cainiine-a - Tumblr blog

[cainiine-a]

MOVED! This blog is now an archive!

The wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight, drunk and driven by a devil's hunger. Sacrifice me god, for he is my lamb to slaughter.

independent horror oc duo. joanna & johnny doe, hounds of hell. written by sashka. 21+. tw: dogs, religious themes, murder. a study in being cursed at birth. in a dog always coming home. in killing your old self because now you are meant for something much, much darker. in being a sinner's executioner.

about. rules. memes. other rp blog.

[cainiine-a]

(( should I remake this blog hmhmhm ))

[cainiine-a]

IF YOU WERE A DEITY WHAT WOULD YOU BE THE GOD OF?

winter and death. you’re known for your self-discipline and rigidity. although you may be perceived as cold and intimidating by those who don’t directly worship you, you’re actually quite fair and polite. your followers pray to you for a safe winter and peaceful death.

warfare and strategy. prideful and ambitious, your followers come to you for guidance and luck in battles they feel are too much for them. you embody the bravery and bloodlust of warfare and the battle intelligence for strategy and leadership. Your patience tends to thin around those who don’t respect you or question your intelligence and strength.

Tagged by: @sortilegum, thank you! (: Tagging: you! whoever hasn't done this yet!

[cainiine-a]

EXTENSIVE SCAR RELATED PROMPTS 

GENERAL 

[ TOUCH ]  for sender to trace one of receiver’s scars 

[ TOUCHED ]  for receiver to trace one of sender’s scars

[ DISCOVER ]  for sender to see receiver’s scars for the first time 

[ DISCOVERED ]  for receiver to see sender’s scars for the first time 

[ CARESS ]  for sender to kiss one of receiver’s scars 

[ CARESSED ]  for receiver to kiss one of sender’s scars

[ SHOW ]  for sender to purposefully reveal their scars for receiver to see 

[ SHOWN ]  for receiver to purposefully reveal their scars for sender to see 

SCENARIOS

[ MEND ]  for sender to treat receiver’s wound which leads to them having to remove an article of clothing resulting in revealing scars hidden beneath

[ MENDED ]  for receiver to treat sender’s wound which leads to them having to remove an article of clothing resulting in revealing scars hidden beneath

[ BLUNDER ]  for sender to walk in on receiver in a state of undress thus seeing their scars for the first time

[ BLUNDERED ]  for receiver to walk in on sender in a state of undress thus seeing their scars for the first time 

[ KISS ]  our muses are having sex for the first time which then reveals sender’s scars to receiver 

[ KISSED ]  our muses are having sex for the first time which then reveals receiver’s scars to sender 

[ BATHE ]  our muses take a shower together and sender looks over receiver’s scars 

[ BATHED ]  our muses take a shower together and receiver looks over sender’s scars. 

WORDS

❝  your scars are nothing to be ashamed of.  ❞

❝  why do you hide your scars?  ❞

❝  i see every mark as something to be proud of,  proof of all i survived.  ❞

❝  can i ask what happened here—  how did you get this one?  ❞

❝  sometimes i get these phantom pains i guess you could say.  little aches and i find them oddly comforting.  because my soul still hurts even if my body is healed.  ❞

❝  i wish i could get rid of my scars.  they’re just reminders of everything i want to forget.  ❞

❝  is it alright if i touch this scar?  ❞

❝  it’s okay—  you can touch it if you want.  doesn’t hurt anymore.  ❞

❝  please don’t touch it.  ❞

❝  you don’t have to tell me how you got it.  i just wanted to see.  ❞

❝  looks worse than it was.  ❞

❝  i want to kill every person responsible for leaving you scarred. ❞

❝  i made sure the people who left marks on me wouldn’t get the chance to do it again.  ❞

❝  woah—  what the hell happened there? ❞

❝  you don’t have to hide them around me.  the scars are just part of who you are.  and i like all of what i see.  ❞

