths.

I watch it for a while, as it sits and suns itself. Slowly as I can, I stretch out a finger until I’m just hovering above it. I reach out with the lightest of touches and rest my finger on its head.

The salamander doesn’t move. I did this with my sister, once. We dared each other to catch the amphibians in the creek. She was always more skilled at it than I was- once she caught three in an hour. I never managed to get more than one.

When I stretch my hand out to touch the salamander once more. Before I can make contact, it darts off the stick and plunges into the water with barely a splash. It’s gone within a second. I stare at the spot where it vanished, a strange sense of loss stirring in my chest.

“We’re almost ready to go.” I spin around, skirts dropping into the water as I drop them. Rastek is standing on the shore, eyes fixed on me. “Would you like to eat before we go?”

I hesitate. I’m not particularly hungry, despite it having been a while since I’ve eating. My anxiety has settled firmly in my stomach and I don’t have much of an appetite. Rastek frowns as I shake my head.

“Are you feeling nauseated?” he asks as I step out of the water and try to shake my skirts off.

“No, I just don’t have an appetite,” I say. Rastek frowns more, his tail swinging back and forth.

“You should eat a little something.” He pulls a cloth bag from our horse and rummages through it for a few seconds before retracting a peach. It looks slightly bruised, probably from being banged around by riding, but after a moment of inspection, Rastek holds it out to me.

I take it, holding it in the palm of my hand. The fuzz on its body tickles a little. It feels dense. Juicy. More out of habit than any desire to eat, I lift it to my mouth and bite.

It’s delicious. The soft flesh gives under my teeth, spilling juice down my chin and through my mouth. It tastes sweet and honeyed and almost spiced. If there was crust, it would be an exact replica for my mom’s peach pie, the one she makes for her birthday every summer. With the warmth in the air and the creek babbling behind me, I could be there. It feels like I’m there…

And then I open my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. Rastek is in front of me, hand still slightly extended.

My heart sinks like a weight, dragging my stomach down with it. The peach juice goes acidic in my mouth. I cough, spitting some of the partially chewed fruit onto the ground. I’m not home. I don’t know how to get home. I don’t know if I can.

I’m never going to eat my mom’s peach pie or hunt for amphibians with my sister. I’m stuck here, in a world I don’t remember and don’t understand.

My breath whistles in my chest and my vision slides out of focus. Fuck. Not again. I can’t be doing this again. I have to stop collapsing, I have to pull myself together.

“Are you all right?” Rastek’s voice is closer now. Because he’s closer. One of his hands reaches for me, stops, remains hovering just out of touching distance. He glances over his shoulder like he’s considering calling the physician.

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out weird- too strained and too flat at the same time. “I. Choked. On the juice.”

Rastek looks at me. “You choked.”

“Yes.” The strangled feeling is passing, moving on toward numbness. Good. If I can just not feel for a while, maybe I can have a breakdown in private. Just not here. Not again. Not with people looking at me.

Rastek looks highly unconvinced. His tail swishes back and forth over the ground. I keep my eyes focused on it. The movement is hypnotic. Kind of soothing. It’s at least preventing me from bawling my eyes out.

He’s just drawing in a breath to say something when one of the guards calls out, “My lord?" Rastek pauses, looks over his shoulder in her direction. “We should get going. We’ve already lingered here too long.”

Rastek huffs out a sigh. “Very well. We can move on.” He turns back toward me. “Can you manage for a while longer? We should have some dried fruit you can eat as we go-”

“I’m fine.” The remnants of peach juice in my mouth are turning my stomach. “I can keep going.”

Rastek keeps looking at me, arms folded. “At least drink something,” he says, removing a waterskin from the saddle. He holds it out to me and I take a few gulps. The water is at least more tolerable than food. It’s surprisingly cold, for having traveled so far with us, and there’s almost a mild sweetness to it. I must be thirstier than I thought.

“Up you get,” Rastek mutters as he swings me up onto the horse. He takes the waterskin, reattaches it, then swings himself up behind me. One of his hands settles around my stomach, anchoring me against him while the other takes the reins. With a quick signal to the guards, we’re off again.

My thighs burn with the effort of staying on the horse and with the friction of riding, and our brief break didn’t help much. I end up leaning more against Rastek, though that’s uncomfortable in its own way. I’m way too aware of the constant shift of his breathing and how close his hips are to me.

The sun starts to sink and we keep riding. One group of guards splits off from us as we go, heading in a different direction. Then another group. The ones remaining close rank, tightening our formation. Rastek shifts in the saddle. His tail snakes around me, holding me securely by the waist. Every now and then, he rubs my back or murmurs something reassuring to me. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be all right.” It would be more comforting if I couldn’t hear the tension in his voice.

It’s as the last bits of sunlight finally drop below the horizon that I see a building on the horizon. Rastek spurs his horse onward, leaning forward and against me in an effort to get there faster. “Just a little longer,” he huffs into my hair. “We’re almost there.”

The building is made of stone and fairly large, though not as big as where we’re coming from. It’s larger than my house at home, that’s for sure. My skin tingles as we trot past the low, wrought iron fence that surrounds the property and into the generous yard.

“Unsaddle the horses,” Rastek says to one of the guards. “Physician, come with me. The rest of you, ensure that the kitchens are stocked and get some rest in the servant’s quarters. I will bring my wife to her room.”

