#and using the family systems we all share of course i promise im not trying to come off as bitchy or spoiled

[hprse]

I always feel guilty asking for an expensive gift so i never do and instead hope i get enough money from relatives to buy smth (example: trumpet was just over 100) but also i doom myself to being at least a lil bit jealous when my siblings get stuff like a switch lite or smth

[illfoandillfie]

Blurb idea alert: 80s roger and younger reader haven’t really established what their relationship is other than daddy dom/sub but then daddy roger is about to become an actual daddy and he’s just absolutely loving on his baby mama with some smut of course

idk if im soft or horny but i am definitely feeling some kinda way rn

warnings: pregnancy, smut, daddy kink, leaning into DD/LG, hair pulling, dom!rog, mentions of edging and spanking

Blurb Advent: Day 21

It wasn’t like you’d planned to get pregnant. Not that Roger wasn’t father material, he was and he had experience with it all already from his previous marriage, but you weren’t really at that stage in your relationship and honestly you hadn’t really thought about taking those steps with him. Roger was great but when you’d first got together it wasn’t with the intention of a long term relationship. You wouldn’t have ever met him if you hadn’t had a mutual friend who happened to have insider knowledge on both of your sexual persuasions and had, with your permission, passed your number on to him. He’d called you and you’d gone out for a drink (feeling as if you were auditioning for something you hadn’t prepared for) and got to know each other. Once he was sure you would be discreet you talked more openly about what you were into and what you were looking for. For you, it was the comfort of being looking after and the structure that a reward/punishment system could enforce, for him, it was the element of control that being dominant afforded plus the act of looking after and caring for someone. And after a few days and a few conversations, you were invited into his bed to see how compatible you were.

 It went well. Mostly he just tested your limits, tried a little of everything on you to see how you’d react. A light spanking, a little bit of edging, giving you instructions to see how fast you’d follow them and if anything would make you consider using a safeword. Luckily, he was easy to submit to and handled your slightly bratty disposition well so that you felt comfortable with him as your Daddy, and soon enough it became a regular thing. You’d leave your last class at uni or finish up a shift at work and then head to his place where you’d take the role of his submissive little before going home proud and happy and sometimes sore. Most days you spent at his involved sex in some form or other but sometimes he’d use his Daddy voice to make you sit and finish a reading or revise for an exam. On those days he made you lunch or afternoon tea and would sit beside you on the couch, helping where he could, and incentivising you with rewards for finished work. Of course, there was also the threat of punishments if you got too distracted, but that was the kind of thing you’d been looking for when you’d met him. Sometimes he’d invite you to spend the weekend with him, or a whole week even, especially if you were going to try something new together and he wanted to make sure you were okay hours or days later. Gradually those visits became more frequent until you were no longer leaving as soon as the aftercare was over, until you were essentially living at his house. That was when things started to shift though neither of you acknowledged it. You were happy just to see what happened.

 And that was when you fell pregnant. Your period had been late which wasn’t wholly unusual but the later it was the more you anxious you became. Roger picked up on it within a couple of days, sensing your worry and distraction. He was gentle and soft and convinced you to tell him what was going on though part of you fretted it would put an end to everything. As soon as you said it, he pulled you onto his lap, his hand stroking through your hair.

“No wonder you’ve been distracted lately. That must have been worrying you a lot, huh darling?”

You nodded, leaning your head against his chest as he soothed you.

“It’s okay though. I can go and buy you a test and we can see what it says and then we can do whatever you want okay? If you don’t want to go through with it, I’ll help you. And if you do want it, I’ll help with that too.”

“Even though you already have a family and this would be a bit of a scandal?”

“Even then,” he said with a soft laugh, “Y’know, me already having kids means I’ve done it before. I can do all of the scary stuff with you, the doctors appointments and all of that.”

“But people will know about us then.” “Yeah,”

“And you always said you wanted this to be discreet. A baby isn’t exactly discreet.”

“I don’t mind people knowing we’re together. I just don’t think they need to know about how we work. And all of the important people to us know we’ve been seeing each other anyway, everyone else can think what they want.”

You pushed yourself up to look at him properly, “So you really wouldn’t mind if I was pregnant and wanted to have the baby?”

“Nope. I think I might even be kind of excited about it.”

 Roger had kept his promises. He held your hand through all of your ultrasounds and appointments and looked after you at home, rubbing your feet if you needed, holding your hair back when morning sickness made you queasy, and just generally making sure you were comfortable, especially as your bump grew more pronounced. His ability to keep your bratty side in check came in handy when you were faced with prenatal vitamins and other supplements to make sure you and the baby were as healthy as possible. You hated having to take pills with your morning tea but his system of rewards and punishments was motivation enough to swallow all of them, especially since your rising hormone levels were making your libido run on overdrive.  Roger was more than willing to lend a hand (or other appendage) whenever the mood took you and it only intensified the dynamics that already existed. You quickly discovered that Roger’s preference for being called Daddy was exacerbated by actual fatherhood and used it to your advantage whenever you could. You took to teasing him by using his pet name outside of the bedroom as much as in it. Asking if Daddy would like a cup of tea while you were making yourself one, talking to your stomach and telling your little bean that Daddy was so sweet to buy you ice cream or that Daddy was being mean and making you take your nasty vitamins. And every time it would end up with you being pulled into the bedroom or lifted onto whatever surface was nearest. It was like a superpower and you made as much use of it as possible. A related upside of being pregnant was not having to worry about birth control (not that taking it had helped) and you soon discovered that Roger being able to take you raw was just as much as a turn on for you both as calling him Daddy was. The first time you’d realised was a little way into your second trimester after you’d taunted him into bending you over the banister of the staircase, your hands tightly gripping the handrail as he pulled your head back by your hair with one hand, his other resting over your rounded belly, and growled about how he was going to fill you, how he’d already knocked you up once and he was going to do it again. After that it became a regular part of his dirty talk. He especially liked edging you until you begged him to fuck another baby into you. All in all, a day seemed incomplete if you hadn’t been left with at least one load of cum inside you.

 When you got so big you couldn’t hide it anymore, he organised for you to move into his place properly which you were happy about because it was big and comfortable and homey, and it meant it was easier to see him when you needed a cuddle (or an orgasm). At first he offered you one of his many guest rooms so you could have your own space but you’d suggested you could share his room instead and he’d beamed at you before pulling you into a kiss. His affections only rose as your stomach got larger and he seemed to want nothing more than to dote on you as much as possible. Sex became a little more difficult in your third trimester. Between your belly getting in the way and aches and pains that came with carrying it, your sexual activity began to drop though you still found yourself hornier than before you fell pregnant. Roger did whatever he could to alleviate your discomfort and oral sex became your main method of getting each other off since it was easy for you to lie down during it and generally required minimal movement. But, Roger’s favourite position was spooning in bed and more than once you fell asleep warming him and began your day with the feeling of his cock rubbing against your walls until he came. It became a sort of a running joke that he was trying to induce labour early with how often he wanted to have you like that. He liked being able to kiss your neck and whisper into your ear, telling you how gorgeous you looked and how pregnancy suited you. His hand would roam over your breasts as he worked you up, teasing your sensitive nipples with his fingers to push you closer to the edge. And after you came he’d slide his hand down over your stomach as he told you how much he was going to love the kid and how happy you’d all be.

[plusultrachaos]

Soft prompt- eri's first Christmas with mic and aizawa and getting to celebrate it for the first time.

hey babs. happy anniversary! im dedicating this prompt to you (even though that you sent the ask in), because youve mentioned soft erasermic is your favorite. i really hope that you like it babs!

She watches each petal of the small white things fall to the ground, gasping as they collect on the edge of the window. She doesn’t try to hold back the excitement that she feels, unlike she would’ve done less than a year ago. She doesn’t let her smile drop as she remembers pleading with him to even be able to touch, much less play in the fluffy white snow that never ceased to intrigue her. 

She doesn’t let the memory rid her face of her smile, but she does let it make her hesitate. The memory plays tricks on her like a game, making her want to ask because her dads, they're different, but also what if they aren't. And it's that thought that steals the smile from her face.

“Eri?” Present Mic’s voice startles her from her intense stare down with the window. “Everything okay, sweetie?” His voice is gentle in a genuine way and it brings the smile back to her face followed but a small nod. “Good. Shou and I were wondering if you’d like to go play you in the snow? We don't have to if you don't want to, but it would be something fun to do.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, she’s sure resembles the funny cartoon characters eyes. How had he read her mind? She nods fast beforeMic can change his mind about letting her go play in the snow. Before she even lets Mic move to grab her, she’s headed to the door, ready to bolt and see just how fluffy the snow actually is. 

She hears Mic’s soft laughter and looks away from her shoes that she’s trying to shove on her feet. She tilts her head in confusion. 

“You have to put on a coat and some other things first so that you don't get cold or sick.” Eraserhead’s voice comes from the hallway and he follows it, a big fluffy pink coat filling his arms. On his head is a pastel purple hat that looks really silly on him.

“Oh.” She sets the shoe she had been trying to force onto her foot on the ground and walks over to her dads,hobbling on one foot taller than the other.. Eraserhead crouches down to her level, helping her put the nice coat over her arms and zipping it up to her chin. He wears an unusually soft smile on his face as he pickles her up into his arms. 

“Do you know what today is, kid?” His voice is soft like Mic’s earlier and it makes her cuddle closer to him, tucking her face in close with a shake of her head. “That’s okay. It’s Christmas. It used to be a holiday specifically one religion to celebrate, but after a while, it became a holiday to celebrate family and to give gifts to each other.” She pops her head up to look at her dads. 

“I don’t have to be good to get the gifts? No tests? You promised that there wouldn't be any more tests!” She tries to scramble from Eraserhead’s arms as the memory tells her to run. She cant get out of them, but she doesn’t give up just yet. She keeps trying to get out of his arms until hes shushing her gently and she stops fighting.

“No, Eri. You don't have to be good or do any tests. Not for these gifts or any other gifts. YOu get these just by being a part of our little family.” She looks at Mic aas he says this, she can feel the relief course through her system. “Now, time to get that other shoe on and play out in the snow, huh?” She nods and Eraserhead lets her slide out of his arms to go and grab Mic’s outstretched hand. 

They all play outside for a few hours. It's colder than she had anticipated, but in the most exciting way. She has a lot of fun. When they head back in, Eraserhead takes her to go change into warm pajamas that warm her up while Mic makes something warm for them to eat and drink before they open the presents that showed up next to the sad, slowly withering plant that Eraserheead and Mic own.

She and Eraserhead get to the kitchen and he helps her onto the circle stool that twists around in circles. He sits in the one next to her and they both watch as Mic cooks for them. She looks at Eraserhead and sees the same look that he gives the cats. “Do you like Present Mic? Like like-like him.” She hears Mic pause in his humming for a second before Erasehead is answering in a low voice. 

He nods.“Shh. You can’t tell him that I like-like him. It's a secret.” Small smiles pop onto both of their faces with the secret knowledge that is held between them. Eri catches the soft smile that Mic has on his own face. She giggles and pulls Eraserhead in close so she can whisper in his ear. 

“I think you should tell him, Mr. Eraser.. I think he likes you too.” She watches his smile bloom bigger like a flower on his face. 

Soon after that, Mic sets a plate in front of Eri and shes stares at it a bit before looking at him again. She looks back at the food before starting to eat what she was given. When she looks back up from her food, it is to Eraserhead and Mic hugging each other close. She doesn’t say anything to interrupt them and  gets off her chair quietly before attempting to place her dishes in the sink. She goes out into the lounge and sits on the couch, waiting for her dads to join her. 

Her eyes are latched onto the small pile of presents that surround the dying plant (maybe she should give it more life, but she doesn’t really want to and they haven’t asked her to). She really wants to know what is in the neatly wrapped packages. 

Eraserhead and Mic come into the lounge, their smiles holding a different sparkle to them, but at the same time the smiles sparkle the same, just a little bit brighter. They are the same happy smiles they had been sharing in the kitchen before. “Are you ready to open your gifts Eri?”

Christmas is a fun day and Eri can’t wait for the next one with her dads.

(there is no taglist for this one bc it is a gift.)

[chicagopd2020]

New Beginnings Are Good For Everyone Ch.5

Waking up the next morning was one of the easiest things she ever done, which was weird because she hated monday mornings so much. But getting up and going through her morning routine just to make sure everything is right before she heads out for her first day as member of the Chicago PD Intellgence Unit. Kim had a little extra pep in her step and she was happy about it because it hadnt been there in a long time. She grabbed her jacket & keys ready to walk out the door. She stops for coffee to make sure that doesnt hit a wall in the middle of the day.

Kim walks into the station and she sees Sargent Platt, she decides that the best thing to do is to talk to her and to see what she is suppose to do. She stands there silently as Sargent Platt finishes the conversation with the officers in blue. When Trudy looks up and notices Kim she tells the officers to move along. She welcomes her back and asks if she is ready for her first day.

Kim replies happily that she was more than ready to prove herself to everyone. She kept small conversation with Trudy until Trudy looks behind her and notices one of the members of the Intelligence Unit.

Upton?

Yes Sargent?

You know Agent Kim Burgess?

Yes I know Kim

Well would mind buzzing her upstairs with you just until we can get her into the system.

Of course, follow me Kim and show you where you are going to start spending most of your time

Oh I cant wait.

I promise you that will change, I love my job but you have no time for a personal life.

I guess that it is a good thing that I am a woman focusing on her career right now and not a romantic relationship.

They carry on with their conversation with their small climb of the stairs, Hailey walks her to Voights office and wishes her good luck even though she knows she will see her in just a couple mins.

Kim welcome to your first day as a memeber of intellgence, just want to go over a few things while we wait on the last couple people to show up. He starts going over the rules and not that there was many rules but he lives strongly by the few rules that he has.

Kim has noticed that Hank Voight is not your normal Sargent but she wasnt wanting normal she was just wanting to serve justice for the city of Chicago. She continues to listen intently to what Voight is saying taking everything he was saying to the heart so she knows what not to do to get on his bad side. I am going to give you a few weeks to study everything, I have set up your test in two weeks for you detective exam. The moment finally comes to where he asks if she had any questions

I will make sure that I study up on everything that I need to know so that I can pass the test of my first try. I say things like that so I can keep it in my mind that I will pass the test and that I can do anything I put my mind to.

I know that everyone is partnered up with someone, I was just curious who my partner was going to be? I know that no matter who I am with that I will have a great partner. This team just seems like they have each others back no matter if they are actually partners or not.

That we do Kim we are family here, Whatever one member of the intellgence is going through everyone feels the pain, I know that it is weird to say buts it true. We have our fights like any of family but at the end of the day we will have each others back no matter what.

That is exactly what I want because at the FBI yes it was everyone worked as a team but at the end of the day everyone was only watching out for theirselves and if they had the chance to do it they would throw someone under the bus in a heartbeat. That was until Erin came I knew that she would have my back no matter what and she was the only thing that I was going to the miss about it and that was it.

Good to hear Kim, he looks out the window and notices that the whole team is here. Come on lets go out to the bullpin and I will let everyone know all at once who you are going to partnered with.

The door opens and everyones eyes looks toward the door and sees Kim and Hank exiting, Hank finally speaks up, So as everyone of you know Agent Burgess as of today is officially a member of Intellgence and I think she is going to be an amazing addition to the team and I want you all to make her feel at welcome. So as of today Burgess you are going to partnered up with Halstead, Upton you will be with Ruzek and Atwater you will be Olinksy.

Hailey showed Kim where her desk would be, which was actually her old desk. Hank liked the partners to be close to each other that shows they can work as a team not only on the street but in the close quarters of an office.

The first couple hours was kind of quiet just everyone going over cases they had been working on. When Voight walks out of the office and catches all of their attenion.

We have a case, We are looking at a small drug smuggling team that is somewhat new to the city, and one of the leaders of the team is trying to look normal or something because he has a nine to five job and he doesnt live in these high priced homes to make it not look so obvious but the others, they are staying hid very well because there has been no trace of any clues as to who any of his partners are. This is Lorenzo Lopez he is best known as Enzo.

Kim finally looks away from the file in her hands and takes a look at the picture hanging on the board, and her eyes go huge. She looks over a Jay and they share this look knowing that this was the neighbor that Jay thought was very sketchy. Voight must have caught onto that look, cause he questioned them.

What is that look the two of you just shared?

Well it turns out that he lives in our building and right next door to Kim. He just moved into the apartment a few weeks ago and he seemed kind of sketchy but I never really thought anything of it.

Kim was just lost in her thoughts that she didnt really hear the conversation that was going on. Until Jay tapped her shoulder to get her attention. She slightly jumped that never happens, she just thought that she left him in the past and now she was going to be apart of the team to send him to prison and honestly she cant say that she was upset about it. It was one of the main reasons that she left him she knew that the business that he was in wasnt legal and there was no way in hell that she was going to let him mess up her career.

Kim are you alright?

Yeah, Im just thinking about someway, anyway that we can take him down.

Jay wasnt buying it but it was her first day he wasnt going to push the boundaries just yet. So he just let it go for now.

Halstead you and Burgess go talk to your CI'S and see if they know anything about this. Everyone just keep digging into his past and see what you can dig up.

Kim heard the last sentence and knew that she had to tell someone about her connection to the suspect before someone actually figured it out and wonder why she didnt tell them, so who is best to tell then her partner.

They get into Jay's truck and head out and she knew that if she didnt talk about it now that she never would. She lets out this deep breathe

Jay I need to tell you something.

You can tell me anything. Im here for you

Its about the suspect that we are looking into, you know last night when I said something under my breathe about our sketchy neighbor

Yeah, what about it?

Well, what I didnt tell you is that I know Enzo very very well

How well?

As in we were together for over a year

What?!?!

Yeah, when we first met he was normal like any other guy but then the longer that we were together its like I just didnt get the same vibe from him that I used to. When we would spend time together I would feel uneasy that something could go wrong at any minute. So after that night I just told him that I think that it was best if we seen other people and that I didnt see a future with him. Lets just say that he didnt take it the best and i had to end up moving somewhere else but a few weeks before I found out that I got the job here I felt as if I was being followed and yet somehow we end being neighbors. I didnt want to think nothing much about it when I first set eyes on him but it just seems like he found out from someone that I was moving here and just thought that maybe if he lived here first that I wouldnt think nothing about it.

Kim you definetly have to tell Voight about this

I know I just didnt think that I would ever see him again

Even though you never thought you would see him again doesnt change anything he is our main suspect and you could be the reason he is in Chicago and that may actually lead us to him, I would never actually make you do anything that would put you in danger I hope you know this

I do know this, but whatever helps put him behind bars quicker I am willing to help

Jay talked to a couple of his CI'S and they were not much help, So they started back toward the station when Halstead got a message with an address to meet the rest of the team. As they arrived they seen the team surrounding something on the ground and as they made it to their side they seen that it was a woman who couldnt have been not much older than 25 and she was laying there with a cut throat.

Do we think that this has anything to do with Enzo and his men? Kim questioned

We wont know anything until we get the autopsy back. Says Voight

Sarge is there anyway that I can have a word with you

Yeah, sure

They walked far enough away that nobody would be able to hear what they were talking about. She told him everything that she told Jay and hoped that whatever she told him would help.

Kim I know that wasnt easy to say but I am glad that you told me before we had to find it out on our own and then it would have looked bad on your end and looked like you were hiding something.

Thats what I thought and Jay told me that I should tell you right away and I feel so much better now that I did.

They join back up with the team and all head back to the station. Once they make it back to the station  everyone gathers around the board and Voight feels the team in on everything you told him and they tried to figure out what was the best way they could get his guards down long enough for someone to get into his place to bug his apartment or even his phone.

Kim was the first person to speak up.

I think we know the only person that he is going to even let into his apartment is me

Kim you dont have to do this...Voight and Jay say at the same time

Your right I dont but I know that this is my job and that it is the right thing to do. You could always be close enough to that if I feel threathened that you will be right there.

If you are sure that you want to do this then we will do it

Its the furthest from what I want to do but its what I know needs to be done.

Alright everyone we will put everything in motion tonight. So get ready

Kim cant believe she is the one that thought of this but I think in the end its the only thing that would have made sense, Its the only way they will be able to bust him 

[silverclawz]

The “Wraith Girl”

There was once a very young happy child, no older than 3 or 4 years. She had golden locks that bounced in the sun and the familiar blue of eyes that have yet to change. And she was proud of her blue eyes. But then one day at daycare, another girl said she drew her picture wrong. The girl laughed and said, “My eyes have always been blue!”

Shaking her head, the other girl pointed and told her her eyes were brown. So after asking to go to the bathroom to check, the poor little girl discovered that the other girl was right. Her brilliant blue eyes that had matched the summer sky on a cloudless day, had become akin to mud.

That was the first to change of many things for the young girl.

By the time she was 5 and entered into the schooling system of her all human village, her pretty golden locks that shone like the sun had begun to turn as well. No longer like wheat freshly ripe im the feilds was it, but more along the lines of the last leaves to fall before winter, a lighter brown than her eyes for sure, but still much too different for her liking. But she learned to love her hair, as it was what all the mothers in town always complimented her on.

Come the next year, all of her infantile chubbiness had faded, and soon the other children started to notice.

“What happened to your skin?” one would ask.

“Are you one of those nasty skin walkers?!” pointed another.

“Did your mommy or daddy turn you into a wraith?”

All of these became a fairly common occurance for the little girl. And it was clear to see why. Her clothes hung off her shoulders loose and ill fitting, even though her mother had taken in the sides to make it appear less obvious. So too, had her mother taken in the waist of her skirts so that they did not fall past her bony hips. But no matter how many times she was taken to the loca doctor and even once to the doctor over in the big city, each time they would assure the girls mother that she was perfectly fine and healthy, that she simply had a high metabolism.

“Don’t worry dearest, you’ll grow out of it” her mother would promise her on their way back home, “We’ve just got to start feeding you more!”

So the girl ate and she ate, and she went to school like nothing was wrong. And even when the other kids would laugh at how bony and thin she was, she’d continue smiling and holding her head up high. But she would soon come to realize that this was not something that would leave her soon.

No, it wasn’t until she was nearly twelve that her body began to fill out, even if it was only just a little. Although, from the girls point of view, going from being able to observe each of her vertebrae in her spine in refined detail and count each of her ribs without even having to feel for them to suddenly hardly being able to notice them at all was fantastic. She smiled so wide at how the backs of the chairs didn’t hurt any more, at how her clothes no longer looked as if they were hanging off the line. And she thought too, that her friends at school would be happy for her too.

“Hey Wraith Girl!” How very wrong she was. So stunned was she, and dehected that she began to isolate herself, no longer chatting with others in the hallways, diligently taking notes and studying rather than going out and playing. Years would pass, and soon her hair had grown so long that she began to have trouble sitting on it. So she’d braid it back and tuck it up or over her shoulder. And after a few years of her silence, the other children stopped calling out to her. Instead, they’d whisper and look at her tentatively.

It seemed that the others, so caught up in their chatting, had failed to notice her when walking in the halls. All the other children had become convinced she was a wraith, for how else could they explain never seeing her at lunch or in the hallways between classes. She must be turning invisible, was one common thought they shared, though the girl could still hear them clearly as she passed. “I think she just teleports outside of each classroom and waits!” Said one boy one day. They were all chatting at lunch outside, even the girl was sitting under the shade of a nearby tree.

“Well, I for one don’t like the idea of a wraith living near me! Mother, of course, agrees with me, but Father insists that he’s talked with their father who is adamant that they aren’t a wraith,” the most popular girl boasted, easily drawing in the attention of the others around her. “I mean, after all, what’s to stop them from cursing us all to bits if we accidentally make them upset?”

“She wouldn’t do that” claimed a boy next to her, “she’s too timid to even try!” The others seemed to be more inclined towards the girls sentiments.

And so, it was after hearing these unsettling conversations that the girl began to become anxious. As the end of the school year approached, along with her 15th birthday, she thought she’d make one last attempt at being friendly with her peers. So, three weeks before the date of the party, she and her mother paid to have all the invitations delivered, asking of course at the bottom of each, to notify the family in advance if anyone wouldn’t be able to make it, with at least 24 hour notice.

The dawn rose on the 4th, and it was as it was just begining its assent that the mother recieved 30 letters, all saying that they were either sick, or that they had gone to a summer house further out and couldn’t make it.

“Mom?”

“Yes dear?”

“Why does no one in school like me?”

The mother turned to her daughter, who was sitting by the window sewing a button back into place, while occasionally stairing out at the blue sky. The same blue that had once colored her irises.

Sighing deeply, her mother shook her head, “I don’t know child. I really don’t. All the mothers’ I’ve talked to recently have all spoken very highly of you,” she paused thinking.

“Perhaps,” the girl began with tears in her eyes, finding it hard to deny the thoughts now circling her mind like a constricting viper, slowly making it harder and harder to breath, “perhaps it’s because they think me ... a-a filthy acursed wraith!” And just as suddenly as she had burst into tears, was she running from the room, going to hide in her own.

Her poor mother looked out, after her, not knowing what to do. She had met wraithes before, back when she was in her own village. Infact, her mother had met many species of travelers, all differing kinds of characters and temperments. It was this knowledge and experience that led her to feel so conflicted now. Yes, it was true, the creation of wraiths was a powerful and potentially dangerous process, but they were all still the kind or generous or brave souls that they had been in life. It was simply that now they inhabited another’s body. But the people of this village hadn’t been near enough to the borders of the kingdom to have met those travelers. They were secluded, and close minded, teaching each new generation of the horrors of the other races. Her mother had never told anyone, except of course her husband, of the fact that she lived with the other races at one point. And she feared that if she were to reveal it now, that her daughter would be blinded by fears and confusion, the mother’s own mind going into the worst case scenario.

It was a knock at the door that drew her from her quiet turmoil. Upon opeing the door, the mother found the village leader, the priest, the doctor and the town grave digger. And it was as she saw the look on her faces, that she became engulfed in an holy fury, the fury that only the mother of a falsly accused child could have.

It would seem, the girls trials had only just begun.

[caelesjjk]

Hellion (Demon!Ashton)

Hello sweet babies. This is the beginning of a supernatural series I’m going to be writing. The worlds are going to intertwine a bit, and you’ll see how thats going to work :)) I loved writing this so much and I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do. It’s 9k words that im very proud of.

warnings: a bit of violence but thats about it, a small mention of alcohol use

Ivy Jane was what most people would consider a prodigy.

She began her career as an artist at the young age of 14. She painted, sculpted, welded, and drew like nothing anyone had ever seen. It didn’t seem possible for someone so young to have perfected their talent in such a short span of time. But she seemed to be the exception.

