#Rosery beads

[conjuremanj]

Spiritual Beads

They are used to count prayers, repetitions, chants, devotionals, and meditation. In some cases, each bead symbolizes a particular event or concept. Beads can be made into bracelet, necklaces use to decorate tool, rattles,bells or any scared object and made from all types of materials.

Catholic beads

Origin: The origin of prayer beads dates back to ancient history. Prayer beads have been used by different religions such as Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam, Sikhism, Bahá’í Faith, Shamanism and Christianity. Therefore, Christianity was not the first religion to adapt to this tradition. In fact, the Bible does not speak about prayer beads. Neither Jesus, not His disciples or the early church used prayer beads. So some religions like Judaism won't use them. On the other hand prayer beads can be used and made for prayer but also for devotees of a pacific Saint, Deity, Spirit, or Ansestors to help you connect to that spirit. There are a variety of different beads made for different spiritually so choose the one that best fit you in your practice.

Above are beads for pagan/wiccans and need use Buddhism.

In the Orisha/Lukumi Tradition, Elekes ☝️ are beaded necklaces in patterns and colors of the Orisha. Once an individual’s head is crowned to an Orisha, other adornments such as bracelets and necklace or constructed indicating the initiates head Orisha is worn indicates which Orisha you walk with or became a priest/ess of.

In Vodou these aren’t considered necklaces, even though they make look like necklace in those pictures which are called kolye, and translates to necklace there not worn as such. Kolye are the mark of an initiate; They're made for you when you enter the djevo (chamber) and how it's worn shows the type of initiation you had. What is on/in a kolye represents specific lwa as well as specific concepts and/or pwen specific to spirits.

It’s a pretty important thing to wear and it serves important purposes during initiation. (no matter what the internet tells you, in haitian vodou they don't wear a necklace like Orisha religions do, But in some cases in some regions of Haiti the kolye is worn as a necklace) Houngans during a ritual carry the machete and wearing their kolye that indicate he is a houngan asogwe, and a manbo carries a dwapo wears a kolye across her body, which says that she is a manbo asogwe (the highest initiatory rank in the religion) and the smaller kolye's worn around the neck says that a person is initiated, but is not a manbo asgowe.

[sunflowerchester]

It's week 2 of A Sam Girl Retrospective and this week your host, Audree, is joined by guest host, Vic (@peanutbutterandbananasandwichs)! They discuss the next two epsiodes of season 1 and all the wonderful elements that make the early seasons so special. Be sure to find visuals for this episode on our Instagram, including graphics showing the break down of how we rate these episodes. 

Acknowledgement: Episode 2 of Supernatural does deal with a creature from indigenous lore and we want to be sensitive to that. I've included a link discussing how to be respectful if writing your own story, should you decide to include one. We also want to acknowledge that the show may not have been as sensitive in how it included this creature, so I've added a chapter break in case anyone would like to skip past our discussion straight to "Dead In the Water."

E2 discussion begins at 9:10 E3 discussion begins at 43:16

Thank you to Tumblr user eruthiawenluin for talking through concerns about this with us! We definitely want the podcast to be accessible to everyone. 

Writing With Color on Tumblr

Episode Resources:

The rosery beads post Vic mentions

The terrifying moment the ghost boy looks above the water line

Fangasm

Sam Winchester Caps 

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[nightstalkercreatures]

Religious trauma feeds my soul, turns me rotten and makes my mind question everything I know. Shadows pray in the corner of my room. Texts from my mother as she urges me to go to church. Rosery beads are abandoned on the desk. My cigarettes remind me of the old men sitting outside after sermons as they talked.

Religious trauma feeds my soul but perhaps it is feeding on it instead

[slingshotsandrosarybeads]

Matthew talking about why crutchie wears rosery beads and dungarees I have the rest of Q&A if anyone wants it

[charkyzombicorn]

Ace was nine, when he was ordered to the main house on his god's whim. Luffy had been a blabbermouth, asked Vivi if she know why Ace had to be locked up when he turned eighteen (he didn't want to tell Luffy either, but Sabo took the choice from him). Vivi didn't know why, so Ace was dragged kicking and screaming to the main house to show her.