He slips off the horse and turns toward me, arms lifted. This time, when I reach for him, instead of placing me on the ground, he pulls me against his chest. His arms come around me with ease, holding me tightly but not aggressively, one hand supporting my head. Despite being in a very droppable position, I feel secure.

A guard walks into the house ahead of us, along with the thaumatist. The thaumatist stops, turns in a slow circle in the middle of the entranceway.

“Well?” Rastek says. The hand supporting my head moves absently, rubbing back and forth. His nails scrape against my scalp.

“Seems safe enough,” the thaumatist says. His expression is dreamy and unconcerned.

“Safe enough?” Rastek repeats. The thaumatist shrugs.

“I detect no magic here other than what I would expect from the internal systems. But nothing’s ever one hundred percent. Theoretically, there’s a chance someone could insert a spell that disguised itself as a part of internal systems. It would be difficult, but possibly manageable.”

“Is it likely?” Rastek asks, terse. The thaumatist shrugs again.

“Not particularly. It would be a lot of effort, and it would have a high chance of failure.” The thaumatist waves a hand vaguely. I can’t tell if he’s trying to gesture or trying to swat a fly. “It is an interesting concept, though.”

Rastek lets out an enormous sigh. “Then I am going to let me wife rest.” He waves off the guard and heads down a hallway, up a few sets of stairs, and into a small room.

It looks sort of like a room you might see a character in a fantasy movie stay in overnight. A bed, a dresser, a few lamps on the walls, a dusty-looking green rug on the floor. Actually, the entire room looked dusty. Rastek wrinkles his nose and makes a noise like a choked-off sneeze. “This room will need to be cleaned again,” he sighs. “In the morning, perhaps, unless you need it now?”

It takes a moment to realize he’s looking at me expectantly. Given how rarely I actually bothered to dust my room in my own home, this place isn’t that bad. Though it does have that slightly musty, stale smell of disuse.

Rastek walks over to the bed and hesitates. “Would you like to get changed?” he asks. “I can call one of the servants to bathe you, as well.”

I’m sweaty and sort of grimy and the idea of soaking in warm water feels like a luxury. On the other hand, I’m not keen on having a servant there to bathe me.

“I can bathe myself,” I offer. Something happens on Rastek’s face for a moment. It’s hard to read his expression, but it scrunches up oddly before relaxing back into his standard frown.

“Are you certain? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m not too tired to bathe myself,” I protest. Rastek shifts his weight, his tail waving back and forth behind him.

“I’ll get someone to bring some soap,” he finally says. “Don’t bother with your hair tonight, we can have someone help you with that in the morning.” He walks over to a door that I didn’t notice before and swings up open, shifting me to one arm to free his hand. Despite only being supported by one arm, I don’t feel any less secure.

The room beyond the door is really small. By which I mean there’s about two feet of walking space between the toilet, the tub, and the sink. Rastek actually growls, a sound I feel more against his chest than hear.

“It would have been nice to have more space,” he sighs. I almost tell him I don’t mind before the gentle thunk of his tail against the doorframe reminds me that not only is he bigger, but he’s got more limbs. It’s a tight standing space for me. With his tail, I’m not sure he can actually move all that much.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask. “Maybe we can try another room? I-”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures me. “It’s tight, but I’ll survive.” He looks around, considering his options for where to put me. There aren’t many. After a few seconds he carefully crouches and places me into the tub. “I’ll get a servant to fetch some soap. Rest.” He pats my head and sweeps out of the room.

I sit up in the tub. I’m along again. For the first time since this morning. I’m not sure I like it. There’s too much space to think about things I don’t want to think about. I sit up and fiddle with the faucets, then look over at the toilet and sink. There appears to be indoor plumbing, which is something of a relief. Given the weird ‘medieval fantasy’ vibe everything seems to give off, I was worried about chamber pots. There are also lights, now that I think about it, though they are weird. I’ve never seen anyone light them or even flick on a switch, but they always seem to be on whenever we enter a room.

Just as I’m about to crawl up and take a closer look at one of the lights, someone knocks on the bathroom door. “My lady? The lord requested I bring you soap. And he asked for me to set some nightclothes out on your bed.”

“Oh! Um. Thank you. Thank you very much.” How are you supposed to respond to a servant? Do I need to dismiss her? That seems rude.

“Can I help you with anything else, my lady?”

“No, no, I’m all right. Thank you.” There’s the sound of retreating footsteps and I carefully move to open the door. The servant is already gone, and in their wake is a small pile of towels with some cream-colored soap resting on top. I gather them up and step back into the bathroom.

While I’m waiting for the tub to fill, I struggle out of my clothes. It’s laced up the back and it takes a lot of stretching to undo it enough to ease it off.

The water is warm and luxurious and focusing on the motions of washing helps me not think about what’s happened to my life. I stay in until the water is cold and my skin is practically raw from scrubbing before forcing myself to get out.

My nightclothes turn out to be a cream-colored nightgown and stockings. I slide them on and all but collapse into bed. The lights are still on, but I don’t know how to turn them off and I don’t care. I’m not getting back up. I’m sore. I’m exhausted. I have no idea what’s going on. I need to sleep.

I do not sleep.