She sold her pieces for large amounts of money, far more money than any teenager should be able to get their hands on. But she was alone, thrown into the system as a toddler when she could no longer be cared for. She hated not having anyone to share her money with, but her success pulled her out of foster care and into her own penthouse high above New York City where her manager cared for her, or at least kept her alive so she could continue making him money. Richard was the closest thing she had to family.

But what no one knew was how Ivy Jane became such a good artist. When she was asked this question by interviewers, she simply played it off on her dark past and that she was projecting all of her teen angst into the art. But dark was only one word one might use to describe her past.

Ivy Jane made a deal. Not the type you make with a pinky promise, no this was the type of deal you made with blood. The type of deal that you make at a crossroads. The type that requires you to sell your soul to a handsome devil dressed in all black clothes. He makes 10 years sound like you’ve got all the time in the world.

“Come on then, sweetheart. What else do you need to know?” The demon asked. He was tall with broad shoulders and perfectly shaped lips.

“What happens after ten years?” Ivy asked.

“Your soul is mine, and you’ll be on your merry way to hell. But, as part of this deal I can come to you at any time for a favor.” He picks at his fingernails as if he’s bored to death.

“A favor?” She asks.

“Yes. And you’ll comply, or the deal is void and you’ll go straight to the pits with no questions asked.” He steps around her, his unhuman movements too quick for Ivy to follow, as he is suddenly about 10 feet away from her, sitting on one of the low branches of a tall oak tree.

“What’s it like in hell?” Ivy asks yet another question, driving the demon crazy.

“Listen, sweetheart, I don’t have all night. Either you take the deal or you don’t. Either way your choice isn’t going to hurt my nonexistent feelings.” He rolls his red eyes and lounges against the trunk of the tree.

She didn’t want to go back to that foster home. All she wanted was to be a famous artist, and in her fourteen year old mind, ten years of that was better than any amount of time in foster care.

“Okay.” She finally sighed. “You’ve got a deal.” Ivy put her hand out to shake his.

“Tsk tsk, sweetheart. That’s not how these things work.” The demon jumps down from the tree, his red hair that matched his eyes shining in the moonlight. He grabs her hand flipping it over so that her palm is facing upwards. “This deal requires blood.” He pulls out what appears to be a pocket knife, its silver and decorated intricately. And before she can protest, he’s slicing it across her palm, making her flinch from the pain.

Ivy can feel the blood pooling in her palm and dripping between the spaces of her fingers. The demon keeps hold of her hand, pulling out his contract and pressing her palm against it. After her blood has soaked into the paper, he throws the contract up into the air just as it bursts into flames and disappears behind a puff of smoke.

“That’s it? What now?” She asks.

“So many questions.” He rolls his eyes again and begins to walk to the center of the crossroads. “Don’t forget about my favor, Ivy Jane.” He drops his eye in a wink and then disappears. It happens so quickly that Ivy isn’t even sure she really saw him standing there at all.

Her fame began as quickly as she hoped it would. A painting that she had posted online, was suddenly getting the attention of millionaire art collectors. She had people begging for her work faster than she could create it. She thrived on the feeling of being wanted by so many people.

Richard, her manager, scooped her up and managed everything she was too busy to take care of herself. She was the most sought after artist for several years. But then everything stopped almost as quickly as it had started. She was lucky if she could sell enough to feed herself. Ivy had to move out of her penthouse and into a one bedroom apartment in much dingier part of the city. It was always impossibly noisy, making it impossible to work on anything new. Everything was falling apart even before her ten years was up and she had no idea why.

Ivy saw the demon now and then. He mostly haunted her dreams, but sometimes she would see his face in a crowd or on a random billboard as she rode the bus through the city, always making sure that she didn’t forget about him. But no matter how many times she asked, he never told her why her fame had suddenly stopped.

She was a mess, to say the least. She had turned to alcohol and practically drank herself into oblivion every night just to make life seem a little less shitty. But it didn’t matter what she did, she always woke up in the same hellhole apartment filled with half painted canvases and ashtrays filled with cigarette butts.

Tonight, Ivy found herself in the bar just around the corner from her apartment building. It was filled with smoke and the smell of cheap whiskey. She could hear the clanging of pool balls as they were hit around the tables. But she was currently having a hard time seeing straight after the bottle of vodka she had been nursing the past couple hours was suddenly half empty. The clear liquid burned her throat after each drink, but she didn’t care.

When she tried to stand up from the barstool, she stumbled and knocked over a few drinks of the people sitting beside her at the bar. Ivy didn’t stop to apologize and just kept walking towards the bathroom. She wanted to wash her face and try to sober up before she attempted to walk home.

The sink was disgusting and covered in grime and motorcycle grease, but Ivy turned on the cold water and started splashing it on her face. It wasn’t really helping at all. She straightened up slowly, closing one eye and trying to see herself in dingy old piece of glass that was being used as a mirror. And in her drunken haze, she could have sworn she saw someone in the mirror behind her. She spun around, almost falling over in the process, to see no one there. Alcohol must have been playing tricks on her tonight, but when she turned to look in the mirror he was there again, the demon, propped against the door of one of the empty stalls. This time when she spun around, he didn’t disappear, he only smiled wickedly as fear washed over her entire body.

“I see you’re doing well, sweetheart.” He stands up straight, disappearing momentarily and then reappearing right next to Ivy. “I’ve missed you.” He whispers against the shell of her ear, making her shiver uncontrollably.

“My ten years isn’t up for 6 months asshole, what the hell has been going on?” Her voice shakes a bit when she tries to back away from him.

“Whatever do you mean?” He pretends to be innocent with a smile on his face.

“No one’s bought a piece of art from me for years. Your end of the deal isn’t holding up.” Ivy stumbles a bit, reaching out to balance against the cold red bricks of the wall. She uses her arm to try and wipe the water and sweat from her face onto her leather jacket.

“I said I would make you a famous artist. I didn’t say I would make people want to buy your work or that your work would be any good. The fact that you’re washed up, isn’t my problem.” He waves her off and slowly walks around her.

“That…that’s not fair. You cheated me out of my entire life!” Ivy can feel the anger coursing through her veins and her hands ball into fists.

“You’ve spent the last nine and half years of your life as pathetically as possible. You travelled from city to city and did nothing with your time. Blaming me for your shit decisions, is just an excuse sweetheart.” His voice is deep and serious as he watches her through his round frame sunglasses.

Ivy hated knowing there was a small part of what he said that was right. She had gotten to a certain point in her life where she relied on the deal they had made to get her through, thinking that nothing could screw it up. But making her a decent human being wasn’t part of the deal. She chose to drink and party and let herself and her talent waste away. What kind of person trusts a demon anyways?

“So why are you here now?” She manages to choke out, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Remember that favor?” He wets his lips and pushes back some of his hair that had fallen on his forehead. Ivy’s stomach twisted but she nods ‘yes’. “I’ve come to collect on it, sweetheart.”

“What kind of favor are we talking about?” Ivy hiccupped, still half-drunk, but less than she was before she came in here.

“I need you to help me get to something. Something that I can’t get to on my own.” He continues to walk around her in a circle that is almost dizzying.

“There’s something the big bad demon can’t get by himself?” She hiccups again with a laugh.

“It’s Ashton, doll. Start calling me that.” He finally stops in front of her, looking over the rim of his dark sunglasses.

“You have a name?” Ivy starts to wobble on her feet, feeling dizzy.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?” Ashton says.

“I don’t feel so good.” She stumbles forward into Ashton’s chest, but he doesn’t move.

“Ridiculous human. Let’s get you home then.” Ashton grabs Ivy by the waist and hoists her over his shoulder.

She’s too drunk to protest, so she closes her eyes and lets him carry her out of the bar. Ivy can feel the crisp fall air of New York City practically hit her in the face just before she completely passes out in the arms of a demon.

___________________________________

The next morning, or maybe it was afternoon, Ivy slowly opened her eyes. The sunlight pouring in through the sheer white curtains, stinging her eyes and making her squint to try and see around the room. She couldn’t remember much, but there were definitely some weird things happening in her dreams last night. When she tries to sit up, her head starts to spin and the room starts to tilt.

“Fucking hell.” She says to herself.

“Not quite, sweetheart.” His voice comes from the doorway, making Ivy jump practically halfway across her bed.

“You…You’re actually here?” She breathes.

“Do we really need to go through all of this again? You owe me a favor, Ivy Jane. And I’m here to collect on it. End of story.” He walks into the room, leaning across the bed balancing one hand against the mattress and the other holding out a glass of water. Ivy flinches away at first. “I’m not going to bite, sweetheart. We barely know each other.” He smiles wickedly, the dimples in his cheeks showing in a way that made Ivy’s whole face heat up.

“I suppose there’s no way I’m getting out of this?” Ivy sighs, taking the glass of water and putting it to her lips. He watches with fascination as she drinks every drop. “What are you looking at?” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Human essentials interest me. All the things you require to function are kind of pathetic.” He sits on the edge of the bed and watches Ivy’s nose scrunch up in confusion.

“What did you say your name was again?” She shakes her head and rubs at her temples.

“Ashton.” He replies, eyes never leaving her.

“Are you going to stare at me like this all day or?” Ivy pulls the blankets up higher on her body. Ashton scoffs.

“We have a very long trip ahead of us. I suggest you shower and pack a bag.” Ashton stands up from the bed and starts to walk back towards the doorway.

“A trip? You aren’t serious?” Ivy laughs a little, nervousness evident in the sound.

“I’ll get you some food. Take a shower, you smell like a biker bar.” Ashton smirks before walking out of Ivy’s room. Ivy quietly mocks his instructions when he’s out of sight. “I can still see you, sweetheart.” Ashton says from the kitchen.

“Fucking demon.” She grumbles, flinging the blankets off of her body and standing up off the bed to stretch her dehydrated muscles.

“Heard that too.” Ashton says.

“Can you turn off your super demon hearing so I can bitch about you in peace?” Ivy shouts as she enters her bathroom and closes the door. Her back presses to it and her eyes close. She had no idea what she was in for, or what she had gotten herself into but there was no taking it back. She made a deal with a crossroads demon that could never be undone.

_________________________________

“Rome?! As in Rome, Italy?! That’s where we’re going?!” Ivy whisper shouted at Ashton as they walked swiftly through the airport.

“Is there any other? Do try to keep up, sweetheart. We’re in a hurry.” Ashton’s long legs allow him to move in much faster strides than Ivy as she struggles with her suitcase and carryon bag.

“Why me?” She suddenly asks, coming to a halt. Ashton stops, turning on his heel to walk back towards Ivy.

“Because you belong to me, understand?” He says through gritted teeth.

“Don’t you have other contracts? Someone else you could get to do your bitch work?” Ivy stands her ground and doesn’t back away from him.

“Of course I do. But I prefer to torture you and only you, Ivy Jane. Now move your pretty ass, and get it onto this plane, yeah?” Ashton takes off his round frame sunglasses and looks down at her.

“Why aren’t your eyes red?” She asks, ignoring the ass comment. They were a newly gorgeous green color, one that reminded Ivy of the soft moss that covers the rocks in the woods. She didn’t hate looking at them when they were this color.

“I swear, you ask more questions than any other human.” He grumbles.

“It’s a gift.” Ivy shrugs her shoulders and begins walking towards the gate to their plane. Ashton rolls his eyes with a small smile on his face before following her onto the plane. When they find their seats, Ivy becomes curious again.

“Please don’t ask another question.” Ashton sighs.

“Why can’t you just teleport us to Rome? Would have saved some cash on these first class tickets.” Ivy reclines in her seat and relaxes her arms over her head. Ashton laughs quietly.

“Halfway across the planet is a bit far for teleporting. I’d like to make sure we get there, and don’t end up in the middle of the ocean, if that’s okay with you?” He slips his black blazer off of his shoulders and settles in his seat next to Ivy.

“Would it matter much for me? My life is practically over at this point.” Her voice didn’t show any signs of worry, and that was a little unsettling to Ashton.

“Maybe you should try to enjoy what you’ve got left, yeah? “ He doesn’t look at her.

“I’m sure this trip to Rome isn’t for vacation purposes, Ashton.” Ivy sighs.

“No, but I promise it will be better than drinking yourself to death in that bar.” His voice is serious, but he pops in some earbuds and closes his eyes. The perfect way to get her to stop asking so many questions.

Ivy watched the world by pass by her through the window of the plane. The sun was going down over New York and it was more beautiful from up here than it had ever been down there. Something about the way the oranges and reds painted the blue sky and made some of the prettiest purples Ivy had ever seen, was calming. She itched to paint it, to appreciate it just a little. But any time she felt that way, she always picked up a bottle of vodka instead, because she knew she didn’t deserve to feel good, not after what she had done.

“Champagne?” A flight attendant asked as she stopped her drink cart.

“God yes.” Ivy leaned her body over Ashton to take a glass from her.

“No, no alcohol. I need you coherent and completely focused when we get there.” Ashton plucked the glass from Ivy’s hands.

“Come on Ashton, it’s one glass.” Ivy takes the glass back and brings it to her lips, tipping the glass back completely.

She held it there a moment, and nothing came out of the glass. Ivy opened her eyes to see that the bubbly liquid that once occupied the champagne flute was completely empty of it’s contents. Ivy stared at it for a moment, and Ashton watched as her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion before she put the pieces together and understood that he had in fact, made the champagne disappear from the glass.

“No alcohol.” Ashton brings his face closer to her, Ivy’s face still scrunched up in confusion. “Your need to defy me is getting old, darling. So please just do as I say from here on out.” He says the words quietly, only loud enough for Ivy to hear.

Ivy rolls her eyes, shoving the champagne glass at Ashton before falling back into her seat with an annoyed grunt. She hated how much power this demon had over her. He literally owned her life and she had no choice but to abide by everything he asked. But as hard as Ashton tried to be a scary and intimidating demon, there was something soft about him. Something in the color of his green eyes that made him seem a bit more human and annoyingly attractive.  If Ashton was going to damn her soul to hell, maybe she shouldn’t go down easily.

___________________________________

Ivy felt a weight lift off of her chest as their car drove through the cobblestone streets of Rome. It was beautiful here no matter what time of year it was. There were ropes of lights hung across the old stone buildings and a constantly busy marketplace. There was music playing in every direction and the mouth-watering smells of the endless bakeries was almost more than she could handle. The small smile on her face must have given her away.

“Enjoying yourself, Ivy Jane?” Ashton said from the driver’s seat.

“Don’t get used to it. I’ll be back to my wallowing in my own self-pity soon enough.” She turned her head slightly to watch his face. He was kind of beautiful with all the lights bouncing off his prominent jawline as they drove through the streets.

“Always looking forward to that.” He teased as they pulled up outside of what appeared to be a rather upscale hotel. “We are going to crash here for the night. Tomorrow we have a lot of work to do.” Ashton tosses the car key to a valet, like he’s done it a million times before.

Ivy waits patiently as Ashton checks them into the hotel. She kept her eyes on the gold trim and intricate designs of the architecture inside the old hotel. She wished more than anything she had a sketch pad that she could start drawing in. She never wanted to forget the way anything here looked. But while she was waiting, someone caught her eye as they walked by. He was tall, dressed completely in black, with blonde curls styled back away from his face. As soon as she saw him Ivy felt a chill consume her whole body. He was dangerously handsome, and his eyes were on her as well, smiling and biting into his bottom lip. There were two girls under his arms, laughing and not taking notice as he practically drank Ivy in. She felt uneasy under his gaze and quickly turned away to look for Ashton. It didn’t take long, because as soon as she turned her head he was right in front of her.

“You need to come with me, now.” Ashton’s jaw was tense as he grabbed onto Ivy’s wrist and pulled her towards the elevators. Once the gold colored doors shut, he had her pressed against the mirrored wall with his body, hands pressed to the mirror on either side of her head.

“Ashton…” She started to say.

“Listen closely, sweetheart. I only want to explain this once.” His mouth was dangerously close to hers, and Ivy felt herself wanting to close that little gap between them, and it made her stomach twist to think of it. “This city is heaped full of vampires. That guy down in the lobby? He was definitely one of them and he’s definitely going to tell the rest of his coven that I’m here. So now we have even less time to prepare you than I had originally planned. Understand?” Ashton’s eyes never left hers, and she could see flakes of red start to melt through his green irises. Ivy nodded yes in agreement.

Just as she finishes nodding the gold doors ding and slide open to the floor Ashton had selected. He stays looking at her a moment longer before using his inhuman speed and practically vanishing all together. Once Ivy collected herself and evened out her breathing, she found him leaning against the door of their room at the other end of the hallway.

“Are you planning on filling me on any of this? Because I feel like I know absolutely nothing about what is going on here.” Ivy walks past him and into the room. She throws her bag down on the bed only to be startled by Ashton’s sudden presence behind her.

“This favor I need…” He starts, pushing his hair back away from his forehead. “I need you to get something for me. And it requires sending you into a den of vampires with no protection.” Ashton sits on the corner of the bed and watches her face go pale.

“Do I look like the type of person who deals with vampires?! I mean we are talking about the real thing right? The blood drinking kind?!” Ivy paces the floor in front of the bed.

“If you do as I say, then you’ll likely come out of this unscathed. And if you succeed, I’ll add another 10 years to our contract.” Ashton’s elbows are rested on his knees as he looks down at his fingers that are playing with the silver rings on each of his fingers.

“What exactly do I have to do?” She stops in front of him, just a foot away as he slowly looks up at her.

“These vampires…they stole something from me. Something that I need to get back. And they’ve taken it somewhere that I can’t go.” Ashton stands up, walking over to the mini bar area and pouring some water into a cup.

“Where can’t you go?” Ivy asks, following him without even thinking.

“Holy ground. The vamps do enjoy their nightly raves in the catacombs though, which is where you come in.” Ashton hands her the cup of water and she takes it, backing up until she’s sitting back on the bed, head spinning with all these thoughts.

“So you want me to walk into a vampire rave and retrieve this thing you need? Aren’t they going to know I’m human?” Ivy asks.

“Of course. They always have humans at their parties, they need someone to feed on don’t they?” Ashton smiles, knowing that he wasn’t helping the sick feeling in Ivy’s stomach.

“And you expect me to somehow slip right in and not become some vampires blood bag? Do you hear how insane that sounds, Ashton?” Ivy’s voice cracks a little as she speaks and Ashton can’t help smile a bit more at the sound.

“You’re perfect.” He says without thinking. “For this job, I mean.” Ashton quickly corrects himself, clearing his throat and sitting down on the other side of the bed.

“What am I looking for while I’m in there?” Ivy asks, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as a rose color appears on her cheeks.

“It’s an amulet. It’s a pentagon shaped, black jewel on a gold chain. And I’ve got to have it before the end of the night tomorrow when the moon is full.” Ashton feels like he may have said too much to the girl with so many questions.

“And what will this amulet do?” She asked, Ashton should have known.

“I need it to bring back a friend of mine. A friend that was banished a long time ago.” He doesn’t look up, but Ivy can see that the subject pains him a little when his jaw sets tightly and his fists ball up.

“Will you tell me your plan at least?” She asks with a long sigh.

“In the morning. Right now, the human requires sleep.” Ashton stands from the bed and walks around to pull the blankets down from where they’re tucked.

“And you don’t?” Ivy raises a questioning eyebrow.

“Demons don’t need sleep. I only sleep if I want to. This isn’t one of those times.” He motions with his head for her to get into the bed and she doesn’t argue, exhaustion had started setting in not long ago.

“What are you going to do?” Ivy asks, pulling the lush blankets around her and settling into the bed.

“Preparations for tomorrow. Go to sleep, Ivy Jane.” Ashton flicks off the light switch and goes to the couch in the other room. He does his best not to look back at the bed, knowing the longer he looks at her the harder it will be to look away.

He sat on the couch with his plans spread out across the coffee table for a few hours. Going over them again and again. He needed to believe that somehow he would make this work this time. He went through this every full moon, trying to get back the amulet that would set his friend free from his imprisonment. All the other humans had failed him, losing their lives to a vampire, or if they did make it out it was always empty handed, and Ashton was forced to send them straight to hell, merely because he couldn’t stand to look at them a moment longer.

But there was something about this girl. Something that drove him absolutely mad. He hated that human softness he still carried with him after hundreds of years. He cared about her wellbeing, and that had never happened before. And he had waited until there was no other choice to put her in danger. She was his last hope to succeed.

Ashton could hear the soft snores escaping Ivy Jane’s mouth from the other side of the room. He wished that he hated the sound, but it was more soothing than anything else. And before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and walking towards the bed. He found himself lying down on the mattress on his back with his arms resting behind his head. He made sure not to shift the bed too much and wake her, but as soon as he was settled, like a magnet, Ivy was rolling over and tucking herself into Ashton’s side. He was frozen, not sure what he should do. Her body against him sent an unfamiliar warm feeling through his human form. There was a look of almost disgust on his face when he realized that he…felt something. He wanted to shake it away, but then her soft hand slid up his chest and gripped onto the collar of his shirt in comfort. And Ashton couldn’t fight the urge anymore, so he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer without another thought.

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“Wake up.” A voice whispered next to Ivy’s ear. It was so soft, she wasn’t sure she had actually heard it at all. “Wake up, beautiful.” The voice said again. Ivy could have sworn the voice was in her head. She carefully started to open her eyes. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs, quickly now sweetheart.”

Ivy jolted up in the bed then. Ashton’s voice was quite literally in her head, and he was nowhere to be seen. His demon abilities were a constant surprise. She sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed at her face a few times trying to make sure things were real. Ivy wasn’t sure if she had dreamt that she was being held by Ashton all night, or if it had actually happened and the fact that it didn’t bother her in the slightest if it had, was a little strange for her.

She got dressed quickly, throwing her hair up messily. On her way out of the door, Ivy noticed a bagel and to-go coffee sitting on the counter top with a note. Her heart started to beat just a little faster.

Eat this, human. You’re going to need it. Is what the note read in beautiful cursive handwriting. Ivy smiled and rolled her eyes playfully. She held the bagel in her mouth as she gathered her things and hurried out the door.

When she arrived downstairs in the lobby, she could see Ashton waiting for her by the front doors. He was standing there with a small smile on face and his arms resting behind his back. But what stood out he most, was that he wasn’t wearing his normal black dress clothes. Instead, he had on a fitted black tshirt and black gym shorts. It was a very different look for him, but it made him look almost relaxed, and that was something Ivy could get used to seeing. She tried to bite her lip as she approached him and hide the smile that was trying to spread across her face, but it wasn’t much use.

“Good morning.” Ashton said just as she stopped in front of him.

“Is it?” Ivy asked, taking another dramatic bite of her bagel, making Ashton laugh quietly.

“We shall see. Come on then. We don’t have much time.” Ashton turns and then offers Ivy his arm to hold onto while they walked. She raised an adorable eyebrow at him for only a short moment before taking his arm and letting him lead her outside of the hotel to where the car was waiting.

__________________________________________

They drove outside of the busy city for quite some time. Ivy tried to soak up as much of the countryside as she could, hoping maybe one day she would have some time to paint it. But she wasn’t going to get her hopes up, when her only hope was to retrieve an amulet from a den of vampires.

Ashton drove suddenly pulled off onto a side road made of gravel and rocks until they reached a large open field with some wooded off to one side. The sun was hovering off in the distance, really make that red color of Ashton’s hair pop. He stopped the car on the side of the road, taking off his sunglasses to look over at Ivy.

“Just beyond that wooded area, is a church. The church has miles of catacombs beneath it, and I can’t get close to it without burning from the inside out.” He pauses for a moment to watch her face. He didn’t want to do this to her. She was the one human he wanted to keep safe. “The vampires have parties there, almost nightly, and they keep the amulet here so I can’t get to it.”

“And I’m going to find an amulet, somewhere in the miles of catacombs below an old terrifying church?” Ivy asks, eyes meeting his. Ashton nods. “Perfect.” Ivy sighs.

“What do you know about vampires?” Ashton asks.

“They drink blood. Don’t like the sunlight. The obvious things.” Ivy responds.

“Vampires are deceiving. It’s part of their power of sorts. They can lure you in without you even knowing what’s happened. They use humans for blood and sex and these parties they have are practically just for those two things.” Ashton explains, not sure how Ivy would react to something like this.

“Okay. And how am I going to get past them?” Ivy tries to put on her brave face now.

“You just need to fit in. But you also need to know how to protect yourself. Come with me.” Ashton opens his car door and walks around towards the trunk, where he waits for Ivy to join him. She takes a few deep breaths before exiting the car and joining Ashton at the back of the car.

“Can you fight?” He asks suddenly.

“Fight? Fight vampires? You’re kidding right?” Ivy half laughs.

“If things go badly, I want you to at least be able to protect yourself.” This was something Ashton didn’t do with the others.

“I’ve never fought anyone, Ashton.” She tells him.

“We have work to do then.” Ashton reaches into the trunk of the car and pulls out a long wooden box. There are symbols carved into the top and sides that Ivy does not recognize. Ashton opens the box to show her what’s inside. “This is a vampire stake, and you’re going to use it if you need to, alright?”

“You want me to stab a vampire with that? Ashton, this is getting more and more unreal.” Ivy pushes her hair away from her face in exasperation.

“It’s only if things go badly, okay? I’m going to teach you how to fight the best that I can in the next few hours. It’s better than sending you in there with nothing.” He closes the box and looks away from her eyes.

Ivy felt nervous. But it wasn’t because she was about to walk into a den of vampires, no she was nervous about disappointing the demon who owned her soul. She didn’t know why her feelings had suddenly changed, but she wasn’t scared of him anymore.

“Alright, demon. Teach me to fight.” Ivy shrugs her shoulders and motions for him to lead the way. Ashton smiles and walks past her into the middle of the field.

“Show me what you’ve got, sweetheart.” Ashton puts his arms out at his sides, giving her a free shot.

“I can’t hit you…” Ivy almost mumbles the words.

“I promise that you won’t hurt me.” He tries to encourage her.

Ivy looks down at her hands for a moment, contemplating how to go about this, when she suddenly hears his voice in her head again.

You’re thinking too much. Just hit me.

“What’s with this whole mind talking thing? It’s a little weird.” She laughs.

“It’s how I’m going to be with you when you’re inside the catacombs. I can hear you, and you can hear me.” He steps closer to her.

“Can you always hear what I’m thinking?” Ivy swallows hard.

“No. Only if your thoughts are sent to me directly. But I could guess…” Ashton disappears a moment, then reappears behind Ivy, his mouth against the shell of her ear. “Are you thinking of that shiver you feel when I’m near you?” His lips brush against her ear making her eyes fall shut. “Or maybe that knot in your stomach that appears when I call you sweetheart?” The tips of his fingers are brushing up her arm.

