#is by attempting to manipulate each other - and giving the other person the stimulation and challenge of having to out think them

[clowndensation]

have decided i need to write an essay about charoum's whole deal with gortash. which doesn't even get into gortash's whole deal with charoum. because that's an entire other essay.

ok the thing about charoum and gortash is that. like.

charoum is a guy who's never meaningfully been told no in his life. anybody in a position to impart any sort of boundary with him was generally murdered in the process, and then he went ahead and did what he wanted anyways. and i don't think he necessarily understood what he was doing as a child (beyond any young child's capability of understanding what murder or death means). he just knew that murder 1. felt good and natural to him. 2. meant he got to do what he wanted. 3. he's alone and scared and he misses his mom and dad, but they're not around anymore.

by the time he was able to contextualize murder as an action that had consequences outside of his own immediate self-gratification, he was already so disconnected from the idea that other people actually were people - with their own lives and hopes and dreams - that it was infinitely easier to reject any guilt or regret he might feel, in favor of leaning into this worldview he's crafted, wherein he (and orin) exist alongside other people, but aren't actually one of them.

and so while he might enjoy infiltrating the world where all the other people are (going into taverns and singing and dancing and drinking, rubbing shoulders with the nobles and aristos of baldur's gate, being an object of admiration and obsession of his fellow cultists), he understands that he (and orin) are uniquely separate from them all.

and then he meets gortash. and he's fun! he's interesting! he levers people with the same efficiency that charoum kills them. he tries to lever charoum like he's one of those ordinary people. a person on the other side of the curtain, unaware of the stage they all play on. and it works. if charoum isn't paying attention, if he underestimates gortash, focuses on something else, he'll find himself going along with what he wants without even thinking about it!

there is, genuinely, nothing more invigorating than being manipulated into doing what someone else wants, because that proves that someone else has a will separate from his own, and is capable of enforcing it onto him. which is exciting in a way that nothing else in charoum's life has ever been.

[magnuficent76]

All of M3ph1st0's prosthetics - A comprehensive summary.

Mephisto is disabled in multiple ways. It is also a huge nerd and a big transhumanism fan who happens to know about a lot of robotics. That all being said, they have augmented themselves in many ways. Here's all of them, going from the top [Content warning for discussion of organs, surgery and like. Slight body horror that doesn't make sense. Don't worry about it !]

Main functionality ones:

Arm and Legs – Self explanatory. They help him get to places and work on things, also the oldest ones out of all his works given they've just been consistently upgraded to better suit all his needs. Each limb has a name (Leonard, Leslie (legs), and Hal (Arm/hand)), and they all care dearly for their creator because even though it might be programmed into them, Mephisto doesn't just treat them as disposable tools. They also have tiny android forms for when they're not assisting 310 and are free to walk around/opinionate on anything they want to. Mephisto treats them better than it does an Average Person.

Spinal support — Another one that helps quite a bit. Standing up for too long or sitting down the wrong ways causes Mephisto a lot of pain, so they made a device to help them with remembering to take care of themselves in that regard. Enter, Simon: The spinal support bot that connects directly to their back through a simple mechanism around the back. Simon is divided in two parts– A small battery-bot that charges up everything, that can detach itself from the main component any time it runs low on juice and slither around if it wants, and the inbuilt structure, which is what forces Mrphisto's back to stay put together and pulls it back in case it slouches too much (happens Often).

Non-organic Organs — After getting literally brought back to life by A Curse, the shitty old magic from a thousand years ago didn't account for how organ failure would happen in case a body that was cold and lifeless came back swinging from the dead, and as such a lot of Mephisto's organs function weirdly/stop at random times. These were a necessity it didn't expect at first, but had to quickly figure out. They're mostly made of flexible synthetic material the body wouldn't reject, and took several dozens of attempts on other people to perfect before they could be inserted into its own body. Essentially just keep everything in function while also giving him some benefits he built into them, such as:

Being able to digest non-edible things through brand new stomach upgrade that now lines his insides with Bigger and Better acid that is only found in skags. And Mephisto now. No more tummy aches due to tummy now being made out of Actual Steel.

Heart now has extra pumps to help with weakness and fatigue without overpowering any functions. Also sounds a little weird whenever you press your head to its chest due to there being a Small Sized Engine in there

Awesome brain implant that doesn't allow for biological death to happen anymore through constant manipulation of grey mass and stimulation of neurons. and that has no ethical concerns attached to it. Don't worry about it too hard !

Full intestinal system update where most of it is replaced by a series of tubes that can continue functioning as normal with filtering and breaking down masses. And that body only complains Sometimes about.

Lung inserts that can distribute miniscule electricity pulses throughout the whole chest in order to keep them breathing and healthy. It was a doozy to install this one but hey, now breathing is finally automatic as it should be.

...And some others that aren't nearly as interesting, but that help nonetheless. How was Mephisto able to perform surgery on itself? The short answer is it didn't, its limbs did with help from a supercomputer on the feiling. Are its limbs qualified to do surgery? Who was the supercomputer? How many surgeries did it take to insert everything? Is there a lot of visible scarring for it? All great questions that you will never know the answer to because Mephisto will throw things at you if you ask them.

Lesser functionality ones.

Metallic throat insert — This one was mainly from paranoia of being choked or being bitten directly on the throat, but it doubles as many things. Not only does it protect Mephisto from attacks to the larynx and windpipe specifically, it's also got an in-built AAC device for communication even when the old vocal chords can't seem to muster anything up. Great for pissing off ventriloquists also.

Better Teeth that Don't Rot and Break due to Being Made Out Of Metal (Or just Upgraded Dentures / Jaw) — Self explanatory, I feel. Forgot to brush their teeth a lot during depressive periods and ran into many issues regarding that, and so decided the only way to get that fix was to get Better, Cooler teeth over those (once they got fixed up) that are retractable and can be made Sharper at a given brain command. Used to bite its tongue a lot due to this and it bled like a motherfucker, which Led to:

Tongue That Doesn't Hurt anymore — Again, self explanatory. Again, took a while to get used to, but ended up solving so many problems it didn't matter anymore. This one is more just a cover than a full-on replacement because that would hurt way too much and there was no guarantee it'd work for good without the original muscles. It did, but it was one of the scarier things Mephisto did to itself.

Now you might be thinking, "Magnus, that's an awful lot of things. How'd Mephisto get funding to do all that stuff? Or find material? Or even just do them in general, given they seem so far out of the realm of possibility?", and these are all pretty good questions, how did you know to ask them etc. But Let me try and answer them as much as possible without too many spoilers:

Mephisto works for anyone who gives it money. Sometimes its corporations (Whom they immediately steal info and material from also), sometimes it's individual people looking to buy things off their shop, sometimes its evil villains who need all sorts of machinery for their plans. He's not particularly picky with the source, so long as its consistent and upfront.

Refer to bullet point one. It is Stealing most of the time, but when it isn't, material is coming from either their own scavenging trips or from teams they specifically pay to find material and bring it to them.

Borderlands isn't real and the absurdity is part of what makes it one of my favorite things, but also, again. Supercomputer did it for them. It's probably fine !

[earlgreydream]

Jealous

| loki x reader | smut |

Loki ignores you and you devise a plan to make him jealous, but you’re in too deep when it backfires. 

warnings: spanking, punishment, sex (obviously)

A drink was pushed into your hand, a the fake smile on your face was dazzling. A designer gown that cost more than a car was draping your body, catching the attention of everyone in the room.

Stark’s parties were loud and long and obnoxious. The host of the party was drunk and enthusiastically telling stories of his genius success. Reporters followed around your coworkers like dogs, three of them interrogating you at the moment. You could barely find it in you to give them any attention, your eyes intently resting on your boyfriend. He was leaned against a wall in an all-black suit, drinking champagne with a harrowing scowl on his face. You had to drag him to the party, and he’d left you to stand in a quiet corner as soon as reporters had flocked to you. The public wasn’t fond of Loki, and you knew that. They were unable to forgive him for his attempted takeover, though it had been years. You hated the judgement of the public against Loki, especially when he was accused of corrupting you.

You were America’s darling, the golden girl of the avengers. A late addition to their team, you were adored by everyone for your sweet personality and generally bubbly attitude. The media was scathing when discussing your relationship with Loki, accusing him of manipulating you. They would never be able to understand the love and devotion you had for each other.

However, tonight, he was in a sour mood. You were annoyed that he had abandoned you to fend for yourself against the press, especially after he’d put up such a fight to come in the first place. Your eyes narrowed at him as you made eye contact across the party, and his gaze was hard as he lifted his glass to his lips.

You grew more and more frustrated the more time that passed. You wanted attention, you wanted him by your side, you wanted his hands on you, you wanted him.

“Y/N! How do you feel about Stark’s new weapons line? Have you used any?” A reporter captured your attention. You turned to him, flashing a smile.

“Yes, actually! Stark is a genius as always.” You laid your hand on his arm, giggling at a joke he made. You could feel Loki’s eyes on you, and you could practically feel the jealousy brewing. The reporter blushed and began to stammer, making you smile wider.

“Stark! Come tell them about your weapons!” You called as he passed. He never passed up an opportunity to talk about himself, and he wrapped an arm around your waist with an intoxicated grin. You shot Loki a challenging look, leaning your head on Tony’s shoulder and laughing at something he said.

You slipped out of his grasp, taking the opportunity to get away from the reporters. You walked to the bar, standing Bucky and ordering another cocktail.

“We can feel his jealousy radiating off of him. You’re making him angry.” Bucky warned you, referring to Loki.

“I don’t care. Maybe if he was so jealous he could at least stand by me.” You shrugged, and Bucky seemed uneasy.

“Y/N, you’re playing a dangerous game-”

“Let him be mad if he wants.” You swallowed a generous amount of my drink, and Bucky dropped it, giving up on trying to warn you.

“Dance with me.” You said to Bucky, setting your empty glass down on the bar.

“Y/N, you’re going to really piss him off-”

“You’re dating Steve, I don’t think Loki needs to worry.” You rolled your eyes and pulled Bucky to dance with you. He relaxed as he expertly moved your body along with the music, dipping you low to the ground.

“Excuse me.” You left Bucky after a couple of songs, walking to the restroom.

After drying your hands, you went to fix your hair in the mirror. A startled gasp left your lips as Loki suddenly appeared behind you, wrapping his hand around your throat.

“Loki-?” You were caught off guard, and you were dragged back and pinned to his chest, seeing his green eyes blaze with anger in the mirror.

“What are you playing at, Y/N? Are you trying to make me jealous?” Loki gave you an opportunity to confess and apologize, but you looked back at him, standing your ground.

“I’m just having fun at the party. Just because you pout in the corner doesn’t mean I can’t talk to reporters and dance with a soldier boy.” You taunted him, feeling his grip tighten around your throat.

“Why are you being a brat? Is it because you’re so fucking desperate for my attention, you’ll get it any way you can?” Loki’s voice was dangerously low, but you refused to show your anxiety.

“I can get attention from anyone.” You dug yourself deeper, and Loki bent you forward over the counter.

“Loki!” You gasped, tugging at the magic binds that held your wrists to the faucet. The cold marble was pressed against your chest, the edge of the counter digging into your hips, pushing your ass out.

“Not so bold now?” Loki mocked as you struggled.

“Have you lost your mind? Someone could walk in-”

“Let them. You wanted to flirt and whore around, so let them walk in and see you bent over the counter for me.” He snapped, and your eyes widened. As much as you hated it, the threat made arousal pool between your thighs.

You knew it was an empty threat, Loki would never let anyone see your body. You knew the door was magicked shut, but his words still made warmth spread through your belly.

“You’re mine. You’re mine alone, and I didn’t realize I would have to remind you.” He ran his hands down your sides, and you looked up at him in the mirror, your eyes widened when you saw his suit was gone, and he was standing naked behind you.

“I’m yours.” You breathed, squirming against the counter, trying to arch off the cold stone. His hands went under you, groping your breasts roughly. You squeaked as he rolled your nipples between his fingers through the thin fabric of your dress, and you rested your forehead against the countertop as heat seeped through your panties.

“Loki, I’m-- ah-- I’m sorry!” You shrieked as he pinched roughly, making your back arch. 

“I’m going to make you remember that nobody could ever touch you like me or make you feel good.” He hissed in your ear, making you moan eagerly, nodding.

“After I punish you for acting like a brat.” He finished, a yelp leaving your lips as he slapped your ass with force, pain stinging through your skin. He lifted your dress to bunch around your hips, leaving your ass exposed to him. 

“A black lace thong, hm?” He snapped it, making you jerk. Soft yelps caught in your throat as he delivered several more slaps to your ass, and you tugged pathetically, failing to free your wrists. You knew he could see your arousal dripping down your thighs, and you blinked away moisture from your eyes, trying to look at him in the mirror. 

“Loki, please!” You begged him, wanting him to ease up on your ass and fuck you like you wanted.

“Please, what, Y/N?” He taunted, knowing exactly what. He wanted to hear you say it, to further your embarrassment. He spanked you again when you didn’t answer, and you swallowed your shyness. 

“Please, fuck me!” You cried, and he tore off your thong, kicking your legs open wider. You wanted to touch him, and you yanked on your hands, but he didn’t let them go.

“You’re fucking soaked, you dirty girl. Was it from dancing with the soldier?”

“No, no, it’s from you.” Your voice was broken as you struggled to speak. 

He dragged his fingers through your folds, and you writhed as he stroked at your opening, avoiding your clit and not entering you. He was making you writhe and beg for him, completely at his mercy.

“Needy girl.” He mocked your pathetic whimpers. 

You screamed as he fully entered you in one thrust, his hips connecting with the heated skin of your ass. You choked on moans as he relentlessly snapped his hips, hitting you deep with every thrust. The roughness burned, but pleasure was coursing through your body, making it easier to ignore. You tried to grind against the edge of the counter, needing stimulation on your clit in order to cum.

“No, you will not come. You’ve been a brat and throwing yourselves at other men. So you are going to bend over and take what I give you, and you’re going to hold it.” He ordered, making you sob desperately. 

“Please, please, please!” You squealed helplessly and he held you still as he emptied his seed into you, coming inside of your tight heat. You whimpered as he pulled out, using his fingers to push his thick seed back inside of you as it dripped. You were shocked at his willingness to just leave you. 

Loki was an incredible lover, always attentive and making sure you came multiple times. The sharp contrast of his dominating roughness left you jarred and unsatisfied. 

He knelt down and pressed a kiss to your aching cunt, making you shudder as he stood back up. 

“Come on, darling. Stark’s party has another couple hours. You did want me to stand by you for interviews, didn’t you?” Loki hummed, slipping your dress to fall back down over your legs. 

“Loki, I don’t know if I can walk.” He laughed, releasing the invisible bonds on your wrists and pulling you up to stand. He held your jaw and pressed a tender kiss to your lips, leaving your head spinning.

“You’re so pretty in this dress, darling. Come on, let’s go enjoy the party.” 

You walked out of the bathroom, his hand on your lower back. He murmured affirmations in your ear, and put a drink in your hands, smiling at Bucky and Steve as they chatted with you. 

“Y/N, how is everything with your boyfriend, here?” A reporter asked you, and you leaned back into Loki’s chest. You fought off the urge to slip into subspace after the sex, and you gave the reporter a dreamy smile.

“It’s amazing. Loki is wonderful to me, as always.” You answered, looking up at the young god who smiled down at you. You were dazed as you kept up with the party, and there wasn’t a second without Loki’s hands somewhere on your body.

“Loki, please, this party is too much.” You whispered to him. You wanted to go back to the privacy of your suite, and be alone with Loki. He gave into your request, whisking you away back to your bedroom. 

“I need you, I need you to make me come. I’m sorry I was a brat.” You babbled softly, and he gently kissed you, slipping the dress off of your shoulders and helping you step out of it. 

“I’m going to take care of you darling, relax.” Loki hummed into your neck before laying you down carefully on the bed. He was attentive to the fact he’d destroyed you earlier, and he knelt down between your legs to eat you out instead of putting you through another round of fucking.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I love you, I just wanted attention!” Your words came out in shaky breaths as he licked through your folds, pulling your clit between his lips.

“My darling, I know. I love you, I’m no longer upset. If you want my attention you need only ask. Now hush and let me make my gorgeous girl feel good.” He said with a kiss to the inside of your thigh. You weaved your fingers into his black hair, rocking against his face as he ate you out, bringing you to the edge within minutes. 