My brain won’t shut up. I can’t even pin down one thought that’s bugging me. It’s just this horrible, nebulous anxiety that makes my stomach turn and my breath come in sharp little gasps.

The room has no windows, so the only way to tell time is to stare at the clock on the wall. The second tick by with horrific slowness. It doesn’t even have the decency to make a little noise; the entire house is oppressively silent.

Eventually, the restlessness crawling under my skin gets the better of me. I slip out of bed and open my bedroom door.

The rest of the house is silent and dark. There’s just enough light to make out the vague shapes of furniture. I rest one of my hands on the wall to help guide me down the hall.

I’m not sure where I’m going, but the restlessness compels me to walk. It’s only after I’ve turned down a few hallways and the light of my room is lost behind me that I realize I don’t know the house’s layout enough to navigate my way back in the dark. Whatever. I wasn’t sleeping anyway, and if I really need to, I can sleep on the ground.

There’s something comforting about walking around in the darkness. Everything is quiet, peaceful. I can’t see anything more than a few inches in front of my face. It’s sort of freeing. Like nothing else exists except for me.

And then my foot catches on something soft and warm and alive in the darkness and I pitch forward.

Whatever I just tripped on grabs my ankle as I fall. The restriction of my leg stops me from correcting my balance. I topple sideways, cracking my hip against a piece of furniture as I do. “Ow! Shit!”

The hand on my ankle loosens. “Dear one?” The voice, rough with sleep, is familiar.

“Rastek?” There’s a fumbling noise and the hand at my ankle vanishes. I sit upright, blinking helplessly in the dark. I can’t see him at all, but I can hear him shuffling into a sitting position.

“What are you doing here?” His voice comes closer, like he’s leaning over me. “It’s late. You should be sleeping.”

“Why are you here?” I whisper back. “Are you sleeping on the ground?”

Rastek snorts. “I’ve slept in far worse conditions on the battlefield.”

“But it’s not like there aren’t beds,” I say. “You could just sleep in one of those.”

There’s a pause. “There’s only one bedroom on this floor of the house and it was expected that we would share it,” he says after a moment. “The guest rooms are not fully set up and I assumed you would prefer to spend the night alone.” I hear him shift and his warmth moves away from me as he stands. “The servants’ quarters would likely have extra beds, but they likely would not appreciate having their lord there when they just want to rest.”

“If you want the bed, you can have it,” I mutter, rubbing my hand over my head. “I’m hardly using it.”

“I noticed,” Rastek says. There might be a hint of amusement in his voice, but it’s hard to tell. “Here, let’s sit on the couch. You can’t see very well, can you?”

“I can’t really see anything,” I admit.

“I can never remember exactly how poor human night vision is,” Rastek says. “Here, I’m going to take your arm…” A hand closes around my upper arm and tugs lightly to my feet. “And back a few steps, that’s it.” The backs of my legs bump against the couch and I half fall, half sit down. “There. Now, we’ve discussed why I’m here.” The couch sinks a little as Rastek sits next to me. “Why are you still awake?”

“No real reason. I just couldn’t sleep.” Rastek’s not quite touching me, but I still feel aware of how close to me he is. There can’t be more than an inch, maybe two inches between us. The space feels electric. Sometimes I can feel the slightest touch of his body against mine when he breathes in.

“Not tired enough?” he asks, gently teasing, but also probing. I huff out a little laugh.

“I’m exhausted. I just can’t- I can’t sleep. It just won’t happen.”

Rastek takes a deep breath in. It’s almost deliberate, like he’s making sure I can hear and follow his inhales. “Your mind won’t settle.”

“No. I’m exhausted and I just can’t sleep. I thought maybe getting up and walking around would help, but I just still feel… restless.”

“Is there anything you feel like would help? There are a few servants still up. I’m certain I could have them fetch you anything you would need.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what would help. I barely know where I am or what’s going on and I’m exhausted.” I slump forward, elbows on my knees. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know what to do.”

Something brushes against my shoulder, tentative. The touch stops, then returns, firmer this time. Rastek’s hand moves up and down my back. “I know. I know this is all so much for you. I can’t even imagine. But you’re safe, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

He shifts just a little closer and I bury my face in his chest. I can’t even bring myself to feel embarrassed about how I’m clinging to him. I’m tired and scared and his warmth is comforting. I need something comforting, more than I need anything else.

At some point, I can feel myself starting to drift off. Rastek shifts his weight a little with a groan, but as soon as I move, he freezes like a statue. “It’s okay. Shh. Relax.” He only moves again once I go completely still.

He stands, adjusts me so I don’t jostle when he walks, then sets off toward my room. It only takes him a few minutes to get there, and even with my eyes closed, I can tell when we cross the threshold because the lights are still on. Rastek mumbles something and the lights dim back to acceptable levels.

“Good night,” Rastek murmurs as he sets me into bed. “Get some sleep, now.” He fusses with the covers for a moment, tucking them around me. For a moment, I can feel him leaning over me, hesitating. Then he steps back and the floor creaks as he walks away from me.

I fall asleep within minutes. It’s the sort of thick, heavy sleep that fogs your brain and merges dreams and reality. When I wake, it feels like I’ve been sleeping for years and also five minutes. My brain swims as I stare up at the ceiling. That’s not my bedroom ceiling. Why isn’t it? Where the fuck am I?