Ivy lets out a shaky breath, keeping her eyes closed tightly.

“That’s right, Ivy Jane. You’re mine.” Ashton’s words have a direct line between her legs. Her eyes snap open and she spins around quickly only to see that he isn’t there anymore. Ivy whips around again, looking all around the open field, not seeing Ashton anywhere.

“Ashton?” She asks.

Over here. His voice says in her head. She spins around again, feeling his presence but still not seeing him.

Here. He says again. Ivy’s eyes can’t find him as she frantically looks around. And then suddenly he’s behind her again, pulling one of her arms behind her back and pinning it there. Ivy struggles against him for a moment until he speaks again.

“You’ve got be aware of everything. Don’t let them get behind you, easy access to your throat.” Ivy stills in her struggling when Ashton runs the tip of his nose softly and slowly up the side of her neck. Her whole body shutters.

“Anything else?” Ivy asks.

“You’ve got to be quick.” He says, releasing her arm and turning Ivy’s body to face him. “If they’re coming at you, you’ve got to find the quickest way out.”

Ashton worked with her all day long, showing Ivy as many moves as he could. He showed her some old blueprints of the catacombs in hopes that she might be able to remember something that would help her get out as fast as possible if need be. But now he needed to give her the final touch, one that he wasn’t extremely pleased about some vampire seeing but it had to be done.

“It isn’t another stake, is it?” Ivy teased as they walked back to the car.

“No, no more stakes.” Ashton opened the trunk of the car again, pulling out a white shopping bag and dangling it in front of her.

“What’s this?” Ivy took the bag from his hands and started pulling the item clothing out.

“So you’ll fit in.” He watches her face carefully. Ivy pulled the dress out of the bag, holding it up so she could see it.

“Let me get this straight. On top of everything else, you want me to do all of this in a goddamn dress?” Ivy’s eyes are wide as she looks over at Ashton, who has a big grin on his face.

“Just put the dress on, Ivy Jane.” Ashton shook his head a few times, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gym shorts.

The dress was all black and floor length. Ivy couldn’t imagine fighting a vampire in a dress like this, but then she noticed the slit going all the way up one side of the dress. She was more nervous than ever.

“Turn around.” She makes a circular motion with her finger, asking Ashton to run around while she changed. He rolls his green eyes, turning to face away from where she was changing behind the trunk. After a few minutes of scrambling into the dress, Ivy huffs out a long breath and taps Ashton on the shoulder. “What do you think?” She asks.

Ashton could barely keep himself from completely ravishing her right here right now. Ivy looked perfect. It complimented every part of her. And that slit that went all the way up to her hip, would likely be his undoing. But he cleared his throat, and took a few steps towards her.

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He says with a quiet laugh following. “One more thing.” Ashton reaches into the trunk, pulling out the stake and a leather thigh holster.

“I’ve got to carry that thing on my thigh?” She asks with wide eyes.

“No better place.” Ashton smiles wickedly. “Come here and sit back.” He motions for her to sit down on the hood of the car. Ivy walks around to the front of the car, sitting down and scooting back just a bit, the material of the dress slipping around her leg as she lift up towards him. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure that he could hear it.

“Go on then.” Ivy says, leaning back on her hands as Ashton steps forward with his eyes on hers, letting Ivy press her foot to his chest so she can continue to hold up her leg while he buckles the holster to her thigh.

“Won’t they be able to see it?” Ivy breathes out when Ashton’s hands ghost from the top of her thigh down to her ankle.

“I’ve put a glamour on the stake, they wont be able to see it.” He says the words against the skin of her ankle that he’s moved up to his mouth. Ivy can feel her entire body quake.

“How much time do I have?” She manages to spill out, eyes falling closed at the sensation of his lips on her skin.

“You need to have the amulet to me before the sun rises.” He’s pressing kisses up her leg. Ashton wants her, but he’s got a mission to complete first. He gently puts her leg down and watches as her pretty lips begin to pout.

“I guess I need to go?” Ivy sighs.

“The party will have started now.” Ashton helps Ivy stand up straight on her feet, keeping her close to him.

“Show me where this church is?” Ivy asks, looking down at her feet. Ashton reaches up, pulling the hair tie out of her hair and letting it fall over her shoulders. Ashton’s pointer finger hooks under her chin and pulls her eyes up to his.

“You’ve got so much life left to live, Ivy Jane, so please come back to me.” He leans down and presses his forehead to hers.

“That’s the plan.” She whispers, hands itching to reach out and touch him.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” Ashton’s fingers lace between Ivy’s as he walks her across the field towards the wooded area.

Once they’ve walked a ways into the woods, and the church comes into sight, Ashton comes to a sudden stop. When he looks down at his hands he can see fire trying to seep through his pores. He’s gotten too close.

“This is where I stop.” He presses a kiss to the back of her hand before letting it go.

“See you soon?” Ivy feels silly after she says it.

“Soon.” Ashton repeats. She smiles at him, though it’s a weak one, and then turns to walk towards the church before she changes her mind completely. “Ivy Jane?” She hears from behind her.

“Don’t let any filthy vamps touch you in that dress, yeah?” Ashton smiles, putting his hands back in his pockets.

“I make no promises.” Ivy teases, turning back towards the church and feeling her stomach tighten.

The church is a decaying relic to say the least, there isn’t much left of it at all. The old yellow bricks are lying in random piles throughout the area. But what finally catches her attention is the sound of electronic music coming from one of the piles of bricks. And as she approaches it, she can see that it’s actually an entrance to what she assumes is the catacombs. Ivy crawls over the bricks carefully and begins to descend the stairs leading down into a black hallway.

Ivy’s breathing is uneven and ragged. She can’t see a thing, but she can hear the music. The catacombs smell musty and damp. There was nothing appealing about any of this, and she couldn’t imagine why it would be a vampires chosen place for parties. Her fingertips stayed on the wall as she followed it through the dark. It had seemed like forever, but she finally found the series of rooms holding the vampires and their party.

There were hundreds of people, it could have been an actual night club down here. There were colored lights flashing and people dancing everywhere. Ivy walked into the party area, bumping into sweaty bodies and glass cups full of alcoholic liquid. She had no idea where to begin looking for this amulet.

Find the vampires. They’ll be sitting back watching the humans. Ashton’s voice suddenly said in her head, almost making her jump.

“Fancy seeing you here.” A voice that Ivy didn’t recognize says from behind her. She whirls around to see the curly haired blonde vampire from the hotel standing in front of her.

Get away from him. Quickly.

Ivy rolls her eyes at the sound of Ashton’s voice.

“Um hey there. I heard about this great party.” Ivy tries to sound sincere.

“I know why you’re here.” Is all he says in return.

“For a great time?” Ivy knows she isn’t coming off as convincing at all. The vampire laughs.

“You want the amulet don’t you? The one that demons been after?” He says.

“I um…no. What demon?” Ivy stumbles all over her words.

You’re a terrible actress, you know that? Ask him what he knows. Ashton’s voice says in her head. Ivy rolls her eyes.

“We saw each other at the hotel. I know exactly what that demons been up to.” He says, stepping up closer to Ivy so only she can hear him. “And I want to help.” Ivy’s eyes almost pop out of her skull when she hears the words.

“You want to help me?” She whispers.

“Yes, I do. I’m Luke.” He puts his hand out to shake hers, she stares at it for a moment.

See what he’s willing to do. Ashton says.

“Ivy.” She shakes his hand quickly, before Luke is pulling her off to the side.

“We can do this quickly and effortlessly, understand? One of the older vamps has been wearing that amulet around down here for a couple hundred years. I had one of the girls he’s been drinking on tonight take some things to make him sleep. But it won’t last long, so you’ve got to get in there now.” Luke pulls Ivy along by the elbow, showing her to another room full of vampires.

“I’m just going to walk in there and take it?” Her eyes furrow. “That’s too easy.”

“It can be. Now lets go, follow my lead.” Luke says.

“Why are you doing this?” Ivy asks.

“That’s a story for another time, Ivy.” He smiles, and his fangs withdraw just the slightest bit.

Kick his ass. I’m serious. Ashton comes into her head.

“Stop it.” Ivy says, meant for Ashton.

“Stop what?” Luke says.

“Nothing. Lets go.” Ivy changes the subject quickly.

Luke wraps his arm around Ivy’s shoulders lazily, leading her into the vampire room. She could see the camp he was referring to almost immediately. He was sitting on a velvet chair, a leather vest covering some of his top half and leather pants on his legs. But he appeared to be asleep, the gold chalice in his hands was tipped over with blood dripping from its rim.

“I’ll keep the rest of them busy, you grab that thing off his neck.” Luke whispers into her ear.

I’ll kill the damn vampire myself. Ashton’s jealous voice says. Ivy smiles momentarily.

Luke takes his arm away and walks over to the group of vamps sitting around on the furniture. They all look over to him when he starts talking and Ivy doesn’t hesitate to move towards the older vampire. He’s snoring quite loudly, which is a relief to say the least. One of the female vampires looks over to Ivy, and she freezes, pretending to lean against the chair like she had been there the whole time. The female vamp looks at her suspiciously but then looks back to Luke.

Ivy knows she cant get to the clasp for the chain behind his neck, so she simply wraps her hand around the amulet and pulls until it pops off of him. She looks down at her hand in amazement. She did it. She actually fucking did it. The older vampire stirs slightly, making Ivy jump away from him, and the attention in the room to suddenly turn towards her. She shoves the amulet into the front of her dress, in hopes that no one saw it. They say nothing, but they don’t take their eyes from where she stands.

“Luke…” Ivy says.

“Run!” Luke shouts, grabbing Ivy’s arm and pulling her out into the hallway. Luke uses his speed to get her back to the entrance in no time at all. Ivy can barely breathe. “Get out of here, alright? Go.” Luke tells her.

“What about you? I cant leave you with them!” Ivy tries to pull his arm.

“Ivy!” She hears Ashton shout from the distance.

“I’ll hold them off so you can get out of here. I’m good.” Luke gently pushes her out of the entrance so that she’s back outside next to the pile of bricks.

“Thank you.” She tells Luke sincerely. He gives her a tight smile, before disappearing back down the entrance. Ivy can hear the crunching of concrete and the hissing from the vampires coming from inside, so she starts running towards Ashton.

She’s almost reached him, when someone grabs her from behind and throws her down on her back. Ivy winces in pain, but doesn’t have time to think before the vampire is on top of her. It’s the female vampire from inside the catacombs.

“Ivy!” Ashton yells. He can’t get to her, the closer he gets the more his veins turn to fire. He watches in horror as the vampire continues to overpower Ivy. And he decides in that moment that he doesn’t care, and he uses his inhuman speed to reach the two of them scrambling on the ground.

Ashton can feel the fire start to burn inside him. But he forces on, and grabs the vampire by the back of shirt and effortlessly rips her off of Ivy. When Ashton goes to reach for Ivy, the vampire jumps on his back, clawing at him and kicking the backs of his legs. Ashton whips around, trying to get her off of him while the fire burns and starts to crack through his skin. He can hold back the scream that leaves his mouth.

Ivy scrambles off the ground, ripping the stake from it’s holster on her thigh. Ashton can’t stay still while he’s writhing in pain, but somehow, Ivy manages get up behind the vampire and shove the stake through her back and into her heart. Ivy watches as the vampire freezes up and slowly rolls off of Ashton’s back and onto the ground.

The fire is starting to consume Ashton from the inside out, he has to get off this holy ground as fast as possible. Ivy grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet, hearing him groan over and over from the pain.

“Get me out of here, please.” He begs.

“I’ve got you.” Ivy helps Ashton move and walk back towards the car. Once they’ve gotten to the tree line, Ivy lets Ashton sit down.

“Give me a moment.” He says. His fingers dig into the earth around him and his whole body starts to glow. Ivy watches with wide eyes until he’s back to himself, standing up as if nothing happened. “Quickly now, sweetheart. There isn’t much time left.” Ashton grabs her around the waist and teleports them right next to the car.

“What now?” Ivy asks as Ashton fumbles around in the trunk, gather things in his arms.

“Now, we free my friend.” Ashton says. He picks up a rock from the ground and smashes it over top of the amulet, busting it into tiny black starts of glass and gold metal.

Ivy watches as Ashton hovers his hands above the pieces and began to say some sort of incantation that she wasn’t able to understand. He said the words over and over as the full moon got higher and higher in the sky. It happened so quickly, Ivy wasn’t sure she actually saw it, but black clouds suddenly covered the moon momentarily like smoke and then whisked away as Ashton stood up. The ground shook beneath them and cracked open as tiny black shards of the amulet fell into the earth.

“What’s happening?” Ivy shouted, and Ashton laced his fingers through hers again, pulling her close so that she could hide her face in his chest as the ground continued to crumble.

Ivy looked up long enough to see spouts of fire shoot up from the cracks in the earth, and for someone…or something to begin crawling out of the ground. He stood up, brushing ashes and soot off his all black clothes before he looked up to see Ashton and Ivy standing there.

“Finally found me did ya?” The man from the fiery ground says.

“Only took a few hundred years and a very determined woman.” Ashton answers, walking towards the stranger and wrapping him up into a long hug.

“Wh…Who are you?” Ivy says from Ashton, her curiosity getting the better of her. The man hugging Ashton brings his eyes up to her, stepping out of the hug with Ashton but still standing next to him. The man pushed his hand through his black curls and licked his lips before he spoke again.

“I’m the Boogieman, dollface.” He said with a wicked smile on his perfect face. Ashton elbowed him playfully and laughed a little.

“This is Calum, Ivy. He’s been a friend…since forever.” Ashton walked over to Ivy, holding her face in his hands.

“Did I just help you release another demon onto earth?” Ivy asked. Ashton laughs again.

“Sort of. But Calum and I won’t cause too much trouble.” He presses his forehead against hers.

“And why is that?” Ivy asks, her hands finally finding chest and shoulders, memorizing the way he feels.

“I’d much rather get into trouble with you.”

A/N: there is going to be a very smutty epilogue to follow this in a few days!! but please let me know what you think!!

tag list:  @maoricth @slimthicccal @bbycal @kinglyhood @sugarcoated-pain @shower-me-with-roses @c-dizzle-swizzlex @calumculture @sugarcoatedcalum@calthesensation @cheyenne-in-wonderland @softboycal @moonlightcalum@unconditionalcalum @irwinkitten @singt0mecalum @angelbabylu @5sosnsfw@aspiringwildfire @myloverboyash @cal-puddies @lashtoncurls

[cupidoargiades]

hello ! can i please request a one shot of changkyun, and jungkook (from BTS), based on the song ‘Who do you love?’ by Monsta X? And in the end, the reader ends up with changkyun? thank you in advance, sorry for the bother

A/N - first of all, ur not bothering me with sending requests! i like getting requests, that way i can write what my followers would like to see :) anyways, i lovelovelove this idea! it might end up to be a little long to create some more plot and tension, but i hope that's fine w/ u :) this took me quite a while, so i hope you like it! thanks for requesting <3

-

pay the piper

-

tw: angst, jealousy, y/n leading people on, foul language and violent fighting

-

two crushes, two gorgeous, kind and perfect men, but only once choice to make. they were each so different, too, which didn't make everything easier. you could never compare the two; it just wouldn't be fair.

changkyun was so deep, and mysterious. whenever you talked to him, you felt like diving into a pitch black ocean, and the water was accepting you as if you were a mermaid in disguise. he listened to you when you felt like ranting, and understands how your mind works, but still, he's not emotionally invested like jungkook. well, he is emotionally invested, just in a different way.

jungkook, on the other hand, was much brighter at first sight. he has that 'sunshine' feel to him. if changkyun is a pitch black ocean, jungkook is the shining sun, casting diamond-like reflections on the waves. he'd take care of you, even when you didn't ask. he took responsibility for you, and made sure that your time spent with him was spent well. no arguments, just the two of you.

the fact that they were both your best friends didn't help either.

and another thing that didn't help, was that jungkook and changkyun didn't quite get along well, either.

that ends you up with three disadvantages, two crushes and one big question: who do you pick?

you ended up asking them both on two seperate dates: the same location, same time, same outfit, stuff like that. when the dates were over, you compared the two.

which one was more fun?

which one was more romantic?

which one needed just that extra little push for you to end up at his house?

which one was simply the best?

picking a man was still hard, however.

flirting was the next test. you were planning on finding out who would react the best to your 'accidental' touches and body language. which- simply ended up with another tie. they both reacted so differently, and that just made it hard to compare the two.

changkyun went along so well with it, squeezing your thigh back and basically undressing you with his gaze when you sat just a little too straight up. he definitely liked it, and just like the date, you two needed one more push for you to end up in his bed.

jungkook, however, was a little confused, but more than happy. he kept his focus on you, to find out what you were trying to do, but you and your perfect ways just had him in a daze. his young and innocent train of thought was disturbed by you testing him with that dress on.

-

they noticed.

they know you're flirting with both of them, and now that they're in the same room, there's just this angry and jealous tension. you stood up to go to the toilet, and once you came back, you found them bickering about the littlest things.

"what's wrong?" you asked

"you know damn well what's wrong" changkyun mumbled under his breath. "what was that?" you asked, frowning ever so slightly. jungkook stepped in, saying "we- we think you're leading us on. both of us. the date, the flirting.. we know what you're doing, and one little thing: that's not cool. at all."

you felt your heart break a little.

"you know i love you" changkyun mumbled, his head down. if it wasn't for his trembling voice, you wouldn't have known he was silently crying in his lap.

"you know i've loved you for the past few months, but what do you do? try me out and test me like i'm a fucking guinea pig" he said, louder now.

you couldn't do anything but stand still, mouth hanging open just a little thanks to a loss of words. "changkyun, i'm-"

"i don't need your worthless excuses. don't you think it's funny how- how you manage to play with me like this, yet my love for you doesn't shrink an inch?"

jungkook just sits there calmly and lets changkyun rant, but on the inside the fire in his heart was being fed with gasoline; he wanted you that bad.

"i'm your fucking toy, just admit it." he demanded, having you shaking in your shoes. "listen- on my end it's not easy either..! i'm living with a crush on you and on jungkook, and i just had to find out-"

"which one was manipulated faster? good fucking try, y/n."

"can i finish talking?" "don't waste that pretty little voice on useless words" he answered, having you sigh and talk anyway. "i just had to find out which one of you i wanted more. that's all.." you said, realizing how bad that actually sounded.

"conciously leading us on, huh? as if that doesn't make things worse" he said, shooting his gaze up at you. his stare seemed to shut down your nerve system, it was that tense.

"i didn't mean it like that, i swea-"

"and you didn't by any chance mean to conciously break both my and jungkook's heart either?" he carelessly said, almost at a shout.

"no! of course i didn't! you two are my best friends- and i would never conciously break your hearts, you know i wouldn-"

"'you know i wouldn't'? save your empty lies, i do know you would conciously break my heart because that's exactly what you just did, over and over again!"

"changkyun, how about you let her finish speaking before you say something..?" jungkook tried, placing a hand on changkyun's tense shoulder.

"jungkook, how about you shut the fuck up, you insensitive asshole?!" he yelled back, not giving a damn about the neighbours that might be listening in. along with his voice raising, he stood up to tower over jungkook.

you felt scared for a second, and you felt the need to pull him back, yet you didn't.

you let changkyun shout at jungkook. the fire in jungkooks heart had lit a fuse, and the fuse had now reached the bomb. jungkook shot up out of his seat and pushed changkyun back, standing just a little taller than him.

tears rolled down your cheeks, as you just couldn't do anything but watch what you did. this was your punishment.

they shouted forbidden words at eachother, about how the one loved you more than the other, about how the one deserved you more than the other.

"so you're just gonna stand there and do nothing?!" changkyun yelled, pushing jungkook aside to now yell at you. "changkyun, lashing out on her won't help y-" jungkook started, but he was interrupted by a fist, changkyun's fist, landing on his jaw.

"don't tell me what to do, shitface"

you zoned out, thinking back at what you thought of them in the beginning of this whole fucked-up testing process. you compared those opinions to the ones you now had. you could finally make a choice, hoping he would still want you.

-

-

-

"even though you screwed up big time a few years ago, with that whole 'who-do-i-love' phase, i love you." changkyun said, taking your hands.

you punched him lightly, making the both of you chuckle. "you said you wouldn't talk about this.." you said with a smile. "too bad, see this as my revenge"

"i really love you a lot, and i'm sorry for lashing out at you back then. i needed a break from you for a few weeks, but when i came back, you let me know i was worth your love again." he said, trying to keep his voice from quieting down to a soft and careful whisper.

"i love you, and i will fight for you for as long as it's needed. i can go on even longer about how much i love you- but i don't know.. that'd be too clingy, huh? then i'll end it here, but i promise that tonight i'll continue my vows, this was just chapter one" he chuckled.

"then," the marriage officiant said. "do you, y/f/n y/l/n take im changkyun as your life-long husband, and do you promise to share everything with him?"

"i do"

you could feel the smiles of both families burning into your back, as you stared into changkyun's eyed with great passion. now it was his turn. you could feel even jungkook smiled, who had now happily accepted the two of you being together, as he had found his own wife.

"im changkyun, do you take y/f/n y/l/n as your life-long wife, and do you promise to share everything with her?"

"i-.. i do"

"why'd you hesitate..?"

"i just can't believe that you picked me, is all" he said softly with that heartwarming dimple smile only he can do.

"you can now exchange rings" the marriage officiant said softly with a kind smile. the two of you looked at eachother, and you let him know he could go first with a nod.

he took the black, velvety box and opened it, showing you the shiny silver ring, decorated with black gemstones. it reflected his personality, so you could always carry him with you. he slipped it on your finger and kissed it for a short while, securing it into it's place. "it's beautiful.." "no, wifey, you are beautiful"

now it was your turn. you grabbed the slightly bigger box, and opened it slowly and teasingly, making the two of you, your family and friends chuckle a bit. "woah.." he mumbled as he stared at the silver ring, thicker than yours but also decorated with the same black gemstones. "that's- perfect" he said as you put it on his finger. "no, hubby, you are perfect" you said, smiling brightly.

"i hereby pronounce the two of you as husband and wife, you may now kiss the bride" he said, turning to changkyun.

he leaned in for a gentle but passionate kiss, and you could've sworn there was fireworks behind you. you thought the sound of fireworks cracking was all in your head until you turned to actually see literal firework. "god damnit changkyun, why do you make everything so cheesy and perfect..?" you whispered. "just because you deserve it all.."

[thinkinboutspace]

Change Your Mind: A Summary of All My Thoughts and Feelings

Alright fellas, strap in because this post, much like tonight’s episode, is going to be a real long one.

I want to try and organise this so the topics I’ll be addressing will (probably) be in the order of the episode progression. And if you haven’t seen the episode yet please DO NOT read this because it’s going to be ridden with spoilers.

Everyone good? Okay, let’s do this.

My feelings are basically just me screaming for about 3 hours, but I do have some actual opinions that I need to share because none of my friends have been watching the recent episodes and I’m DYING.

First things first: THE DIAMONDS. I was expecting emotional scenes because this is Steven Universe we’re talking about but HOLY SHIT that was a LOT!! I knew Blue Diamond was going to accept this the fastest (although that leak of her yelling at Steven had me scared) but the dialogue? 

“You were right to leave. I always thought that you were failing this world. But if you were happier on Earth, maybe this world was failing you.”

That’s such a powerful line and I love it so so much!! I also love the fact that she says this after Steven points out that it isn’t normal for her to use her crying powers on him as a punishment. The character development there is SO GOOD and it’s one of my favourite things about this episode!!

Yellow’s reaction was a tad bit different though, lol. For a while I wasn’t sure if she was going to “change her mind” and when the moment came and she did I cried! We all know that Yellow is the strongest of the the two because she thinks she has to be, and when she finally breaks down and admits that she’s been feeling opressed by White and that Homeworld’s system is flawed it felt so real and raw and relieving. Because she can finally be herself after thousands of years of her trying her hardest to not feel anything.

Next up: the new outfits and fusions!! Lapis and Peridot FINALLY GOT THEIR STARS IM SO SO HAPPY!!! And the fusions, where to even BEGIN AAAH!! 

While I was very happy to see Smoky Quartz again, we had all seen her before and so the only thing that was new was the outfit. Don’t get me wrong though, I loved seeing my bean again!

RAINBOW QUARTZ 2.0 RAINBOW QUARTZ 2.0 RAINBOW QUARTZ 2.0-

Pearl and Steven! Fused! And I am! So excited about that! Rainbow Quartz 2.0 being silly and making the ‘two stones with one bird’ joke had me laughing and I just love them with my whole heart!

SUNSTONE OH MY GOODNESS!! Sunstone was only on screen for about five minutes but in those five minutes they snatched my wig, my heart, and I think they’re my new favourite. I know that every fusion combines the aspects of it’s counterparts and the fact that Sunstone is a child-friendly PSA come to life is genius and adorable and I love it (I’ve been saying that a lot but it’s TRUE OKAY)!

OBSIDIAN!! THE TEMPLE FUSION!! THE FUSION DANCE BETWEEN THE FOUR OF THEM WAS ADORABLE AND I’M CRYING!!! THEY REALLY ARE A FAMILY AND SEEING THAT IN THE FUSION DANCE WAS SO CUTE AND HEARTWARMING AND I CAN’T TAKE IT!!

I also need to take a moment to say that I LOVE CONNIE, BISMUTH, LAPIS, AND PERIDOT, AND WITHOUT THEM THIS EPISODE WOULD NOT BE THE SAME AND JUST, AAAAAAAAAH!!!

But now that my screaming is (sort of) over, I have to tackle the biggest part of the finale: White Diamond.

Hoooooooooo boy that entire scene was a LOT to take in. First of all, we have White using her powers to take control of Blue, Yellow, Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl (and of course White/Pink Pearl but we knew about that one). That, I think, was the saddest moment of them all. And it’s not even that alone that got me upset, it was how White Diamond described it!

“As for me, I’m certain I don’t need you. After all, I’m every colour of the light! But you’re a part of me! A part I always have to repress.”

“Please stop helping them! You’ll only make things worse. That’s what you do! I make things better.”

“Now the impurities you’ve encouraged in them are gone!”

There’s a lot of other things she says that make me upset but those three pieces of dialogue in particular just, oh boy. White really believes (at least in that moment) that not only is Steven just Pink taking on another form to rebel, but that in order to get Pink to “show herself” or whatever, she has to break Steven down and verbally attack him. 

She pokes at every single one of his insecurites that we KNOW he’s had throughout the show and it’s heartbreaking to see! The smaller details with the gems being controlled really added to the horror and disgust I felt watching White monologue about how she well and truly believes that they are all flawed.

