#at least its an isolated case

[grandly-disfunctional]

When you go the entirety of con season believing the cosplayers are the most amazing, kind people ever and then on the last day of your streak you get bullied by someone in a velvet cosplay (trolls band together varitey)

[acanthemp3]

sorry for disappearing from tumblr for 3 months without saying anything but im back now :> hiiiiiii :> ill ramble a bit abt why i was gone in the tags. anyway yay hi guys :> good evening :> hows everyone doing :>

[eatyourmaker]

I don't know how to word so I just. Send hug gif

I hope you don't mind me sending these kfdngskdfn

🫂 thanks

Sorry if I bummed anyone out

It just kinda sucks

I was so excited to have a place that felt!!! So accepting!!! And it felt like everyone was just toying with the characters in their own creative way, whether that be ships, blogs, rps, etc.

A place where a weirdo like me could thrive.

But

Idk lately this place is starting to feel as draining as any other aspect of my life. Idk what changed... in reality it's probably only me that's changed.

Like I'm constantly scared of something,,,

Maybe I'll just disappear until the next ep drops again fjdksndkdnns

[pyrriax]

hey guys im back at it again with the horrible levels of s4 zam brainrot. um.

did i manage to somehow make this song about him in my head? yes! yes i did. and i cannot be normal about it.

[meatriarchived2]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[tautozhone]

i feel like a good majority of what i could possibly say about this has already said, but i can’t resist chiming in anyway. i think using some of these terms as some sort of integrated part of a synopsis doesn’t really bother me. like i’ve certainly found a lot of my favorite fanfic tropes work their way into my writing somehow, that’s just the nature of influence & inspiration. this isn’t bad, tropes are tropes and they can sell books, i just think the delivery of it is what matters most. what’s so infuriating about it is in fact the corporate feeling that it’s just a marketing tactic, whether the story was built solely around some tropes or not, this is all a horrible product of corporations realizing and recognizing fandom, for the worst in most ways.

hypothetically if i came across an author on booktok who said “follow the lives of A and B as their tumultuous business rivalry turns to a tense friendship. A, owning a coffee shop adjacent to the cafe that B runs, finds themself caught up in a complicated web of emotion upon having to move in with the last person they would have expected. occupying the same space together proves difficult, both A and B finding it nearly impossible to avoid each other. as both businesses threaten to go under, nothing can possibly get in the way of focusing on what truly matters. watch as A and B teeter on the fence between love and hate as they each fight to out-pace the other, no matter the circumstance” i would find it more intriguing than an author saying “do you like friends to lovers? and then they’re roomates? and it’s a coffee shop business rivals slowburn?? then golly this book is for you!!” at this point darling you told me nothing hooked me on something i could get from ao3, FFnet, etc and SOMEHOW i do feel you spoiled the drama along the way. a lot of readers will likely react this way. listing tropes gets interest from those who know them, like them, would want to read them, but where’s the rest of the incentive to actually engage with your story instead of just going and finding a fanfic that delivers more information than what you’re giving.

i think “get creative with it” will always trump “don’t use it at all” at least if you ask me. however we aren’t talking about placing sleeper codes for potential audiences, this fandom focus were starting to see in entertainment as a whole is some deliberate advertisement and marketing. of course it has a hollow feeling to it, of course it feels like the story itself is always id coming second to the getting-you-to-read-it bullshit. authorship as a whole has been warped by ideas of target audiences, marketable ideas, originality and uniqueness, all taking massive priority over engaging storytelling.

id ask what the actual fuck happened to the idea of promoting a work as a whole, or it’s starting point, or it’s general summary, just something not standing as disjointed boiled down phrases- if i did not already feel the answer. it’s an unsurprising one.

capitalism values creation as product and profit. never as a process, never as an act of passion but as means for monetary gain. marketing on listing tropes screams “we only care about the concept of industry entertainment and easy attention grabbing here, nothing of substance to see unless you buy the book to find out if any of these tropes are well executed at all, and the less you know before buying the more we hope that makes you buy anyway”. this shit thrives even more with rampant consumption, all of it ends up so short lived because they need readers to move on to the next idea as quickly as the last one fades.

tldr: if anyone- reader or publisher- ever asks me to summarize my work with fanfic tropes, i am hexing them and cursing their bloodline.

Sorry it’s early but you really can’t use fanfiction terms in a non fanfiction context like if someone is trying to sell me a book to read and they tell me there’s an enemy to lovers I would be annoyed because why are you spoiling the story lol

[lobotomysyndromez]

Ford Pines they'll never make me hate you

[copperbadge]

I'm getting depressingly good at identifying the formula for Pop Academic Books About ADHD.

Regardless of their philosophy it pretty much goes like this:

1. Emotionally sensitive essay about the struggle of ADHD and the author's personal experience with it as both a person with ADHD and a healthcare professional.

2. Either during or directly following this, a lightly explicated catalogue of symptoms, illustrated by anecdotes from patient case studies. Optional: frequent, heavy use of metaphor to explain ADHD-driven behavior.

3. Several chapters follow, each dedicated to a symptom; these have a mini-formula of their own. They open with a patient case study, discuss the highly relatable aspects of the specific symptom or behavior, then offer some lightweight examples of a treatment for the symptom, usually accompanied by follow up results from the earlier case studies.

4. Somewhere around halfway-to-two-thirds through the book, the author introduces the more in-depth explication of the treatment system (often their own homebrew) they are advocating. These are generally both personally-driven (as opposed to suggested cultural changes, which makes sense given these books' target audience, more on this later) and composed of an elaborate system of either behavior alteration or mental reframing. Whether this system is actually implementable by the average reader varies wildly.