“Loki!” 

“Let go, darling.” He coaxed you, and the coil in your belly snapped with a scream. You throbbed as you came, and he rode you through it, licking up everything that dripped from your aching center. 

“I love you,” He said softly, pulling you to lay in his arms and lulling you to sleep.

[hanazuma-inactive]

Hello, can i request with 2 characters? It's Semi and Ushijima with top male reader. Reader and Ushijima are couple. Their relationship is mostly Ushi being sub and will do anything reader told him to. Also reader a bit manipulative? Well it's easy for him to make someone do his bidding.

Reader told Ushi to touch himself inside an empty room while reader watching him and he order him not to cum without his instructions. Earlier that day, Reader told Semi to come to the room after school end and when he did appeared, he saw Ushi playing with his own body. The sight made him hard and reader whispering things that stimulate him more and usher him to mess up Ushi.

Reader enjoying the scene because he knew that Semi has feelings for Ushi and he's happy because he get a new toy to play with. After Semi cum inside Ushi, Reader pull him toward himself and pounding him hard till he collapse from the overstimulation. Also reader didn't neglect his boyfriend that's been begging him to fuck him and let him cum.

wrapped around your fingers, (nsfw) ushijima x top!reader x semi

pronouns: he/him (FEMALE ORIENTED DNI!)

warnings: degradation, 3 some, hella manipulation, adultery kinda (?), daddy kink a little, there's also some dumbification and some random usual top reader kinks i slapped in there and publuc sex kinda me thinks

a/n: i love these types of request, dark but definitely fun to write, i lean bottom but this was still really 🛐

_____

"c'mon semi, look at your crush over there~ all riled up, touching himself, and begging to cum. won't you help him out a little?" you said pointing at ushijima, still with a vibrator inside his ass. 

"y/n, p-please stop… this isn't right and you know it."

"oh i know very well it isn't, but who the fuck is gonna come and stop me? certainly not you with that hard-on in your pants." 

you wanted to ruin ushijima more and more everyday, that's why you came up with the plan of completely breaking his mind with a particular someone else in mind. semi eita, one of the setters for the volleyball team. you knew he had a crush on ushijima ever since second year but ushi chose you over him. his feelings didn't die away and in fact it probably grew stronger than before. you wanted to take this chance to also mess with him a little, and see what kind of interesting scene will happen in front of your eyes. 

_

bored, once again. it wasn't because you weren't satisfied with the relationship you had, you just simply wanted more risk and fun in it. ushijima is a very nice boyfriend even if he can be dense sometimes. he's obedient, especially to you. whatever you ask of him he'll almost always do it without fail. whether it was in the streets or in the sheets. the two of you were just out eating ramen till the filthy idea came rushing into your head. 

after going home, you told your boyfriend to wait for you in the storage room afterschool tomorrow and answer a video chat with only his video on. you whispered some questionable instructions into his ears and handed over him a small box for him to put in his backpack later. you told him not to open the box until tomorrow and he listened like a good boy. the rest of the night went on as usual but you were excited to see what will happen tomorrow.

during class the next day you continued to remind ushijima about last night and told him to make sure not to forget about what's suppose to happen later today. while you were enjoying lunch with your boyfriend you nearly forgot to inform the other person about this. you strolled in the semi's classroom casually and walked over to his desk finding him writing the homework that hasn't even been assigned yet.

"heyyy semi, how's it going?" you said with a sly look on your face. 

"oh hey y/n, i'm doing fine, do you need something?" semi said putting his pen down. 

"i was wondering if you had time afterschool today?" 

"i'm afraid not, i have something to attend to after school today, sorry about that." 

"are you sure you can't come? i would really appreciate it if you do, it's something quite important." 

"i really wish i could but i wouldn't want to push this off either-" 

"wakatoshi is going to be there." 

the air stiffened around the classroom as you saw semi tighten his fist. you knew he couldn't resist ushijima, and you didn't want to have to pull out this card either but he left you no choice. you can and will do anything to get what you want. semi turned his head but gave you a light nod in return. that was his signal of submission. 

"i'll see you 15min after school on the balcony~" you said with a smug look and your hands inside your pocket. 

the rest of your classes were so boring you nearly fell asleep. you wanted to get outta there and just carry out the rest of your plan. you were horny and you couldn't do anything about it, the thought of just fucking ushijima on his desk came into your mind a few times but was quickly brushed away after a while.  

you quickly left your seat after class after giving your boyfriend a kiss on the forehead and a small wink. you headed over to the balcony of the school while ushijima headed over to the storage room waiting for your video call. ushijima found out what you gave him in the little box and understood exactly what you meant. he loosened himself up and put in the vibrator at a low setting just like you asked. he then dialed your phone with nothing on but his shirt. 

"y-y/n, i did what you asked, is this good enough?" ushijima said with little moans coming out of his mouth. 

"that's it good boy, such a little slut for me aren't you?" 

ushi nodded his head while attempting to push the vibrator deeper inside him. 

"remember now, no cumming until i say so, alright darling?" 

"yes sir h-hah~" 

you let out a low giggle and put your phone inside your pocket on mute to greet the grey hair male in front of you. 

"hey semi, you're here." 

"yes, where is ushijima? i need to go soon." 

"woah woah what's the rush? follow me, i'll lead you to him."

semi was confused by what you meant but followed anyways. you led him to the storage room and told him to open the door himself. semi's heart began to race, afraid of what might be behind that door. his hands shook at the handle but eventually gained the courage to open it. he closed his eyes and pushed the door to see a heavenly sight he wouldn't even have seen in his dreams. 

ushijima was on the floor wearing nothing but a t-shirt, his eyes closed, moaning your name and playing with his nipples. you ordered him to not cum without your permission so there he is. left on the floor alone, edging himself, desperate to be a good boy for you. ushijima opened his eyes after hearing the door of the storage room creak. out of panic he covered his hard cock and sat up straight, only to find one of his best friends and his boyfriend standing in front of him.

"y-y/n? semi? what are you guys doing here?!" 

"aww look at you, following my instructions, good boy." 

"y-y/n! what is this?!" 

"hey darling, i never said you could stop, did i? now go on, keep pleasuring yourself, and if you do a good job i might just let you cum~" 

"y-yes daddy…" ushijima said as he returned to the position he was in before. 

"y/n! what are you doing! w-why did you even bring me here!" semi shouted out of rage. 

"c'mon semi, look at your crush over there~ all riled up, touching himself, and begging to cum. won't you help him out a little?" you said pointing at ushijima.

"p-please stop… this isn't right and you know it."

"oh i know very well it isn't, but who the fuck is gonna come and stop me? certainly not you with that hard-on in your pants." 

you were right, semi cock couldn't have been harder in his life. seeing his crush fucking himself with a vibrator and begging like a slut. he just couldn't control himself anymore. semi took off his pants and his cock bounced out of his underwear. he didn't even bother lubing himself up, he wanted to make ushi hurt, make him suffer for choosing you over him. while all of this was happening you were simply just an audience, enjoying the show put in front of you. 

"yah fuck you, fucking slut… such a pretty little whore for y/n over there huh? fucking take my cock bitch!" semi grunted. you could hear the rage coming from his voice and that only excited you more. 

ushijima was already out of breath, busy being fucked by semi. eyes rolled back, his tongue sticking out and his soft, overstimulated dick bouncing each time semi shoved further into him. 

you walked over to semi and whispered into his ear. 

"how good does it feel? to finally get what you wanted after so long." 

"shut the fuck up, a-ah you fucking bastard!" semi said as he came into your boyfriend, grunting and moaning out of anger. 

at this point ushijima was pretty much passed out but you haven't had your fun yet. while semi was trying to catch his breath, you quietly unbuckled your belt behind him and revealed your hard cock. you grabbed semi's hands behind him quickly and shoved your dick right into his ass, with no lube whatsoever. 

"a-ah! what the fuck y/n fucking- let me go! what are you h-hah~" 

"wow…look at you semi, just like your little crush over there you are also now getting fucked like a slut huh?" you said in a teasing manner. 

"fuck off a-ah… why are you doing this!" 

"oho? tired of playing nice are we? this is simply just payback, for fucking my boyfriend dumb. in return, i'm going to do the same for you~" 

if semi actually had the strength to fight back he would. however with the giant cock head hitting his prostate over and over again it makes it hard for him to even talk. you kept whispering sweet words into semi's ears telling him how good of a slut he is, fucking someone's brains out and immediately getting the same treatment. sooner or later you fucked the male onto the floor, ass filled with cum and so broken that he can't even stand up anymore. 

and there they were, both of your playthings, wrapped around your finger.

[manie-sans-delire-x]

My thoughts/analysis of We Need to talk about Kevin

From abnormal psych class paper:

The character I chose to analyze and diagnose is Kevin Khatchadourian from the 2011 film, We Need to Talk about Kevin. Brilliantly depicted by star Ezra Miller and various other child actors, Kevin is an angry, emotionally detached boy who struggles in his complex relationship with his mother. We see the unhealthy relationship develop between the two through-out the film as Kevin grows from a baby to a young man, ending in tragedy as Kevin achieves his ultimate revenge against his mother by massacring the rest of their family as well as several classmates in a school shooting.  

After carefully noting Kevin’s behavior and the way he and his mother Eva interact when he is a young child, I have decided to diagnose Kevin with reactive attachment disorder (RAD). The diagnostic criteria from the current Diagnostic and Statistical manual (DSM-5) for RAD reads as follows: 

A. A consistent pattern of inhibited, emotionally withdrawn behavior toward adult caregivers, manifested by both of the following: 

1. The child rarely or minimally seeks comfort when distressed. 

2. The child rarely or minimally responds to comfort when distressed. 

B. A persistent social or emotional disturbance characterized by at least two of the following: 

Minimal social and emotional responsiveness to others 

Limited positive affect 

Episodes of unexplained irritability, sadness, or fearfulness that are evident even during nonthreatening interactions with adult caregivers. 

C. The child has experienced a pattern of extremes of insufficient care as evidenced by at least one of the following: 

Social neglect or deprivation in the form of persistent lack of having basic emotional needs for comfort, stimulation, and affection met by caring adults 

Repeated changes of primary caregivers that limit opportunities to form stable attachments (e.g., frequent changes in foster care) 

Rearing in unusual settings that severely limit opportunities to form selective attachments (e.g., institutions with high child to caregiver ratios) 

D. The care in Criterion C is presumed to be responsible for the disturbed behavior in Criterion A (e.g., the disturbances in Criterion A began following the lack of adequate care in Criterion C). 

E. The criteria are not met for autism spectrum disorder. 

F. The disturbance is evident before age 5 years. 

G. The child has a developmental age of at least nine months. 

Specify if Persistent: The disorder has been present for more than 12 months. 

Specify current severity: Reactive Attachment Disorder is specified as severe when a child exhibits all symptoms of the disorder, with each symptom manifesting at relatively high levels. 

Kevin displays behavior that meets both criteria A and B. As a baby he cried constantly, reportedly even when held, showing an inability or unwillingness to be soothed. As a toddler he shows defiance, disinterest in social interaction, and a refusal to engage in play, such as when his mother is attempting to play with a ball with him and he refuses to roll the ball back or respond in any way, instead staring at her with a sullen expression. Kevin also refuses his mother’s pleas to say the word “Mommy”. As a slightly older child, Kevin continues to act defiantly and shows anger, ripping up the paper when his mother attempts to school him, immediately soiling his newly changed diapers on purpose, throwing food against the wall and onto tables, breaking his crayons, making nonsensical noises to irritate his mother, and destroying his mother’s artfully decorated room. When he is taken to the doctor to be examined, he shows no expression, does not speak, and stiffens his body. When his baby sister is born, he purposefully sprinkles water onto the newborn, causing her to cry. It should be noted however that in one instance Kevin seems to relax his cold exterior and accept comfort from his mother, shown by the scene in which he falls ill and cuddles with his mother while she reads him a story. He even apologizes for her having to clean up his throw-up. Unfortunately, as soon as he is feeling well again he is back to being rude and rejecting any attempt of hers to take care of him, refusing her help to change his clothes.  

As for criteria C, although Kevin has not experienced extreme abuse or neglect, I believe Kevin suffered from a traumatic birth as it was mentioned that his mother was resisting. His mother Eva did not desire a child, especially not one as difficult as Kevin, so she emotionally neglects him and is cold to him. Eva makes it very clear to him that he is unwanted, telling him straight to his face that she was happy before she gave birth to him and not correcting him when Kevin mentions that Eva does not like him. In one instance, she is accidentally too rough with him and breaks his arm, which Kevin later refers to as being the most honest thing she ever did. Kevin also meets the criteria of D through G, and his symptoms are persistent. I would say Kevin has moderate to severe symptoms as he does exhibit all listed symptoms quite regularly.  

I believe Kevin’s psychological problems may also have developed into conduct disorder (CD) as an adolescent and then antisocial personality disorder (ASPD) or psychopathy in adulthood, especially after taking into consideration the mutilation of his sister’s eye and the killing of his sister’s guinea pig, his father, his sister, and several classmates. He shows no guilt or empathy, appears to have shallow emotions besides anger, and shows no evidence of having affection or emotional bonds to anyone. He is also very manipulative; putting on a fake act of normalcy for his father, turning his parents against each other, and navigating the legal system to get his best outcome. However, I know that children with RAD can also be violent and if not treated, behave in a way very similar to conduct disorder in adolescence and ASPD or psychopathy in adulthood. The main reason I chose to focus on RAD over CD or ASPD is because I believe the root of Kevin’s problem is immense pain at being rejected and unloved as a child and that he harbors a deep desire to have that connection but is unable to accept affection.  He is so focused on and consumed by his anger towards his mother, while someone with true psychopathy may be more detached and indifferent. I also leaned more towards RAD given that he showed symptoms from such a young age and did not seem to have any problems outside of his issues with his mother, such as acting out in school or engaging in petty, impulsive crime. I do wish that the film showed more of his interaction with his peers. Lastly, I felt RAD was a more accurate choice because of the subtle signs of it that are associated more with RAD than CD, such as stiffening his body when others try to hug him, making nonsensical sounds, and not making eye contact as an infant, although that may not have been intentionally put in the film. Either way, his parents certainly needed to talk to professionals about Kevin when he was a child. Had they done so, perhaps they could have prevented the tragedy of both his life and the pain he inflicted on others.  

Response to tumblr ask:

I agree! I would have loved to see how he interacts at school, what he does when he’s alone and has spare time, and more of his childhood.

I think he had multiple reasons:

1- To make his mother suffer since he obviously has a lot of anger and resentment towards her

2- Because he doesn’t feel much positive emotion and gave up on ever feeling pleasure or enjoyment from regular life. Normal life is incredibly boring for him. He wanted to DO something- real, meaningful, make something happen. He wanted to Live. I very much relate.

3- He enjoys the attention he gets from it.

We talked about this in my forensic psych club- whether we should give interviews and all this attention to violent criminals. Our society is fascinated by them to the point where we make movies and books. People sell and collect memorabilia. They have fan-girls writing love letters and showing up to their court sessions, even fighting each other over them. It’s pretty crazy. But on the other hand, it’s important that we study them. Or is it? There’s a debate about everything.

4- His philosophy and world view. 

He is very nihilistic, he doesn’t believe life “means” anything and right/wrong doesn’t exist/is just a matter of opinion or viewpoint. His actions don’t really matter either, nothing does. I used to think exactly like he did when I was a teen, and I still do in a way.

As for your last question, it’s easy to forget one way of thinking when you’re in another. It’s hard to remember how one state was when you’re in a different one. Also, as shitty as outside life can be, life in prison is even shittier. Makes you appreciate the ability of choice and being able to do things, even just to walk around outside or buy an icecream cone. He was also only 15 at the time of the crime, and in the last scene he’s 18. A lot of chemical changes and neural development happens in that time. He matured- his way of thinking about himself, the world, and the others around him changed.

[fandom-------queen]

Kurt x reader

Warnings: Sparring

Notes: your mutation is the ability to read people's fears and traumatic memories. You can also produce illusions for everyone to see or put an illusion only in one person's head. These illusions can be based on their fears or memories. Also since it's based off of Wanda and more of the mind stone your power will be yellow and your eyes will glow yellow.

*Also I'm so sorry this took so long I just had so many papers I had to write last week that it was hard for me too write once I finished them. Also I had to rewrite it a few times when I forgot to hit save. Do again I am very sorry for the delay.

