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blueheartbookclub · 8 months

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"Whimsical Wonders: Navigating the Uncharted Realms of Imagination in H. G. Wells' 'Thirty Strange Stories'"

H. G. Wells, renowned for his pioneering works in science fiction, extends an invitation to the peculiar corners of his creative mind with "Thirty Strange Stories." This collection, published in [year], is a compendium of tales that transcends the conventional boundaries of storytelling. The title alone suggests a literary odyssey into the extraordinary, and Wells does not disappoint, offering readers a kaleidoscopic array of narratives that blur the lines between the plausible and the fantastical.

The stories within this collection showcase Wells' remarkable ability to traverse genres and themes. From the whimsically speculative to the hauntingly macabre, each tale is a testament to Wells' mastery of the short story form. The title acts as a portal, beckoning readers into a realm where the ordinary becomes extraordinary, and the mundane is transformed into the extraordinary. As the pages turn, readers are transported from the familiar to the uncharted territories of Wells' vivid imagination.

One of the distinguishing features of "Thirty Strange Stories" is Wells' uncanny knack for blending scientific speculation with elements of the supernatural. In tales such as [specific story], he weaves together speculative concepts with a keen understanding of human nature, creating narratives that are both intellectually stimulating and emotionally resonant. The title serves as a teaser, enticing readers with the promise of the strange and the unexplored.

Wells' narrative finesse is particularly evident in his characterizations. Whether introducing eccentric inventors, time travelers, or ordinary individuals thrust into extraordinary circumstances, Wells crafts characters that linger in the reader's imagination. The title "Thirty Strange Stories" acts as a tantalizing preview, hinting at the diverse cast of characters that populate this literary menagerie.

Furthermore, the thematic breadth of the collection is striking. Wells tackles societal issues, philosophical quandaries, and the profound mysteries of existence within the framework of speculative fiction. The title encapsulates the overarching theme of the uncanny, suggesting a journey through narratives that challenge the boundaries of reality and the limitations of human understanding.

As readers delve into the pages of "Thirty Strange Stories," they encounter a tapestry of ideas that reflect Wells' fascination with the unknown. The title becomes a guide through this labyrinth of narratives, promising unexpected twists, intellectual delights, and moments of sheer astonishment. From the first story to the thirtieth, Wells maintains a grip on the reader's attention, orchestrating a symphony of strangeness that resonates long after the final page is turned.

In conclusion, "Thirty Strange Stories" by H. G. Wells is a testament to the author's unparalleled imagination and narrative prowess. The title serves as a thematic overture, encapsulating the essence of a collection that transcends the boundaries of conventional storytelling. Wells' ability to seamlessly blend the ordinary with the extraordinary, the scientific with the supernatural, makes this anthology a captivating journey into the uncharted realms of the human imagination. As readers embark on this literary odyssey, the title becomes a whispered promise of strange wonders waiting to be discovered within the pages of Wells' extraordinary tales.

"Thirty Strange Stories." by H. G. Wells is available in Amazon in paperback 14.99$ and hardcover 22.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 407

Language: English

Rating: 9/10

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

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blueheartbooks · 8 months

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"Whimsical Wonders: Navigating the Uncharted Realms of Imagination in H. G. Wells' 'Thirty Strange Stories'"

"Thirty Strange Stories." by H. G. Wells is available in Amazon in paperback 14.99$ and hardcover 22.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 407

Language: English

Rating: 9/10

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

0 notes

brujamala-aka-gigi · 2 months

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what's keeping you away from genuine ways of expressing yourself?

this is a pick a pile tarot reading inspired by the new moon in leo, but is not specific to this particular moment in time. in astrology, the moon represents the unconscious mind, your emotions and in which ways your intuition works, while the zodiac sign leo is more oriented towards the ego, creativity and social relations. all of those things that tend to characterize this sign, usually means that some level of efficient and assertive communication is valuable for keeping away drama and misunderstandings, therefore, i thought about making this general reading to see what advice the cards have for something quite difficult for almost everyone: remaining true to our essence and being able to communicate that in a way that is genuine to us, our identity, our desires and our feelings, no matter who is listening.

pile 1 pile 2 pile 3

images from pinterest and dividers by @fairytopea

꒰ঌ ✦ scroll down for the results ໒꒱ ༘*.ﾟ

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁ Masterpost and Tarot Menu ❁༺ ˎˊ-

˚ ༘ ೀpile number one ⋆｡˚

Your card for this reading is the King of Swords. What this tells me is that you value intellectual honesty, and you’re willing to go against your own emotions if that means that you’ll find the truth and that you are very likely to be perceived as someone who doesn’t have a filter or is too honest. It’s key that you understand that even if you don’t allow yourself to be guided by emotional attachments, other people do. Being highly logical or highly sensitive are both valuable, and both ways of thinking and acting have their pros and cons. But this card wouldn’t pop up if the logical ways of approaching things wasn’t causing some issues. Although holding yourself to a high standard of rationality when it comes to manifestations of the unconscious or the way you naturally relate to others can be beneficial, I feel as if that is also causing you to react coldly to your own emotions, instead of embracing them. You need to let go of the idea that things must be coherent and make sense all time, we are humans, and many of what makes us human doesn’t make too much sense or doesn’t work according to logic. Seeking order, patterns and structure in places where there’s not a big need for those, is not going to give you the truths that serve your personal development. It’s key that you take some time to embrace what seems absurd about yourself, without looking for logic, but looking for experiences that will guide you to the answers you need.

˚ ༘ ೀpile number two ⋆｡˚

The card for you on this reading is the Six of Wands. What I see here, is a lot of well deserved feelings of pride that you are protecting at all costs. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being proud, and I don’t even think this is the actual issue here. What’s blocking your most honest expressions is the fact that you are not allowing yourself the possibility of making a mistake, as you might feel this could take away from all the achievements you’ve had before. It’s key to know, when to be vulnerable, when to take a risk and where you are safe to try things out for the first time, but you are still not comfortable enough to embrace things about yourself that make you insecure, which is completely valid and understandable. In your case, I think that is okay if you want to preserve a sense of control over how others perceive you, yet it wouldn’t be healthy to allow others to expect things from you that are far too demanding to keep up with sometimes. It is necessary that you start setting honest boundaries with others and with yourself, in order to preserve a healthy sense of worth. Your value as a person is not defined by your achievements, or your failures, it is defined by how and why you do what you do no matter the result. When your intentions are honest and you are trying to better yourself or help others, it doesn’t matter what the final outcome is.

˚ ༘ ೀpile number three ⋆｡˚

Your card is the Chariot. The meaning of this card has to do with life experiences, movement and some level of chaos that is necessary in order to grow. I see that you are capable to maintain a certain level of peace of mind even when things around you are hectic, and this is something that might attract some people who are either amazed or envious of this. In your case, I think that being all over the place (socially, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally) means that you are not quite sure yet on where you stand in relation to certain aspects of your life. This might seem like a problem, because some people are more settled on their beliefs or have more stable lives than you, but in reality, the fact that you are willing to try everything you can before committing is actually something that makes your life something richer. It’s completely normal to feel uncertain, confused and lost, but this shouldn’t keep you away from giving yourself the credit you deserve for the way you have chosen to experience life. Take some pride on what makes you different, and take pride on the process of self exploration you are, even if you are far away from finding a solid philosophy or stability in your life, embrace the fact you are capable of experiencing things without many attachments.

-ˋˏ ༻ ❁ Masterpost and Tarot Menu ❁༺ ˎˊ-

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ckret2 · 1 year

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✨⚠️ Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone ⚠️✨

If you're new here, this is one of those "human Bill in the Mystery Shack" redemption fics, you know the drill: Bill illegally escapes death via reincarnation; the Shack crew imprisons him til they can figure out how to kill him; but they won't, because Bill's gonna make friends with them and literally everybody else in town. Whether they like it or not.

Featuring!! The slowest redemption arc you've ever read; "human" Bill that doesn't decide being trapped in an alien body is fine; show-style episodic plot structure; individual plot arcs for characters you've never even cared about; so canon compatible we even include the dang coloring book; and so TBOB-compatible over a year before TBOB came out that I'm considering taking up a position as the Oracle of Delphi just so Apollo stops barraging me with dodgeballs.

New chapter every Friday, 5pm CST! Yes, that includes this Friday!

For art, doodles, upcoming scene excerpts, and posts about characterization & plot plans, see my #bill goldilocks cipher tag. For the fic itself, the first few chapters are on AO3, but tumblr's 60 chapters ahead:

⛓️ 1 Part 1. Bill returns, in a bedsheet toga.

⛓️ 1 Part 2. Bill tries to murder the Stans & Soos (with time travel).

⛓️ 2. Dipper and Mabel save the day (with time travel).

⛓️ 3. A tense evening as the Pines prepare to get rid of Bill.

⛓️ 4. Plot twist: the Pines physically can't get rid of Bill.

⛓️ 5. The gang goes to a diner at 3 a.m. for hostage negotiations.

⛓️ 6. Bill escapes from Theraprism. [NEW!!!]

⛓️ 7. "How'd Bill get here" flashback; plus, entering his new prison.

💇‍♀️ 8. Bill gives himself a haircut and depression.

💇‍♀️ 9. Bill & Ford grudgingly have a sincere conversation; regret it.

📓🔺📓 TBOB BOUNDARY: Everything above this line has been edited for 100% compatibility with The Book Of Bill and posted to AO3! Everything after this line has not been edited... so it's only 98% TBOB compatible. 📓🔺📓

💇‍♀️ 10. The kids decide Bill won't ruin their summer. Also: Pacifica!

🧚 11. Mabel gives Bill the most beautiful makeover ever. (It's not.)

🧚 12. Pacifica advertises Harry's Hairy Fairy Formula. Bill wants it.

🧚 13. Pacifica refuses to share; the twins discover its side effects.

🧚 14. Mabel wins Bill's eternal friendship with arts & crafts.

💭 15. Bill, Ford, and Dipper have nightmares that are Bill's fault.

💎 16. Ford has a fun day with Mabel but everything goes wrong.

💎 17. The day goes right again thanks to healthy communication.

🎥 18. Mabel's Guide To Local Animals, co-starring Bill Cipher.

🧊 19. Wendy snoops into the weird things happening in the shack.

🧊 20. Wendy meets the weird thing (it's Bill).

🎂 21. Stan & Ford's birthday party! Bill gives evil gifts.

💭 22. Bill "helps" Dipper's nightmares; no one knows his motive.

👁️ 23. Bill's ex is back in town and nobody's happy about it.

👁️ 24. Everyone's even less happy to learn Bill has a sex life.

🧿 25. Mabel and Bill make friendship bracelets! :)

🧿 26. The Pines take Bill to the mall. He wears terrible things.

🧿 27. Bill breaks Mabel's heart (and panics to fix it).

🏳️‍🌈 28. Bill talks his way into going with Wendy to Rainbow Club.

🎃 29. Bill contacts the Henchmaniacs on Summerween morning.

🎃 30. Costume making. Mabel pries into Bill's past, with crayons.

🎃 31. The Trickster's pals trick-or-treat; and Bill terrifies Dipper.

🪮 32. Dipper & Mabel make a poppet to control Bill.

🦷 33. Stan takes Bill to the dentist. In handcuffs.

🦷 34. Dentist & tooth fairy attack. Stan & Bill are still handcuffed.

🦷 35. Bill & Stan reach a painful understanding and stop the fairy.

🛁 36. Anime night; and Mabel makes Bill do community service.

🛁 37. Bill plots escape and runs into Wendy. Dipper panics.

🛁 38. Bill has the worst and stupidest day of his afterlife.

🌅 39. A cultist finds Bill; Bill tries to re-recruit Ford.

🚙 40. Gideon broadcasts car commercials; invokes Bill's wrath.

🚙 41. Bill apologizes for bullying Gideon. lol no he blackmails him.

🌕 42. Bill tells Dipper secrets of the universe; predicts an eclipse.

🌖 43. Gravity is disappearing; Ford and Fiddleford investigate.

🌗 44. Ford & Dipper drag Bill hiking; Bill faces his death.

🌘 45. Ford demands answers Bill can't give as totality looms.

🌑 46. Totality. Bill decides whether Ford lives or dies.

🌒 47. Bill feels rotten but finally explains the eclipse.

🌓 48. Bill has a complete mental breakdown.

🌔 49. The gang limps home. (Plus: a second dimensional eclipse.)

💿 50. Bill finally processes that mental breakdown.

💿 51. Dipper and Mabel try to remember the Axolotl's poem.

📖 52. The gang reads Flatworld. Bill isn't thrilled.

📖 53. Mabel tries to get Bill to talk about his home world.

⚛️ 54. Dipper, Ford, and Fiddleford do paradox physics.

📖 55. Mabel learns college-level geometry.

📖 56. Mabel & Bill have fun; Dipper & Ford prepare for murder.

💀 57. The execution of Bill Cipher.

💀 58. Everything you wondered about how Bill escaped.

💀 59. Everything you didn't wonder about how Bill escaped.

💀 60. Everything you never imagined about how Bill escaped.

📙 62. Soos vacuums the attic (wow exciting)

📙 63. Soos decides how he feels about Bill's treatment.

📙 64. Fixin it with Soos: home redecorating!

⛓️ 6. If you read ch 6 before TBOB, go read it again because I wrote a new ch 6!

🎥 65. The gang makes plans for the night.

🎥 66. Dipper's Guide to the Fremont Nightwigglers

🎥 67. Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers

🎥 68. The aftermath of everybody pulling all-nighters.

🏖️ 69. Beach episode! The Pines fish! Bill tans!

COMING SOON:

🏖️ 70. Bigfoot, Agent Powers, and the cool teen gang.

I SWEAR TO GOD THIS BETTER BE COMING NEXT:

🪐 61. The Axolotl Finds The Second Dimension's Corpse.

This post was last updated September 22, 2024! If you're seeing this post as a reblog and it's been a while since then, check back on the original post to see if more's been added!

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #about my writing #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #reference

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tobiasdrake · 5 months

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FUN FACT: Did you know that Vegeta wasn't blowing smoke on Namek when he claimed to have become a Super Saiyan?

Well. Not entirely, anyway.

And also the process of becoming a Super Saiyan is kind of complicated, and Goku is an enlightened martial arts master.

The process of becoming a Super Saiyan is complicated. The English dub got a bit confused on this point while they were frantically erasing as much spirituality and also martial arts and general power levels talk as they could from the series.

The dub was bad. I don't think that's a surprise to anyone. It was a 90's anime dub. It scrubbed the source material of a lot of stuff.

But specifically here, the dub confused matters when it said that to become a Super Saiyan, you have to be pure of heart. This confused matters, because being purehearted is a thing in Dragon Ball. You have to be purehearted to ride the Nimbus.

This concept of pureheartedness exists in Dragon Ball. But it has nothing to do with the Super Saiyan.