5. A brief optional section on how to make use of ADHD as a tool (usually referring to ADHD or some of its symptoms as a superpower at least once). Sometimes this section restates the importance of using the systems from part 4 to harness that superpower. Frequently, if present, it feels like an afterthought.

6. Summation and list of further resources, often including other books which follow this formula.

I know I'm being a little sarcastic, but realistically there's nothing inherently wrong about the formula, like in itself it's not a red flag. It's just hilariously recognizable once you've noticed it.

It makes sense that these books advocate for the Reader With ADHD undertaking personal responsibility for their treatment, since these are in the tradition of self-help publishing. They're aimed at people who are already interested in doing their own research on their disability and possible ways to handle it. It's not really fair to ask them to be policy manuals, but I do find it interesting that even books which advocate stuff like volunteering (for whatever reason, usually to do with socialization issues and isolation, often DBT-adjacent) never suggest disability activism either generally or with an ADHD-specific bent.

None of these books suggest that perhaps life with ADHD could be made easier with increased accommodations or ease of medication access, and that it might be in a person's best interest to engage in political advocacy surrounding these and other disability-related issues. Or that activism related to ADHD might help to give someone with ADHD a stronger sense of ownership of their unique neurology. Or that if you have ADHD the idea of activism or even medical self-advocacy is crushingly stressful, and ways that stress might be dealt with.

It does make me want to write one of my own. "The Deviant Chaos Guide To Being A Miscreant With ADHD". Includes chapters on how to get an actual accurate assessment, tips for managing a prescription for a controlled substance, medical and psychiatric self-advocacy for people who are conditioned against confrontation, When To Lie About Being Neurodivergent, policy suggestions for ADHD-related legislation, tips for activism while executively dysfunked, and to close the book a biting satire of the pop media idea of self-care. ("Feeling sad? Make yourself a nice pot of chicken soup from scratch and you'll feel better in no time. Stay tuned after this rambling personal essay for the most mediocre chicken soup recipe you've ever seen!" "Have you considered planning and executing an overly elaborate criminal heist as a way to meet people and stay busy?")

Every case study or personal anecdote in the book will have a different name and demographics attached but will also make it obvious that they are all really just me, in the prose equivalent of a cheap wig, writing about my life. "Kelly, age seven, says she struggles to stay organized using the systems neurotypical children might find easy. I had to design my own accounting spreadsheet in order to make sure I always have enough in checking to cover the mortgage, she told me, fidgeting with the pop socket on her smartphone."

I feel a little bad making fun, because these books are often the best resource people can get (in itself concerning). It's like how despite my dislike of AA, I don't dunk on it in public because I don't want to offer people an excuse not to seek help. It feels like punching down to criticize these books, even though it's a swing at an industry that is mainly, it seems, here to profit from me. But one does get tired of skimming the hype for the real content only to find the real content isn't that useful either.

Les (not his real name) was diagnosed at the age of 236. Charming, well-read, and wealthy, he still spent much of his afterlife feeling deeply inadequate about his perceived shortcomings. "Vampire culture doesn't really acknowledge ADHD as a condition," he says. "My sire wouldn't understand, even though he probably has it as well. You should see the number of coffins containing the soil of his homeland that he's left lying forgotten all over Europe." A late diagnosis validated his feelings of difference, but on its own can't help when he hyperfocuses on seducing mortals who cross his path and forgets to get home before sunrise. "I have stock in sunburn gel companies," he jokes.

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

[onelittlespiral]

Attention: Health and Safety Alert

Dear Students, Faculty, and Staff,

It has come to our attention that a serious outbreak of a virus illness has been seriously harming our campus community. We take this public health threat very seriously and want you all to be aware and alert so that you can stay safe.

As a matter of transparency, we want to be clear on the origin of this virus. The Frontal Recognizance Transmutation Arenavirus 24 (often called just arena or FRT-24) has been a known threat for some time, with clear symptoms from infected individuals. A research lab on campus was known to have been studying its effects. This particular strain, the alpha variant, was of particular interest, so when a sample went missing, we exhausted campus resources to locate it. We were unable to and are now deeply sorry to our campus community. We take full responsibility for the current outbreak.

FRT-24 is highly contagious, so it is important to know the immediate signs. Look for:

Sudden headaches or migraines

Dizziness or loss of vision

Fevers and chills, especially paired with heavy perspiration

Loss of cognitive functions

Rapid muscle swelling

If you are infected, symptoms may take up to three days to develop, and you may still be a vector in this time. As the disease takes hold, you may notice a change in mood, as a lack of interest in usual activities. Instead, the disease drives the infected towards spreading. Common hubs seem to be gyms, parties, and social gatherings. We have also noticed an uptick in fraternity membership this year, a possible sign of disease spread.

Know the signs in yourself or others, as often the infected will not show traditional signs of ailment. This student has given us permission to share his story:

This young man was a healthy Junior just a few weeks ago. He was a promising young academic in biochemistry, hoping to one day do research on emergent diseases. Since his experience with FRT-24, his life is forever changed.

The changes are alarming. He has gained over 100 lbs and been unable to focus on his studies. Instead, he was spending hours in the student rec center, consumed by his illness as he worked his body to exhaustion. Since his quarantining, he has been unable to answer any basic questions about his academic career or research project. Instead, he has shown a hallucinated knowledge of a personal training and fitness program. As an early vector, we are aware of at least 10 other students who were infected before his quarantine, and he is being held for further observations on disease progression.

Thankfully we have been able to identify the method of transmission. At this time, it seems bodily fluids are most transmissible method. It seems that this virus enhances the body in this respect. Those infected will often try to spread by any means necessary. They are very good at finding susceptible men, isolating them, and finding ways to expose them directly to their sweat, saliva, and in some cases semen. They will be desperate for any chance to get you alone with them, to join their ranks. Do no be drawn in by promises of muscle, of status, or ease of life. Their brains are no longer their own. They only seek to make you a drone for FRT-24.