❝  i don’t really like letting people see them.  ❞

❝  it’s okay—  honestly i forget they’re there most of the time.  ❞

[cainiine-a]

Tension is a phantom's hand holding him within its grasp and increasing the pressure around him with every second that passes, with every breath he wastes on keeping up this farce ( a finger on his throat, another on his ribcage, squeezing to its delight until he has to calm every exhale just to assure the other of his masquerade ). It's torture. It's almost enough to make him snap but then the smaller man shatters any sensible space that still lingered between them and breaks through this tension with a confident, unassuming step. Unassuming, unassuming, of course, how could he assume? How could something, anything even begin to deduce what his intentions are? It leaves him with an odd feeling, a marking of a beginning and a marking of an end, and to the despair of his risen shoulders and his hitched breath, it almost seems as though the other knows this as well. I'm not your lamb for slaughter. The lines between slaughter and sacrifice are blurred; he decides, vehemently, that he will not give that line further thought.

His smile takes him aback, confuses him and perhaps he should be soothed that he drops his brash attitude and chooses to indulge in his offer but the chuckle he gifts him in return shows nothing of his appreciation. Another breath before he shakes his head, letting him move to his side to commence their route back to the church. And, briefly, he is lost to his euphoria, to the steps he will have continue once they are back that he almost does not hear his question. A name. He supposes he can entertain him because, after tonight, he won't utter it anyway. " I'm Adam. What is yours? " All religious titles dropped; he is neither vicar nor shepherd. No, he is leading them both to damnation. He won't let him get away.

-------.

Even though he left the door of the church cracked open, the sickly sweet stench of incense remains, the edges of the scent burnt already. There is an attempt at normalcy as he shakes the water droplets off his umbrella and puts it down behind the last row of pews, where he too turns to Hidan to speak, bowing his head slightly and lowering his voice to mimic the calm atmosphere of these holy walls. " You can sit wherever you'd like. I just have to finish one last thing, it won't take long. " And he walks off before another remark can be made, before another distraction steals him away.

The walk towards the altar feels like a descent towards hell ( has Dante in his divine, ironic comedy ever considered that you do not need to tumble through the woods to find your way to the abyss? ) but his gaze is focused and clear. He knows what he wants to do, has to do; everything has culminated into this. A black candle greets him, its flame unbothered by the relentless winds of the night, burning brightly and casting even more intense shadows wherever its light does not reach, the flames of the other candles shaking in its presence. Steady fingers reach out to extinguish them, one by one, letting darkness consume the room, enveloping them ( a baptism in its beginning ). He sinks to his knees, presses his palms together with his fingertips pointing downwards. And then he sings, quietly, a mumble with a tune:

" Vetus, dominus. O angelus abyssi. Tu dominator animarum, Impia creatura. Surge de flamma, profer tenebras et exstingue omnem Dei lucem. "

And no sooner had he himself risen from his prayer, does he pick up a small knife that idly rests next to a silver bowl, gleaming disturbingly in the dim light and scorching hot within his palm. No hesitation, no qualms, no fear as he stabs himself into his side ( no wonder, no care what Hidan thinks of this. He will stay. He cannot leave. ). He grunts and then stifles the maniacal laugh that threatens to escape him before he moves on to do the same to his palm, piercing through it to then let the blood seeping through his sacrificial wounds pool into the bowl. Delirium moves his limbs as he falls again, lifting his offering to the high heavens, to the deep damnation below.

" Rise, o Lord! Rise from the abyss! Open the gates of hell and tear the earth apart! "

Silence. He is frozen in his position. It almost seems as though whatever he attempted to achieve has failed. Would never succeed. Until------.