AND HER THEN TAKING STEVEN AND REMOVING HIS FUCKING GEM OH MY FUCKING LORD GUYS I FREAKED THE ABSOLUTE FUCK O U T!! I am not making this up, when that scene ended and the commercials started playing I threw the pillow that I was hugging on the other side of the couch, jumped up, and started pacing while whisper-screaming because I couldn’t actually scream around my family. Steven Universe has had it’s moments of horror (the Cat Fingers monster was one of the creepiest things I have ever seen), but I don’t think I’ve ever felt fear as genuine as that while watching this show (or just any cartoon in particular, really).

When the show resumed and we saw Steven’s gem reform separate from him, I got scared because for a split second we saw the outline of Pink Diamond and it would be the WORST if she were to reform - but that’s absolutely not what happened!! Instead we see a new, seemingly all-diamond version of Steven and the implications of that are ENORMOUS!! This is already addressed in the show, but it means that Steven has never been his mom and that he is absolutely his own person! And Steven’s fear that has been growing and growing throughout this arc has been shut down and I love that!

I need to take a moment to yell about the animation in the scene where Steven and his diamond self reunite, because HOLY SHIT it was POWERFUL. The animation in Steven Universe is, generally speaking, always on top of it and it makes you feel things when it needs to, but THAT SCENE? When Connie hands human Steven to diamond Steven and he starts cry-laughing out of happiness? The way they both laugh (and you can HEAR the genuine relief and joy) and the camera spins for a second? The way White’s eyes open in front of them after they both stop spinning? The background music building up to when Steven becomes himself again? I could go on and on about that but in summary - the cinematography in that scene was AMAZING and I would like to draw as much attention to that fact as possible.

(We’re almost at the end of my rant I promise, lol. If you’ve read this far, thank you!)

White’s realisation that she’s been wrong this whole time and she needs to ‘get out of her own head’ is written SO WELL!! She doesn’t admit it out loud (which makes sense because she’s been a perfection-seeking tyrant for years, it’s gonna take more time than that), but she breaks down and we get to see that she’s starting to question everything she’s ever known. Which doesn’t sound good, but to me it is because now she can finally start changing the way Homeworld is structured (and they returned to Earth and healed the corrupted gems, so that’s definitely a HUGE step in the right direction)!!

Lars and Sadie reuniting was wonderful, Steven and his dad reuniting was ALSO wonderful, and THE OFF-COLOURS!! WE SAW THEM AGAIN AND MOST LIKELY WILL GET TO SEE THEM AGAIN IN FUTURE EPISODES AND I’M HELLA EXCITED FOR THAT!!

The last thing I have to say before I go is the songs. Blew. Me. Away. Sadie singing Let Me Drive My Van Into Your Heart was so sweet and when it pans to Greg in the audience you can tell he loves it! I need to listen to the new Crystal Gems theme song because I don’t remember all of the lyrics at the moment but I DO remember that they were very powerful and reminded me of just how far this show has come and I love that a song is able to do that for me. The song that Steven sings at the end, ‘Change Your Mind,’ was short but sweet and the meaning it held!! Steven is finally on the path to accepting who he is and he’s realised that he doesn’t need the Diamond’s approval and I just am floored with that character development!!

And with that, I conclude my very long summary of thoughts and feelings! I know I definitely missed a lot of smaller details, but for the most part I think I managed to touch on just about everything major! Thank you for reading this far!

[readfelice-blog]

moominland chronicles Sechszehn: bloody tale of woe continued

Sunday, Monday, Happy Days,

Tuesday, Wednesday, Happy Days,

Thursday, Friday, Happy Days,

The weekend comes, my cycle hums

Ready to race to you

These days are ours

Happy and free. (Oh Happy Days)

These days are ours

Share them with me.(Oh baby)

Goodbye grey sky, hello blue,

there's nothing can hold me when I hold you.

feels so right you can't be wrong,

rockin' and rollin' all week long.

Saturday, what a day

Groovin' all week with you

It’s Wednesday // now its Sunday (I couldn’t finish this on Wednesday, it was still to close).

First off I’m asking for money, I will go into more depth next week because I’m facing the crisis of what the value of my work really is, for now this is my Crowdfunding campaign:

https://igg.me/at/bocemachtocho/x/19564227

Please support if you can.

Music….

Just listen to these, they’re both little slices of genius that deserve your time:

LYDIA LUNCH Queen of Siam

https://www.discogs.com/Lydia-Lunch-Queen-Of-Siam/release/392276

NICOLAS JAAR Hardcore Ambient Mix

https://soundcloud.com/otherpeoplerecords/nicolas-jaar-harcore-ambient …

Here’s the recap and then what happened next on my fine romp through the German Health service…

MONDAY 1/10/18

bleeding

First clot plops out, come into contact with rude receptionists, no one will give me an appointment

TUESDAY 2/10/18

bleeding

Horrible morning cleaning, go to TK and sort my insurance, go to emergency doctor who tells me to go to a gynaecologist

WEDNESDAY 3/10/18

bleeding

Home all day making work, have a little singsong at night. (national holiday - no doctors open)

THURSDAY 4/10/18

Bleeding

Go to job, go to gynaecologist who's not there / will be going on holiday, ring more rude receptionists, fall into the office of a gynaecologists pleading for help, take my pants off, get ultrasound spy dildo inserted up me, bleed all over the doctor. Am told I am pregnant, am told I am not pregnant, am told to go to hospital and go to my insurance. Go to my insurance, get my letter, wander round seemingly abandoned hospital, go home broken.

Oh, ask for help- email my boss / mentor and tell her what’s going on. Email all my clients and cancel all my jobs for the next week.

FRIDAY 5/10/18

Bleeding

Wake up and get a taxi to hospital.

Beg to be seen by someone.

Female gynaecologist sees me this time - take my pants off, get ultrasound spy dildo inserted up me and am roughly routed around in with alarming metal objects and no warning that it will hurt or being asked whether I am in pain. Am told it’s not a baby its a polyp, am scheduled for surgery, spend 2 hours filling in forms, waiting, am given appointment for 9.30am Monday morning and turfed out. Leave, realise I can’t get the note from my doctor (they’re all closed) I need before the weekend, go back, cry at admin assistant, have minor breakdown, am settled and sent away.

Sit shakily on bench in small square by U Bahn on the grounds of the hospital, talk to Moon, go home, tuck myself in and bleed.

My mentor says she’ll come to see me at the hospital, what do I like to eat (I have to stay overnight).

SATURDAY 6/10/18

Bleeding

Move very little, bleed very much, buy some food.

SUNDAY 7/10/18

Bleeding

Much like Saturday but I write and publish my blog.

My mentor asks me what time to come see me.

First wave of friends that read blog get in contact,

“Felice ….. now im sneakily reading your bloody ( literally bloody this time) blog to find out whats actually happening with you. I hope you´re okay!, and if you ever do ask for help I will do my best to help you.”

MONDAY 8/10/18

Bleeding

Get up 6AM, have shower very slowly, am in a lot of pain (its worst in the morning), sit outside my house and wait for Taxi, get taxi, tell the driver I miss free healthcare, he tells me he misses his family in Istanbul. Am deposited outside doctors (to ask for note), wait for 20 mins to get slip of paper and give the receptionist a hug.

Get another uber to Hospital, he leaves me at the gates and I walk to the Frauen Klinik, not sure of where to go I wait at registration then am directed up to my ward and power off with 45 minutes till my surgery, the admin assistant tells me “alles gut”.

Up at station 35, the nurses are friendly, I go to another registration office, back to wait in overcrowded little patient room, fill in a tome of forms in German using the camera on Google Translate to try make sense of them, hand back the forms and slyly observe the small Russian family to my right, the son talks expansively, the mother is softly spread from middle age and fairly tethered to the father, she beckons him to join her but he’s brittle and stands by the window instead, I don’t know what's wrong with her.

30 minutes after my scheduled surgery, 10am, then 45, I am called in to a nurses office where she tell’s me, as if I should know, I’ve been rescheduled for 12:50, she's nice and she tries to speak English, she asks what becomes some kind of pass code,

“Have you eaten on drunk anything today? Do you have any allergies?”

The nurse will take you to your room now, but go back and wait first.

I encounter a gorgeous young elfin nurse and ask if I can go a cigarette on my way to the patient room, where more people are piled in now, she says yes 5 minutes, I promise thats what I’ll do.

Inhale cigarette run back upstairs.

She’s there again, she didn’t know I was scheduled for surgery! Tell them when they take you to your room, just in case.

I stand in the corridor for 20 mins, there is nowhere to sit in the patient room.

A nurse comes and deposits me in my room, it's like places I’ve stayed in generic expansive hotels, a Holiday Inn perhaps, charge my phone, hug my pig because of course I brought him. A nurse enters roughly 30 mins later and tells me to change, its the young elfin nurse, I bundle my things in the cupboard and lock the door, give her the key. Then I change and wait.

In comes another nurse, high cheekbones and a wide smile, I climb into bed but manage to get her to listen to me when I say I’ve had a cigarette, a gasp, she calls down to surgery, a moment where I’m not sure if they’ll operate, but its ok and off we go. I am wheeled to the lift, she touches my shoulder often, she's forgotten all her notes and runs back to the room leaving me lying by the lift, she comes back, still no notes, they’re under my pillow. We continue.

It's like a hospital drama from first person perspective, I’m scared, I’ve never been wheeled around in a bed before, the viewpoint is totally new and robs you of all your independence, I am just a body, unable to move, looking up at the people that flash in and out on my journey down to surgery.

“Have you eaten anything today? Do you have any allergies?” Repeated over and over again, I tell my surgeon I’m not sure sure how much I love Berlin after the last week, I tell the man that doesn’t introduce himself to me and has a strange smile on his face that makes me feel uncomfortable, that I’ve lived here for 6 months, I repeat “No I’ve not eaten anything, No I don’t have any allergies, I’m wheeled next to the operating table, my clothes are removed, a drip is stuck inside me and I’m given a mask, I precariously climb onto the table and then nothing….

I wake up blearily, to be told there was no polyp, its low estrogen, blinking, moments of consciousness, they explain what’s wrong me, or not in this case because they don’t know, there was a lot of blood, I feel like it’s my fault. I ask for the blood clots they’re removed, because I want to see them, but they’re never brought to me.

My nurse takes me back to my room, there’s another woman there now, I’m so frustrated that after an hour or so of sleep I stubbornly dress and go for a smoke, despite the head nurse on the ward saying “if you pass out, I’m not coming down to collect you.”

Then back up, more sleep, my rose quartz angel (mentor, but this is her true form) comes to visit, she brings lilies and salted chocolate, I tell her they didn’t find anything, I am still bleeding, now in my hospital pants rather than my own knickers. She leaves when the nurses bring in dinner, 2 slices of stale bread, 2 slices of plastic cheese, 4 patties of butter, cheese, to be honest I’m not sure. I eat them but am glad I have the chocolate to.

I’m still high on the drugs they’ve given me, I buzz up and down for cigarettes and feel strangely lucid, I text and read the books the rose quartz angel brought me, I try and pretend to myself that it’s all ok now.

My roommate is Russian, she speaks in German or Russian on her phone constantly, but she does not understand English, so we don’t talk. At 21:30 the head nurse administers pain killers and offers to freshen my back “no thanks” then my roommate turns off her light, so I do the same.

But I can’t sleep, so I just toss and turn, 2 hours or so later I wake and patter off to the kitchen to look for food, I’m starving, I find a container of muesli and some milk, I sneakily pour it in a cup alongside a cup of soup, then I craftily return to my room feeling like I’ve subverted the system somehow. The water isn’t hot enough for the cup of soup to melt so there’s fatty globs of it still in the cup, I eat everything anyway, in the dark, then I try to sleep. Another few hours and I manage some shut eye, my body is craving touch from another though, it’s desperately shouting at me.

Good Omens is funny isn’t it?

Eartheater has played and is now probably at some hedonistic afterparty.

TUESDAY 8/10/18

Bleeding

My roommate wakes before me, but I’m half awake, people come in and out (nurses to attend to her requests), she talks on the phone, at 9:00 they wheel in breakfast, 2 slices of stale bread, a piece of plastic cheese and more patties of butter, plus some questionable conserves.

This bread is tough.

A doctor comes in whilst breakfast is still at my side table,

“So you can go whenever you want, we told you what's wrong with you right?”

“When I was high on the drugs you’d given me yes.”

“It’s a hormonal imbalance, you need to go see your gynaecologist so they can give you the IUD.”

“Ok.”

There was no polyp, or alien baby, but I wasn’t conscious so how do I know.

I pack up and exit like a rockstar, but maybe the kind of rockstar your dad becomes at a disco after a few beers rather than Iggy Pop. Before I exit the hospital completely I go see the admin team about my insurance one last time, to ask if I have to call my insurance, because apparently this little hospital holiday will likely cost up to 30k, the woman tells me its ok and I give her a big hug, lilies still in hand, then I dance down to the street, I must still be high on drugs.

i sidestep to the office of the woman I cried at on Friday, because it wasn't her fault so I drew her my lilies to say sorry, she doesn’t have her flowery crocs on today but she's still oddly special and her eyes are crystalline as I run off.

But I’m still bleeding.

I go home on the U Bahn, via the gynaecologists I’ve now crashed into 3 times this week, but my welcome isn’t so warm this time. I need to see the doctor, maybe not today but this week, I hand them my referral note and my operation notes, she goes to talk to him. I get the impression I’m becoming an annoyance now, as if this is all my fault.

“He can see you in 10 days”

“I haven’t stopped bleeding, I need it to be sooner than that.”

She is still kind faced as she ponders this, “ok Thursday morning 8:30?”

“Thats my birthday but yes.”

I finally get home after making some heady announcements via email and facebook that all is right with the world again (drugs still? Who knows).

My rose quartz angel brings me a ton of leafy greens, soups, nuts, tea, yoghurt, chocolate, the care package from heaven and she sits in my little yellow kitchen briefly not drinking her tea.

“So did they take hormonal tests if they think its hormones?

Are you not scared?

I don’t think you should go back to this doctor, I think you need a second opinion and I think he’s a tool, get some more contacts and I’ll do a call round for you tomorrow, see what I can find.”

She had botched surgery before she moved to Berlin, there’s a hole in her mouth now, she called and emailed surgeons all over the world to consult with. She sat opposite a friend of the surgeons, another surgeon, who told her that her investigation could ruin his friends reputation, he didn’t give his opinion.

Doctors are humans to.

After she leaves I’m thrown back in to a land of exasperated worry, I trawl the internet to find more English speaking gynaecologists, I phone the doctor that discharged me, who is not happy to hear from me and through gritted teeth tells me there are no hormone tests, any medical professional would just know that it was an imbalance.

I go to bed worried, the bleeding is getting heavier again.

WEDNESDAY 10/10/18

Bleeding

After a very goog nights rest I receive a call from my rose quartz angel, shes got me an appointment way out at templehof in 2 hours. I dress and get ready slowly, all the connections are seamless, I feel like my angel is with me, I get to the doctors in good time.

Walking through the leafy grounds of the hospital with crisp autumn sun shimmering through the leaves that are a spectrum of warm colours. Not in a panic because my rose quartz angel has sent me a map as well. I walk in exactly on time, have a little tussle with the receptionist about my insurance card, am seated, wait on a white wicker chair reading Alan Watts. The waiting room is airy and feminine, the staff wear pink t-shirts and German pop echoes out from the speaker just to my right above me, I pour myself water and have a little cup of tea.

When my doctor comes out I look at her for 5 minutes before registering she's asking for my name.

Then I repeat my bloody tale of woe to her.

She doesn’t want to just bung me up with an IUD, it will cost me 300euros to do so (or there around) and it won’t solve the problem. She wants to have a look in my uterus as well, so I climb on to her chair and have the spy dildo inserted up me for the 3rd time in the last 7 days, but shes gentle, she tells me it might hurt and to let her know if I’m in pain.

“Well they did a good job of cleaning you out at least because there’s nothing in there now.”

Clothes back on, my ovaries look fine, she’s going to check with her senior doctor to see what he thinks.

I’m back in the waiting room, then in her office.

“So, pills to clot the blood and stop you bleeding. You don’t have to go on the pill, what do you think?”

“I think I want to cover all my bases.”

“Great, me to. Once the bleeding has stopped call us, then we can do a smear test and try to find out whats going on.”

I walk out to a really beautiful autumn day, the kind that framed your first weeks back at school or college, when everything was so fresh and exciting. Whilst I wait for my pills I have coffee and cake at a small cafe that serves the passion cake my mum makes, its the only place I’ve ever found that does so and I’ll be back there again next week.

THURSDAY 11/10/18

Bleeding (getting less)

It’s my birthday.

The bear messages me that the doctor agree’s he's showing symptoms of chlamydia, he's been given antibiotics and I should go ASAP (but no test results as of yet).

“I’ll talk to my gyno next week, its my birthday today and I’m sick of clinics and hospitals this week.”

STI tests are not covered on my insurance.

Ok, no more days need to be charted now, the bleeding is nearly stopped I’ll be back to leafy Templehof at the earliest convenient time next week.

If it is an STI after all this let me just quickly cite what would of happened had I been in the UK with the NHS:

I would of gone to the sex health centre at Homerton Hospital, the same time I went to the emergency doctors on my first visit, around 3 months ago. But I would have had the whole spectrum of tests, rather than just doing 3, because I couldn’t afford the chlamydia test and it would cost 300euro if it came back positive anyway.

A week later I would of received an automated message telling me if I had chlamydia, I would of gone to collect my antibiotics and nothing more would of come of this.

It would of cost the NHS at least a 10th of what its costing my health insurance provider in Germany, because it would of been solved, no carousel of ultrasound spy dildos. No being wheeled down to surgery.

I’m not saying it is Chlamydia, it could be hormones, it could be cancer (but lets brush that one aside), but if it is Chlamydia then this glaring discrepancy of costs and stress is almost mind boggling, all because I would of had access to free testing and treatment.

Anyway I’m done for now, though will update again next week, hopefully in less detail as I’m hoping now I have a diligent and thoughtful doctor I’ll be able to start getting better, and as I say the bleeding has nearly stopped.

My birthday was fantastic, I got to lie on the floor of Saal 1 at Funkhaus and let sound wash over me, bless the folk at Monom, I’m off to Treptower now to see friends I haven’t seen in a while then to a dance studio I’m renting, to sing my heart out in peace. It’s another beautiful day and I’m really looking forward to seeing these friends, I’ve missed them.

But just before I round out this tale of madness for now, I want to say that during the course of the week so many people have been in touch from Berlin and from home to offer support and anything else they can do, it’s really a beautiful thing, there are so many fantastic people in this world and I’m so grateful, thank you. I put all my dirty laundry on display, I don’t really know why, but I get so much from doing it and I don’t think I’ll be stopping anytime soon.

Happy Sunday all.

[cum-om-me]

Personal Entry:

Otter here, first i guess itd be fair to explain a few things up top.

Firstly Otter is a metaphorical alter ego which was created based of a nick name given to me in highh school.

I was coined as "the nomadic Otter" due to my well known history of drifting continuously through this existence being born in a foreign land not to many continents away,but like a gracious river otter flowing with the rivers which eventually reach the seas, i was always stoned more naive, but ironically zen. I was brought here by my single mother at four yrs old, my father was never in the picture nor was i allowed to speak about him or inquire about him to my family and those who may have any information regarding the history of my own coming into being.

We became permanent residents four years later and im currently going through the process of naturalization. I went through the american education system since pre kindergarten so naturalization has occured as an outcome, but just isn't finalized and paid for so i am now going through that initiation. Ive paid and gone through the preliminary round.

We landed in a small town in texas, age four. Came to california at fifteen, twenty years id moved one year to, year and a half due to my mothers profession In the medical field, sometimes, or i guess i should say almost always, we would have to go to where the work was most needed in order to sustain our basic living, taking us all over texas and parts of southern california. After eighteen yrs of age, i left home with duffel bag and a guitar because i wanted to escape the conventual fate planned for me by my elders.

Nature loves courage.... And it is Apparently so.

Of course there are so many factors and so much information to divulge to add the proper context to the point im trying to get to in the conclusion of this story. Im afraid id diverge so ill have to return to all that some other day.

Now that you understand where the otter ego within me (pun intended) was teased and entertained as an ideal character for the person i am, its seeds didnt really start sprouting till last year (2019) and its peaked above the mud, i can explain my newly found understanding of the purpose of using this "alter ego" "character" "avatar" to be able to dissolve the borders of my own limitations as a person creating art. To be able to truly entertain these thoughts through the medium of the otter avatar and not as the man, for it has been increasingly difficult for me to be able to contemplate and philosophize with my peers and the community of souls i once accepted as my tribe, in a way of intellectual taste and progress.. Now it seems the bridges between me and the village are dissolving and im trying to understand why. I stand on the side which i believe to be that of the importance of knowledge of self, critical thinking, and responsible skepticism in order to be able maintain reason within the tribe, to perserve that which is most human in our nature, in comparison to the madness we have seen over and over throughout history displaying itself in obvious patterns of repetition that consumed mobs rabidly, making itself its own enemy. Lets use a symbolic metaphor. The snake eats its own tail in the delusions of unity to find when its finished nothing remains but its mind left exposed, and without protection from even the weakest but competent prey.

You see the metaphors are simply the inner poet, using symbolic visual linguistic tools to paint a clearer picture.

We are a story driven organism, just ask the keepers of morality and the stories of god which has defined the basis of our now hypocritical society using it like a crutch too old to withstand the withering of time, frail and ready to snap like a twig beneath ones feet.

As george carlin once said "no one seems to notice, no one seems to care" and every debate that has naturally transpired in my social structures as of late has lead to a point where logical conclusions, non threatening ones at that, lead to the opposing side raising their white flag and settling for mediocrity. "I dont care, leave me alone"

Then the attack on personality and character are used as a defenses to preserve the beliefs already founded due to the uncomfortable nature of growth.

I sit and watch as i always have the flicker, flame and smell of the bridge burning in blazes right before my teary eyed soul.

Am I no longer included, wanted by the collective community? Has my own pursuit for knowledge, understanding, truth and the inner rapture of personal discovery lead me to ruins door? Am i incapable of getting out of my own way? Can you even go to far within yourself?

No one wants me to feel but its not ok to feel nothing at all

To think but, only on the agreeable subjects of status quo

To speak when spoken to but to only speak what is conveniently easy to digest by a still watered mind threatened by the chaos of waves beating on the shores of its shared sands.

Has erosion driven us mad. Have the corrupted springs poisoned our waters too far beyond repair.

Must i reluctantly recluse amidst the tides and hide underneath lonely currents that travel vast desserts beneath oceans.

Pandemics, parks closed, beaches are now illegal to its native children, by a seemingly upset stepdad whos love is equal to obedience and incapable of parenting,it seems theyre now gunning for the fringe, the free, the open, the love expressed through physical incarnation as its own self love for its own existence, through the odd, differnt, freaks, weirdos, mutants, prophets, and visionaries

Why should i fight for those who dont care about their own person their, own freedom.

Why stand for those who wouldnt even stand with you, nor for you.

"Those who trade freedom for security deserve neither"

-Benjamin Franklin

Yet who am i to claim that anyone deserves anything or doesnt. So regardless of the I Dont Care Generation emerging. I choose to care for not what is principles of good or evil but what i intuitively feel is sincere and right. So I must begin with myself and only in following intention will i be able to incite any real change. By making a difficult choice and knowing that it feels as though the risk is worth the gamble.

So now ive heard loud and clear and i have nothing else to let go of but this. So ill hold my tongue and wish for the best. For the eutopia not the the sneaky slip into distopia.

There's nothing further i can do other than create, experiance, enjoy, let go, and face the music, To put it as Alan Watts did, " this doesnt mean you wont jump when you hear the bang, or that you wont feel fear, but youll accept it, and the person who understands the tao in the morning my sleep peacefully at night"

"Once the mind has been extended it cant ever go back"

-Terrence Mckenna

I hope that you know ive accepted the multitudes of possible outcomes for our future, i may be optimistic but i feel prepared, oddly prepared. This isnt a statement or message based on fear but something none the lesse my heart cannot hold in.

So Otter is born so to speak to embody the imagination im trying to let out without it being taken seriously, but sincerely and within the temple of the timeless. Art.

Without it having to be the me, the person, that funny feeling between the eyes that screams out I, who finds himself walking away from flames due to trial and failure in channeling its own expression. I will not desist i just must evolve and create the platform on which i may rebuild. The system updated and the restart brought about change. Now we begin again. Full of breath, with new found vision, i forgive myself for my failures but i wouldnt ever be able to look at my own reflection if i didnt try until i got it right. I vow to myself and olny to myself for thats the only source of validation needed to exist freely, sovereign, that i will do my best to be who i am meant to be, the being and self of my choosing.

"Most people spend their lives trying to find themselves, lifes about creating yourself"

-Bob Dylan

So in conclusion i know im different, and it may be intimidating but you cant just get rid of it, turns out you must overcome it, and the only way out is through and for me that began when i went within.

I am all for the rules, and being apart of this country and its society and obeying social order but as John Locke wrote in "Common Sense" that this is an unspoken agreement between the govenrment and its people that so long as they are just in ruling us" we will have to obey the law but there must be a way for its people to regain its country when tyranny and injustice is getting in the way of democratic processes and this is coming from a almost fully naturalized immigrant that came here to seek safe haven from a Democratic country plagued by unfairness. It would be a pitty to see it happen to a promise land founded of rich ideals. To those ive come to see as my own brothers and sisters, i love the ideal of true patriotism but where has it gone? If i need to be more protective of my personal privacy so that i may be able to practice my philosophical self studies, music, and comedy, to persue basic creative thinking methods openly. Then i choose this mask nit the one i was told to wear since birth. Theres always an person beneath the mask playing into the drama of this darma and we get into yoga with its fun to preten that we loose ourselves and assume the identity of the character portrayed in the scene in order to truly bring the crowd to the edge of its seat in awe and anticipation of the beauty of its poetry that at the end when the play is concluded both protagonist and antagonist join hands and the audience cheers for both equally for the dazzling deception and its cleverness for playing on the emotions of the observer.

Then the cast returns to the green room and become again who they were naturally.

Im 26 and ive found my character and im ready to submerse myself in its divine play and get involved participate, get lost in the mask of the person which is temporary but the spark behind conciousness seems to be the driving energy of existence benevolent, and eternel. Worth gambling so, now we roll the dice and hit the mystery button, just like the amnesia serum we gave ourselves before conception, into the womb we went. Only when you awaken your consciousness in the dream do you get to control the avatar, lucidly.