And then everything comes flooding back. Oh. Oh, fuck.

I push myself up, ignoring the stretch and soreness in my legs. My head’s pounding too. I feel a little bit like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or spent several hours riding a horse through a forest. Either or.

Someone knocks on the door and I jump. “My lady?” I think I recognize the voice. It’s the thaumatist. “Would you mind letting me in? I’d like to give a quick examination.”

“Um. The door’s open?” I call. There’s a pause, then the door swings open. The thaumatist drifts in, looking dreamily unfocused. He pauses, blinking in the dark like he hadn’t realized the lights weren’t on for a few steps.

“Will the lights bother your head if I turn them on?” he asks.

I stare at him. “How’d you know I had a headache?”

“These curses always have some effect that will do your head in.” The lights flicker on and I groan automatically, pressing my hands over my eyes. My head throbs, as a corresponding spike of nausea jolts upward from my stomach. “You may keep your eyes closed for the examination, if that would help.” The thaumatist offers. “Oh. Hello, your lordship. I thought you were not spending the night here.”

I open my eyes and look across the room. Rastek is there, sitting against a wall with his cloak partially wrapped around his body. He groans, half lifting a hand to his eyes.

“Have you been in here all night?” I ask. The thaumatist glances sideways at me, eyebrows lifted, but he doesn’t say anything. Rastek stands, cracking his back as he does so. I wince at the noise. “That can’t have been comfortable.”

“I wanted to make sure you got to sleep all right,” he says. “I wasn’t intending to fall asleep here.” He turns to the thaumatist. “An examination?”

“Yes, your lordship.” The thaumatist turns toward me again, reaching his hands out. “Hold still.”

My head tingles momentarily and I sway. “Hmm,” the thaumatist murmurs. “Hmm.” He tilts his head to one side, gaze distant. “Hmmmm.”

It’s nearly a full minute before he takes his hands back. “The magic around you is still agitated. Your soul is… mm. Unsettled.”

Your stomach twists. “That sounds, uh. Kind of bad.”

“Yes, it can be,” the thaumstist says. He sounds more thoughtful than concerned. “Souls are more easily manipulated when not properly in their own bodies. And they can have a tendency to drift.”

“To drift?” Rastek repeats. He’s still standing near the wall, his body a line of tension.

“To wander, to slip away from the body. When the soul is detached from the body, the link between soul and body weakens. It can cause slips, where the body and soul separate from each other. Most often, during sleep, but at other occasions as well. Souls that wander are uniquely vulnerable. They can be captured or injured with greater ease. Or simply have their connection to their body severed.”

“What happens if the connection is severed?” I ask. My voice comes out sort of strangled; I hardly recognize it leaving my mouth.

“Typically, the body dies and the soul moves on or fades,” the thaumatist says. “I can create a personal ward for you that will help tether your soul more firmly in place, but I cannot guarantee anything. Soul magic is difficult.”

“Create the ward as soon as possible, then,” Rastek says. “How long will it take?”

“Oh...” The thaumatist pauses for a minute. Then another minute. Then another. I glance at Rastek just as he turns his head toward me. Our eyes lock for just a moment and I catch a flicker of incredulity, like ‘can you believe this guy?’ written across his face. Then he seems to catch himself and turns his head away. Something in my chest twinges, an odd sense of loss.

“How long?” Rastek repeats, terse. The thuamatist blinks like he’s just registered that he is speaking with other people.

“I’m not sure. All wards are different. A few days, perhaps?”

“Then she’ll be vulnerable for a few days more,” Rastek says. His voice is still tense, but the thaumatist barely seems to register it.

“Yes. I can create something simpler by tonight, something that will detect if her soul is drifting. A shock will return her soul to her body.” The thaumatist tilts his head to one side. “She probably shouldn’t sleep. It weakens the connection.”

Rastek’s tail swishes back and forth. “Very well. And her memories?”

“The memories can be difficult to recover. I can perform some spells that may help. Or they may not. The memories may return on their own. Or they may not return ever. Souls are complex and ill-understood.”

There is silence for a moment. I can see Rastek’s shoulders set tight, barely rising and falling with his breathing. His head is turned away, but I can catch just the unhappy line of his mouth. “Do you want the spells?”

It takes a second to realize he’s talking to me. “Wh- what?”

“The spells to help you recover your memory. Do you want them?” This time he looks fully at me. I can’t read his expression. It’s stern, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

“I- I think so.” I can’t think of any reason to refuse them. If I’m hallucinating, I can’t imagine they’ll do anything and I this is real… then I do want to remember. If I’m supposed to be here, I want to know.

Rastek nods toward the thaumatist. “Then start the treatment.”

The thaumatist turns back toward me and I feel a flicker of nervousness, like I’m about to have a dental procedure. “This won’t hurt,” he says, looking marginally more focused than I’ve ever seen him, “but it will make you woozy.” He extends his hands and rests them on either side of my face. His fingertips press against my cheekbones.

There’s nothing for a moment. Just the thaumatist’s face uncomfortably close to mine. And then, an intense sense of vertigo.

