#I’m not a therapist or anything so don’t take my word as gospel

[spongek-squidge]

Penny’s 2 heart event sure is a controversial one (the one where she pushed George’s wheelchair without permission) so I’m going to throw my opinion on it out there cause why not

TW! mention of bad upbringings, implication of child ab*se, mention of negative self thinking, Y’know, Penny and Pam stuff

In case you’ve forgotten this heart event sees Penny try to help out George when he struggles to get his Mail from the back of the mailbox, which you know is lovely, nice neighbourly assistance. However, she didn’t ask whether or not he needed help (doing so being good manners) and also pushed his wheelchair without permission with him in it (that’s a no-no and is as disrespectful as pushing someone without a wheelchair (except George is less likely to fall as a result)). Now, this is a problem with the Stardew community as it shows a lack of knowledge and compassion with wheelchair users. However the biggest issue people have with it is if you explain that what Penny did isn’t okay to Penny you lose friendship with her.

Now this seems really out of place, especially when you consider that if you agree Penny did the right thing George then apologises to Penny! Not the way round that should be done.

Before I continue I want to make it clear that this mistake doesn’t inherently make Penny a bad person, but this is my take on why her losing friendship points is a good story telling aspect for the character (in my opinion)

Please finish reading before responding pls don’t pull a Twitter I swear it’s justified-

Starting off with why penny would do this to grumpy old man George, it kinda makes sense, like George is the kind of guy to reject all help if offered to him, man’s got a tonne of bottled up toxic masculinity. However, this still doesn’t justify it, it’s just an explanation as to why Penny didn’t bother asking, she’s lived next to that man for a long time she knows how he is.

So she goes and tries to help George and pushes in wheelchair around without permission, which is still a no-no. However when you tell her it’s a no-no you lose friendship points with her? What the hell Penny, we’re trying to help you out her girl!

But here’s why I think she would lose friendship points and it’s very in character

Pam

Pam is the only parent in Penny’s life and has been for a long time (god knows where the baby daddy is) so it makes sense for Penny to not understand the etiquette around wheelchair users and people with other physical disabilities, doesn’t it? I mean, she learnt is from Pam, and Pam isn’t really a beacon of good morals is she?

It’s the same logic behind internalised homophobia, you grow up around people who are homophobic so even if you are gay or do your best to be inclusive it takes more then someone who didn’t grow up around the same levels of homophobia. Penny grew up around someone who wouldn’t bother educating her about people who are different due to physical disabilities etc

Penny is open minded, she’d never discriminate, but she was never taught the etiquette surrounding things like wheelchairs and how to respect wheelchair users

But why does she lose friendship with us when we try to teach her the etiquette?

I have an idea

Because it makes her think, somewhere deep in her bones, that she’s just going to become her mother. That no matter how much she tries to be open minded and be everything her mother isn’t she’s still failing and nothing can change that

This isn’t true of course but Penny didn’t have the best upbringing and Pam has been seen to insult her when she gets mad, so Penny definitely has low self esteem and would think in this manner.

But that’s just a theory, a game theory!

But seriously, it does make sense when you think too much about it (which I have)

[shammah8]

Grappling If you ask anyone who knew me growing up whether they are surprised to hear that I wrote a book about embracing emotion, I believe they would all say, “Yes! Absolutely shocked!” I have always loved books, data, and a well-thought-out argument. I’m embarrassed to say this now, but there were plenty of times in my life that I was grateful I wasn’t as “emotional” as some other people I knew. I liked being the cool, calm, collected one who figured things out. I decided to study human behavior precisely because I wanted to figure some things out. I imagined that one day I would write a book about trauma or mental illness. In these pages we will talk about both, but this book is about so much more. You never know where life will take you. Let me tell you how I got here.

I am a trauma therapist. Most people end up in my line of work because of their own trauma. I am no exception. If you have seen me speak in person, you might have heard this when I was introduced: “Dr. Anita was raised in a family that grappled with mental illness.” Grappled. Such a tidy word.

But living it was messy. I grew up in a religious family. My maternal grandfather founded two churches. As I pen these words my father has been a senior pastor for nearly fifty years, and my mom has been a traveling evangelist for almost as long.

My parents’ beliefs were in no way confined to the church building. At home, whether washing dishes or vacuuming, Mommy was almost always “praying in the Spirit.” You could always find a bottle of anointing oil under the kitchen sink. There were basement prayer meetings. And only gospel music was allowed. We went to doctors and hospitals when we were sick, but we were also told that prayer could heal. We were taught to believe in the protection of angels. We learned about demons, too, and scriptures to disrupt their work. As a child, I saw miraculous things happen. I never doubted our faith, so when a demon showed up in the doorway of the bedroom I shared with my older sister Valerie, I thought I knew what to do.

I didn’t see it, but she did.

The first time her demon appeared, Valerie’s terrified screams snatched me awake in the middle of the night.“What, Val? What? Why are you screaming?” Her eyes were wide open, so I knew it wasn’t a nightmare.

“There’s a demon at the door, ’Nita! There’s a demon at the door!”

I glanced over there. The door was open, and the hallway was dark. “Val, I don’t see anything.”

Her screams were too loud for her to hear me. I knew Val’s cries would soon wake my parents and they would come to help us, but each scream cut me like a razor blade. I couldn’t take it anymore. Shaking with fear, I whispered a prayer of protection and ran through that doorway to go get my dad. He was already in the hallway running in our direction. Dad didn’t see the demon either, so he wrapped his arms tight around my sister and started praying. My mom was behind him, standing with me. We prayed too. Val squeezed her eyes shut and the screams gradually subsided. Finally, she opened one eye to peek. The demon in the doorway was gone, but not for good.

That awful scene happened over and over. Valerie was about eleven years old then. I was only six. Her screams became my midnight alarm clock. I started getting anxious. It became hard for me to fall asleep. A few years later, when our room became my room, at bedtime the first thing I did was close that door. Although I never saw it myself, Valerie’s demon had become my demon too. I would be twenty-eight years old before I could fall asleep in a room with the door open.🌿Garden within

[honeymoonjin]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

--

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

--

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

[anxietysroomsupport]

Tw ED> (just a vent) I ate so much tonight and I feel terrible and disgusting just gross. It feels like everytime I eat I'm putting garbage in my body and I'm contaminating me but when I dont eat for a few days I'm fully clean then when I eat a lot (which you probabaly feel it's a regular meal) I feel like a disease and just disgusting. I hate feeling this way but I also dont bc I deserve some type of punishment for being so gross. And the worst part is I can easily choose not to eat but I dont

Tw ED (2/2) I deserve to feel disgusting and hate myself if I'm doing something disgusting. I just eat so much and halloween is coming up and my mom is forcing me to come to a party and there'll be so much food. And the way my sister talks about how I eat and how fat I am and how negatively she uses the word it makes me want to die bc yes I know I'm gross and I'm trying to stop. I dont want fat to be a bad thing in my mind bc it doesnt matter but for me and on me it does and I hate it so much

Tw ed> I shouldnt complain. It's my fault that I feel this way anyway. I'm the one who ate and as much as i did so it's only fair i feel this terrible. If I'd chosen not to put stuff in my mouth I wouldnt be feeling this way, I know I deserve I just hate everything right now. I forgot how many asks I sent just how but the ones with Tw ED> are from me and sorry if I sent a lot. I know you cant do anything so these were just vents, thanks for letting me vent

Hi Anon,

If you take away nothing else from this, just know that every time you eat and take care of yourself, I am cheering you on.  You deserve to eat whenever you want, however much you want, just by existing.  You don’t need to apologize for anything.

Life is messy.  Being “fully clean” isn’t something that can actually happen, because no such state exists.  If we ever did have nothing at all inside of us, we’d be dead.  So, yeah, some foods aren’t great for us, like candy or bacon, but even those serve to provide your body with the calories that it needs to keep functioning.  You should never feel bad for feeding your body what it needs.

Being hungry, needing to eat, does not make someone a disease.  And even when we are gross, disgusting, or whatever else, we still deserve love and care.  We still deserve to eat and meet our own needs.  Yes, you, too.  Because it’s actually incredibly difficult to choose not to eat.  To make that decision is to fight against everything your body is telling you when it’s hungry.  It’s a battle against yourself and you don’t need to fight it.

(tw in the article for short description of historical self-harm)  Here’s an article about how and why we punish ourselves, and how it doesn’t work long term to actually change behavior, AND how it actually hurts our mental health to keep trying.  When you lean into those guilty, worthless feelings because you think you deserve it, you’re punishing yourself for doing something you think was wrong.  Humans have always done this, and will likely continue to do so forever.  But guilt doesn’t serve us if it’s not helping us maintain healthy relationships with our friends, family, or community.  Applying guilt to yourself, for something you did to yourself, that you know you wouldn’t even care if other people did...  well, it’s not helping you, and it is hurting you.

You have not committed any wrongdoing here.  

The things your sister says to you are not true.  You are not gross for eating.  Being fat is not a bad thing.  Fat is beautiful!  Both of you have probably picked up that negative messaging from the culture of conventional beauty standards around you (commercials, magazines, school, hollywood), but it is not the gospel.  Ignoring it isn’t easy, but it can be done with practice.

This article talks about negative feelings towards ourselves, and how we can start to combat that.  Eating disorders are particularly hard to shake, and a therapist or counselor could really help you out here.  Seriously consider bringing this up to your parents or teachers, so they can help you get what you need.  There are links in that article and on our Emergency Resources page.  And while you’re getting that sorted out...

Start getting angry.  F- conventional beauty standards, and f- anyone who tells you it’s not okay to eat.  Curse as much as you like.  Eat what you like.  Be mad about it, because they’re actually the ones causing you all this pain.  They’ve made you think eating is wrong, and that’s messed up!  I’m not even joking, how dare they.  Really.  When you feel that hunger pang, and you start to feel guilty, get mad instead.  Get furious even.  Then eat something and know that with every bite you are dismantling toxic beauty standards and doing something good for yourself despite all odds.  (Be careful though, don’t make yourself sick by eating too fast, because this trick will have your adrenaline pumping.  If you feel absurd and giddy with power, that’s normal.  Lean into that for a hot minute and see how it feels.)

And please come back anytime, even just to vent.  You’re always welcome here.

-Miss Fay

[nerdygaymormon]

I'm... scared... of your blog. It goes against a whole lot of what I was taught to believe and follow growing up. But, at the same time, I've been hurt deeply by that... doctrine... and I've only just begun to see and understand the extent of that damage. So... what if this is what my wounded and weeping soul has been searching for... since I can't pick up any "official text" without having a violent physical reaction that is drowning in pain and fear? 1/?

I can't even get near a chapel or temple without reacting. And I can't bring myself to confide in any of my local bishopric or ward members. As a result, I've been suffering alone. I know I need therapy because this is some deep, messed up shit, but I have not been able to find a compassionate professional and I'm not want to continue the search. I've neither the funds nor the energy. 2/?

I'm 34yo born and raised in the Church. Three years ago I experienced something that made me question heavily whether Gd still loved me because I for sure felt damned. And that event caused the floodgates to open, I suppose. I've not been active for years due to chronic illness and being treated like some sort of sub-human because of my disability. I used to maintain a current temple recommend but not anymore. 3/?

I think I'm asexual. And the more and more I think about this, the more and more it explains some aspects of me that I thought were broken. (No desire to date as a teen, no feelings of sexual attraction to anyone, confusion about terms like "infatuation" and "crush", confused and disgusted by sex and the world's obsession with it.) But, at the same time, the more and more I grew to like this term, the worse my feeling of being Rejected by Gd became. 4/? 

But, even before I adopted the term, I began to feel unwanted and damned because of a history of attempted molestation at 5 years old and being taught that I was 'chewed gum' amongst other doctrines that insisted that my every decision and move was responsible for the sexual purity of the male mind. I felt violated in almost everything that I wore that I felt "pretty" in because I was under the belief I was a walking sin. 5/?