This isn't the same as that. To become a Super Saiyan, you need something else. Notably, the Viz manga also translates this idea as "pure of heart"....

But the idea being translated here is more along the lines of tranquility than innocent goodness.

Becoming a Super Saiyan is a bit of a process. To understand the Super Saiyan, we need to talk about limit-breaking. This is a concept that's expressed repeatedly throughout Dragon Ball. In order to become Dragon Ball Powerful, you have to break your limits. You hit a ceiling and that's as far as you can go, until you find some new way to push through and break that ceiling. The series is big on this idea.

As an example, Mr. Satan is an incredibly formidable martial artist. He is peak. Top-tier fighter. ...within human limits. But he doesn't hold a candle to Krillin because Krillin broke the human limit in childhood.

Mr. Satan is basically Panput from the 22nd Tenkaichi Budokai.

Saiyans are in a different league from humans, and they have different set limits. Different norms, different standards, and different potentials. But, like humans, there's a ceiling. The first step to becoming a Super Saiyan is breaking the Saiyan limit.

Goku, as a low-class Saiyan trained on Earth in martial arts, was able to break through the Saiyan limit during his gravity training in space. This wasn't the goal of his training, mind; Goku had a particular goal in mind. He was subjecting himself to intense gravity so that he could acclimate his body to withstanding higher levels of Kaioken.

Not even realizing that was what he was doing, Goku was the first to shatter his Saiyan boundary and take the first step to becoming a Super Saiyan.

That Goku has transcended Saiyan abilities isn't lost on either Vegeta or Captain Ginyu, both of whom peg him as a Super Saiyan... before walking it back because Goku lacks the overwhelming bloodthirst and battle hunger that characterizes the legend.

Poor Goku has no idea what any of these people are on about. He might as well be listening to Game of Thrones fans infodump about the Lannisters.

But he wasn't alone. During his fight with Jeice following his third Zenkai of the arc, Vegeta finds himself trashing Jeice. Vegeta's as surprised as Jeice is, to be honest. Even with a Zenkai, he should not be doing this well.

Vegeta's last Zenkai wasn't just a Zenkai. It pushed him through the Saiyan limit.

You see, something happens to a Saiyan as they cross that boundary. Their ki begins to swell astronomically in preparation for becoming a Super Saiyan. Both Goku and Vegeta at this point have entered a sort of proto-Super Saiyan state. Their powers are passively being inflated.

Goku, too, eventually realizes that his power is growing at an astronomical rate that cannot be explained by his training or his Zenkai boosts or any phenomenon he's aware of. He's just. Swelling with power for reasons he can't fathom.

Neither of them are Super Saiyans yet. They still need the right spark to ignite it - and, despite knowing more about the Super Saiyan legend than Goku, Vegeta has no idea what that spark is. But they're both inflating like balloons in preparation for ignition.

Vegeta brings up the proto-Super Saiyan again in his first showdown with Frieza.

He recognizes that he is not yet the Super Saiyan. But he is a proto-Super Saiyan. He still feels it, still feels his power inflating within himself. He just. Needs. That. Spark.

But he won't find it. He said it himself: He doesn't think Goku and his "soft heart" can become the Super Saiyan. The Super Saiyan is supposed to be filled with rage and battle hunger.

But breaking the Saiyan limit isn't enough. You need the spark: A tranquil heart awakened by rage.

There are two pieces to that. The first is a tranquil heart. What does that mean? It means tranquility. Stillness. Peace. Becoming one with yourself and the cosmic universe.

During his training in space, with nothing to concern himself with and no distractions, Goku found tranquility. Alone in the void of space with only his beloved art, he achieved a measure of serenity and peace that he's never known before.

When Goku steps off that ship, he's different. He's entirely focused on the task at hand. He doesn't even want to fight the Ginyus, which is a stark departure for his character. He has no interest in the joy of battle; Only in doing what he came for and going home.

Goku asks the Ginyu Force multiple times to just go away. He does not care about this. He is thoroughly disinterested in fighting.

He's not even mad. They beat up his son and his best friend, and Goku does not care. Also, he can read minds now. Because he is the Heavenly Buddha, I guess.

This is a super weird moment, but its main purpose is to demonstrate that Goku has become... something else. He's not just "Goku but stronger"; he's changed on a fundamental level.

Goku is no longer a rash, impulsive student. He has become a master of his art. Do you see that kanji on his back? Kaio presented Goku with this new dogi after he got out of the hospital... uh... somehow.

You. Uh. You gonna elaborate on where the fuck that came from, Goku? No? Okay, man. You do you.

In any case, Goku's new dogi is distinctive because it erases the sigils of both the Kame school and Kaio. Originally, he would wear the Kame sigils on both front and back to reflect his status as a student of Kame-senryu.

Even if he did only technically study Kame-senryu for less than a year. It's fine; the Muten-Roshi filled him with a lot of philosophy that's guided him over the years so it still counts.

After he trained under Kaio, the sigil on his back was replaced with Kaio's sigil, to reflect that he is Kaio's student now as much as he is the Muten-Roshi's. Though he left the Kame-senryu sigil on Goku's front, because he is a student of both.

But from the moment Goku steps off that ship, both Kaio and the Kame sigils have been replaced by this new one.

This new sigil serves two purposes. First is that it's the first kanji of Goku's name. Both of his masters are now gone from Goku's expression, replaced by Goku himself; This symbolizes that Goku has, himself, become the master. His art is now fully his own.

Goku is at the peak of his journey. There is nothing more for him to learn. It falls to him now to cultivate, develop, and evolve his art for himself, using the knowledge and mastery he's acquired. And, as we'll see in the next arc, to ultimately pass it on to the next generation to come.

But, bringing this back to the tranquil heart thing: The kanji for 'Go' also represents enlightenment. Goku has found peace with himself and his place in the cosmic universe. That is why he, and not Vegeta, is ready to have his spark ignited.

He's broken the Saiyan limit. He has a tranquil heart. All he needs now is to snap, and have his tranquil heart awakened by rage.

But Vegeta still has a ways to go. Because his heart is far from tranquil.

The best he can come up with is "I Zenkai'd into this, I can Zenkai out of it!" Vegeta is very fettered, especially in conflict with Frieza. He is not one with the cosmic universe. He is a nervous wreck of emotions and wants and distractions. He was so close, but he could never have ignited here. Not under these circumstances.

No, Vegeta would only find his tranquility after becoming stranded on Earth. (No, anime, Vegeta did not have a spare spaceship on hand to leave immediately.)

Three years, living at Capsule Corp until he moved out and got his own place. Free from the yoke of Frieza and able to pursue nothing more than his own self-improvement. Driven by a desire to surpass Goku but in a low-stress environment...

...and apparently hanging out with Bulma in his downtime.

That's where Vegeta found his tranquility. And the spark of rage that ignited his tranquil heart? His own inadequacies, of course.

Never change, Vegeta. XD

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #son goku #vegeta #super saiyans

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blackcathjp · 4 months

Note

any smut fic recs? 👀

OOOH YES!! my main consumption is literally 90% pwps and/or contains smut, and about 95% are dmhp fics 🫣 i do enjoy plot-heavy fics, but i like when there is spice!

i made this drarry praise kink fic rec list before, check that out! here are some other ones:

***

all hues in his controlling by wolfpants (1k)

harry de-ages himself for kinky birthday sex with draco. morally grey and hot indulgence of age difference and virginity kink.

the best treasure is up harry's arse by bafflinghaze (2k)

bratty harry feat. draco's dirty mouth and obsession with his arse. ticks off all the kinks i want in a fic 🥴

smart brevity by lucifergraced (3k)

draco malfoy is an arse man. he likes what he sees, he will take what he wants. uniform kink and fingers in mouth. that's it.

arms and elbows by iota_after_dark (3k)

harry is desperate to please draco, which means trying something new - fisting. draco is so bossy and hot here. also they're weirdo roommates w/ zero boundaries lol.

dirty fucking dangles by p1013 (5k)

hockey players who get the hots for e/o's impressive athleticism. is it normal to have a crush on someone who will literally crush and bruise you on the ice? not unless you like impact play!

all i have to do by fluxweed (9k)

draco expects a hyper-realistic sexual fantasy and unknowingly ends up w/ the real deal. harry leaves hermione hanging for an hour to indulge in this sudden dreams-come-true sexcapade. oops.

just a trial run by tenthousandyears (9k)

d/s fic that blew my mind. plays with alcohol kink, praise kink, "sex worker" kink, consensual dub-con, and more. discovering what they like and realizing they love e/o by doing lots of debauchery!

the complete idiot's guide to losing your entire mind by oknowkiss (10k)

utterly depraved. no nut november concept where draco greedily controls harry's orgasms and harry is super sex-dumb. i love the pipeline of fwb to "i love you, didn't you know we've been dating?"

two weeks by shiftylinguini (21k)

overprotective possessive veela harry, who is emotionally sick until he "meaningfully connects" w/ his important person... aka, draco! the sexual tension and pining is portrayed so well, and creatively manifests in harry's new veela body. i love this wry humor, no-nonsense draco so much.

lusimeles by orphan_account (23k)

devastatingly tender. harry is self-destructive in dealing w/ his trauma, but Mr. Draco Malfoy wrecks his plans. draco just knows what needy harry wants and needs, which is to be taken care of, loved, and kept. i love this line from harry: "how nice it was to be understood without words." 🥹

only for october by dodgerkedavra (53k, wip)

lovely fic disguised as an unassuming "fwb have a kinky month of sex" story. drarry deal with inner demons by taking care of e/o through sex to ground themselves in reality. they fall in love in the process AND there's an intriguing mystery plot. it's so good.

whisky-tango-foxtrot by vukovich (58k)

transformed my life. i've read this like 5 times? unrelentingly absurd and over-the-top funny with refreshing characterization and humor. drarry's animagus traits seep into their human behaviors, leading to adrenaline junkie, horny trashy slut harry x inexperienced, dramatic, mate-for-life draco. this fic isn't for everyone, but it's a hot wild ride.

#found fics that actually have plots #idr how i found w-t-f (just realized it makes this abbreviation WHICH IS SO?? IT REALLY IS LIKE A WHIRLWIND OF WTF??)#but i am so glad i found it #i tend to reread the same smut fics too lol they're faves for a reason!#drarry #drarry smut #drarry fics #asks

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writing-relatedactivities · 10 months

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A Very Ask A Manager Thanksgiving

So I love advice blogs (I maintain that comment sections on advice blogs are the best free tool for writers to explore different viewpoints, which really enriches your characterization), and for a few years now, I have had this idea that I want to do a do an Ask A Manager themed dinner, purely to delight myself. Meant to do it as a cookout this summer, but timing never worked out, so I broached the idea of doing it for Thanksgiving. My partner, who is also a nerd and therefore very supportive of my advice blog love even though it is not one of their interests, was down, with their only condition being that I should still make my cider bread with maple butter.

The menu:

Appetizers

Chips with:

Guacamole in honor of Guacamole Bob, of "ordering extra guacamole is wasteful of member dues” fame. (This being on the menu may also have been a factor in Partner being willing to have our holiday take on an Ask A Manager theme, as I once took a community education course on grilling that taught me nothing about its ostensible subject matter but did teach me to make a bomb-ass guacamole. The secret is that your first step should be to pulverize an entire head of garlic into a paste in your mocajete.)

Three store bought salsas, where the trick is to "fold" the salsa to get the best flavor

A bottle of hot sauce so we can get fired after a coworker steals our spicy food

Main Course

"Duck club" sandwiches in honor of the secret office sex club where you get points for sex in different locations, and quacking is involved. (These were very decadent and if anyone's interested in a great duck recipe, I used the Duck with Lemon recipe from A Feast of Ice and Fire.)

Sides

Cheap-ass rolls that I definitely deliberately brought to upstage you, yes you, the person who signed up to bring Hawaiian rolls! It's definitely not an overreaction on your part to declare that "they can all take Santa and stick it up their ass!" You're definitely not getting fired for being wildly hostile! (These are actually homemade rolls, but I weighed "buy actually cheap rolls and be done" or "spend a couple hours adapting a corgi butt roll recipe to a human butt roll," and chose in favor of the pun.)

Dessert

Bribery cupcakes, from that time a letter writer brought some cupcakes over to chat with her neighbor, the son of the Chief of Police, about a disruptive noise issue in her workplace and some commenters decided this constituted bribing a public servant. (The recipe is in the comments on that link; I made the carrot cake version. However, I realized halfway through that I was somehow low on vanilla despite obsessively buying fancy vanilla extract every time I am in a spice shop, along with a bunch of other things I don't need because buying cool spices makes me feel like a wizard. Anyway, half of these had vanilla in the filling/icing, and the other half had cardamom extract.)

A birthday cake that somehow crosses boundaries by...being too fancy? Being paid for a staff person? Not involving the wife in the planning? Anyway, the real answer to the letter writer's question is, "Eh, I don't think it's a big deal" because different offices have different norms around birthdays and it's whatever, but sometimes a low-stakes office norms question hits just right and you get 630 comments of people debating The One True Way to Do Office Birthdays, and whether or not buying a cake means you're angling for an affair. (Okay, not all the comments are about that particular letter. Anyway, I picked up this fancy-ass cake at Marc Heu Patisserie, and appropriately enough, the guy ahead of me in line was picking up a cake for his boss.)

And of course, what Ask A Manager column would be complete without chocolate teapots?

Beverages

Mudslides, because "girls love chocolate." And magic tricks. And being played "You're So Vain" on the piano with a mournful stare. Partner and I are both notorious lightweights but I had been snacking all day as I cooked so I was mostly immune. Partner took one sip of this drink and immediately began loudly telling me how their one colleague doesn't sing enough to his Pre-K students, and "this classroom will do anything if you sing to them!" After dinner, they lay down on the floor and sang the Slippery Fish song.

The full spread:

#ask a manager #askamanager #alison green #thanksgiving #cooking #adventures in nerdery

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baldurs-writers-3 · 1 month

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Astarion: A Baldur's Gate 3 Fanfic Rec List

This week, we have Astarion Centric fics! Check under the cut for a whopping seventeen fics all about our favorite vampire spawn, and as always, give them a comment and kudos if you like them!

The stars began to burn by peregrinefeathers (87k, Mature) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Gale

An AU where instead of having an orb lodged in his chest Gale got stuck in a book. Then when a vampire spawn opened that book he got stuck in that vampire spawn's head. This is the best thing that has ever happened to Astarion; within 15 minutes he's running out of the Szarr palace into the sunlight. Then adventures begin!