My head spins like I’m somersaulting. I can’t get my eyes to focus. The world looks like a kaleidoscope- just colors spinning and blurring together. I squeeze my eyes shut, which helps the vertigo, but makes the weird sensations in my body all the more obvious. My back burns like I’m lying out in the sun, one of my arms breaks out in goosebumps, my legs tingle with pins and needles, and a sense of pressure rests on my chest. The feelings are intense and disorienting- I can’t get a sense of time or place. It could have been hours since the thaumatist started, or seconds. I could not have moved an inch or I could be somewhere entirely different. I can’t get a sense of where my body is in space.

Finally, it stops. The sensations taper off until I can get a sense of my surroundings again. There are soft sheets at my back, a lightly cool air on my face and the sensation of my nightclothes against my skin.

I open my eyes slowly. I’m still in my bedroom. The thaumatist is sitting back on the bed, looking at me with a curious expression.

“Your soul is complex. And guarded,” he says. “I will be back later with the charm.” He stands and drifts out of the room.

I watch him go before cautiously turning my gaze toward Rastek. He shifts in place, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I think so,” I say. “It was, uh. Pretty weird.”

His brows pinch. “You were crying out.”

“I- was I?

“Yes. The thaumatist said it was normal.” Rastek closes his eyes for a moment. “He said you might be… experiencing something.”

“Mostly, I think I just felt weird. Not bad, just kind of weird. It didn’t feel like I was doing anything.” Rastek looks neither reassured or concerned by what I’ve said. He just looks at me for a long moment.

“I’m glad you weren’t distressed, then,” he says finally. “I expect you’ll want to get dressed. I can call a servant to assist you.”

“No, I think I can get dressed on my own,” I say hurriedly. The idea of having someone trying to tug me into clothes like a toddler is humiliating. I swing my legs around, stretching in preparation to get up. Rastek turns his head away, stifling a yawn with his hand, and I really look at his clothes for the first time. They’re the same ones he was wearing on our ride, significantly rumpled from sleeping on the ground. His hair looks oddly limp and a bit tangled, and when he turns his head back toward me, his eyes look puffy.

“Hey, uh.” He fixes his gaze on me and I waver for a moment before continuing. “Maybe you should, uh. Get changed too? Maybe take a bath? You must be exhausted. Might help you feel better.”

Rastek stares at me, then looks down at himself. Did he even realize he hadn’t changed his clothes? “Yes. I should. I’ve been… somewhat preoccupied.” He passes a hand over his face. “I’ll have a servant stay near your room. Just shout for them if you need anything. Anything at all.” His expression grows stern. Well, sterner. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I will,” I say. His voice makes butterflies dance in my stomach. I hurriedly beat the sensation away. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, okay?”

He blinks twice in rapid succession. For a moment, he looks almost startled. Then he gives a quick little nod and hurries out of the room.

As it turns out, getting dresses it a little harder than I was anticipating. I can get into my underclothes, a sort of long linen dress, just fine, but the outer dress proves stubborn. The fabric is thick, making it difficult to move once my arms are in the sleeves. There’s also lacing in the back, which I can reach, but I can’t move my arms enough to pull it taut. Every time I get it tight enough, the slack I have to put into the bindings to make it possible to tie it just loosens the entire thing again. Not to mention that moving in the wrong position makes my back and arms throb with pain.

I wrestle for a while between the desire to do it myself and the desire to actually be able to get dressed. I almost open the door at least three times, but can’t manage to actually go through with it. The idea of asking for help from a stranger because I can’t do up a simple dress is mortifying.

All too soon, there’s a knock at the door. “Are you all ready? You must be starving.” Rastek’s voice is gentle, comforting, and completely unwanted. “You need to eat and take your medicine, still.”

“Um.” My voice comes out way too high pitched. “Can you just- um, I need- uh. I- ow!” I stretch one of my arms back too far and something stings with a sharp, unsettling pain.

“Are you all right?” Rastek’s voice sharpens. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m all right.” I fumble to lace up my dress and fail once more. “God dammit!”

Rastek is silent for a moment. “Can I come in?”

I fumble a little. “Um. I- I’m not totally…” I trail off. “I’m… uh.”

Rastek waits for another moment. “Are you certain you’re all right? I can send in a servant if you’re not-”

“No! No, I-” I trail off, then slump over in defeat. “I can’t get the dress on. I can’t lace up the back.”

There’s a pause, then a hear the doorknob slowly turn behind me. The door opens one cautious inch at a time, like he’s giving me an opportunity to stop him. “Do you want some help?”

I sag back, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. “Yes.”

Rastek crosses the room and sinks onto the bed behind me. His fingers brush against my back as he gathers the laces. “Were you trying to do this on your own?” he asks. I nod. “The whole time?” I nod again. “Your shoulders must hurt.”

“Yeah.” Rastek tugs the laces until the dress is comfortably snug on me. When he reaches in to tie the laces securely, his fingertips brush against my spine. I shiver.

“It’s not easy to do this on your own. I thought you would ask a servant for help,” he says.

"I... don’t like asking people for help,” I mumble. Rastek makes a strange, almost strangled noise. His hands still and I feel him shaking behind me. After a second, I realize he’s laughing, soft, huffing laughter.

“I should have thought. You really are just the same.” His voice is saturated with warmth. It makes my stomach flip. I swallow hard. “There you are. Laced up.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. Rastek moves his hands up my back, around my shoulder and I freeze.