Bubbles pop. Steam rises and crimson blood begins to turn black. And from this pool of liquid darkness something begins to emerge.

the holy man might not notice, but Hidan does.    in a way.  because something dips its cold fingers right into his skull, to pull at the strings of animal impulses. the hair at the back of his neck stands up, an electric shock runs down the whole length of his spine. yanking his muscles taut. setting his heart to racing. suddenly, unbidden, his breath, his pulse screams out like a drum.  ( the telltale signs of an engaged autonomous response, kicked into higher gear. fight or flight or freeze. what Hidan chooses is always, will always be, f- ). 

his own physical reactions ( to the stimuli brushing against his mind but hardly consciously perceivable  ) are baffling  ( bewildering, therefore overriding his better instincts and making him irate), painting a frown with a light brushstroke across his face. for a split second, his expression melts like heated wax, becomes unreadable, veiling rapidly-dissolving thoughts . . .. . …and then, as if deciding upon some nameless thing, he scoffs. breaches the distance between them with swift steps, and comes to stand impolitely close ( .. .  when has he ever given much thought to etiquette and politeness of any sort. . . .? ).

to this shockingly attractive, shockingly repulsive, man. because the physique is quite right, but whatever it shelters is the sort he’s come to despise. Hidan can smell nervousness —of one form or another— from miles away, and it always pisses him the fuck off. it always has ( has learned that at his father’s knee and at his mother’s apron as she had him kneel before an angry, yet absent, god. were he Isaac, retracing his steps down the mountain in the footsteps of his father, Abraham  ——— he would have taken the sacrificial knife to the man’s throat. how cheap is the love of a progenitor when compared to the fear of god.  no matter, no matter; what strange thoughts to be brought to the forefront of his mind by a priest. shocking (as in, evoking shock and a modicum of distress, you see, at its origin), but perhaps not at all surprising. )

Hidan’s gaze is unblinking, its weight heavy in its focused intensity ( the lot of it pinned upon this one man, as if he would love nothing better than to dissect him morsel by morsel, tearing tendon from bone and marrow yanked from its insides—). kindness is seldom genuine, the sort you read of in fairytales ( even then, had the poisoned apple been refused— )

a click of his tongue.

            “ you’re not old enough to have birthed me, you know. so your son, I’m undoubtedly not. nor a lamb. . . . either for herding or for slaughter. ” he lingers for a moment longer, then blinks, and his expression breaks into a smile ( genuine and warm ), even as two fingers tip the umbrella back towards the man, sheltering him more fully once again. between the two of them, he’s convinced that he has the better constitution, after all.

and then his gaze drifts upwards, into the blackness of the downpour. in a fluid motion, he shrugs off the leather jacket and holds it over his own head, and impromptu cover for the rain. it will hold. . ..  for a bit, at least.

            “  . . . .I’ll walk with you. what is your name...? ” is what volleys back in return to that kindness, noncommittally, proffering neither a yes nor a no ( does it sound like a good deal? something cold, akin to an ice shiv, rakes its way down his back as he recalls the words. the real cold of the night, perhaps, or the idiosyncrasy of the idea of making some sort of deal with a man of the cloth. then again, did not people try to strike deals with both the devil and god all the time…? all the time, all the time, and always on their knees. Hidan refuses, absolutely refuses —with gritted teeth and white-knuckled fists— to do either, perfectly content to drift apart from both. oh, his poor mother.  )

[cainiine-a]

@zealctry asked: he’s lazily inspecting his glass of water, tracing the rim before tapping it with an idle finger, all nonchalance and boredom (the root of all evil, as they say). “say, Jo. all of this fanfare about holy water. . . anyone tried to curse it before? bet you a twenty that I could do it.” / unprompted.

Even though she claims to be very much distracted by the book within her lap, she can feel him beginning to form ideas just by watching him out of the corners of her eyes. And as is often the case with Hidan, his ideas are never harmless and never boring, always twisting towards possibilities a stable mind would have never come up with. So when he hums her name into the space between them, all thoughtful and debating, she knows that reading is a fruitless endeavor ( and whatever he is going to say will be much more intriguing; and she is right ).