I say I'm scared of your blog... yet I read through several posts last night, body shaking and nauseous with fear and guilt. And here I am, unloading in your askbox because I'm so desperate for someone to talk to who won't judge me like I've been judged all my life. The last time I went to church, I ran out of Sacrament in tears, hyperventilating in my car for several minutes. I have not been back since. 6/?

I want to believe that I'm still loved. I want to believe that I'm still wanted. There is a vicious war going in within me, complicated by chronic and mental illness, that I've lost my sensitivity concerning Gd. I can't tell if or when He's talking to me because the constant anxiety, fear and pain drown out the more 'subtle' emotions. And the maladaptive coping mechanisms I've developed likely don't help either... 7/?

Thank you for listening... if you have anything insightful that you think might help, I'd like to read it. (I hope all these messages stayed anonymous...) 8/8

———————————————————————

Wow, the feels. You said so much. I recognize you’re in a hard place. 

—————————  

Don’t worry, you managed to stay anonymous. I know when sending multiple asks it’s to forget to push the anon option.

—————————  

Congrats on figuring out you are asexual (ace). 

I think discovering a lack of something is difficult. There’s all these hints along the way but then once you figure it out, it all makes sense, everything fits.  

Don’t be afraid to change your labels. We use words to describe how we understand ourselves. If the way you understand yourself changes, it’s fine to change your labels. 

—————————  

Having a chronic illness can be difficult, it can take over a life as you organize things around it. Having a disability also can be challenging, especially if it’s one that is visible to others because they often view you as your disability. 

The thing is, you have a personality that wants to be displayed, I can tell that just from these messages you sent me. As people spend time with you and get to know you, they will start seeing you and not your disability. 

—————————  

Things that you described about your feelings and reactions make me believe therapy would help. I’m no mental health professional, but I wonder if you have have the symptoms of PTSD (church caused you trauma) and an anxiety disorder. 

If you have insurance that will cover some sessions, look for a provider that takes your insurance. If you don’t, I know that therapy can be expensive. 

About 2 years ago I needed to see a therapist and I checked at my local university. They had a psychological services clinic where Ph.D. students could gain experience, so the price was reduced, and my therapy was overseen by professors who are up-to-date in their field.  

If you can’t get to therapy now, and if you want to go to church, it helps a lot to have someone you know that can go with you, like a security blanket. It makes it less scary to enter that space. 

If you don’t have someone like that, try contacting the missionaries, explain you haven’t been to church in a while but want to come back. They will be so happy to greet you in the lobby and have you sit with them. And if you want, they will introduce you around to others. 

—————————  

Tbh, I was very surprised at how you describe my blog. I didn’t realize someone would view it the way you did. 

It’s true that I think our church is wrong on LGBTQIA+ topics. This is because of a few things:

1) I feel the spirit let me know that God loves me as I am, a gay man, and that I’m not broken. This is how I’m meant to be. 

2) What we learn about our Heavenly Parents and how they love us and are fair and just, and they treat us the same and view humankind as alike. I can’t believe they would set up a whole group of their children to fail and not have a path to return to them.

3) Jesus stood with those who were on the margins, He spent time lifting others and taught us that real religion is helping others, especially those who are downtrodden and on the margins. 

4) The Church doesn’t show LGBTQIA+ people as a part God’s Plan. The Church doesn’t know what to do with us. And it’s not a good space for queer people so most LGBTQIA+ members leave. This is not good fruit and it’s not what I think God would want, for whole groups of people to not feel welcomed.

I don’t reject the principles of the gospel, I want them to apply to all of us, even me, a gay man, and even you, an asexual woman. We are beautiful, we have a purpose, we deserve to be accepted and have joy. 

I guess that is rebellious and dangerous because it challenges the Church’s narrative about people like you and me. 

I let people in church tell me terrible things and for so long I believed them. I don’t anymore. 

Refusing the shame that church gives us as queer people, that’s radical. Church is supposed to help us be better, not wear us down. 

You can love yourself and be happy as ace. This is part of how God made you, you don’t have to deny this is how you experience life. 

—————————

What are your goals? What kind of person do you want to be? What do you want your life to be like? 

My psychologist used to have me write what I would like my life to be like, and then we made goals to start doing those. 

You are capable of change. 

This is your life. 

God has given you talents. We’re not supposed to hide them under a bushel. Work on developing them and developing yourself. 

You are your own longest investment. Investing in yourself is a gift to the world, it’s how we develop ourselves and increases our capacity to help others.

—————————

I hope you feel I understood what you were trying to say to me. 

I also hope I gave you some things to think about, to ponder, and figure out what feels right to you.

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink

Chapter Three

Up in the lab, I help dad test a flake of green paint in a petri dish. As I squeeze the solution over the dish the paint reacts, telling me that the paint was used to paint something metal.

I found it on the victim's garden path, close to where the body was found in the pond. Two areas of gravel were found to have traces of green paint, each a metre apart. A metre apart and painted metal - a ladder, then. As I thought. Superstitious man, walks round ladder, slips on the gravel and falls to his death in the pond. High levels of alcohol were found in his blood, but his wife said he didn't drink - however, the victim's brother had sent him some whisky. Conclusion: the brother sent someone to his house with a ladder, knowing his brother was superstitious. The ladder was placed in front of the pond so that when Jack walked around it, he would fall in. Case closed.

Someone knocks on the door and Mike enters, followed by a man limping in on a walking stick. He looks around at all the equipment he passes, then looks back at Mike.

"Well, bit different from my day."

Mike chuckles. "You've no idea!"

"Mike, can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine," dad lies.

"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike challenges.

"I prefer to text."

"Sorry. It's in my coat."

Mike's friend digs into his back pocket and pulls out a six-month-old phone. A bit extravagant for a retired army doctor looking for a flatshare. "Er, here. Use mine," he says, holding the phone out for dad to take.

"Oh. Thank you." Dad glances briefly at Mike before striding over to the pair.

"It's an old friend of mine," Mike says, gesturing to the man, "John Watson." Dad takes Watson's phone and turns around slightly, flipping open the keypad and tapping out the conclusion of our case to PC Downing before asking cooly, "Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Watson's face is one of utter confusion as he frowns. Behind him, Mike smiles, aware of what dad is doing. I scan my eyes over the man and see where dad got that question from. His face is tanned, but as Watson held out his phone to dad I noticed there was no tan above the wrists.

"Sorry?" Doctor Watson asks, either completely clueless or just not wanting to talk about his ordeal.

"Which was it – Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you know ...?" Molly walks in with dad's coffee, and Watson trails off.

"Ah, Molly, coffee. Thank you." He snaps the phone shut and hands it back to Watson as Molly comes over. She's removed the lipstick - probably because of what dad said earlier. At least he didn't say anything too cruel.

He seems to have noticed for himself as he inspects her closely and takes the mug. "What happened to the lipstick?"

Molly smiles awkwardly. "It wasn't working for me."

"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now," he criticises, frowning. There we go!

"Okay," Molly mutters looking upset, turning and heading back out the room. I wonder if she's gone to put some more lipstick on: she takes dad's word for gospel.

"How do you feel about the violin?" dad asks absently as he returns to his laptop, no doubt updating The Science of Deduction - the website we share. Watson seems unaware that dad is talking to him as he watches Molly leave. He glances at Mike before he finally realises he's being spoken to. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end, and I've got a daughter," he gestures back at me before looking round at Watson. I wave half-heartedly, not looking up from my phone as I add an additional thought to dad's last post on our website. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He throws a really awful, false smile over to Watson who looks at him blankly for a moment before turning to Mike again.

"Oh, you ... you told him about me?"

"Not a word," says Mike, smiling smugly.

Doctor Watson turns to face us again. "Then who said anything about flatmates?"

Dad picks his coat up from the side and puts it on. "I did. Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't that difficult a leap."

"How did you know about Afghanistan?" John asks, but dad ignores him, wrapping his dark blue scarf around his neck and picking up his phone from beside him. Considering he's supposed to have no signal, he checks it anyway, but it was obvious it was a ruse to see the phone

"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it," dad says, walking towards the door, and I follow close behind. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening; seven o'clock. Sorry – gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."

Doctor Watson turns to look at us as we pass him, looking as confused as ever. "Is that it?"

Dad turns away from the door and strides back over to Doctor Watson. "Is that what?"

"We've only just met and we're gonna go and look at a flat?"

"Problem?" dad asks looking a bit offended. Watson smiles in disbelief and looks at Mike for help. Mike just smiles and shrugs, leaving the doctor to fend for himself. "We don't know a thing about each other; I don't know where we're meeting; I don't even know your name."

Watson is probably going to wish he'd never said that, and I'm going to find out my earlier assessment of him was completely right.

"I know you're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic – quite correctly, I'm afraid."

Watson looks down at his leg and shuffles his weight awkwardly as dad stands there, smiling smugly. I got most of it right, apart from the brother part which I assume dad got from the phone.

"That's enough to be going on with, don't you think?" Dad walks back towards the door, brushing past me before suddenly leaning back into the room. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street." He winks at John before looking at Mike. "Afternoon." Dad sweeps from the room, leaving a stunned doctor.

I stay behind a moment longer and cast him a small smile. "Sophia Holmes, the slightly less dramatic one." I turn, swishing my coat around and running after dad before he leaves me behind at Bart's. Again.

[fatrich-cashpig]

In careful observation, it’s hard to pinpoint when they’re actually connecting. They will proudly and happily announce to everyone that the engagement is happening in just a few weeks, but the moment it comes to asking each other what they truly want from this, all systems shut down.

He says, “Anything you want, baby.”

Then she says, “I love you, baby,” and they kiss. Kissing turns to touching turns to fucking, and before you know it, the wedding may as well be off.

He would watch her from the driveway through the window. She was telling her father, their silhouettes moving quickly, arms snapping from the front to their sides. He wouldn’t be able to hear from outside the house and inside the car, but somehow, watching her fight made it harder to be apart from her.

He couldn’t be the person she was, but he loved her. He couldn’t ever stand up for his beliefs like she could, so he loved her. She was the missing piece to his life, he knew. The sun was brighter when she was there to show it to him. The clouds, lighter. And his heart was fuller when he knew he held a place in hers. Together, they could be anything. He knew what soul mates meant when he saw what she created from the scraps he had left of himself.

He would order an espresso, she’d get a mocha. She’d ask for the bill, he’d pay it. He’d say ‘it’s alright, I’m fine,’ and she’d say ‘don’t speak to my boyfriend like that.’ No one had loved him like she loved him. No one had put their life to the side to protect his. He wasn’t even sure who he was until she told him.

She knew him better than he knew himself. She’d be the therapist he was always too scared to commit to. She’d be the nutritionist he never had the money to pay for. She’d be the nurturer he never had within himself. She was a lover. She’d spent her life loving, it was in her nature. He was in awe of how much magic she was able to see in the world. Despite the anger that’d boil behind their curtains, she’d open the door and slap a smile on her face like it was sunscreen.

All he’d see when he opened the door was his car that he’d totalled a few months before and the factory a few blocks down that would suck the contents of his soul for the foreseeable future. She was the one that would point out the dew all over the chrysanthemums in their front yard. When the forecast was doomed with thunderstorms and torrential rain, she’d pull the blanket over their legs and turn the television on.

He would worry that their circuits would short if lightning struck, but she’d wait by the window to count until the thunder rolled by. Who were they both if not the perfect match for each other?

It didn’t seem to be enough to everyone else. Their parents would fight. Their friends would fight. Then they’d fight. It was as if the world were against this harmonious union. What force was trying to drive them apart?

Were they supposed to be apart?

Only three days before the couple of the century were to be united when said force became incredibly difficult to deny.