It doesnt seem to be a requirement, more like an EXPERIANCE badge rewarded for interesting work in the feild.

These again are ideals, not truths, thoughts and patterns worth examining and if capable entertaining till the conclusions and realizations of truth or delusion run their course. If you havent reached that point you havent really thought it through logistically right?

Lets discuss this comment below.

[starrywinters]

Destined — A Park Woojin Ghost!AU Fanfic

requested by anon!

genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst??

Reader as Im Yumi

warning (not really)!: long(?) one shot ahead;;;

“Yumi-ah! Let’s go on a date tonight! There’s a fair in town and today’s the last day.”

“Alright! I’ll head home and get ready, what time should we meet?”

“No need, I’ll come pick you up at 6PM!”

Heading home, you think about how much fun you and Woojin will have; eating food, winning teddy bears for each other, sharing a cotton candy, basically things couples do. Once you arrive at your house you began planning out your outfit for the night, you decided on a plain white shirt and black shorts. When the clock striked 6, Woojin was at the door, knocking. Guess what? You two were matching, he was wearing a white shirt with a black jacket over and a pair of black ripped skinny jeans. (i suck at describing so basically what he wore in his self-introduction video)

“Oho, sharp as ever Park Woojin.”

“Beautiful as ever Im Yumi,” and he smiles, his snaggletooth showing. inTerNALlY SqUEAlinG!!!!!!

Walking to the fair, your hands brush against each other. You were about to make the first step, slowly inching your hand closer to his to hold onto, but he was a second earlier than you. Grabbing your hand and interlocking them, he swings both your arms happily.

“Let’s win lots of stuffed toys Yumi!”

The fair was crowded with couples and families, he gripped your hand tighter as to keep you close to him, afraid he’d lose you in the sea of humans. You guys passed by a donut stand, and since you were hungry and craved for something sugary, you two bought a donut each. (i..jihoon’s part when he was in the tub full of donuts came up and this happened-)

Passing by many stands, which you kept note of to go back to and win prizes, you see a particular stuffed lion at the basketball shooting booth,

“WOOJINN,” tugging on his sleeve desperately trying to get his attention away from the donut he was very into that donut ok “I FOUND YOUR TWIN OMG, WOOJIIIIINNNNNN!!!1!”

“Ok Yumi, I don’t have a twin, how many times do I have to tell you that???”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN? Your twin is riGHT there!” Points at the stuffed lion plush hanging at the top of the booth. “WE HAVE TO WIN IT, PLEASEEEEEE”

Not wanting to deal with your tantrums right now, he drags you over to the basketball booth and pays the person to play,

“Alright kiddo, if you make 10 baskets in 30 seconds, you can pick any prize you want.”

This is so rigged, 10 in 30 seconds? The baskets move too, wth is this system?? 

However, Woojin wasn’t fazed, I have to win that stuffed toy for Yumi! You can practically see fire surrounding his frame as he determinedly gets in position to shoot.

DING DING DING “WE HAVE A WINNER!”

No, it wasn’t you guys, it was the couple behind you at the other booth, throwing balls into fish bowls to win fish.

You were skeptical of this game as you can see the poop-eating grin on the booth person’s face with his evil conscience telling him to cheat the game and make Woojin play again and again so he can earn money. What a greedy person oh goodness. What he didn’t know was that once Woojin gets into his zonE, nothing can stop him. And I mean nothINGG. Not even this cheating ding-a-ling.

Whispering to him, “You sure you want to do this? This guy seems sketchy…”

“Yes Yumi, I’m 101% sorry my heart still hurts sure! I want to win that toy for you!”

“Ready kiddo?”

“Come at me bro.”

DING DING DING “We have a winner !” (2)

But this time, the tone of the booth person was different, he monotonously announced it as his evil plans failed him. He was so surprised when Woojin began shooting ball after ball into the moving basket, he didn’t think Woojin would win.

Sulkily, he asks, “Which prize would you like?”

“I want that stuffed lion please!” Oh, dear baby Woojin, still so polite even after the guy tried to cheat you. What a pure child.

“AAAHHHH THANK YOU WOOJINNN!!1!” Jumping into his arms, you lean in to peck him on the cheeks. But he moved at the moment to face you and you end up pecking his lips. Frozen (let it gooooo…cough.), you two didn’t know what to do and quickly separated, feeling shy. There was a silence lingering between you two, not awkward but not comfortable either. Trying to get over what happened you grab his hand and pull him to the fishing booth to win fish. Though, the thought of that awkward peck still lingering in the back of both your heads.

Time Skip

As the fair comes to an end, you two start heading home. He walks you all the way to your front door, leaning in he gives you a perfect kiss this time. Not awkward, very comfortable and sweet. He pours all his feelings for you in that one kiss and you respond with the same feelings.

Slowly pulling away, you breathlessly whisper, “I had a great time, Woojin! It was fun! Thanks for spending time with me and winning me these amazing prizes.”

He smiles and responds, “I had a great time with you too, Yumi. This night couldn’t have been better, but it’s time for you to wake up.”

What? Wake up? I’m clearly awake?? “What? Woojin, what are you talking about?”

“Exactly what I said, wake up, Yumi.”

Then everything starts spinning and the words ‘Wake up, Yumi’ continues to echo around you.

Jumping up from your bed, startled, you hear your alarm blaring in the background and your mom shouting at your face to get up.

“DON’T YOU HAVE TO GO DO YOUR DAILY VISITS? WHY AREN’T YOU GETTING UP? YOU’RE LATE.”

Daily visits? Late? To what? Looking at your clock you see that it’s almost 12PM, thinking back to what you usually do in the mornings everyday- Oh, OH. OH SHOOT, I’M LATE. NOOOO. Rushing out of your room and into the bathroom, you faintly hear your mom shouting at you to stop running, but all you could think and care about as of the moment is that you’re late. Late to something important, late to something you promised to do everyday.

Running out of the house, to a flower shop, and then heading to your destination, you arrive there breathless. Taking a break on the nearby bench, trying to catch your breath, you think of the times you used to spend with a certain person. Your light, your world, the one who can make you fully happy. besides family of course.

Heading towards the stone, you grip onto the bouquet of lilies. Why did it happen to you? Why did you do what you did? You should’ve let me be the one to have taken the hit, why did you push me away? At this point, tears were streaming down your face, holding back a sob you walk closer and closer towards the stone.

“Hey Woojin, sorry I was late today, I was dreaming about us again, this time at the fair we went to last year. Remember that?” You feel a gust of wind blowing at you, shivering you glance around quickly, who am I kidding? That’s just wind Yumi, stop reading those ghost stories and get your head out of the clouds!

“How are you today, Woojin? Did you make any friends where you’re at? I still live with the regret of you taking the hit instead of me you know? Why did you do that? Why did you do that to yourself? I was the one that was supposed to be where you’re at right now,” you finally let yourself loose. Sinking down to the ground, you begin sobbing into your knees.

“Yumi.” You hear a whisper in the air, vaguely sounding like Woojin. Looking up in shock, you desperately try to find him, screaming out his name. When your eyes reaches a tree a few yards away, you see a silhouette. Getting up and slowly walking towards the tree, the face of the person becomes clearer and clearer. It’s Woojin! Not believing your eyes, you quicken your footsteps, jogging, running until you get to him.

“WOOJIN!” Your heart is soaring, “It really is you! But I thought- How are you here?”

He doesn’t speak, he looks scared to. He’s hiding something.

You rush to hug him, but you can’t?? Your arms pass through him and you stare in shock. “W-what? Woojin, wha- what just happened?”

“Yumi-ah, I- I’m not alive, I’m really dead. I’m a ghost Yumi-ah, you can finally see me. I’ve been watching over you, you haven’t been well have you? I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

“W-woojin..”

“I’m sorry baby, but I don’t have much time.. Now that you’ve noticed me, I only have a few hours before they take me. My only wish to fulfill before I leave was for us to finally be able to see each other one last time.”

“Let’s- let’s make the most of the few hours you have, Woojin-ah. Okay? I have a wish to fulfill too, and that is to spend a few more hours with you, so don’t leave me yet okay?”

You two end up back at your house, “cuddling” on your bed and watching movies. You didn’t feel like heading out, so you opted to just watching movies with him and spending some quality time together; playing games, dancing, singing, etc.

Time goes by fast when you have fun, huh?

A minute remains until he has to leave.

30 seconds

15

5

4

3

2

“Promise me we’ll meet again in the next life.”

1

“I promise.”

A year later, news of an unfortunate accident involving Im Yumi has been reported in the news. 

A decade later

It was the first day of kindergarten, you were somewhat excited and nervous. “Mommy, can’t you come in with me?”

“No sweetie, mommy is sorry, she can’t. Mommy has to work remember? Don’t worry, the teachers inside are nice and you’ll make so many new friends!”

Heading into the classroom, you take a seat all the way at the back. The table you sat on was near a group of four boys loudly chatting, you felt so awkward until one of the four boys walked up to you.

“Hi! I’m Park Woojin, but you can call me Woojin,” sticking his hand out for a high five. “Nice to meet you! What’s your name?” His smile is cute.

“Hello! I’m Im Yumi and you can call me Yumi, nice to meet you too, Woojin!”

Yumi / Woojin…? She / he seems so familiar?

“Want to meet my friends? Let’s go!” And he drags you back to his table without waiting for a reply.

♡ It was simply faith that we would meet again.♡

not proofread! (like always)

ok so i went too deep with this hahah..hah..ha

anyway! hope you like this! ♡

[amazinghcwkeye]

                        META TALKS;;  CLAIRE && PREGNANCY && SEX

(  OVERALL TRIGGERS FOR childhood sexual abuse, domestic violence, mention of a miscarriage, mention of wanting an abortion, sexual harassment and rape. Bad and sexist language is also used. Please tread carefully if any of these things trigger you.  )

First thing first, this is going to get down and dirty and I am not going to mince words. Claire was sexually abused at the orphanage and the circus. Because of this, she developed C-PTSD/PTSD and has complex emotions towards sex and pregnancy. 

** IMPORTANT: Everything has been researched very carefully and some of it is based on my own experiences. Please do not come into my inbox or ims screaming about how I don’t know anything. And yes, well everything in here is a bit dark, it’s something that has been in development for over a few years. This was not spur of the moment, this has been thoughts and headcanons I’ve collected and worked on since starting Claire’s blog originally. If you don’t want to read anything in here, that’s fine. While this headcanon is apart of this blog, not all of this is going to show up in most of the threads, so don’t worry. Also this is part 1/? who knows how many meta talks i’ll be having about Claire.  

I'm really nervous about sharing this but I really want to, so that said, let’s get into this. 

Her first introduction into sex was after their parents died, because despite how horrible Harold Barton was, he sheltered his children (imho) from things like sex and relationship and their mother figured they were too young to even really talk about anything like sex and finding love. So, her first introduction was with the man who did the orphanage’s laundry. He thought she was pretty and she was just terrified and unable to really find a niche in the home and so she looked for places to hide which is where he found her, hiding and he took advantage of her. When her and Barney managed to run, she tried to leave behind the icky feelings that came from what happened to her, but she was never able to really get rid of them. 

Which leads to..

Claire’s first time was with Viktor, the son of the fortune teller at the circus. She was 15 years old and he was 17 and she didn’t love him. But after breaking up with a townie shortly before going on the road again, Viktor offered to take her to a party where they got drunk and slept together in the bedroom of some townie who they didn’t know and honestly, she loved it. Afterwards though, she quietly sobbed in the bathroom, mentally eviscerating herself for sleeping with someone she didn’t love because that meant that the laundry guy was right; she was a whore. 

(of course we know that is a big ass lie) 

After that, Claire got herself another boyfriend, this time a little older (which is very illegal) and focused on trying to ignore the overwhelming feelings of complete dirtiness that came from all her drinking and fucking. He was a townie and believed her when she said she was old enough. After a few weeks, she got sick of him and broke up. But then she realised that she was getting sick in the mornings shortly after and that was the first time Claire got pregnant. At 16, she couldn’t be a parent, she was hardly a functioning adult. But she didn’t want to have an abortion, she was raised in a religious orphanage and thought that it was wrong. 

It didn’t matter though, the strain of training and the violence that she lived with in the circus caused her to miscarry and while she cried daily about it, there was a little part of her that was relieved that she didn’t have to figure out what to do anymore. Her relief lasted shortly though as she realized that with losing the baby, she gained a crippling sleeping problem that made her drink more and act out. She waited a bit to start dating again, she had heard that if you had sex after being pregnant (even if you had a miscarriage) you could risk getting pregnant again and she was too terrified of that. 

Though after a few months of not sleeping unless she was piss drink, Claire went back to dating and sleeping around because the nightmares from when she was younger was scarier than the nightmares of getting pregnant. Her first “boyfriend” after her miscarriage was the Strongman of the circus. He was violent and reminded her of her father and she made sure that no matter how drunk she was, she took the birth control that she had stolen. She refused to end up like her mother: shackled to a man who abused her and her kids. After a few months, she broke it off with him. Sorta. He was not one to take no for an answer so Claire just ignored most of his advances and slept with a knife under the bed. 

(Even if that didn’t protect her all the time) 

After the circus and the relationships that destroyed her understanding of basic relationships, Claire would get drunk and sleep with whoever was nearby. Sometimes, she would sleep with her marks or people who employed her and she occasionally dealt with people who refused her saying no unless she held a gun to their heads. ( unfortunately, more than once she had incidents where she didn’t have a weapon to protect herself and despite her training there are people stronger than her       it’s why she has so many scars on her body ) 

That was until she came across a situation where she felt she had fallen in love with a mark; sure he was wanted for a lot of things ( murder, thievery, being a turncoat, things that claire normally abhorred ) but he valued her opinions and made her feel wanted. Deciding to stay with him for a bit, she lived on the run with him and they decided they were going to start a family. But things weren’t as they seemed and shortly after she got pregnant - whoo boy did that do a huge damage on her mentality - he went missing. Too far along for an abortion, Claire was forced to carry the baby to term. 

Throughout it all, she suffered mentally. Her body changed in a way she didn’t like, she was forced to go into hiding until after she went into labor, she was forced to deal with nightmares every night she was actually able to go to sleep. She wanted to drink, all the time, but she didn’t because she didn’t want to hurt the baby even if she didn’t want it. Claire tried to find him all the time but she couldn’t and by time she actually gave birth, she was severely depressed and ready to end her life. 

Giving birth was the worst part of her life, she hated every second of the event and when she had given birth to the baby, she refused to hold the child. Everyone chalked it up to postpartum depression but Claire knew it was because this child wasn’t going to stay with her. She wasn’t going to risk giving the child up for adoption in a foster system - she had been a victim of it and she refused to do that to a child she didn’t want - but she knew she had to get rid of the kid. 

She spent a year looking and after finding a family that wanted a child (after secretly watching them for that length of time) she left the baby with them, swearing to watch over the child to make sure it was loved and cared for and promising to leave money in their bank account every month to help them. 

Not long after that, Claire was picked up by SHIELD and became an agent. During the beginning she was sent on honeypot missions (not that often but enough that Claire has developed a healthy hatred of trying to seduce someone and now just flirts really bad) and Claire hated every bit of it, and she eventually told her handlers that she refused to do those types of missions anymore because she felt uncomfortable using her body in such a way. Her first handler (before Coulson) didn’t care and told her that she was a weapon to be used how SHIELD wanted because she was a criminal who belonged in prison not working for the government.

Claire bucked it up and continued to do whatever mission that was sent her way. If a few of her missions lead to sexual harassment then she didn't complain. She knew her place - even if she argued with it. By time she finally decided that she had had enough, she was having hard time sleeping, nightmares and just hated working there, and so she decided to approach Fury and tell him to toss her in prison, at least there she had a chance to escape. When asked where all the negative emotions were coming from, Claire explained what was going on and Fury was not happy. 

She got a brand new handler and life at SHIELD got a bit easier to deal with. But there was still some trauma that was not dealt with because even though she was forced to go to aSHIELD therapist, she refused to truly talk about why honeypot missions bugged her and so she didn’t really deal with it. 

Which leads to..

Future relationships with Claire is so low maintenance (even if she does occasionally have problems where she cheats without meaning to) that she honestly just wants to cuddle and not discuss her past relations with her partner. When it comes to kids, oh god does she have problems. She wants them, she really does, but at the same time, she’s still haunted by the child she left behind. Any relationship she would have is a relationship built on trust and love and she’s terrified that finding out that she has a child, that finding out that her entire sexually history is tainted by dark heavy stuff that she’d rather just never explain will destroy any relationship. 

If it ever came to discussing having kids, Claire would probably have an internal freak-out and then, after trying to ignore it for so long, Claire would explain her history of pregnancy and talk about it with them. If she ever got pregnant, she’d deal with it badly by talking with her partner and a lot of communication by hiding it in the beginning, she would be terrified that they’d leave if they found out (because last time she thought she had a forever relationship, it went badly). When it came out, she would be over consumed by feelings and in some situations (if she felt too confined) she might even leave. Eventually she’d just come out and explain that when she was younger she had a child, gave it up and has felt horrible about it for years. She knows that she can’t take it back and she really doesn’t want to, but she would still regret it.

Eventually after much therapy, she would learn that what happen wasn’t her fault and that she is better than what her past was. She would also learn (after taking parenting classes) how to be a better parent. Because while much of her trauma towards children settle deeply from what was done to her and how she reacted towards it, a lot of it still stems from the abuse that was done to her by her father. Honestly, relationships would be hard even if she wasn’t abused, because she would be terrified of ending up like her mother or ending up like her father and not trusting herself not to end up like either of them. 

OTHER THINGS: 

Claire struggles with insecurity due to the abuse she suffered. In a relationship, she struggles with feeling good enough for the other person and she also struggles with drinking during a relationship. She feels like she doesn’t deserve her partner and will show it by either attaching herself to the other person or distancing herself.

[amidalc]

ST THEED’S ACADEMY ; ;          GOSSIP GIRL && BOARDING SCHOOL GROUP VERSE

Welcome to St. Theed’s Academy, the most prestigious school in all of the UK with a reputable alumni which includes many of the elite worldwide. Here students after their years of study often end up in Cambridge, Oxford, Sorbonne, Ivy Leagues, etc. St. Theed’s Academy is located in the East Kent countryside not a far drive away from the town of Canterbury, allowing the students to enjoy the fresh air and tranquillity of the countryside. Here at ST. Theed’s we have students && staff from every corner of the world; both fee-paying && on scholarship programs, making St. Theed’s not only an academia of excellence && great promise, but also one of diversity && inclusion. To give the students the best of the best we offer them extra curricular activities, summer internships, class trips abroad, their own dorm-rooms shared with a roommate  (  all same-sex of course  ) .

Though there have been disturbing rumours of drugs && secret parties && raves, rest assure those are naught but media fabrications all constructed by the new blog Gossip Girl anonymously posting pictures && rumours trying to stir up drama && conflicts where there isn’t any, truly, rest assure we have new staff && a new head in place who is here to investigate these claims. Will the students to resist the new head’s extensive measures in applying discipline && show them how things are done ??? Or will the new head revolutionise && alter the school to make sure the inside is just as perfect as the outside ???

Here at St. Theed’s we only pick the crème de la crème, the best of the best(or those who can pay), for today’s youths will be tomorrow’s elite.

RULES

This verse is loosely inspired bt The CW’s Gossip Girl TV show && of Cecily Von Ziegesar’s Gossip Girl novel series && the IT-Girl novel series. However you don’t need extensive knowledge of the show or novels, the plot is based on the verse summary && we’ll develop it further amongst ourselves !!!

The AU is a modern verse, and set in England, but your muse does not need to be English to join the AU.

The role of Gossip Girl is that they post pictures && blogposts regarding gossip && rumours regarding the students, posts are not always true or fully true.

The role of Gossip Girl will have a sideblog which is their fictional blog account, where users can send in anonymous ( or non-anonymous ) rumous, tips, etc !!! If anyone wishes for their muse to be Gossip Girl just hmu ♥ 

No faceclaim duplicates unless you want to do a twin thing, then you need to tell me beforehand c:

Years freshman to senior will have a head girl or boy each, if you wish to have your muse as a head do tell me !!! But make sure that the position isn’t taken && also make sure that your muse is suitable for the role; good grades, good relations with staff, good behaviour on the outside, etc etc.

There will be mature content such as drugs, sex, drinking, etc. Please tag your mature content thanks.

I will prioritise mutuals before non-mutuals, however, I won’t exclude non-mutuals wholly && i won’t make it difficult for any non-mutuals to join.

St. Theed’s Academy is an elite poshsnob school, so basically there are five different types of students; trustfund wealthy students with a legacy, newly rich students with celebrity parents. students who aren’t from a wealthy background but who have a parents working in the school i.e. they attend for free, students on an academic scholarship && students on an athletic scholarship, the latter two who come from families that are not wealthy, whether they’re middle-class or poor is up to you. 

Though drugs && partying is a regular occurrence that the school tends to hush up in public to maintain a clean facade.

IC drama ;; yes please! !!! Bring it all on cliques, drama, betrayal, etc. But no ooc drama thank, such notions mean immediate banning from the verse.

I will have a maximum of two teachers && two assistant teachers for each subject, one coach && two assistant coaches for each extracurricular.

Staff can teach /// train a maximum of two subjects/curriculars.

Staff may also have one subject && one curricular.

Cut your posts please. 

Constant activity is not required.

Though my muse is from the Star Wars series && the group name comes from a city in the series, this verse has nothing to do with Star Wars. I only might use names here && there from the series for fun.

You can request dormmates for you muse with a specific muse, otherwise dormmates will be selected at random.

Classes go from Year 5 to Year 8  (   9-14 years old   )   && then there’s Secondary school years; Freshman ( 14-15 years old ), Sophomore ( 15-16 years old ), Junior ( 16-17 years old )  && Senior ( 17-18 years old ). Each grade will have a head girl && head boy. I know the UK doesn’t use this latter system, but it’s far easier to organise this way.

You can apply as a student, teacher, assistant teacher, coach/leaders/trainer of a specific extracurricular activity && headmaster/mistress.

Though if you want the role as headmaster/mistress people im me, because I have a specific bio in mind. 

Double are allowed in twin verses, but just tell me beforehand.

NO GODMODDING!

Track the verse V; THEED ELITE

There will be a Group AU Discord server, when accept I’ll im you the link ♥

Send applications to the admin @amidalc

HOW TO APPLY(UNDER THE CUT)

STUDENT APPLICATIONS

CHARACTER NAME: AGE: HOMETOWN: Town/city/etc + country. GRADE: EXTRACURRICULAR ACTIVITIES: Examples, archery, horseback-riding, debate, cheerleading, chess, etc. (max 3 activities &&you can of course come up with one of your own) WHAT SORT OF STUDENT IS YOUR MUSE; ON SCHOLARSHIP(IF SO WHICH KIND?), THE CHILD OF A STAFFMEMBER, LEGACY STUDENT/TRUSTFUND KID?: FACECLAIM: MUN’S NAME: ADDITIONAL INFO: Nothing obligatory, but can include requests of dormmates, wish to be a headgirl/boy, etc.

STAFF APPLICATIONS

CHARACTER NAME: AGE: HOMETOWN: Town/city/etc + country. OCCUPATION: Teacher, assistant teacher, leader/coach/trainer for extracurricular activities SUBJECT TAUGHT/WHICH ACTIVITIES DO THEY LEAD: Examples, horseback-riding, debate, cheerleading, chess, etc. FACECLAIM: MUN’S NAME: ADDITIONAL INFO: Nothing obligatory, but just in case you have any special requests!  

MEMBERS

staff:

girls:

GIRLS DORM ROOM ONE:

PADMÉ NABERRIE( @amidalc​ ) ;; junior, head girl, age 16 | legacy trustfund student | extracurricular activities ;; cheerleading, ballet && student council | FACECLAIM: gabbi garcia | hometown: quezon city, the philippines | mun: jaz

GIRLS DORM ROOM TWO:

SATINE KRYZE ( @kryzeborn ) ;; senior, head girl, age 18 | legacy trustfund student | extracurricular activities ;; debate team, drama club && cheerleading | FACECLAIM: negin mirsalehi | hometown: brighton, england | mun: jaz

GIRLS DORM ROOM THREE:

WYLLA MANDERLY ( @viridisyreni​ ) ;; sophomore, age 15 | trustfund student | extracurricular activities ;; debate team && swimming | FACECLAIM: imogen poots | hometown: brighton, england | mun: zoe

boys:

BOYS DORM ROOM ONE:

BEN KENOBI( @kxncbiis​​ ) ;; senior, age 18 | academic scholarship student | extracurricular activities ;; debate, model un && environmental club l | FACECLAIM: ewan mcgregor | hometown: perth, scotland | mun: shiri

[btsvt-adventures]

Sixty Percent

Title: Sixty Percent Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Warning(s): Mentions of death, suicide, dark thoughts, strong language, gore depression, overdosing, self harm, self deprecation, self hatred, anger, lashing out, verbal abuse, physical abuse

If you’re easily triggered, please don’t read this

Word Count: 3097

A/N: This is so dark oh god. Also i wanted to post this on Hobi’s birthday (for dramatic purposes okay) but things got in the way, and well… it’s late. Oh well.

60% of males with Schizophrenia attempt suicide at least once. Today is Hoseok’s fifth.

He glances at the handful of pills in his palm, watches them glint against the harsh white of the asylum’s bathroom lights.

Do it.

It ain’t like anyone gonna miss you

That bitch doesn’t really love you. It’s all fake! All so you’ll be a good, quiet little patient  

Do it right and we will go away, cross our hearts

And hope you die

The shadows were taunting him again, tempting him to try. They crept along the walls, in the mirror, behind him, next to him, in the corners of the room. Where he went, his shadows followed. When darkness came, his shadows ruled.

He’d stolen the pills, after getting Taehyung to distract the staff. Taehyung had been delighted, eager to lie and trick anyone and everyone he could. With that boxy smile of his, it’s easy to believe him, easy to fall into his trap, easy to let him lead you and all the others away. He stares at them for a moment, the bottle of water in his hand shaking slightly.

Six years. It was exactly six years ago that he was admitted. He’d kicked and fought, yelling at his parents that he was fine, that he wasn’t actually going to kill himself, and that he’d meant for it to be a joke. His parents cried, sobbed, wailed as they put their precious son into the asylum, swore that they’d visit him, that they’d get him out when he was better.

They never came back.

He resented them, of course he did, for never visiting, never calling, for basically leaving him here to die, but it was tiring being angry all the time.

It’s not so bad, he supposes, glancing in the mirror, eyes roaming over his gaunt features, worn and tired, making him look older than his twenty two- no, twenty-three years. He sighs, mind drifting again, to the things he’s done to all the messed up patients here.