He was dragged into a room with too many prying eyes, Garp kept holding his wrist over the roserie until the elders ordered he step back. His god looked curious and excited - he always forgot she was younger than Luffy - and the elders ordered he take off his shirt and pants and then finally the roserie Ace hadn't let leave his skin since the day Garp gave it to him and said it would protect him. Ace didn't want to, but then Vivi herself told him, and his fingers went cold as he obeyed his god.

The second the prayer beads left his fingertips searing pain crawled up his spine so suddenly he screamed as he fell into his hands. His vision blacked out and a second later he saw his god's eyes wide with terror, her hands covering her nose and mouth, she sounded so much like Luffy when she cried, hiding herself in one of the elders' skirts while so many eyes glared down at him like he was the most disgusting thing in the world. Anger washed over any lingering ache - wasn't this what they wanted? Wasn't this why they dragged him here? Why did they look like that if they already knew what he was? Why? Why? Why?

His mouth curled back in a snarl, claws on hands that he couldn't recognize lashed out and we're just barely caught by a strong arm. He was yanked away from the prying eyes and his horrified god and tore into the arms that held him back until his roserie was shoved onto his snout. They burned now even worse than taking them off, and he yowled, scraping more desperately at whatever he could reach until his hands were his again and there was blood under his fingernails. Garp slipped the roserie onto his wrist and kept holding him to his chest until Ace recognized the arms covered in deep, deep cuts.

"You okay now, brat?" Garp muttered.

Ace just cried.

[meguwumibear]

trigun writing warm up; tw religion, thoughts of death

You are lying motionless on the cold metal ground of what used to be a space ship, back flat against the floor, becoming one with it. One with the metal. One with the ground. It leeches the warmth from you, bleeds you of it. The floor takes and it takes and it takes. Presses harshly into your spine. The pain is a comfort.

A disembodied voice here, there, here, here, here. Somewhere in the room. Somewhere to your right. Or is it to your left? No, that's not right. The strange voice is all around you. It's the only thing you feel besides the coldness of the floor. The fluidity of the voice. How it rises then falls. Full of passion. Full of life.

A preacher at a pulpit. There's no other way to describe Nai when he gets like this. He becomes something otherworldly. Transforms into something familiar yet so unrecognizable. You know priests and their gold crosses that glitter golden in the sun. You know their rosery beads and confession booths and pews and bibles and communions. Body of Christ. Willingly given. Oh holy eucharist. Oh blessed communion. Wretched rights. Sacred sacraments. Holy be. Holy be.

Nai is not religious but draws inspiration from the big book. The holy book. The blessed book. You think he's read all of it, but he seems to favor the opening lines of Genesis. B'reishit. In the beginning. The Lord created the heavens and the earth. The light and the dark. He made us, then made us again.

The air around you smells like sulfur, brimstone. It smells salty like the sea. An ocean of water. Not one of sand. Try as you might, you cannot picture this; you cannot picture a vast blue body of water brimming with fish and coral and life. Each time you try the image slips from you. Go. Going. Gone.

You're aware again of how cold the floor beneath you is. It should be a comfort in these hot summer months. It should sooth you. Like a balm. Instead it reminds you of absence. Of death and of nothingness. You eyes close and you see it now. The darkness. The darkness that awaits us all.

Only, that's not right. The body cools but the soul blazes. Descends to one of the nine hells. Blisters and boils and burns and burns and burns and burns and burns and burns.

"I hate when you get like this."

He hates you all the time. It matters not what you're wearing, what you're doing or saying, if you've been an obedient little human or a wicked, wicked witch. He hates and he hates and he hates, hates, hates. And that is not a sin. Pride? Yes. Sloth? Certainly? But not hate. Never hate.