They fit together like salt and pepper but what could they define as their connection? Was it the fists in the wall when the other gets hurt? Or was it the burping in unison after they shared their favourite meal? Was it maybe the mirrored past and identical scars they could see in each other?

He was comfortable when she was vulnerable, and she was only vulnerable with him.

You ever heard of the tortoise and the hare? Slow and steady wins the race, the old fable goes. He was the tortoise, she was the hare. She’d run to the finish line and let him know it was safe to arrive. He’d take his sweet time and cherish the flowers and the gravel and the sun when all she wanted to do was run the next race. She would wait though, because nobody trusted her word like the tortoise did.

No matter how many times she was wrong, when her hope was dashed and her closest friends called her naïve, he’d be there listening to her word like gospel. If she told him the sky was green, he’d take a bottle of Emerald Forest and slather over the misleading blues in all the photos they’d hung over the stairs.

Each night, before they set their alarms for six o’clock, they’d look into each other’s eyes and say, ‘I’ll be here with you every night for the rest of my life.’ Then they’d roll over and think to themselves, ‘I’d be nothing without her.’ ‘I’d be nothing without him.’ The worst part was that they believed it.

They were exactly the same at the core and completely different in every single other way, so I ask you, where was the connection?

[prevdustinhendrsn]

100 Questions

I was tagged by the beautiful @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold; thanks Kath! 

1. What is your nickname? i don’t really have one; I know a lot of people on here call me ‘anna banana’ though

2. How old are you? 16

3. What is your birth month? September!

4. What is your zodiac sign? Virgo

5. What is your favorite color? red!

6. What’s your lucky number? idk??

7. Do you have any pets? i used to have a cat and a dog!! i loved them so much but we moved and had to put them up for adoption :(

8. Where are you from? southern USA

9. How tall are you? 5′5

10. What shoe size are you? like, a 9 maybe? it depends on the shoe really

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? six i think?

12. Are you random? i don’t even know what this question means

13. Last person you texted? one of my good friends

14. Are you psychic in any way? i’m creepy good at those games where you have to guess how many of x is in the jar

15. Last TV show watched? shadowhunters, i think? i’m starting a stranger things rewatch soon though

16. Favorite movie? AHHHHH there’s so many - maze runner, hunger games, greatest showman, dirty dancing, love actually, love simon, the imitation game, whiskey tango foxtrot, harry potter, tons of others

17. Favorite show from your childhood? avatar: the last airbender. i get so nostalgic at any mention of it - me and my brother watched it religiously and we still need to watch korra

18. Do you want children? big no

19. Do you want a church wedding? definitely not

20. What is your religion? i mean, my whole family is Christian but i don’t particularly believe in anything. if there’s a god, that’s cool, and if there’s not, that’s also cool

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? yep, for my tonsillectomy

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? no?

23. How is life? pretty good tbh

24. Baths or showers? i love using bath bombs and i prefer baths for shaving but otherwise showers are just quicker and easier

25. What color socks are you wearing? black

26. Have you ever been famous? no...?

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? i mean it definitely sounds awesome but i know there’s tons of crap that goes along with it

28. What type of music do you like? pretty much anything - alternative, classic rock, pop, whatever - as long as it isn’t country or gospel

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? once

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? three

31. What position do you usually sleep in? i usually fall asleep on my side and wake up on my back so

32. How big is your house? not huge, at least.

33. What do you typically have for breakfast? cereal or the miscellaneous piece of fruit

34. Have you ever left the country? yup!

35. Have you ever tried archery? i did, in a hunger-games-spurred phase that lasted all of ten minutes after i actually got my hands on a bow

36. Do you like anyone? nope

37. Favorite swear word? shit, it’s the one i say the most

38. When do you fall asleep? somewhere around 1:30 usually

39. Do you have any scars? i don’t think so

40. Sexual orientation? i don’t know! bi is probably the most apt word right now but i’m still figuring it out

41. Are you a good liar? yeah, but i feel horribly guilty about it after lol

42. What languages would you like to learn? i’m currently doing japanese bc i really want to live in japan at some point

43. Top 10 songs? i can’t list ten off the top of my head but a favorite right now is ‘who are you really’ by mikky ekko

44. Do you like your country? landscape wise, i LOVE my country. and we have sonic and chick-fil-a, which is fantastic

45. Do you have friends from the web? i’ve got a handful of online friends, yeah, but i’ve never met one irl

46. What is your personality type? INFP, according to this quiz

47. Hogwarts House? slytherin!

48. Can you curl your tongue? i think so? can’t roll it though

49. Pick one fictional character you can relate to? the first one i can think of is mike wheeler

50. Left or right handed? right

51. Are you scared of spiders? not really, unless they’re. like. on me.

52. Favorite food? kath is always so relatable - tex-mex is the best

53. Favorite foreign food? kath we have the same taste buds - italian or chinese

54. Are you a clean or messy person? messy pretty much

55. If you could switch your gender for a day, what would you do? AGAIN, KATH HITTING US WITH WINNING ANSWERS: go out at night and not be afraid. enjoy having pockets

56. What color underwear? black i think

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? like ten minutes

58. Do you have much of an ego? i don’t think so??

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? i bite them right off the bat. sue me

60. Do you talk to yourself? all the time. when am i not talking to myself

61. Do you sing to yourself? i sing out loud all the time

62. Are you a good singer? i like to think so! it’s about the only music-related talent i have

63. Biggest fears? the slimy stuff in the ocean. blindness.

64. Are you a gossip? i hate to say it but kind of

65. Are you a grammar nazi? i am in terms of your, you’re, there, their, they’re, and spelling

66. Do you have long or short hair? right in the middle - it falls to the top of my chest

67. Can you name all 50 states of America? if you gave me a map to label, i could do everything except the tiny ones in new england

68. Favorite school subject? math

69. Extrovert or Introvert? introvert, completely

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? yes!! it’s crazy awesome

71. What makes you nervous? confrontation lolol

72. Are you scared of the dark? only after i’ve watched a horror movie

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? mistakes as in spelling, yes.

74. Are you ticklish? of course i am

75. Have you ever started a rumor? not that i’m aware of

76. Have you ever been out of your home country? yep

77. Have you ever drank underage? yeah

78. Have you ever done drugs? nope

79. What do you fantasize about? having friends

80. How many piercings do you have? just my earlobes, but i’d love to get an industrial

81. Can you roll your R’s? nope

82. How fast can you type? 100 wpm ish

83. How fast can you run? pretty fast for all of ten seconds

84. What color is your hair? light brown

85. What color are your eyes? blue

86. What are you allergic to? eucalyptus! i found that out when i went to a koala zoo

87. Do you keep a journal? yeah, it’s super therapeutic

88. Are you depressed about anything? not really

89. Do you like your age? yeah!

90. What makes you angry? homophobia. shadowhunters being cancelled. mike’s bowl cut. flies.

91. Do you like your own name? i’m neutral on it

92. Did you ever get a foreign object up your nose? i mean. i sure hope not

93. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child? neither

94. What talents do you have? writing, eating an inhumane amount of chocolate, skipping rope (does that count). sleeping late.

95. Sun or moon? moon

96. How did you get your name? my parents just liked it

97. Are you religious? not really

98. Have you ever been to a therapist? nope

99. Color of your bedspread? it’s a blue and yellow quilt

100. Color of your room? white - i share the basement with my siblings. we should paint it though tbh

tagging @janeswheeler, @cstlebyrs, @moodyandmoonyeyed, @summer-in-hawkins, and @sadiesinkt

[willow-bolton]

like a match in gasoline || a willow and riley mix (or how this was intended to be about their relationship and turned into a if they ever worked together they’d be hell to deal with mix- so basically badass bitches AU) (in no particular order, 21 tracks)

@rileymadden26​

01.  hell to pay- five finger death punch Feels like I'm running in place/A past I can't erase/I'm breaking, breaking apart/(I know they're after me)/It's like I'm fading each day/They took it all away/Left nothing, nothing but scars/(They make it hard to breathe)/Don't know where it went wrong/But my love for this is gone/I tried to numb the pain/But I can't get away/Hiding behind this disguise/The games I had to play/The hell I had to pay/Everything comes with a price

02. go to hell for heaven’s sake- bring me the horizon For the love of God, will you bite your tongue/Before we make you swallow it?/It's moments like this where silence is golden/And then you speak/No one wants to hear you/No one wants to see you/So desperate and pathetic, I'm begging you to spare me/The pleasure of your company/When did the diamonds leave your bones?/I'm burning down every bridge we made/I'll watch you choke on the hearts you break/I'm bleeding out every word you said/Go to hell, for heaven's sake/I'm burning down every bridge we made/I'll watch you choke on the hearts you break/I'm bleeding out every word you said/Go to hell, for heaven's sake

03. king of the world- porcelain & the tramps Keep your head down/Until I tell you to speak/And not giving me the run around/When you fall back into my coffin/No, you shouldn't stay in my way/Dare you test me/I'm the fucking king of the world/Get on your knees/I'm the fucking king of the world/Do as I please/So get up and get out and I'll show you/What it takes for me to control you/'Cause I'm the fucking king of the world

04. gasoline- porcelain & the tramps Don't get in my face/Don't invade my space/I'll put you in your place/I'll only tell you once/I'll never tell you twice/And this is me being nice/You cross me once and you'll see/It's like a match in gasoline/Gasoline'/Cause I'm highly flammable/A caged up animal/I will go off for you/You better take it back/I'm about to snap/I will go off for you, oh

05. love the way you hate me- like a storm I don't care if I'm not good enough for you/I don't care if I don't live the life you want me to/I don't care what you wanna think of me/'Cause all you are/Is everything/That I don't wanna be/You say/I'm a/Freak/I say/I am/Free/Come take a shot at me/I love the way you hate me/You say/I'm insane/I say/You're afraid/I get stronger from the pain/I love the way you hate me/Take another shot at me/I love the way you hate me

06. anti you- blue stahli Another command to succumb/To sucking you off with a smile/A vanity culture like a congregation/Identity dogmatism/The image is always in style/Stroking the ego with media masturbation/Conditioning to canonize/Gospel of this vox populi/Force feeding/Misleading/I'm burning the altar/And I'll pass right through/Erasing/Debasing/I want to be the anti you

07. fragile minds- silent theory Cut me open and you'll find/A brain, heart, liver, lungs/And a knife in the spine/It's chilling to know that the last place you go/Might be where the fat lady sings/Does it hurt? I don't know, and where do we go?/We don't tease fragile minds with such things/So sell me down the river/First help me sell my soul/It's something I know I can deliver/I think we've finally broke the mold

08. disarray- lifehouse I faced my demons/Wrestling these angels to the ground/And all that I could find Was a thin line between/All the saints and villains/It was crossed in my own mind/Someday I'm gonna find it/Wish I knew what I was looking for/Inside the disarray (inside the disarray)/I woke up this morning/Don't know where I'm going/But it's alright/I wouldn't have it any other way

09. the one who laughs last- downplay There's a war inside of me/And you watch it silently/Any idiot could see/That I killed all the hope that I had/There's a war inside of me/Burning red and honestly/And I wave it constantly/Like a flag, like a flag, like a flag/This knife that's in my back keeps twisting/Anxiety attacks/This is a battleground, I'm caught in the crossfire/My words are weaponry and I'm waiting patiently/You win the battle now but I will return the fire/'Cause I'd crawl on broken glass/To be the one who laughs last

10. i get wicked- thousand foot krutch I'm a beast came to rip this spot up/Stick to chords cause the devil wears prada/We want peace but we can make this rowdy, stop/We don't want to hurt nobody/You can't hate me cause my nature's nice/And my heart's for the people of the world tonight/If you got a problem with it take it up with life/Cause if you try to push me it ain't going to be nice/I get wicked, wicked/I get wicked/There's no escaping it/Wicked/You wanna kick it/Watch me get wicked/Step up and get it/'Cause I get wicked/I am not afraid of this mountain in my way/You can push me to my knees I believe/And I am now awake/Uncontrolled and not ashamed/When it washes over me I feel free

11. waste- seether Go unnoticed, let the freedom wash away./Losing focus, the pretense is second nature/It's a broken life that I cling too/Trying to make right/I feel dismayed, just like you do/I feel decayed../So find me a way, to leave this wasted life behind me. (this wasted life)/So find me a way, to leave this wasted life behind me after all/Yes, I see you surrounded by the hopeless/When they need you you're much to good and bloated/By the hopeless life that you cling too/Trying to make right.  