“Tell me if this is too painful,” he murmurs. His thumbs dig in and the muscle protests for a moment before the feelings settles into the strange pain-relief of a massage.

“It’s always right here that you pull,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “We can put a warm compress on it later, but this should at least help the initial pain.”

After a few minutes, he sits back, his hands sliding off my back. I feel oddly cold in his wake. “Breakfast should be ready now,” he says as he stands. “I’m afraid there’s not much- we have provisions, but they’re limited.”

“I don’t eat much for breakfast usually,” I say, not really thinking. “Just some toast is fine.” At home, breakfast was usually toast or dry cereal, eaten as fast as possible, and yogurt if I was feeling fancy. It’s a fair sight better than most people I know, who are pleased if their breakfast isn’t a cup of coffee.

Rastek stares at me. “You need to eat more than just a slide of toast. You’ll make yourself ill if you don’t.” He extends a hand toward me. “At least try to eat something, all right? You need something in your stomach before your medicine.”

I tentatively lift my hand, my fingers hovering over his. I can feel the warmth of his skin, even without touching it. It’s surprisingly intimate, considering that I spent most of yesterday clinging to his back. My fingers close around his hand and his thumb brushes against my knuckles. A shiver crawls along my spine.

“Let’s go.” Rastek’s hand squeezes around mine, then he gives a gentle tug and leads me out into the hall.

Part 2 is here

#exophilia #dragon husband #dragon boyfriend #dragon lover #monster romance #monster lover #male monster #male dragon

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for almost stabbing one of my classmates?

Ok this is going to be a little confusing, so apologies in advance. Additional apologies if my language is a bit weird, I'm. Having an identity crisis. (Related to the situation, I assure you.)

Ok so I, 15M, was an ordinary high school student. Your typical guy, I went to school, hung out with my friends, et cetera. However the other day, something weird happened at our school. There was an earthquake (common) and myself and several other students saw a bright flash of light from a further school building (uncommon).

Well, this flash of light started stirring memories inside of me. They all came to a head when I came to school this morning, to find the word 'remember' graffitied all over the school. I asked my friend about the graffiti, and he said he couldn't read it.

At a round lunch time, I was finally able to sort through my memories enough to make sense of them.

As it turns out, I am the reincarnation of a knight from another world. In this world, I was tasked with guarding the princess in the castle. She was set to be married to the prince of our political ally, who came to reside in the castle as well. He brought along several knights and servants, which was customary.

However, one day this ally nation suddenly attacked us. It was a horrible slaughter, since none of us knew what was happening. We were severely outnumbered and betrayed.

Then, I was reincarnated to where I am now.

I deduced that the graffiti must have been the work of one of the enemy nation's knights, so I hijacked the broadcasting booth and challenged them to come out in the language of my previous life.

One of my classmates N (M15) came, along with T (M15). I was shocked, but I confronted them, and N admitted they were knights from our ally-turned-enemy. We were in the art room, and some of the supplies fell when I tackled N. In my blind rage, I reached for one of them, which was a palette knife. I was about to attack N with it when several of my other classmates intervened. One of them M (15M) helped me realize that I wasn't still on the battlefield, and that the person I was attacking was my friend. I quickly realized the error of my ways. I'm ashamed to admit, but I did burst into tears at that point. It was... very overwhelming, to say the least.

I realize what I did was wrong, but I'm hoping that you all will understand the state of mind I was in. Raised as a knight, I only knew one thing-- kill the enemies of the princess. Now in this world, we don't have ties like that anymore.

So please, AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

[eretzyisrael]

We Forgot

You shall remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt,

how he happened upon you on the way and cut off all the stragglers at your rear, when you were faint and weary, and he did not fear God.

It will be, when the Lord your God grants you respite from all your enemies around in the land which the Lord, your God, gives to you as an inheritance to possess, that you shall obliterate the remembrance of Amalek from beneath the heavens. You shall not forget! — Dvarim 25:17-19

I have heard this read in the synagogue numerous times, and taken part in discussions of the meaning of this mitzvah (commandment). But I did not truly understand it until Simchat Torah of this year.

A mitzvah can always be understood in relation to actions. The well-known injunction to “love thy neighbor” in Lev. 18:19 appears in context as “Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the Lord.” It does not require me to have a warm feeling toward the residents of the apartment next to mine. Rather, it orders me to avoid feuding with other Jews (not always an easy thing).

The commandment to remember Amalek does not mean to produce in myself a certain state of mind, similar to what I aspire to when my wife tells me to remember to bring home a carton of milk. That would be impossible anyway, because I wasn’t there in the desert when Amalek first did its dirty deeds. How can I remember what I didn’t experience? So what does “remember” mean here?

What I realized on Simchat Torah was that it means that we must not only keep in mind the evil that Amalek intends, but we must act on that awareness. It means that we must not let our guard down, we must take positive actions to prepare for Amalek’s viciousness. Only after we have achieved our independence in the land of Israel and fully defeated all of our enemies, can we stand down from our condition of high alert. Only when Amalek is finally obliterated will it be safe to obliterate our memory of it.

This has actually been the human condition for ages, and remains the condition of most of the world’s population today. If a tribe forgets that it has enemies, it will soon be swallowed up. But recently, several generations have grown up in North America and Western Europe whose enemies have been kept far enough away from them that they’ve come to believe that it’s normal to live in peace. It is actually exceptional. I think that shortly they may find out that this isn’t true.