Reccer says: a slow burn, like bloodweave is obvious endgame but it takes a while to get there, and Astarion is written /so/ well

Uncrossed Lines by Asidian (1209, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion & Wyll, Astarion & Halsin, Astarion & Karlach

Friends don't let friends get hurt and/or pressured into doing things they don't want to do

Reccer says: Just an incredibly sweet depiction of people recognizing Astarion's boundaries and helping to enforce them, whether he's expecting them to or not. I love it

Hydnellum Peckii by OctolingO (4403, General) Warnings: talks of Astarion's past but no gruesome details Pairings: none

Astarion is doing a great job hiding what he is from the party, until they reach the Underdark and he has nothing to feed on.

Reccer says: this is so angsty! i loved Gale being too curious for his own good and trying to help and be supportive, and all of Astarion's fears of getting kicked out or killed, bc nobody could ever be in his corner, and having anyone in a position of power apologizing *to him* like that's so foreign - this gave me so many feels!

caught between the dark and the dreaming by Raayide (18925, Teen) Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Pairings: Astarion & Friends

Marcus wants answers, and no one is going to give them to him, unless he forces them to. Astarion is the unlucky target forced to drink a truth serum.

Reccer says: Absolutely delicious whump and found family comfort afterwards

of death potential and death absolute by Raayide (39119, Teen) Warnings: Derealization Pairings: Astarion & Gale, pre-relationship

Astarion is never quite sure, until the moment Cazador lies dead before him, whether this entire adventure is anything more than an extremely vivid hallucination.

Reccer says: this story takes Astarion and twists him up into a little heartbreaking ball of a premise that makes him think everything is just a dream, and how desperate he is to stay in the dream rather than waking up. it retells most of the game with a tight focus and some lovely lovely characters scenes, everyone gets a moment in the spotlight!

Those left behind by Gally (73949, Mature) Warnings: None Pairings: Past Astarion/Karlach

What's Astarion to do after the Absolute is destroyed and the love of his life is now dead?

Reccer says: Lots of funny. Lots of sad. Lots of excellent characterization and slow but steady healing

All it Cost Me by HydieMurderBabe (38529, Explicit) Warnings: Ite explicit, very raunchy and Durge elements of rougher kinds Pairings: Durge X Astarion

Two traumatized nubbins heal from their pasts. Lots of sex and violence ensues.

Reccer says: Its funny, its raunchy, its detailed and most of all I feel like Im invested in the pairing

Collision Course by VakarianSyndrome (123444, Explicit) Warnings: No warnings. Tropes: Modern Girl in Baldur's Gate, found family Pairings: Astarion/F!OC

Set in Baldur’s Gate, this series follows Adelaide, a human woman from Earth, and her somewhat clumsy attempts at navigating this new and fantastical realm. In the process, she falls for Astarion, the pale elf, vampire spawn with level 100 rizz.

Reccer says: It starts out really funny, but then gradually gets serious where needed. The buildup between Astarion and the OC is spicy and sweet, and the smut delivers! And it's completed!

No Good End in View by not_whelmed_yet (60,797, ongoing, Mature) Warnings: Character death (temporary), torture Pairings: Astarion/Wyll/Karlach

Astarion doesn't get time to be terrified of the party, because Wyll cuts off what he sees as a feral vampire spawn's head long before he can try to seduce them. The only problem is that this doesn't kill him. And it continues to not kill him.

Reccer says: this is an achingly beautiful exploration of a team that gets off not so much on the wrong foot but on a freefall - each doing horrible things to each other in ways that all read perfectly understandable from their point of views, but have wretched lasting consequences. the author writes them so in character that I want to throttle them and fall in love all over again

What Could Have Been by Bella1433 (70000, Explicit) Warnings: There is mention of past sexual trauma, its Explicit, and goes into dark territory but not dead dove. Pairings: Named Tav X Astarion

Astarion's transformation into a vampire lord and Sima's fight to reclaim their lost love thrust them into a perilous dance of power, obsession, and redemption.

Reccer says: Its dark, rich, has a different tone and some of the most immersive writing I've read

the ghost of elturel by Raayide (4452, General) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion and Zevlor

Astarion and Zevlor meet, talk, hate each other, and hate themselves. There is nothing particularly of note about any of it.

Reccer says: Recognition of self in the other tied with some amazing introspection and metaphor

Circus of the dead by Ineadhyn (5995, Explicit) Warnings: Rape/Non-con, graphic violence, self-harm Pairings:

A dark horror circus AU with Astarion, Cazador, and his other spawns.

Reccer says: This is so beautiful, tragic, gripping, and I'm utterly obsessed with everything about it.

No Good Deeds by Garnett Gibson (39715, Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

A young woman trying to be a good person gets corrupted by Astarion as they navigate the tadpole issue.

Reccer says: Delicious slow burn and creative deviations from canon.

The Lord and his new ways by FartasticDurge (26459, Explicit) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Coercion, Manipulation, Abusive Relationships, Dissociation Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Ascended Astarion and Spawn Tav's post-game turbulent relationship from Tav's POV.

Reccer says: She struggles between doing what she thinks is right and obeying him, and seeing her process is interesting. In the latest chapter, they go to therapy, a unique twist for Ascended Astarion.

In Time by FartasticDurge (16927, Explicit) Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Pairings: Astarion/Tav, Astarion & Gale

Post-canon fic where Astarion is looking for a Tav who died and reincarnated into another person. Gale helps him find her, but things take an unexpected turn when they find her.

Reccer says: Astarion POV, a lot of D&D lore, the friendship between Gale and Astarion is interesting and supportive. Tav and Astarion's roles are reversed; he is being nice and she is suspicious of him, which is a nice twist with funny moments.

How Far You've Come by Garnett Gibson (5481, Explicit) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

Astarion's obedient consort has come a long way, but sometimes she still steps out of line.

Reccer says: I liked it!

If Only For One Night by Terrormisu (682, Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Astarion/Tav

With their party always busy, Astarion finds himself longing for his little love.

Reccer says: It's a short sweet one shot that made me feel all warm and squishy inside. Hehe. But even the implied intimacy was steamy.

The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ!

Next week, we’ll be back with another character rec list, this time focusing on Family!

#bw3 rec list #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #fanfiction rec list

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babygirlhaljordan · 3 months

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quotes that remind me of dungeon meshi characters (a thread—or tumblr equivalent)

senshi

“for every life i can’t save during my shift, one more drop of blood becomes a part of me.”

if you saw the episode regarding senshi’s backstory… you’ll understand why this quote fits. at a young age, he watched his entire party die from starvation. consequently, he studies cooking (with monsters) with a crazy intensity to starve off hunger. to never have more drops of blood join him again—especially with his suspicion that he ate his own party members. so in the case of senshi, others blood is genuinely (or believed to be) Apart Of Him

(tldr senshi’s survivors guilt goes CRAZY)

chilchuck

“his mouth may be full of acid, but gentleness oozes from his actions like chocolate syrup dripping down whipped cream.”

we all know that despite chilchuck’s professionalism (emotional distance) he isn’t as hardened off as he wants us to believe but i feel the episode that encapsulates that is when that one ogre confronts him like. “you’re worried your friends will die aren’t you” while he’s sobbing his eyes out. THAT sticks out to me.

if you ignore that episode, there’s still tons of moments from the season alone that showcases how much he cares. chilchuck trying to wake up marcille from her nightmares. deciding between following senshi or laois to protect them from other people’s wraths. facing the red dragon HEAD ON despite him Not Being A Fighter. he cares about people DAMMIT but he’s the last person to let others know, covering any harsh actions with his words—be it teasing marcille, snarking at laois, or more. yet his actions say more than what he could & that is enough

itzusumi

maybe this is what being a mortal is about. kindnesses that aren’t deserved

this resonates as itzusumi because of her inherent selfishness. even though she’s only appeared at the latter half, throughout the series, she’s been shown to prioritize herself above all. and that isn’t to say she isn’t deserving of kindness as one of her rights as a Basic Human Being but. people tend to follow the golden rule from my experience—ESPECIALLY when the other party has been rude (which itzusumi has been)

so to have laois’ party treat her with kindness (with chilchuck literally APOLOGIZING for his comments) is really heartwarming. most people would have given up or left her by now. yet his crew treats her with kindness even if she hasn’t been the best. that’s why i feel the kindness is undeserved

as for what a mortal is… that’s a question all the characters are finding out, but itzusumi (& falin) are finding out above all. as beastmen, they aren’t seen (or even seen THEMSELVES) as human. yet they are both being treated with kindness despite their actions. and i think that sticks out to me above all

marcille

“If it’s heaven’s will for us to part, I will rip heaven into pieces with my own two hands to be with you.”

falin’s transformation to a literal chimera is kickstarted all because marcille refused to let the dead rest. although the dungeon can easily allow for the revival of humans… bringing back people when they’re too far gone, when they’re already devoured.. it crosses the life between life and death, the natural order of existence. yet marcille crosses that line, of what’s considered natural or “fate” (aka what is determined by the higher order—heaven) of them parting and ripped it apart

she brought her best friend back to life.

because much like senshi, marcille is someone characterized by her losses & what she will continue to lose due to her being a long-lived species. she knows this and has been continued haunted by her past losses: her bird, her father, and i have no doubt there’s more. it’s why she studied forbidden magic: to no longer lose the people she loves. and she doesn’t care what boundaries or rules she breaks because she loves them That Much (sounds like another magic aligned user eh?)

falin

how do you separate a tiger’s beauty from its ferocity? or a cheetah’s elegance from the speed of its attack? achilles was like that—the beauty and the terror were two sides of a single coin

we all know this is referring to falin in her chimera form because while i do love her prechimera the series mainly focuses on her in that form than without. although she is dangerous, she is powerful. and in the same way, so much as she’s powerful, she’s dangerous. her existence is beautiful but it’s an example of hostility. of the potential of forbidden magic as well as the drawbacks. she’s truly two sides of the same coins

laois

“i think we sometimes make the mistake of thinking monsters are abhorrent aberrations, lurking in the darkest recesses, when the truth is far more distributing. the most monstrous of men are those who sit in plain sight, daring you to challenge them.”

this goes into manga spoilers so. if you’re not okay with that… skip this section

i wholeheartedly believe this quote fits laois due to his own negative experiences with humans. for YEARS the villagers of his home casted out falin (and him, to some degree? could be wrong) treating her poorly for who her ghost abilities. similarly, his parents struggled to stand up for them, leading lapis to have a strained relationship current day. and when he left to join the army, he struggled to fit in.

as a result, laois would dream of being a monster (and also developing a monster interest in general) for their power—especially when they could crush all the people that bullied them. his love for monsters represent laois disconnect to humans—especially with the way they treated the ones he loves. because despite the monsters being seen as the scary ones, he experiences more anxiety around humans than he ever does with beasts.

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itsabouttimex2 · 5 months

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I love your platonic yandere writing! Your characterization and dialogue is one of my favorite things. You can tell you really thought hard about how these characters might get to this state. I wanted to say I also love your multi-target Primal Moon Sun Wukong! He's down from tens of thousands of subjects! Let him have a whole family to grab up and hoard! (RIP Y/N and Macaque. I'd say MK too, but honestly, Primal Moon MK seems pretty here for it lol.) (Also not gonna lie, Y/N is the center focus of course (and special RIP to them for being a human caught up in the middle of a group of monkeys! It's exactly as stressful and dangerous-feeling as it should be!), but Macaque's particular dynamic with Wukong and MK have caught me heart and soul here. The actual monkey social structures you're translating have really made this my favorite part of this AU, honestly. It's really good!)

Oh, thank you so much! I spend a lot of time cross-referencing my dialogue to that of the characters I write, so I’m glad my efforts have been paying off!

I really liked the idea of Sun Wukong going yandere for multiple people- part of his backstory is that he just wanted more and more.

So when his inhibitions are artificially stripped away, he sort of temporarily devolves in terms of character development, going back to “I want everything I can have!” but in a familial way, this time. So he builds himself a new troop for the week, no matter how much Y/N and Macaque might try to resist.

As you’ve said it, MK is living for this. One loving family member who doesn’t want to leave you under any circumstances (SW) and two who can’t. (You and Mac)

It helps that being second in command gives him a serious sense of control and power, which he does exert frequently.

I’m glad you think it felt stressful and dangerous! The Primal Moon definitely… messes demons up, and none of the three are the best at dealing with it.

Macaque definitely comes the closest, but he still has a lot of his own nonsense to deal with, like his own overwhelming urge to obsessively engage in stress-relieving behaviors. This can easily lead to Sun Wukong and MK putting him under lock and key, if not outright physically restraining the shadow demon to keep him from accidentally committing some form of self-harm.

I’m glad you like the dynamic he has with these two! Macaque tries to portray himself as some kind of “edgy badass”, but the Primal Moon strips away his ability to do so- there’s so much that Mac needs now, like affection and reassurance and warmth. And, even if he gets them, there’s still the harmful stereotypies that he’ll engage in, any form on self-soothing that makes things feel better.

So restraints and forced cuddles and genuine love from his “troop”… though Y/N is the only one he openly accepts the doting of, given their respect of his boundaries.

And I’m super glad you like the social structures! Monkeys are absolutely fascinating creatures, after all- if also brutal and complex.

Thanks so much for the comment!

#Time Talks #Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere MK #Yandere Macaque #Primal Moon

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rovingotter · 3 months

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Hollow

SPOILER WARNING FOR SCAVENGERS REIGN.

Many people have remarked on the parallels between Levi and Hollow. One is a human creation changed and given sentience by the planet, the other is a native of the planet altered by her experiences with a human. Both have a connection to Fiona: Levi because Fiona programmed them, Hollow because memories/visions of Fiona are the primary way she communicates with Kamen.

From the get-go, Levi is established as a character with agency. One of their first on-screen actions is to troll Azi by burying her wrench, and when Azi asks why, Levi replies, "I don't know. I was curious about how you'd react." Levi is bipedal and verbal, things we associate with humanity, so even setting aside their quirky behavior, we are already primed to see them as human-like, if kinda weird. Throughout the show Levi continues to perform autonomous actions, to be motivated by curiosity and wonder, and eventually to assert their own personhood, establish boundaries, and form a meaningful relationship with Azi. They have goals, they have motives, they have an arch. Before this, Levi was just a machine. They are uplifted by the planet.

Hollow, on the other hand, often comes across less as a character and more like a blank slate onto which the viewer is invited to project metaphors: metaphors about Kamen's psychological dysfunction/moral failings, metaphors about the corrupting influence of humans on the natural world, metaphors about avarice or addiction or any number of things, none of them good. Even the name (never spoken but present in subtitles) implies an empty vessel. In contrast to Levi, Hollow is non-verbal (she uses psychic projections to communicate, but has no voice of her own), small, and quadrupedal. We are primed to see her first and foremost as an animal: an innocent, living in (from our outsider human perspective, at least) harmony with nature. A little creepy, a little cute. But also a being lacking in any real self-awareness or moral agency. This, though, is presented as her ideal state. Her growing power and agency, throughout the narrative, is framed as a downgrade, as borrowed, inauthentic, and destructive...and is ultimately ripped away.