"I wish you'd kill me."

You mean it and you don't. You'll die either way. You're dying now. Of hunger. Of thirst. Of boredom most of all. You aren't interested in Nai's Eden. Like the water filled ocean, it's a picture that never fully forms. You can chase it if you'd like, but it would only slip further and further away. As distant from you as the stars.

More noise. More talking. Preaching. Christ he needs a therapist. Needs a friend. Needs his brother. His brother Vash. Who ran from him. Who saw Nai for the monster he truly is and ran and ran and ran so hard and so fast they call him the humanoid typhoon. He touches down in this town, then the next, kicking up dust and dirt and lots and lots of fucking sand.

"Not interested in my Eden?" he asks.

And, no, you're not interested in anything, actually. You're not interested in anything at all.

[pulptv]

⠀⠀𝗣𝗨𝗟𝗣𝘛𝘝₁₉₉₉ ) :⠀ CHRIST, LOOK WHO'S WANDERED IN ! thank you for applying g. sophia bush and octavio pisano as the medical examiner and owner of the dive bar is all yours. you have twenty four hours to send in an account and read over the checklist. get ready, new york is one hell of a city . . .

*  \̲\̲  sophia bush,  ciswoman  +  she/her ] ⠀★ ,   no   way,   haven’t   you   ever   heard   of   charlotte mason?   perhaps   you   know   them   best   as   charlie or doctor.  spotted   under   new   york's   city   lights,   i’ve   heard   they’re   a   medical examiner   that’s   protected   by   the fbi,   spilled   blood   for   loyalty   is   thicker   than   water.   the   rumour   goes   that   the   forty two year old   is   known   to   be   reclusive   and   sarcastic,   yet   compassionate   and   kind-hearted.   it’s   gluttony   that’s   their   biggest   vice,   but   hey,   what   do   i   fuckin’   know?   their   favourite   song   on   the   job   is   moonlight sonata   by   beethoven   and   are   never   seen   without   golden necklace with a locket holding a picture of her mother,   hard   to   believe   in   superstition   in   such   a   godless   city.   ask   the   right   people   and   they’ll   tell   you   that   they   remind   them   of:   the scent of cinnamon and vanilla swirling around you as you walk through a dimlit cafe / spencer reid ( criminal minds ), maura isles ( rizzoli & isles ), gregory house ( house m.d. ).   so   whatever   you   do,   and   may   vengeance   have   mercy   on   you,   do   not   fuck   with   them.    ⸻    juju,  31,  she/her,  est

*  \̲\̲  octavio pisano,  cisman  +  he/him  ] ⠀★ ,   no   way,   haven’t   you   ever   heard   of   diego alvarez?   perhaps   you   know   them   best   as   n/a.  spotted   under   new   york's   city   lights,   i’ve   heard   they’re   a   business owner ( the dive bar )   that’s   protected   by   unaffiliated,   spilled   blood   for   loyalty   is   thicker   than   water.   the   rumour   goes   that   the   forty years old   is   known   to   be   dangerous   and   unpredictable,   yet   patient   and   forgiving.   it’s   wrath   that’s   their   biggest   vice,   but   hey,   what   do   i   fuckin’   know?   their   favourite   song   on   the   job   is   esa mujer   by   tony vega   and   are   never   seen   without   rosery beads,   hard   to   believe   in   superstition   in   such   a   godless   city.   ask   the   right   people   and   they’ll   tell   you   that   they   remind   them   of:   nero padilla ( sons of anarchy ), nick miller ( new girl ),  da ( boondock saints 2 ) .   so   whatever   you   do,   and   may   vengeance   have   mercy   on   you,   do   not   fuck   with   them. 

[kassiannekay]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Vintage Multi-Colored Saint Michael Bead Rosery.

[247snob]

[bisexual-horror-fan]

oh they were definitely good things, you don't have to worry about that at all if ya know what i mean. nd i can't wait for this potential part 2! you're writing is seriously great!