*Not proofread

You awoke to the obnoxious blaring of your alarm. You turned away from the noise to bury your face into your pillow but found yourself face to chest with Kurt. You grinned as you remembered how you fell asleep in Kurt's arms last night. Kurt groaned and reached over you to shut the alarm off then pulled you closer to him and started to drift back off. You lifted your head up and mumbled "Ah ah ah love, as much as I would love to lie here all day we have classes and training." Into Kurt's neck. He gave a groan in response and blinked one eye open giving a toothy smile as you lifted your head from his neck and sit up a bit to smile down at him.

"Oh liebe you are most definetly the best site to wake up to"he said his voice gravelly with sleep.

"Oh Kurt" you mimiced a sly grin covering your face and mischief gleaming in your eyes 'your my favorite pillow to wake up on."

You didn't think it was possible for Kurt to grin even bigger and he was so adorable with his purple tinted cheeks. This was most definetly the best way to wake up, giving Kurt all your love and seeing the look of absolute adoration on his face. The giddy feeling you got from moments like these were better then anything else in the world.

"I have to go to my room and change, but I vill see you for breakfast in a few minutes" he kissed you on the forehead and walked to the door giving you one last smile before leaving your dorm. The need to see Kurt again had you changing in recorded breaking time.

Kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt

You met up with Kurt, Peter, Jean and Scott after grabbing some food. You sat at the table And all had a lovely discussion if who had done the home work this time. Let's be honest you and your fellow mutant friends had a schedule of who would do the homework for each class then at breakfast you would all trade the homework. It was actually really nice to sit there and chat with your friends while copying down important dates for mutants throughout history. And before you knew it all the homework was done and you and your friends where on your way to professor Xavier's literature class. You and all your friends could hardly pay attention because in a few hours after lunch the rest of the afternoon would be simulation training.

Kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt

You, Jean, Kurt, Scott and Peter had just finished scarfing down lunch and were grinning excitedly as you grabbed your training clothes. After changing you all raced to the training room to meet up with Charles and Mystique, Peter obviously won, but you and Kurt came in second when he saw Peter speed ahead and decided to grab you and *BAMF* to the training room.

Charles and Mystique were getting the simulation set up with the help of Hank as the other filled in behind you Peter and Kurt. Everyone loved simulation training it was good to excersize your powers almost like stretching muscles. The rest of the week you would spend doing hand to hand and minor excersize but this was how you put it all to the test and everyone loved it, especially since you would get out of your last class of the day in order to have time to get ready for the simulation.

"Alrighty then" Charles grinned as he wheeled over to you all. "You will be working through the sentinel simulation again" this was most definetly one of the harder stimulations since in the sentinels could mic your powers. You all moved into the simulation room excited to display your powers and impress your teachers. You lined up in the middle of the room and heard Hank's voice through the speakers

"Are you all ready" you all gave a thumbs up for them to see from the window at the top of the wall. The tiles in the room began to change as the images were projected on them and it looked like you were all in a dilapatated town that had been destroyed by sentinels. You looked around not seeing any signs of them besides the damage they had left when all of a sudden you heard a stomp and felt the ground tremble slightly beneath you. Your heads snapped in the direction if the sound and watched as the sentinels walked towards you. There were five of them there, one for each of you. Sentinels were hard for you to fight since they didn't have a mind for you to manipulate, however they couldn't tell the difference from reality and your illusions, which made you to work on them. This was honestly good since projecting so much and so far was definetly harder so the more practice the better.

The sentinels started towards each of you and you all split up, weaving past crumbling buildings and down deserted roads. You took cover behind a smashed car and watched as the sentinel looked around for you. Just as the sentinel recognized you your hands lit up with yellow energy and multiple mutants appeared, each with different abilities. Some were shooting fire, other ice and water, one was flying above. The sentinel looked around constantly being distracted by the other mutants while your illusions gif you, which gave you the opportunity to look for shrapnel you could use to jam into the sentinel. You noticed a metal beam on the other side of the sentinel that had been crushed into pieces with sharpened ends. You rushed over to grab it and in your moment of excitement your illusion no longer hid you.

You were half way to the beam when the sentinel raised it's hand and smacked you into a building, despite the fact that all of this was a simulation it still felt real and in your disorientation your illusion fell and the sentinel was no longer distracted by the other mutants.

Your vision swam for a few moments but you didn't let that stop you from scrambling up and looking around for a place to take cover while you created a new illusion. You were boxed in with no where to go so you did the only thing you could, you cast an illusion. This time you had roots crawling up its feet as mud cemented it all together. Your eyes were glowing this time as you had to concentrate harder and use more energy. You darted past the sentinel, barely missing the sentinels hand attempting to grab you. You kept on sprinting towards the shrapnel when you heard the ripping if roots from the ground. You glanced behind you and watched as the sentinel freed itself and started towards you. Desperate for more time and thoughts impaired you watched as a giant wall if ice formed it was thick enough to give you enough time to run to the shrapnel. You sprinted over to the shrapnel and as you reached it you felt a slight burst of warmth on the back of your neck. You whipped around to watch as the sentinel finished burning through the ice and walked towards you, you only needed a little bit of time so you altered the illusion to push the sentinel back to the other end of the street. It was taking longer to pull the metal out since you had to focus on pushing the sentinel back. It was close to being all the way pulled out do you pushed the sentinel back one last time before dropping the illusion and yanking the metal out all the way. You turned toward the sentinel gripping the shrapnel you created the last part of your plan by setting up another block of ice and watching as the metal lifted to expose the heat from underneath. You started to climb a fire escape that was still attached to a semi intact wall.

You reached a decent height and waited as the sentinel broke free. You jumped down from the fire escape into the sentinel, your suit protecting you from getting burned by the still hot metal on the sentinel. Your idea would potentially toast you but this was the only way you could jam the metal through. You cast a mutant with the ability of ice again. The sentinel immediately turned on the heat again and as the metal lifted you took the shrapnel and shoved it between. You felt the sentinel jerk as the metal cut through the sentinel. The sentinel started to fall and you clung to it having completely forgotten to come up with a way down. The fall wasn't as bad as you had anticipated only jarring you a little.

You jumped up and raced down roads to find the others. You heard the signature *BAMF* and raced towards it. You smiled as you saw Kurt teleporting around the sentinel and wrapping rope around the sentinel. He then *BAMFED* out of the way of the sentinel as if crashed to the ground, Kurt was looking around to find something to finish the sentinel off with as the sentinel's eyes to fire a lazer at Kurt. Desperately you called out Kurt's name and cast an illusion of multiple Kurt's he caught on to what was happening and *BAMFED* next to you.

"Thanks liebe" Kurt said with a light kiss to your cheek.

"Anytime" you smirked. Kurt grinned when he saw the yellow in your eyes and around your hands as you kept the multiple Kurt's to confuse the sentinel.

You watched as Peter sped next to you.

"How do we disable these things" he panted annoyance displayed across his features.

An idea occured to you, "Keep away from the the sentinels" you warned. "I will distract them but I need you two to make a small square around the sentinels. " Kurt *BAMFED* off and was all of a sudden back and handed the rope to Peter who quickley created the rope ring. You changed the illusion to creating a cage right outside of the rope ring. You added random mutants crawling all over the two sentinels as they tried to kill the non-existent mutants and ended up beating each other up. In addition they were tripping over the rope, until one of the mutants destroyed the other. With only one left Kurt took a page out of your book and *BAMFED*. He came back and noted how tired you were.

"Move out of the way liebe, I don't want you hurt even if it is just a simulation." You nodded in agreement not only due to exhaustion but also because you wanted to make sure that Peter and Kurt got an opportunity to display their powers and impress your teachers. Peter began to speed around as the sentinel prepared to lazer him(same way that Scott does, through the eyes). At that moment Kurt *BAMFED* onto the Sentinels head and shoved the shrapnel through his eyes.

He *BAMFED* next to you and you watched as the simulation ended meaning all sentinels had been destroyed. You looked over and saw Kurt and Jean walking towards you covered in sweat but grinning none the less. The doors opened to let you all out of the simulation room and you met your teachers. Charles came forward grinning.

"That was brilliant, all of you did spectacular" you all gave tired grins. "Now you have the rest of the weekend to rest and of course finish you papers for my class." He added before a collective groan resounded between the five of you. "Now go shower you all reek" he gave you one last smile before wheeling away with the rest of the teachers.

Kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt

You had showered and changed into much comfier clothes. Before bounding to Kurt's room where he answered your door with a grin and a "Hey liebe" before grabbing you and diving beneath the covers of his bed. You chuckled as you hugged him tight to you. "You did so good today sveetheart"he mumbled as he nuzzles his head into your neck, his muscles relaxing fully.

"Well handsome you too were fantastic, I was exhausted after the first sentinel so there was no way I would have stood a chance without your brilliant idea of using rope "

"Always the perfect team liebe"

"Always the perfect team Kurt"

Kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt kurt

*I thought the metal was okay to disable the sentinel since they weren't made out of metal to prevent mutants like Magneto from controlling them.

[yandere-daydreams]

Toga cockblocks shoto because of ethics. So what about their darling finally wanting to murder that pretty boy. How does Shoto react to their missing darling killing people for the LOV.

Here’s a link to their ‘meet-cute’, but all you really need to know is that Toga helped her new friend escape, and they’re both very eager to do something *awful* to the Pro-Hero in-question. I’m just eager to give my favorite duo some cathartic violence.

TW: Mentions of Past Abuse, Physical Violence, Verbal Abuse and Burning.

~

You couldn’t say you hadn’t been looking for Shoto. Not that you were happy to see him, when you found your target.

He looked worse-for-wear, if you were being honest with yourself. Even in the dim streetlights, you could see the bags under his eyes, the raw points on his fingertips where he’d been picking at his cuticle, red strands mixing with white at the part of his usually perfectly styled hair. You were used to looking for things like that, searching for signs of stress when he came home. Still, it was impossible to tell where he wanted to kiss you or kill you, most days.

Although, the sharp glare he wore helped to push you towards the latter.

Shigaraki had told you not to engage, he ordered you not to engage. You were supposed to scout the area, document which Heroes were active, and you weren’t supposed to fight anyone. But you didn’t think you’d see Shoto, let alone allow him to see you. His sidekick must’ve spotted your hideout in the run-down, abandoned apartment building you’d chosen, and now, you were cornered, left to either jump out a fifth-story window or face the man you’ve been dying to put a few new holes in. 

It wasn’t a fair choice, really. 

The moment Shoto opened his mouth, you were running at him, a knife in one hand and your quirk ready to fill the other. Your ability, Inventory, was useful like that, and you’d stocked it full of blades and medical kits, anything and everything you could get your hands on. A shield, circular and steel, was enough to block the spears of ice Shoto sent in your direction, the tool pinned in place by the time you were able to swerve around his attack. You didn’t have to plan, choosing a spot in Shoto’s chest and putting your full-force behind the plunge, attempting to drive the small knife into his lungs before…

Before you hesitated.

He was a monster, you knew that. A psychopath, a kidnapper, an abuser. But, for a moment, he was the same scared, scarred man who’d opened up to you, crying and telling you about his father and stealing such sweet kisses between meetings and missions, not the same person who just… took what he wanted, whether or not your motivations lined-up with his. It only lasted for a moment, but you faltered, tripping over your feet and letting your knife fall to the floor as you stumbled. Shoto was quick to catch you, his foot finding your diaphragm and knocking you back, your cheek soon pressed to the dusty wall and one arm pinned to your back, the other forced to still by Shoto’s grip. That anger you felt was familiar, almost nostalgic, but it was quickly stifled by the utter fear soon running through your veins.

“This is where you’ve been?” Shoto growled, pressing into your spine harshly enough to make you grimace. You didn’t whimper, despite how the noise tore at your throat as you swallowed it. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, you couldn’t. “Squatting in such a disgusting place, dressing like a fucking whore… Is this what you decided was better than staying with me?” He paused, taking a moment, the anger in his voice taking a turn towards pure hostility. “Is loving me that bad?”

“No one hurts me, here.” You couldn’t bring yourself to put any feeling behind the words, they were objective to you, fact. They weren’t opinions Shoto could sway with tears and a sob-story. “You didn’t love me, Shoto, you didn’t even try to. People who love each other don’t do the things you did to me.”

His grip loosened, more out of shock than anything. It was only for a second, but you were able to pry yourself out of his grip long enough to manifest a machete in your dominant hand, swinging around and attempting to embed it in his shoulder. His left hand was encased in flames before you could react, forcing you to drop the weapon as he took hold of your wrist, letting your skin smolder under his palm. “I cared about you, isn’t that enough? Everything I did was for you, that is love.”

“That’s obsession,” You snapped, driving your heel into his foot. He flinched, wincing, but refused to let go. You didn’t care, you were irrational, bringing the strongest taser you had in your collection to the surface and jabbing at him wildly, refusing to stop as his fire threatened to melt your flesh from its bone. “You took something good and you ruined it, you ruined us, just admit it! You knew what you were doing, you manipulated me!” There was a lapse, giving you time to push out an irritated groan as he attempted to disarm you. “I wanted to help you, do you know that? I tried to help you. You’re the one who wouldn’t accept that you needed it.”

Shoto didn’t respond to that, his gaze only narrowing further. You weren’t weak, but it wasn’t hard for Shoto to overpower you, weeks of immobility and under-stimulation putting you below such an active Pro. He iced over the floor swiftly, slamming you into a layer of frost as he tripped you before moving to your shoulder and pushing you down until you were flush against the ground. “You used to be so nice,” He sighed, relaxing as you squirmed uselessly. “I’ll bring that back, don’t worry. Once you stop playing villain, this’ll all go away, and we’ll be as happy as we used to be.”

“Fuck off.” You were sure he has some infantilizing response planned, but a series of soft, hasty footsteps was quick to silence him. Shoto went tense, only to lower his guard when his new sidekick poked her head through the door, innocent worry and such genuine concern painted across young features, the implications instantly making your vision go red. The jealousy hit you hard, fast, burning in some deep, dark part of your mind before you smothered it, your self-restraint growing a little weaker as Shoto spoke.

“Don’t call the police, this is going to be a personal arrest.” He sounded professional, authoritative. You wouldn’t have thought twice about believing him, a few years ago. “Trust me. This one’s too dangerous to be detained.”

You twisted around to see the sidekick’s reaction, but rather than the skepticism you expected, you were met with a wide, toothy grin, relief watching over you in waves once you realized what was going on. Shoto didn’t stand a chance, the knife already in his side by the time he thought to second-guess his assistant. Toga helped you to your feet without being asked, eyeing your injured wrist and bruised chin with a nearly malicious glint in her eye. 

Or… someone else’s eye, you guessed.

“We should kill him, while we’re here,” You suggested, trying not to let your passion show. She was still holding your hand, squeezing it every so often, like she was worried you’d disappear. “It’d save us the time of hunting him down again.”

Toga shook her head, leaning into your side. “Tomura would be so mad. We aren’t supposed to stir things up, yet.” She took a step back, starting to tug you towards the door, your eyes never leaving Shoto’s struggling form. He tried to get up, but all it took was a firm kick to his stomach to keep him down. “Leave him alone, (Y/n). We have to trust the Boss’ plan.”

There was another reassuring squeeze, another smile on her part, but even as she dragged you towards the dilapidated hall, you couldn’t take your mind off Shoto. You wanted to end him here, to get rid of that stain and never have to think about him again. You didn’t want to follow Tomura, you wanted to make sure he never hurt anyone again. You wanted to make sure he never hurt you again.

But, you trusted Toga. You trusted the League. 

So you bit back your complaints and moved forward, walking a bit faster until you were at Toga’s side, holding her hand as tightly as she held yours.

[mfkinanaa]

SUN IN LIBRA.

Libra: Cardinal Air     

Ruler: Venus

Keywords: Diplomacy,  Balance, Justice, Partnership

Functional Expression: Impartial, balanced, gracious, refined, artistic, relationship-oriented, charming.

Dysfunctional Expression: Indecisive, insecure, pleasure-seeking, people-pleasing, passive-aggressive.

Seeking Balance.

Born with the Sun in Libra, you are likely to find yourself motivated by a need to take action around principles of fairness, justice and equality.

Libra is symbolized by The Scales. Matters of law, peace and social interaction are governed by this sign. As a Cardinal Air sign, Libra is concerned with the need to act. They will achieve this in ways that are other-oriented, using interpersonal connections as a trigger to drive them forward. Librans tend to seek harmony in their dealings with others, and will strive on most counts to be balanced, objective and fair.

