#lashing out

You were already shaking, thighs slick, body a map of his claim. He’d been at you for hours. A marathon, he called it, voice low and mocking as he pinned you down again. Your back arched off the mattress, spine screaming from the way he’d thrown you earlier, but the pain only melted into heat between your legs.

“Still crying?” Kashimo’s breath ghosted hot against your ear. His grin was feral, teeth stained faint red from the last bite. “Good. I like you like this—ruined and fucking dripping for more.” You whimpered as his hand cracked across your cheek, hard enough that stars burst behind your eyes. The slap echoed, sharp and wet. Your lip split fresh, blood trickling warm down your chin. He leaned in and licked it slow, savoring, before his mouth crashed into yours. The kiss was all teeth and hunger, copper flooding your tongue as he bit your lower lip harder. You moaned into it, masochistic thrill shooting straight to your core. Pain and pleasure twisted so tight you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

He pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes wild, electric blue hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. “Beg.”

“Please,” you gasped, voice hoarse from screaming his name through the last round. “More, Kashimo. Hurt me.”

His laugh was dark, delighted. He reared back and punched your thigh—solid, bruising force that made your whole leg spasm. You cried out, fresh tears spilling, and he groaned at the sight, hips grinding against you. Dacryphilia, he’d admitted once with that crooked smirk. Your tears got him harder than anything.

He shoved your knees wider, slamming back inside you in one brutal thrust. No gentleness left; he fucked like he fought—relentless, vicious, claiming. Every stroke punched the air from your lungs. His fingers dug into the already-black bruises on your hips, reopening the mottled skin. You were so full it hurt, stretched and aching, but you clenched around him anyway, greedy for the burn.

Another slap, this one across your breast. Then his teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder—deep, deliberate. You felt skin break, blood welling hot and immediate. He sucked hard, moaning against the wound as he drank you down, hips never slowing. The pain bloomed white-hot, radiating through your chest, and you came again with a broken sob, walls fluttering around his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, pulling out only to flip you onto your stomach. Your face pressed into the pillow, ass up, body trembling. He didn’t give you time to breathe. A heavy punch landed on your outer thigh, then another on the meat of your ass. The impacts rattled through bone. You were going to be purple for weeks—deep, ugly blooms that would make sitting in lecture halls tomorrow pure torture. The thought only made you wetter.

He bit the back of your neck, breaking skin again, and thrust back in from behind. Deeper this way. Meaner. His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so he could see your tear-streaked face.

“Crying so pretty for me,” he rasped, slapping your cheek again, lighter this time but still stinging. Blood from your lip smeared across your jaw. “My perfect little masochist. You’d let me kill you like this, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded frantically, another orgasm building fast and vicious. “Yes—God, yes—”

He punched your side, not hard enough to crack ribs but enough to bruise deep, and that was it. You shattered, screaming into the pillow as he fucked you through it, chasing his own release. When he came, it was with a guttural sound, teeth buried in your shoulder again, flooding you hot and deep while your body milked every drop.

He collapsed over you, chest heaving, but he wasn’t done. Not even close. His fingers traced the fresh bite marks, pressing into the blood-slick skin until you hissed.

“Catch your breath,” he murmured, almost tender. Almost. “Then I’m flipping you over and starting again. I want you bleeding in new places before sunrise.”

Chihuahuas are small dogs, but they themselves don’t really care about that. Their size gives them advantages frequently. They are great at alerting, wonderful vermin hunters, and loyal pets. They’re small and can fit into holes in the ground, and they’ve got sharp teeth that hurt if you let them gnaw on you for too long. Chihuahuas can be total love bugs that want to spend time with you (I should know, I have one. Her name is Juno and she’s my little street rat and I love her with my whole heart. She’s a chihuahua/terrier mix if anyone is wondering!).

However, people often mistreat them in ways they would never treat a big dog. They step on them, poke at them, terrorize them, pick them up with no regard for how they feel about it, etc.