True, Hollow is given a bit of characterization when we first meet her. She is being bullied/intimidated by a larger member of her species, and she appears discouraged by this. But for the most part her motives and choices are either impenetrably alien or presented ambiguously. Maybe she decides to adopt Kamen as her thrall, despite his alien nature, because she feels frustrated and powerless and has decided to take a risk on something new...or perhaps even sees him as a kindred spirit, a fellow outcast. Or maybe she just happens across him and is reacting to her environment in the stimulus-response, amoral kind of way we associate with less complex animals.

All her choices after that feel similarly ambiguous. When Kamen first gives her fresh meat and she eats it, it feels like crossing a boundary. She's obviously an omnivore or she wouldn't be able to digest it, but this moment has an almost Original Sin type of vibe, Hollow the Adam of her planet and Kamen as her Eve offering the forbidden fruit...or is she just eating whatever her human puts in front of her, like a Golden Retriever? Does the blame lie with her "owner"?

From there it's a spiral. More and more meat, then experimenting with cannibalism, then becoming increasingly ruthless with her thrall as a means of pushing him to hunt larger prey. Is that her, or is that Kamen's greed and insecurity leaking into her? Is it both?

When Kamen remembers his wife's death and pleads with Hollow to take away the pain and she straight-up unbirths him and bids him sleep, is she doing this out of empathy for him, or is she (again) simply responding in a stimulus-response way to the alien emotions seeping into her? Her face gives few clues; a slight narrowing of the eyes, an implacable blankness.

And yet there are indications that her species has human or near-human intelligence. The ability to psychically manipulate a codependent thrall, to present him with narratives laden with emotional cues that push him to respond in certain ways, is a skill that feels ethically dubious by its nature and therefore linked with personhood. As humans, we are defined by our narratives, by our capacity to manipulate each other through them. She becomes the model of a person she has never met inside another person's head. Does it feel like writing a character?

And she does not merely pick and choose memories, she speaks through them. When Kamen is about to flee the safety of the cave and blunder out into a storm that will likely kill him, Hollow becomes Fiona and reminds him of the time he took the canoe out and nearly drowned. "Remember? You were so helpless," she says. Did Fiona ever speak those words to him? Is it like replaying a recording? Or is Hollow RPing her?

When Hollow found Fiona's corpse, what did she think? What did she feel?

In the end, Levi rips away Hollow's physical strength and power, reducing her to what she was before any of this happened. We are left to assume she will return to the forest, go back to her vegan diet and her pre-verbal ways: human notions of purity. The nobility of beasts.

But she looks back.

I don't think she's forgotten. I don't think Levi, the uplifted being who was so very afraid of losing the ways in which they had changed, would have made her forget.

#scavengers reign #thinking too much about the psychic frog

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keehomania · 1 month

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therapeutic (테라퓨틱) — lee taeyong (이태용)

✧.* 18+

the mind, a vast labyrinth, held within its delicate folds the secrets of every human experience. it was a realm both familiar and foreign, a place where memories danced like shadows on ancient walls, where emotions ebbed and flowed like the tides, and where thoughts wove themselves into the fabric of reality. in that particular domain, the boundaries between the conscious and the unconscious blurred, creating a landscape that was as treacherous as it was beautiful.

for centuries, humanity had sought to understand the mind's inner workings, to decipher the language of neurons and synapses that whispered the truths of existence. yet, despite all the knowledge amassed, the mind remained an enigma, a force capable of both creation and destruction. it could be a sanctuary, a place of solace where dreams flourished, or a prison, where fears and anxieties festered in the dark corners, unbidden and unwelcome.

why do i think the way i do? why do i behave the way i do? why do we find ourselves begging the question, that three-letter question—why? too long has it been a double-edged sword, that question. those who ventured too close to the edge found themselves lost in a labyrinth of their own making, searching for a way out that sometimes seemed impossible to find.

the mind was both a protector and a betrayer. it could shield one from the harshness of reality, crafting illusions and fantasies that soothed the soul. but it could also turn against its owner, unraveling the very threads of their being until they were left exposed, vulnerable to the relentless onslaught of their inner demons. the mind could be a gentle guide, leading one toward healing and self-discovery, or a merciless tormentor, dragging them deeper into the abyss.

the path to mental well-being was not a straight one; it twisted and turned, often doubling back on itself in a confounding maze. it required courage to traverse, or facing the darkest parts of oneself, the fears and doubts that lay hidden beneath the surface. it meant confronting the wounds of the past, allowing them to bleed so they might eventually heal. and it meant accepting that some scars would never fully fade, that they were as much a part of the self as the mind that bore them.

the office you called your own was a home of sorts, a place where the issues of the outside world were left at the door, and the echoes of troubled minds found solace. it was a space curated to ease the burdens carried by those who sought your counsel. the walls were painted in soft, muted tones—an earthy beige that mimicked the comforting embrace of nature. sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a gentle glow that softened the edges of the room and made it feel safe, inviting.

your desk, though functional, was devoid of the sterility one might expect in a clinical setting. instead, it was adorned with books—volumes on psychology, philosophy, and the occasional novel that you found particularly stirring. there was a small plant, a gift from a patient who had once come to you in a state of complete disarray, now thriving under your care much as she had under your guidance. everything in the room was carefully chosen to exude warmth, from the plush armchairs that encouraged relaxation to the subtle scent of lavender that lingered in the air, a calming presence in and of itself.

patients came to you from all walks of life, each bringing with them a story woven from the threads of their experiences, traumas, and desires. there were those who arrived at your doorstep with their defences up, their walls built high. but you had a way with people, a way that transcended the clinical distance that often characterized the relationships between psychiatrist and patient. you didn’t just listen to them—you heard them, truly, deeply. you took in not only their words but also the silences between them, the unspoken fears that hid behind carefully chosen phrases, the way their eyes darted away when a subject became too painful to confront.

your reputation had spread quietly, almost organically. it wasn’t that you were a miracle worker or that you possessed some mystical ability to cure what ailed them. rather, it was your presence, the way you made people feel seen and understood without judgment, that drew them in. you never approached a session with preconceived notions or diagnoses waiting to be confirmed. each patient was a blank canvas, and it was your role to help them paint the picture that best represented their truth, no matter how fragmented or abstract it might be.

pills had always been a contentious issue for you. the pharmaceutical industry, with its glossy advertisements and promises of quick fixes, had never sat well with you. to you, the mind was not a machine that could be fine-tuned with a simple dose of chemicals. it was a complex, ever-evolving entity, influenced by experiences, environment, and relationships. you believed that true healing came not from numbing the symptoms but from addressing the root causes, from understanding and untangling the web of emotions and memories that led to a patient’s distress.

when the need for medication arose—and it did, at times, arise—you approached it with the utmost caution. you prescribed only the smallest doses necessary, believing firmly in the principle of ‘less is more.’ and even then, you coupled any prescription with a robust plan of therapy, ensuring that the medication was merely a tool to assist in the journey, not the journey itself. the low dosages you recommended rarely led to backlash, and your patients appreciated your restraint, knowing that you were not one to dole out pills like candy but rather used them as a last resort.

it was in your interactions with your patients that your true skill shone. each session was a dance, a delicate balance of guiding and listening, of leading without forcing. you never rushed them, never pushed them to confront more than they were ready to face. instead, you let them set the pace, allowing the conversation to flow naturally. and when the time came to delve deeper, you did so with a gentleness that put them at ease.

park minhyuk, a man in his early forties who had walked into your office carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. his face was lined with the stress of a life lived under constant pressure, his eyes betraying a deep-seated weariness. he had been referred to you by a friend who spoke highly of your methods. the first time he sat across from you, he looked hesitant, almost skeptical, as if he didn’t quite believe that talking could help him.

“i’m not sure this is going to work,” he had said, his voice heavy with doubt. “i’ve been to therapists before. they all just tell me to take some pills and come back in a few weeks.”

you leaned back in your chair, studying him with a calm, measured gaze. “i’m not here to force anything on you, mister park,” you replied softly. “i’m here to listen, and we’ll move at a pace that feels right for you. there’s no rush.” he had looked at you then, really looked at you, as if searching for something, some sign that you were different. you met his gaze steadily, offering nothing but the quiet assurance that you were there to help, not to judge.

over time, he began to open up, slowly at first, testing the waters. he spoke of his job, the immense pressure to succeed, the constant fear of failure that gnawed at him day and night. he talked about his family, the wife and children he loved dearly but felt disconnected from, the guilt that weighed on him for not being more present in their lives. as he spoke, you listened—not just to his words but to the pain behind them. you noticed the way his hands clenched and unclenched when he talked about his work, the slight tremor in his voice when he mentioned his children. and when he finally began to talk about the darker thoughts that sometimes crept into his mind, the moments when he wondered if it would be easier just to disappear, you didn’t react with shock or alarm. instead, you nodded, acknowledging his feelings without judgment.

“i understand that it feels overwhelming,” you said gently. “but it’s important to remember that these thoughts, as heavy as they are, don’t define you. they’re part of what you’re going through, but they don’t have to be the end of your story.” he looked at you then, a flicker of hope in his tired eyes. “you really think i can get through this?”

“i do,” you replied, your voice steady and sure. “and i’m here to help you find the way.” his journey wasn’t easy, and there were setbacks along the way. but he returned week after week, drawn not just by your words but by the genuine care you showed. and slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, he began to heal. he started taking more time for himself, reconnecting with his family, finding ways to manage the stress that had once consumed him. the transformation wasn’t immediate, but it was real, and it was lasting.

your practice grew, not because you advertised or sought out patients, but because word of mouth spread. people spoke of you with a kind of reverence, not because you were a miracle worker, but because you offered them something rare in the world of mental health—a safe space where they could be themselves, where they could speak without fear of judgment, where they knew they would be heard.

even those who had been through the harshest of environments—prisoners, veterans, people who had been hardened by life—found solace in your office. they recommended you to others, saying, “you should see her. she’s different. she cares.” and they weren’t wrong. you had found your calling, not in the pills or the textbooks, but in the people who sat across from you, day after day, baring their souls in the hope of finding some relief from the burdens they carried. and you met them with compassion, with understanding, with a quiet strength that reassured them they were not alone.

despite your skill in navigating the landscapes of other’s minds, there was a vast, uncharted territory within your own that you could not seem to traverse. you could guide others out of their darkness, yet when it came to your own, you were perpetually lost, stumbling through a fog that only seemed to thicken with time. it was a darkness that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, a gnawing emptiness that seemed to have no origin, no clear beginning. you often wondered when it had all started, but the truth was as elusive as the peace you sought.

perhaps it began when your father left. you could still remember the day he walked out, his shadow stretching long across the floor as the door closed behind him. the silence that followed was deafening, a silence that you had been trying to fill ever since. you were young then, too young to understand why he was leaving, too young to grasp the implications. but the abandonment had left a scar, a deep, festering wound that never quite healed. you wondered if that was where it all began, this relentless feeling of being untethered, of floating aimlessly in a vast, empty space.

maybe it was when your mother overdosed, her lifeless body found slumped over in the bathroom, surrounded by the remnants of a life that had spiraled out of control. you had been the one to find her, a memory that still haunted you, that still woke you in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. the sight of her pale, lifeless face was seared into your mind, a constant reminder of the fragility of life, of how easily it could slip through your fingers. you had been left to pick up the pieces, to make sense of the senseless, and in doing so, you had buried your own grief, your own pain, deep within you, where it festered in the dark.

there were your grandparents, the last anchors in your life, the last semblance of stability. their deaths had come like a storm, sudden and unforgiving, leaving you alone in a world that seemed to be crumbling around you. they had been your safe haven, the only ones who understood the weight you carried, and when they were gone, it felt as though the ground had been ripped out from beneath you. alone. that word echoed in your mind, reverberating off the walls of your empty apartment, a constant reminder of your isolation.

you hated being alone. it wasn’t just a dislike; it was a deep-seated fear, a terror that clawed at you from the inside. when you were alone, your mind became a labyrinth of dark thoughts and memories, each corner hiding another shadow, another demon waiting to pounce. the silence was unbearable, suffocating, so you filled it with noise, any noise that could drown out the voices in your head. you couldn’t stand the short sessions with your patients, craving more time with them, more connection, more distraction from the void inside you. the hour would pass, and you would find yourself wanting to reach out, to extend the session, to hold on to the connection a little longer, just a little longer. but you never did. you were their healer, not the other way around.

housework became a ritual of distraction, each chore accompanied by the blaring sound of music that reverberated through the walls, filling the empty spaces with melodies that drowned out the silence. without music, the house felt too big, too empty, too full of memories you didn’t want to confront. you couldn’t sleep without a movie playing in the background, the flickering light and the familiar voices lulling you into a false sense of security. the thought of lying in bed in complete silence, left alone with your thoughts, was unbearable. so, the movies played, one after another, their comforting narratives keeping the darkness at bay for just a little while longer.

but at the end of the day, when the music stopped, when the movies ended, you were left with nothing but the quiet hum of the empty apartment and the stark realization that you were alone. no parents to comfort you, no friends to lean on, no boyfriend to share your life with. just you. and it wasn’t enough. you had poured so much of yourself into your work, into helping others heal, that you had neglected your own wounds, your own needs. you had become a vessel, emptying yourself for the sake of others until there was nothing left for you.

your patients were the only ones who filled that void, the only ones who made you feel needed, wanted. they confided in you, trusted you, relied on you, and for a while, it was enough. but they were temporary, each one coming to you broken and leaving whole, while you remained the same, a healer who couldn’t heal themselves. when they got better, when they no longer needed you, it broke your heart a little more each time, even though you knew it was coming. it was the nature of your work, after all, to help them, to guide them, and then to let them go. but the letting go was the hardest part because it meant returning to the silence, to the emptiness, to the loneliness that gnawed at you, growing stronger with each departure.

you were sitting in your office, the soft glow of the desk lamp casting long shadows across the room as you sifted through patient files and prescription bottles. the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, but you barely noticed. the weight of the empty office felt like a cocoon, enclosing you in a familiar, if not comforting, solitude. the sterile smell of paper and faint traces of disinfectant mingled in the air, a scent that had become as much a part of your life as the darkness that you couldn't seem to shake.

the faint sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder as they approached your door. you knew who it was before she even knocked—a gentle, almost tentative rap on the door, followed by the soft creak as it swung open. “still here?” your manager’s voice was gentle, but there was an underlying note of concern that she couldn’t quite mask. hara stepped into the room, her eyes sweeping over the scattered files and the bottles of pills lined up in neat rows on your desk. the look she gave you was one you’d seen many times before—a mix of empathy, perhaps a touch of pity, and something else that you couldn’t quite place.

you didn’t look up immediately, your eyes fixed on the file in front of you as you made a show of scribbling a note in the margins. “just wanted to get as much work done as i could,” you said, finally glancing up with a smile that felt foreign on your lips, a practiced expression that you’d perfected over the years. she didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with those knowing eyes of hers. then she moved closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. the touch was warm, grounding in a way that made you want to lean into it, to close your eyes and let the world fall away. but you didn’t. instead, you stayed still, your smile frozen in place.