12. kill the lights- the birthday massacre This story's missing a wishing well/No mirror to show and tell/No kiss that can break the spell/I'm falling asleep/Every prince is a fantasy/The witch is inside of me/Her poison will wash away the memory/We kill the lights and put on a show/It's all a lie/But you'd never know/The star will shine/And then it will fall/And you will forget it all/And after midnight we're all the same/No glass shoe to bring us fame/Nobody to take the blame/We're falling apart

13. had enough- diamante I hate everyone that I meet/But I'm getting better/Think before I speak because I/I know I've got a temper/Think I've blown a fuse/There's blood on my knuckles/The smile on my face is fake/And the vein on my head suggests you get running/I've had enough, had enough/Had enough, had enough yeah/Cause I've had enough/I think I'm reaching the limit/You should keep your distance/Cause I've had enough/Take a deep breath and count to three/And then I'll be behavin'/I feel like people just don't get me/Maybe I'm crazy

14. paint it black- ciara I see a red door and I want it painted black/No colors anymore, I want them to turn black/I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes/I have to turn my head until my darkness goes/I see a line of cars and they're all painted black/With flowers and my love both never to come back/I see people turn their heads and quickly look away/Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day/I look inside myself and see my heart is black/I see my red door I must have it painted black/Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts/It's not easy facing up when your whole world is black/No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue/I could not foresee this thing happening to you/If I look hard enough into the setting sun/My love will laugh with me before the morning comes

15. curbstomp- meg myers I'm a sinner/I'm a liar/Want forgiveness/But I'm tired/I'm addicted to the fire/Let go, I'm ready for it/Let go, I'm ready/I'm a victim/I'm a coward/Try to wake up/Don't have the power/I'm a daughter in the choir/Let go, I'm ready for it/Let go, I'm ready

16. gasoline vs. savages- marina & halsey Is it running in our blood? Is it running in our veins?/Is it running in our genes? Is it in our DNA?/Humans aren't gonna behave as we think we always should/ Yeah, we can be bad as we can be good/Underneath it all we're just savages/Hidden behind shirts, ties and marriages/How could we expect anything at all?/We're just animals still learning how to crawl/We live, we die, we steal, we kill, we lie/Just like animals but with far less grace/We laugh, we cry like babies in the night/Forever running wild in the human race

17. moments- tove lo I, I'm not the prettiest you've ever seen/But I have my moments, I have my moments/Not the flawless one I've never been/But I have my moments, I have my moments/I can get a little drunk, I get into all the dont's/But on good days I am charming as fuck/I can get a little drunk, I get into all the dont's/But on good days I am charming as fuck

18. calm down- krewella Got all my keys don't you follow me, call on me/Ain't mood for no drama/Outta my face, didn't you read my policy/I do what I wanna/You ain't my therapist, ain't got the formula/So stay in your corner/Last thing I need is my head underwater/Didn't I warn' ya'/Wanna feel the good/Wanna feel the bad, feel it all/Got a human heart/I'ma let that fly and fall/When I feel insane/And I rap that pain/No doubt/I'ma spell it out/Don't tell me to calm down/I'm about to tear this fuckin' place down/Kinda like the way I let it go.../Don't tell me to calm down/I'm about to tear this fuckin' place down/No, I ain't afraid to let it go.../Don-don't tell me to calm down/Don't tell me to calm down

19. middle finger- bohnes You show me love then spit in my face/Making your money off all of my pain/You put an eagle inside of a cage/And you think I'm not strong enough to escape/But I refuse to let you make me feel like I can't fly/Not only will I soar again, I'll own the fucking sky, yeah/So I put my middle finger up/I'm done being your slave/My generation's had enough/And you should be afraid/Oh-whoa, oh, not your prisoner/Oh-whoa, oh, better listen when I say/I put my middle finger up/I'm done being your slave/You couldn't even look me in the eye/When you let me go and then left me to die/There was no question that I would survive/An artist on fire is one that's alive

20. dead af- krewella Throwing pretty pennies/Down a wishing well/We ain't fucking with you/But we wish you well/Wonder where your friends is/Are they heads or tails?/We ain't fucking with you/'Cause we see you/At the bottom of the party/With the silver spoon under your tongue (under your tongue)/You're all about the money/But your bullshit doesn't add up (doesn't add up)/Dancing with the skeletons out of all the graves you dug (graves you dug)/All your friends are Benjamins call 'em but they won't show up/'Cause everybody dead as fuck.../'Cause everybody dead as fuck.../'Cause everybody dead as (Brah! Brah!)/Dead as fuck

21. bones- ms mr Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone/Boy with a broken soul/Heart with a gaping hole/Dark twisted fantasy turned to reality/Kissing death and losing my breath/Midnight hours, cobble street passages/Forgotten savages, forgotten savages/Dig up her bones but leave the soul alone/Let her find a way to a better place/Broken dreams and silent screams/Empty churches with soulless curses

[translucent-at-best]

Scatter-brained…

Do you think you’re special? Do you care if people don’t think you are? I’ve been asking myself those two questions for the past couple days. I still don’t have a concrete answer. Although I like to think the people I encounter consider me/my personality special or unique in some way and that I add something to their lives… I don’t know if I want it enough to care or to change if most don’t.

For those who are new here, this actually isn’t a Lovecraft Country stan account. I just had some strong feelings and thoughts to get off 😬😅

I finally sent an email to a therapist. She did not write back.  So... that happened.

Here’s the thing: I run a program that helps people find Black therapists in my area, meaning I’ve already talked to a majority of them. I’m very aware that this pandemic is stressing them the fuck out. A lot of their caseloads are already full and on top of that they’re busy trying to figure out telehealth protocol/requirements/boundaries... and a big part of me procrastinating to find care for myself is because I don’t want to add to their stress.

Because I can take care of myself, right? Shit’s heavy, but I can carry it (or perhaps the better word would be manage... sustain?).

On the road trip to Florida, I told my uncle (who was not happy with my choice of music while driving) that I preferred listening to the explicit versions of songs. The look on his face was one of incredulity. You wanna talk about somebody CACKLING on the inside? Man.

Growing up, he and his wife were the kind of religious parents who called Harry Potter the devil and didn’t let their children listen to anything other than gospel music (as in even Stevland the Wonder was off limits). The way he was looking, you’d have thought I backhanded my mother (who also was not pleased with my playlist). Guess who had earphones they didn’t use while they sat comfortably in the back seat though? …Oh ok.

Oh my fuck I think these niggas might be related. Let me back on out of this man’s messages. The universe got jokes.

That first time masturbating once your monthly is over >>>>>

Although I don’t make it a habit to send ‘em anymore, I surely be taking nudes. The next nigga got a barrage of these shits coming.

[monikakrasnorada]

Pulling threads

There are several threads that I’ve been pulling recently, but they all seem to want to snag on the same knot.  I’m not certain that once they’ve unravelled we won’t just find more gaping holes instead of a finely woven tapestry, but since, we’ve nothing but time on our hands for the forseeable future, I thought, what the hell? So let’s see where this all goes and if any of it makes sense- or even matters once it’s all said and done. :)

*Full disclosure (though I don’t know how anyone in fandom can’t know this at this point because I’m pretty vocal about it): I’m an EMPer. I believe Mary shot Sherlock and that he hasn’t regained consciousness since and that S4 is merely the continuation of TAB- the Victorian personas in the modern age, since Sherlock clearly isn’t awake yet at the end of TAB. 

Not sure how much of this will be EMP-based, but just wanted to give a head’s up, in case that isn’t your jam and you can just skip this post altogether.

Okay. Here we go!

Lady Carmichael

Did not kill Sir Edwin.

This is my first bone of contention that I see in fandom a lot. I see so many posts that take it as gospel that Lady Carmichael did, in fact, kill her husband. But, that just can’t be the case, because as Moriarty says-

The argument can be made that Sir Eustace and Lady Carmichael are the stand-ins for a whole list of different people within the show. At any given moment they can represent:

John and Sherlock

John and Mary

Lord and Lady Smallwood

Mrs Hudson and Frank Hudson

Talk about confusing, I know. It makes my head hurt, tbh. 

There is one fact that is a certainty- Sir Eustace was killed. But, that it was at the hands of a group of women- which we are wrongly lead to believe was headed by Lady Carmichael- treated badly by the men in their lives, is more than I can accept. Yeah. there’s a few dudes I wouldn’t mind getting rid of, but I’m not going to join some group of conspirators in order to do it.

Sherlock had it right when he spoke to Lestrade-

Of course I solved it. It’s perfectly simple. The incident of the mysterious Mrs Ricoletti, the killer from beyond the grave has been widely reported int he popular press. Now people are disguising their own dull little murders as the work of a ghost to confuse the impossibly imbecilic Scotland Yard.

First instincts are usually correct, and Sherlock knows that. 

The murder of Sir Eustace did not follow the usual MO of the ‘bride’, (the league of furies)-

Murdered in their own homes, rice on the floor, like at a wedding, and the word YOU written in blood on the wall

There was none of that when they found Sir Eustace-

Sir Eustace’s stab wound was a mirror image of Sherlock’s gun shot wound. Imagine that. 

And, it wasn’t Lady Carmichael. Not only because Moriarty told us it wasn’t her, that it was ridiculous that it would be her (this is Sherlock’s mind telling him, so he knows he got it wrong) but also because, why would she go to Sherlock to prevent a murder she was going to commit?

(Just as Mary didn’t go to Sherlock for a murder she did plan to commit, hm.)

The Bride killed Sir Edwin (and Sherlock), it’s true. But she was not a member of a ‘league of furies’. There was nothing ‘honorable’ about what she did. Each time we see the Bride that isn’t Emilia Ricoletti, two very peculiar things happen-

We get the villain head tilt a la Mary, and their voice is disguised. 

In the case of the Bride that warns Sir Eustace in the maze, if that were Janine or Molly, why disguise the voice? At this point, it’s almost certain that Emilia was dead and we are supposed to believe this is one of the women conspirator’s come to threaten (which was never mentioned as part of the other Bride murders, fyi) So, the voice didn’t matter because Sir Eustace wouldn’t have recognised it, but- we would have? And then, in the hallway, as Watson waits and is scared by the ghost bride*, the voice is once more disguised. Again, why? Watson certainly wouldn’t have recognised Molly or Janine’s voice. But, guess who’s voice he would have. Mary.

(*coming back to Watson here, later)

The bride stabbed Sir Eustace, just as Mary shot Sherlock. 

Sherlock got it wrong. Moriarty told him, it’s his downfall, always. He wants everything to be clever. And that’s what he tried to do with this scenario. When he ‘found’ the “Miss me?” note attached to Sir Eustace’s dead body, that’s when his mind made the connection between Mary and Moriarty. What do we say about coincidence? But, his mind revolts and is tearing itself apart because he cannot accept this truth-

So much more under the cut.

This is my fundamental belief in what is going on throughout the end of HLV, TAB and S4: Sherlock can’t reconcile that the woman John chose is actually the enemy and he keeps trying to come up with a way to make that untrue,  but none of them work. 

Because, it doesn’t make sense.