Those with the Sun in Libra tend to concentrate on social interactions, and whether what is being communicated is objective, balanced and fair. This is therefore a highly sociable sign, and the dynamics of one-to-one interaction are important.

Librans are usually very aware of how others are reacting to them. They will strive to maintain good relations, whilst also taking action to get intended outcomes. For such reasons, the sphere of relationship fall under the domain of this sign. If born with the Sun in Libra, it is a relationship lifetime. The need to understand and balance interpersonal dynamics is paramount.

Many Librans are motivated by the need to experience partnership, as they see themselves more clearly through the mirror of“The Other”. Whilst this gives Librans the ability to become “relationship specialists”, it also means that the intricacies of relationship can consume Libran lives.

The search for “the right partner” must always begin and end with the relationship one has with oneself.

Developing a cohesive sense of self through the reflections they gain from others can be problematic. At times Librans focus too much on what they think the other person expects, and so fail to recognize what their own requirements are.

They may lose sight of what they want because they are busy try to manage the others point of view.

Self and Other.

The Sun represents the principle of individuality. Here, in the sign of Libra, the solar principle is said to be in its “fall”.

There is something inherently paradoxical about finding one’s individual self through the agency of another. And yet, this is the archetypal journey that Libra represents.

Those with the Sun in Libra can make masterful diplomats and offer wise counsel. When the relationship emphasis works well it gives great ability to see things from others’ point of view.

At a more dysfunctional level however, it can create individuals with no real ability to know who they are or get what they need Sometimes, those born with the Sun in Libra struggle to see themselves clearly, or even believe that they exist, without someone else telling them that this is so. Co-dependent relationships tend to manifest repeatedly when a sense of individuality is compromised.

As an Air sign, the ability to take a cool or objective stance on a given situation will often predominate. Librans can be relied upon to bring an impartial point-of-view to any decision-making process. They strive to weigh things up and consider every potential outcome before a conclusion is made.

With the Sun in Libra, they can see all perspectives involved in a dispute or resolution process, and have an innate ability to identify the best course of action to meet the greatest need. Librans are guided by reason and logic, so they can identify the outcome that is fairest for everyone involved. Logical discrimination and the willingness to be fair are some of their best attributes.

Unable to Decide.

But this tendency to see at least two sides in every story can also be their downfall.

At the heart of their ability to look at things from different perspectives is also the famed Libran propensity for indecisiveness. In weighing up all possible outcomes, Librans can become perplexed and ultimately overwhelmed.

By trying to be fair to everybody, they can end up becoming ineffective. At an everyday level, this can manifest as the inability to choose.

Consider choosing a dish at a restaurant. Too much time weighing the pros and cons of each option can mean that the desire for food diminishes to the point that it disappears. Trying to think of what the dining partner will want prevents them from making up their own mind.

Yet deliberation is essential to the Libran process. After having coolly assessed each potential outcome, Librans need to state what they prefer with certainty and conviction. Whilst this can be frustrating for those waiting in the wings, it is also a vital part of their process and necessary for their desire to be fair.

Librans need to incorporate the ability to consider the options with the strength to state what they want. Deliberating for too long often leads to missing out on the opportunities that each moment affords.

When it comes to more complex matters this indecisiveness can become a serious liability. It is important for Librans to be aware of the inner motivation that lies at its source.

Librans are driven by both social and conceptual considerations. They want to be fair and objective, but they also want to be liked. Sometimes this combination is difficult to handle. At times, those with the Sun in Libra can be more concerned with avoiding conflict or upsetting others than they are with taking action on what they know to be fair.

Sometimes the risk of others disapproval is more than they can bear, and they will avoid being decisive in order to be liked. Instead of saying what they really want or need, they may insist they “do not mind”, are “happy to go either way”, and so, will not speak up for themselves even though deep down they know that this is wrong.

Sitting on the Fence.

Librans can tend to act as if they are unaware of what is going on around them, rather than admitting to having a preference that someone else might not like.

This can lead to deep internal conflict as they try to “people-please”, whilst wrestling with an inner urge to move toward a middle-ground. This indecisiveness goes against the grain of their inherently Cardinal nature.

With the Sun in Libra, they are here to interact with others and to learn how to do so decisively. Yet they tend to experience significant anxiety around whether others like or approve of them. This anxiety can dissipate their capacity to take action, and lead them to sit on the fence .

They then find themselves at a state of impasse which is precisely what they should avoid. By failing to choose, they inadvertently create stagnation in their lives. This complicates relationships and makes decision-making more challenging.

Because Libra is a sign motivated to act, in some way or another, others will expect this of them. Yet whilst they wrestle with the implications of a possible course of action, others may have already made their minds up and moved on.

Friends and lovers are left wondering why the Libran finds it so hard to say what they really mean. Or instead of stating openly what they actually think, Librans will try and create an outcome without explicitly stating what they have in mind.

This can lead to suspicions of duplicity or manipulation which is in fact the opposite of what the Libran is trying to achieve. By attempting to make things happen whilst at the same time concealing what their true motives are, Librans run the risk of attracting others disapproval.

They can be very good at managing people but will do so in ways that keep others on-side. They have the ability to direct with grace and eloquence. Yet when they avoid decisions or try to always be “nice”, they undermine their self-confidence, as well as their ability to make much needed social inroads.

Aesthetic Sensibilities.

Another important aspect of the Libran urge for balance operates on creative and aesthetic levels. Librans tend to strive toward harmony, proportion and balance. They often have an innate sense of style, and will be very conscious of what goes with what.

This sign is connected to all forms of design. Librans can combine solid intellectual processes with a fine sense of aesthetics to achieve highly successful results. Thus, many talented designers, artists and decorators fall under the influence of this sign, especially where the focus is on creating beauty through the solution of complex practical problems.

Even those Librans who do not express themselves in a creative sense can benefit from this sense of harmony and proportion in their lives. By embracing cultural and aesthetic experiences that speak to their sense of beauty, they enjoy mental stimulation and internal calm.

Librans tend to prefer cultured and civilized environments. They often find coarse environments hard to be around. Their innate sense of beauty, as well as their love of grace, means that they are inclined to seek the refined in the everyday. By surrounding themselves with beauty, they create harmonious situations and experience peace in their day-to-day lives.

Sun in Libra: Your Solar Journey.

When the Sun is found in Libra, a special balancing act needs to occur. At a psychological level, the solar principle symbolically relates to the individual self. It represents the unique and growth-oriented aspects of who we are. When found in the sign of Libra, this individuality must be experienced through the mirror of “The Other”. Thus partnerships, relationships and decision-making processes tend to be the circumstances in which many life-lessons are learned.

You are often gifted with a clear head for analysis, and a good deal of social charm that can make you both popular and well-respected. By using these gifts to make decisions, you experience the inner satisfaction of having held firm to whatever principle is at stake, at the same time as making a social contribution that is beneficial to all concerned. At its heart, the Libran journey involves mastery of relationship. To accomplish this, you must first recognize you are and what you stand for. Once this is achieved, you have the ability to create win-win situations based on mutual harmony and gain.

[zoadgo]

147 with murven, pretty please

Okay so I’m just going through my inbox to write some drabbles and try to get back into doing fan fic. I think I know which prompt lists most of these were from, but I might be wrong. All of these are several years old tho, so idk. All drabbles are unedited and prone to many typos, sorry my dudes

147: “ I can take care of myself just fine.”

Some days, everything is fine. Well, as fine as things get. Sure, society as a whole is on the brink of collapse and they’re constantly struggling to avert the latest disaster, but there are communal dinners and picking out rooms in the farmhouse, and sometimes Raven gets to sit in the sun for a few minutes and she can pretend nothing bad is happening. They make jokes, and Indra is way too intense, and Raven sasses at Murphy who gives as good as he gets, and Clarke gets to be a mom, and it’s just... Nice.

But some days Raven wakes up with phantom pain dancing a jig hand in hand with her actual, chronic pain, and she wants to vomit as she puts on her brace, fingers shaking and tears stinging her eyes. She wants to cut off her leg, and go run away into the woods and live in the underground caves and never have to look at the people around her and remember the heartbreak that never seems to end. She doesn’t want to solve problems, and she doesn’t want to play nice, and those days her sarcasm turns to aggression, and everyone leaves her alone to work on motorcycles, throwing wrenches and cursing loudly.

And then there are the days where she can’t turn all that pain into rage. The days where she just wants to be held, she wants someone to see through every wall she’s put up, and she just wants to cry. And those days scare her most of all, because she knows how dangerous that is. She knows how much worse it gets when someone does see you, and then they leave. Taken away by the whims of fate, and the hands of her friends. 

On days like that, of which today is one, she grabs a little jar full of insects - just in case, Raven has had more than enough mind manipulation for one life time thank you very much - and she goes into the woods. Research, she says. Sometimes she does study things, sorrow held at bay temporarily by a new discovery. But, more often than not, she finds her way up a hill or a tree, straining against her own limitations to get somewhere with a view. Somewhere that reminds her of spacewalks. And when she gets there, she sits down, and she cries. The sort of crying she doesn’t do in front of the others, not anymore. The sort that tears at something inside of her, makes it raw and bloody, and is impossible to stop.

And everyone always leaves her alone.

Which is why, when Raven hear a very distinct pattern of footsteps approaching, she immediately goes on full alert. Sure, the Children of Gabriel no longer live in the woods ready to attack anyone they see, but that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily safe. There could be a new splinter cell of them, or one of the convicts deciding they’d rather not do hard labour, or some new and unknown threat. So Raven rubs the tears from her face quickly and clumsily, grabbing her gun and turning towards the noise.

“Really, Raven? I thought you and I had moved past pointing guns at each other.” Murphy’s unfortunately familiar form emerges from the tree line, hands held up in surrender. 

Just great, the one person she really doesn’t have the energy to deal with today.

“Go away, Murphy.” Raven grumbles as she turns away from him, laying down her gun and staring out at the vista beyond the cliff she’s sitting just shy of.

“Now, when has that ever worked?” Murphy chuckles as he completely ignores her, walking over and sitting next to her as if invited.

“Why can’t you ever do what you’re told?” Raven asks, wishing that it would sound more snarky and less whiny. But her voice betrays how pathetic she feels, and she can only hope Murphy is as oblivious to human emotion as he says he is.

“Oh, like you’re such a good little soldier yourself.” Murphy quips back, which, fair point. But Raven doesn’t have to admit that, at least not to him.

“What do you want, Murphy?” Raven asks hollowly. She really doesn’t have it in her for their normal back and forth.

“Other than the pleasure of your stimulating company?” She can see him turn to look at her out of the corner of her eye, but Raven doesn’t turn her own head. She keeps staring ahead, knowing how she must look, all puffy eyes and barely restrained tears. “Ugh, I guess some people are worried about you.”

He sounds so put upon by the concept, and Raven can’t help the bitter scoff that escapes her.  Where are they, then, all these people who are concerned about her? Not that she wants them, she reminds herself. She wants to be left alone, this pain is temporary, and it’s better this way.

Safer.

“So they sent you?” Raven asks the clouds, and Murphy sighs. Honestly, if it was Clarke and them, why would they send the least empathetic individual they all know to talk to her?

“Well, I-”

“Listen, Murphy, don’t bother.  I can take care of myself just fine.” She cuts him off, because she doesn’t want to hear it. She doesn’t want him here, she just wants him to leave her alone so she can go back to crying again.

“Well that’s clearly not true,” Murphy drawls, and Raven finally looks at him, if only to glare. But he’s looking at the sky now, tapping his fingers on his thigh, either nervous, or bored with the whole thing. Either way, he should just leave if he’s so uncomfortable.

“I’m fine,” Raven retorts, and Murphy looks over to level her with a look that clearly says he knows just as well as her how bullshit that statement is. Raven shakes her head, amending her words, “Well, I will be fine. I just- I just need to be alone for a bit.”

“No, you don’t,” Murphy says, probably just to be contrary. It sparks a little bit of anger in Raven, just enough to singe the heavy blanket of sadness clinging to her.

“Listen here, Murphy, you don’t even know what I’m going through, or what I need, so don’t pretend you have any say in this, and-” Raven rants with heat, and Murphy has the audacity to roll his eyes at her, “Seriously?!”

“Raven, for someone so smart, you’re so dumb sometimes. Of course I don’t know what you’re going through, because you never told me. Or anyone, actually, from what I can tell. But I don’t have to know what’s going on with you to know that you don’t have to be alone through it.” Murphy is oddly sincere, and Raven can feel her scrap of anger fading, and she’s afraid. Afraid of what might happen when it’s gone, if Murphy’s still here and her walls don’t hold. 

“Murphy, just go back to whoever sent you and tell them I’m not in any danger, okay?” Raven tries, as a last ditch attempt, and Murphy groans in frustration.

“No one sent me, Raven. It’s me, I’m the “some people” who are worried. Because I get it, okay? I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I know what it feels like, and it sucks. And being alone? That’s even worse. So you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, you can yell at me, or hit me, or whatever you need to do, but I’m not leaving you.”

The words aren’t kind or caring, and honestly Murphy kind of shouts them at her. But they’re real, she knows, because Murphy would never lie for anyone’s benefit but his own. Which means, for whatever reason, he actually cares, and that hits Raven like a tonne of bricks. All the air leaves her lungs, the fight leaves her body, and she doesn’t know what to do. Murphy, to his credit, doesn’t say anything else. He simply shrugs, leans back on his hands, and looks up at the sky again.

Raven is left with a choice. She can get up and leave, she can pretend she really is fine, or she can just... be. And it’s hard to stand, with the weight of the world crushing her, so she doesn’t leave. And honestly, she isn’t fine. She hasn’t been fine for a long time. Which means she takes the last option, and she’s not proud of it, but she’s not really ashamed either. She hugs her knees to her chest, and she cries, and Murphy just sits there. Eventually, when her sobs become sniffles, he rubs her back a little, without otherwise looking at her or saying anything. And it’s a little weird, yes, but the thing inside of her that is raw and bleeding feels like someone put a bandaid on it. It isn’t much, it certainly isn’t enough to fix it if the thing ever can be fixed, but it’s something.

And she isn’t alone.

[alittlelessdemocracy]

Chapter 22

Excerpt from Robert Jay Lifton’s excellent book Thought Reform and the Psychology of Totalism:

A discussion of what is most central in the thought reform environment can lead us to a more general consideration of the psychology of human zealotry. For in identifying, on the basis of this study of thought reform, features common to all expressions of ideological totalism, I wish to suggest a set of criteria against which any environment may be judged - a basis for answering the ever-recurring question: "Isn't this just like 'brainwashing'?"

These criteria consist of eight psychological themes which are predominant within the social field of the thought reform milieu. Each has a totalistic quality; each depend upon an equally absolute philosophical assumption; and each mobilizes certain individual emotional tendencies, mostly of a polarizing nature. In combination they create an atmosphere which may temporarily energize or exhilarate, but which at the same time poses the gravest of human threats.

1. Milieu Control

The most basic feature of the thought reform environment, the psychological current upon which all else depends, is the control of human communication. Through this milieu control the totalist environment seeks to establish domain over not only the individual's communication with the outside (all that he sees and hears, reads or writes, experiences, and expresses), but also - in its penetration of his inner life - over what we may speak of as his communication with himself. It creates an atmosphere uncomfortably reminiscent of George Orwell's 1984.

Such milieu control never succeeds in becoming absolute, and its own human apparatus can - when permeated by outside information - become subject to discordant "noise" beyond that of any mechanical apparatus. To totalist administrators, however, such occurrences are no more than evidences of "incorrect" use of the apparatus. For they look upon milieu control as a just and necessary policy, one which need not be kept secret: thought reform participants may be in doubt as to who is telling what to whom, but the fact that extensive information about everyone is being conveyed to the authorities is always known. At the center of this self-justification is their assumption of omniscience, their conviction that reality is their exclusive possession. Having experienced the impact of what they consider to be an ultimate truth (and having the need to dispel any possible inner doubts of their own), they consider it their duty to create an environment containing no more and no less than this "truth." In order to be the engineers of the human soul, they must first bring it under full observational control.

2. Mystical Manipulation

The inevitable next step after milieu control is extensive personal manipulation. This manipulation assumes a no-holds-barred character, and uses every possible device at the milieu's command, no matter how bizarre or painful. Initiated from above, it seeks to provoke specific patterns of behavior and emotion in such a way that these will appear to have arisen spontaneously, directed as it is by an ostensibly omniscient group, must assume, for the manipulated, a near-mystical quality.