While we are still in the early stages of understanding the virus, we would like to acknowledge the valiant work done by Dr. Pulaski and his team of researchers. They have lead the way in this fight, throwing themselves at this dangerous line of work. Without their noble sacrifice, we would be still months from understanding the origins of this outbreak. We have narrowed down the point of origin to a party held a few weeks ago in the PKE frat house. At this time, it is unknown if frat leadership was in any way involved with this outbreak.

Sadly, Dr. Pulaski was found earlier this week a few days after conducting interviews and performing sample retrieval from the PKE house believed to be the epicenter. He was found shirtless, flexing his newly formed muscles in the mirror at the student rec center.

When reached for comment, he only smirked and reported “feeling great, bruh,” a clear sign of decline. We are still uncertain if he has exposed any of his other researchers to the disease.

Remember, you are responsible for yourself and out campus community. If you suspect you or someone you know has been exposed, please report to the Student Health Center immediately for examination. In the mean time, please stay safe everyone. We will continue to keep you updated as we know more

Regards,

Dr. Brendan Host, President

Congrats @occamstfs on 2k followers. I hope you all enjoy a late entry to the party. Go out and check out the other writers under the #occam2000 tag, some great stuff in there. And don't worry, FML: Initiate is coming soon.

[thyfleshc0nsumed]

seriously, trannies who are even a little isolated, it is imperative that you grant at least one (ideally two) of your stuffed animals souls. They WILL be your friends and even if you haven't seen another human for a few days you can talk to them and they will listen and they will do silly things and be your friend and give u hugs and they probably wont mind if u pick em up with your mouth and shake em like a dog (you should still ask first just in case). Ppl may think you're crazy but its okay to have an imaginary friend if you need them or even if having one makes you happy

[sashiavi]

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

this has been rotting in my documents since October </3 abandoned kinktober prompt I just couldn't get out of my head :((

•·············🍑·············•🍑•·············🍑·············•

♡𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗♡ Wriothesley x Reader - wrio finds you stuck in a wall

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: | ¹⁸⁺ | ˢᵐᵘᵗ | ᵃᶠᵃᵇ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ | ᴾʳᶦˢᵒⁿᵉʳᵎ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ | ᵖᵘⁿᶦˢʰᵐᵉⁿᵗ | ˢᵗᵘᶜᵏ ᶦⁿ ᵃ ʷᵃˡˡ | ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ ᵈʸⁿᵃᵐᶦᶜˢ | ᵈᵒᵐ/ˢᵘᵇ | ⁿᵃˢᵗʸ ⁿᵃˢᵗʸ ʷʳᶦᵒ ˢᵐᵘᵗ | ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ³.⁵ᵏ

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

ᵀʰᶦˢ ᴾᶦᵉᶜᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶦⁿˢ ᵀʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᴼᶠ ⁻ ᴰᵘᵇᶜᵒⁿ|ᴰᵘᵐᵇᶦᶠᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ|ˢᵗᵘᶜᵏᵃᵍᵉ| ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᴰᶦˢᶜʳᵉᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᴵˢ ᴬᵈᵛᶦˢᵉᵈ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Well, well. What an amusing predicament. Wriothesley certainly didn't expect his morning to turn out so… Interestingly. 

The Duke makes his rounds through the Fortress of Metropide twice a day. Once in the morning and again during the young hours of the night, right when the sun sets. Not that its rays could be seen so far down under the surface of the sea, but the sentiment was there. Wriothesely would often be seen passing through the establishment's pleasantries, always making a stop by the inmate sleeping quarters, he ought to have an idea of exactly whom he had in his Fortress.. Right?

He ventures further than the guards are assigned, boots clicking coolly against the metallic flooring, echoing through the high domed ceilings of the holding pods. The Duke makes an effort into personally peeking a look into each isolated cell, sometimes striking up a small conversation with an inmate or two. The man knew all-too-well just how lonesome time in prison was, he could at least acknowledge their existences. 

Speaking of, his mind wanders as he approaches a specific cell, isolated and cold - Away from the rest, segregated by the Fortress’ rule of separating cases, depending on their verdict - Wriothesley flitters back to a conversation he held the night before -

- “Now, what's a girl like you doing here in my Fortress?” Wriothesley leans himself upon the bars of your cell. The area was quiet, isolated with little inhabitants, even more so during the day time, while inmates congregated within the public area of the fortress. You jump slightly, whipping around to face him. 

“Oh, you know.. Stuff..” You reply, looking a little shameless towards him. He had an inkling that you were up to no good. But he’d bite.

“How’s the Fortress treating you? Despite the whole prison aspect,” He chuckles to himself, earning your own laugh, dancing in his ears.

“It’s.. a little boring in here,” He watches your eyes wander around the cell.

“Well- At least you have that poster there, plenty of fun to stare at, I’m sure.” Wriothesley lets his eyes crinkle. The poster was large, stuck to the wall haphazardly, crooked and torn on one corner. “That thing could cover up anything,” He side comments. He watches your interest pique, head tilting in what he could only describe as thought - A stupid one he thinks. 

“I wouldn't try it, you just might escape. I can't have that happen, now can I?” He winks, finally continuing his evening round throughout the section of the fortress.

All of that circles back to the now, as Wriothesley approaches your cell on his morning patrol. Something stirs in his chest, a tickling inkling. He nearly half expects you to have followed his gracious ‘advice’ - If you could even call it that. 