And what fun it was.

He’s seated across Jungkook, scoffing quietly when he sees the younger lash out at another nurse. Jeon Jungkook, 20 this year, and still as easy to piss off as when he was admitted a mere three years ago.

Make him angry.

Fucking piss ‘im off real good

Fight! Fight! Fight already won’cha?

Don’t be a fucking wuss, do it, you little bitch!

It doesn’t take much for him to cave. The voices, the shadows, they loved screwing with Jungkook, pissing him off to the point that they’d fight. Hoseok’s lips curl into a manic grin, the shadows cheering him on as he stands abruptly, strolling easily towards Jungkook.

“Yah, you’re pathetic, you know that?” he sneers gleefully, and Jungkook glares at him, barely restrained anger burning in his wide doe-like eyes.

“Someone with such a baby face, you’re just begging to be babied aren’t you, cute little maknae,” he goads, and Jungkook’s glare intensifies.

“Shut your face, dickhead,” he snipes, fists clenching as he fights the urge to punch Hoseok in the face.

Hoseok gets stopped (unfortunately), dragged away before he can cause any more trouble. He lets out a manic laugh, eyes wild as he loses a shred of fragile, composed sanity. The male nurses take him back to his room and sedate him, threatening to keep him in lockdown if he misbehaves again.

He does, repeatedly, but the nurses eventually figure he won’t actually push Jungkook far enough for the younger to kill him.

With Yoongi it’s more… stimulating. He gets a kick out of seeing nine year old Yoongi bawl his eyes out when Hoseok ‘tells’ on him. Yoongi will sulk, pout, whine and wail, just so he doesn’t have to take his medication.  

But the fun part isn’t watching a twenty-four, almost twenty-five year old turn into a nine year old. The fun part, is when Hoseok can catch Yoongi at nine, and force him to turn to his deliciously violent, oh-so-sexy nineteen year old self.

“He faked taking his meds today,” he tells one nurse casually, innocent lilt in his tone. Yoongi cusses him out, and he just laughs, high pitched and gleeful, watching as the nurses pin Yoongi down and force the myriad of pills into his system.

“I’ll have my revenge, asshole!” Yoongi snarls, fighting hard against the male nurses, who all struggle to keep him from killing them (or Hoseok).

Hoseok would have let him, but the nurses pull him away, somehow determined to keep everyone alive. If only they’d realized that half of them didn’t want to be.  

He laughs, darker, more manic, slowly descending into the madness of his own mind. Everyone has their own demons, and he watches the misery, anger, hatred, fear, and uncontrollable urges consume the other patients. He giggles in wild, deranged glee when the sounds of their screams echo along the hallways, knowing their nightmares taunt them, their own demons rip them apart, piece by delightful piece.

He revels in the knowledge that they’re suffering too.

That he’s not the only one.

The therapists try and tell him his demons aren’t real, that he should stop listening to the false promises and dark whispers of the shadows, but they don’t understand.

They’re real.

They haunt him, and taunt him.

They make his life a living hell. But the dreams are worse.

Failure.

‘Course you suck. Pussy.

Well look who fucked up?  As per-fucking-normal

Looks like you failed again.

He growls, swiping at the shadows, screaming for them to go away, to just leave him be. He screams until his voice is hoarse, but they laugh at him, hurling razor sharp insults until all Hoseok wants to do it slam his head against a wall until he’s broken, and they’re gone for good.  

Hoseok wants to die, to leave this dismal, dark, horror-filled world for the peace of eternal darkness, and this time he’s going to succeed. He closes his fist around the colourful pills, eyes shut as he takes a deep breath.

A brief memory flashes in his mind, a burst of colour in his dark, dark world. A memory of you.

Your first meeting wasn’t significant, just a fleeting smile, and a sweet “good morning,” but it stopped Hoseok in his tracks. You were new back then, fresh faced and hopeful to help the people in this place.

Hoseok almost wanted to scoff when he first saw you. No one here could be helped. It was an asylum for a reason. But you tried anyway. Everyday you helped Jimin battle his demons, coaxed Yoongi into being more receptive, switching the way you spoke as effortlessly as he did between his childlike innocence and violent alter-ego.

He saw it in the way you refused to take nonsense from Taehyung, but let him get away with those white lies he couldn’t help but tell, in how you gently reminded Seokjin that eating six people’s worth of food was too much, but letting him have that extra bowl of rice anyway.

He wanted to hate you, to sneer at how easy it was for you to lie (read: talk) to the patients, how all of them seemed happier whenever you were around. He found himself gravitating towards you, unknowingly craving the same affection you offered the rest of his ‘circle.’

You were just so good, too pure for this hellhole they’d assigned you to. You never said a word about what Jungkook did to his teacher, the way he mutilated her, tortured her in ways so twisted the news dared not report the severity of it, before she was granted the painful mercy of death. You spoke to him like the troubled teen you knew he was, coaxing him to talk to you about things that interested him.

Hoseok tried to deny it. He didn't want to be friends with you, didn't want to have hope in his already hopeless world. He pushed you away, insulted you, sneered and treated you terribly, anything to get the glimmer of hope blooming in his heart to stop growing. It taunted him, mocked him almost, but he was just so fucking drawn to you.

“Jung Hoseok right?” you grinned brightly at him, and he’s blinded, bathed in brilliant, beautiful colours, contentment and sheer peace washing over him. He’s floating, high on your gentle voice and kind eyes, drowning in so much… light, that for the first time in his life, he truly, truly believes his life isn’t meant to be shrouded in shadows.

He nods, completely enamored by you, but more enraptured by the fact that you didn’t classify him by his illness. He was just Jung Hoseok.

It was good, so, so good.

At first.

You chased the shadows away, made him laugh, made him happy. You snuck in sweets and snacks after bedtime, shared silly stories about childhood and about family, friends, and Hoseok felt… normal.

Then the shadows come back, fiercer and darker than before. Hoseok’s plagued with horrifying, terrifying nightmares, of you mocking him, of you looking down and laughing at how much of a shell he truly is. He wakes up screaming your name, and grabs the nearest thing (his plastic cup), hurling it at you when you come sprinting in. Every time.

“You! You!” he screams, thrashing as the other nurses try and hold him down, injecting him with relaxant. “You’re a liar! They say you’re a liar and you don’t really care! They say you’re using me,” he shrieks, tears sliding down his face. Hoseok looks you dead in the eyes, and for the first time you see how truly haunted he is.

You’re frozen the first time, heart dropping when you see how much he truly believes his nightmares. The helplessness claws at you, tearing you apart as you watch him struggle, shrieking at the top of his voice, frenzied with fear and panic while his mind falls apart once more.

“You. You’ll break me. You’ll break me, and I’ll let you,” he whispers, mellowing out as the medication takes effect.

You head straight into the break room when he’s completely calm, eyes shut in temporary peace, and you hiccup, letting your weakness, your pain wash over you. Hoseok’s only a few years older than you, but his eyes, in that moment, were filled with more pain and torment that you could ever think was possible.  You let your emotions take control, sobbing in the tiny break room while the other nurses bustle around, some shooting you sympathetic looks, others leaving you alone to cry it out.

It doesn’t stop you. The shock eventually wears off, and you’re more prepared to handle him. You come back each time he screams your name, reassuring him you’re not going anywhere, that you truly do care, that the shadows are lying.

“How do you know they’re lying?” Hoseok asks you one day. It’s a good day today. The shadows are quiet, lurking in the darkest corners of the brightly lit room.

“Because I’m here, right now. The shadows, they never tell you good things, like how your laugh makes everyone laugh, how you’re so pretty when you smile, how you’re kind to everyone, even the ever-so-grumpy Min Yoongi,” you ramble on, and on, and Hoseok feels hope and affection bloom deep in his heart.

You lace your fingers with his, and he stares at it, almost in shock, before he turns your hand over, tracing the lines on your soft palm with almost childlike curiosity. He wants to memorise just how soft your hands are, learn each line and cut, trace over the smoothness of the tips of your fingers until he can see them imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Hoseok’s in awe, because he thought your hands would be calloused, rough from having to deal with patients like him and Yoongi all the time.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to the center of your palms, and comes back up to peck a soft, sweet kiss to your cheek, feeling his already impossibly wide grin widen when he sees a pretty pink dust your delicate cheekbones.

When Hoseok first realizes it’s love, he knows he’s screwed. He tries to deny it, but he can’t resist. Each smile makes him want to push harder. Each sweet kiss gives him hope. The nurses are amazed by how much progress he’s made. Each time you praise him, he feels so full of love he thinks he’s going to burst.

But that was only in the light.

Once darkness takes over, the shadows taunt him for it. It’s a constant struggle, desperately trying to remember the happiness that filled his heart when he saw you mere hours ago. The days you’re not there are the hardest. He’d resort to sleeping pills, just so he could hide his struggles, because your happiness meant his happiness.

She’s lying

She only wants to see you when you’re happy

Once you crack, she’ll disappear

They all disappear

Always

Two nights later, it’s a bad night. He’s angry, violent, furious at both you and the world. He stalks you, like a predator would a prey, hurling sharp, hurtful words that burn themselves into your brain,

“Slut! Bitch! You’d open your legs for any damn guy who asks, thinking it’ll heal them? Make them better?” he snarls, eyes feral as he grips your arm tight. You gasp, not in pain, but in shock. There were bad days, but this was different.  

“Only for you hobi, I only want you,” you murmur quietly, reaching out to cup his cheek, not resisting when he pulls you closer by your arm, snarling in your ear.

“Liar. What a fucking liar you are. Here’s some breaking news, bitch. We’re all here because we can’t be fucking fixed. So get the fuck out of here and leave us to rot in this goddamn hellhole!” he roars, shoving you away, before letting the nurses tackle him.

He looks straight at you, lip curling in disgust, eyes filled with contorted hate and glee.

“I told you you’d break me.”

Four nights later, he cracks. The lack of sleep, the constant torment, the whispers in the dark about hurting you before you hurt him, about him already being broken, drive him over the edge. He screams at you, hands flying and voice hoarse.

You reach for him, cooing softly, lacing your fingers together so he’ll calm down, but he tries to pull away.  

“This is your fault! All your goddamn fault!” he shrieks, pulling away violently. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you fucking dare touch me!” he hollers, glaring hatefully at you.

It’s a choice. You can see the choice he makes in his manic, wild eyes, but it’s too late to stop it, and the sharp sound of palm meeting cheek echoes in the suddenly silent room.

It’s enough to shock Hoseok back to his distorted reality, and he panics when he sees you on the floor, eyes glazed over as you hold your reddened cheek, the mix of pain and shock clearly evident in your eyes.

“I- No, no please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, the shadows they-they keep telling me to hurt you, I try, I try so fucking hard to ignore them, but they haunt me. They torture me with dreams of you leaving, of you mocking me, saying I’m hopeless, that I can’t be cured, I just want the voices to go away!” he screams, falling to his knees in front of you, reaching out to tug your hands away so he can see the damage for himself.

“And they will go away,” you promise softly, letting him run his fingers over the mark, his mark, heart shattering at the remorse and regret on his handsome face. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. You’re going to get better, okay?”

You’re still stunned, because you knew the risks of getting too close to a volatile patient like Hoseok, but you couldn’t help it. He drew you in, mysterious and haunting, one minute goofy smiles, the next hateful glares. Your cheek burns hot, tender to the touch, but the pain doesn’t compare to how much it hurt when he broke, when you saw just how much you broke him.

Hoseok was right.

You did break him, and a dark, demented part of him hoped the knowledge would haunt you, knowing it was your fault.

He tried. Hoseok tried so hard for you, but they kept getting worse, and worse. The voices, the shadows, whispering evil into his sick, twisted mind, telling him to end his misery, to end his pain. He’d tried so, so hard, but the shadows, the torment, the torture – He failed.

60% of males with Schizophrenia attempt suicide at least once. 10.5% of them succeed.

For the first time in his life, Hoseok won’t be a failure.

This time he’d succeed. This time he’ll make them go away for good. The shadows will finally leave him in peace. He’ll be free.

He grips the bottle tighter, tilts his head back, and downs everything. It doesn’t take long, and he gasps in pain, feeling his insides churning. His vision blurs out, and he’s on his knees, body trying desperately to reject whatever he’d forced down. He vaguely hears the door slam open, hears your voice cry in alarm, and almost, almost wants to fight back, but he’s tired.

He’s just so tired.

He feels himself being lifted onto something soft, so, wonderfully soft, and glances up to see you, yelling out orders to try and cleanse his stomach, to try and figure out what he took.

“N-no,” he forces out, mouth drier than the sahara desert. “N-no m-more,” he rasps, and you look down at him, desperation clear in your eyes. He knew it was time, but he needed you to know it too.

“A-always...Love y-you,” he breathes, shaky hand reaching up to try and brush your tears away. He misses, stroking your cheek instead, but you choke on a sob-laugh, letting him see, openly, how much this hurts you too. He hears, just barely, your heartbroken plea for him to stay, to keep fighting, but the shadows are crowding his vision, his world darkening one final time. He lets himself languish in the darkness, feeling it envelop him in it’s cool, soothing embrace.

Peace.

At 12.00am, Jung Hoseok sees his twenty-third birthday. At 12.28pm, he realises he’ll never see his twenty-fourth.

At 12:29pm, on 18 February 2017, Jung Hoseok closes his eyes on his twenty-third (and final) birthday.

[aplaceforthesoul]

Anonymous submitted:

19/f i’ve been very sad and upset with myself lately. i’m currently in the first year of uni and even though i’ve made many friends since the start of the school year, i feel terrible for not belonging to any group, like i don’t have stable friends who i can hit up and hang out with or study with during free time. all my life until sophomore year of high school, i always belonged somewhere. it was only when i moved schools during junior year when i had trouble really belonging somewhere but it was a little better during my last two years of high school since other groups would invite me and another close friend to hang out during free time and were actually really nice to us but those groups didn’t really consider us as part of them, just close friends. many of the people from my last two years of high school are in the same uni i am in right now and many of them are taking up the same course as i am but they have all found new groups or they now have a stronger friendship i guess that i don’t feel comfortable hanging out with them alone anymore because i feel like if i would always tag along, they wouldn’t be able to talk about certain things. the only stable friend i have is my best friend of 12 years who has her own friend group (her classmates senior year of high school, i’m from another class) but i feel a little comfortable hanging out with now but only if she is with me. i still feel awkward hanging around them because i am always around when they make plans together and i know they also feel awkward making plans when i am with them because they want to hang out as senior year classmates and reunite and catch up. it’s totally fine with me and i totally understand if they make plans without me, i mean i’m not from their class anyway. i feel awkward knowing that they feel awkward talking about it. oh god im not making sense anymore but yeah. i also feel so annoying always following my best friend around like a puppy and i also feel awkward because i am always a third wheel between her and her boyfriend because we usually make plans to study together but then her bf would call in the middle of us studying and he wants to study with her. im actually pretty comfortable around her bf since he’s also my friend, i just feel like i’m always in the way between them spending quality time together and whatnot which is why i go home early sometimes to let them have study dates just the two of them. i don’t want her bf to feel bad for her rejecting his invitations most of the time to have study dates together bc we always have plans already.

another thing that’s been bothering me lately are my parents never listening to my reasoning when we argue and my discovery of my brother’s twitter account. first, my parents. it’s annoying how they never listen to me when i reason out. when i do, they would always tell me “of course you’re never wrong!” sarcastically or they’ll say that i’m being disrespectful. i admit, sometimes i am wrong for being too harsh but even when i am right, they would still insist they are right because they assume they are always right. one example was what happened two nights ago. my mom asked me to teach my brother how to solve some 7th grade algebra problems. i don’t remember how to do them anymore because I haven’t had that lesson in years and i didn’t have math subjects for 2 years now since my major doesn’t really have math subjects in its curriculum. i told her calmly i already forgot about it and i really had to prepare for a report that night that i was to present the day after but she insisted that i still knew how to, i just didn’t want to help. i told her again and again that i would help if i knew but i really didn’t and i was busy but she insisted that i was just making it up when i really really really didn’t. my dad heard us arguing and told me to shut up, basically siding with my mom. he also thought i was just lying. i continued to tell him i wasn’t then he told me i was disrespectful and threatened that if i say one more word, he would throw me out of the house. i was hurt because he said that over something very petty. he never did that to my brothers, only to me. he always did that to me even as a kid when he told be i bring bad luck to the family and that i was useless countless times. he never apologized for those words and my mom never stopped him or told him to say sorry to me or what. then my brother’s twitter account. he wouldn’t give me his username whenever i asked for it but then i stumbled upon his account yesterday and decided to read his tweets for fun. i was laughing until i saw him tweet to his friends basically describing me as a traitor and overall a bad sister. i also didn’t know how to react knowing he continues to cut classes to drink with his friends and god forbid, even smoke and do drugs without my parent’s knowledge despite them finding out once and talking to him about it. he also cursed my dad over there and told a friend he has no family. i’m very worried as he’s underage and still in junior year of high school and i also hate seeing him go through such struggles alone. i was also disappointed in myself as his older sister for not letting him feel i am there for him even though i try my hardest to comfort him whenever he gets scolded at by my parents. i felt sad knowing that he sees me as a ‘traitor’ and a bad sister. i also realized how my family’s relationship is actually not as ideal as i believed it was bc nobody knows anybody. we may not be like other families who have big fights and all but we are actually pretty empty since neither of us have close relationships with each other. i love them so much and i don’t want my parents to feel they are bad parents despite everything, no matter how much they hurt me which is why i’m very sad about this.

all those together along with me recently feeling like i am just mediocre in the things i’m passionate about and basically me just not being good enough to join extra curricular activities and having a personality as bland as a loaf of wheat bread, being a friendless loser, realizing i am not as smart as i thought i was or everyone thinks i am. i just have good memory which is why i excel academically but other than that, i am pretty dumb. my thoughts, vocabulary, and everything are very shallow and i am not good in either written or verbal outputs. i just feel so stuck and alone. i feel worse than ever. i was a pretty positive and motivated person a few years ago, i don’t know what happened. i always believed i would be successful after school and maybe a part of me still does now but i am now starting to doubt myself. i just really need to get this out of my system after keeping this to myself for soooooo long bc i don’t want to burden my high school best friends who have their own problems and i never had a super close relationship with my family either. i’m just tired of crying every night because of this and pretending i’m okay everyday. i’m very sorry for this long ass submission and thank you if you hve read this and reached this point of this submission. 💕

hi lovely <3 I’m glad you felt comfy enough to write all of this down and get it off your chest. writing out thoughts and feelings can be pretty therapeutic for you. 

about the friends situation? you’re not a friendless loser! I really do mean that :* it can take a long while to find a group of friends that you vibe with, it might be especially hard to manage at the moment when you’re used to having a fairly steady and stable group in high school? but the current situation you’re in doesn’t make you weird or a loser, promise. if you haven’t really found a core group of friends through university + study, open up the possibilities a bit :)  use websites like meetup.com to meet new people with similar passions and interests, or like hey!vina / cliq (more links here), maybe visit your local community centre and see what’s going - you could maybe sign up for a class or activity that interests you, and meet new people and friend opportunities that way too. if it’s me? I use facebook groups! I moved all the way to London without knowing anyone, a lot of people do the same so there’s a facebook group set up for support and bringing a community vibe to things. so I use some of those facebook groups to make posts reaching out for friends, say a bit about myself and what I’m interested in, and with those who respond we can organise brunch or something (Y) maybe you could try the same, join facebook groups where you share things in common with other members (whether it be a similar age age, gender, sexuality, location in the world) and make a post reaching out for friends, could be worth trying. 

with your parents, is there any room for a conversation on this? I know how difficult it can be to talk to parents and to get them to have an open-minded conversation, but it could be worth a shot. find a time when they’re not too busy (or maybe talk to just your mum if you feel the convo would go better) and say “hey can I talk to you about something” and go from there. talk about the fact that you don’t really feel respected in the house at the moment, that you don’t feel like your parents trust you?? if you say you can’t do something (eg. algebra) then you really can’t, it’s not a ploy to avoid being kind or helpful. ask them why they never listen to you or trust you, maybe talk about the lack of trust and ask what could be done to improve that. 

you’re only 19! and I mean that in the best way possible, you’ve so much time ahead of you to achieve what you want to. at the age of 19 I was failing university and struggling with a breakup and was not financially independent at all, I had a terrible relationship with my sister (and sometimes my mum), things were not good. and now? things are so great, I would never have imagined myself to be where I am now (▰˘◡˘▰) life can change, relationships can improve, you’ve got time. things might feel a little stagnant right now? but it won’t be that way forever, promise <3

- tash

[bluewatsons]

Bryan Caplan, The Economics of Szasz: Preferences, Constraints and Mental Illness, 18 Rationality & Society 333 (2006)

Abstract

Even confirmed economic imperialists typically acknowledge that economic theory does not apply to the seriously mentally ill. Building on psychiatrist Thomas Szasz’s philosophy of mind, this article argues that most mental illnesses are best modeled as extreme preferences, not constraining diseases. This perspective sheds light not only on relatively easy cases like personality disorders, but also on the more extreme cases of delusions and hallucinations. Contrary to Szasz’s critics, empirical advances in brain science and behavioral genetics are largely orthogonal to his position. While involuntary psychiatric treatment might still be rationalized as a way to correct intra-family externalities, it is misleading to think about it as a benefit for the patient.

Do we want two types of accounts about human behavior – one to explain the conduct of sane or mentally healthy persons, and another to explain the conduct of insane or mentally ill persons? I maintain that we do not need, and should not try, to account for normal behavior one way (motivationally), and for abnormal behavior another way (causally). Specifically, I suggest that the principle, ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ can be used to explain the conduct of mentally ill persons just as well as it can the behavior of mentally healthy persons. Thomas Szasz, Insanity: The Idea and Its Consequences (1997: 352)

1. Introduction

Even the staunchest proponents of economic imperialism have long made an exception for the seriously mentally ill. Posner (1998: 258) remarks that:

If a person is insane either in the sense that he does not know that what he is doing is criminal (he kills a man who he thinks is actually a rabbit) or that he cannot control himself (he hears voices that he believes are divine commanding him to kill people), he will not be deterred by the threat of criminal punishment.

Cooter and Ulen’s (1988: 237) Law and Economics text is more explicit:

If the promisor’s preferences are unstable or not well-ordered, then he is unable to conclude a perfect contract. The law says that such people’s promises are unenforceable because they are legally incompetent. For example, children and the insane do not have stable, well-ordered preferences, and, as a result, their promises are unenforceable.

Even Milton Friedman (1962: 33) concurs: ‘Paternalism is inescapable for those whom we designate as not responsible. The clearest case, perhaps, is that of madmen. We are willing neither to permit them freedom nor to shoot them.’

Though these authors are usually eager to bring social phenomena into the orbit of economics, they not only make an exception for severe mental illness; they treat the exception as uncontroversial. Over time, however, diagnoses of mental illness have become increasingly widespread.1 Epidemiologists now report that 20% or more of the USA population suffers from mental illness during a given year (Kessler et al. 1994). A seemingly small loophole in the applicability of economics has grown beyond recognition.

This article argues that much if not all of the loophole should never have been opened in the first place. Most glaringly, a large fraction of what is called mental illness is nothing other than unusual preferences – fully compatible with basic consumer theory. Alcoholism is the most transparent example: in economic terms, it amounts to an unusually strong preference for alcohol over other goods. But the same holds in numerous other cases. To take a more recent addition to the list of mental disorders, it is natural to conceptualize Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) as an exception- ally high disutility of labor, combined with a strong taste for variety.2

Consider how economists would respond if anyone other than a mental health professional described a person’s preferences as ‘sick’ or ‘irrational’. Intransitivity aside, the stereotypical economist would quickly point out that these negative adjectives are thinly disguised normative judgments, not scientific or medical claims. Why should mental health professionals be exempt from economists’ standard critique?

This is essentially the question asked by psychiatry’s most vocal internal critic, Thomas Szasz. In his voluminous writings, Szasz has spent over 40 years arguing that mental illness is a ‘myth’ – not in the sense that abnormal behavior does not exist, but rather that ‘diagnosing’ it is an ethical judgment, not a medical one.3 In a characteristic passage, Szasz (1990: 115) writes that:

Psychiatric diagnoses are stigmatizing labels phrased to resemble medical diagnoses, applied to persons whose behavior annoys or offends others. Those who suffer from and complain of their own behavior are usually classified as ‘neurotic’; those whose behavior makes others suffer, and about whom others complain, are usually classified as ‘psychotic’.

The American Psychiatric Association’s (APA) 1973 vote to take homosexuality off the list of mental illnesses is a microcosm of the overall field (Bayer 1981). The medical science of homosexuality had not changed; there were no new empirical tests that falsified the standard view. Instead, what changed was psychiatrists’ moral judgment of it – or at least their willingness to express negative moral judgments in the face of intensifying gay rights activism. Robert Spitzer, then head of the Nomenclature Committee of the American Psychiatric Association, was especially open about the priority of social acceptance over empirical science. When publicly asked whether he would consider removing fetishism and voyeurism from the psychiatric nomenclature, he responded, ‘I haven’t given much thought to [these problems] and perhaps that is because the voyeurs and the fetishists have not yet organized themselves and forced us to do that’ (Bayer 1981: 190). Even if the consensus view of homosexuality had remained constant, of course, the ‘disease’ label would have remained a covert moral judgment, not a value-free medical diagnosis.

Although Szasz does not use economic language to make his point, this article argues that most of his objections to official notions of mental illness fit comfortably inside the standard economic framework. Indeed, at several points he comes close to reinventing the wheel of consumer choice theory:

We may be dissatisfied with television for two quite different reasons: because the set does not work, or because we dislike the program we are receiving. Similarly, we may be dissatisfied with ourselves for two quite different reasons: because our body does not work (bodily illness), or because we dislike our conduct (mental illness). (Szasz 1990: 127)

Explicitly wedding standard economic concepts to Szasz’s philosophy of mind allows us to spell out his position with new clarity and force. How so? Consumer choice theory has two basic building blocks: preferences and budget constraints. Inside of this framework, how would one model physical disease? By and large, as an inward shift of the budget constraint: When you have the flu, for example, your peak level of physical performance declines. In contrast, most mental diseases amount to nothing more than unusual preferences; they do not affect what a person can do, only what they want to do. An oft-repeated slogan states that ‘Mental disease is just like any other disease’, but elementary microeconomics highlights a disanalogy with a distinct Szaszian flavor. To call someone physically ill is (usually) a descriptive claim about what a person is able to do; to call someone mentally ill is (usually) a normative claim about what preferences he ought to change.