Ideological totalists do not pursue this approach solely for the purpose of maintaining a sense of power over others. Rather they are impelled by a special kind of mystique which not only justifies such manipulations, but makes them mandatory. Included in this mystique is a sense of "higher purpose," of having "directly perceived some imminent law of social development," and of being themselves the vanguard of this development. By thus becoming the instruments of their own mystique, they create a mystical aura around the manipulating institutions - the Party, the Government, the Organization. They are the agents "chosen" (by history, by God, or by some other supernatural force) to carry out the "mystical imperative," the pursuit of which must supersede all considerations of decency or of immediate human welfare. Similarly, any thought or action which questions the higher purpose is considered to be stimulated by a lower purpose, to be backward, selfish, and petty in the face of the great, overriding mission. This same mystical imperative produces the apparent extremes of idealism and cynicism which occur in connection with the manipulations of any totalist environment: even those actions which seem cynical in the extreme can be seen as having ultimate relationship to the "higher purpose."

At the level of the individual person, the psychological responses to this manipulative approach revolve about the basic polarity of trust and mistrust. One is asked to accept these manipulations on a basis of ultimate trust (or faith): "like a child in the arms of its mother." He who trusts in this degree can experience the manipulations within the idiom of the mystique behind them: that is, he may welcome their mysteriousness, find pleasure in their pain, and feel them to be necessary for the fulfillment of the "higher purpose" which he endorses as his own. But such elemental trust is difficult to maintain; and even the strongest can be dissipated by constant manipulation.

When trust gives way to mistrust (or when trust has never existed) the higher purpose cannot serve as adequate emotional sustenance. The individual then responds to the manipulations through developing what I shall call the psychology of the pawn. Feeling himself unable to escape from forces more powerful than himself, he subordinates everything to adapting himself to them. He becomes sensitive to all kinds of cues, expert at anticipating environmental pressures, and skillful in riding them in such a way that his psychological energies merge with the tide rather than turn painfully against himself. This requires that he participate actively in the manipulation of others, as well as in the endless round of betrayals and self-betrayals which are required.

But whatever his response - whether he is cheerful in the face of being manipulated, deeply resentful, or feels a combination of both - he has been deprived of the opportunity to exercise his capacities for self-expression and independent action.

3. The Demand for Purity

In the thought reform milieu, as in all situations of ideological totalism, the experiential world is sharply divided into the pure and the impure, into the absolutely good and the absolutely evil. The good and the pure are of course those ideas, feelings, and actions which are consistent with the totalist ideology and policy; anything else is apt to be relegated to the bad and the impure. Nothing human is immune from the flood of stern moral judgments. All "taints" and "poisons" which contribute to the existing state of impurity must be searched out and eliminated.

The philosophical assumption underlying this demand is that absolute purity is attainable, and that anything done to anyone in the name of this purity is ultimately moral. In actual practice, however, no one is really expected to achieve such perfection. Nor can this paradox be dismissed as merely a means of establishing a high standard to which all can aspire. Thought reform bears witness to its more malignant consequences: for by defining and manipulating the criteria of purity, and then by conducting an all-out war upon impurity, the ideological totalists create a narrow world of guilt and shame. This is perpetuated by an ethos of continuous reform, a demand that one strive permanently and painfully for something which not only does not exist but is in fact alien to the human condition.

At the level of the relationship between individual and environment, the demand for purity creates what we may term a guilty milieu and a shaming milieu. Since each man's impurities are deemed sinful and potentially harmful to himself and to others, he is, so to speak, expected to expect punishment - which results in a relationship of guilt and his environment. Similarly, when he fails to meet the prevailing standards in casting out such impurities, he is expected to expect humiliation and ostracism - thus establishing a relationship of shame with his milieu. Moreover, the sense of guilt and the sense of shame become highly-valued: they are preferred forms of communication, objects of public competition, and the basis for eventual bonds between the individual and his totalist accusers. One may attempt to simulate them for a while, but the subterfuge is likely to be detected, and it is safer to experience them genuinely.

People vary greatly in their susceptibilities to guilt and shame, depending upon patterns developed early in life. But since guilt and shame are basic to human existence, this variation can be no more than a matter of degree. Each person is made vulnerable through his profound inner sensitivities to his own limitations and to his unfulfilled potential; in other words, each is made vulnerable through his existential guilt. Since ideological totalists become the ultimate judges of good and evil within their world, they are able to use these universal tendencies toward guilt and shame as emotional levers for their controlling and manipulative influences. They become the arbiters of existential guilt, authorities without limit in dealing with others' limitations. And their power is nowhere more evident than in their capacity to "forgive."

The individual thus comes to apply the same totalist polarization of good and evil to his judgments of his own character: he tends to imbue certain aspects of himself with excessive virtue, and condemn even more excessively other personal qualities - all according to their ideological standing. He must also look upon his impurities as originating from outside influences - that is, from the ever-threatening world beyond the closed, totalist ken. Therefore, one of his best way to relieve himself of some of his burden of guilt is to denounce, continuously and hostilely, these same outside influences. The more guilty he feels, the greater his hatred, and the more threatening they seem. In this manner, the universal psychological tendency toward "projection" is nourished and institutionalized, leading to mass hatreds, purges of heretics, and to political and religious holy wars. Moreover, once an individual person has experienced the totalist polarization of good and evil, he has great difficulty in regaining a more balanced inner sensitivity to the complexities of human morality. For these is no emotional bondage greater than that of the man whose entire guilt potential - neurotic and existential - has become the property of ideological totalists.

4. The Cult of Confession

Closely related to the demand for absolute purity is an obsession with personal confession. Confession is carried beyond its ordinary religious, legal, and therapeutic expressions to the point of becoming a cult in itself. There is the demand that one confess to crimes one has not committed, to sinfulness that is artificially induced, in the name of a cure that is arbitrarily imposed. Such demands are made possible not only by the ubiquitous human tendencies toward guilt and shame but also by the need to give expression to these tendencies. In totalist hands, confession becomes a means of exploiting, rather than offering solace for, these vulnerabilities.

The totalist confession takes on a number of special meanings. It is first a vehicle for the kind of personal purification which we have just discussed, a means of maintaining a perpetual inner emptying or psychological purge of impurity; this purging milieu enhances the totalists' hold upon existential guilt. Second, it is an act of symbolic self-surrender, the expression of the merging of individual and environment. Third, it is a means of maintaining an ethos of total exposure - a policy of making public (or at least known to the Organization) everything possible about the life experiences, thoughts, and passions of each individual, and especially those elements which might be regarded as derogatory.

The assumption underlying total exposure (besides those which relate to the demand for purity) is the environment's claim to total ownership of each individual self within it. Private ownership of the mind and its products - of imagination or of memory - becomes highly immoral. The accompanying rationale (or rationalization) is familiar, the milieu has attained such a perfect state of enlightenment that any individual retention of ideas or emotions has become anachronistic.

The cult of confession can offer the individual person meaningful psychological satisfactions in the continuing opportunity for emotional catharsis and for relief of suppressed guilt feelings, especially insofar as these are associated with self-punitive tendencies to get pleasure from personal degradation. More than this, the sharing of confession enthusiasms can create an orgiastic sense of "oneness," of the most intense intimacy with fellow confessors and of the dissolution of self into the great flow of the Movement. And there is also, at least initially, the possibility of genuine self-revelation and of self-betterment through the recognition that "the thing that has been exposed is what I am."

But as totalist pressures turn confession into recurrent command performances, the element of histrionic public display takes precedence over genuine inner experience. Each man becomes concerned with the effectiveness of his personal performance, and this performance sometimes comes to serve the function of evading the very emotions and ideas about which one feels most guilty - confirming the statement by one of Camus' characters that "authors of confessions write especially to avoid confessing, to tell nothing of what they know." The difficulty, of course, lies in the inevitable confusion which takes place between the actor's method and his separate personal reality, between the performer and the "real me."

In this sense, the cult of confession has effects quite the reverse of its ideal of total exposure: rather than eliminating personal secrets, it increases and intensifies them. In any situation the personal secret has two important elements: first, guilty and shameful ideas which one wishes to suppress in order to prevent their becoming known by others or their becoming too prominent in one's own awareness; and second, representations of parts of oneself too precious to be expressed except when alone or when involved in special loving relationships formed around this shared secret world. Personal secrets are always maintained in opposition to inner pressures toward self-exposure. The totalist milieu makes contact with these inner pressures through its own obsession with the expose and the unmasking process. As a result old secrets are revived and new ones proliferate; the latter frequently consist of resentments toward or doubts about the Movement, or else are related to aspects of identity still existing outside of the prescribed ideological sphere. Each person becomes caught up in a continuous conflict over which secrets to preserve and which to surrender, over ways to reveal lesser secrets in order to protect more important ones; his own boundaries between the secret and the known, between the public and the private, become blurred. And around one secret, or a complex of secrets, there may revolve an ultimate inner struggle between resistance and self-surrender.

Finally, the cult of confession makes it virtually impossible to attain a reasonable balance between worth and humility. The enthusiastic and aggressive confessor becomes like Camus' character whose perpetual confession is his means of judging others: "[I]…practice the profession of penitent to be able to end up as a judge…the more I accuse myself, the more I have a right to judge you." The identity of the "judge-penitent" thus becomes a vehicle for taking on some of the environment's arrogance and sense of omnipotence. Yet even this shared omnipotence cannot protect him from the opposite (but not unrelated) feelings of humiliation and weakness, feelings especially prevalent among those who remain more the enforced penitent than the all-powerful judge.

5. The "Sacred Science"

The totalist milieu maintains an aura of sacredness around its basic dogma, holding it out as an ultimate moral vision for the ordering of human existence. This sacredness is evident in the prohibition (whether or not explicit) against the questioning of basic assumptions, and in the reverence which is demanded for the originators of the Word, the present bearers of the Word, and the Word itself. While thus transcending ordinary concerns of logic, however, the milieu at the same time makes an exaggerated claim of airtight logic, of absolute "scientific" precision. Thus the ultimate moral vision becomes an ultimate science; and the man who dares to criticize it, or to harbor even unspoken alternative ideas, becomes not only immoral and irreverent, but also "unscientific." In this way, the philosopher kings of modern ideological totalism reinforce their authority by claiming to share in the rich and respected heritage of natural science.

The assumption here is not so much that man can be God, but rather that man's ideas can be God: that an absolute science of ideas (and implicitly, an absolute science of man) exists, or is at least very close to being attained; that this science can be combined with an equally absolute body of moral principles; and that the resulting doctrine is true for all men at all times. Although no ideology goes quite this far in overt statement, such assumptions are implicit in totalist practice.

At the level of the individual, the totalist sacred science can offer much comfort and security. Its appeal lies in its seeming unification of the mystical and the logical modes of experience (in psychoanalytic terms, of the primary and secondary thought processes). For within the framework of the sacred science, and sweeping, non-rational "insights." Since the distinction between the logical and the mystical is, to begin with, artificial and man-made, an opportunity for transcending it can create an extremely intense feeling of truth. But the posture of unquestioning faith - both rationally and non-rationally derived - is not easy to sustain, especially if one discovers that the world of experience is not nearly as absolute as the sacred science claims it to be.

Yet so strong a hold can the sacred science achieve over his mental processes that if one begins to feel himself attracted to ideas which either contradict or ignore it, he may become guilty and afraid. His quest for knowledge is consequently hampered, since in the name of science he is prevented from engaging in the receptive search for truth which characterizes the genuinely scientific approach. And his position is made more difficult by the absence, in a totalist environment, of any distinction between the sacred and the profane: there is no thought or action which cannot be related to the sacred science. To be sure, one can usually find areas of experience outside its immediate authority; but during periods of maximum totalist activity (like thought reform) any such areas are cut off, and there is virtually no escape from the milieu's ever-pressing edicts and demands. Whatever combination of continued adherence, inner resistance, or compromise co-existence the individual person adopts toward this blend of counterfeit science and back-door religion, it represents another continuous pressure toward personal closure, toward avoiding, rather than grappling with, the kinds of knowledge and experience necessary for genuine self-expression and for creative development.

6. Loading the Language

The language of the totalist environment is characterized by the thought-terminating cliché. The most far-reaching and complex of human problems are compressed into brief, highly reductive, definitive-sounding phrases, easily memorized and easily expressed. These become the start and finish of any ideological analysis. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, for instance, the phrase "bourgeois mentality" is used to encompass and critically dismiss ordinarily troublesome concerns like the quest for individual expression, the exploration of alternative ideas, and the search for perspective and balance in political judgments. And in addition to their function as interpretive shortcuts, these cliches become what Richard Weaver has called "ultimate terms" : either "god terms," representative of ultimate good; or "devil terms," representative of ultimate evil. In [Chinese Communist] thought reform, "progress," "progressive," "liberation," "proletarian standpoints" and "the dialectic of history" fall into the former category; "capitalist," "imperialist," "exploiting classes," and "bourgeois" (mentality, liberalism, morality, superstition, greed) of course fall into the latter. Totalist language then, is repetitiously centered on all-encompassing jargon, prematurely abstract, highly categorical, relentlessly judging, and to anyone but its most devoted advocate, deadly dull: in Lionel Trilling's phrase, "the language of nonthought."

To be sure, this kind of language exists to some degree within any cultural or organizational group, and all systems of belief depend upon it. It is in part an expression of unity and exclusiveness: as Edward Sapir put it, "'He talks like us' is equivalent to saying 'He is one of us.'" The loading is much more extreme in ideological totalism, however, since the jargon expresses the claimed certitudes of the sacred science. Also involved is an underlying assumption that language - like all other human products - can be owned and operated by the Movement. No compunctions are felt about manipulating or loading it in any fashion; the only consideration is its usefulness to the cause.

For an individual person, the effect of the language of ideological totalism can be summed up in one word: constriction. He is, so to speak, linguistically deprived; and since language is so central to all human experience, his capacities for thinking and feeling are immensely narrowed. This is what Hu meant when he said, "using the same pattern of words for so long…you feel chained." Actually, not everyone exposed feels chained, but in effect everyone is profoundly confined by these verbal fetters. As in other aspects of totalism, this loading may provide an initial sense of insight and security, eventually followed by uneasiness. This uneasiness may result in a retreat into a rigid orthodoxy in which an individual shouts the ideological jargon all the louder in order to demonstrate his conformity, hide his own dilemma and his despair, and protect himself from the fear and guilt he would feel should he attempt to use words and phrases other than the correct ones. Or else he may adapt a complex pattern of inner division, and dutifully produce the expected cliché's in public performances while in his private moments he searches for more meaningful avenues of expression. Either way, his imagination becomes increasingly dissociated from his actual life experiences and may tend to atrophy from disuse.

7. Doctrine Over Person

This sterile language reflects characteristic feature of ideological totalism: the subordination of human experience to the claims of doctrine. This primacy of doctrine over person is evident in the continual shift between experience itself and the highly abstract interpretation of such experience - between genuine feelings and spurious cataloguing of feelings. It has much to do with the peculiar aura of half-reality which totalist environment seems, at least to the outsider, to possess.

The inspiriting force of such myths cannot be denied; nor can one ignore their capacity for mischief. For when the myth becomes fused with the totalist sacred science, the resulting "logic" can be so compelling and coercive that it simply replaces the realities of individual experience. Consequently, past historical events are retrospectively altered, wholly rewritten, or ignored, to make them consistent with the doctrinal logic. This alteration becomes especially malignant when its distortions are imposed upon individual memory as occurred in the false confession extracted during thought reform.

The same doctrinal primacy prevails in the totalist approach to changing people: the demand that character and identity be reshaped, not in accordance with one's special nature or potentialities, but rather to fit the rigid contours of the doctrinal mold. The human is thus subjected to the ahuman. And in this manner, the totalists, as Camus phrases it, "put an abstract idea above human life, even if they call it history, to which they themselves have submitted in advance and to which they will decide arbitrarily, to submit everyone else as well."