A blink, long lashes fluttering in fake innocence as she taps a finger against her lips in consideration, as though they are not twisting into an amused smile. " Judging by the company you keep, this water will be cursed just by you holding it. " Her gaze switches between him and the water. " And I a twenty that you can't. "

[cainiine-a]

Intrigue builds within him the moment he notices the other's stare not wavering, not bowing beneath his own until his laugh reminds him what he truly thinks of him ( eyeless, brainless, driven by pride and despair and ignorance alone, downwards, downwards, just like all humans; and yet this one holds his gaze ). Oh, he will drill him on that, he is cursed because now Abaddon's curiosity is peaking. " Alright, fine. " The moment Edward leans away to remove his now-tainted cigarette, he, in turn, invades his personal space, face close to his own. " What else can you do then, hm? Entertain me. Because I won't let you off the hook that easily. "

ㅤㅤIn the moment of silence, Edward mirrored the actions of the other's, watching him just as he was being watched, until the noise of ridicule cut through the thick silence. It was only then the heavy eyes dropped to the floor, only for a few moments until the unwanted hand reached for his face, the anchor of embarrassment stopping him from slapping said hand away. The cigarette that was placed between his lips was soon removed, stubbed out in the ashtray that sat on the sideboard. "I can only do so much. I cannot magic someone out of thin air, make them materialize... I can only do so much."

[cainiine-a]

He does not know what is particularly striking about the smaller man, what has caught his attention and rooted his feet into the pavement of the walkway. Desperation is his first good guess, the sensation of time slipping through his fingers and burning to nothing but dead embers making him anxious, impetuous, tension spreading through his spine. Or ( a though he certainly does not want to entertain ) hell has already settled within his mind and pulls at nerves, bones, arteries to guide him wherever it wants to and he is uncertain, stuck between being terrified at the notion that it already begins possessing him and relieved that either he or it has found a vessel it approves of. Even if it is someone like him. He tries his best to not let his gaze wander and wonder what a lord of the underworld would see in a smaller statue and a gaze that looks like it would chew him up and spit him out. But what does he care? What hell wants, hell gets if it means his own wishes are fulfilled as well. ( What he does not know, does not realize, is blinded by his own egocentric desires to see is the darkness staring at them where the light of the lamp does not reach. It has made a decision. His own judgement does not matter, it never has ).

A humorless chuckle is his first retort, eyes averted to the ground as he shrugs sheepishly, an innocent act, an act of a man caught. " You're right, it isn't. " A flash of lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, illuminating the outlines of their figures before the sky cracks open with another rumble. His patience wears thinner and thinner with every gust of wind but his expression remains the same until his motives are questioned and wrongfully interpreted. Oh lord if only he knew. If only he knew.

Dark eyebrows shoot up, confusion manifesting in a slow bloom. Money? What does money matter to him when he could ask for the world in just a few more moments? If only he knew he is actually asking for his life, his soul, his eternity instead. A laugh threatens to erupt from his throat, incredulous and nervous, but all he does is shake his head instead and tilt his umbrella forward, a humble gesture to offer him shelter, as fake as it is. " I do not need your money, my son. I just don't want you to be subjected to the elements. It is supposed to rain all night; you'll be drenched and sick by the time the sun comes out. " The rain blends into his hair, black locks curling down his face, following the pattern of the water. It almost looks as though he is melting into the black night behind him. " I only need to take care of some things and then you can have the whole building to yourself if you want to, as long as you don't break anything. Does that sound like a good deal? " Please. God, if only he knew.

well. this. fucking. sucks.

by now, the words have become somewhat of a mantra smashing itself against Hidan’s skull for the nth time, as the chilly crispness of the weather sinks its teeth deeper into his flesh. he’s usually favorable to, even inclined to, a good thunderstorm ( the violent sort that screeches out all of its animosity towards the whole world, even as it tears open the skies to chew up the heavens —— loud enough, violent enough, to give you permission to do the same ). but not when it’s at his own expense.

still, he’s lucky to have found shelter before being soaked through. the world’s a mess to the senses. the loud drumming of water hitting the pavement, the heavy curtain of rain shielding almost everything from view. it could be fucking eerie if you allowed it to be. but Hidan was never inclined to that sort of drama. it was just. . . . so fucking inconvenient, you know?