For Jews, the wolf of Amalek is always at the door. This is certainly true in Eretz Yisrael, where Amalek has been battering at us for at least the last 100 years. But since 1967, many Israeli Jews have lost the existential anxiety that gripped the generation of 1948. The Yom Kippur War was a reminder of it, but the fact that we recovered from the initial defeat and won a clear-cut military victory (though it was taken from us diplomatically) and that our enemies didn’t penetrate our home front, soon erased the fear of the first days of the war. There were other warnings, but the desire to live as though we were one of the large Western democracies made us suppress the precarious reality of the Middle East in which we live.

So we reduced the size of our ground army, and relaxed many of the procedures that were, it turns out, essential to protecting our people. We have become dependent: on America, on technology, on our Air Force. Officers assumed that we were so strong that nobody would challenge us, so it was safe for them to fudge a little on their reports to higher-ups. What could happen? Our General Staff decided that technology could replace boots on the ground; they advocated for a “digital battlefield” on which every soldier would be tied into to sophisticated information systems that would provide real-time intelligence and command, blah blah blah. Their reports all said that goals were achieved. A whole paper structure was built that did not reflect reality. The map was not the territory. “We’ve never been stronger,” said the top generals, until Hamas revealed their nakedness on October 7.

Our leaders should have known the intentions of our enemies. All they had to do was listen to what the spokespeople of Hamas, Hezbollah, the PLO, and Iran said in public. But perhaps because they themselves were so easily bought, they held our enemies in contempt. They assumed that quiet could be purchased with American dollars to the PLO and Qatari cash for Hamas. But it turns out, as anyone who has studied the Middle East even a little knows, that money was only a means to an end. They were happy to take it and build fancy villas for themselves, but they also dug tunnels and manufactured rockets. And they never lost their aspiration to once and for all kill and drive out the Jews from what they claim as their land.

The generals and the politicians forgot that we are not a large western democracy, but rather a small country in the Middle East. They forgot that our enemies are not stupid. They forgot that honor and deterrence go together. They forgot that the more complicated a system, the more weak points it has, and that technology can fail. They forgot that Maginot Lines never work. They forgot that only ground forces can hold territory.

Most importantly, they forgot how much our enemies hate us and how this motivates them. They forgot Amalek.

Abu Yehuda

#Israeli Society #Jew Hatred #War

[telomeke]

15 people, 15 questions

I got tagged by @colourme-feral (at this link here), @pandasmagorica (at this link here), @wen-kexing-apologist (at this link here), @dribs-and-drabbles (at this link here), @belladonna-and-the-sweetpeas (at this link here) and @airenyah (at this link here). Thanks for tagging me guys! 🥰 Hope you're all having a wonderful holiday season. 💖🎄

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1. Are you named after anyone?

Not anyone in particular; Mom's dad set out the names for the children of his sons but not his daughters. So Mom gave me a name that incorporates the concepts bright and strong. I sometimes like to think I was named after a laundry detergent. 🤣

2. When was the last time you cried?

I can't remember exactly… I never used to cry, not at stories or movies, unless they involved dogs dying (because that was my first exposure to grief, when my little furry boy died on me during my teen years). After more family members passed away though, I felt my core shift and now know what it is like to be moved to tears by a more human-centric grief and loss (I think I wasn't allowing myself to feel that before, as part of that armor you put on when out in the world as an adult).

And ever since I learnt my lessons I've cried a lot more often, sharing heartfelt moments with characters on the page or on the screen because I'm less afraid of showing emotion (as in, I no longer think of it as some kind of weakness). I think the last time I cried may have been watching Last Twilight? When I watched tough guy Mhok shedding his hard protective shell to love Day unconditionally, with the motivations behind his acts of love going mostly unnoticed and unseen by the object of his affections – e.g., the sunflower just before August turns up late, setting up Day's surprise birthday party and basically giving him away to others when you know his heart is telling him to keep Day for himself. 😢 (I've not watched Ep.7 yet, so I don't know if the meaning of any of this will change moving forward, or if there are more tears in store though.) And yes, I think the last tear I shed was when Mhok grabbed Day to kiss him at the end of Ep.6, to prove that he was loving him truly for his own sake, not plying him with secondhand emotion out of pity as Day had been led to expect from the world.

I may write more about Last Twilight in the future… It's easy to think of romantic love as a gift to be received, but Mhok really does exemplify that the human nature of love is rather more tied to wanting to give of oneself, and (for romantic love at least) that experience only achieves its fullest completion when it is met with the recipient giving you their love in return (or crushing your heart with rejection or indifference instead). And I do see the parallels between love rejected and grief; "grief is just love with no place to go" rings so very true.