The underlying assumption is that the doctrine - including its mythological elements - is ultimately more valid, true, and real than is any aspect of actual human character or human experience. Thus, even when circumstances require that a totalist movement follow a course of action in conflict with or outside of the doctrine, there exists what Benjamin Schwartz described as a "will to orthodoxy" which requires an elaborate facade of new rationalizations designed to demonstrate the unerring consistency of the doctrine and the unfailing foresight which it provides. But its greater importance lies in more hidden manifestations, particularly the totalists' pattern of imposing their doctrine-dominated remolding upon people in order to seek confirmation of (and again, dispel their own doubts about) this same doctrine. Rather than modify the myth in accordance with experience, the will to orthodoxy requires instead that men be modified in order to reaffirm the myth.

The individual person who finds himself under such doctrine-dominated pressure to change is thrust into an intense struggle with his own sense of integrity, a struggle which takes place in relation to polarized feelings of sincerity and insincerity. In a totalist environment, absolute "sincerity" is demanded; and the major criterion for sincerity is likely to be one's degree of doctrinal compliance - both in regard to belief and to direction of personal change. Yet there is always the possibility of retaining an alternative version of sincerity (and of reality), the capacity to imagine a different kind of existence and another form of sincere commitment. These alternative visions depend upon such things as the strength of previous identity, the penetration of the milieu by outside ideas, and the retained capacity for eventual individual renewal. The totalist environment, however, counters such "deviant" tendencies with the accusation that they stem entirely from personal "problems" ("thought problems" or "ideological problems") derived from untoward earlier influences. The outcome will depend largely upon how much genuine relevance the doctrine has for the individual emotional predicament. And even for those to whom it seems totally appealing, the exuberant sense of well-being it temporarily affords may be more a "delusion of wholeness" than an expression of true and lasting inner harmony.

8. The Dispensing of Existence

The totalist environment draws a sharp line between those whose right to existence can be recognized, and those who possess no such right.

Are not men presumtuous to appoint themselves the dispensers of human existence? Surely this is a flagrant expression of what the Greeks called hubris, of arrogant man making himself God. Yet one underlying assumption makes this arrogance mandatory: the conviction that there is just one path to true existence, just one valid mode of being, and that all others are perforce invalid and false. Totalists thus feel themselves compelled to destroy all possibilities of false existence as a means of furthering the great plan of true existence to which they are committed.

For the individual, the polar emotional conflict is the ultimate existential one of "being versus nothingness." He is likely to be drawn to a conversion experience, which he sees as the only means of attaining a path of existence for the future. The totalist environment - even when it does not resort to physical abuse - thus stimulates in everyone a fear of extinction or annihilation. A person can overcome this fear and find (in martin Buber's term) "confirmation," not in his individual relationships, but only from the fount of all existence, the totalist Organization. Existence comes to depend upon creed (I believe, therefore I am), upon submission (I obey, therefore I am) and beyond these, upon a sense of total merger with the ideological movement. Ultimately of course one compromises and combines the totalist "confirmation" with independent elements of personal identity; but one is ever made aware that, should he stray too far along this "erroneous path," his right to existence may be withdrawn.

[lotornomiko]

Light Grasping Darkness Chapter Four (Of Six. So not safe work!)

This one’s even smuttier. X_X Another Hook POV too!

With a sharp cry voicing the most primal of needs, Hook bucked his hips forward. His cock's surging thrust forward met with no resistance, Emma Swan welcoming him into the wet velvet heat of her mouth. His stunned gaze found a bold acknowledgment in hers, Emma looking up at him and understanding just what kind of effect she was having on him. Understanding it and embracing it, the woman pure sin as she bobbed her head down in a slow, deliberate manner.

Hook had to fight every impulse within him, his butt clenching as the pirate filled with a rigid tension. Fighting to resist the urge to go mindless, and just keep on thrusting into her, battling against the all too male and selfish desire to ruthlessly seek out his own pleasure at the expense of hers.

Emma Swan didn't help matters, keeping her swollen red lips pursed tight around him in a vise like grip. She was doing something with her tongue, rubbing it against the bottom side of his shaft. Hook all but dribbled, a steady flow of what he did not know, for the pirate was sure he didn't have a drop of semen left inside him.

And then Emma Swan began attempting to draw out that fluid, actively exerting sweet suction on the cock in her mouth. Hook saw stars, let out the most vicious of curses. This was insane, past the wildest of his many fantasies. Emma was doing things a princess shouldn't even know about, working Hook's body like a fine fiddle. And Hook wanted more, before reason and sanity, and more importantly guilt set in. Because Hook knew this was going too far, was asking too much of the woman he was  ordered and compelled to kill.

And yet, in the moment Hook couldn't quite remember why he was supposed to kill Emma. Hell, he could barely remember how to stand upright, Hook's legs actually SHAKING. He was actually fighting gravity, and the only reason why Hook didn't fall down to the floor, was fear that that would somehow make Emma stop what she was doing.

Tthe blonde was determined, with a sparkle in her eyes that spoke volumes of the fun that she was having. Fun she wasn't in any way ready to stop. She reached for him, her hands going to his hips. Gripping him there, just above the slung low waist of his trousers, her hands not soft like a princess, but textured enough from handling a sword. It was a warrior's touch, and it sent electric tingles shooting between them at contact.

Hook was pretty sure he was spouting gibberish by the time Emma used her own grip on his hips, to hold him still for the bobbing motion of her head. Her long blonde hair framed her face, touching the inside of his thighs, and even that was stimulating. The silk like strands caressed and teased his skin, while her mouth made his toes curl in his boots, Hook falling back against the paneling, the wall the only thing supporting his stay upright.

He felt her fingers kneading at his hips, Emma continuing to bob back and forth along the length of him. Taking him deeper inch by inch, until she was almost sealing her lips down to the base of him. Hook shivered as though cold every time his cock was slid out of her mouth. Only to then cry out again, when the warmth immediately invited him back in, Emma far too generous to a wretch like Hook.

She was like no other woman Hook had ever been with. He had never known someone so generous and giving, so sweetly sacrificing when put in this kind of situation. Hell most women Hook had known, hadn't liked this particular act at all, and he could think of none who had actively made his flesh feel worshiped and adored as Emma now did.

He felt like a God, not the monster he had been tricked into becoming. Not the monster, and not the fool, Hook knowing he had been lied to, and manipulated, events orchestrated so that he would find and use the dagger, and become the queens' slave. But it was hard, oh so hard, to recall just how those events had come to be, and what man would be fool enough to truly focus on anything else but the way sweet Emma's mouth felt around him. Or the way that she looked at him, massaging his hips, then sliding one hand behind him, into his pants. He spilled without warning, at the contact of her hand cupping his ass, Emma caressing over his firm behind.

She kept right on caressing, her hot mouth eager and swallowing down all that he gave her. All save for a thin trickle down the corner of her mouth, and then the room swayed, and Hook was collapsing to the floor in an ungraceful heap. He threw an arm up over his eyes, blocking out the spinning sights, his own chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths, Hook feeling as though he had run miles on pure adrenaline.

He was exhausted, his mind in some kind of euphoric haze, sexual bliss coursing through him. If ever there was a time for Emma to leave, now would be it. Hook would simply be too tired to stop her, the queens' compulsion be damned.

But what happened next was completely out the realm of his expectations. And it firmly established just how much control he had lost. And that was assuming he had ever had control in the first place once Emma Swan had set out to touch him with seduction in mind. Because from that moment, Hook had mostly like been hers to toy with. To use or abuse, to control and manipulate, to torment and ultimately to have. For if this was suffering, Hook would gladly endure a dozen times worse, for the experience of Emma Swan climbing on top of his tired body.

He didn't even think to protest, wasn't even that surprised when he got hard for the third time in a matter of minutes. Hook could only groan, and even tired as he was, it didn't stop his hips from moving, from pushing up off the floor to meet Emma halfway.

Dropping his arm from his face, Hook watched with a glittering gaze of pure heat and appreciation, as Emma got a steady grip around his shaft. She wasn't trying to tease him, merely hold his cock still as she lowered herself the rest of the way onto him. Even before he was deep inside her, Hook had let out a moan, the wet inviting heat of her body alone enough to drive him insane. And that was before one took into account that this was the third time he was inside her in a matter of minutes.

It was as unbelievable as it was amazing, and then Emma was taking full control. Moving her hips in a downright furious bouncing motion, riding Hook like he was some wild stallion she meant to tame with her body. It was hard, it was rough, and above all it was fucking fantastic. He needn't have done a thing, and for the first few moments, Hook did nothing more than prop himself up on his elbows, watching Emma bounce on his cock.

She was beauty in motion, from the bounce of her hips, to the sweaty sheen that made her skin glisten. Her magnificent breasts quivered with every breath, actually did a bouncing all their own, while her nipples seemed locked in a semi permanent state of arousal. Just like he seemed to be, Hook groaning, his dick throbbing inside Emma each time she rocked back and forth, switching out from that bouncing motion, to a frantic rubbing motion.

He watched her bite her lip, Emma's eyes closing as she concentrated on the pleasure. She made the sexiest of sounds as she did this, continuing her forwards backwards shifting, as if soothing herself from a pleasure that had been too intense, too soon. And just when Hook thought she was finished, that she was done with the sex and with him, her hands touched his chest. Sliding a caress over his muscled skin, stroking nails over the lines of his abdomen before steadying hands on his stomach, palms down. Emma gave him the most devastating of smiles, did a little side to side wiggle of her hips then launched herself back into that hard bouncing motion.

He was along for the ride, Hook hissing, cursing like a mad man. Several times he tried to reach for her, tried to grasp hold of her hips. Each time she slapped his hand away, Emma bound and determined to control the pace of this, and yet Hook couldn't stop trying to touch her!

And then her climax hit her, Emma crying out. She tossed back her head, the ends of her hair the merest ghost of a tease on his legs. Emma shook with her orgasm, the words oh yes, repeated over and over, like it had become her personal prayer. Her back arched with it, her breasts being thrust out further, the mouth watering curves calling to him, demanding his special brand of attention.

Hook was all to happy to oblige, not caring if it was sneaky or underhanded to pounce on Emma when she was so clearly distracted. He shifted them both just enough so that he could plant his face between her breasts, affection and adoration being kissed into her skin, his stubble cheeks rubbing against the sides of both her breasts. Emma gasped during this, and then Hook felt the answering quiver of her body, the next climax hitting Emma right on the heels of her other.

Her creamy insides coiled around him, Hook hissing with a pleasure that was almost bordering on pain. Enjoying the way that Emma's orgasm felt, the quivering convulsions that set him off trembling, throbbing with need. Hook fell back against the floor, his knees bending so that his hips were partway off the floor. Emma stay seated on him, crying out as Hook began moving, bouncing into her while latching his mouth onto her right nipple.

It was perhaps cruel to stimulate her so, to try and force out a third climax in a matter of seconds. But Emma seemed just as crazed as Hook, whining in need, pushing against his lips, her stiff little nipple a pebble against his tongue. He rolled it with his tongue, suckled at it with his lips, bit down on it with his teeth. He hooked his arm around her, over the back of her shoulders and neck, holding her prisoner against him as he used his good hand to grip her bottom. His fingers dug into her lightly tanned skin, leaving red imprints that would darken to bruises later on. Hook used his grip on her ass, to force her to move the way that he wanted, the way that he needed Emma to move, and then they screamed together, words in perfect harmony.

"Oh Fuck!"

That was only the start, of what would prove to be hours of decadent sexual indulgence, the two seeming insatiable now that they had had each other. They repeated it on the floor, did it on a chair, against a desk, and ultimately ended up in Hook's bed. They experimented with positions, with touches and varying speeds. They figured out what worked best, what felt good, what didn't. And each time they finished, just when Hook thought he could do no more, Emma would touch him. She'd coax another rise out of him, and then Hook's instinct would take over, the man a slave to the need that Emma aroused within him.

It was amazing, but ultimately exhausting, leaving muscles sore and aching. Emma probably hurt more than Hook, for she was still human, where as he had become some otherworldly creature. But even the Dark One needed rest, Hook almost relieved when Emma collapsed on top of him. For he had started to think that sex was the weapon with which Emma would use to kill him. But Hook could think of worse ways to die, and none that would have made him smile as much as he had done with Emma in his arms.

The Dark One too, seemed satisfied. Hook might dare say that both he and the monster inside him, were at peace. Content with what had been happening, with the woman that lay on top of them. His sore dick was inside her, Emma protesting when Hook had tried to pull out. Was it the intimacy of a connection that she wanted, or was there more to it then that? Did Emma fear what would happen, should the sex come to a complete stop? Had she driven herself to a state of exhaustion in a desperate attempt to keep Hook from going through with the Evil Queen's commands? But the compulsion had quieted, not even so much a whisper of it in his head. Hook didn't know what this meant, or when it had gone completely silent, but he knew things wouldn't--couldn't remain the way they were.

"Emma..." Hook took her by the shoulder, trying to rouse her out of her sleep. She made a sleepy protest, and kept her eyes closed, hugging her arms around him. "Come on, Emma darling, now is not the time for sleep."

But she was stubbornly clinging to her exhaustion, Emma not even bothering to respond. Hook sighed, and attempted to sit up, trying to ignore the way even that felt titillating, considering how Emma was wrapped around him!

His bedroom aboard the Jolly Roger, was a familiar and comforting sight, Hook looking around the cabin, trying to figure out when his pants and boots had come off. Trying to figure out where the remains of Emma's clothes were, wondering if anything had survived that first frantic undressing.

Trying to untangle himself from the beauty in his arms was proving near impossible what with Emma herself clinging harder to him, leaving Hook to suspect she wasn't as deep asleep as the woman pretended. He’d finally pulled free, and leave her laying on the bed. Swaying on unsteady feet, Hook moved around the cabin, spying the red leather jacket, or rather what remained of it. It was the same with her shirt, and Hook couldn't find or remember just what he had done to her pants.

It wasn't just their clothes that were a mess. The room had suffered too, furniture tipped over, things knocked on the floor. There was a section of wall ruined, the paneling shattered apart by his hook. They had made memories here, brought fantasies to life that Hook would never be able to forget. Hell, he'd never be able to be in this room again and not think of Emma, and what they had done to each other.

Hook could only hope the memories wouldn't be tinged with sadness, the pirate ever aware of the situation he found himself in. The compulsion had gone quiet in his head, but Hook feared its return. The accompanying pain that he'd be able to fight only for so long, the thing he would have to do, the life of the vibrant and passionate woman in danger because of him. Hook couldn't stand the thought that he might kill Emma, that her death would be added to his many sins. And he wasn't content to wait around, hoping that the promise of sex would dissuade the beast yet another time.

Moving with a purpose, Hook gathered things from his closet. Most of his clothing would in no way fit Emma, certainly not the pants or the shoes. But a shirt he could give her, Hook not about to send her out into the world naked. He got socks for her feet, and though it would have little effect, he even brought out his sword, a twin that was a spare to the one he normally carried.

Emma lay where he had left her, her blonde hair spread wild around her, giving the woman the illusion of an angel's halo. But she was no angel, far too real and wild, and made a dozen times better for all her passions and desires. Hook could have spent a lifetime just staring at her, comforted by the idea of one Emma Swan asleep in his bed. This time though was precious, and he had to get her moving, had to wake her up from whatever dreams Emma might be entertaining.

Emma fought the wake up call, remaining a boneless heap as Hook cradled her against him. Her head ended up against his shoulder, the woman breathing in his scent with a sigh. Hook tried to ignore the shiver that went through him, Emma rubbing her cheek against him with a sleepy murmur.

"Come on, sleepy head." Hook said, lips twitching with a smile. "You've got to get up now." He was dressing her as he said this, sliding first one arm into the sleeve of one of his black silk shirts, and then the other. It wasn't easy dressing a woman, Hook far too used to getting them OUT of their clothing, rather than in. But he managed, getting the shirt buttoned up, the hem of it falling down past her knees. He'd use a sword belt to cinch the waist, and shift her, so that he could lift up a leg at a time. Pulling socks over her feet, and marveling at the strangeness, the inherent wrongness of the situation. Because to a pirate like Hook, it was downright criminal and insane to be covering up the luscious beauty that was Emma Swan!

Hook didn't think it possible, but already he wanted her again. Did that make him an insatiable beast? But he couldn't, shouldn't justify ravishing her, not when there was a chance she could escape with her life intact. Gripping her by the arm, Hook began shaking her, watching the frown appear on Emma's face, a moment before she opened her eyes and glared at him.

"Honestly pirate, haven't I earned a rest?"

"You've more than earned it." Hook assured her. "Rest and more...but I'm afraid we---you don't have the luxury of it."