Oh I think I know whatcha mean Anon! 

And seriously thank you again! 

Not sure when I will be able to get to it because I have some asks to get through first but it’ll be worth the wait I promise!

[modx-reborn]

Demon George, coming to corrupt pastor's child! Reader and making them unable to think of anything other than him, corrupting them until they can't get off without him, calling them angel while absolutely railing them into next week

—🌟

🌟, Your ass is Phat, it's always gonna be phat.

Here you spawn a fucking george one shot!

You would think with how all the candles flicker around the alter it would be warm and yet no matter how many of those small flames flicker and burn by you, there is no warmth here. None bar the heat from how your knees burn from how they are pressed into the stool below you, hands clasped together and elbows braced on the altar before you, bound together with the very rosery you wear meant to be used in prayer.

Where you should be focused on the words you had spoken time and time again was nothing but thoughts of him the thing that had found its way into this house of God, the very thing that had consumed your thoughts and slipped whispers of sin into your ears at every sermon and visit to the hallowed halls. Lingering at the edges of your mind even now after all you had done to rid yourself of his influence, it had bled too deep.

At home in the dark roaming hands that had once been enough to stifle your lust became lacking, the sound of others indulging in each other blurring into the sound of his voice whispering to you again. A phantom feeling of his hands against you, a memory of how he had first come for you, finding you alone lending a hand lighting the rows and rows of candles in the main hall.

He seemed so friendly at that moment and yet it was not long before that kindness bleeds into his hands on you, pale skin pressed to your own, slipping under your clothes and leaving the first mark that would lead to so many others. A type of corruption that was predetermined from the moment he had you alone, a stain that bloomed from a single speck on your soul.

Now here on your knees before the alter you still find him in your thoughts, hearing his voice even if he wasn't here with you, but oh how wrong you were. These were his halls now and from the moment you had stepped in them you were his too, and now you're here again perfectly poised for him to take what he wants, to have you in more than just teasing touches that had been keeping you up at night.

There is nowhere for you to go when he grabs your hips, pushing you further into the alter you prayed before, fingers swift to pull down what was keeping him from you, leaning his body across your back, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks.

"Oh, angel there's no one up there to listen to you now, not once I am done with you. If you are looking for a name to call think about calling mine, you do remember it don't you?"

His own hands are wrapped around yours, fingers tracing over the dark beads that you had thumbed at earlier, laughing when he can feel you shiver.

"George..."

"Ahh so my sweet angel does remember me, and here I thought with how long it's been since you had been here with me you had forgotten..."

"Please I-"

"What a shame it would have been had you forgotten."

You can hear the fake pout in his words, even as he keeps you here on your knees, a position that you knew only for your prayers now being sullied by the roaming hands of this thing in the shape of a man. The hands that had been holding yours closed move once again, running down the sides of your frame tracing every curve and dip they found before returning to exposing you to the thing that lay behind you.

Despite the cold of the church, his hands feel more like ice than anything else as they trace around you, pressing gently in teasing you with what he wants from you, what he wants to do to you. Watching and drinking in the way you twitch as he actually slips one of his fingers in, cooing at you once again.

"Oh look at that. How easy that was, almost as if you'd been prepping yourself for this, getting all nice and ready for the day I finally took what was mine."

"No I-I never. Not for you but-"

"Shhh shhh, angel it was always going to be for me. I think it's high time you learnt them, hmm?"

His one finger is quickly replaced by two, then three as he works you open making sure to coo at every half-muffled moan and whine when he brushes against that one spot, waiting for the best moment to fully abuse it, watching just as you take a sharp inhale to begin his assault. Gently cupping your neck and keeping your head tilted back, your sound now filling the empty hall with sin.

"That's it, so pretty when you sing for me angel..."