Lady Smallwood came to Sherlock for help. Lady Carmichael came to Sherlock for help. Mary never came to ask for help. Help Sherlock surely could have provided. Why would a person go to such lengths to hide a past they didn’t want revealed, when the people they were hiding it from would be the very ones to understand and be able to help?

Mary never once offered any information about herself. She sat quietly by, as Sherlock divulged ‘all he knew’ and she neither confirmed nor denied. She handed over the AGRA memory stick and said it was her initials (another lie, later proven). When Sherlock asked her why she didn’t come to him for help with her case, she simply asked “what case?” as if she hadn’t any problem she needed help with. Five years ago she became Mary Morstan. Five years ago, Moriarty met Eurus and hatched a plan. Coincidence? I’ll leave you to your deductions on that bit.

John Watson is definitely in danger

Thinking about this makes my stomach literally hurt, but needs must.

There are several important moments that we need to remember in HLV and TAB, concerning John Watson-

John bristles at the idea of having a gun with him, but on both those occasions he did, in fact have it with him. 

Now, we get this scene in HLV. John is still riled over finding Janine in the flat. Sherlock’s being a bit of a dick about how he and Mary compare how much weight John has gained since they got married. Then we have Sherlock telling John not to bring a gun, to confront the person that just took a piss in the hearth of 221B. Do we really believe he isn’t going to bring his gun?

I would say the balance of probability is pretty close to nil.

Sherlock tells Mary that John is downstairs, where he left him in HLV and ordered him to stay in TAB-

What else are we told?

Mary entered through CAMs office (somehow, and my money’s still on her being a member of the Black Lotus, and having been the one scaling the buildings in TBB, but that’s another post) she knocked out the security guard and Janine*. So, how do we suppose she left? Who might she have encountered on her way out? Who more than likely also had a gun with them that night?

We keep getting the imagery of the gun being fired in S4 along with the rather ominous re-appearance of this carpet from CAMs office-

I am aware of the theory that John has been shot, and at this point, it’s hard to argue against that idea. It is highly likely that he was also shot in CAM Tower and S4 has been some kind of weird Inception-esque look into both Sherlock and John’s minds as they both struggle to survive. But, I feel like it’s more likely John shot Mary than the other way around. 

Go back to TAB,and my asterisk from earlier. 

Look at that once and future BAMF! Locked and loaded and not afraid of anything. I’m sorry, that is not a man that would run away from a ‘ghost’ and I don’t believe for a second he did. I don’t think Sherlock is aware what really happened after he was shot and that this is all just his imagination and what he thinks would have happened.

I think Mary went down those stairs and... I don’t know. Did they shoot each other? Did Mary shoot John and escape? Did John shoot Mary and kill her?

Honestly, I just don’t know. I only believe the fact they made such a fuss over John bringing a gun or not and that Sherlock went out of his way to tell us that Mary left the way she came is something not to be overlooked.

Perhaps this image is all that Sherlock’s mind can recall. The reoccurring dream. It plays over and over in his mind because in his own unconscious state, he doesn’t know if it’s John or Mary. (I know it’s not logical, but dreams / subconscious minds usually aren’t)

*** ETA: I was in the middle of writing this post up today when @sagestreet posted this meta Therapists for Mirrors as Love Interests. In this, sage proposes (as have many others since the show aired) that S4 is a mirror-verse. It’s hard to know just how far to take this. Can everyone and every action be flipped and reversed in order to show us what really happened? It sort of terrifies me when thinking of the aquarium scene. OR all of T6T, for that matter. Mary is much more “John” than John is in that episode. Sherlock prefers her help even, much to all of our collective disgruntlement. Can we put the mirror up to the Norbury scene? Who becomes who in that sense? Mary is really John? Norbury is really Mary? 

Like I said, it’s a disheartening thought and one that doesn’t help make any of this any better :(

But, then, my brain rebelled at the idea they would turn Mary into John and then this happened:

There’s something about Janine

Okay, so I’ve debated even writing this here and adding it to this post because it just seems a bit too...much? But, then I look at S4 again, and all the fuckiness and I laugh my ass off because really? Really? I am going to think this idea is too far-fetched for this show? :P

I was never a believer in Janine being anything other than a hapless pawn in Sherlock’s game. I still find it hard to imagine that she is, but @wellthengameover  made a really strong case that she just might be. She’s Irish. Moriarty’s Irish. She has dark hair and eyes and so does Moriarty. Yeah, and so does half the world probably. It just seemed to me like a casting coincidence, as naive as that may sound. Yeah, I was that person, until I saw this post of Andrew Scott and his real sister, and it seems like the improbable could just be possible.

I’ve written several things about Janine over the past year- (X) (X) (X)- that now feels trite and as if I was completely blind to what we were being shown about her.

So, I ran straight to watch HLV again last night with this in mind and it hit me like a slap in the face, because you can’t kill an idea once it’s in your head-

A personal assistant is a secretary!

We all hate the idea of Eurus- a last minute new character that just comes in and fucks everything up for no reason. Usually, when we have a ‘new’ villain introduced, they give us time, throughout the episode to understand why we shouldn’t like them and understand why they are the villain. The villain of T6T should have been Mary, but I understand, looking at it through the lens of EMP and Sherlock’s desperation to somehow try to redeem Mary in his own mind, that we get this convoluted mixture of a vllain. 

Mary saying this never made sense to me. We were told in TAB she is a nurse, and scenes from TEH seemed to back that idea up. So, why is she mentioning a receptionist now? I know here in the states, it isn’t normally the done thing that the receptionist is also the nurse in an office, but I’m not sure if the same can be said about Britain. It does seem like an odd thing to me. Either way, I don’t think her mentioning a receptionist knowing loads of stuff they shouldn’t is a coincidence.

Sounds an awful lot like a personal assistant or a secretary to me.

The villain is three people?

How did Sherlock know that Norbury would be at the aquarium? The aquarium???

If EMP began with the shooting, what is the last thing Sherlock would remember from the day / night he was shot?

Magnussen is a shark, which would make his office a shark tank (X) (X)-

Honestly, I really believe the Norbury scene tells us what really happened the night Sherlock was shot. The similarities are uncanny-

Sherlock recruits John to ‘assist’ him on a case “too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved with.” A case he later informs John that he knows he’s ‘free’ to help with because apparently he has already been in touch with Mary to ‘ask’-

In both the CAM Tower scene and the aquarium, John arrives after Sherlock (and Mary)-

(And, just because I think their level of detail in mirroring these two scenes is amazing, I love how Sherlock peeks around the corner in both as he prepares to see Janine / Norbury)-

Lady Smallwood as the representation of love, was pointed out by @sagestreet . Love and their secretary, shown in both instances, literally and figuratively-

Which brings me to Codename: Love-

L O V E

A M O

A M M O

That is some serious ammunition Janine used against Sherlock. “Nothing hits the spot like revenge with profits.” But, seriously, WTF? HOW is this revenge on Sherlock? Making him out to be this insatiable sex fiend? Why would that hurt Sherlock’s reputation? The only this makes any sort of sense is the fact that Janine was so sexually explicit from the moment they met.

So, in Sherlock’s mind, at this point, Janine would be all about sex and revenge to use it as a weapon.

What else do we know about “Amo”?

Betrayed by the woman on the phone. A British woman, but could her accent have simply been mistaken?

I feel like I could go on all day with the similarities between these two scenes. That there are a million threads to be pulled from just it alone. Thinking about Janine brings more answers than questions. What exactly did CAM have on her? If she isn’t Moriarty’s sister, what on earth could have been so awful that she would allow that man to flick her in the eye because of it?

*Crack alert* Read ahead at your own peril :P

My mind wants to weave all sorts of narratives concerning her now and give in to the crack and speculate the craziest of scenarios: 

Ajay. Gabriel. Rosamund. Alex.

Ajay-

held and tortured for six years. Returns to kill Mary (the one he believed betrayed them) AMMO. The code word that led them all to ruin. It was the ‘English woman’ on the phone that betrayed them, but how did Ajay know Mary made it out alive?? Mary says she escaped but lost track of the others. Why would Ajay think that only Mary survived based on Ammo?

Gabriel-

???

Rosamund-

We know where she is and what she’s been up to.

Alex-

Ajay says he was with him, tortured to death.

Gabriel is the only one left hanging. Gabriel. The name could be either masculine or feminine. I don’t know if I want to suspect Janine being Gabriel, but I mean, the possibility exists?? CAM had some really bad info on Janine it seems and somehow he had all the info on Mary. Where did that come from?

(This photo could potentially be the three remaining AGRA members) 

@gosherlocked @the-7-percent-solution @ebaeschnbliah @tjlcisthenewsexy @loveismyrevolution @tendergingergirl @johnlockiseternal @221bloodnun @mrskolesouniverse @possiblyimbiassed @sherlockshadow @sarahthecoat @kateis-cakeis @not-a-bit-good @asherlockstudy @holmesianscholar @raggedyblue @darlingtonsubstitution @devoursjohnlock ( @iamjohnlocked4life, not sure if you want to be tagged in things like this anymore, but thought you might like the Janine bit)

[igetcha]

How Autistic Obsessions Happen

Obsessions give us a turf in a world that loves to push us aside, a chance to feel like winners in a world that loves to make us feel like losers, and a sense of control chaotic. overwhelming world. Many autistics develop obsessions with whatever they happen to be good at as a kid. If people are impressed, we’re extra likely to go down the rabbit hole. If there are rewards, we zip down it with supersonic speed.

Things get more complicated as we get older. People aren’t as easily impressed and the rewards are fewer and farther between. Sometimes we get there in grade school, sometimes grad school, sometimes never. Depending when we get there, our obsession(s) can comprise a big part of our identity, enough to make it worth holding onto regardless of the consequences. It’s a lot more empowering to be an outsider with a niche than a nobody.

Behind our dare-to-be-different vibe, we’re a lot more impressionable than we let on and would go to great lengths to hold onto priorities and beliefs we subconsciously picked up from our immediate vicinity. We’re slow to notice trouble brewing but quick to adapt when we do. People often peg us as stubborn, narrow minded, and unwilling to change without realizing we just don’t see a good reason to. “Because I said so” doesn’t mean much to us but a logically grounded argument can inspire change far deeper than the people pleasing surface stuff.

Many of us find the world of social interaction painfully fake and desperately search for truth. Given access to enough broad and balanced information, we can get a lot farther than most people care to. Since the rise of the internet, we hear more stories of autistics getting involved in activism, often on their own accord. We’re capable of being true individuals, staters, and leaders, yet many of us get stuck in Rain Man land because that’s where we’re told we belong from a young age.

Our society starts labeling people as leaders, followers, task robots etc. way too young. The idea of proving yourself to make it to the next level makes sense in an interdependent adult society, but when forced on kids, it deters unconventional learning styles. We regard school as a predictor for future success but all it really shows is our ability to follow a prewritten script. Many people find passion and talent for fields that were not their forte in school later in life. Yet, the world continues grooming us to stick to what it knows rather than what it needs.

New roads aren’t trusted until they meet predetermined validation standards. While this keeps us safe in the construction industry, it holds us back when applied to who we support, listen to, or even give the time of day. Through compensating for impairments, we develop unique skill sets and thought processes, which you’ll usually never hear about because we grow up translating them into neurotypical speak and sometimes aren’t even aware of our differences.

I’m not suggesting that we analyze each other under a microscope. In fact, my #1 pet peeve is lay people playing therapist. What I am advocating for is a more open minded attitude toward new ideas and ways of life. It breaks my heart that many of the people in history who made the greatest impact on society lived in torment and exile, folks we’re taught to admire but not emulate, especially if we’re different.

We live in a world where being accepted is far more rewarded than being right. Acceptance tends to come from pleasing those around you, either by doing what they want when they want it or by convincing them of long-term perks to doing things differently. Those who can convince are welcomed into a larger sphere of influence while those who can’t learn to keep their thoughts to themselves.

