The Medfield State Hospital was built in 1892. It was used as the Ashecliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane in the 2009 thriller, Shutter Island. It was abandoned in 2003. The grounds are open to the public but entry into the buildings is prohibited.
It is a time for risks. Be brave. . This mantra card and others are available at my Big Cartel shop. Link in bio (or google Eldritch Tree Big Cartel). . #mantra #mantracard #brave #bebrave #risk #safety #unsafe #graphicart #graphicdesign #illustration #queerart #magick #occultart #occultism #eldritch #eldritchtree #eldritchtreeprints #phillyartist #motivationalquotes #motivation #meditation #contemplation #gaywitch #queerwitch (at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) https://www.instagram.com/p/CCJlfGznOWK/?igshid=28vlrn8kykxg
Chuuya’s never quite sure when the need for it will hit him. But Oda knows before he does, pulls Chuuya in aside after a mission when he’s still hollow and reeling. Gives him a hug that would pass for platonic or paternal to an untrained eye, whispering “You did good.”
Kunikida has long since given up on explaining it. There’s no point; it just makes him look like even more of a freak than everyone around him already thinks he is, and Kunikida doesn’t want to be known as a freak.
He hates himself. Chuuya hates him. Nothing else he can lay his hands on makes him feel so alive - death is familiar. He can’t get his throat to swallow around whatever thisis.
beast au + emotionally unsafe kink. Dazai’s head is a mess and Chuuya deals with it by not dealing with it and everything hurts. written for a curiouscat prompt about bondage.
“You’re amazing,” he says enthusiastically. Bows over her hand to her enormous bewilderment, because usually men who are tall and effortlessly charming don’t think much of her. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to kill yourself with me?”
Ah, she thinks. A weirdo. She has more experience with that lot. “No thank you,” she says politely. “Can I help you in some other way?”
Planning how to protect his city brings her up against his formidable intellect. She’s still cleverer than him, which he admits freely and genuinely. It’s hard to stand against that kind of praise, when she’s always wanted it. Always wanted to be seen and desired the way he looks at her.
That he guides her into bed is not…unpredicted. Neither is it unwelcome. His hands are light and he’s worshipful in a way that thrills her all the way down to her core.
He doesn’t seek his own pleasure from her body, only wrings her out until she’s dry and panting, and then kisses the top of her head and pets her sides until she sleeps.
There’s coffee in the morning, hot and bitter how she likes it. They talk about their plans. She feels clear-headed and capable now, and the way he looks at her hasn’t changed. His eyes are bright and affectionate like he’d want to listen to her talk until the end of the world, if he could. Beguiling, even.
It’s a week of planning, and sex, and food he feeds her. He allows her to touch him precisely once, staying perfectly still as she unwraps the bandages around his neck.
The scars don’t catch her off-guard. She’s got a bloody good imagination, after all. It does explain why he’s disinclined towards letting her touch him too much. And he’s so good at touching her that she decides to be selfish, doesn’t protest.
A week, and another and then he’s gone. He takes her plans and everything she’s made and is already away by the time she wakes up, a covered mug of coffee and a quick note the only evidence that he was ever here. He takes her plans, and everything she’d told him about its weak spots, and finds ways to use it against her that she burns to think of. The shame of it, the hideous ache of being used and discarded, even used kindly, his gentle hands and smooth voice. She hates herself for it.
