horrorvenus replied to your post: “Could you please change texts from “slave” to “enslaved person”? I…”:

Your posts and many of the ensuing discussions, like this one, are the quality content I crave in my media consumption. Thank you very much for all your efforts.

Well, thank you for the compliment, and thank you for being interested.

Some of you think it’s weird I thank people for giving a crap, but let me tell you that 20 years ago finding anyone willing to listen to or look at any of this was considerably more of a chore than it is now.


25 Days of Outlander - Day 8

Favorite Master Raymond Scene.

And I’m just fascinated by him! I love Raymond. I LOVE Dominique Pinion as Raymond. Like with Mother Hildegarde, the casting for Raymond was spot-bloody-on!

For me, Raymond has always been one of those characters I crave would have his own series of novellas. He’s enigmatic, resourceful, playful, and always has an air of knowing behind those froggy eyes of his.

One of my favorite scenes has to be when Raymond takes Claire to the inner heart of his apothecary. He lets Claire see a side of him that anyone rarely does. In turn, Claire - without saying a word - lets down her guard around him.

Cheeky bastard <3!

Raymond’s healing of Claire though, was one of those scenes I had really been excited to see. How were they going to adapt such an unusual (and - for me - iconic) passage, without making it heavy handed/cheesy? What I loved was just how subtle and delicate they managed to make it. It was absolutely perfect.

“Blue with the color of healing. The wings will carry your pain away if you let them.”

 “A white hotness burned deep in my bones. I knew what it was. Puerperal fever. The baby had come, but part of the placenta had not. It festered inside my womb. But as Raymond’s hands moved over the meridians of my body, I could feel the tiny deaths of the bacteria that inhabited my blood. Small explosions as each scintilla of infection disappeared. The fever drained from my bones and my tortured body relaxed gratefully into the frame of his hands. Melting and reforming like molded wax.”

“Call him. Call to him.”

 “I don’t know what he did, or how he did it, but he healed me. What’s more, he saved my life.”

You know, I am SO SO HAPPY for more Kairi (first speaking appearance in SEVEN ACTUAL YEARS jfc), but you know what this clip is also showing me?

More 👏 Riku and Kairi 👏 interaction 👏👏👏

Can we please expand on their friendship Square because I have been craving that for SO LONG

#6: Fat Camp (Part 1 & 2)

By: Pippinacious

Length: Super long

I was an addict. I denied it for a long time, came up with excuses as to why what I was doing was ok, convinced myself that I wasn’t hurting anyone, so it didn’t really matter, all the typical justification that are shouted up from the depths of a downward spiral. When Mom noticed, she attributed it to Middle Child Syndrome and said it was a ploy for attention. Dad shrugged it off, figuring there were worse things. My sisters were too busy being perfect to comment.

Dad was right, in a way; it wasn’t like I was selling myself on street corners for meth or anything. There were definitely worse things than eating myself sick constantly. What had started as comfort eating to deal with a combination of poor self esteem and bullying slowly morphed into a need, a craving, an itch I couldn’t quite scratch.

I couldn’t look at food without feeling the urge to shove it in my mouth in a vain attempt to fill the emptiness that churned in my gut. And when I did give in, there was such a rush and the desire was quieted, even if only temporarily. I felt so guilty, knew I was doing wrong, and that just made me want to do it more. I was caught in a vicious circle of self-hatred perpetuated by the only thing that could make me feel any better: eating.

It got embarrassing fast. I tried to be discrete, eating normal portions in front of others, but then gorging myself behind closed doors until I felt like I would vomit. I couldn’t look in a mirror without wanting to cry. My face was becoming rounder, my clothes became harder to pull on, tighter, and my sisters started asking if I was “retaining water”. That was their idea of tact. Mom was even more blunt.

“You’re getting fat.” She said over breakfast one morning.