And sing for him you do, legs barely on the small stool as he pushes you into the altar, replacing his fingers with his cock and bracketing your body with his own. Your heated skin against his, fingers still interlocked as if you could still pray away what you were doing and what was doing it to you, but with every buck of his hips and every groan he pulls from ou lips you know he was right.

No matter how much you had done here before he had taken a liking for you, nowhere with a demon in a human disguise fucking you into sin there would be no one in heaven to save you, nothing you could ever do to wash away the stain he was leaving on you, and a small voice in the back of your mind that was growing louder and louder as you moaned told you that you wouldn't mind this damnation.

That even if there ever was a chance to have redemption and you would turn your back and walk into the arms of the thing buried in you, giving you the kind of pleasure you had been seeking for even if it was in secret.

"Now angel what was my name again?"

You can feel it, a knot tightening in your core, building and building as your mind falls away, you were going to cum and there was little you could do bar call this things name when you did.

"GEORGE!"

[secretcatholicwitch]

I wanted to share the rosery that I made for myself a long time ago with you guys.💕

The cross belonged to grandma, she was a devout Catholic and pray the rosary all the time. The beads I used are swarovski crystals and rose quartz.

[tmgstudios]

jonathan really be like oh yes rhis is my human friend the count who doesnt show up in mirrors and tried to choke me after he saw i was bleeding but was warded off by roserie beads and is keeping me prisoner let me ask him for a history lesson

[yanderenightmare]

HEADCANNONS

KINKS & FETISHES     part two

goodiebage WARNINGS: yandere, abuse, noncon/dubcon, arson, threats, Stockholm Syndrome, mind control, narcissism, sadism, slavery, torture

PART ONE 

YANDERE ! KATSUKI BAKUGO - KACHAN POWERPLAY

It’s been said before and it will continue to be preached until the end of time: Katsuki is a full-blown narcissist, and he loves making his dominance excruciatingly clear. He rarely uses any form of bondage, enjoying being the sole reason his darling stays in her place. Hand around her throat, squeezing that weak windpipe, forcing those precious sweet squeaks from her throat, feeling them simmer against his palm. Capturing her tiny delicate wrists between his fingers, squishing until bones pop and she swears in spluttering whines that he’s snapped and broken something. His knee digging into the doughy flesh of her thigh, causing sharp tickling pain to shoot straight through her flesh, all in an exaggerated effort at keeping her beneath him.

He’ll be degrading, especially in a suggestive way. His entire bone-crushing weight pressing down into her, constricting and controlling what air gets to pass down to her lungs, while he knowingly asks her how good it feels when she begins to clamp down around the girth of his cock, feeling her warm wet walls convulse and spasm each time he pumps his sopping swollen tip into the spongey feel of her cervix. Teasing, taunting and mocking words flying along with spit through his grit teeth onto her face, as the tab of his thumb rubs tight circles onto the bead of her clit. Anything resembling self-control can be written off as a cruel joke, when they both know her entire composure is at his mercy. Reduced to simply stimuli and response at his fingers, her reactions on his beck and call.

YANDERE ! DABI - TODOROKI TOUYA BEGGING KINK

He wants to see her kneel, he wants to see her crawl, he wants to hold that perfect little face between his palms and make her shiver and quake at the feel of his warming hands, threatening to mar her soft and supple skin up until it’s nothing but tough purple leather like him, with no hope of healing. He wants to see her cry, he wants it loud as though her sobs could shatter glass, he wants it ugly as though no one could look at her and call her beautiful except for him. He wants all of it as his studded cockhead pokes at her inside, all the while where he pounds into her ruthlessly and savagely, hearing her feeble broken pleas tremor beneath the palm he’s placed wrapped deadly around her throat, fingers bending and plunging into her delicate neck.

Then he wants to show mercy, he wants to glide his lanky boney fingers through her soft hair, hush and coo at her to quit her sniveling and shaking. He’ll have her on his chest, listening to her mumble out sweet forms of gratitude and other soft-tinted apologies. Her lips admiring his piercings, laying worship on them as though praying at an altar. Finding utter unlocking blissful satisfaction, as though some war has been won, at the fact that she’ll never be able to leave him, because he’s made the idea of leaving him seem like death in her brittle mind, not because he would hunt her down, but because she cannot hope to live without him.