Like any population, autistics have done both great and horrible things. While the media loves to lump us together, I believe the credit should go to the person rather than the condition. Autism influences how we think, not what we believe. It does, however, impact the kind of interactions and relationships we have that shape our beliefs.

Autistics are as capable of developing a balanced perspective as anyone else. We’re just less likely to because we tend to attract fewer people into our lives. Our difficulty making new friends makes us more dependent on the few we do have. 

Family impacts us more than most. We take it literally when our parents threaten to call the cops if we don’t eat our food. We have an especially deep need for a calm, stable environment but live in an environment that puts a strain on the families of autistics as well. If we don’t grow up feeling guilty or ashamed, we’re still likely to grow up with an atmosphere of hidden tension as our control to base life on.

For many of us, obsessions are an escape. The more esoteric, the less likely to be invaded by the more stressful aspects of our lives. We cling to them, not so much because we need them, but because we’d feel displaced without them.

While some of us obsess for life, others jump between obsessions. Personally, I need to schedule time in everyday where I’m in control. It doesn’t even really matter what I’m doing, just as long as I can take a break from the fear of disappointing everyone around me.

As an adult we often want an identity larger than a series of obsessions. We want to make an impact. Obsessions can be a great safety net in our journey to the outside world. Despite our inherent lack of flair for social situations, they can become an obsession too if we devote enough energy to them.

We develop obsessions to feel good about ourselves, sometimes in the now and sometimes with hopes for the future. The whole western world is obsessed with dating and autistics are no exception. When something causes us trouble, we tend to walk the other way or charge in with full speed.

The new Netflix dramady, “Atypical,” is a great example. Sam jumps into online dating with 0 experience and fills the void with the first pickup artist videos he finds on YouTube. Unlike most teens, Sam is isolated enough to take the words of some douche with nothing better to do as gospel. Pickup communities and hate groups love to prey on those who haven’t found acceptance elsewhere. They don’t have to be right. They just have to be first.

Giving up is the worst thing you can do for those people and society at large. If we could just make people who are different feel welcome in more constructive groups, the haters would have no army. Society paints people who are a little quirky as the enemy and pushes them down that path. The more people we give up on, the stronger the dark side grows. They’re still just regular people who want to be loved like the rest of us. They just need a logically grounded reason to change and someone to give it to them.

We’re capable of becoming obsessed with just about anything, but it comes from inspiration, not force. No matter how hard I try, I cannot convince myself I like studying for class. I love my job in the same field and I read plenty of random tech blogs but the arbitrary deadlines and grading is a major turn off for me. Maybe if people tried discouraging me from staying in school, I’d actually enjoy it. Who knows. I definitely did when I switched majors. Back then, it was my act of taking control. Now, school feels like the place I have least control.

The scope of an obsession is different for each person. I absorb tutorials like a sponge but can’t stop my mind from wandering in class. I go all-out with my makeup every month or so but rock the lazy girl look 99% of the time. I love trying new things but usually lose interest once I succeed. I know I can do it if I want to. That’s all I need. I really don’t like practicing. I feel like I could be spending my time doing so many more exciting things. I’ve gone through enough obsessions in my life to know they tend not to last for me personally, so now I’m obsessed with novelty.

Obsessions have an immense power to engage us but they don’t define us. We are as undefined and adaptable as anyone else. We just need to opportunity to grow in our own passionate way.

[archeir-a-blog]

Meta Meme: Talk about Alec's relationship with both his parents. Does he favor one over the other? What are his feelings on Robert's affair? How does he feel about Maryse keeping it from them? What's one fond memory he has with both of them, either separately or together.

Alec’s feelings on his parents. Alright, let’s go!! This will no doubt get lengthy because I have a lot to say and if Alec didn’t bottle up so much of his emotions, he’d have a lot to say too. I mean, in some ways he’s addressed it already? But, not enough to where he’s satisfied and as a result, that’s only going to cause resentment to fester. Spoiler alert: it already has.

Alec’s a man of honor, responsibility, duty and loyalty. All these things have been instilled in him since birth and he takes great pride in managing them. They give him a sense of accomplishment and satisfy his relentless pursuits to do what’s “right” and what he believes in. Not only does Robert’s affair betray Maryse in this situation, but it also betrays his children and it personally slights everything Alec believes in. Marriage is a commitment, Alec understands that. Probably better than anyone. Izzy and Jace are a little more elusive towards the idea I think, in their young adulthood. Despite, Jace closing himself off to love, he still encouraged Alec not to marry Lydia because he knew Alec wouldn’t find love with her. He’d sacrifice being himself for a loveless marriage. In that respect, Jace and Izzy understand love or at least the concept of it. It’s a feeling, not a duty. I’m getting off track but, the point is Alec understands that when you make a commitment to someone, you stick to it. And if you can no longer uphold your end of the deal or you don’t want to, the least you could do is be honest or upfront about it. But even then, it’s still not right. And to Alec, Robert’s affair is nothing short of a sign of weakness. It makes Robert look like a coward. Because instead of admitting to himself, to Maryse, or to his family that he wasn’t happy, he took to having an affair behind their backs and basically said to hell with all of them. Because seriously?? There’s just no excuse for it. There’s no justification Robert could give that Alec would go ‘oh okay, I get it now, dad.’ It wasn’t even just a one time thing either. It carried on for years? At least in the books, it did. And Robert broke it off when he found out Maryse was pregnant again with Max. In the show, the duration of it is unclear? I’m not really sure how long it’s been going on tbh but it was touched upon in season 1 and carried over into season 2A and was mentioned again in 2B when Robert told Alec about the soul sword and Alec defended his love for Magnus against Robert’s “love” for this other woman by saying Magnus wasn’t an affair. Burrrrrrrn!

I, personally, believe the problem isn’t with Maryse or the rest of the family, it’s with Robert. Robert’s weak. Robert’s unhappy. And Robert should take full responsibility for that. But, I don’t think he’s going to. At least not right now. He had an opportunity to make things a little more right with Alec. Alec gave him the chance to explain himself but instead he wasted that opportunity on trying to justify the infidelity by saying he “fell in love.”  Are you joking, Robert???? Alec doesn’t understand that? We have to always remember that Alec puts logic, reason, and duty before personal desires or emotion. That’s just the way he is? He tries to balance that out but it’s difficult for him, especially after being one way for so long. Alec doesn’t buy it. He thinks it’s a cop out, a way for his father to avoid or shift the blame for something HE did. Not just to Maryse but to all of them. When a married person has an affair, they’re being selfish. Period. They are feeding personal desires and are not thinking of their families, or their spouse’s, or their children, or their responsibilities, etc.

And guess what? That’s weakness. That’s giving into something temporary. It’s damaging. And it gives off this perception to Maryse, Alec, Izzy, Jace and Max that they aren’t good enough. That Robert wasn’t satisfied or happy with them. That he had to go somewhere else to fulfill momentary joy. There’s something wrong with Robert, something in his life or inside of himself that made him do it. It’s not Maryse’s fault, it’s not Alec’s, or Izzy’s, or Jace’s, or Max’s. Any therapist would tell you that when someone cheats, it’s because there’s something missing inside themselves or in their lives. And I don’t know? I feel like aside from not only betraying Alec’s mother (who Alec came to understand more and sympathize with because of this) this makes Alec mad. In season 1 when Alec found out his parents were in the circle, that DESTROYED him. It’s like having your beliefs and your faith in the people you love the most, shattered. He says to Magnus “his whole life has been a lie.” Because, it has? His parents told him how to behave, how to act, built him up to be the perfect son and soldier and the whole time, they were lying to him. They were in league with a man who wanted to destroy the beliefs and laws Alec spent his whole life living up to and upholding. Like can you imagine?? Spending your whole life (25+ years of it) living, breathing, and believing in a lie. If I was Alec, I would have spiraled out of control too. And the whole reason Alec wanted to marry Lydia in the first place (no one really talks about this) is because marrying her was his way of fixing what his parents broke. It was his way of taking control of his life (in his mind) and doing what he felt he needed to so he could take over the institute and ensure that Valentine didn’t win. He couldn’t trust his parents anymore to side with him on that. Izzy was too emotional, and things with Jace were strained. So, he had no other option but to ask Lydia for help. At the time, she was the only one telling him the truth, too. I really liked Lydia’s character? And thought she made a really great friend for Alec. 

Going back to the whole circle thing… ever since Alec found that out, I don’t think he’s ever been able to look at his parents the same. And he’s less inclined to treat their guidance or word as something gospel now when he can’t fully trust it. Sure, things are slightly better ish? And that’s really only because Alec buries his feelings on the matter. He puts aside his personal slights and emotions to uphold his duty to the family. I don’t think Alec would ever be close with Robert again after this? I really think it shattered his trust and it would take a lot to build that back up and right now Robert doesn’t even seem willing to try? He’s just making excuses. So I don’t see hope for them, at least not right now. 

As for Maryse, she has her flaws and she’s done her fair share of reprehensible things that Alec has resented too. But, I’ve always believed that Alec was a momma’s boy. And, despite resenting some of her decisions, Alec respects her and knows that if it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be the solider he is. She taught him everything he knows. She instilled strength in him and of course when the secret about Robert’s affair came out, he dropped all of their differences and was more than willing to take her in. Hell, Jace had even believed she had just tried to kill him and agreed that Maryse should stay at the institute with them and not go back to Idris with Robert. I do see a lot of Alec in Maryse. Especially when it comes to their hearts which they try to keep guarded from everyone. Maryse is a mix of Alec and Izzy, actually. She gave him life (Robert helped obvs but c’mon she’s his mother) and he loves her. He’ll never stop. He seeks her love and approval. He always will. They have their differences but I think it’s more because they’re so much alike (give or take a few things. IE: Maryse siding with someone like Valentine, wanting to kill his parabatai, etc. lol)

He doesn’t blame Maryse for shielding them from the affair. Despite, hating dishonesty, he gets it? He gets Maryse’s duties and her desire to put the law before her own personal feelings. Alec is guilty of this? It’d be hypocritical of him to fault her for wanting to keep it a secret. If anything, bottling it up strangely made him sympathize with her more? Because she suffered for so long, alone. It’d be cruel to punish her for thinking of the family and the law before herself. That’s what mother’s do. It’s what Robert should have done. So yeah, Alec has mad respect for her. Even if she does things he doesn’t agree with. He’ll lash out at her, scold her, but he never abandons her. He never writes her off. I don’t think he ever would. 

In canon, Alec’s fondest memory of Maryse involves that story of her telling him to break form when fighting against some kid named Preston (where he broke that kid’s nose. LMFAO my son. Bless!) Any moment where he’s made his mother proud, is a fondest memory. Those are the memories he lives for where his parents are concerned. With Robert, probably shadowing him when he was little as he lead the institute. I think a part of why Alec wanted to become the head of the institute was to not only make his parents proud, or carry on the lightwood’s legacy but I think he believed it would buy their love and pride and it was what he was meant for? Which, is kinda sad when you think about it? Because… it almost means that Alec never really developed any other interests outside of his end goal to one day lead the NY institute. And it begs the question, what does Alec like to do? Aside from lead. What are his interests? He’s never explored that. And I kinda wish he would? (A huge hope for season 3! Give me this.) 

[dailyaudiobible]

04/08/2018 DAB Transcript

Deuteronomy 32:28-52, Luke 12:35-59, Psalms 78:56-64, Proverbs 12:24

Today is the 8th day of April. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I'm Brian and it is always, always, always a pleasure and a joy to come around the global campfire together with you and all of our brothers and sisters wrapped around the world and take the next step forward in the Scriptures, And, so, as we launch into this workweek we’ll go back into the book of Deuteronomy and as I’ve been mentioning we only have a few days left in the book of Deuteronomy so we’re kind of coming to the end of the era of Moses and we’ll be doing that over the next couple of days. And right now, since we’ll be picking up in the middle of it, we’re in the middle of a song that Moses is teaching to the people. Deuteronomy 32:28-52.