“you need to rest,” she said softly, her voice carrying a warmth that made something in your chest tighten. she squeezed your shoulder gently before letting her hand drop back to her side. “i will,” you assured her, the lie slipping out as easily as all the others. it was what you were supposed to say, after all, what she expected to hear. but you both knew the truth, didn’t you? you weren’t planning on resting, not anytime soon. rest meant being alone with your thoughts, and that was something you couldn’t bear.

she sighed, a soft sound of resignation, and you could see the conflict in her eyes. she knew she should insist, should tell you to go home and take care of yourself. but she also knew what you would say, how you would deflect with that same smile and those same empty promises. so she didn’t push. instead, she gave you a small nod and fished a set of keys out of her pocket. “lock up when you’re done, alright?” she said, holding the keys out to you.

you reached out to take them, your fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment before she pulled her hand back. “i will,” you said again, and this time she didn’t bother to respond. she just nodded, casting one last glance around your barren office—the empty desk devoid of personal touches, the phone that never rang—before turning and walking out of the room. the door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone once more. the silence was palpable, pressing in around you, but you welcomed it. it was better than the alternative. you turned back to the files, flipping through them with the pretense of work, but your mind was elsewhere, lost in the fog that seemed to constantly hover just at the edges of your consciousness.

you let the minutes tick by, the hours bleeding into one another as you went through the same files, the same bottles, over and over again. you knew there was nothing left to do, nothing left to distract yourself with, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave. not yet. not when you knew what awaited you outside—the cold, unwelcoming night, the empty apartment, the silence that you couldn’t drown out. but eventually, the futility of your actions became impossible to ignore. the same patient files stared back at you, the same labels on the bottles mocking you with their uselessness. you sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation of breath that carried with it all the weariness you felt but couldn’t show. there was nothing left to do, no more excuses to stay.

reluctantly, you gathered the files and put them back in their proper place, the routine motions bringing you no comfort. the click of the lock on the file cabinet echoed in the empty room, a finality that made your heart sink. you picked up the keys your manager had left you, your fingers curling around the cool metal, and stood up. the room was dark now, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamps outside. you turned off the desk lamp, plunging the room into shadow, and made your way to the door. the hallway was just as empty as it had been when she left, the building silent save for the occasional creak of the floorboards. you locked the door behind you, the keys jingling in the quiet as you slipped them into your pocket.

the night air was cool when you stepped outside, unlike the stale, sterile atmosphere of the office. you tucked your hands into your pockets, your breath misting in the air as you stood there for a moment, letting the city’s sounds wash over you. it was late—nearly two in the morning—but the city was still alive, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional shout from a passerby reminding you that you weren’t completely alone.

but it didn’t bring you any comfort. if anything, it made the emptiness inside you more acute, unlike the vibrancy of the world around you. you weren’t tired, though you wished you were. exhaustion would have been a mercy, a way to escape the thoughts that clawed at you in the quiet. but sleep was as elusive as peace, and you knew that returning to your empty apartment would only make things worse.

so you let your feet carry you down the street, the familiar route to the small bar that stayed open late. it wasn’t much, just a hole-in-the-wall with dim lighting and a jukebox that played old songs, but it was something. a place where you could lose yourself for a little while, where the music and the people could drown out the noise in your head. the bar was nearly empty when you walked in, just a few regulars nursing their drinks and the bartender wiping down the counter. you slipped onto a stool at the far end, nodding in acknowledgment as the bartender approached.

“just a whiskey,” you said, your voice low, and he nodded, pouring you a glass without a word. you downed the first drink quickly, the burn of the alcohol a fleeting comfort, and ordered another. the jukebox played a song you didn’t recognize, the melody soft and haunting, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in it. the chatter around you faded into the background, the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices becoming nothing more than white noise.

but the comfort was temporary, as it always was. the bar was closing, the bartender giving you a sympathetic look as he handed you your tab. you paid it without complaint, sliding off the stool and making your way to the door with a wave of thanks. the night was colder now, the wind biting at your skin as you walked back to your apartment. the streets were emptier, the city slowly falling asleep, and you found yourself wishing you could do the same. but as you reached your building, the familiar weight of dread settled in your chest. you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence immediately enveloping you, as it did every night.

you moved through the motions mechanically—kicking off your shoes, tossing your keys on the table, flicking on the lights. but the apartment felt as cold and lifeless as you did, the emptiness pressing in on you from all sides. you thought about turning on the television, letting the sound fill the void, but you couldn’t muster the energy. instead, you stood in the middle of the room, staring at nothing in particular, feeling the weight of the silence bear down on you.

it was suffocating, this loneliness, this isolation. it was a constant companion, one that you couldn’t escape no matter how hard you tried. and as you finally collapsed onto the couch, pulling a blanket around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was how it would always be. if you were destined to live your life in this void, surrounded by silence and shadows, with no one to share it with. the night stretched on, the city outside your window slowly quieting as it finally succumbed to sleep. but sleep didn’t come for you, not easily, not with the thoughts that swirled in your mind, the memories that haunted you. so you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, letting the darkness close in around you, wondering if there would ever be a way out.

the morning sunlight streamed through the narrow gap in your curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. you stretched awake, the familiar feeling of weariness hanging heavy in your limbs, but there was something different about today. it was as though a thin veil had lifted, allowing a sliver of anticipation to seep in. you had always been a person of routine, and the thought of returning to your office, of delving back into the rhythm of your work, brought with it a semblance of comfort, a fleeting escape from the solitude that plagued you.

you moved through your morning routine with efficiency, the motions almost automatic. the scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the kitchen as you prepared a simple breakfast—toast and jam, with a cup of strong coffee to wake your senses. the radio hummed softly in the background, a familiar companion that provided a semblance of normalcy. you dressed with deliberate care, choosing a crisp, tailored suit that made you feel professional and polished, ready to face whatever the day might bring.

the trip to the office was a brief but pleasant ritual, the city streets bathed in the soft morning light, the air carrying the promise of a new day. you relished the routine, the predictable patterns that offered a sense of control. as you approached your building, you caught sight of the familiar facade, the reassuring solidity of it grounding you.

but as you walked through the entrance, you were greeted by an unexpected sight. hara stood waiting in the lobby. her presence was unusual at this hour, and her expression was more serious than usual. you offered her a friendly smile, but she didn’t immediately return it. instead, she gestured for you to follow her to a quiet corner of the building. “you’ve been working hard,” she began, her tone carrying a note of cautious warmth. “and i wanted to have a word with you.”

you paused, a twinge of apprehension flickering in your chest. “am i in trouble?” you asked, the question escaping before you could second-guess it. hara shook her head, her lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “no, not at all. well, not yet,” she said, inhaling deeply as if gathering her thoughts.

your heart skipped a beat. “what do you mean?” the uncertainty in her voice sent a ripple of unease through you. “what’s wrong?” she took a moment to collect her thoughts, her eyes meeting yours with a look of barely concealed concern. “you have a new patient,” she said finally, her tone shifting to one of subdued excitement as she watched your eyes light up at the news.

“really?” you asked, a spark of enthusiasm igniting within you. it had been a while since you had taken on a new case, and the prospect of diving into a fresh challenge was invigorating.

hara held up a hand, her expression turning more serious. “don’t get too excited,” she said, her tone taking on a warning edge. “he’ll be your project patient for your internship at the asylum.” the words hit you like a cold splash of water. “the asylum?” you repeated, the dismay clear in your voice. “but i love working here. this office, this environment—i don’t want to leave.”

hara’s face softened, and before you could fully process what was happening, she stepped forward and enveloped you in a hug. the gesture was unexpected, her arms wrapping around you with a warmth and sincerity that contrasted sharply with her usual professional demeanor. for a moment, you let yourself sink into the embrace, the human contact a rare and precious balm against the isolation that had become your constant companion.

“i know,” she said, her voice muffled against your shoulder. “i know how much you love it here. but this is something you have to do for your career. it’s a good opportunity, and it’s important for your development.”

you barely registered her words, too caught up in the comforting proximity of another person. the embrace lasted only a few moments, but it was enough to stir something deep within you—a longing for connection, for understanding, for more than just the superficial interactions of your daily life. when she finally pulled away, you nodded, a sense of reluctant acceptance settling over you. “okay,” you said softly, the word carrying more resignation than agreement.

she gave you a reassuring smile, her eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and encouragement. “i’ll call a taxi for you,” she said, guiding you toward the building’s entrance. “it’s best if you head over there now. and remember to keep an open mind. this could be a valuable experience.” you followed her outside, the cool morning air brushing against your face. she hailed a taxi and handed you the keys to the office, reminding you to lock up when you finished. you took the keys with a grateful nod and watched as she walked back inside, her figure disappearing into the building.

the ride was a blur of anxious anticipation and reluctant acceptance. the city passed by in a series of shifting scenes, the familiar streets giving way to more industrial landscapes as you neared the asylum. it was a place you had heard about in passing but had never visited—a cold, imposing structure that seemed to loom on the horizon, its architecture stark and unwelcoming.

the asylum loomed before you like a cold, implacable sentinel against the sky, its grim, grey façade cutting through the morning mist. you stood before it for a moment, taking in the sheer scale of the structure—an imposing monolith that seemed to absorb the light, casting long shadows that stretched over the cracked pavement. the windows were narrow, barred, and the walls bore the harshness of age and neglect. there was something distinctly unwelcoming about it, so unlike the warm, inviting atmosphere of your office.

you pushed open the iron door, and a chill seemed to emanate from the very core of the building. the foyer was austere and utilitarian, the air thick with the smell of disinfectant and something else—a faint hint of despair that clung to the walls and floors. the reception area was starkly lit, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare over the sterile surroundings. it was a far cry from the soft lighting and cozy furnishings you were accustomed to.

the receptionist sat behind a high counter, her demeanor as frosty as the environment. she looked up as you approached, her gaze assessing you with a detached scrutiny. her uniform was crisp and immaculate, adding to the air of clinical precision that pervaded the space. “name and business?” she asked, her voice flat and devoid of warmth.

you took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the chill that seemed to penetrate your bones. “i’m (y/n) (l/n), here for an internship as the asylum’s psychiatrist,” you said, your voice steady despite the uneasy flutter in your stomach. the receptionist’s eyes narrowed slightly, and her lips twisted into a thin, humorless line. there was something almost predatory in her gaze, a faint glimmer of disdain or perhaps even pity. “follow me,” she said curtly, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

you trailed behind her as she led you through the labyrinthine corridors of the asylum. the hallways were long and narrow, lined with peeling paint and heavy metal doors. the air was heavy, laden with the echoes of distant voices and the occasional clank of metal on metal. you could hear the shuffling of feet, the murmurs and cries of the patients—a cacophony of sounds that was jarringly different from the calm and composed demeanor of your previous office.

as you walked, you noticed the guards stationed at regular intervals. they were stern-faced and vigilant, their uniforms dark and imposing. their presence was a constant reminder of the control and surveillance that permeated every corner of the asylum. you felt their eyes on you, a silent assessment that made you self-conscious. you passed by several cells, their occupants visible through the narrow windows set into the doors. the patients inside were much unlike the composed individuals you were used to. they paced restlessly, their eyes darting with a wildness that spoke of untamed thoughts and unspoken fears. some shouted incoherently, while others simply stared blankly at the walls. the sense of chaos was eerie, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

eventually, the receptionist stopped in front of a heavy door marked with a simple brass plate that read “psychiatrist.” she unlocked it with a practiced twist of the key and pushed it open, revealing a small, spartan office. the room was a stark departure from the warm, inviting space you were used to. the walls were a dull, institutional green, and the furniture was minimal and functional. there was a plain wooden desk with a single chair behind it and a couple of metal filing cabinets against one wall. a solitary window, heavily barred, provided a view of the bleak courtyard outside. the light that filtered through was cold and uninviting, casting long shadows across the room.

the receptionist stepped inside and placed a folder on the desk. “this is your workspace,” she said, her tone as unfeeling as ever. “you’ll be lucky to make it out alive.”

her words were delivered with a chilling finality, and before you could respond, she turned on her heel and walked out, leaving you alone in the sterile, unwelcoming space. the door clicked shut behind her, and you were left standing in the midst of the clinical bleakness that surrounded you. you stood there for a moment, absorbing the reality of your new environment. the emptiness of the room mirrored the uncertainty that was swirling within you. the asylum was a world apart from the comforting familiarity of your office, a place where every detail seemed designed to unsettle and disquiet. as you took in the surroundings, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret for the warmth you had left behind and a growing apprehension for what lay ahead.

you turned your attention to the stack of files on your desk, organizing them with methodical precision. the papers were a jumble of case histories, treatment plans, and patient backgrounds. as you sorted through them, the muted rustle of paper was the only sound breaking the silence of the room. you had just begun to lose yourself in the paperwork when a sharp knock on the door startled you. the sound echoed in the otherwise still space, cutting through the quiet like a sudden gust of wind. you looked up, but before you could respond, the door swung open with a slow creak, revealing two guards.

the guards were as imposing as their environment, their uniforms sharp and unyielding. they moved with an air of efficiency, each holding an arm of the man who followed them into the room. your gaze fell upon him, and despite your initial wariness, you were struck by an unsettling calmness that seemed to envelop him. he didn't resist; instead, he walked with an eerie composure, his movements measured and deliberate.

the man was restrained in a straitjacket, his arms bound tightly and secured with a belt around his torso. the sight of the straitjacket, with its bold white fabric and heavy buckles, seemed almost surreal against the backdrop of the dull office. the restraints were a harsh reminder of the severe nature of his condition, yet his demeanor was unexpectedly serene. as he was guided to the chair across from your desk, you took the opportunity to study him more closely. he was a tall man, his frame lean but solid. his features were striking—a sharp, prominent jawline and high cheekbones that gave him a distinctly aristocratic appearance. his brown eyes, though calm, carried an intensity that seemed to pierce through the confines of the straitjacket, a depth that hinted at complexities beneath the surface.

there was an unsettling grace to his presence, an almost magnetic quality that drew your attention despite the circumstances. his hair was dark and neatly styled, falling in soft waves that framed his face. the contrast between his physical appeal and the harsh restraints was jarring, creating a dissonance that was difficult to ignore. the guards remained by the door, their expressions guarded and unreadable. they exchanged a brief, knowing look before stepping out of the room, leaving you alone with the restrained man. their departure was marked by the soft click of the door as it closed behind them, and the silence that followed was thick and heavy.

you were left in the room with the man, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders. the office, with its cold, clinical ambiance, seemed suddenly smaller and more confining. you took a deep breath, trying to center yourself as you prepared to begin the session. the man’s calmness was a definite contrast to the environment of the asylum. he patient’s eyes remained fixed on you, a quiet challenge in their depths, as if he were assessing you as much as you were trying to understand him. you could sense a subtle tension in the air, an undercurrent of anticipation that was almost overwhelming.

you took a deep breath, the silence in the room amplifying the subtle rustle of papers as you mentally prepared yourself for the interaction. the restrained man sat calmly in front of you, his demeanor a striking contrast to the harsh confines of his situation. you cleared your throat, attempting to steady your voice as you introduced yourself.