Kelly and Jasmine feigned interest in their cereal, but I could see their amused smirks. I swallowed back tears and shrugged. I’d never been thin, something Mom prioritized, and it was a sore point between us. It didn’t matter what she tried, what she made me do, I could just never get down to the same ideal size that she and my sisters were.

“It’s disgusting, it’s lazy, it’s sloppy! Is that what you want people thinking of you? Of your family? You’re almost seventeen for God’s sake!”

“No.” I mumbled.

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

“I’ve been trying, Mom…”

“Trying to embarrass me? Because you’ve been doing a good job of that. Cathy Mulrooney saw you at the club pool last week and do you know what she said? She said it looked like you were really enjoying taking the summer off and relaxing. She was so snide! I just wanted to crawl under a rock and die, Natalie!”


“If you’re so sorry, then put down the spoon and go for a run.”

I did run, all the way up to my room, where I locked myself in and dug out the stash of snacks I kept hidden in the back of my closet. I sat on my floor and tried to drown out Mom’s cold, angry words with the loud crunch of chips and candy, but it only made them louder. I caught sight of myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my door and I paused, my hand still in the bag of mini Snickers. Mom was right, I was a pig; gross, unloveable, ugly.

How lucky was I, then, when she told me a few days later that she had a solution?

“If you won’t fix it, I will.” She had come into my room while I cleaning and tossed a few pamphlets on my bed.

I picked one up and skimmed the front page, “Fat camp?” I asked, a sickening feeling bubbling up in the back of my throat.

“It’s one of the top rated programs in the country for… girls like you.”

“I’ll go to the gym! I’ll work out every day!”

“Yes, you will. At fat camp.”

When I tried to recruit Dad to my side later that night, he sat me down and let me cry against his shoulder. He knew about how strained my relationship was with my mom and he sympathized, but he was a pushover. He couldn’t stand up to her any more than I could.

“Maybe it will be good for you, sweetie.” He said gently, “You’ll get out of the house, meet new people, try new activities. It could be fun.”

“She hates me.” I said flatly. I had known it for a long time, but never said it out loud before.

“No she doesn’t! Your mom loves you, that’s why she cares so much about your weight. She wants you to be healthy.”

“She wants me to be skinny.”


“I’m going to bed, Dad. Goodnight.”

The morning I left for camp, Mom let me eat whatever I wanted for breakfast. She considered it a last meal of sorts. Despite the queasy knots in my stomach, I managed to scarf down French toast, bacon, sausage, eggs, and a bowl full of strawberries. Mom forced a smile, although I could tell she was repulsed. She gave me a pat on the shoulder as I headed out to the car with Dad.

“Your sisters wanted to say bye, but they went for a jog and aren’t back yet. We’ll see you in six weeks; good luck.”

The drive upstate was long and quiet. Dad made a few attempts at conversation, but I didn’t want to talk. I just wanted to get it over with.

The camp was beautiful, I admitted grudgingly to myself as we pulled up. A lake sparkled invitingly from behind a row of log cabins, neat paths wound off into the trees, and colorful flags and banners had been erected all around, welcoming the newest campers to their home for the next month and a half. As soon as we’d parked, a bright, overly bubbly woman practically pulled me from the car into a hug.

“Hello, I’m Stacey, a counselor! What’s your name?”

“Natalie Hunter.”

She scanned her clipboard and tapped it twice enthusiastically when she found my name, “Ah! Here you are! You’re in cabin three with Ashley. If you want to grab your stuff, I’ll take you on over.”

Dad gave me a tight hug and whispered, “If it’s horrible, call me. I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks.” I said, but I knew he wouldn’t.

I was assigned a bunk and given just enough time to unpack before they ushered us into a large dining hall. I was surrounded by other girls, all of whom looked as excited as I was about being there, and I felt the familiar twinge of nerves that set in whenever I was faced with a new situation. I wanted nothing more than to go home, curl up in my favorite pajamas, and eat. My stomach rumbled in agreement.