Lo and behold, the Duke spots a special individual poking out from the cracked cell wall. Your lower half nearly dangles from the partition, practically on tippy toes, ankles surely close to giving out from the awkward position. The poster from the night before lays perfectly on the floor next to your frame, comically outlining just how bad you had messed up. He nearly chuckles at the sudden jolt of your body as he unlocks the cell door, craning it open with an obnoxious creak.

“Well.. Aren’t you something?” His heavy boots resonate through the near barren cell, echoing as he makes his way towards your predicament.

You helplessly squirm, whining out of your throat as you fruitlessly struggle in your impromptu confines. Wriothesley stares down at you in utter bemusement, his face cracking with an audacious downturned smile; not that you could see his face through the thick prison wall. Poor You. All lodged and stuck.

"Y-Your Grace! It's not what it looks like-" Your voice manages through the wall, a little muffled to the ear. However, Wriothesley was sure you hadn’t even broken into the adjacent room.

"It's exactly what it looks like. Who knew you'd actually try it." He almost laughs. It wasn’t like you were going to go anywhere - Last he checked, the Fontainian Ocean was right outside their door.

“Seemed like a decent idea..” Wriothesley has to strain to hear your mumble.

“We’re far under the water dear.. Or did you forget in your haste?” This time, he makes no effort to stifle his laugh, chuckling out loud when your form visibly slumps - Whether out of embarrassment or defeat - He was thoroughly amused.

“Hmm.. Now, what do we do with you?” Wriothesley teases. He cranes his body, bending his back with purpose, inspecting the damage you had added to the already faulty wall. How you had managed to wiggle your way in this far, he hadn't a clue. Your body noticeably tenses, you make an attempt to find a proper footing, easily failing from the height of the hole.

“P-Please Your Grace- I’ll do anything, really! Anything you want just- please don’t add time for this..”

“You’ll do.. Anything…?” Call him confused, what were you on about?

“Yes, anything- ch-chores? Solitary? I’ll be good I swear, really- Or you could..” You trail off, leaving the Duke to sit with his whirring brain for a moment. “You.. Can take me… Use me how you want- Please~ Y-You’re stressed right? U-Use me.. Do whatever you wanna-” You sounded nearly delirious. Your pretty ass shakes, brushing up against the front of his pants, a feeble attempt to press back into him.

Were you trying to bargain with him? Wriothesley was more than ready to pull you out, maybe give a little slap on the wrist and send you on your merry way. But now? The Duke couldn't help but indulge in the feeling of his pants tightening around his groin. The idea of taking your pretty self, stuck helplessly in the wall. He couldn't refuse your offer, right? Not when you sounded so eager. Not when you begged for him, for his body, for his thick aching cock, threatening to burst the seam of his trousers. 

Before he can properly stop himself - Not that he was really going to - Wriothesley finds his hands on the soft swell of your ass, squeezing the flesh in his palms. You jolt under his touch, footing slipping slightly against the floor that barely brushed against your toes. Wriothesley breathes hard from his nose, hooking his fingers into the cut of your waistband, pulling the fabric over your form. He hears a whimper from beyond the wall.

“Y-Your Grace…The wall..” Your voice wobbles, body tensing against the brush of his hands.

“What? Having second thoughts?” He can’t help but tease you, squishing his fingers into the soft meat of your ass, digging his hands into your half-on pants. You did say anything. You gasp out, voice cracking with muffled little pleas. ‘Never’ you say ‘Want it bad - so bad’.

Your pants come off quickly, thrown to the floor in a crumple. Wriothesley’s hands are on you again, spreading the fat of your ass apart, marvelling at the pretty swell of your pussy hugged against your panties. He watches your plush thighs squish together, rubbing and squirming in his hold, he couldn't tell if you were wiggling away or keening into him. Not that you could go anywhere. The thought irks a chuckle out of Wriothesley. His fingers wander again, caressing over the soft skin of your ass, digging them in and jiggling cheekily. His thumbs slide over and hook into the elastic of your panties, hugging around the thick of your legs. He meanly tugs at the snappy material, pulling it up and taught, forcing the fabric to cling achingly against your cunt. His tongue instinctively pokes from behind his lips, itching to lap at the pretty wet spot that had formed over the fabric. 

Wriothesley swallows thickly, eyes locked on your pretty cunt, head swimming with the short, hiccuped whines that cut through the wall. You babble and cry, repeating his title over and over - Your Grace, Your Grace - begging him to just touch. To do anything - Anything. 

Your pretty voice gets to him and he finds himself nearly ripping your drenched panties off of you. He pulls them down, leaving them dangling off of your legs, showing off your wet cunt just for him. Gods, he wasn't disappointed. Your pretty pussy peeks from behind the swell of your thighs, already dripping wet, all over yourself. He swears he twitches, breath hissing through his teeth, cold on your core. The sweet jump you make - as best as you could - sends him reeling. 

Wriothesley’s thick fingers tentatively poke at your dripping pussy, catching your sweet, dribbly slick on his fingertips. He awes at how it webs between his fingers, how you’d managed to work yourself up with your own babbling. Perhaps the wall aided a little - Showing off your bottom half, on full display just for him to enjoy, your own vision obscured. You wouldn't see anything coming. The thought runs straight to his cock, making itself well known again against the fly of his trousers. 

Wriothesley licks against his lips, enamoured at the pretty string of your slick on his fingers, sticking between his digits like a lattice. He needs more. He wastes no time, easily slipping in two of his fingers, knuckle deep right into the doughy swell of your hole. Gods, you felt so soft. Silky to his touch, pussy pretty and plushy and warm. The squeal that muffles through the wall forces him to sink his teeth into his own bottom lip. Toying with you came to him naturally. Ever so easy with you all snug and stuck, silly enough to try and swindle him and escape your commitment to the Fortress. 