Emma's glare lessened, her skin paling as reality came thundering past. A nervous swallow followed Emma jerking free of his hand, the woman nearly falling off the bed's edge in her haste to scramble away from him.

Hook did nothing to pursue her. He merely sat there, a naked and still statue. Watching as Emma looked around, took stock of what he had done. She didn't ask about her clothes, and her hands caressed the sword in it's scabbard.

"Why aren't I dead?"

"It's gone quiet." Hook told her, and she frowned anew. "Like the quiet before a storm. Emma, I don't think we have a lot of time...you've got to leave here....NOW."

She was nodding, not even asking any questions, not even to find out just where here was. Hook wished it could be different, wished they were parting on circumstances that were better than what they actually were. And did he dare hope Emma felt the same way? Or was Hook deluding himself?

Emma didn't walk, so much as run on unsteady legs to the bedroom's door. Hook didn't expect her to look back, but she did, some unvoiced emotion in her eyes. He couldn't figure it out, didn't know that his own gaze was equally full of feelings and unspoken words.

"GO!" He snapped harshly to her, and Emma flinched, then fled from him. Wanting more from her, of her, and knowing better, Hook could only hope this would be the last time he would ever see her.

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To Be Continued...

[thecorteztwins]

And now for this week’s installment of Alt-Marauders stuff! Tagging @sammysdewysensitiveeyes and @littlemeangreen since I know you guys like it. This week it’s: “Building Character” - Shinobi/Sebastian “Daddy’s Girl” -Manon/Sebastian “Flames” - Pyro/Alice “First Resort” - Sebastian/Haven “Human” -Haven/Madelyne

“BUILDING CHARACTER” (Warning: References to child abuse, and no apologies for it) It was evening at Blackstone, and its occupants were there for the first time in two weeks spent seafaring. “I had my reservations about giving you another chance,” Sebastian admitted, standing by the sitting room window, looking out over his domain, “But you’ve done well.” Shinobi hated himself for the pride and happiness that flooded through him at his father’s words. He was still so weak, so dependent on this man’s approval, the same man he hated so much, the man that MADE him like this. “We’ve done well,” he replied in apparent calm, “We’ve not attempted to kill each other, for instance.” His father turned his head and grinned at him, “Oh, I’m sure you have something up your sleeve for me sooner or later. And of course, I’m prepared for when you do.” “I thought about it,” Shinobi admitted matter-of-factually, “But what would it even matter now? You’d just come back. “I did before Krakoa. So did you. Twice, I believe,” Sebastian moved from the window and sat down in the chair across from his son now, “I used to think Shaws were just exceptionally hardy stock, but I’ve learned it seems to be a strange feature of mutants as a species.” “Yet you still worry I’ll off you?” Another smile from Sebastian, almost indulgent, “Oh, I’m not worried. I’m actually rather eager to see how you try to get around the resurrection issue. Trap me somewhere, perhaps, but ensure that I won’t starve or suffocate wherever I am? You were never a bright boy, Shinobi, and I’m sure your lifestyle choices haven’t helped with that---not that I’m judging you, we all have our wild oats to sow---but I’m hoping this new obstacle will start stimulating whatever brain cells you have left. Adversity builds character, didn’t I always tell you that?” “Yeah, mostly after you hit me.” In most families there would be an awkward silence after that. Shinobi was in fact hoping for it, hoping for any sign of shame in his father. Of course he didn’t get it. Sebastian reacted as if Shinobi had said ‘after you took me to a baseball game’ or anything else innocuous and normal in the life of an average father and son...whatever that was. Shinobi only had ideas from television. Although it seemed some stuff his dad did was normal, if Homer choking the life out of Bart on the regular was any indication of standard reality. “Exactly. You had to find some way to stop me from doing that, ideally by improving yourself so I would no longer have reason, though I’d have settled for almost anything else after a certain point so long as it worked,” said Sebastian. Then his tone turned regretful...but not for the reasons a normal person would, “You never did though. I’ve given up on very little in my life, Shinobi, but...” “But you gave up on pummeling me.” “I couldn’t shape you into something better. I realize that now. Only you can do that. And look? Now you are.” “Oh right you were beating me for MY SAKE,” said Shinobi, the bitter venom he felt inside finally beginning to seep out into his now-biting tone. “Yes, but also you just irritated me,” Sebastian said, and there was no bitterness in his, no venom, and no shame, “People seldom have a single motive, even a simple man such as I.” “Simple?” Shinobi did not expect his father to describe himself in such a word. “I never had grand ideals of Xavier and Erik, never wanted to herd an entire planet into my way of thinking. I was only ever concerned with what anyone should be---my own success. Which I achieved. Whereas their dreams are still unrealized, for all their efforts and claims.” “So why care about my success then?” Shinobi asked. And it was a good question, for it gave his father pause. A long pause. Shinobi knew that look on his father’s face---his father was thinking, and hard. And he wasn’t coming to an answer quickly either. “I can’t say it’s affection,” Sebastian finally answered, “You and I both know what a ridiculous notion that would be. Maybe the hope you’d be useful to me, but...” He trailed off, sounding doubtful. Shinobi wished it was that though, because being useful to his father would imply he had worth, his father needed him, the man he’d idolized---jeesus it made him choke even to think of that---would need him. Shinobi wanted that. “...but I doubt that, I’ve never relied on anyone, you know me,” Sebastian picked up again, “I’d rather have an ally I can cut ties with easily with need be, not someone so attached to me as a son. Grooming children as tools was always more Emma’s practice; I never had the patience for it, or the time. I suppose there is some kind of personal attachment--” Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck did he dare hope no he must be lying he must be “---to the notion of legacy. Krakoa or not, I’m not going to live forever, and I’d like what I’ve accomplished to pass into hands related to my own, as illogical and sentimental as nepotism is. But I refuse for them to be unworthy of it.” Shinobi’s hopes sunk back down their proper place. Of course. Of course that was it. His money, his business, his power base---those were what he cared about. that was his child, his real child, and he was just looking for someone with his DNA to care for it after his death. Well, you know what? “I’m going to be,” Shinobi said. And it wasn’t a promise. It was a threat. And his father knew that. And it made him smile. *** “DADDY’S GIRL” (Warning: Casual use of mind control/memory manipulation and no one treating it as bad.) It was a bad situation. The spies sent to Krakoa, spies who were mutants but still owed their allegiances to the American, had been caught. And caught by the Marauders, no less. Negotiations were underway for their safe return, but unfortunately, the Council member they were speaking to was Sebastian Shaw. And he was not in a forgiving mood. ”They’ve already been telepathically wiped, of course,” he said over the phone to the negotiator, “So it’s no matter to us if we give them back to you or not. But, why should we? They are Krakoan citizens. Even if they committed to that citizenship with false intentions, they still are OUR people, and they have committed treason. And you know what the traditional punishment for that is...” ”Please, Mr. Shaw, see reason!” the negotiator pleaded on the other end of the phone in the White House office. “They are American citizens as well, and employees of the American government! Any action against them will be seen as an act of hostility!” ”And sending them into our midst was NOT an act of hostility?” Shaw returned very calmly, but very dangerously. It was a tone that made the negotiator think very, very carefully about what his next words would be. And then he felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see one of the Marauders, who were overseeing the negotiations going on. After the spies had been caught on Krakoa, they’d come IMMEDIATELY to make sure that no reinforcements would be sent. It just went to show how ruthless mutants were, that they would send CHILDREN on a team like that. In this case, a little girl, with pigtails and Wednesday Addams dress. She’d have been adorable, if not for her ghostly albinistic coloring and strange eyes. “Put me on!”  she chirped, “He will listen to me, I’m his daughter!” The negotiator stared at her. Well, he was all out of ideas, so... “Okay, Mr. Shaw? Your daughter is here, she’d like to speak to you.” “My what?” “There’s a little girl here,” the negotiator explained, hoping the kid hadn’t just tricked him into losing several lives, “She says you’re her father.” There was a sigh from Shaw’s end, “Well, shes probably right. It’s hardly the time, but fine, put her on.” The negotiator passed the child the phone while her brother giggled in the background, and in Krakoan, she piped, “Hello Mr. Shaw! Manon to the rescue!” “Oh, it’s you,” he said flatly. “Who else did you think it would be?” “Well, when someone randomly claims to be my child, they usually ar---I mean, nevermind, what is it? This is important, you know.” ”I think you should let the spies go, Mr. Shaw.” ”You don’t understand what you’re talking about, and you’re in enough trouble for following the crew through the portal as it is. Put the man back on.” ”But Mr. Shaw, I have a plan!” The negotiator could not understand Krakoan, but he did understand tone, and he could hear the irritation in Shaw’s voice. He grabbed the phone away from her and apologized, ”I’m sorry, Mr. Shaw, she--” ”THAT’S MY PAPA!” Manon shrieked in English, and then yelled something in Krakoan, something Shaw could hear. ”Put MY DAUGHTER back on THIS INSTANT!” Shaw roared at the negotiator, who immediately complied. “Manon?” “I am running the show now, Mr. Shaw!” she said proudly. ”Excellent. Now, the first part of your idea is splendid. Here’s what I want you to do for the second...” They talked a little more, and it sounded much more pleasant to the negotiator, he even heard Mr. Shaw LAUGH, though there was something...devious...in the girl’s undertone he didn’t care for. When she said bye-bye and passed the phone back to him, she smiled...and so did he. Pocketing the phone, he turned back to the other two Marauders who were observing, Pyro and Shinobi. ”Well gentlemen, thank you so much for helping sort that out. I’ll take you to see who you need now.” Pyro and Shinobi looked at each other, and behind the negotiator’s back, Manon winked at them and put a finger to her white lips. ”Sure,” said Shinobi, unsure what was going on. ”Lead on, mate,” said Pyro, likewise baffled but playing along. The negotiator lead them to a room of other men, and after a few moments with Manon---in which she shook all their hands, with Maxime’s empathy POWERS overriding their natural suspicions at doing so--they all bid the Marauders farewell and told them to have a nice day and that it was so nice that Krakoan/American relationships were going so well. ”Alright,” said Pyro as they stepped out of the White House and headed for the nearest portal in DC, “What’d old Shaw make you do, you little witch?” ”Excusez-moi!” said Manon in mock-offense, “I made up half the idea! The first half at that!” ”Yeah but what WAS it?!” Shinobi urged. ”Well, I told Mr. Shaw, why don’t I just make the man on the phone FORGET that we captured the American spies, yes?” Manon explained, “And he said that was a SPLENDID idea, and he said that I should do it, and make him think that we were here about something else, and that he was supposed to take us to everyone else who knew the spies had been captured, and fix their memories too. And then when we get back, he will have me change the memories of the spies themselves, so they will go home with bad information!” ”Holy shit,” said Pyro. ”Damn,” said Shinobi, “Maybe you really ARE his kid!” The twins just giggled. *** “FLAMES”       “Hey, Mr. Allerdyce? Can I bother you?” Pyro looked up from his laptop to see Alice in the doorway. “Sure, love. What’s troubling you?” he said automatically, then regretted that choice of words. If Alice had trouble he’d push her towards Haven or Maddie, they’d be much better choices for her to talk to. “I uh...I wanted some advice,” she said, stepping shyly in. Oh no. “About?” “Writing” His ears perked up and his eyes got wide, “Well why didn’t you say so! Come on and sit down love, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.” Pyro sounded delighted, and he was. People seemed to forget that writing was his real passion, not being a super-criminal or a jerk who burned things. Those were fun but they weren’t his CALLING. Alice sat nervously, “You’re a professional so I thought you’d be best to ask. “Yeah, go ahead, anything,” Pyro urged her. He felt very important right now. “Can you help me not write a Mary Sue?” “...a what?” The wind went out of his sails suddenly. He had no idea what she was talking about. “You know. A Mary Sue.” “I uh, I don’t know, actually.” “A bad character.” “Ohhh.” Alright, this he could do.  “Okay, well first thing is first, gotta be three dimensional, you know? People are people, even the evil patriarch in the gloomy mansion with designs on our gorgeous heroine’s fortune and her body! Second thing is give ‘em a distinct voice when they talk, the wandering wastrel with a heart of gold shouldn’t talk the same way as the well-brought up but dull and dunderheaded fiancee, and---” He went on, listing each of his tricks of the trade out on his long spindly fingers, then more. “That help?” he asked brightly when he had, for the moment, finished. Oh but he could talk about this all day! “I uh...can you tell me more about writing a good female lead? I know not to make her too overpowered, or too beautiful, and not to give her a tragic past or too many love interests or too many coincidences, but--” “WHAT?!” Pyro roared, nearly jumping out of his seat, “Who told you THAT?!” “The internet,” she said meekly, drawing back. “Well it’s wrong, dead wrong! Blimey, you just described half my most popular female leads! The hell kind of advice is that, don’t make her too beautiful or powerful or too many love interests?! Fuck that shit, love, if I’d followed that garbage I’d never have published a penny’s worth.” “So...do do it?” St. John, shrugged, “Do what you want, Alice. I write Gothic romance because I love it. Heaving bosoms, dramatic sighs, improbable coincidences, and tragic pasts for everybody! And I know my readers love it. They tell me so. Got panned hard by the critics and “real” writers but who doesn’t, eh? You can’t satisfy them but you can sure make someody’s day with a good harlequin. But between you and me, I wasn’t even writing for my readers anyway, even though I love ‘em.” “You were writing for you?” Alice was Internet-savvy enough to know the term Mary sue, so she also knew the adage about writing for yourself. But hearing it from a REAL writer gave it more weight. “Damn right! I give my readers what they want but only when it’s what I want. And I want trashy drama and beautiful heroines with six different walking six-packs fighting for her her hand in marriage!” “And...nobody hates you for it?” Well, like I said, critics weren’t too kind, and there’s some real stinkers of reviews on Goodreads and Amazon for a few. But you should see my fan letters! Not everyone’ll like what you make, love, it’s impossible. Even the “classics” has people who can’t stand ‘em---including me, for some.” “Do they....flame you?” “Flaming things is more my specialty. “ “No, I mean...lemme show you.” she said, and pulled out her phone. Later, had to explain to everyone WHY he had torched Alice’s cell into a molten plastic and metal lump and blamed ‘shitheads on the Internet’. *** “FIRST RESORT” It was not the greenery of Krakoa that they walked through today, but the border of Danum Valley in Sabah, Borneo, Malaysia. For most of human history, no one had settled in this part of the country, nor deforested its paradisaical and ancient rainforest, home to orangutans, clouded leopards, Sumatran rhinoceros, and, Haven’s personal favorite, the humble mouse-deer. To actually go into it would be foolhardy, not simply because of the creatures (indeed, really the least of one’s worries, wild animals tended to avoid people) but for the abundance of insects, dangerous plants, and the fact their clothes simply weren’t cut out for the amount of water, mud, and foliage they would encounter. The reason for the lack of proper hiking gear was that they had not come to Sabah to look at its jungles, lovely as they were, but because they had a mission. For most of the Marauders, it was the usual, bringing mutants home should they wish to come; in this case, mutants among the thousands of victims trafficked through this area alone. For Shaw specifically, well...there was a portion of eastern Sabah had long been an area for smuggling into and from Indonesia and the Southern Philippines. He’d been asked by the Council to bring its own unique goods to the black market there. And for Haven, well, there was figuring out what to do with the rest of the trafficking survivors; she wasn’t about to just leave them after the mutants in their number had been pulled from the herd. With all that accomplished, everyone was now, as usual, taking part in essentially vacationing before heading back. Pyro and Shinobi were hitting the bars in Kota Kinabalu, Madelyne was off fighting poachers of pygmy elephants, and Claudine...well, who knew where she slipped off to? No one usually asked. And Sebastian Shaw, waiting for evening when he’d take the boat over to Kuala Lumpur for some fun of his own, was passing the day or at least this particular hour walking on the outskirts of the verdant conservation area, not close enough to be engulfed by the trees but still with quite a bit more plant life in the way than he’d like. Particularly when concentrating on a conversation, even an asinine one. “So you do consent that violence is necessary at times,” he said, feeling he had finally gotten SOMETHING sensible out of her. “I do,” Haven said, who did not feel she had lost anything by admitting this; she had never denied it, “It’s the debate of when. My opinion is not that it must never be used---if someone is about to shoot a room full of people and there is no telepath to put them to sleep, for instance, then sadly a sniper shot may be the best option for the least loss of life---but that it is often jumped to far too quickly. It should be a last resort and not a first, or a second for that matter.” “I disagree in that but I most certainly agree in its necessity---and effectiveness,” he replied, though he knew she of course knew that, “So we do have some common ground then, however small.” “Why, Mr. Shaw, I didn’t realize you cared about that.” “Wipe that look off your face, woman. I didn’t concede to you in the slightest. If anything, the reverse.” “That’s not what I was smiling about, Mr. Shaw,” she said, still smiling and stopping to crouch down. She was adjusting a flower back into an upright position; some animal must had stepped on it. Perhaps one of her precious mouse-deer. “I meant I appreciate that you would appreciate we have some common ground, however small.” Sebastian rolled his eyes, “There would be no point speaking to you otherwise. There is barely any point as it is.” “But you do it,” she said, and began to dig her hands in the dirt, around the flower, so that she could scoop it out without plucking it, without ending its little life, “And, I apologize, I don’t like to make assumptions, but...I doubt you’re the kind of person who does anything he does not see a point in, Mr. Shaw.” She stood back out and held her cupped hands out to him, displaying the bloom, “It’s a Dendrobium lohokii, a type of orchid. Do you think we should bring this back to Krakoa? I don’t know what the policy is on invasive species, but I believe it could thrive there. The climate seems right.” Sebastian reached out and touched her hands with his own...and forcibly made her curl hers into a fist around the delicate Dendrobium, crushing it. “You are correct, Ms. Dastoor, in that I do little without a point. But you also grievously underestimate my boredom with this crew. Including yourself. You are to me as violence is to you---a last resort.” He released her hands and strode on, “And Krakoa has all the flowers it needs.” *** “HUMAN” “You know what the worst thing is, though?” said Madelyne, her black-gloved hand tracing the mouth of the glass. She still dressed like herself---her old self, her first self---when out of costume, but when acting as a Marauder (not as an X-Men, a Marauder) she did put on the ol’ pleathers again, the ones she’d worn WHEN WORKING WITH ARKEA. “I’m shocked you can choose,” said Haven, and there was no humor in her tone. Madelyne sometimes coped with a wry wit and devil-may-care (no punt intended) tone, but Haven only ever spoke of their mutual traumas with solemn gravity. “The worst part,” Madelyne inhaled, “The worst part is...I wanted it, Haven. Just in a dream, yeah, but still. And I’m not sorry that I wanted it. And when I got it...I enjoyed it. And I know I was possessed, I know it wasn’t me---I’m the only one who knows that, it seems, and even I don’t even care most of the time---but the part of me that was still awake? That nasty little greedy bitter part Sym talked to? She liked it. I liked it. I got my revenge, and I deserved it. And I can’t let go of that. I should feel SO guilty for that, it goes against everything I am, that I really am, but...I can’t. I don’t. And I...I don’t think I want to.” Madelyne knew that Haven could never understand. It was a contradiction, really---Haven was the only one here who could really understand what she’d been through, because of the uncannily similar circumstances, and yet at the same time, because of who Haven was, she also was the one person on the ship that Madelyne knew could never relate to this. She’d seen this woman beg for the lives of Purifiers. She’d seen her look with pity on child traffickers. Fuck, could you be so compassionate it was a sin in itself? Because Madelyne felt like it sometimes, watching this woman. Madelyne was harder. And she wasn’t sorry. She’d burned the world once. Now, she focused on just lighting up the parts that really deserved it. “I enjoyed it too.” Madelyne dropped her glass just as she picked it up, her green eyes wide. Had she heard that right? Was she going nuts all over again? “I admit it wasn’t vengeance I took pleasure in,” said Haven, her always-slow voice even more slow, not languid but laborious, every confessing word clearly an effort to let leave her throat, “But that might be only because, unlike you, no one had wronged me. Most of the time...most of the time, what I did tortured me. I slept little, and when I did, it was tortured. I couldn’t even bring myself to do my proverbial “dirty work” most of the time, I left it to my...to my cult.” She swallowed, and Madelyne waited for the other shoe to drop. “But...I was glad, too, part of me. Because I wanted a better world, and I believed, really believed, I was bringing it about in a for-sure way. It wasn’t just helping one person and hoping for the best that small effort would make a difference. It was knowing--deeply and profoundly---that I was bringing peace and salvation closer. I had the divine word on it. And Madelyne, for all my pain...I was proud.” Madelyne stared. And then she...laughed. “Oh gosh. Oh my gosh, I’m sorry Haven, I just...” “It’s alright. Sometimes we laugh because we just don’t know what else to do. But Madelyne---I don’t think you or I are so evil for being human.” “Human?” Madelyne’s tone turned incredulous, “There was nothing human about this!” “Wasn’t there? You were hurt, hurt by those you loved most. It’s the most naturally human reaction in the world to enjoy hurting someone back.” “You don’t. You can’t tell me that, Haven. I used to think you were so full of restraint because you never struck back---but I think it’s not restraint. It’s just how you are. You couldn’t hit Sebastian when he needed it, remember?” He’d needed a charge, and fast, for all their sakes. He’d been screaming in Haven’s face for her to pummel him. Madelyne couldn’t get close enough to do it herself, but she had been close enough to see---Haven couldn’t do it. She’d been sure Sebastian was going to hit her himself to get her to strike him, but Pyro had lit him up and given him sufficient energy from that (it had turned out later he had NOT realized Sebastian was fireproof) but if he hadn’t...Madelyne was fairly sure Haven still wouldn’t have been able to do it. Maddie...she hit back when hit. And attacked when attacked. And Haven was telling her she didn’t think that wasn’t wrong---but how could she claim that, given she never did it? “No, I couldn’t. Not every single human has every single “human” flaw. Myself, I...it’s like there’s something wrong with me, Madelyne. Like there’s some part of me missing that others have that makes them able to do violence, any violence, to feel true hate or anger. But what I do have is the also-very-human trait to want to be a martyr. I think on some level, I wanted to suffer for something greater than myself. I’m a religious woman. You know this. I think the Adversary appealed to that perverse pride, that spiritual smugness in my own suffering for a good cause that no one else understood. It hurt so much, Madelyne, I hated it so much--but I got to consider myself a persecuted savior. I got to have a cross of my own at last, after a life of trying to make up for my privilege.” Madelyne stared more. And started chuckling again, “You know what? I do get that. Because god, if I have one thing I can hang on to, to make myself feel better, it’s that I was wronged, I was persecuted, I was misunderstood...and there’s a kind of weird comfort, a pride in that, isn’t there? Being able to feel you’re not the bad guy, not really, it’s everyone else who’s wrong. I feel sorry for myself, because no one else will.” “Oh Madelyne,” Haven reached over and put her hand on hers, “I will.” “Don’t,” Maddie smirked, and pulled her hand away, “My self-pity’s embarrassing enough for me.” “There’s self-pity,” said Haven gently, “And then there is self-forgiveness.” “Hey, I forgive myself,” she said, crossing her arms and legs and leaning back in her chair, “It’s everyone else that hasn’t. And I don’t need them to. I had my revenge, whether it was on my terms or not. And I have to live with that---the regret, and the satisfaction both.” “You know I’m not a vengeful person, Madelyne,” said Haven, picking up her own cup at last, a tea cup as opposed to Madelyne’s shot glass. “You’ve just said as much yourself. But I do believe very much in one old adage---the best revenge is living well. And for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a very good job of that these days---and this time, it is on your own terms.”