“hello, i’m doctor (y/n) (l/n),” you said, your tone measured and professional. “i’ll be working with you during this internship.” as you spoke, the man’s lips curved into a faint, enigmatic smile. it was a smile that seemed to hold secrets, one that both intrigued and unsettled you. Hhs eyes glinted with an unsettling mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“lee taeyong,” he said, his voice smooth and articulate. the name struck you with the force of a thunderclap. you hadn’t recognized his face immediately, but his name was unmistakable. lee taeyong—an infamous figure known for his involvement in shootings and robberies. his notoriety had led to his confinement in a correctional facility after being deemed mentally unwell. your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your face go pale, the realization dawning with a cold, unwelcome clarity. taeyong’s keen eyes caught the shift in your expression, and a dry chuckle escaped his lips.

“have you heard of me?” he asked, his tone laced with a subtle taunt. you nodded slowly, trying to mask the tension that was creeping into your chest. “yes, i have.”

his laughter was dry and devoid of genuine mirth, a sound that seemed to echo with a dark undertone. “so, are you gonna cure me, doctor?” he asked, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. you squared your shoulders, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with a confidence you didn’t entirely feel. “there isn’t anything i can’t cure.”

his response was immediate, and he leaned in abruptly, causing you to flinch involuntarily. the sudden movement was unsettling, and you found yourself instinctively retreating. taeyong smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. “are you afraid, doctor?” he asked, his voice low and teasing. you steadied your breathing, forcing a calmness into your voice as you responded, “i’m not.”

his eyes widened slightly in surprise. “you’re too pretty to be a doctor,” he remarked, the compliment carrying an edge of mockery. you raised an eyebrow, trying to keep the conversation on track. “why do you think you’re unstable?”

taeyong’s expression shifted slightly, his demeanor becoming more contemplative. “i don’t think i am,” he said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “but everybody else does. they think my urges are abnormal.” intrigued, you leaned forward slightly. “what kind of urges?”

his eyes darkened with a certain intensity as he spoke. “i like the fear and the thrill,” he said, his voice carrying a chilling calm. “the screams, the way everyone is powerless against me. it’s exhilarating.”

your mind raced as you processed his words, but you decided to take an unexpected step. you reached for the straps of his straitjacket and began to unfasten them, freeing his arms. taeyong’s eyes widened in surprise. “what are you doing?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

you smiled, trying to project a sense of ease despite the underlying tension. “i thought you might be more comfortable without the restraints.” his gaze remained fixed on you, his expression a blend of astonishment and wariness. “aren’t you afraid i’ll kill you?”

you met his gaze steadily, feeling a strange sense of calmness despite the gravity of the situation. “i don’t think you will.” his brows knitted together in confusion. “how do you know?”

“because,” you said softly, “i don’t believe you’re a bad person.” the sincerity in your voice seemed to take him aback. his eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked genuinely disoriented by your kindness. the atmosphere in the room seemed to shift, a tentative bridge forming between the two of you.

taeyong leaned back, his posture relaxing slightly as he began to open up in a way that was both fascinating and ominous. he spoke of his past, his thoughts, and his perceptions with a raw honesty that was unsettling yet compelling. his words were a tapestry of dark desires and twisted logic, but there was an underlying vulnerability that made it clear he was grappling with his own demons.

as the session drew to a close, he looked at you with an unsettling blend of anticipation and something akin to respect. “i look forward to seeing you again, doctor.” he said, his voice carrying an eerie calmness. to your surprise, you found yourself looking forward to it as well. there was something about the interaction, the unexpected connection, that left you both unsettled and intrigued. as you watched him being escorted out by the guards, the weight of the session settled on your shoulders.

the morning sunlight filtered through the blinds of your apartment, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room. yet, despite the comforting start to your day, your mind was occupied with a singular thought—your next session with taeyong. the anticipation was a new and curious sensation, one that both thrilled and unsettled you. there was something compelling about his presence, a magnetic pull that made you eager to continue your interactions with him.

as you prepared for work, you found yourself contemplating how to make the next session more engaging, more comforting for him. the idea of a small gesture—something that might break through the cold walls of the asylum and create a connection—seemed to be the right approach. you decided to get him a gift, a symbol of the positive interaction you hoped to foster.

you ventured out to a small, quaint shop that morning, one filled with charming trinkets and comforting knick-knacks. your eyes scanned the shelves until they fell upon a small, stuffed kitten, its plush fur a soft, inviting shade of cream. it was delicate and unassuming, a small source of innocence amidst the reality of the asylum. you picked it up with a sense of purpose, imagining how such a simple object might ease the harshness of taeyong’s environment.

when you arrived at the asylum, the day’s routine felt different. the walls seemed colder, the atmosphere more oppressive, but the small stuffed kitten in your bag provided a small spark of warmth. as you approached your office, you were taken aback to find taeyong already seated in the chair, an unexpected sight. his presence there, so much earlier than anticipated, stirred a peculiar flutter in your chest. “you’re early today,” you remarked, trying to keep your tone light and neutral.

taeyong looked up at you, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “i couldn’t wait to see you,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of excitement that made your heart skip a beat. the sincerity in his words resonated deeply with you, and a small, inexplicable connection seemed to click into place. you felt a warm flush creep up your neck, but you quickly pushed the feeling aside, focusing on your planned gesture.

“i have something for you,” you said, reaching into your bag and pulling out the stuffed kitten. taeyong’s eyes widened with surprise and curiosity. “what’s this?” he asked, his tone a mix of intrigue and amusement.

you extended the kitten towards him, a smile playing at your lips. “it’s a little gift. i thought it might help make things a bit more comfortable here.” he took the kitten from you, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief, electrifying moment. as he cradled the stuffed animal in his hands, a look of genuine appreciation crossed his face. “i’m honored,” he said softly, his gaze fixed on the kitten.

you watched as he examined the plush toy with a sense of fascination. “i want you to take good care of it,” you said, your voice gentle. “if you can fight the urge to hurt it, then maybe you can fight the urge to hurt anything.” his lips curved into a mischievous smile as he toyed with the kitten, his fingers brushing over its soft fur.

“is that your way of challenging me, doctor?” he asked, his tone light but edged with an underlying seriousness. you nodded, trying to maintain a composed demeanor. “something like that,” you replied.

the session began in earnest, the conversation flowing with a new ease as taeyong’s attention seemed drawn to the small stuffed animal. he spoke of his past, his feelings, and his thoughts with a candor that was both unsettling and revealing. his insights were intertwined with moments of dark humor and cryptic reflections, making it clear that he was a man of contradictions. at one point, as you listened intently, his hand, still holding the kitten, brushed against a stray strand of hair that had fallen across your face. the touch was fleeting but intimate, a gesture that caught you off guard. you looked up to meet his gaze, finding a depth in his eyes that was both intense and vulnerable.

“i meant what i said earlier,” taeyong said, his voice softening. “you’re too pretty to be a doctor.” you blinked in surprise, trying to process the compliment amidst the complexity of the situation. “what do you mean?” you asked, genuinely curious.

his expression remained earnest, his eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that was rare in such an environment. “you just don’t seem like someone who should be confined to this place. there’s something different about you.”

the moment lingered between you, charged with an emotional undercurrent that was difficult to define. despite the oddity of the situation, you felt a surprising warmth in his words. it was an acknowledgment of your humanity amidst the dehumanizing environment of the asylum. as the session drew to a close, you gathered your things, the small stuffed kitten resting on the desk between you. taeyong’s gaze followed you with an almost reluctant admiration, and there was a sense of anticipation in the air as you prepared to leave.

“i look forward to seeing you again,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of genuine hope. you nodded, a small smile touching your lips. “i look forward to seeing you too.”

with that, you watched as taeyong was escorted out by the guards, the connection between you both lingering like a faint but persistent echo. the asylum, with all its harsh realities, seemed momentarily softened by the unexpected bond that had formed. as you left for the day, the small stuffed kitten seemed to symbolize a fragile bridge between your world and his. you just weren't aware of how sturdy, nor how fragile, the bridge really was.

the weeks that followed your initial session with taeyong felt like a delicate dance, a precarious balance between professional distance and the growing, unspoken connection that had begun to develop between you. each session became a complex interplay of emotions and revelations, and you found yourself increasingly invested in his progress.

you had begun to believe, with a cautious optimism, that taeyong was making strides. the sessions were marked by moments of genuine insight and self-reflection from him, which seemed to indicate that he was grappling with his inner turmoil in ways that were both constructive and revealing. there was an undeniable progress, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of hope every time you saw him approach with that enigmatic smile.

during one particular session, you found yourself immersed in a conversation about his past, his regrets, and his aspirations. taeyong, with his characteristic curiosity and sharpness, suddenly shifted the focus of the conversation. “what about you, doctor?” he asked, his voice carrying a tone of genuine interest. “what do you struggle with?”

the question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you hesitated. it was unusual for a patient to turn the spotlight onto you, especially someone like taeyong, whose own issues seemed so consuming. you took a deep breath, searching for the right words to encapsulate the truth.

“i suppose,” you began, struggling to find a way to articulate your feelings. “i've been lonely my whole life.” taeyong’s eyes softened, and for a fleeting moment, the hardness in his gaze seemed to melt away. “no woman like you should ever feel lonely,” he said softly, his tone laced with an unexpected gentleness.

his words struck a chord deep within you, and you felt a sudden, almost overwhelming rush of emotion. you looked up, meeting his gaze with a mixture of vulnerability and curiosity. before you could fully process the weight of his statement, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “do you feel lonely with me here?” he asked, his voice a low whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

your heart pounded in your chest, the sound echoing in your ears as if to drown out the rest of the world. the proximity of his body, the intensity of his gaze, and the warmth of his breath combined to create a heady cocktail of sensations. you fought to maintain composure, but the answer came out more as a breathless confession. “no,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

taeyong’s fingers, moving with deliberate slowness, traced a path along your neck. the touch was light but electrifying, a sensation that left your skin tingling and your breath catching in your throat. “you shouldn’t,” he said, his voice carrying an almost imperceptible note of possessiveness.

the weight of his touch, the intimacy of the moment, and the raw honesty in his words created a potent mix of emotions that overwhelmed you. as the session drew to a close, you found yourself grappling with a tumult of conflicting feelings. the professional boundaries that had once seemed so clear were now blurred, and you were left with a gnawing sense of guilt for finding comfort in a connection that was fundamentally inappropriate.

the room seemed colder as you watched him leave, the reality of the asylum returning with its harsh, unyielding presence. you could still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin, the echo of his breath in your ear, and the weight of his words in your heart. the session had brought a confusing mixture of warmth and unease, and as you locked up your office and walked out into the night, the loneliness you had tried so hard to combat felt more intense than ever.

as the days turned into weeks, the asylum’s sterile corridors and echoing chambers seemed to shrink in comparison to the burgeoning world of emotions you experienced during your sessions with taeyong. each encounter with him became a delicate interplay of professional duty and personal connection, weaving a complex tapestry of emotions that you struggled to fully comprehend.

the sessions grew more intense and revealing, both for you and for taeyong. you could no longer ignore the way your heart would race in anticipation of each meeting. the way his eyes would light up when he saw you, the way his presence seemed to fill the room with a bright energy—it was impossible to deny the deepening bond between you.

in one particular session, taeyong sat across from you, the small stuffed kitten now a constant companion in his hands. the stuffed animal had become a symbol of the connection you shared, its presence a silent witness to your evolving relationship. “you know,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of introspection, “i’ve been thinking a lot about what we’ve talked about. you’ve managed to get me to see things differently. i never thought i’d say this, but i think i owe you more than just my progress.”

you looked at him, your heart skipping a beat at his unexpected confession. “what do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice steady but filled with curiosity. his gaze was intense, his eyes searching yours with an earnestness that was both disarming and endearing. “you’ve been patient with me, more patient than anyone else ever has. i think,” he paused, choosing his words with care. “i think you’ve made me feel things i didn’t know i could still feel.”

you could feel the weight of his words settling over you, a mix of excitement and apprehension. “and what is it that you feel?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. he took a deep breath, his fingers absently stroking the kitten. “i feel understood. cared for, in a way I never thought i’d experience again. it’s strange, but i think i’m beginning to look forward to these sessions more than i should.”

the admission struck a chord within you, and you felt a mixture of joy and sadness. joy at the progress he was making and sadness at the realization that your growing affection for him might blur the lines of your professional role. during another session, you found yourself struggling to maintain your composure as taeyong’s attention shifted to you in a way that felt increasingly personal. he leaned forward, his gaze unwavering as he spoke.