“W-Wriothesley… your g-grace..” He ignores you, fingers digging into the sweet, supple curve of your cunt. He curls them downward, earning the prettiest, muffled cries through the wall. He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Wriothesley thrusts his fingers hard. Pressing meanly into the achy swollen bump in your core, getting a kick out of the lewd suckling squelch of your pussy on his fingers. Your poor legs practically give out, ankles going limp, your body holding itself up thanks to the wall hugging your body. Your voice crackles through the cement, whiney and keening, babbling dumb nonsensical begs and pleads to him. Your slick pools against his knuckles, threatening to overturn the snug fit of his rings on his fingers. He can't help but stare, locked in, mind reeling with the way your cunt wrapped around his digits. He couldn't help but wonder just what that pretty little thing would look like, all red and puffy, hugging on his thick cock.

He shamelessly lets out his own groan. Finally managing to remove his fingers, watching in awe as your slick drips off of them, connecting him to you with a thin, dribbly line. 

Just a taste…

The thought zaps through his brain, tongue shamelessly poking its way past his teeth, running over his lips with a quick tilt of his head.

Wriothesley wastes no time. Wrapping his lips against your slick cunt, eyes rolling hard into the back of his skull. Fuck. Your taste on his tongue, sweet and tangy, oh so decadently coating his throat. Archons, he laps and suckles, nearly sinking his teeth into the heat of your core, into the puffy swell of your pussy lips. You keen back into him, whining never-ending, absolutely ceaseless, voice managing to pierce through the heavy material of the wall you’d stuck yourself in. That thought charges through his mind again. Poor little you, all stuck and lodged in the wall all for him to play with. The man was sure he would cream in his own pants if he kept up. He barely registers his knees beginning to ache under the heavy pressure of his own body meeting the floor. Since when had he managed to sink down? Finding his hands back on your plushy ass cheeks? Chin dribbling slobber and slick, sticking wetly to the scratchy stubble shadowing over his face? He couldn't take it anymore. 

Wriothesley stands with a start, ignoring the stiff crack of his knees in favour of unbuckling his godforsaken pants. His hands are clumsy, large palms pawing at the metal of his trousers, his belt suddenly too intricate for his rough, fervent body to figure out - Not with how his mind reels, with the sight of you stuck in the wall, pretty pussy drooling, on display all for him. He barely shoves his pants to his thighs, the material wrapping around his legs in a mess. His cock weeps as it's free, slapping up into his stomach, heavy balls hanging over the waist of his trousers. He leaks beads of sticky pre, messing up the surface of his dress shirt. Wriothesley groans out loud, hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock, squeezing it up and down to ease the hot tension pulsing through his thick cock vein. 

He was sure you heard the cold clink of his belt, the only inkling of what was to come for you. He can't help but jerk his length off to the sight of you, shamelessly stalling just to mess with your head. No matter how much you squirm and beg, crying out as best as you could, stupidly asking for a reply to gather any kind of indication of what he was about to do to you. He stays silent.

Wriothesley meanly slaps his cock over the sticky, wet folds of your achy cunt, he chuckles when you jump again, going absolutely crazy for your every little reaction. Your pussy sounded so pretty on his tip, all wet and sticky as he slapped and rubbed against it. His fat tip slides over your warm, slick folds, craning his hips forward, catching against your sopping hole, earning him the softest gasps from within the wall. Your little jumps all but spur him all the more on.

“M’ not even in yet.. Pussy’s already tryin’ to suck me in,” Wriothesley pokes his tip against your hole, catching it against the warm, supple squeeze of your cunt. He growls through his teeth, head quickly draining of any cohesive decision making. Your babbling continues through the wall, your hips crane up into his own, wiggling and catching back on the thick head of his dick. Gods, that does it. You were insatiable, all stuck waiting for him to come along and ravage your pretty cunt with his cock. 

It all urges him to dive in, give your poor cunt no warning for his thick, dribbling cock.

And so he does.

“Fuuuckk” Wriothesley can’t help but groan, finally feeling the sweet swell of your cunt enveloped the fat length of his cock. He has to bite into his thumb, just to slow himself down, let himself relish in the sweet squeeze of your cunt on his cock. Gods the way you wrapped around him, silky soft walls hugging on his length. He can't help but awe at the way your achy pussy squeezed on him, all puffy and sore from neglect. His hands find your hips, one of the only parts free from the wall.

“Your Grace~.. So big- so biiig… Filling me up- please please… please” Your silly voice cracks through the wall. Wriothesley digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips, purposely lifting your poor legs off of the floor, leveraging your body just for him to use. You squirm in his hold, easily forcing him to grip you tighter.

“Fuck, stay still. Gonna make me go crazy..” Wriothesley finds himself mindlessly rocking his thick cock into your silky cunny, humping his hips against your ass like some kind of dog in rut. Archons, he could get used to this. His own personal little wall slut, always there for him to use and abuse. His eyes roll at the idea, his snapping hard, earning a loud hiccuped cry from within the thick wall. The hot squelch that follows has him nearly drooling, mouth dropped open in a soft frown, eyes locked on to his heavy cock sliding in and out of your dumb cunt. He fucks his hips hard again, cock head smacking into the deepest parts of your pussy.

Wriothesley doesn't remember speeding up. But he sure as hell won't be slowing down - not anytime soon. Your gushy pussy squelches on his cock, dribbling down your thighs, messing all over your poor aching legs. Wriothesley’s fingers keep a hold of your hips, rocking them slightly to meet his brutal pace. He doesn't have to crane his ears to hear your pretty moans, effortlessly reaping through the solid wall, barely muffled by the sheer loudness of your voice. 