Commentary:

Alright. So, in our reading from the Gospel of Luke today Jesus is essentially discussing vigilance and its importance not only toward God, but also over our own souls over our own lives. And, so, the example of a master who has gone away and servants who are left in charge is an obvious metaphor for our own lives and it's the ones who we’re waiting right, the ones who were waiting for the master to return so that they could serve him, so that everything would be ready for when he came back no matter what time of day or night and that he came back. Those were the ones that the master would actually in turn serve, but we also must be vigilant in our own lives so that we can see the present time that we’re in so that we can properly discern what's going on around us. And this can be on a cosmic scale like, where are we on the continuum of human history, but this is much more immediate. We make a lot fewer poor bad unhealthy choices when we have been vigilant enough to choose wisely in advance, right? When we’re in the heat of the moment and forced to make a critical decision, we often make the wrong decision, it often sends us down the wrong path. But if we had been vigilant, if we had been maintaining our lives, allowing our lives to shrink down to what is maintainable then we would be able to be vigilant about the choices and decisions that we have to make because we wouldn't be living from crisis to crisis, over obligation to over obligation where we always feel like were pinned against the wall. What if there were space? And what if that space is actually freedom to live? And we do this in our lives when we find things to be important enough. So, for example, you know, Jill and I have had a number of children and when it's time for the baby to come and not that there's a new baby going to be coming, we’re done with babies, we’re ready for a grandbaby, but when it's time for the baby to come there is a bag packed, it's just sitting there, nothings coming in or out of it, it's just sitting there and when the time comes you grab the bag and go, you're ready for the moment, you've been vigilant in preparing for something you know is going to come and you need to make decisions in advance because in the heat of the moment it's not the proper time. So, we know how to be vigilant we’re just invited to be vigilant about our life with God. And we can't always be prepared for His presence or be prepared to work on His behalf in the mission that He's sent us upon if our lives are so pegged to the wall, turned up to 11, so noisy that there is no space to do anything but read act. What we’re being invited into, this idea of vigilance, is that we don't have to react, we can be proactive in our lives maintaining a proper posture and a proper awareness of what's going on around us. And then we can live intentionally. And then we can live free. So, Jesus said, “a faithful, sensible servant is one to whom the master can give the responsibility of managing his other household servants and feeding them.” So, what does that look like in your life? Are we people that the master can entrust the responsibilities of managing His kingdom? If not, then there's work to do because this is what we are supposed to be growing up into and the place to start would be to be vigilant about maintaining what God has already entrusted to us. That would be the place to start.

Prayer:

Holy Spirit, we invite You into that. And we do confess, our culture and our society is all about having a life that is absolutely full of products and services that we’ve been marketed. So, we get on the hamster wheel and just start running and before You know it 20 years have gone by and we’re overextended and over obligated and we just wonder when life might begin when here in this season of Lent maybe You are inviting us to begin that life now by examining all of the things that really don't need to be in our lives, that really are not in any way drawing us closer to You or giving us any kind of freedom whatsoever. They’re just simply stealing time from us. And if our time can be stolen from us, well then that's stealing our life. So, come Holy Spirit into this, show us how to be vigilant, awake, and aware of Your movements and Your presence in our lives and what it means to the way we live that life. Maybe we don't need all of this stuff in our lives anymore. Maybe what we need is space and freedom. Come Holy Spirit and show us what that looks like to each of us in our own expression and in our own story. We love You and we trust You and we seek You and we pray these things in the name of Jesus, our Savior. Amen.

Announcements:

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And that's it for today. I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for You here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey Daily Audio Bible, it’s Kevin calling from New Hampshire. I was calling in to report a little miracle that occurred in my life recently. My sisters been homeless and has been struggling for about two years now recently she let me know that she may be getting an apartment with her boyfriend with the help of a homeless assistance program in Concord. After I heard about this I asked my girlfriend that night to pray with me for her and she agreed. Two days later I received word from my sister that a pastor had walked down to her tent in the woods and said he was sent by Jesus to tell her your life is about to get better and that things will change. This brought me to tears after hearing this and all I could think is like in the Bible when it says, two or three pray in his name he will be there. Now she’s going to be attending church with me next Sunday and I’m very happy for this. I’m just asking everyone out there to send prayers to the homeless. If they may find some good in their hearts to maybe donate to the homeless that would be helpful too but any prayers or whatever you can do I’d be grateful for that. I take time out of my day to help give to them and they have it a lot worse off most of us out there. So, yeah, I just want to report that little miracle. I think it’s amazing how quickly that happened, just came out of nowhere. So, thank you guys. Have a blessed day. Bye.

Hi, yeah, it’s Michael from London England UK. Today is Thursday, the 4th of April. Yeah, I just wanted to call in response to the woman I heard, I can’t remember what her name was but you said that you had a husband called Bob who’s got muscular dystrophy and also that he’s not a Christian but he’s at least an agnostic. And I just wanted to pray for him right now because I am also, you know, I’m an occupational therapist, I work in mental health, but I guess muscular dystrophy is, you know, a serious medical condition but an area of my training. So, Father, I pray for Bob. I pray that You would heal him from the top of his head to the tip of his toe, that You would restore him to full health and You’d stop this muscular dystrophy from taking over his health condition and reducing his life expectancy. And Father I pray ultimately for his heart, for a heart transformation, that You would use his wife to just love on him and show him how much You care for him for his relationship with his wife and that through that he would be…his heart would be openly receptive to hear how much You love him and ultimately in doing so come to church and maybe even become a Christian. And Father God I pray for that relationship Father God and I know that relationship things come a lot as well, but it’s quite difficult. And we ask that You would…that You would really help us because I…this is a prayer request for myself actually. Yeah, it’s just difficult at the moment, you know, hurting from yet another relationship. Two girls broken up with me __ for emotional stability. Yeah, and it’s a hard thing and it is difficult, and it is painful. Yeah, so I just ask for prayer in that. Okay. Speak soon. Bye.

Hi everybody, it’s Margo from Australia still in Uganda. I was going to ring up and pray but I’m actually praying for quite a few people at the moment, so I thought…I just want to let some people know that I’m praying for you. I know sometimes when you hear you name it can be encouraging and I just want you to know, Kelly from Australia struggling with sobriety. I just want to know I’m praying for you that must be such a hard battle. His little Cherry just for your daughter with the veterinary school application. Praying that she will have favor and that God’s will be done her life. Susie from Colorado, with the kids in Haiti. Gosh, that sounds really difficult. I am praying for you, that the Lord will give you the most amazing strength. Pelham and Molly, praying for you guys. Hang in there Pelham, don’t give up. Mary whose husband committed infidelity and doesn’t know what to do, I’m praying for your heart my beautiful sister. Remember how much He loves you and He see’s you. I’m praying for you. Ruben from Canada your son Micah had a medical school interview on the 23rd, I’ve been praying for that. We need Christian doctors. Amen. There was a lady who called asking for prayer for a relationship. She found something that broke her heart, needs a job to get back on her feet. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. Don’t be too hard on yourself, you are human. We love you, we’re praying for you. Friend of God your brother-in-law decided he’s a woman. I’m praying for your sister and her children and for that man that the Lord would just…just work in his heart and just show him the truth and help them through this dreadful situation. That’s all I’ve got time for to say today. Love you all heaps. Bye.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family this is Bridget from New York City. I’m calling for the woman who is struggling between her husband and the godly man. First and foremost, I just want to share with you, a godly man would not be having conversations with you on the side, hidden. Please block that person. I’m giving you this from a place of experience. Second of all, I’ve been married for 23 years and what the Lord showed me was that there was a lot of unresolved things in my heart between me and my husband and I don’t know if your husband is a Christian or not or what’s going on with him but I ended up doing…and this is after the pain…I ended up confessing all of my sin to my husband. We took a night, we went to a hotel room, and we just both sat there, and we confessed everything. We’ve been together 23 years, we both have been hurt, we’ve both been injured, we’ve both been through so much and we’ve hurt each other through the process of, you know, growing up. I’m 45 my husband’s 43 and it’s…it’s just been…after that…it’s been a beautiful ride. God has been restoring what the enemy intended to harm. So, I don’t know if this is something that you can do. What I do know is that the heart is evil as Terry says and if another man is trying to entice you or is your heart then that says that there’s stuff in your heart that needs to be broken. And, you know, come before the Lord with that and prayerfully bring it to you husband. Okay? God bless you and I pray that everything works out well. God, bless. Bye-bye.

[ssteezyy]

Ivory Tickling (or, How to Induce a Massive Pianic Attack)

How many email accounts do you have? Because I have enough to choke six horses. And the passwords they rode in on. I can’t keep up with them. I’m drowning in emails. And social media accounts. And texts.

Calgon! Take me awayyyyy! Do they even still make Calgon?

We are so much alike, you and I. Busy busy busy, working ourselves up into anxious blobs of lather. I mean, what are we doing with our lives?! Let’s make a promise to ourselves that we will calm the hell down and focus on what life is really about: peace, love and chocolate lava cakes, am I right???

Until two days ago, I had never been to the Harris Center in Folsom and holy smokes, it’s gorgeous. Acoustically gorgeous, anyway, all curved panels from floor to ceiling to diffuse unwanted sound waves and whatever other sound design terminology my husband was craning his neck to see and going on about before the Jim Brickman Joyful Christmas concert started.

Oh! And speaking of Jim Brickman, I met him before the show. (By the way, in order to avoid getting arrested by the blogging police, I must disclose that I received complimentary tickets and a CD/DVD.)

I thought of questions to ask him just for you guys, and I didn’t want to ask anything stupid, like, “Where do you get your inspiration?”, because I hear artists hate that question. And I didn’t want to ask, “So what’s it like working with [Five for Fighting/Martina McBride/Kermit the Frog/etc.]”. Because, BORRRRRRING!!! Everyone has asked him that already.

I walk up to him, say hello, and put out my hand which he shakes. Crap! Should I not have done that? I mean, he’s a pianist for chrissakes! His hands are his bread and butter. He is like a brain surgeon for hammers and strings. He can’t be shaking a bunch of hands before a concert! What if I had a vice-like grip? What was I thinking???

Great, so I’m off to a wonderful start. How much time do I have? Oh jeez, there’s a line behind me. My heart begins to race and my well-thought out plan explodes like a pressurized can of snakes. What should I ask, what should I ask, what should I ask?

Do I go for funny? Is he in a funny mood? Or is he in some pre-concert headspace? Should I be serious like some professional? Do I ask just one question? Can I get away with two?

My husband is off to the side capturing it all on my cell phone. But do I take even half a second to introduce him? No. Because I am the Hillary Swank of bloggers. So that would be faux pas #2.

I introduce myself and surprisingly he says, “Yes. You have a blog.”

I have a blog! He knows I have a blog! Woo hoo! I tell him the name of my blog because:

A. sometimes people laugh when I say it out loud, and

B. when I put a goat in his hands later, it will make at least a modicum of sense later. Maybe.

So what do you ask a multi-platinum artist who has collaborated with the likes of Kenny Rogers and Carly Simon, has no doubt agreed to thousands of interviews, and has been asked every question in the Universal Journalism Interview database? Plus, he has no idea who you are and for all he knows, you’re some weirdo blogger who has come to create an excruciatingly awkward moment 30 minutes before he takes the stage.

“Do you know who Puddles Pity Party is?” I hear myself blurt out.

“No,” he says.

Dang. What a stupid question. I feel like the idiot who has already blown her first wish with the genie asking for a million bucks only to have many, many, herds of deer suddenly show up on my lawn. Why would he know who Puddles Pity Party is, anyway? He’s a songwriter/pianist/radio show host. Not a whole lot in common with a clown who covers pop songs. Ugh.