In addition to unusual preferences, the mentally ill are often said to suffer from delusional beliefs. This criterion has greater economic appeal than bald complaints about preferences: Since the rational expectations revolution, economists have routinely equated systematically biased beliefs with ‘irrationality’ (Caplan 2002; Sheffrin 1996; Thaler 1992). In practice, however, only unpopular delusions provoke diagnoses of mental illness. Adherence to the dogmas of an established religion or ideology – no matter how bizarre – almost never attracts psychiatric attention. Originating your own bizarre belief system frequently does.4 In Szasz’s (1990: 215) words:

If you believe you are Jesus or that the Communists are after you (and they are not) – then your belief is likely to be regarded as a symptom of schizophrenia. But if you believe that Jesus is the Son of God or that Communism is the only scientifically and morally correct form of government – then your belief is likely to be regarded as a reflection of who you are: Christian or Communist.

Once again, mental health specialists’ covert standard is not scientific or medical, but moral: Absurd beliefs shared by millions are ‘healthy’; equally absurd beliefs held by a lone individual are ‘sick’. While economists have only begun to study the demand for irrational beliefs (Akerlof 1989; Akerlof and Dickens 1982; Caplan 2001), there is little if any reason to treat ‘popular’ and ‘niche’ delusions asymmetrically.

I organize this article as follows. The next section summarizes the distinctive features of Szasz’s position and corrects popular misconceptions about it. Section 3 considers the best way to model disease in economic terms. Section 4 explains why at least a high fraction of mental illnesses must be formalized in the opposite way, as preferences. Section 5 analyzes the ‘hard cases’ of hallucinations and delusions. Section 6 argues that the progress of brain science and behavioral genetics sheds little light on deeper questions about the nature of mental illness. Section 7 concludes.

2. A Brief Survey of Szasz

Thomas Szasz is probably best known for his opposition to involuntary mental hospitalization. His (1990: 107) rejection is categorical and impassioned:

Involuntary mental hospitalization is like slavery. Refining the legal or psychiatric criteria for commitment is like prettifying the slave plantations. The problem is not how to improve or reform commitment, but how to abolish it.

Unfortunately, his policy advocacy overshadows the more novel aspect of Szasz’s thought: his philosophy of mind. For Szasz, the most salient fact about human motivation and thought is its vast heterogeneity. Even if we limit the sample to people with a ‘clean bill’ of psychiatric health, the range of desires and viewpoints is amazingly wide (Caplan 2003; Piedmont 1998). There are monks and prostitutes, mountain climbers and shut-ins, CEOs and beach bums, Sunni Muslims and Trotskyist splitters. Great works of literature are perhaps the most powerful evidence of human diversity: think of the chasms between Iago, Brutus or Falstaff in Shakespeare; Pierre, Rostov or Anna Karenina in Tolstoy; Javert, Frollo or Quasimodo in Hugo. Indeed, one of the lessons of literature is that characters’ superficially inexplicable behavior becomes intelligible once you see it from their perspective.

Now consider the common sense view of mental illness: ‘You would have to be crazy to do that!’ or, as Sylvia Nasar (1998: 18) describes schizophrenia, ‘More than any other symptom, the defining characteristic of the illness is the profound feeling of incomprehensibility and inaccessibility that sufferers provoke in other people. Psychiatrists describe the person’s sense of being separated by a ‘‘gulf which defies description’’ from individuals who seem ‘‘totally strange, puzzling, inconceivable, uncanny, and incapable of empathy, even to the point of being sinister and frightening’’.’ Szasz faults the common sense view for refusing to take human heterogeneity seriously. What makes you think that no human being would prefer a life of day-dreaming, play-acting, daily heroin use or sadism? Is this any less credible than other unusual preferences that now escape psychiatric stigma, such as being gay, entering a convent, or ‘speaking in tongues’ in a Protestant church? As Szasz (1997: 64) critically observes:

It is wonderfully revealing of the nature of psychiatry that whereas in natural science there is a premium on the expert observer’s ability to understand what he observes . . . in psychiatry there is a premium on the expert’s inability to understand what he observes (and to understand it less well than the object he observes, which is typically another person eager to proffer his own understanding of his own behavior).

Thus, psychiatrists’ inability to understand economist Donald McCloskey’s desire to become Deirdre led to two short but involuntary hospitalizations. But she (1999: xiv) maintains that she simply would rather be a woman than a man:

In response to your question Why? ‘Can’t I just be?’ You, dear reader, are. No one gets indignant if you have no answer to why you are an optimist or why you like peach ice cream. These days most people will grant you an exception from the why question if you are gay . . . I want the courtesy and the safety of a whyless treatment extended to gender crossings.

Szasz maintains that it is equally easy to ‘get inside the heads’ of most of the other people psychiatrists diagnose as mentally ill. Their behavior is extreme, but their motives are familiar. As Szasz (1990: 121) uncharitably puts it: ‘Among persons categorized as mentally ill, there are two radically different types. One is composed of inadequate, unskilled, lazy, or stupid persons; the other, of protestors, revolutionaries, those on strike against their relatives or society.’5

The strong temptation to label individuals who fit either description as ‘mentally ill’ is a predictable byproduct of human heterogeneity. If people in close proximity – such as families – have radically different goals, conflict is almost sure to arise. This makes the concept of mental illness strategically useful, both as an excuse for deviant behavior and as a justification for harsh measures to combat it. As Szasz (1990: 135) puts it: ‘Mental illness is a myth whose function is to disguise and thus render more palatable the bitter pill of moral conflicts in human relations. In asserting that there is no such thing as mental illness I do not deny that people have problems coping with life and each other’. But despite its social function, mental illness is metaphorical, like ‘lovesickness’ or ‘homesickness’.

Another strain of Szasz’s thought emphasizes the lack of neurological evidence that the putatively mentally ill suffer from brain diseases:

Demonstrable bodily lesion is the gold standard of medical diagnosis. Without practical convertibility into gold, the value of paper money rests on faith. Without conceptual convertibility into bodily lesion, the diagnosis of disease rests only on faith. Unbacked by gold, paper money is fiat money – the politically irresistible incentive for debauching the currency, called ‘inflation.’ Unbacked by lesion, diagnosis is fiat diagnosis – the medically irresistible incentive for debauching the concept of disease, called ‘psychiatry’. (1990: 9)

While he grants that such neurological evidence has occasionally surfaced – most famously in the case of paresis (syphilis of the brain) – such cases are remarkably rare (Szasz 1976). In fact, paresis and schizophrenia are so different that the proven neurological basis for the former makes it less likely that there is any neurological basis for the latter. A person with paresis ‘exhibited objective neurological signs; the illness was characterized by a rapidly downhill course with an invariably fatal outcome; and at autopsy, the patient’s brain showed easily identifiable morphological (structural) abnormalities’. In contrast, a person with schizophrenia ‘exhibits no neurological signs; the illness is not characterized by a rapidly downhill course and is never fatal; and at autopsy, the patient’s brain shows no identifiable morphological abnormalities. Some analogy’ (Szasz 1997: 89). Consistent with these observations, schizophrenia still does not receive an entry in as comprehensive a work as Anderson’s Pathology (1996).

Eminent psychiatrists occasionally admit the difficulty of connecting mental illness to brain abnormalities. In The Harvard Guide to Psychiatry, Renshaw and Rauch (1999: 84) grant that ‘Current understanding of the pathobiology underlying primary psychiatric disorders is quite limited, and pathognomonic imaging profiles indicative of specific psychiatric disorders have not been identified’. Even the intensive and long-running search for a biological cause of schizophrenia has been surprisingly unsuccessful, especially taking publication bias into account. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), Fourth Edition, Text Revision (APA 2000) acknowledges that ‘No laboratory findings have been identified that are diagnostic of Schizophrenia’ (2000: 305). Another chapter in The Harvard Guide to Psychiatry asserts that brain abnormalities are common in schizophrenics, but acknowledges that ‘no single abnormality is found in all or even most brains from schizophrenic patients’ (Tsuang et al. 1999: 264). Breggin (1991: 84) questions even these limited findings on the grounds that almost all subjects in modern brain research on schizophrenia have histories of heavy anti-psychotic medication, which itself is known to cause brain damage. Brain autopsies conducted on schizophrenics before the introduction of anti-psychotics generally found no abnormalities.

Most psychiatrists predictably minimize the importance of their field’s past failures, but Szasz sees strong and uncomfortable implications. One is that until the brain lesions underlying a mental illness have been found, psychiatrists ought to be far less certain that an illness even exists. Another is that if the absence of lesions in a given brain were affirmatively proven, psychiatrists ought to admit that the individual is not sick, no matter how odd his behavior is (Szasz 1997: 78).

At times, Szasz seems to make the stronger claim that since mental illnesses are metaphorical, empirical study of their biological basis is a category error: ‘Looking for the organic etiology of mental illness is like looking for the caloric content of food for thought’ (1990: 131). But Szasz does not literally rule out empirical research on this question. When his critic Seymour Kety objects that ‘Our ability to demonstrate and elucidate pathological disturbances is limited by the state of the art, and to assume their absence because they have not been demonstrated is a non sequitur’, Szasz (1997: 51) responds:

True enough. But I do not maintain that the nonexistence of pathological findings in schizophrenia proves there are none; I maintain only that a promise of such findings is only a promise, until it is fulfilled . . . If psychiatrists had to pay interest on their promises of pathological lesions, as borrowers must pay lenders, the interest alone would already have bankrupted them; instead, they keep issuing the same notes, undaunted by their perfect record of never meeting their obligations.

As mentioned earlier, perhaps the greatest misconception about Szasz’s work is that it is primarily a critique of involuntary mental hospitalization. Only a minority of his writings deal with psychiatric commitment, the insanity defense, or other policies related to mental illness. The bulk deals with philosophy of mind. Whether or not one agrees with his controversial position, it should be clear to any reader of the full Szaszian corpus that this stance is his most original and intellectually challenging contribution. Indeed, one could consistently embrace Szasz’s philosophy of mind, but advocate involuntary commitment on efficiency grounds as the best way to reduce the negative externalities that extreme eccentrics impose on their families and society.

Another misconception about Szasz is that he denies the connection between physical and mental activity. Critics often cite findings of ‘chemical imbalances’ in the mentally ill. The problem with these claims, from a Szaszian point of view, is not that they find a connection between brain chemistry and behavior.6 The problem is that ‘imbalance’ is a moral judgment masquerading as a medical one. Supposed we found that nuns had a brain chemistry verifiably different from non-nuns. Would we infer that being a nun is a mental illness?

A closely related misconception is that Szasz ignores medical evidence that many mental illnesses can be effectively treated.7 Once again, though, the ability of drugs to change brain chemistry and thereby behavior does nothing to show that the initial behavior was ‘sick’. If alcohol makes people less shy, is that evidence that shyness is a disease? An analogous point holds for evidence from behavioral genetics. If homosexuality turns out to be largely or entirely genetic, does that make it a disease?

Szasz’s philosophy of mind is unquestionably contrarian, and often provokes negative reactions.8 The remainder of this article maintains that – unlike the standard view of mental illness – Szasz’s main theses are strikingly consistent with basic microeconomics. Reframing Szasz in economic terms helps make his aphoristic thought both easier to understand and more introspectively plausible. Economists may be reluctant to fully embrace the Szaszian approach, and Szasz might object that my economistic reading misses important facets of his thought. Nevertheless, my thesis is that there are significant gains to trade between the economic approach to human behavior and Szasz’s analysis of mental illness.

3. Disease as Constraint

Consider normal physical diseases, such as cancer and influenza. Anderson’s Pathology describes their main symptoms:

The usual course of untreated cancer is continuous local and metastatic extension with progressive systemic effects, all of which combine to weaken the host in diverse ways until cachexia and death from sepsis or bronchopneumonia, or both, ensue. About half of the deaths in cancer patients result from infection . . . Other causes of death in these patients include organ failure, tumor infarction and hemorrhage, and carcinomatosis. (Lieberman and Lebovitz 1996: 540)

Sudden onset of headache, myalgias, fever, and chills are classic symptoms of most influenza-induced illness. Although sore throat and dry cough are common, they are rarely self-reported because of the overwhelming systemic symptoms, which predominate. Influenza produces such a rapid onset of high fever that febrile seizures are frequently triggered in children. (Hinrichs et al. 1996: 923)

How can these conditions be formally modeled? (Grossman 1972). Basic consumer theory makes the answer clear: It shifts your budget constraint inwards. If influenza or cancer actually kills you, your lifetime budget constraint shifts drastically inwards. But even if you escape the worst outcome, you lose on many other mar- gins. Influenza moves a normal temperature outside of your budget set; cancer makes you more vulnerable to other diseases. Further- more, in both cases your physical abilities typically decline. For example, you will probably be unable to walk at your normal speed.

Figure 1 illustrates the latter effect. If a person had 24 hours of time to divide between walking and resting, and a healthy person faced budget constraint A, then after contracting the flu or cancer, the same person would face a budget constraint such as B. A sufficiently sick person might collapse if he tried to walk for more than a few miles – suffering from reduced endurance as well as reduced speed. Then the budget constraint of the sick person would differ more starkly from the healthy person’s, as shown by the kinked constraint in Figure 2.

Figure 1. Illness as a budget constraint

Almost every traditional medical condition one can name can be modeled as an inward shift of one or more budget constraints. If your legs are paralyzed, the maximum amount you can walk under your own power falls to zero. If you have the common cold, the good of ‘not-sneezing’ suddenly falls on the wrong side of your budget set. If you have a stroke, the maximum number of words you can speak per minute shifts inwards. Mental retardation puts a high score on an IQ test beyond your reach, and common forms of brain damage impair your memory.

Budget constraints shift in for many reasons other than disease. But traditional medical conditions and shrunken budget sets go hand in hand.9 It is nearly paradoxical to assert, ‘All of my abilities are at their peak levels and I expect them to remain so,10 but I am nevertheless sick.’

Figure 2. Illness as a kinked budget constraint

This is not to say that the preferences of the sick might not shift as well. For example, the indifference curves of a person with an upset stomach might shift to put more value on carbonated beverages. But for almost any ordinary disease or injury, shifts in preferences – if any – accompany shifting constraints. You can be physically sick without changing your preference orderings, but you cannot be physically sick without changing what you can do.

4. Mental Illness as Extreme Preference

Most mental illnesses do not fit the preceding template. Consider a paradigmatic case such as substance abuse. In what sense does this illness shift one’s budget constraint inwards? It is hard to see how it does. If one were to formalize it in economic terms, the natural strategy would be to model it as an extreme preference.

Note that ‘extreme’ does not mean ‘intransitive’ or ‘not-wellordered.’ Cooter and Ulen (1988) probably speak for many economists when they deny that the preferences of the severely mentally ill are well-ordered. But in fact, not only do individuals with mental disorders typically have transitive preferences; they usually have more definite and predictable orderings than the average person.11 People with Alzheimer’s disease may not have well-ordered preferences, but as Sylvia Nasar (1998: 324) explains, insanity is almost the opposite of senility:

[T]he delusional states typical of schizophrenia often have little in common with the dementia associated with, for example, Alzheimer’s disease. Rather than cloudiness, confusion, and meaninglessness, there is hyper-awareness, over- acuity, and an uncanny wakefulness. Urgent preoccupations, elaborate rationales, and ingenious theories dominate.

A person with anti-social personality disorder (ASPD), to take a less dramatic example, is also unusually transitive. Unlike most of us, he feels no need to strike a delicate balance between his own welfare and the welfare of others; he puts his own interests first and last. It is also worth pointing out that several mental disorders, such as obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) and narcissistic personality disorder (NPD), come close to classifying transitivity as symptom (APA 2000: 462, 717).

It is also implausible to interpret most mental illness using a ‘hyperbolic discounting’ or ‘multiple selves’ model (Ainslie 1992). These might fit a moderate drug user who says he ‘wants to quit’; one symptom (albeit not a necessary condition) of substance dependence is ‘a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to cut down or control substance use’ (APA 2000: 197). But they do not fit the hard-core drug addict whose only wish is to be left alone to pursue his habit. The same holds for most serious mental disorders: They are considered ‘serious’ in large part because the affected individual continues to pursue the same objectionable behavior over time with no sign of regret or desire to change.

What then are ‘extreme’ preferences? In brief, they are preferences that few people share or condone, with large life consequences, that nevertheless satisfy the axioms of choice theory (Varian 1992). McCloskey’s autobiography, describing her ‘crossing’ from Donald to Deirdre, offers an especially vivid example. As she (1999: 82) puts it:

Donald had a conversation with himself about whether what he was doing was unusual. On the one hand, I wonder why more people aren’t doing this. But then, You don’t get it, do you, Donald? Most people don’t want to change gender.

Puzzled in return. Oh. You don’t say. That’s funny.

But is it not the case that most people with preferences extreme enough to attract psychiatric attention are also extremely unhappy?12 It depends on which extreme preferences one has. People with ASPD or NPD have inflated senses of self-worth almost by definition. In any case, if most people with extreme preferences are unhappy, this is weak evidence that their preferences are somehow inconsistent or irrational. Unpopular preferences – medicalized or not – naturally tend to reduce happiness. People with normal preferences can simultaneously ‘be themselves’ and be liked. People with abnormal preferences have to balance these two goals. Furthermore, unlike religious and cultural minorities, people with unique extreme preferences cannot easily retreat into an accepting subculture.

I now examine three common mental disorders – substance abuse, ADHD and ASPD. In each case, the leading ‘symptoms’ of these ‘illnesses’ – such as McCloskey’s preference for being a woman – turn out to be nothing more than unpopular preference orderings. There is no reason to think that individuals with these preferences fit the rational economic actor model less well than anyone else. The descriptions often make it clear that individuals with these conditions act exactly as one would expect a rational economic agent with unpopular preferences. Indeed, as we shall see, there are a few ‘symptoms of mental disorder’ that economists routinely assign to homo economicus.

4.1. Substance Abuse

The DSM (APA 2000: 199) classifies substance abuse as ‘A maladaptive pattern of substance use leading to clinically significant impairment or distress, as manifested by one (or more) of the following, occurring within a 12-month period’. Table 1 lists the criteria, all of which are preference-based. Take criterion 1: ‘recurrent substance use resulting in a failure to fulfill major role obligations at work, school, or home’. It is only a small step to translate this into the language of economic theory. If you have an unusually strong taste for alcoholic beverages or drugs – a taste so strong that you willingly risk family, friends and career to satisfy it, then you suffer from substance abuse.

Table 1. Some DSM-IV-TR diagnostic criteria for substance abuse

From an economic point of view, however, what is so puzzling about a person who prefers consuming alcohol to career success or family stability? Life is full of trade-offs. The fact that most of us would make a different choice is hardly evidence of irrationality. Neither is the fact that few alcoholics will admit their priorities; expressing regret and a desire to change is an excellent way to deflect social and legal sanctions.

The other three criteria in Table 1 fit the same pattern. You will be diagnosed as a victim of substance abuse if you use alcohol/drugs when it is ‘physically hazardous’ – in other words, if your taste is so strong that you are willing to take high safety risks (for yourself or others) to satisfy it. You can also be diagnosed if you have ‘recurrent substance-related legal problems’ – presumably because you have such a strong preference for alcohol/drugs that you are undeterred by ordinary expected punishments. The final criteria almost repeats the first – using the substance even though it causes ‘recurrent social or interpersonal problems’. The DSM definition strikingly fails to mention intransitivity. In fact, the people most likely to be diagnosed with severe substance abuse are heavy users who have no desire to change their lifestyle.

4.2. Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder

Substance abuse is a particularly straightforward case for economists to analyze, since it involves the trade-off between (1) one’s consumption level of a commodity and (2) the effects of this consumption on other areas of life. But numerous mental disorders have the same structure. One way to be diagnosed with ADHD, for example, is to have six or more of the symptoms of inattention shown in Table 2. Overall, the most natural way to formalize ADHD in economic terms is as a high disutility of work combined with a strong taste for variety. Undoubtedly, a person who dislikes working will be more likely to fail to ‘finish school work, chores or duties in the workplace’ and be ‘reluctant to engage in tasks that require sustained mental effort’. Similarly, a person with a strong taste for variety will be ‘easily distracted by extraneous stimuli’ and fail to ‘listen when spoken to directly’, especially since the ignored voices demand attention out of proportion to their entertainment value.

Table 2. Some DSM-IV-TR diagnostic criteria for ADHD

A few of the symptoms of inattention – especially (2), (5) and (9), are worded to sound more like constraints. However, each of these is still probably best interpreted as descriptions of preferences. As the DSM uses the term, a person who ‘has difficulty’ ‘sustaining attention in tasks or play activities’ could just as easily be described as ‘disliking’ sustaining attention. Similarly, while ‘is often forgetful in daily activities’ could be interpreted literally as impaired memory, in context it refers primarily to conveniently forgetting to do things you would rather avoid. No one accuses a boy diagnosed with ADHD of forgetting to play videogames.13

4.3. Anti-social Personality Disorder

Homo economicus arguably suffers from this disorder by definition. Table 3 lists some of the DSM’s diagnostic criteria, any three of which are almost sufficient for a positive diagnosis. Since homo economicus always plans ahead – most notoriously with his unlimited use of backwards induction – symptoms (3) and (6) do not apply. But as a narrowly selfish being, homo economicus lacks remorse (symptom 7). Insofar as deceitfulness leads to personal profit, homo economicus is deceitful (symptom 2). And while homo economicus of course worries about his own safety, the safety of others concerns him only if he is financially responsible for it. In any case, all of the symptoms of ASPD are exclusively about preferences – for narrow selfishness, high discount rates and affinity for violence.

Table 3. Some DSM-IV-TR diagnostic criteria for antisocial personality

Admittedly, not all cases are easy to classify. I have some control over my heartbeat, but it is impossible for me to reduce it to 10 beats per minute. Is the number of times my heart beats per minute a constraint or a choice? The distinction between constraints and preferences suggests an illuminating test for ambiguous cases: Can we change a person’s behavior purely by changing his incentives? If we can, it follows that the person was able to act differently all along, but preferred not to; his condition is a matter of preference, not constraint. I will refer to this as the ‘Gun-to-the-Head Test’. If suddenly pointing a gun at alcoholics induces them to stop drinking, then evidently sober behavior was in their choice set all along. Conversely, if a gun-to-the-head fails to change a person’s behavior, it is highly likely (though not necessarily true) that you are literally asking the impossible.14

Obviously most physical diseases would pass the gun-to-the-head test. Pointing a gun at a paralyzed man will not enable him to walk, nor can you frighten a cancer patient into living longer. Conditions like mental retardation and Alzheimer’s disease are also highly likely to pass the gun-to-the-head test. Smart people occasionally play dumb, and the elderly might feign senility from time to time; but most people who appear to have very low cognitive ability really do.

The same cannot be said, however, for the large majority of mental disorders. Though the gun-to-the-head test rarely happens, most people with mental disorders respond to far milder incentives. During the course of any given day, individuals diagnosed with substance abuse, ADHD and ASPD act contrary to their impulses because giving in to them would be too expensive. Studies of demand elasticity normally find that consumption of hard drugs is quite sensitive to price (van Ours 1995); in fact, the psychiatric literature on ‘contingency management’ shows that a high percentage of heavy users of alcohol and drugs will go cold turkey for a moderate price (Higgins and Petry 1999). Even lazy people with a strong taste for variety will complete a boring task if their life is on the line. Anti- social personalities are prone to perform acts ‘that are grounds for arrest’, but that does not mean that they take actions that surely end in severe punishment.

Suppose one grants that at least a large fraction of mental illnesses are nothing more than extreme preferences. What follows? Most importantly, it confirms the core Szaszian thesis: psychiatric diagnoses are not descriptive judgments comparable to a diagnosis of cancer, but normative judgments about whether preferences are good or bad, right or wrong. Disputes about whether ‘X is a mental illness’ cannot be resolved by more and better empirical research, but only – if at all – by ethical reasoning.

5. Mental Illness, Systematic Bias, and Preferences Over Beliefs

At this point, one might reasonably object that I consider only the easiest targets. Perhaps ADHD is a medicalized label for laziness. But what about the symptoms that we intuitively associate with full-blown psychosis or ‘insanity’ – delusions and hallucinations?

5.1. Delusions

The DSM defines a delusion as ‘a false belief based on incorrect inference about external reality that is firmly sustained despite what almost everyone else believes and despite what constitutes incontrovertible and obvious proof or evidence to the contrary’, adding the further condition that ‘The belief is not one ordinarily accepted by other members of the person’s culture or subculture (e.g., it is not an article of religious faith)’ (APA 2000: 821). Another reference source more succinctly defines a delusion as ‘a fixed false belief (excluding beliefs that are part of a religious movement)’.15 These definitions are striking on several levels. Most obviously, why are religious beliefs exempt from this stigma? What about quasi-religious political movements like Leninism or Nazism, comprised almost entirely of fixed false beliefs (Hoffer 1951)? What about religious movements with a small number of members? One member?

One could eliminate the ‘religious exemption’ and conclude that the fraction of the population suffering from delusions has been greatly underestimated. However, the exemption does seem to have a rationale: The cognitive faculties of the overwhelming majority of religious believers are functional. Outside of religion, they habitually adjust their beliefs in response to evidence. So it is natural to interpret their embrace of improbable religious doctrines as a choice to relax ordinary intellectual standards. Doing so allows them to enjoy not just the social benefits of religious participation (Iannacone 1998). It also provides direct personal benefits, such as a sense of identity and meaning.

In other words, just because a person believes patent absurdities does not imply that he cannot believe otherwise, that changing his mind is outside his choice set. Instead, he may have preferences over beliefs (Akerlof 1989; Akerlof and Dickens 1982; Caplan 2001, 2000). If individuals have to choose between maintaining a cherished worldview and giving the other side a fair hearing, many would rather forego the latter. The competing hypothesis, of course, is that a person wants to grasp the truth, but lacks the cognitive resources to process evidence or detect errors.

From this perspective, it is worth considering how most psychiatrists would have diagnosed the founders of the world’s leading religions. What would they make of their assertions that God speaks with them, giving them revelations to deliver to the rest of mankind? Were they paranoid schizophrenics? A more plausible account is that they were people who wanted (among other things) to believe in their own cosmic importance – and managed to convince others to accommodate them. And there is every reason to think that such motivations remain salient to many people today, though in a more secular age religious themes will be less prominent. But variations on the theme of ‘I am a leading figure in world history, locked in combat with powerful enemies’ have a timeless appeal to human vanity.