he’s in the midst of contemplating crouching down to sorta rest when his thoughts are interrupted.

by instinct, he glares, defiantly. ( he was doing just fine with his own thoughts, thanks, and he is in no mood to entertain. escaping having to entertain —to pretend, to play out a part in a masquerade not of his own making— was the main reason why he is where he is at present. he didn’t run away from one bullshit situation only to stumble into the arms of another. fuck that. and fuck whoever— )

actions catch up to his thoughts, as he sweeps his gaze over the man beneath the umbrella —— takes in the whole length of him in in a manner that, while not detached per se ( Hidan could never do detached even if he were to give it his best efforts, which he never even attempted in his life — not once! ) , lacks any strong passion ( of one variety or another, ). he merely observes. the handsome features, the superficial warmth dipped in the coolness of actual indifference, typical garb and cross hanging, strikingly pure, against a black canvas.

oh.

( yeah, oh, but also: . .. uh, the fuck? does he look like some sort of charity case, now!? ) 

something inside of him has him clenching his teeth, tension morphing into a pang of pain in his jaw. but he’s not disrespectful enough to spit upon another’s sacredness just because. ( as unbidden as the thought comes, so does his mother's catholic worship, digging its nails into his very narrow, cracking his spine, vertebrae after vertebrae after vertebrae. he wants to scream. instead, he is polite enough to veil his disdain behind socially-acceptable behaviour.  holy is holy? who says, and by what right? the weight of too many whispered prayers, woven together to birth it forth? )

he’s not enough of a hypocrite to smile. instead, he watches, gaze in a straight line. unwavering and bold.

                    “ not the best time to be wandering the streets. . . Father. ”   his tongue clicks in the aftermath of his own retort, like a gunshot. as if he could k.o. that term by will alone, disgusted by the training that bid it forth in the first place. like Pavlov’s fucking dog, childhood rears its ugly head and clings to his heels ( force-fed happiness and laughter, and the distilled, unmistakable idea: it’s not about what you want ).    “ what’s it to you? ”    Hidan knows people. it comes naturally, and he’s watched them long enough ( been reminded long enough of the many ways in which he fell far off from the mould, had his face shoved into every. single. broken facet of his differences ) to discern their intent. genuine charity and selflessness are hard to find, far in between. fables and figments of dreams, wishful thinking built upon foundations of sand due to the very weakness of human nature. ( see, for example: communism is a fabulous fucking idea. in principle. in practice, oh, how short it falls from its ideals. human. fucking. nature. )  people always want something from you, the footnote to every hand extended your way.     “ . . . …I ain’t got cash. ”  

it’s no excuse, and thus he never once apologizes for it.  charity is well and good in his books, really. greed had never been his pivotal sin, not even as a child ( tiny creatures with half-developed brains, whose understanding of the world revolves solely around their own needs ). but his pockets are quite empty. they often are. ( Hidan flips off his family’s expectations and their money, in equal measure. in that, at least, he’s quite consistent. )  “ you’re knocking at the wrong door. but. . .. good luck with that? ”

( it could have been a socially acceptable means to tell him to fuck off. but it isn’t. his words aren’t dripping with sarcasm. he genuinely means it. it’s fucking miserable weather to wander about in—— only desperate need would drive anyone to set foot into it. )

[cainiine-a]

Cillian Murphy | The Edge of Love 2008 | John Maybury

[cainiine-a]

@zealctry

The rain taps gently against the colored windows of this holy abode ( a rhythmic mantra, a prayer, a funeral song; he hasn't quite decided what it sounds like the most and, maybe, it isn't for him to decide yet ), trying to at least wash the mosaic off of the sin festering within its walls when it cannot reach the one inside oblivious to it all. Or perhaps these are god's tears, lamenting the subsequent fall of another one of its priests, heaven's last attempt to clean him off of his intentions as though he still cares about anything sacred, anything divine. Because what do these saints matter to him now when hell has offered itself oh so temptingly to him? With promises of riches and power in a tongue too sweet to decipher the consequences laid beneath, and the lord of all these gifts able to fulfill his every desire? He will offer him entrance upon this damned earth and, in return, will make him his own Mephistopheles.

Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance of a tar-black sky. The painted glass stones of Jesus nailed to the cross shine brightly onto the dimly lit walls of the church but the Father is too lost in his own fantasies to lift his gaze from the ground, too hypnotized by what lingers beneath. If only he did, maybe he would have questioned the way the blood dripping from the saint's hands looked oddly black.

The smoke of the incense burning out is still sickeningly intense. But on a night like this, he supposes, nothing feels ordinary, normal. The rows of pews feel vast, as though they multiplied to fit all of hell within them and in the growing darkness, he almost feels as though someone is already sitting there ( a shape, seated in the last row, its figure a blur ). A trick of his nerves, certainly, and yet a bead of sweat is still running down his temple the moment he extinguishes another candle with distracted, callous fingertips. A breath, a shudder. He closes his eyes, shaking his head, and pretends he did not see.

Because soon it won't matter. Soon he will summon the one of the bottomless pit. Soon It will gain a body and won't It reward him greatly for it? It will. Certainly, It will. It must. His index fingers hovers over Its sigil, trembling, and without closing the book he sets out into the night to find it a suiting vessel.

It has to be good. It has to be. The father walks around the alleys, walking around the homeless nestled into nooks and crannies with gentle steps but the way he clings onto his umbrella and stares at them with furious, blazing eyes betray him. He needs a vessel. They are not good.

But one is. He finds him at a bus stop, a little punk of a man pressed into its farthest corner and he briefly wonders if he is naive enough to believe that the bus will still come. Or that this is his shelter for the night. He smiles, expression warm but empty, his cassock fluttering in the growing wind. Something within the deepest abyss of his mind chuckles; this one.

" Not the best time to be out, my son. Are you in need of shelter? "

[cainiine-a]

" Once upon a time heaven was a towered tower Tethered in its pride, Castor's grace is sour, Thought the ink was dried but hellish gardens flowered Ivy to be climbed, spread my filth, my wings, my weeds. " independent interpretation of the seven lords of hell. 21+. written my sashka.

tw: religious themes. violence. body horror.

about. rules. memes. other rp blog. pinterest.

[cainiine-a]

Morality Challenge. Bold all the things your muse has done (will / would do is in italics, bolded italics means they’ve done it before and will probably do it again)

murder / manslaughter / assault / robbery / breaking & entering / theft / embezzlement / money-laundering / kidnapping / torture / blackmail / arson / trespassing / treason / libel or slander / obstruction of justice / lying to law enforcement / creation of a weapon / espionage / riot / escape from lawful custody / contempt of court / public intoxication / conspiracy / accessory to a crime / harboring a fugitive / bribery / perjury under oath / resisting arrest / identity theft / corporate fraud / tax fraud / document forgery / destruction of evidence / assassination / counterfeiting / sale of a controlled substance / purchase of a controlled substance / failure to pay child support / hacking crimes / threat / pick-pocketing / shoplifting

murder / manslaughter / assault / robbery / breaking & entering / theft / embezzlement / money-laundering / kidnapping / torture / blackmail / arson / trespassing / treason / libel or slander / obstruction of justice / lying to law enforcement / creation of a weapon / espionage / riot / escape from lawful custody / contempt of court / public intoxication / conspiracy / accessory to a crime / harboring a fugitive / bribery / perjury under oath / resisting arrest / identity theft / corporate fraud / tax fraud / document forgery / destruction of evidence / assassination / counterfeiting / sale of a controlled substance / purchase of a controlled substance / failure to pay child support / hacking crimes / threat / pick-pocketing / shoplifting

Tagged by: @viracmia​, thank you~ Tagging: @id1eyouth​, @zealctry​, @feveredbcnes​ and you!!