Fuck, he didn’t care about the noise. Let everyone hear them. What were they going to do about it? What were you going to do about it? About getting all stuck in this wall, going against the Fortress’ protocol? Seducing the Duke of the Meropide, forcing him to fuck your dumb brains out to teach you a lesson? A growl resonates from his throat, hips snapping hard, clapping into the sweet swell of your ass cheeks as he fucks up your cunt. 

Wriothesley’s eyes wander, locking down on the sweet jiggle of your ass and the puffy red throb of your cunt on his cock. A heavy breath makes its way through his nose, eyes hyper focused on the pretty, creamy ring around his length as he fucks his hips against you, slowly leaking its way on to his pants. An ache builds in his pelvis, thick vein pulsing on the underside of his cock. Your moans don't stop, legs continuously squirming in his grasp, body stuck in the juncture of your silly wall. He thinks you beg, maybe you scream, crying out for him to keep going, to fill you up to cum hard and deep and mess up your insides. 

Wriothesley drops your legs, forcing you to dangle, his hands press into the wall above, grinding his hips upwards, stabbing your pussy impossibly deeper with his length. Sweat beads off of his nose, his calves cramp and ache with every thrust he makes, but Gods, he wasn't going to stop. He finds himself moaning out loud, complementing the pretty noises that creak through the wall. Your pussy hugs on his length, squeezing nice and tight, wrapping around his fat tip every time he slams it back into you. 

His teeth grit hard. Eyes still locked on to the messy slide of his length, in and out, in and out. He was coming close. So fucking close.

Wriothesley’s brow scrunches, relishing in the aching squeeze of your messy pussy on his cock. He couldn't take it anymore. The creamy ring he’d fucked out of you, the pretty ripple of your ass on his hips, how juicy and gushy your cunt was on his length. Gods, it was all so much. His hips snap, pace faltering, clapping his hips in heated staccatos, dragging his length out and slamming right back in with a hard smack. You cry with every thrust, silky cunt squeezing on his tip, babbling his name over and over and over. 

He finally spills with a deep, hard fuck. His thick tip spurts hot rivulets of cum into your silky pussy. He messes your insides with white, fucking himself through his orgasm, humping up on your cunt, mounting your pussy with his cock. His throat growls with every fuck, sweat beads off of the tip of his nose, he watches his hot spurts leak steadily out of your hole, leaking around the base of his length. He can’t help but nestle right into your cunt, relishing in the sweet squeeze of your milky walls on him, he cranes his hips every so often, teasing his aching tip with your soft insides.

You kick and whine as eventually, he pulls out, dribbling his hot white cum down your thighs. 

“No~ need more! More more!” Your muffled voice cries, pitifully wiggling within the hug of the wall, attempting to squirm your way out.

Wriothesley chuckles hotly, eying off the sweet gush of cum that drools out of your puffy pussy. His mouth waters, salivating like a dog. Surely he could take you out of the wall a little later? You’d understand. You’d been a great little wall slut for him so far, so why not indulge for as long as he wanted? Maybe he'd let you cum, spray and mess all over yourself - He could even let you out as a reward.

His finger comes up to caress over your spent hole, scooping up the leaking slick that coated your poor pussy. The cry he earns makes his half-hard cock stiffen, bobbing to life with a flex.

Archons, weren’t you something?

hnnnnnng gg g wrio wooof wOof - my longest fics are always wrio </3

Idk what possessed me to create this- I hope you enjoyed ;3

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always, Always Appreciated! Ilysm <333

♡ᵀᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ♡

@madsw9 @pvbbyb0y @heath-sama @shiningpaint-marbleheart @the-massive-simp @tericula @a-random-weeb @mechalily @mydarlingdahlia @finnie9479

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Do Not Translate Or Repost - Property Of SashiAvi ♡

[lunarclawz]

— Sylus and Cats.

I wanted to explain a bit more about how cats and the nickname "kitten" are actually very important and related to his backstory.

First off, spoiler warning in case you haven't played his myth, and to also warn that a part of this will be a theory and speculation based on his myth, other cards and information we have gathered.

For starters, the first mention of cats In his myth, this was said by MC, but as we saw, he can almost know what she's thinking— it could also simply be a coincidence.

Just as how he does in the current timeline, she's is compared to an aggressive cat. She reminds him of one.

Second mention, it's obviously not stated if he saw her as a cat at that very moment, but perhaps this can sort of confirm it.

Here it is implied he brought the cat himself, this happened not long after he was released, this is my thoughts only but, maybe before he was locked on the Abyss, he might had past interactions with cats hence why he brought one to her or/and because he sees a resemblance between the two. Signalling that he can feel emotions— such as empathy.

Now we start to get a little bit more symbolic, we know that the Legion of Justitia it's made solely by orphans, they are locked away and trained to become dreamless, mindless creatures living only for the purpose of war, they cannot have any other beliefs than the ones given by the Sanctuary. If they do, it could lead to execution.

Sylus happens to mention that her soul is dull, she has no desires, or at least she suppresses them, no dreams or ambitions to follow, all because she was locked in a cage. She's imprisoned not only by the Oracle but by herself.

As she struggles to find a way out of his lair, he observes, watches her attempt with no success.

This cat very well represents MC past self, before meeting her dragon, waiting for him just as she did before her sentence. Talking to an obsidian figurine— one that ignited a fire inside of her to desire.

Almost as if it was fate, the burning figurine allowed her to break free, to meet the world beyond of those walls, something that cat was desperate for.

She hid herself, her dream of curiosity, her right to wonder. She mentions being held by threads, keeping her captive, a prisoner with a mind that cannot be suppressed.

But when she meets him, she meets the other side of the coin, the pinnacle of greed. Yet she sees it as something pure, only the twisted minds are the ones that manage to corrupt the beautiful concept of desire. The wish of something more than just monotony, the wish to see, know—explore the world that lays at her hand.