YANDERE ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA FOOT FETISH

Just look at them. So dainty and petite compared to his, so small compared to anything, fitting so perfectly in his hand, soft skin in contrast to his dry toughened and calloused hands. And so very sensitive and ticklish, both beneath the touch of his fingers and teeth and tongue and cock. Pink wriggling toes, curling and crinkling until they cramp as he bottoms-out inside her, just begging for him to bite them while he fucks her harder, unable to go anywhere with her ankles shackled together, the chain pulled over his head and resting at his neck with her precious feet made to hang off his shoulders, only able to pull him closer.

Tomura learned quickly when playing with his darling that a woman’s feet are a woman’s weakness, because as she begs him not to touch her, begs him to stay away, once he wraps his hand around her ankle and drags her back to where he wants her, thigh-high sock slowly being pulled off to reveal her legs and coming off at her pedicured toes, foot enclosed in his strong hands, making her bones pop in a much needed message, she’ll moan in a way parallel with how lude she’ll croak with his fat cock drilling into her.

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI BONDAGE KINK

Who would not find it cute? A little pussycat all knotted up in a ball of yarn, with no hope of escaping, all trapped and vulnerable and begging for Master’s help. Her fingers dancing in the air, wrists tightly locked together, under full understanding that they’re completely useless under the circumstances, having no purpose except for stroking his cock in those moments he’s come close enough, yet not having the courage to sink her claws into the tender squishy flesh of his length because he has her other delicate bits on full display, all for him to destroy if she is to give him the right motivation, if she gives him an excuse to punish her.

He can play nice if she plays along, if she expresses her gratitude on cue like he’s taught her, if she asks for permission, if she begs enough. Either way, she’s not getting out of his trap. Either way, he’ll have his way, which is all that’s important to him. He knows she’ll enjoy herself whether she wants to or not, he’ll see to it up close and personally. Whispering small commands in her ear when she decides to be difficult, telling her to focus, telling her to forget everything except for him and those hands of his and that tongue of his and those teeth of his and that fat veiny cock of his, playing with her, forcing her to see stars.

YANDERE ! TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS MARKING KINK

It’s a need, it’s a necessity, it’s an instinct more than a desire. He’ll be rigid and manic and swivel-eyed, unable to feel at all at ease or at peace with her skin being unadorned and healed and ridden of his teeth-marks and claw-marks and love-bites. They belong on her just as much as that angel-coated set of wings on her back. His name belongs carved into her chest with the handy use of one of his crimson feathers just as much as that feather belongs in the flock on his own back. They need to be ever present on her body or else he’s risking her forgetting who it is that she belongs too.

She doesn’t really need clothes. Keigo likes her ready for the taking at all times. Expensive clothing articles just go to waste if they fall prey to him having to rip them to shreds when removing them unceremoniously from her body, especially when she’s so adamant on resisting him. Besides, if she’s all covered up in silks and whatnot, how is his need to see himself on her skin expected to be satiated? And, she looks so cute trying and struggling to cover herself up, with only her hands and feathers to use in hiding herself from Keigo’s prying eyes.

YANDERE ! MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU DADDY-KINK

Whether it’s sparked by his need to help and protect his little darling from harm and the dangers of the world, or because his own father abandoned him as a child, he does not give it too much thought, despite his darling often times asking for an explanation when he has her bent over his knee, sharp slaps printed on the dome of her ass while she’s made to beg Daddy for forgiveness, her otherwise perfect milky skin now bruised with ugly purple and blues, further indicating Izuku’s ownership of her. Come to think of it, maybe it’s because the title inspires authority, something of which he demands all responsibility of.