3. Do you have kids?

No I don't, and it is maybe the one regret in life I will allow myself. "No regrets" is a great motto to live by, but if I could do things over again I might choose to have kids (whether my own biological kids or my own adopted ones; I'm a little too far gone and set in my ways to consider this now though). Never wanted kids before (noisy, troublesome, a dampener holding you back I told my younger self) – but when my nephew came along it was like somebody flicked a switch and I realized it was OK to feel that kind of unconditional love for another human being, for no other reason than the privilege of loving them. And I think being a parent (unlike a romantic partner) allows you to love truly unconditionally, without expecting anything in return.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Used to like playing soccer/basketball/badminton as a kid, but only unseriously and very badly. Nowadays I swim a lot and the gym is my second home (but I'm not at all some bulked-up gorilla; I don't have the genetics nor the inclination to abuse my body with steroids, which is the only way to look like the bodybuilders and fitness models IMO). But exercise does wonders for your mental health in addition to your physical fitness; it's been my refuge whenever things got horrifyingly stressful in life by providing an outlet for stress, plus endorphins to make you feel better. It just doesn't feel like it would be any good when you're going through it, but you can sense it after. Which is also part of why it's so hard to get yourself up and exercising when you're down; the hardest part is overcoming the inertia that is doubly weighted whenever life is stressing you out. I always have to remind myself that the more I don't want to go to the gym, the more it is I probably need to go.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sarcasm? What, ✨MOI✨? (Yes I'm being sarcastic here. I can be a bit too barbed with people I know, so I've learnt to pare it back, but my propensity for sarcasm has done me no favors in the workplace. It's also why I understand people putting up hard-shell defenses – shoutout to Pran in Bad Buddy and Mhok in Last Twilight.)

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I think their general demeanour and what their overall body language is conveying.

7. What’s your eye color?

Darkest, darkest brown; so dark it looks black in all but the brightest light. You can't see where my pupils end and my irises begin.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings all the way. Don't like horror movies and I won't pay to watch them.

9. Any talents?

I have a number of interests, but whether or not I have any talent in them is for others to judge because – even though I'm proud of some of the things I've done – my ever-critical perfectionist's eye can never fail to see flaws and things I could've done better. Everything is always falling short in some way. So my interests are: languages and linguistics (I can handle a few languages, but only a couple have acceptable fluency while the rest are still in pretty rough shape, IMO). Love to write (in English only, more focused on fact than fiction, but even then the inspiration doesn't always flow). I have an ear (but not an abiding love) for music, so I will often be singing if I'm alone and need more than silence around me. I'm interested in biological sciences (wanted to be a palaentologist as a little boy; isn’t that every kid's dream at some point?) – animals, plants, and nature fascinate me. I used to like dabbling in visual arts, but that's been deadened a bit by having to work with some of that in my job (maybe that's why the visual aspects of BL will always fascinate me though). And I think I do have a knack for research, looking things up and putting facts together so that they can convey some kind of message or bigger truth.

10. Where were you born?

In the delivery room of a maternity ward. My roots are in Asia though, if that's what this question is getting at. 😆

11. What are your hobbies?

Scrolling through Tumblr takes up way too much of my time, but yes that is one of my hobbies. I watch BLs now and then, and from that I go on to do the odd write-up about aspects that interest me (especially culture, linguistics and BL visuals). Another current obsession is baking up fruitcake variations (part of the culinary landscape of the season) and this will continue as a hobby until I've baked it out of my system. I love to watch cooking shows, but I do this more to pick up tips on how to make my meals quicker, easier and tasty enough for me (I don't love cooking, but I cook a lot, to get around dietary intolerances more than anything else). Also – gym and swimming a few times a week.

12. Do you have any pets?

None at the moment. We had dogs growing up and I am an avowed dog lover. But when you're a working adult it wouldn't be fair to leave a dog alone for most of the day while you're out at the office, so I never got one after I began working. Plus dogs don't last long (15 years is already geriatric for a pooch) and I'm not ready to face the shattering grief when they have to leave you. But never say never... Maybe I'll get a kitty for a change? 🤔💖

13. How tall are you?

I'm tallish; tall in some countries, average in others. Taller than Singto, shorter than Ohm. 😆

14. Favorite subject in school?

Art and art history? We had a dream lecturer who made the subject come alive. Also a psychology elective that I took, for all its insights into the human mind. In school school it was a mix depending on my mood and the topic of the day: English, geography, biology, chemistry, mathematics, or art. Didn't like physics or economics at all.

15. Dream job

Something in research and analysis backing up the boys in The Sign. 😆 Or maybe volunteering at a charity to help with food/housing (but I can probably only think about doing this after securing my own retirement).

Onward tagging (I can't count so don't expect this to be 15): @7nessasaryevils, @crzshaly437, @faillen, @dimplesandfierceeyes, @neuroticbookworm, @greenreflections, @recentadultburnout, @thecleopatrawannabe, @nihilisticcondensedmilk, @allthegoodusernamesaretakenhuh, @lamonnaie, @non-binarypal7, @twig-tea, @williamrikers, @gillianthecat, @hughungrybear, @solitaryandwandering, @starryalpacasstuff, @rane-ab, @serafyne, @silvercrystal1, @tsukitsuki077, @5raccoonsinatrenchcoat, @vegasandhishedgehog, @reformedcharacter, @writerwithoutsound, @bengiyo, @gelofhellyeah, @shortpplfedup, @dc-alves, @zhaagdewin, @chickenstrangers, @ranchthoughts and anybody else who wants to play! As always no pressure if you don't wish to play either.

If you've already played do tag me with a link so I can read your 15 answers too! 🥰 (And I left out some mutuals because I see you've already been tagged; let me know too if you've already played so I can head on out to read your post as well! 😍)

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#tag game #15 people‚ 15 questions #always fun to play 🥰