“you know,” he said, his voice low and intimate, “i’ve noticed something about you. you seem different when we talk. there’s something in the way you look at me. something more than just concern.” you felt your cheeks flush, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement swirling within you. “what do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

his eyes softened, and he reached out, his fingers gently brushing against yours. “i think you care about me more than you let on. and i can’t help but feel the same way.”

the admission hung in the air, charged with an electric tension that was impossible to ignore. you felt a surge of emotion, a tumult of conflicting feelings as you tried to process his words. it was both thrilling and terrifying to acknowledge that your feelings for taeyong had grown beyond the boundaries of professional detachment.

as the session continued, his demeanor shifted. he seemed more relaxed, more open, and the connection between you felt more tangible than ever. the way he would smile at you, the way his eyes would linger on yours—it was clear that the emotional bond between you was deepening. you struggled with the guilt and the moral conflict of your growing affection for him, knowing that it was inappropriate yet feeling a profound, undeniable connection.

the day you arrived for your next session with taeyong, you felt an unusual sense of anticipation. the asylum's cold corridors seemed to blur as you walked briskly toward your office, your mind already filled with thoughts of the conversation you hoped to have. but as you reached the familiar door, a pang of anxiety hit you when you noticed the room was empty.

your heart sank as you turned to the guards stationed outside the office. “where’s taeyong?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm despite the growing concern. the guards exchanged uneasy glances before one of them responded. “they’ve decided to test their luck with another psychiatrist today. wanted to see how he’d react.”

a cold wave of dread washed over you, and you felt a sharp pang of heartache. before you could ask for more details, the silence of the corridor was shattered by a deafening crash. your heart raced as the sound of shattering furniture and frantic shouting reached your ears.

without a second thought, you sprinted down the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the sterile space. as you rounded the corner, you saw the scene unfolding in your office. taeyong, his face a mask of determination, was wielding a chair above his head, his muscles tensed in a show of raw strength. the psychiatrist lay sprawled on the floor, his face a picture of shock and pain. the guards were shouting, their voices a blur as they rushed toward taeyong. “what happened?” one of them demanded, their tone filled with both anger and concern.

his gaze, sharp and intense, found yours amidst the chaos. “i told you,” he said, his voice carrying a fierce determination, “i wanted to see doctor (l/n).”

the room seemed to freeze for a moment as his words sank in. he was swiftly restrained and escorted back to his cell, leaving you standing in the doorway of your office, your heart aching at the sight of the broken scene before you. the guards, now dealing with the aftermath of his outburst, left you waiting alone in the hallway. time seemed to stretch endlessly as you stood there, your mind racing with a tumult of conflicting emotions. when taeyong was finally brought out again, his demeanor was calmer, though his eyes held a deep, unfathomable intensity.

he looked at you with a mix of curiosity and something more personal. “what were you doing there?” he asked, his voice steady but laced with an edge of disbelief. you took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. “i was waiting for you,” you admitted, your voice soft but earnest.

his eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his features. “seriously?” you nodded, feeling a strange blend of relief and apprehension. “yes, seriously.”

once back in your office, the atmosphere felt charged with an electric tension. you sat across from him, your heart pounding as you tried to make sense of the events. “why did you crash out like that?” you asked, struggling to keep your voice steady. “you were making so much progress.”

taeyong’s expression softened slightly as he reached for the small stuffed kitten that had become a symbol of your sessions. he held it up, its soft fur unmarred by the recent issues. “because,” he said, his voice softening with an intensity that made your breath catch, “i’m in love with you.”

the confession hung heavy in the air, and you felt a surge of conflicting emotions—shock, confusion, and a deep, aching resonance. you stared at him, unable to fully process the gravity of his words. “i am too,” you said finally, your voice trembling with the weight of the admission.

without another word, he leaned forward, his gaze fixed on you with a fierce, unyielding intensity. his lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent. it felt wrong, a violation of every professional boundary you had sworn to uphold. yet, the raw, desperate need to connect, to feel something beyond the crushing loneliness that had plagued you, overpowered your sense of propriety.

the kiss was intense, filled with a mix of longing and desperation that made your heart race. his lips were warm against yours, his touch both gentle and insistent. every brush of his mouth, every caress of his fingers, seemed to echo the depth of the emotions you had both been struggling to contain. as the kiss deepened, you felt a wave of conflicting emotions—guilt and exhilaration, fear and desire. the world outside faded away, leaving only the overwhelming intensity of the moment. the walls of the asylum, the rules you had so carefully adhered to, and the boundaries you had maintained all seemed to crumble in the face of the unexpected connection.

taeyong’s hands slid up your body, cupping your tits over your blouse. his thumbs brushed against your nipples, which hardened immediately under his touch. you gasped into his mouth, your body responding with a fiery hunger that was impossible to ignore. his touch was rough, yet tender, as if he was afraid of breaking the fragile bond that had formed between you. his words from earlier played in your mind, and you felt a thrill of arousal that was as surprising as it was undeniable. you pushed back from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor as you stood to face him. your hands found the hem of your blouse, lifting it over your head to expose your bra. his eyes raked over your body, dark with desire. “you have no idea,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “how long i’ve wanted this.”

you stepped closer to him, reaching behind to unclasp your bra. it fell away, revealing your full, round tits. taeyong’s gaze was glued to them, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight. he leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he licked one nipple, then the other, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were moaning with need. your hands found his hair, pulling him closer as his mouth closed around one nipple, sucking hard.

his hands moved to the button of your pants, and with trembling fingers, he unzipped them. you stepped out of them, feeling a sense of vulnerability that was both terrifying and thrilling. he pushed you back onto the desk, his mouth moving down your body as he kissed and licked a trail to your center. his fingers found their way inside your panties, stroking your wet folds.

his tongue darted out, tasting you for the first time. you moaned, arching your back as he explored you with a fervor that left you breathless. he was rough, yet precise, his touch speaking of a hunger that matched your own. you could feel his erection pressing against you through his pants, and the thought of his big dick inside you made you wetter still. his fingers moved to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles that had you panting. your hips rocked against his face, desperate for more. “please, taeyong,” you begged, your voice needy and wanton. “fuck me. make me feel alive again.”

his only response was to stand up, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. his cock sprang free, thick and hard, and you felt your mouth water at the sight of it. he stepped closer, positioning himself between your legs, and without preamble, he pushed into you.

the sensation was overwhelming—he was so much bigger than any man you had ever been with. it was a stretch, a burn that bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense that you didn’t care. you gripped the edge of the desk, your nails digging into the wood as he began to thrust, hard and deep. his strokes were punctuated with dirty talk that made you feel like a whore, but it only served to make you wetter, to make you want him more.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, feeling his cock fill you completely. his breath was hot and ragged against your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin. “you’re mine, doctor,” he growled. “no better cure than this pussy, fuck.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, and you knew that this was a line you could never uncross. but in that moment, as you felt him thrust inside you with a roar of pleasure, you didn’t care. he was close, his thrusts sloppy as his fingers pulled your hair, your whimpers making his dick twitch.

his hand slid down to cup your ass, his grip tightening as he pounded into you. your tits bounced with every impact, and you could feel his hot breath on your skin as he whispered obscenities in your ear. it was a symphony of degradation and lust, and you were the eager conductor, urging him on. your pussy was tight around his cock, gripping him with every stroke, and you knew you were close to the edge.

suddenly, he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty and needy. you looked up at him, your eyes glazed with passion, and he smirked. “turn over,” he ordered, his voice gruff. you complied, turning onto your stomach and spreading your legs, the cool desk against your burning skin. he stepped behind you, his cock nudging at your entrance again. without warning, he slammed back into you, making you cry out.

the new angle was exquisite, his cock hitting deeper, reaching parts of you that had never been touched before. you pushed back against him, your body begging for more. his hands gripped your hips, his nails digging in as he picked up the pace. “yeah, take it like that, like the slut you are,” he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and command. your cheeks flushed at the words, but you found yourself pushing back even harder, eager to prove his words true. with every thrust, he whispered filthy compliments about your body, his grip on your hips tightening as he fucked you like he owned you.

his hand reached around to play with your clit, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. your moans grew louder, filling the room. the sound of skin slapping against skin was the only music in the air, a rhythmic crescendo that grew more intense with every second. you felt your orgasm building, your pussy clenching around his cock. “that’s it, doctor. cum for me,” he encouraged, his voice hoarse with lust. and with a final, brutal thrust, you did, your body shuddering with the force of your climax. he followed shortly after, his seed spilling into you, marking you as his.

once the tremors had subsided, he pulled out, leaving you gasping for air. you felt the stickiness between your legs, a reminder of what had just transpired. as you looked back at him, you saw the smug satisfaction on his face, and you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger. but it was quickly drowned out by the addictive thrill of the power exchange. you had never felt so alive, so desired. it was therapeutic. and as he stepped closer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, you knew that this was far from over. there was an unspoken promise in his eyes, a challenge for you to come back for more. and you knew, without a doubt, that you would.

as taeyong straightened his clothes, his gaze never left you, the intensity in his eyes as present as ever. he was murmuring something under his breath, and you had to strain to hear his words amidst the whirlwind of emotions you were trying to process. “i feel as if you’ve cured me,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sense of genuine relief.

you blinked, taken aback by his declaration. “are you serious?” you asked, your voice a mixture of disbelief and hope. he nodded slowly, a small, almost serene smile playing on his lips. “yes, i am.”

the room seemed to hold its breath as he began to dress himself, each movement deliberate and composed. your own heart raced as you grappled with the weight of his words. the promise of cure and the possibility of something more twisted together in your mind. he turned to you, his expression serious yet tender.

“i need you to do something for me,” he said, his eyes locking with yours. “anything,” you replied without hesitation, your voice firm despite the storm of emotions brewing within you.

taeyong’s gaze softened slightly, and he leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear. “i need a machine gun.” the request hit you like a jolt. “a machine gun?” you repeated, trying to comprehend the gravity of what he was asking.

“yes,” he confirmed, his voice steady. “if you don’t want to help me, i understand, but i need one.” you were silent for a moment, the enormity of his request settling over you. the ethical and legal implications were enormous, yet the urgency in his tone and the trust he placed in you compelled you to respond. shaking your head, you met his gaze with determination. “i’ll do it.”

taeyong’s eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “thank you for curing me.”

the warmth of his touch lingered long after he had left. that night, the enormity of hia request weighed heavily on you, but you were resolute. if this was what he needed, then you would find a way. the loneliness that had plagued you seemed to intensify with the knowledge of his needs, but it also spurred you into action. you spent the evening making discreet, cautious inquiries, your mind racing with worry and determination. you knew the gravity of what you were doing, the potential consequences, but the promise of alleviating your own profound sense of loneliness and his plea drove you forward. finally, after hours of careful navigation through back channels and clandestine meetings, you acquired the machine gun. it was a heavy, ominous object, wrapped in layers of secrecy and dread.

you stored it securely in a hidden compartment of your bag, the weight of it pressing down with a disquieting sense of finality. the next morning, you arrived at the asylum with a mix of dread and anticipation, knowing that the day’s session would be unlike any before. entering your office, you saw taeyong already seated, a patient yet expectant look on his face. your heart skipped a beat as you approached him, the hidden weight of the machine gun in your bag seeming almost to pulse with your anxiety.

“good morning,” you said, forcing a smile. “good morning,” he replied, his eyes immediately catching the glint of anticipation in yours.

you sat down across from him and carefully extracted the machine gun from your bag. his eyes widened in surprise and then satisfaction as you laid the weapon on the desk before him. “i didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he said, his voice a mix of awe and approval. “you said you needed it,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. “i wouldn’t let you down.”

taeyong’s gaze softened as he reached out to touch the machine gun, his fingers brushing over the cold metal with a sense of reverence. “thank you,” he said quietly. “i knew you were the right fit for me.” the session continued with a shift in atmosphere. taeyong seemed more at ease, his demeanor less guarded and more open. the conversation flowed with a new ease, and you felt a strange sense of fulfillment. the machine gun, despite its ominous presence, seemed to be a catalyst for something deeper between you.

as the session drew to a close, you found yourself reluctant to leave, savoring the brief moments of connection and understanding. you had made significant strides with taeyong, and the realization that he trusted you so deeply was both exhilarating and unsettling. the rest of the day was spent in a haze of reflection. you sorted through files and paperwork, your mind frequently drifting back to him and the connection you shared. the solitude of your office seemed less oppressive, the quiet punctuated by thoughts of him. each task felt like a distraction from the growing realization that, in taeyong, you had found a source of profound connection.

in the quiet of your office, surrounded by the mundane tasks of your work, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something significant had shifted. the loneliness that had once felt so encompassing now seemed to have been touched by the fleeting moments of intimacy and connection you had shared with him. you were less alone than you had been before, and yet, the path you were on was fraught with moral and emotional complexity.

the night fell over the asylum with a chilling, almost suffocating stillness. you were at your desk, sorting through a mountain of paperwork, the dim light casting shadows over the piles of files. the routine of your task offered a semblance of normalcy, a brief respite from the whirlwind of emotions and decisions that had consumed you lately. you were lost in the monotony of sorting and filing when an unsettling noise shattered the silence.

the distant sounds of gunshots, crashing furniture, and frantic screams pierced through the walls. your heart leapt into your throat as the reality of what was unfolding outside became painfully clear. Instinctively, you ducked under your desk, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you tried to stifle the rising panic. the noises outside were chaotic, a cacophony of violence and fear that seemed to grow louder by the second.

taeyong’s plan had taken shape, and the asylum was in disarray. he had enlisted the help of several other inmates, each fueled by the same chaotic energy that defined taeyong himself. the sound of gunfire rang out intermittently, each shot a reminder of the danger that now surrounded you. the air was thick with tension, and you could hear the muffled sounds of struggle and conflict as the inmates carried out their rebellion.

the commotion grew closer, and suddenly, two figures burst into your office. your heart pounded in your chest as they grabbed you roughly by the arms. you struggled against their grip, your cries of protest barely audible over the tumult outside. they dragged you to your desk and, despite your frantic attempts to break free, began restraining you with the belts from straitjackets. the leather straps cut into your skin as they bound your arms and legs to the desk, rendering you immobile.

you pleaded with them, your voice trembling with fear and desperation. “please, don’t do this. let me go. i’ll do anything.”

the inmates remained silent, their faces impassive as they completed their task. the office, once a place of calm and control, was now a prison, its familiar surroundings now oppressive and alien. as the last of the restraints were secured, the door creaked open, and taeyong stepped into the room. his appearance was striking against the backdrop of screams. he was calm, almost serene, despite the mayhem that had unfolded. the sight of him brought a mix of relief and dread. you gazed up at him, your eyes wide with terror as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“taeyong,” you said, your voice quivering. “are you really gonna kill me?”

he walked towards you with an unsettling calm, his expression unreadable. as he neared, he paused, his gaze locking with yours. “i’m not going to kill you,” he assured, his voice soft but carrying a chilling edge. “i just need to hurt you enough to make sure you’ll be mine.”

the words hung heavy in the air, and your heart raced as you watched him produce a small metal device from his pocket. the sight of the electric shock equipment made your blood run cold. it was an instrument of pain, and its presence signaled a new level of cruelty.

to your surprise, taeyong’s expression softened, and he took a step closer. “i know you thought you were helping me,” he said, his tone almost apologetic. “but now it’s my turn to help you.”

the device was cold against your skin as he pressed it to your head. a jolt of electricity surged through you, and your body convulsed involuntarily. the sensation was overwhelming, a harsh intrusion into your consciousness. you felt your mind slipping away from the present, a series of fragmented images and memories flashing before your eyes.

your mother’s face appeared, her eyes filled with pain and sorrow. then, your father, followed by your grandparents, each visage a poignant reminder of loss. the images shifted and morphed, replaced by a vision of yourself with taeyong. you were working together, your roles reversed, with him now a cured man, living with you in a semblance of normalcy. the visions continued, showing a future that was both alluring and terrifying. you saw yourselves speeding down a highway, the police in hot pursuit. the trunk of your car was filled with money, a symbol of the danger and thrill that had become intertwined with your relationship. the exhilaration of the chase was intense, but it was overshadowed by an undercurrent of dread.

the final image was the most haunting. you saw yourself detached, your love for taeyong twisted into something unrecognizable. the thrill had turned into a grim reality, the danger of your actions reflected in the cold, hard truths of your choices. the vision was a cruel reminder of the consequences that awaited you, the stark reality of a future bound by the darkness you had embraced.

as the electric shock subsided, your body trembled uncontrollably. your mind was a whirlpool of conflicting emotions and revelations. you felt a profound sense of numbness, the shock leaving you disoriented and frightened. the room seemed to close in around you, what used to be a familiar space now a prison of your own making. in the end, you wished it had killed you. death seemed more reasonable, more promising, than what the future had in store for you.