I want to make some absurd remark (because once I get rolling on the awkward bus, I like to ride it to the end of the line) about how he must have ladies throwing their underwear on stage because, he is a bit on the attractive side, and I’d heard he had a loyal following of women of a certain age so, you know, it could be a compliment and humorous, killing two birds with one stone sort of thing.

And speaking of female fans, I would like to coin a phrase right here, right now:

Brick Chicks.

You know how Chris Pine has his Pine Nuts? And Benedict Cumberbatch has his Cumber Bitches? Jim Brickman now has Brick Chicks, thanks to me.

But I probably shouldn’t say anything about panties on stage here at the meet & greet. I don’t want to get kicked off the bus before it even pulls away from the curb.

“So, um, I hear your biggest demographic is middle-aged women?” Don’t say panties on stage. Don’t say panties on stage. Don’t say panties on stage.

“No,” he says, “actually my audience is varied.”

Dang. Well of course it’s varied. Weddings all over the world incorporate his music. He’s America’s Most Romantic Pianist in the World. Couples make babies with him playing softly in the background. Massage therapists create tranquil atmospheres in low-lit, incense-filled rooms. About a bazillion young aspiring musicians want to learn how to play like him.

Me trying not to say “panties on stage” to Jim Brickman.

 Now I feel like the idiot who has blown her second wish asking the genie to take away all the deer (who are now eating all the acorns and pooping everywhere).

I’ve lost count of the faux pas by now. I feel the people behind me sending their “ok-lady-wrap-it-up” vibes, so I desperately try for one last attempt at journalism.

“So, do you receive a lot of gifts from fans?”

“Yes,” he says.

Yay! A Yes! Woo hoo! Now follow it up! Don’t be stupid! Don’t say panties on stage!

“What’s the craziest gift you ever got?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “A live dove.”

I decide to quit on a positive note and introduce him to Lacy, the Nanny Goats in Panties mascot. And I ask if he will hold her while I get a photo with him. No risk of hand injury since she’s plush. Plus I’ve told everyone I know on social media that this was my goal for the evening. And thank the ebony and ivory gods, he said yes again.

Then out in the lobby, I meet Reggie. A REAL Jim Brickman fan. Like a for-the-last-twenty-plus-years Jim Brickman fan. He may even have Brickmania, if I can coin another phrase.

When Reggie heard Brickman’s “The Gift” in 1997, it so resonated with him that he ran out and bought the sheet music so he could play it himself (for me it was “Rainbow Connection”, but we aren’t talking about me right now, are we.) And then when Brickman’s next album came out, Reggie bought the sheet music for that. And Brickman kept making albums and Reggie kept buying sheet music. Reggie has been to at least eight Jim Brickman concerts.

“I’ve read his book,” Reggie told me, “and I believe in what he says about how stress is such a big deal in our society. It’s through his music that I find peace and comfort.”

Playing Brickman’s music is like therapy for him. It helps him relax. And he spreads the Brickman gospel to all his friends who will listen. He got a bunch of stuff signed at the Meet & Greet.

“But I’m going to give them as gifts,” he said.

He plans to send them to friends and other aspiring piano players because he believes the music should be shared and hopes it inspires others the way it inspired him.

The way “The Gift” inspired him twenty-one years ago. (See what I did there? He’s sharing gifts? Jim Brickman has a song called The Gift? It’s a whole play on words…oh never mind)

Me and Reggie

Anyway, the concert was awesome to say the least. Brickman’s banter between songs is my kinda witty and none of that overacting garbage. Nice and subtle. And his performance was energetic yet intimate. And his talking voice is different, lower, than his singing voice. Like Barry White one minute, Adam Levine the next. And his solo dueling pianos bit? You have to see it to appreciate it.

I’d tell you more, but I’m already blowing surprises that were part of the enjoyment for me and I’d smack you if you had told me this ahead of time.

His next tour kicks off this month in Hawaii. You can track down his whereabouts on the Jim Brickman Tour Page.

Or check out his Joyful Christmas CD/DVD. He has released approximately eleventy million CDs, but maybe you can start with “The Gift”, like Reggie did and be struck by some Brickmania of your own.

Then draw yourself a Calgon bath, pop on some Jim Brickman and breathe.

This one’s mine. Get yer own!

 The post Ivory Tickling (or, How to Induce a Massive Pianic Attack) appeared first on Nanny Goats in Panties.

[oceansofhappiness]

Ivory Tickling (or, How to Induce a Massive Pianic Attack)

How many email accounts do you have? Because I have enough to choke six horses. And the passwords they rode in on. I can’t keep up with them. I’m drowning in emails. And social media accounts. And texts.

Calgon! Take me awayyyyy! Do they even still make Calgon?

We are so much alike, you and I. Busy busy busy, working ourselves up into anxious blobs of lather. I mean, what are we doing with our lives?! Let’s make a promise to ourselves that we will calm the hell down and focus on what life is really about: peace, love and chocolate lava cakes, am I right???

Until two days ago, I had never been to the Harris Center in Folsom and holy smokes, it’s gorgeous. Acoustically gorgeous, anyway, all curved panels from floor to ceiling to diffuse unwanted sound waves and whatever other sound design terminology my husband was craning his neck to see and going on about before the Jim Brickman Joyful Christmas concert started.

Oh! And speaking of Jim Brickman, I met him before the show. (By the way, in order to avoid getting arrested by the blogging police, I must disclose that I received complimentary tickets and a CD/DVD.)

I thought of questions to ask him just for you guys, and I didn’t want to ask anything stupid, like, “Where do you get your inspiration?”, because I hear artists hate that question. And I didn’t want to ask, “So what’s it like working with [Five for Fighting/Martina McBride/Kermit the Frog/etc.]”. Because, BORRRRRRING!!! Everyone has asked him that already.

I walk up to him, say hello, and put out my hand which he shakes. Crap! Should I not have done that? I mean, he’s a pianist for chrissakes! His hands are his bread and butter. He is like a brain surgeon for hammers and strings. He can’t be shaking a bunch of hands before a concert! What if I had a vice-like grip? What was I thinking???

Great, so I’m off to a wonderful start. How much time do I have? Oh jeez, there’s a line behind me. My heart begins to race and my well-thought out plan explodes like a pressurized can of snakes. What should I ask, what should I ask, what should I ask?

Do I go for funny? Is he in a funny mood? Or is he in some pre-concert headspace? Should I be serious like some professional? Do I ask just one question? Can I get away with two?

My husband is off to the side capturing it all on my cell phone. But do I take even half a second to introduce him? No. Because I am the Hillary Swank of bloggers. So that would be faux pas #2.

I introduce myself and surprisingly he says, “Yes. You have a blog.”

I have a blog! He knows I have a blog! Woo hoo! I tell him the name of my blog because:

A. sometimes people laugh when I say it out loud, and

B. when I put a goat in his hands later, it will make at least a modicum of sense later. Maybe.

So what do you ask a multi-platinum artist who has collaborated with the likes of Kenny Rogers and Carly Simon, has no doubt agreed to thousands of interviews, and has been asked every question in the Universal Journalism Interview database? Plus, he has no idea who you are and for all he knows, you’re some weirdo blogger who has come to create an excruciatingly awkward moment 30 minutes before he takes the stage.

“Do you know who Puddles Pity Party is?” I hear myself blurt out.

“No,” he says.

Dang. What a stupid question. I feel like the idiot who has already blown her first wish with the genie asking for a million bucks only to have many, many, herds of deer suddenly show up on my lawn. Why would he know who Puddles Pity Party is, anyway? He’s a songwriter/pianist/radio show host. Not a whole lot in common with a clown who covers pop songs. Ugh.

I want to make some absurd remark (because once I get rolling on the awkward bus, I like to ride it to the end of the line) about how he must have ladies throwing their underwear on stage because, he is a bit on the attractive side, and I’d heard he had a loyal following of women of a certain age so, you know, it could be a compliment and humorous, killing two birds with one stone sort of thing.

And speaking of female fans, I would like to coin a phrase right here, right now:

Brick Chicks.

You know how Chris Pine has his Pine Nuts? And Benedict Cumberbatch has his Cumber Bitches? Jim Brickman now has Brick Chicks, thanks to me.

But I probably shouldn’t say anything about panties on stage here at the meet & greet. I don’t want to get kicked off the bus before it even pulls away from the curb.

“So, um, I hear your biggest demographic is middle-aged women?” Don’t say panties on stage. Don’t say panties on stage. Don’t say panties on stage.

“No,” he says, “actually my audience is varied.”

Dang. Well of course it’s varied. Weddings all over the world incorporate his music. He’s America’s Most Romantic Pianist in the World. Couples make babies with him playing softly in the background. Massage therapists create tranquil atmospheres in low-lit, incense-filled rooms. About a bazillion young aspiring musicians want to learn how to play like him.

Me trying not to say “panties on stage” to Jim Brickman.

 Now I feel like the idiot who has blown her second wish asking the genie to take away all the deer (who are now eating all the acorns and pooping everywhere).

I’ve lost count of the faux pas by now. I feel the people behind me sending their “ok-lady-wrap-it-up” vibes, so I desperately try for one last attempt at journalism.

“So, do you receive a lot of gifts from fans?”

“Yes,” he says.

Yay! A Yes! Woo hoo! Now follow it up! Don’t be stupid! Don’t say panties on stage!

“What’s the craziest gift you ever got?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “A live dove.”

I decide to quit on a positive note and introduce him to Lacy, the Nanny Goats in Panties mascot. And I ask if he will hold her while I get a photo with him. No risk of hand injury since she’s plush. Plus I’ve told everyone I know on social media that this was my goal for the evening. And thank the ebony and ivory gods, he said yes again.

Then out in the lobby, I meet Reggie. A REAL Jim Brickman fan. Like a for-the-last-twenty-plus-years Jim Brickman fan. He may even have Brickmania, if I can coin another phrase.

When Reggie heard Brickman’s “The Gift” in 1997, it so resonated with him that he ran out and bought the sheet music so he could play it himself (for me it was “Rainbow Connection”, but we aren’t talking about me right now, are we.) And then when Brickman’s next album came out, Reggie bought the sheet music for that. And Brickman kept making albums and Reggie kept buying sheet music. Reggie has been to at least eight Jim Brickman concerts.

“I’ve read his book,” Reggie told me, “and I believe in what he says about how stress is such a big deal in our society. It’s through his music that I find peace and comfort.”

Playing Brickman’s music is like therapy for him. It helps him relax. And he spreads the Brickman gospel to all his friends who will listen. He got a bunch of stuff signed at the Meet & Greet.

“But I’m going to give them as gifts,” he said.

He plans to send them to friends and other aspiring piano players because he believes the music should be shared and hopes it inspires others the way it inspired him.

The way “The Gift” inspired him twenty-one years ago. (See what I did there? He’s sharing gifts? Jim Brickman has a song called The Gift? It’s a whole play on words…oh never mind)

Me and Reggie

Anyway, the concert was awesome to say the least. Brickman’s banter between songs is my kinda witty and none of that overacting garbage. Nice and subtle. And his performance was energetic yet intimate. And his talking voice is different, lower, than his singing voice. Like Barry White one minute, Adam Levine the next. And his solo dueling pianos bit? You have to see it to appreciate it.

I’d tell you more, but I’m already blowing surprises that were part of the enjoyment for me and I’d smack you if you had told me this ahead of time.

His next tour kicks off this month in Hawaii. You can track down his whereabouts on the Jim Brickman Tour Page.

Or check out his Joyful Christmas CD/DVD. He has released approximately eleventy million CDs, but maybe you can start with “The Gift”, like Reggie did and be struck by some Brickmania of your own.

Then draw yourself a Calgon bath, pop on some Jim Brickman and breathe.

This one’s mine. Get yer own!

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