If religious ‘fixed, false beliefs’ stem from the refusal to exercise one’s cognitive faculties, as opposed to defective cognitive faculties, why might not the same hold for non-religious fixed, false beliefs (Shermer 2002)? Perhaps they too provide a sense of identity and meaning. This is essentially Szasz’s view: People largely become schizophrenics because they find reality too unpleasant to cope with:

What the psychiatrist calls a ‘delusion of persecution’ is one of the most dramatic human defenses against the feeling of personal insignificance and worthlessness. In fact, no one cares a hoot about Jones. He is an extra on the stage of life. But he wants to be a star. He cannot become one by making a fortune on the stock market or winning a Nobel prize. So he claims that the FBI or the Communists are watching his every move, are tapping his phone, and so forth. Why would they be doing this, unless Jones were a very important person? In short, the paranoid delusion is a problem to the patient’s family, employers, and friends: to the patient, it is a solution to the problem of the meaning(lessness) of his life. (1990: 116)

What about paranoid schizophrenic John Nash, who in fact did win a Nobel prize? Surprisingly, he fits Szasz’s profile, because Nash’s great ambition was not to earn a Nobel prize in economics, but the coveted Fields Medal in mathematics. In 1958, he failed to win it, and given his age he had little hope of ever doing so. As his biographer Sylvia Nasar (1998: 229) explains: ‘One can almost imagine a sniggering commentator inside Nash’s head: ‘‘What, thirty already, and still no prizes, no offer from Harvard, no tenure even? And you thought you were such a great mathematician? A genius? Ha, ha, ha!’’’. And Nash’s personal problems – a gay or bisexual man, unhappily married, and expecting a child – were at least as serious as his professional disappointments.

Since, as Nash later observed, ‘rational thought imposes a limit on a person’s concept of his relation to the cosmos’, he escaped into a world of fantasy, where his failures no longer mattered. His biographer confirms the subjective benefits: ‘For Nash, the recovery of everyday thought processes produced a sense of diminution and loss . . . He refers to his remissions not as joyful returns to a healthy state, but as ‘‘interludes, as it were, of enforced rationality’’’ (Nasar 1998: 295). His choice to abandon his academic career was much in the spirit of Robert Frank’s (1985) Choosing the Right Pond: If Nash could not be a Fields Medalist, his next choice was to be Emperor of Antarctica, not a second-rate mathematician.16

Is it inconceivable that anyone could or would choose to be a paranoid schizophrenic? Many psychiatrists found Nash’s eventual recovery astounding, leading some to question the original diagnosis (Nasar 1998: 350–3). But Nash’s first-hand account is that his return to rationality was a choice:

Gradually I began to intellectually reject some of my delusionally influenced lines of thinking which had been characteristic of my orientation. This began, most recognizably, with the rejection of politically-oriented thinking as essentially a hopeless waste of intellectual effort. (Nasar 1998: 353)

It is noteworthy that Nash consciously decided to stop thinking about the two subject matters where normal people routinely embrace ‘fixed, false beliefs’: not just politics, but religion as well (Nasar 1998: 354). He compares his recovery to dieting.17 Despite its short-run emotional benefits, he decided to stop indulging his daily temptation to hide from life:

Actually, it can be analogous to the role of willpower in effective dieting: If one makes an effort to ‘rationalize’ one’s thinking one can simply recognize and reject the irrational hypotheses of delusional thinking. (Nasar 1998: 354)

Intellectual dieting would be an implausible solution if one were utterly disconnected from reality. But his biographer explains that this describes neither Nash nor the typical schizophrenic:

[T]he ability to apprehend certain aspects of everyday reality remains curiously intact. Had anyone asked Nash what year it was or who was in the White House or where he was living, he could no doubt have answered perfectly accurately, had he wished to. Indeed, even as he entertained his most surreal notions, Nash displayed an ironic awareness that his insights were essentially private, unique to himself, and bound to seem strange or unbelievable to others. (Nasar 1998: 324–5)

In fact, ‘While he was ill, Nash traveled all over Europe and America, got legal help, and learned to write sophisticated computer programs’ (Nasar 1998: 19).

Nash describes the behavior of his son – also a diagnosed para- noid schizophrenic – in comparable terms: ‘I don’t think of my son . . . as entirely a sufferer: in part, he is simply choosing to escape from ‘‘the world’’’(Nasar 1998: 385). The father’s attitude is not so shocking considering his son’s objection whenever urged to complete his PhD: ‘Why do I have to do anything? My father doesn’t have to do anything. My mother supports him. Why can’t she support me?’ (1998: 346). Nash’s biographer laments his ‘insensitivity’ on this point (1998: 385), but who is in a better position to understand his son’s state of mind?

Even if John Nash chose his condition, it does not follow that every schizophrenic does the same. But it underscores the point that there are two competing hypotheses to explain the existence of delusions.18 In economic terms, one is preferences, the other is constraints. To deal with this complex issue, it is once again helpful to consider the Gun-to-the-Head Test. If maintaining a fixed, false belief would result in death, does the believer ‘unfix’ it? If he does, sound cognition must have been in his choice set all along, but for whatever reason falsehood was more appealing.

At least in the case of religious ‘fixed, false beliefs’, people who pass the gun-to-the-head test are rare.19 Gaetano Mosca (1939: 181–2) provides one intriguing illustration:

Mohammed, for instance, promises paradise to all who fall in a holy war. Now if every believer were to guide his conduct by that assurance in the Koran, every time a Mohammedan army found itself faced by unbelievers it ought either to conquer or to fall to the last man. It cannot be denied that a certain number of individuals do live up to the letter of the Prophet’s word, but as between defeat and death followed by eternal bliss, the majority of Mohammedans normally elect defeat.

Perhaps the tiny minority of willing martyrs really did have defective brains that literally prevented them from seeing the world as it is. But even here, historical accounts of the martyrs raise significant doubts. Rodney Stark (1996: 163–89) argues that they were heavily motivated by community support and adulation, which they often enjoyed for years due to lags in the Roman legal system. Further- more, martyrs often discussed their temptation to give in. One rarely feels ‘tempted’ by an option that is not available to us in the first place: I am not tempted to win an Olympic gold medal in swimming. Socrates’ Apology is perhaps the most striking case of a man with unimpaired cognitive faculties who died for his beliefs. Indeed, before drinking the hemlock, Socrates demonstrated critical thinking abilities far in excess of the normal range (Ahrensdorf 1995). Blaming his decision on a brain defect is most implausible.

While the mentally ill rarely face the Gun-to-the-Head Test, a large fraction respond to less extreme incentives. The mentally ill routinely modify their behavior to avoid psychiatric hospitalization and unpleasant treatments. As psychiatrist Peter Breggin (1991: 61) reports, ‘[T]he drugs cause so much discomfort. . . that patients often stop saying what they believe to avoid getting larger doses and to bring a more speedy end to the treatment. As many ex-patients have told me, ‘‘I learned right away I’d better shut up or I’d get more of that stuff.’’’ This is so common that psychiatrists often suspect that ‘recovered’ patients are merely concealing their symptoms.20 The fear of more extreme treatments like electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) often affects behavior far beyond the walls of the psychiatric hospital. In one case study of female shock therapy patients, ‘Three of the ten women lived in dread of ECT for years afterward; and therefore they refrained from expressing any angry feelings toward their husbands, for fear of being sent back to the hospital for involuntary shock treatment’ (Breggin 1991: 200).

Patients’ responsiveness to incentives is well known to those who administer the incentives. A case study on the attitudes of shock therapists observed that shock was used ‘as a threat against difficult patients. Personnel on the hospital would warn, ‘‘You will go on the shock list’’’ (Breggin 1991: 212). Even when treating mentally ill children, psychiatrists recognize that incentives change behavior:

Used to saying what he thought with his dad, Sammy made the mistake of ‘talking back’ to one of the doctors. He was told that patients had to ‘earn’ their liberties and was reduced to the lowest disciplinary level – no visitors, no books, no radio, ‘no nothing’, as he later told his dad. (Breggin 1991: 294)

At least for many delusions, the fact that you would try to feign recovery shows that your degree of irrationality – not just outward behavior – is incentive-sensitive. Nash is once again an excellent example. ‘I thought I was a Messianic godlike figure with secret ideas’, he tells us. ‘I became a person of delusionally influenced thinking but of relatively moderate behavior and thus tended to avoid hospitalization and the direct attention of psychiatrists’ (Nasar 1998: 335). But if Nash were literally constrained to see him- self as a ‘godlike figure’, he would have imagined that he could free himself at any moment.21 He would be unable to grasp that – in reality – his freedom depended on a psychiatrist’s diagnosis, so he would have no motive to ‘beat the system’. But try to beat it he did, regularly acting more normally to avoid or end commitment: ‘When I had been long enough hospitalized . . . I would finally renounce my delusional hypotheses and revert to thinking of myself as a human of more conventional circumstances’ (Nasar 1998: 295). He also firmly grasped the social process of commitment, knowing, for instance, that his sister would probably try to commit him after their mother’s death (1998: 330–1). Perhaps most strikingly, to deter others from committing him, Nash did not threaten divine retribution, but ordinary social sanctions like divorce (from his wife), and breaking off relations (with his sister).

There is more systematic evidence from so-called ‘token economy programs’ that mental patients substantially change their behavior in response to modest material rewards (Corrigan 1995; Stuve and Salinas 2002). These programs pay patients fixed numbers of tokens for desired behavior. Tokens can be redeemed for benefits like snacks, magazines, grounds passes, and the right to wear non- institutional clothing. Paying patients turns out to be a highly effective way to improve hygiene, group participation and adherence to ward rules, and deter threats and violence. It can also curtail ‘screaming, ritualistic behaviors, mannerisms, responsiveness to hallucinations, and the frequency of delusional talk’ (Stuve and Salinas 2002: 824).

Since hospital residents typically have the most extreme problems, it is striking that their behavior is so price elastic. Furthermore, at least in many cases this indicates that their delusions – not just their outward behavior – respond to incentives. If a mental defect literally compels you to see yourself as all-powerful, why would you chase after petty monetary rewards? If, in contrast, the cause of megalomaniacal delusions is preferences rather than constraints, we should expect patients to start ignoring them as the material cost of adhering to them rises. As it turns out, when the price of being wrong goes up, even the delusional start to recognize the difference between reality and their self-aggrandizing worldview.

5.2. Hallucinations

Perceptions, unlike beliefs, rarely contain an element of choice. Even if you put a gun to my head and tell me to see a blank wall in front of me rather than my computer, I will not because I cannot. People who genuinely experience hallucinations have the same problem. If you are under the influence of a hallucinogenic drug, you see things that do not exist even if you would rather not (hence the ‘bad trip’) (APA 2000: 250–3). From an economic perspective, hallucinating is similar to being blind or deaf; seeing or hearing the real world lies outside your budget constraint. Of all the symptoms of mental illness, hallucinations are the least objectionably modeled as constraints.

The same does not hold, however, for claiming to hallucinate. Initially, it seems unlikely that anyone would lie about such a thing. However, Szasz (1997: 117) maintains that such skepticism is well-grounded:

[W]hen a grisly, unsolved crime is reported by the press and the police look for the person who did it, innocent people often come forward and confess to the crime. Such a confession is never accepted on its face value as true; on the contrary, it is treated with the utmost skepticism. On the other hand, when a person lodges a psychiatric complaint against himself, it is not investigated at all.

In both cases, people pretend to have seen or heard things that did not happen because they prefer negative attention to none at all. Consider people who claim to have been abducted by aliens. Why do they do it? Well, if beings from other worlds travel all the way to earth just to probe you, you must be a pretty important person.

In the pre-modern period, one could get the same feeling by claiming to see and talk to angels or demons: ‘[W]omen in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were often accused of (and even allegedly experienced or confessed to) having illicit sexual encounters with aliens – in this case the alien was usually Satan himself . . .’ (Shermer 2002: 97).

Fabrication aside, minimal scrutiny often reveals that what superficially sound like reports of hallucinations are only delusions.22 As Shermer (2002: 96) recounts:

While dining with the abductees, I found out something very revealing: not one of them recalled being abducted immediately after the experience. In fact, for most of them, many years went by before they ‘remembered’ the experience.

Like most delusions, their stories usually reflect a choice to relax normal intellectual standards, not lack of ability to impose these standards. Shermer (2002: 95) describes the abductees as ‘perfectly sane, rational, intelligent folks’ overall. Yet they exempt their abduction beliefs from straightforward objections:

[A woman] said that the aliens actually implanted a human–alien hybrid in her womb and that she gave birth to the child. Where is the child now? The aliens took it back, she explained. One man pulled up his pant leg to show me scars on his legs that he said were left by the aliens. They looked like normal scars to me . . . One man explained that the aliens took his sperm. I asked him how he knew that they took his sperm, since he had said he was asleep when he was abducted. He said that he knew because he had an orgasm. I responded, ‘Is it possible you simply had a wet dream?’ He was not amused. (2002: 94)

Szasz similarly maintains that many alleged hallucinations are only eccentric descriptions of ordinary experience. To take the most common form (APA 2000: 300), psychiatrists routinely equate ‘hear- ing voices’ with auditory hallucination. But when a person feels guilty, we often say that he ‘hears the voice of conscience’. Such a person will often not just feel guilty; thoughts such as ‘What you’re doing is wrong!’ repeatedly come to mind. To take a stronger case, the DSM treats ‘a voice keeping up a running commentary on the person’s behavior or thoughts, or two or more voices conversing with each other’ as an exceptionally serious symptom (APA 2000: 312). But this describes any person deliberating between major life options over an extended period of time.23 While these examples might seem to stretch the meaning of ‘hallucination’, it is the DSM that explicitly fails to distinguish whether ‘the source of the voices is perceived as being inside or outside of the head’ (APA 2000: 823).

An analogous point holds for ‘seeing things’. To equate this with visual hallucinations is not the only interpretation, nor even a particularly plausible one. It is more natural to interpret it as imagination. I cannot literally see Satan just because I want to, but I can visualize a red being with horns and a pitchfork on demand.

How could genuine hallucinations be identified, even in principle? The gun-to-the-head test remains a helpful benchmark. If a person’s perception ‘suddenly improves’ after the cost of seeing and hearing nonexistent things goes up, that is strong evidence that his senses were functioning fine all along.

In the absence of incentives, it depends heavily on the trustworthiness of the source. It is suspicious if a person who claims to hallucinate also happens to put a low value on truth in other contexts. Conversely, if a person who shows no inclination to bend the truth in any other situation claims to have strange visual or auditory experiences, his self-reports have to be taken more seriously.

In the DSM, having both delusions and hallucinations is almost a sufficient condition for schizophrenia (APA 2000: 312). However, the preceding analysis suggests that a person who says he has hallucinations but not delusions is more credibly diseased than a person who claims to have both. If most delusions arise out of a choice to relax normal intellectual standards, then the delusional suffer from a credibility gap. Can the self-reports of a man who finds solace in a version of ‘I am a leading figure in world history, locked in combat with powerful enemies’ be trusted when we ask him to distinguish between direct observation, recovered memories, and day- dreaming? Imagine asking Joseph Smith if he literally saw and conversed with the angel Moroni (Hardy 2003). Given his overall worldview, he might not consider it a lie to treat his dreams or musings as on par with direct experience.

6. Orthogonality of Behavioral Genetics and Brain Science

The most sophisticated critics of Szasz grant that he is a brilliant debater, but add that he conveniently ignores hard scientific data from both brain science and behavioral genetics. Psychiatrist Seymour Kety (1974: 961) famously remarked that ‘if schizophrenia is a myth, it is a myth with a powerful genetic component’. Szasz seldom if ever cites contrary empirical findings. The natural inference is that such findings do not exist.

What this inference overlooks, however, is that brain science and behavioral genetics usually ask questions orthogonal to Szasz’s thesis. Return to the case of homosexuality. Does evidence of a strong genetic component raise the probability that homosexuality is a disease after all? It is hard to see how it would. Twin and adoption studies have found that genetics explains a substantial fraction of variation in almost every form of human behavior (Harris 1998; Segal 1999). Such studies can teach you about the cause of a condition already known to be a disease, but not separate diseases from non-diseases.

During the period when homosexuality was classified as a mental illness, psychiatrists heavily debated the extent to which it was inborn or environmental. The purpose of this debate was not to determine if homosexuality was in fact a disease, which was taken as given. Rather, competing theories had different implications for the best way to cure it (Bayer 1981: 18–40). This perspective is hardly surprising: ordinary physical disease has both genetic and environmental causes, and the point of distinguishing them is to develop better treatments, not ascertain whether they are ‘really diseases’.

A similar point holds for brain science and mental illness. If homosexuals were found to have verifiably different brain chemistry than heterosexuals, that would not raise the probability that being homosexual is a disease. Brain science is no more able to determine whether other forms of behavior are diseases. In most cases, this conclusion is obvious: If charity, or kindness to children or church attendance correlated with brain states, would anyone take this as evidence of their pathological character?

The brain scientists’ critique of Szasz takes on a straw man. It essentially asserts: ‘Your theory predicts no correlation between mental illness and brain states. Since there is a correlation, your theory is false’. But every major theory of mind from materialism to Cartesian dualism predicts a correlation between mental states and brain states. To take advances in brain science as ‘mounting evidence’ for one side reveals only a failure to understand the other side.

In a similar vein, brain science sheds little light on whether a condition arises out of preferences or constraints. Yes, constraints must have some biological basis; but the same is true of preferences. Even if a chemical were isolated that correlated perfectly with love of chocolate, that would not show that what appeared to be a preference was really a constraint. Rather it would show that a preference had a biological basis – which presumably we thought all along.

One might take Szasz’s failure to present original empirical evidence as the usual strategy of the a priori obscurantist. But this takes for granted that the empirical evidence is relevant to the debate. Szasz (1990: 216) asks: ‘If Christianity or Communism were called diseases, would psychiatrists look for their chemical and genetic causes?’ It would be a mistake to interpret his rhetorical question as an attack on genetics and brain research. On the contrary, it is perfectly legitimate for a scientist to search for the chemical or genetic correlates of Christianity, communism or anything else. The Szaszian point is that even if a scientist discovered a 1:1 correlation between having a gene and being a Christian that would not prove Christianity to be a disease. To reach that kind of conclusion it would be necessary to show that individuals with the ‘Christian gene’ are literally unable – not merely unwilling – to think rationally about their worldview; to show, in economic terms, that Christian belief is a constraint rather than a choice.

7. Conclusion

Economists recognize the benefits of specialization. Only with hesitation, then, can economists focus their attention on an unfamiliar discipline and conclude that experienced professionals have been making elementary mistakes. However inconsistent psychiatry’s main theses seem to be with basic consumer theory, one might think it foolhardy to conclude that they are wrong.

At the same time, economists also recognize not only that rent-seeking is a ubiquitous force, but that most rent-seekers create and internalize public-interested justifications for their activities (Klein 1994). It is not overreaching for economists to criticize domestic auto makers’ arguments for protectionism. The auto makers know more about the details of their own industry, but economists are better at interpreting those details. Equally importantly, economists are trained to consider the costs of a policy for everyone in society, not merely groups with the most political influence.

From a rent-seeking perspective, skepticism about psychiatry is common sense. Rent-seeking is only a side activity for the auto industry, but it lies at the core of psychiatry. As Szasz (1990: 178) puts it, ‘The business of psychiatry is to provide society with excuses disguised as diagnoses, and with coercions justified as treatments’. Like lobbyists, one of psychiatrists’ main jobs is to argue in favor of exceptions. Some explain why their client should not have to pay the normal price for his behavior; others, why a person willing to pay the normal price for his behavior should be prevented from engaging in it nonetheless.

From this perspective, the divide between an intermediate economics textbook and the DSM is predictable. Consumer theory does not make an exception for extreme preferences. On the contrary, the more heterogeneous preferences are, the more important it is to charge uniform prices. Making people pay the full social cost of their behavior is the way that we find out if their preferences are as extreme as they say. The DSM avoids these conclusions by redefining extreme behavior to be a ‘disease like any other’. ‘Some people prefer to have mental disorders’ then sounds as implausible as ‘some people prefer to be sick’.

Nevertheless, people with extreme preferences often create negative externalities, especially for their families. Some economists might conclude that the psychiatric perspective on mental illness is scientifically mistaken but pragmatically useful. Political constraints make it difficult to regulate preferences merely because they are extreme. Using the obscurantist language of mental illness helps circumvent these constraints.

Conversely, there are efficiency reasons for political reluctance to regulate extreme preferences. Most obviously, there is the Coasean argument: If familial side payments are insufficient to induce normal behavior, it is a sign that the deviant values his deviancy more than his family values his normalcy. Calling extreme preferences ‘diseases’ makes it easy to misinterpret unwanted treatment as a benefit for the patient rather than a cost.

Treating extreme preferences as a disease also opens up a wide range of moral hazard problems. The Americans with Disabilities Act specifically refuses to count sexual behavior disorders, compulsive gambling, kleptomania, pyromania and substance use disorders resulting from current use of illegal drugs.24 But the moral hazard problem of the covered disorders – such as alcoholism – is probably comparable or greater.

‘Economic imperialism’ has often led economists to study another discipline and defend what until then had been an unpopular minority view. If the isomorphism between Szasz’s view and basic consumer theory is genuine, the economics of mental illness will be no exception. Economists have a great deal to learn from psychiatry, but at the same time economists need to make the difficult argument that the Szaszian view is far from crazy. In fact, it is good economics.

Notes

Psychiatrists now prefer to talk in terms of ‘having a mental disorder’ rather than ‘being mentally ill’ (APA 2000: xxxi, emphasis added). For the sake of readability, I use both expressions interchangeably.

The disorder of ADHD was first introduced in the DSM-III-R (APA 1987), but this was essentially a relabeling of the DSM-III’s (APA 1980) Attention Deficit Disorder. The latter was however a significant change relative to its precursor, ‘hyperkinetic reaction of childhood (or adolescence)’ in the DSM-II (APA 1968).

For a complete bibliography, see http://www.szasz.com/publist.html

Relatively new religions with small numbers of members – often called ‘cults’ – have however been subject to a degree of psychiatric stigma (Iannacone 2003). If a very small group (usually a couple or a family) shares a common delusion, its members may be diagnosed with shared psychotic disorder (APA 2000: 334).

Except in tone, the latter description almost exactly matches one from the biography of John Nash: ‘Nash was choosing the ‘‘path of most resistance,’’ and one that captured his radical sense of alienation. Such ‘‘extreme contrariness’’ aimed at cultural norms has long been a hallmark of a developing schizophrenic consciousness. In ancestor-worshipping Japan the target may be the family, in Catholic Spain the Church. Nash particularly desired to supercede the old laws that had governed his existence, and, quite literally, to substitute his own laws, and to escape, once and for all, from the jurisdiction under which he had once lived’ (Nasar 1998: 271).

Breggin (1991) however notes that most claims about ‘imbalances’ are tautologous: If a drug changes behavior in a desired way, the drug ipso facto ‘corrects an imbalance’. The Comprehensive Textbook of Psychiatry’s entry on lithium certainly fits this pattern: ‘Theories abound, but the explanation for lithium’s effectiveness remains unknown. Patients are often told it corrects a biochemical imbalance, and, for many, this explanation suffices. There is no evidence that bipolar mood disorder is a lithium deficiency state or that lithium works by correcting such a deficiency’ (quoted in Breggin 1991: 174).

Breggin (1991: 60) raises the question of what ‘counts’ as successful treatment. It is clear that psychiatric drugs and electroshock make people more docile and apathetic, but other benefits are much more questionable. ‘Since drugged patients become much less communicative, sometimes nearly mute, it’s not surprising that they say less about their hallucinations and delusions. Had the investigators paid attention, they would have noticed that the patients also said less about their religious and political convictions as well as about their favorite sport or hobby.’

For an especially thoughtful critique, see Seavey (2002).

Admittedly, today’s constraining diseases may stem from yesterday’s lifestyle choices. I might be sick today because I smoked or even deliberately drank bacteria. But the same holds for more familiar cases. For example, my current wage depends on my past work experience.

The latter clause is necessary because an ailment might have an incubation period or go through cycles of outbreak and remission.

One exception is dissociative identity disorder, commonly referred to as ‘multiple personality disorder’ (APA 2000: 529).

I would like to thank an anonymous referee for raising this question.

See for example the profile of ‘Andy: A Hyperactive Child’ in Breggin (1991: 275–6).

Thus, if a person has lexicographic preferences, they will choose death rather than change their behavior, even though life was inside their choice set.

BehaveNet 2004. http://www.behavenet.com/capsules/disorders/delusion.htm

Perhaps a better comparison could be drawn between Nash’s decision and Denethor’s suicide oration in The Return of the King: ‘‘‘I would have things as they were in the days of my life,’’ answered Denethor, ‘‘and in the days of my long-fathers before me: to be the Lord of this City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master and no wizard’s pupil. But if doom denies this to me, then I will have naught: neither life diminished, nor love halved, nor honour abated’’’ (Tolkien 1994: 836).

Once Nash wanted to abandon delusional thinking, then, his dieting analogy suggests the possible relevance of self-control problems or hyperbolic discounting (Ainslie 1992). But this would still be a poor model of Nash’s condition during the many years when he felt little desire to change.

A third hypothesis that must explain part of the data is that the delusions are deliberate fabrications. As Szasz (1990: 117) succinctly remarks, ‘If a man lies about his car so he . . . can get more money for it, that is rational economic behavior; if he lies about himself to get attention, that is irrational madness. We respond to the former by bargaining about the price, to the latter by treating mental illness.’

Political ‘true believers’ who pass the Gun-to-the-Head Test are rarer still. Even in the modern world, suicide attacks are chiefly committed by religious rather than secular zealots (Iannacone 2003).

See for example Nasar (1998, especially pp. 260, 330–1).

As Jesus maintained according to Matthew 26: 51–53: ‘With that, one of Jesus’ companions reached for his sword, drew it out and struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his ear. ‘‘Put your sword back in its place,’’ Jesus said to him, ‘‘for all who draw the sword will die by the sword. Do you think that I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?’’ ’ (The Holy Bible 1984: 740–1).

The DSM curiously overlooks this point in an especially pertinent case: ‘In some cultures, visual or auditory hallucinations with a religious content may be a normal part of religious experience (e.g. seeing the Virgin Mary or hearing God’s voice)’ (APA 2000: 306). Presumably this does not mean that millions of devout believers have malfunctioning eyes and ears.

Note that even if you did experience auditory hallucinations, it hardly follows that you have to obey them. The Son of Sam killer claimed to follow a dog’s orders (Szasz 1997: 206–7). Assuming he was not lying (as he later admitted he was), one could still ask: Do you always do what you’re told?

http://www.usdoj.gov/crt/ada/reg2.html

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