✧.*

a/n: requested fic!!! the smut part at least i really dk where i was going with this plot lol

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tallerthantale · 19 days

Text

On False Memories

There is another moment around Scarlett's allegations I want to expand on. It does come from bits where Tortoise is doing the pseudo attribution thing, so keep in mind we don't have the exact wording used by Gaiman or his lawyers, we have Tortoise's characterization of what has been said. I am going to go forward on the working assumption that it is a generally accurate representation of what was said to Tortoise.

"Rachel Johnson: Neil Gaiman’s account suggests we should treat Scarlett’s allegations with caution, as they first surfaced when she was hospitalized, he says, for the treatment of a condition that’s associated with false memories. But we know her allegations pre-date her admission to hospital. Scarlett’s medical records also show us that Neil Gaiman’s claim that Scarlett has a serious preexisting medical condition to be false. According to her records, she presented as a genuinely high risk of suicide and was discharged after recovering overnight.

Rachel Johnson: There’s no mention, even in her previous medical history, of any condition like the one Neil Gaiman claimed in his account. The only medication she was on was the sleeping pill Zopiclone."

The things about this series of claims that jump out at me might be a bit different than what other people would be paying attention to, so I want to explain what stands out to me and why. But we are going to need to do a little bit of background first. Getting into this is a big ass can of worms, but I'm going to see if I can do a bit of a cliff notes version.

The underlying issue is that a propensity to develop 'false memories' is a disposition that all humans have. That's just normal brain functioning. It isn't a condition you will find in diagnostic manuals because it is the condition of being a human. It's hard for people to process and accept that knowledge, because everyone hates it. Doesn't make it any less true. Functionally everything you consciously remember is a post hoc reconstruction to suit the needs of your current situation.

Under normal circumstances this does not account for things like spontaneously constructing major sexual assaults into existence. That's not a thing, but not having the memory in the front of your conscious experience for years, and then remembering that you have that memory later when it's triggered is a thing.

For most people, most of the time, the shifts of constructed memories are things like your brain not bothering to pay attention to what color someone's shirt was, and making it up later to have a cohesive memory. It would account for something like a person thinking they said no louder than they did, which shouldn't be relevant anyway. It could account for thinking you stated a boundary very clearly, but when you look at the message later it's actually ambiguous.

Ideally, the needs of the current situation are to remember what actually did happen. Unfortunately memory can be highly vulnerable to suggestion in the name of preserving continuity. This why police will do things like shouting "stop resisting" while beating up someone who isn't resisting. People absolutely will form a memory of the person resisting to make it make sense. Not because they have a specific condition, because that's how brains work. The counter to this is for the general public to understand that it 'makes sense' for the police to engage in that deceptive strategy. Once that is widely known bystanders will be more likely to remember the events for what they were.

In moments of high emotional distress people's minds generally prioritize 'making myself feel better' as the main need of the current situation. What it makes a person feel better to remember is going to be very context dependent. One day it might be what validates seeing themselves as a victim, the next it might make them feel better to frame themselves as in control of the situation by seeing themselves as a villain. Both genuine victims and genuine perpetrators can cycle through both perceptions. Shifting reframing of memory to form a narrative can occur to all sorts of things in all sorts of scenarios. These are examples of what's called cognitive distortions. Learning about how they work does not prevent them from happening. They exist in all people. Yes, even you, yes, even me.

However, if a person's emotional regulation is shit, and / or they are stuck in a childlike mode of emotional development, these mechanisms can be more dramatic and reaching. One of the most common folk psychology (popularly believed psychology misinformation) things I run into is people attributing cognitive distortions solely and specifically to people with Cluster B personality disorders.

I see a lot of people start learning about Cluster B and then very quickly start seeing signs of Cluster B everywhere. I think that is because they are largely learning from people who fixate on 'warning about of the dangers of Cluster B people,' describe Cluster B mostly in terms of cognitive distortions, and then frame those cognitive distortions as more or less 'the thing Cluster B people do.' People who get their information from that sort of content start looking IRL and immediately see them everywhere, but it's because literally everyone has cognitive distortions all the time.

My first impression of the "condition associated with false memories" line was that it looked to me like Gaiman was trying to claim that Scarlett was a narcissist and / or borderline off of a poor understanding of those conditions. If Gaiman thinks false memories are 'the thing Cluster B people do,' Gaiman using that narrative fits with claiming she was hospitalized on suicide risk due to the condition and him associating the condition with false memories.

I didn't see anything in the fake therapist's videos or ramblings that looked like he was in the dark triad fandom, (my name for people with strong folk psychology attitudes about Cluster B personality disorders) but it is certainly possible he is. The book that conspicuously popped up on Neil's... amazon reading list? something like that? a while back was a book about getting out of relationships with narcissists.

The other side of the false memories issue is that certain types of hypnotherapists claim to be able to recover memories of childhood abuse through hypnotism. This is a very bad idea to try to do for multiple reasons. While there is evidence that these hypnotherapies result in a person having more memories after than they did before, those memories are post hoc reconstructions, because that is what all memories are. And those post hoc reconstructions are vulnerable to suggestion, particularly surrounding the needs of the immediate situation and continuity.

If the explicit goal of the therapy is to hypnotize a person into a heightened state of vulnerability to suggestion specifically so that they can remember a specific thing, there is little reason to believe any particular memory 'recovered' by a hypnotherapist has anything to do with reality. What ads another layer to the horrifying is that since there is no neurological difference between a false memory and a real one, a hypnotherapist 'recovering' false memories of trauma will create trauma that is just a real as if those things did actually happen.

Neil's fake therapist and the communities he is connected to might have some overlap with the people who still think hypnotherapists doing traumatic memory recovery is a good idea. it's the flavor of pseudoscience they seem to be running on. It is also possible he is more aware of the dangers of hypnotherapists because he has encountered them and bothered to do a bit of reading.

Since he is not actually a real mental health professional and is in community with pseudoscientists, he could have ended up with an overinflated sense of how common hypnotherapist nonsense is, and he may not realize how much policy and training and best practices go into preventing real mental health professionals that work at hospitals from planting suggested memories.

From his own message to Scarlett, he was wildly reckless as to the risk that he might be planting suggestions himself, (assuming that wasn't the intention) in ways a trained professional would know not to do. While many things about him set off red flags, this point was the biggest, and what made me immediately inclined to prompt a license review, which started the 'he doesn't actually have one' rabbit hole.

"A condition associated with false memories" sounds to me like they are trying to diagnose her with a Cluster B personality disorder. Trying to time the origin of the claims to the hospitalization could be an argument that Scarlett was implanted with false memories of the content of the allegations by irresponsible crisis workers. It looks to me like the reasoning of a person who read a few bits and pieces of real things in isolation and put them together into a dangerously inaccurate mess. Which is the sort of thing that can happen when unqualified people LARP as therapists. Or as Cluster B experts.

If the "condition associated with false memories" claim is referring to Cluster B and tracks back to Wayne and his phone call with Scarlett, that would be very gross on a lot of levels. Wayne is not qualified to do that, you really can't diagnose personality disorders off a single session even if you are qualified, Wayne had a preexisting investment in the situation before talking to Scarlett, Wayne did not have her as a proper client, Wayne would have been passing information about his opinions on Scarlett to a different person after claiming to be speaking in confidence, ect.... I can't say if that's what happened, but if it did happen I would have some choice words to say to him about that. On top of the ones I already have.

There is a conversation between a civil lawyer and a psychologist about a lot of these topics on youtube from when they were looking at the Marylin Manson case. It goes over a lot of the issues around false memories if people want to listen through it. It's a bit over an hour. I have mixed feelings about the lawyer in question, (and you probably don't want to look at the chat) but the psychologist is very qualified and knows what he's talking about.

#neil gaiman allegations #neil gaiman #fake therapist #psychology #false memories #mentions of abuse #but no descriptions #tortoise podcast #cluster b

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mysticstronomy · 1 year

Text

HOW DO WE KNOW THE UNIVERSE IS INFINITE??

Blog#332

Saturday, September 16th, 2023

Welcome back,

The simplest cosmology that fits the large-scale characteristics of the universe is the so-called Friedmann—Lemaître—Robertson—Walker cosmology describing a spacetime that is homogeneous (same everywhere) and isotropic (has no preferred direction).

This simple cosmology is characterized, among other things, by a variable that represents spatial curvature. It can be positive, negative, or zero.

Our best observations to date strongly suggest that the universe has no spatial curvature. It may be expanding in time, but the geometry of space, at any given time, is Euclidean.

The simplest topology that corresponds to Euclidean geometry is that of flat, infinite space. So by Occam’s razor, i.e., the parsimony of assumptions, we can conclude that in the absence of evidence to the contrary, the universe appears infinite.

That does not mean that we know this for sure. In fact, there really is no way of knowing. What is beyond the limits of the observable universe is, well, not observable, not even in principle. So for all we know, just outside the observable universe there is a big bad wall.

Or a brane-type singularity. Or fire-breathing pink unicorns preventing us from going any further. Nature is under no obligation, after all, to behave in a manner that we humans call reasonable.

But in our experience, Nature by and large does behave reasonably, and we might expect it to continue behaving reasonably even beyond the boundaries of the observable universe. That expectation, combined with the observation that the universe appears to lack spatial curvature, leads to the concept of a spatially infinite universe.

Originally published on www-forbes-com

COMING UP!!

(Wednesday, September 20th, 2023)

"CAN HUMANS REALLY LIVE ON THE RED PLANET??"

#astronomy #outer space #alternate universe #astrophysics #universe #spacecraft #white universe #space #parallel universe #astrophotography #infinite #how will the universe end #cosmology #cosmos

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dedalvs · 2 months

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My brother and I agree with you on connections but while we're discussing it, we've forgotten what the term is where like, different locations pronounce words differently so you can tell people from outside the group or region by their pronouncation. We think the word we're thinking of is hebrew.

Okay, okay, before this gets out of hand, let's talk about phonetics: the study of speech sounds.

Humans can make a bunch of different sounds with their mouths. The languages we speak take a portion of these sounds and make meanings using those sounds. Other sounds we make are treated as alinguistic. They may feature in onomatopoeia or other sound gestures (like the "tsk, tsk" sound we make when disapproving of something), but they don't participate in the actual creation of words for a given language—even if they will in another language (so the "tsk, tsk" sound, which we transcribe [ǀ], isn't used in the word creation process in English, but it is in Xhosa, where it's spelled c).

Speech sounds are characterized by where they're produced in the mouth (called place) and also what kind of sound they are (called manner), among other things. Two common manners are stops and fricatives. A stop is so called because the air flowing out of the lungs is briefly stopped by making a complete closure either between the tongue or lips or glottis and some part of the vocal tract before being released again. [p] is an easy one. You close your lips and so air can't pass from your lungs out of your mouth anymore. It's stopped at the lips (and also the velum, which has to be closed). When you open your mouth again, it makes a [p] sound.

A fricative, on the other hand, is basically a fixed obstacle in the path of the airflow out the lungs. It doesn't stop the airflow completely; it simply forces the air to move around it, changing the natural sound of that airflow. Try breathing out normally (an [h]) and then making an [s] sound. Notice that the sound is much sharper. It now has to get around your tongue sticking up like a middle finger, and so the sound changes.

Okay! It's important to understand these two manners of articulation to get to the main event.

An affricate is a sound that starts like a stop and ends like a fricative. This means the airflow is completely stopped, but when it starts again, your articulators don't move away completely, instead briefly coming to rest in fricative position.

In English, one common affricate is [tʃ]. We transcribe it like that because it starts out as [t] and finishes like [ʃ] (that is the IPA symbol for the "sh" sound). This is the sound found in aaaaaaaaall of these words:

chap

which

witch

Tchaikovsky

Despite the fact that we think of [tʃ] as one sound, it is not. Consequently, it makes no sense to say there is a silent "t" in "witch". Rather, there's an unspelled "t" in "which".

*****

Addenda for those who have had some phonetics: Yes, I've ignored aspiration for the purposes of this demonstration. It's not relevant, as the same would apply to /t/. Nor is the precise placement of the stop in [tʃ] relevant, as the places aren't distinct in English the way they might be in a different language. Also if you're wondering if there's ever a distinction between /t͡ʃ/ as a speech sound and a sequence of /t/ and /ʃ/ in English, yes, there is, but that has more to do with the realization of stops at word boundaries, so, for example, the /tʃ/ sequence in "salt shop", if such a thing existed, might end up being realized as [t̚ʃ] or even [ʔʃ], which few English speakers would interpret as /t͡ʃ/. If word-final /t/ weren't realized in this way, it likely would be more recognizable as /t͡ʃ/, aspiration or no.

#phonetics #connections #nyt #ny times

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drdemonprince · 8 months

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I just got your piece The Asexual Fetishist in my inbox and wanted to send you a quick thank you for breaking my brain open with that one. I've spent years trying to square my desire for novel sexual experiences/specific kink related interests with not actually being sexually attracted to other people. I've consumed a lot of content by asexuals about kink and the like but having someone actually explain their experience with their fetish and its impact on their sexual life has never popped up in my perusing. I've had a lot of hang ups about the asexual label so I haven't dug too deep. This has definitely inspired me do more than a cursory exploration and I will definitely be giving Ana Valens work a read. Thanks again!

yeahhhh!!!! I love to hear it, thank you. Ana Valens' writing is GREAT and seeing her, a very outspoken and proud perv and accused "degenerate" claim the asexual label made me feel better about revisiting it, too. Others land on a different way of describing themselves -- Cosima Bimbotheory for example says that while in contemporary parlance she qualifies as ace spectrum / demisexual, she instead identifies more with leathersex, because the leather community has always made space for boundary-breaking ways of achieving intimacy, and has always included people who have sex without "having sex." I don't think these views are incompatible, hence my inclusion of vintage leather exhibitionist porn That Boy in my essay as an example of what Valens calls Ace Erotics.

I got my start as a queer kid on the asexuality forums of the early 2000s -- before I had the language of being autistic or trans or unempathic, ace spaces were the only community where I could easily express feeling outside and beyond what normal human beings were expected to feel. And so I still find I have a home there.

I think asexuality gets clowned on far too much -- there is this annoying tendency to equate people having bad opinions or doing annoying shit with their identities, and so aces get written off as sex-shamey scolds and enbies get characterized as anti medical transition and all other kinds of dumb shit like that, often from people who should know better. im here to say you can be an asexual free use hole and that is actually not confusing at all if a person actually considers what asexual means.

heres the link to the essay, for the curious

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