He opens her world, he frees the cat out of the cage and shows her how life is supposed to be.

She's no longer who she was, she's not a house cat, she's now a mountain cat, a cat that can roam freely. One that can wish for, and of course he will grant it. He gives her the stability she needs to explore the world for herself, he will set her free but he will always wait with a warm bed for her to return. Guarding her by the distance as she does what she pleases.

Maybe it's because he felt the same, forced to be locked away, a barrier standing within his human shape and dragon form, something he never wished for, isolating himself out of fright.

Yet he met her, consoling the fractured heart in his core, they always needed each other, to see beyond their limitations, to be set free.

He's constantly reminding her of how now she resembles a dragon, care free and beautiful. Breaking that fear.

The cat resembles her if she never met the dragon, it grew complacent. A enslaved cat, a house cat, a cat without its desire to roam. Never attempting to question the cage that locked it— perhaps didn't even see it anymore.

Current Timeline.

In some cards, we see mentioned that he takes care of stray cats, cats that roam freely and come back for his aid. Perhaps he likes this, he can't trap someone, he can't suppress their dreams, they must leave and discover by their own hand.

"Kitten" is an omen of the day he set her free.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hey, do you have anything on writing about cults you could share, please?

Writing Notes: Cults

Cult - A religious or quasi-religious group characterized by unusual or atypical beliefs, seclusion from the outside world, and an authoritarian structure.

They tend to be highly cohesive, well organized, secretive, and hostile to nonmembers.

Also: The system of beliefs and rituals specific to a particular religious group.

Cult of Personality - exaggerated devotion to a charismatic political, religious, or other leader, often fomented by authoritarian figures or regimes as a means of maintaining their power. Also called personality cult.

Characteristics of a Cult

Each cult has its own distinctive focus, but almost all of these groups share at least some elements in common, such as:

Authoritarian control: Cultism hinges on encouraging maximum dependency. People in the cult must feel incapable of living an individual life outside the norms of the group. These beliefs often go hand in hand with a worshipful attitude toward the group’s authoritarian leader.

Extremist beliefs: Cult members hold to very dogmatic and extreme beliefs. They also are unable to question these belief systems without fear of reprisal or punishment from the leader or other group members.

Isolation from society: As soon as new members join a cult, other adherents work hard to isolate them from family members and friends. This helps fulfill the mind control aspirations of the leader. It also creates a hive mind of sorts between the new person and the other members.

Veneration of a single individual: Charismatic leaders are often at the center of most cults. Consider the Manson family of the late 1960s. As their name suggests, they adopted the beliefs of their leader, Charles Manson, and fulfilled his requests. The same pattern repeats in almost all other cults, albeit to less violent ends in many cases.

Types of Cults

There are many different types of cults focusing on different end goals or beliefs. Here are just a few general groupings:

Doomsday cults: Certain cults come together to prepare for the allegedly imminent end of the world. For instance, the Branch Davidians stockpiled firearms and explosives in a Waco, Texas, compound over the 1980s and ’90s to prepare for the apocalypse. This led to an infamous standoff with the federal government.

Political cults: Political groups on both the left and right can morph into cults. Janja Lalich wrote an entire account of her own experience in such an environment.

Religious cults: Spiritual beliefs serve as the bedrock for many cults. Some cults are offshoots of mainline religions while others offer brand-new dogmas and theology.

Sex cults: All types of cults might have a component of sexual abuse, but some focus on sex as one of their primary functions. For instance, New York–based NXIVM encouraged rampant sexual behavior between its group members before dissolving.

Examples of Cults

Cults have made headlines over the years due to their outrageous and sometimes tragic behavior. Some notorious cultic groups:

Heaven’s Gate: Inspired by the Book of Revelation, Bonnie Nettles and Marshall Applewhite formed Heaven’s Gate as a doomsday cult with a focus on UFOs. In 1997, all the members died by mass suicide in an effort to ride a comet passing by the Earth.

The Peoples Temple: Jim Jones, a charismatic preacher from the United States, formed the Peoples Temple to spread his own flavor of Christianity before moving to Guyana. There, he founded Jonestown, a compound for his religious group of followers. They died by mass suicide in 1978.

The Unification Church: A new religious movement that began in South Korea, The Unification Church spread to the rest of the world. All adherents follow the teachings of Sun Myung Moon, hence their colloquial nickname (the Moonies).

Why People Join Cults. People join cult movements for various reasons, most of which revolve around a desire for meaning and community. Many who become part of such organizations have troubled backgrounds and difficulty fitting into society. They might also feel mainstream culture has no place for them and nothing of spiritual value to offer either.

Former cult members often describe the long-lasting sense of loneliness and nihilism they felt prior to becoming part of something bigger than themselves.

This encourages them to put down their defenses and accept the stranger elements of their new communities.

Of course, this has sometimes led to horrific and even deadly outcomes in extreme circumstances.

No one joins a cult voluntarily; they are recruited into it.

There is lack of informed consent.

Everyone has vulnerabilities.

Possible situational vulnerabilities include:

illness,

the death of a loved one,

breakup of an important relationship,

loss of a job, or

moving to another city, state or country.

Individual vulnerabilities may include:

high hypnotizability,

strong ability for concentration and vivid imagination,

learning disorders, or 

autism spectrum disorders.

Excessive use of hypnosis, meditation, and other activities can induce an altered state of consciousness. These, in turn, increase susceptibility to being recruited by a cult unless there are strong critical thinking, media literacy and good supportive network, which can help a person stay grounded.

Other risks consist of:

Learning and communication disorders

Drug or alcohol problems

Trauma

Unresolved sexual issues

Phobias (fear of heights, drowning, sharks, aliens, terrorists, crime, etc.)