[cainiine-a]

+

[cainiine-a]

*tries to bite you in a cute flirty way but accidentally rips your throat out with my teeth*

[cainiine-a]

oh so hypothetically speaking, not at all ominous or any sort of foreshadowing or anything. . . . . what would happen to one twin if someone oh so hypothetically happened to murder the other one? :))

unprompted.

(( Not so hypothetically, one would not survive without the other. It took two human bodies in order to contain the essence of a hellhound, so killing one would mean that the half that is in e.g. Johnny would return to Joanna, making her lose her mind and self in a frenzy. She would lose all control over herself and break beneath the power, both mentally and physically. So you might want to reconsider that, Hidan. Squints. But also: Abaddon might not particularly care about their safety, but if he senses real danger for either or both twins? He will not hesitate to absolutely smite whatever is posing a threat. You want to know what would happen? Come here, let him show you. He is not losing his hellhound again. ))

[cainiine-a]

** this is for lgbtqia+ muses if your muse is cishet this isn’t the dash game for you it was created by a queer mun for queer muses

bold: always, italic: situational, strikethrough: never

♡ GENDER IDENTITY: cisgender / intersex / gender-nonconforming / transmasc / transfemme / transman / transwoman / nonbinary / gender-fluid / genderqueer / agender / demi-girl / demi-boy / bigender / pangender / omnigender / two-spirit

♡ SEXUALITY: queer / gay / lesbian / bisexual / pansexual / omnisexual / asexual / androsexual / demisexual / fluid / non-labelled / graysexual/ gynesexual / homosexual / monosexual / polysexual

♡ DATING PREFERENCES: monogamous / ethically nonmonogamous / monogamish / relationship anarchy / open relationships / polyamorous / doesn't date / dates casually

♡ ATTACHMENT STYLE: secure / anxious preoccupied / dismissive avoidant / fearful-avoidant

♡ SEXUAL INCLINATIONS: sex favourable / sex adverse / sex indifferent / hypersexual / sex-repulsed / bottom / top / versatile / vers bottom / vers top / service top / power bottom / stone top / pillow princess / submissive / dominant / switch / brat / baby girl/boy / soft dom / pleasure dom / caregiver

♡ LOVE LANGUAGES: words of affirmation / quality time / acts of service / receiving gifts / physical touch / activity / appreciation / emotional / financial / intellectual / practical

♡ PHYSICAL ACTS OF INTIMACY: holding hands / kissing / cuddling / massages / bathing together / washing partner's hair / skin on skin contact / forehead kisses / playing under the table (e.g. hand on thigh, footsy etc) / playing with partner's hair / playful tickling / seeking them out in bed to hold / eye contact / reading to your partner / being read to / napping together / couch cuddles while doing separate activities (head in lap etc)

♡ KINKS & TURN ONS: dirty talk / quiet in bed / loud in bed / having hands pinned / pinning partners hands / having hair pulled / pulling partners hair / being watched / watching their partner / voyeurism / receiving oral sex / giving oral sex / receiving penetration / giving penetration / praise kink / biting / marking up your partner / being marked up / impact play / edge play / teasing / being teased / using toys on partner / having toys used on them / choking / being choked / being restrained / restraining their partner / shibari / breeding kink / worshiping their partner / being worshiped / humiliating / being humiliated / degrading / being degraded / pegging / being pegged / frotting / face sitting / dom/sub dynamics / DDLG dynamics / aftercare / anal / bdsm / light bondage / outdoor sex / sensory deprivation / roleplay / rough sex / threesomes / wax play / sensory play (eg. pinwheels etc) / knife play / blood play / caging / cbt / sounding / collars / exhibitionism / rimming / pet play / dressing up for partner / partner dressing up for them / daddy kink / mommy kink / master/slave dynamics

[cainiine-a]

Les deux têtes (1898) - Auguste Leroux for Victor Hugo’s “La confiance du marquis Fabrice”