It’s no wonder chihuahuas frequently snap at people. They’re tired of being harassed and hurt. So, they lash out before anybody can mess with them. For those little terrorized dogs, you have to build up their trust before they realize they are safe with you. They are incredibly strong willed and independent, and they are social little dogs. They are not toys to be paraded around and messed with.

Trinity Santos is the same way. She has been abused and handled by the people around her for her whole life. She very much wants to connect with the people around her (and she does end up doing it! Look at Dennis and Robby and Mel and Princess and Perlah!) but it’s scary for her. It takes time. She doesn’t want to live a life full of pain and terror, so she does what she knows works- sarcasm and dry humor and deflection and being a little bit mean. People back off, and she’s safe from the pain, but she is so lonely.

But lots of people don’t want to be kind to chihuahuas. They want the dogs to love on them instantly and be something they can tote around. When those babies defend themselves after a lifetime of mistreatment, people get huffy and would rather force it or terrorize the dogs more rather than be patient. It doesn’t help when everyone they see online also goes out of their way to harass chihuahuas.

To see more art of them check #Invi (they use any pronouns)

(Doodle I made back in july of my ttrpg character, inspired by this Jack Stauber song)

(my annual PSA for people who are “winning” the debate, and losing their souls)

“Every man on earth is sick with the fever of sin, with the blindness of sin and is overcome with its fury. As sins consist mostly of malice and pride, it is necessary to treat everyone who suffers from the malady of sin with kindness and love.

This is an important truth, which we often forget. Very often we act in the opposite manner: we add malice to malice by our anger, we oppose pride with pride.

Thus, evil grows within us and does not decrease; it is not cured – rather it spreads.”

St. John of Kronstadt could well have written that today.

It’s easy to forget that the people we are reacting to, shouting down, lashing out at are, well, people.

Someone says something we disagree with. So we react and unload on them. With something demeaning, something degrading, something dehumanizing.

Without really thinking about it, “we add malice to malice.”

Or we rationalize that with the bile we’re copying and pasting, we’re just getting the truth out. Or just telling it like it is. Or just standing up for our rights.

In truth, we’re just fooling ourselves, while “we add malice to malice.”

The thing is, when we add malice to malice, it’s not a precision strike. We do just as much damage to ourselves as anyone else.

When we add malice to malice, “evil grows within us and does not decrease; it is not cured – rather it spreads.”

But what about all the wrong stuff that people say online? How do you ignore that? How can you not respond?

I checked with the bishop. He promised me that he did not commission you as the official responder to every wrong thing on the Internet.

But what if you just have to respond?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is clear. If we are His, then we are to be in the love of God, as God’s love is in us.

Which means what? That if we’re Christians in more than name, then we follow St. John’s advice. We “treat everyone who suffers from the malady of sin with kindness and love.”

Been wanting to do some protective Rags and I also have some fears for Ep 8 to get out of my system, so have this little post ep 7 bit where Ragatha tries to talk down a crashing out Zooble from turning on Pomni as well as Caine and Jax. Inspo from @emmettspace too.

Note: I'm not trying to paint Zooble in a bad light here. Any crashouts in Ep 7 will be completely valid. I'm just getting out some worries since Zooble does seem to have a tendency to let their temper get the better of them and everyone's at a low point and looking for someone to blame. Thankfully I think of the group Ragatha would be the most likely to try and hear Pomni out and stand up for her against the others if need be.

Bonus: I was also going to give Zooble a line lashing out at Ragatha for talking them down from threatening Jax if he screwed things up, and I really should have said "Jax wouldn't have been able to screw things up" but I don't really have the space to fix it here.

Prompts List | Masterpost

Characters: Reese Takari, Evanna Gwynsdottir (Tales from Valaria)

Prompts: "I'm worried about you." | Nightmares | Missing Time | Concussion

Word Count: 800

Tag List: (message me to be added or removed) @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion @scaewolf

@the-ellia-west @melpomenelamusa @juneofdoom

CW: nightmares, PTSD, lashing out, swearing

----------

"Well," Evanna said, settling in beside the window with a perfect view of the building suspected to be a front for a smuggling operation, "the long haul begins."