There are even recent 21st century contributors:

COVID-19/pandemic

Severe economic disruption

Isolation, lack of touch, social distancing

Social/political polarization

Increased time online

Internet addiction

Recruitment into extreme conspiracy theories and cults/scams

"Cult" as a Word

In recent years the word cult has been most commonly used as a pejorative term for a religious group that falls outside the mainstream and, by implication, engages in questionable activities. Many new religions are controversially labeled as cults.

In historiography, there are no negative connotations to the term cult.

It is especially common in works on Classical history, as the ancient Mediterranean world was home to a large variety of mystery cults.

These were small groups whose elite members were initiated into secret rituals for a particular deity.

Far from existing at tension with the society at large, many Roman cults were heavily integrated into the surrounding society.

In Pompeii one of the most lavishly decorated temples was of the cult of Isis.

An inscription records that the individual who paid for the temple’s refurbishment was rewarded with a position as town councilor, indicating a strong interconnection between this mystery cult and the civic order of the city.

Furthermore, one of the most prominent Roman cults was the imperial cult, which was dedicated to the worship of deceased and deified Roman emperors and their deified family members.

Imperial cult worship reinforced the power of the dominant political system, and most or all of pre-Christian Roman society had some degree of membership in it.

Other groups referred to as cults can also reinforce the dominance of a religious and social order.

Within the Roman Catholic Church, the cult of the Virgin Mary and cults of other saints have gained many adherents and a high degree of influence, especially artistically.

Even today, people who intensely worship particular saints are sometimes identified as being members of that saint’s cult.

In more recent decades, groups designated cults have been those at tension with the rest of society.

However, beyond this feature, there is no general consensus about what differentiates a cult from any other religious group.

Some scholars have argued that, by the simplest definition, many, if not all, religious sects originated as cults.

Over time, some cults became culturally accepted and the tension between them and society resolved, leading to the cult being recognized as a sect or church.

Recent examples of this transition from so-called cult to religious group are Seventh-day Adventists and the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Other scholars have advanced a more narrow definition of the term cult as a religious group with some or all of the following characteristics:

a charismatic leader who exercises total control;

an apocalyptic vision (doomsday cult);

isolation from society;

an emphasis on a transcendent spiritual experience;

rigid rules governing group members’ behaviour; and

the exploitation of members, including sexually and financially.

In popular use, the term cult has accumulated a strong negative connotation and is often used to cast aspersions on a religious group’s validity as a form of religious practice.

From the 1960s onward, a number of new cults developed in the United States and attracted large numbers of worshippers.

The actions of these cultists, who sometimes isolated themselves from their families and oriented their lives fully around the cult, triggered widespread alarm.

So, too, did the actions of violent cults such as the Peoples Temple, headed by Jim Jones, and the Manson Family, which was led by Charles Manson.

The anti-cult movement reached its peak in the 1970s, when the idea emerged that cult members were being “brainwashed,” having their free will systematically taken away.

The trial of Patty Hearst—an heiress kidnapped by leftist radicals in 1974 and allegedly brainwashed into committing crimes—played a key role in the growth of this belief.

According to the brainwashing theory, cult members are not choosing an alternative way of life but are instead victims of exploitative and dangerous fanatics.

This justified the rise of forcible deprogramming, which involves the kidnapping and holding of cult members until the deprogrammer judges that they are no longer in the thrall of the cult.

Many deprogrammed former cult members went on to launch challenges in court.

Some sued the cults that they had been members of, accusing them of brainwashing. A few psychologists and psychiatrists testified in support of the deprogrammed cultists at those trials.

However, other former cult members sued their deprogrammers, claiming to have been kidnapped and abusively coerced into giving up their “brainwashing.”

With brainwashing accusations at the heart of these cases, a variety of medical researchers as well as such organizations as the American Psychological Association researched cults and cult members during the 1980s and ’90s. Their conclusion was that accusations of brainwashing and coercive persuasion against cults lacked a factual basis.

Studies which suggested proof of brainwashing were methodologically flawed or based on insufficient data.

After a cult member won a lawsuit against his deprogrammer (Jason Scott v. Rick Ross) in 1995, the practice of forcible deprogramming was largely discontinued.

Academic research has revealed a more fluid and varied reality than the one advanced by the anti-cult movement.

In fact, many people who join a cult choose to leave it.

Other members of cults do not become entirely isolated from society, maintaining jobs and relationships outside the cult.

In addition, some studies have suggested that those who leave a cult and experience psychological damage are more likely to have left involuntarily.

A wide range of religious groups fall under the definition of cult, and the vast majority are benign or even have a positive impact on society.

Given the continued negative associations with the term cult, many sociologists and researchers now prefer to use the term new religious movement (NRM).

It is used to describe groups previously called cults.

This term is meant to dissociate NRMs from the connotation that their forms of religious expression lack legitimacy, an idea which is now perhaps permanently ingrained in the term cult.

Lasting Effects of Cults. Prolonged and intense coercive persuasion can cause identity disturbance. Commonly, there are many additional after-effects:

Extreme identity confusion

Panic and anxiety attacks

Depression

Psychosomatic symptoms (headaches, backaches, asthma, skin problems)

Anger, guilt and shame

Decision-making dependency

Fear and phobias

Sleep disorders/nightmares

Eating disorders

Fear of intimacy and commitment

Distrust of self and others

Grieving loss of friends and family

Delusions and paranoia

Loss of life meaning or purpose

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)

In an era when cult mind control is ever present and growing, it is essential to better understand the basics of cults, in order to combat their influence.

The first goal in educating yourself is prevention, for yourself and others. But, if you have been affected, recovery is possible.

And if your friends or family are involved in a destructive group, you can help rescue them from harm.

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