She’s his little girl, his little baby, his little Bunny, in desperate dangerous need of Daddy’s firm hand to teach her right from wrong, to teach her proper manners and proper posture and how to properly bounce up and down the length of his cock. Manners including begging Daddy to let her cum, whereas posture is learned and achieved through lesson after lesson where they train in keeping her ass arched up when her head is buried face-down in the pillow, with Daddy’s cock skewering her from behind, her little ass earning a bright-red slap each time her posture fails, her little ditzy brain unable to take simple directions with all the blood pooling in her brain.

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL LINGERIE KINK

She looks so perfect clad in expensive customized lace-roses and patterned mesh. Straps connecting her garner-belt to her thigh-high socks, all decorated with rosery swirls and diamonds and pearls, the golden clasps acting as a thing to admire and a puzzle to solve before he can slide her out of her underwear. Bralette granting minimum support as he wants to see her mounds in their natural perfection, the invisibility of the mesh-fabric leaving little to the imagination with her nipples on full display. Teddies too are such a delicate and exquisite playful attire for him to dress her up in. Intricate and ornate patterns adorning the fabrics both of silk and satin and velvet and cotton and lace, two small buttons positioned at her entrance for easy access.

Way too short skirts to even come close to fulfilling their purpose of hiding her privates. With their fluffy taffeta and tulle propping the skirt up into a wet-dream fairy-tutu costume. Kimonos too are such a sweet soft form of unwrapping a present. Tendrils of ribbon tying into big splendid flamboyant bows all for him to tug and make fall apart to open what glory found inside the packaging. Ruffles adorning the sleeves and every other edge in cutesy doll-like fashion. Colors of pastel pinks and creams in stark contrast to his black suit-pants when he makes her take a seat on his knee.

YANDERE ! TODOROKI SHOTO AFTERCARE KINK

It’s more than a duty, it’s a pleasure as well, something to look forward to, something to cherish. To have her broken bruised sweat-slicked radiant body, shivering from the cold or feverish and delirious from the heat, all fallen into a feeble mess of tired aching limbs, and her so very preciously dumb blissed-out state of mind, with words incoherently mumbled and blubbered and hiccupped out into the air with no true goal inside her fried little head. Her eyes heavy-lidded and pupils opium-wide, unable to focus on anything with the rapturous frenzied-high that has shaken her body ablaze and rendered her all but a febrile mess.

She’s so cute with all her humanity having been broken, leaving her as a wild cotton-eyed bleating little lamb as he places her in the hot-tub, careful to join her so she not drown in her absentminded euphoria. It takes time to come down from the fever, her body involuntarily fallen prey to spasms and convulsions wreaking through to her toes as they crinkle under the pressure, with her voice outing small whimpering sighs and moans. Shoto’s right hand ghosting over those fresh red and blue and purple galaxies adorning her body, cooling the swelling skin down, calming the blood gushing out from popped veins as he whispers sweet soft-spoken comforting nothings into her ear, cooing and hushing at her to let him kiss everything better.

[kassiannekay]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Carnelian Catholic Rosery Necklace.

[explorationsoftheid]

Thoughts While I Was Getting My Root Canal

1) Was Captain Queeg in The Caine Mutiny autistic? I mean from his obsession with rules and protocol, to his poor communication skills with his staff, to the stimming with the handful of ball bearings, it sure seems like Herman Wouk inadvertently wrote a very stereotypical autistic person, without meaning to. It’s a whole other discussion as to why he chose those attributes for his character.

2) Speaking of autism, has anyone ever thought about The Rosery as used by many Christians, as stimming? I mean when under stress they will recite a set of words over and over, and fiddle with a set of beads, to calm themselves. I mean look at this, a quick search for Stim Beads and Rosery. To my eye there’s a lot of similarities, in both form and function.

3) And finally, I am so glad I had my little stim toy with me. Two hours in the dentest’s chair with lots of pressure, and surprises, and bad noises around. It helped me hold it together A LOT.