The counselors introduced themselves and did their best to be upbeat in the face of such a reluctant crowd, which didn’t have much effect. Apparently fat camp wasn’t anyone’s idea of a fun summer get away. After an awkward skit about making new friends, they served lunch; turkey burgers on whole wheat buns, a garden salad, steamed broccoli, and a popsicle for dessert. I was still ravenous when the meal was over, but they shuffled us out to go through a series of ice breaker activities.

By the time dinner rolled around, I’d become friendly with a couple of girls from my cabin and was starting to think that, maybe, camp wouldn’t be so horrible after all. We were given a disappointingly small portion of fish and rice to eat and, halfway through, I noticed that I was unusually sleepy. It had been a long, stressful day, so I didn’t think much of it and was happy when they gave us permission to return to our cabins. The other girls seemed to be similarly warn out and, sluggishly, we all went back to our bunks and collapsed into bed. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.


“Huh?” I pried open one eye and had to blink the room into focus. My head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, making it hard to piece thoughts together. My arms were stretched uncomfortably towards the headboard, but when I tried to move them, cold metal bit into my wrists.


I shifted, craning my neck to look up, and it took a long minute of staring to figure out what exactly I was seeing. A pair of handcuffs. Someone had cuffed me to the bed. I blinked dumbly, trying to process what this could mean in a mind still muddied with sleep. Around me, I heard similarly confused murmurs and the curious tugging of handcuffs.

“What’s going on?” Gloria, I managed to remember her name from the day before, asked from the bed beside me.

The murmurs became more frantic as reality set in. All six of us were chained by our wrists to our bed, unable to move beyond a pathetic squirm. One of us started to scream and then we all were. The door to our cabin burst open and Ashley, our counselor, rushed in.

Keep reading

wip of the magical boy also i know ive said it loads of times but why the hell would you make the biggest plotline romance of the series oNLY AVAILABLE AS A HETEROSEXUAL ROMANCE???? 

I know withdrawals start tomorrow
I’ll be out of pills
And no amount of Valium can stop the shakes I’ll be getting
Nothing will stop the craving
So I decide to say fuck it
Poor caffeine like fire on gas to my already racing heart
I survived an outrageous amount of energy drinks
I can survive this too
But maybe I deserve the punishment

Please deliver to me
Echoes of melody
Vivacious and spicy

Sing a jazzy new tune.
Hypnotized and attune,
I exit my cocoon.

Fluttering to your voice
Craving your sexy noise
Dazzled, I lose my poise.

I know what you crave.
To be seen and known. To be held and heard. The gaps. The holes. The lack of what you’re looking for. And the weight of not finding it.⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
Every void and every empty place that exists inside of you doesn’t have to stay that way. The all-consuming nothingness. The hollowness. The uncertainty. The fear. The meaninglessness.
I know you’re trying to fill in the blanks.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
To be completely transparent, I’ve been walking through it. Whatever it is. It’s muddy.
My feet are tired. My heart is worn out. Exhaustion is what I get for constantly running after what didn’t get divinely designed for me. For relentlessly chasing down the things that I was told to give up.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
I have been thinking a lot lately.
Searching. Straying. But finding so much more than I ever have before. Sometimes we have to shake the boundaries we’ve set for ourselves.
Sometimes we have to question the things we’ve overlooked and become too comfortable with. Sometimes we have to look down and pull what we won’t let go of out of our own hands.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀
So you’re looking for a sign? This is it. It’s time.
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀
I know you’re trying to get a grip on your heart. But the only way to do that, is by giving up your grip and placing it in bigger hands.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
I saw this a couple months ago and remember stopping dead in my tracks. “Visitor Entrance.”
I remember cancelling what I was about to do, running back to my car to get my journal and sitting under that sign, writing until it was dark.
⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀
When did you become just a visitor?
Jesus, He wants full custody. Not weekend visits. It’s cold now. It’s dark out there. It’s getting late.

When the world walks out, and it always does;
He’s still there. He’s always still there. Never locks the door. And always leaves the light on.
Won’t you come home?

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