[scorpion-sting33]

Remus John Lupin: Astrological Analysis (all signs are canon except Rising which is my educated guess since birth time is unknown; birth chart via astro.com)

Personal Placements

☉ Pisces: empathetic, imaginative, easy going

☾ Leo: heart of gold, creative, enjoys friendships

↥ Cancer: approachable, gentle, sensitive

☿ Pisces: poetic, gullible, great listener

♂ Aquarius: levelheaded, stubborn, smart

♀ Aquarius: unselfish, carefree, attracted to the unconventional

Analysis

I would summarize Remus’ birth chart as: too pure for this world. I see a bright-eyed little boy and a wise adult in the same body, constantly policing each other to either lighten up or take responsibility. With a Pisces Sun and Leo Moon, its easy to see where Remus’ compassion for others comes from. His heart of gold, Leo Moon, is loyal and generous and loves friendships- no wonder he’s a Gryffindor. I believe he’s a Cancer Rising for a couple of reasons, one of which being that, well... I mean, he is a werewolf. Cancer Risings are very sensitive to their environment, as are werewolves. He has a subtle, gentle aura about him and lots of innocence. He’s withdrawn but also approachable. The ‘little boy’ within him is found in his Sun, Moon, Rising, and Mercury. The ‘wise adult’ within him is in his Aquarius placements. His Aqua Mars makes him stubborn yet intelligent. His Aqua Venus attracts him to the unusual, so it’s no surprise to me that he fell in love with Tonks. He craves friendship before romantic love and wants his partner to intellectually stimulate him. Because he values personal freedom in relationships, he also gives his partners freedom and is unselfish in love. This is the Remus we see attempting to convince Tonks to not stay with him because he believed she deserved a better life than a poor lycanthrope could offer. His emotional Pisces placements conflict with his detached Aquarius placements and he struggles to find a balance between too much emotion and not enough. He tends to express his emotions in private/behind closed doors, as most Leo Moons and Aqua Venuses do. Pisces Mercury people tend to be intuitive to the point where they absorb other’s emotions and can be easily manipulated. He struggles to put his feelings into words sometimes.

[almostrealdudes]

Pale Blue Glimpses

A/N: finally, there it is, the thing no one asked for, a long-ass piece for Nathan Prescott. Yes, this has an original female character, I’m kind of over people ignoring any writing that does not address them in the second person. A character with a name and some backstory feels more wholesome, so please, don’t scroll down just because it’s not a reader insert. Pairing: Nathan Prescott x Sophia Hughes(OC) Warnings: Mentions of anorexia, mentions of bruises and scratches, mentions of blood Word count: 7,6k (strap the f in)

Sophia could sense Victoria’s predatory look even from across the classroom, right after stepping inside. Chase was chatting with Nathan, leaning against one of the desks but stopped herself mid-sentence, seeing the girl approach them.

“Oh, look, it’s the dancing queen, I’m quaking. The fuck you want, Spandex?”

Sophie rolled her eyes and ignored the vile comment, only gripping onto the strip of her bag a little tighter.

“I need to talk to Nathan,” she said firmly, looking at him, trying her best to avoid Victoria’s glare.

“Tough shit. Can’t you see I’m talking to him? If you have something to say, do so now or stay silent forever.”

“Nate?” Sophia didn’t move her gaze off the boy, who was remaining silent this entire conversation, his arms crossed and his gaze somewhere on the floor. Hearing a call of his name made him finally raise his head and look at Sophia’s face. She stared at him with hope, her eyes begging him to be the better person and step outside. Just for a moment.

“What is it, Hughes,” he said, his voice small, as he immediately looked away. Sophia frowned. Is that how it was? Last name basis?

“Okay. I just wanted to say—I got accepted.” She reached into her back pocket and fetched a white envelope with a swan print on it. “To Somerset. I leave at the end of the month.”

Just as Sophia saw Nathan’s face change, she looked down at the charms hanging from her bag, biting on her lower lip. Making the last effort, she looked up, seeing Nathan’s pained expression he was trying to disguise with indifference.

“Oh my god, Hughes,” Victoria was first to break the silence, rolling her eyes, “what the fuck ever, no one cares, you can scram to whatever shithole you got accepted into, just stop wasting any more of my time.”

“Bye, Nathan,” said Sophia quietly, making wobbly steps back and leaving the classroom. She heard him call out her name, but his voice was quickly cut off by the shutting door. She didn’t want to listen to him anymore. To hear him. What was supposed to be a tough decision turned into a binary question with an obvious answer. She would leave the abomination that was Arcadia Bay. Nothing was holding her back. Not anymore.

***

Sophia met Nathan for the first time near the Blackwell fountain. Right at it, to be specific. Not that she hasn’t seen him before, but before the fountain, they never really talked to each other. He was sitting on its edge, looking at his severely scratched palm. She was about to leave school when she heard him whimper quietly. He was shivering, his posture shrunken and small. Sophia immediately stopped and made a 180 turn and quickly approached Nathan.

“Fucking jocks,” she assumed, putting her bag down and sitting next to him. By the way he shrugged his shoulders Sophia found herself to be correct. She softly reached for his palm and tried to take a closer look, but Nathan yanked his hand out and pressed it to his chest protectively.

“I don’t need your help,” he hissed, tensing up.

“You don’t need an infection either.” Sophia reached into her bag and took out bandages and rubbing alcohol. “Please, may I?”

He watched her for a few seconds, doubt and hurt in his eyes. His wounded hand was clenched into a fist, probably hurting him even more, but his self-preserving instincts took control over his body, making him try and move away from Sophia as much as possible. She had to be patient: he was like a wounded animal, aggressive out fear to be hurt again.

“Please,” she repeated.

Slowly, but with caution, Nathan unclenched his fist, revealing his palm, covered in blood and scratches. Sophia nodded in gratitude and opened the alcohol bottle.

“This will burn,” she warned him, holding his hand softly by the wrist. “What did they do?” As she asked him the question, she spilled some of the liquid onto the grazes.

“They—ah,” Nathan winced, his arm stiffening again, “they pushed me.”

“Assholes,” Sophia whispered, beginning to wrap his hand in bandages. Poor guy. The amount of pressure he was under was a lot to handle already, but the bullying too? She couldn’t imagine how Nathan felt every day, going to Blackwell, constantly being a target, never safe. “Why?”

“Cause I’m Nathan Prescott?”

Sophia looked up in distress, examining Nathan, who was looking down at his palm, hiding his gaze. She bit her lips, desperately wanting to say something but not finding the right words to express her feelings. She didn’t want to pity him. Nathan hated being in this situation already, showing weakness and getting help, Sophia didn’t want to make him feel worse. That way, the conversation died down, and the girl finished her treatment in silence. When she was done, she gently patted the boy’s palm, wrapping the excessive bandages back into a roll.

“You’re good. Don’t mention it,” she smirked.

“Why do you carry a first aid kit anyway?”

“It’s for my feet,” she explained. Seeing Nathan’s confused expression, her smile grew in size. “I do ballet. There’s always a scratch to treat.”

“I didn’t know there were ballet classes in Blackwell.”

“There aren’t. I’m doing private lessons, with my mom. After class.”

“Aren’t you late then?”

Sophia gasped and looked at her phone screen.

“Fuck, I gotta run!”

She zipped her bag shut and jumped up, getting back onto her way to the exit gate. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” he said, lowering his gaze.

“I want to,” she said determinedly. “Besides, I’ll need to check how your hand is healing. And Nathan?”

The sound of his name made the boy raise his head again and look at Sophia with uncertainty.

“There’s nothing wrong in being you.”

He sighed through his nose, pursing the corners of his lips not in a smile, but in an appreciative motion.

“Thank you,” he raised his bandaged hand lightly, “uh—”

“Sophia. Sophia Hughes.”

“Thank you, Sophia.”

She smiled brightly, showing off her tooth gap. “Call me Soph.”

***

Sophia stormed into her dorm room, smashing the door behind her. Her breath was heavy and unsteady, she was trying to calm herself, but every attempt only stimulated her inner turmoil. She threw her bag on the floor and looked at the now creased envelope she was clutching on her way from the school building. Glancing over the swan print, Sophia rolled her eyes and tossed onto her bed. Taking her shoes off, she then joined the envelope, propping her head on the pillow, which felt so heavy she thought she would never be able to lift it again. She told herself in the morning, it was a bad idea. Sophia wasn’t even sure now why she argued with her mom to postpone her departure. I need to say goodbye to my friends. Right. As if she had any. She could’ve left tomorrow and be done with this shitty school. This shitty town that brought her nothing but heartbreak. Her mom was right, you shouldn’t make friends. If you open up to somebody, you just give them a chance to manipulate and abuse you when they need it. When they’re done with you.

Sophia’s eyes shifted to her wall, decorated with pictures and photographs. In the center, there was a photo of them; she told him not to come to her performance, said she would do poorly and didn’t want him to see her fail. He came anyway and brought flowers. They were standing close to each other: Sophia’s hand was holding out her phone to capture both their faces. You’re a treasure, Nathan Prescott. She was so stupid. She should’ve gotten rid of this photo ages ago. But she didn’t. Why? Because she hasn’t moved on. Because every day she woke up and hoped for things to return to how they were. Every time she walked past Nathan, she looked at him, hoping for him to look back. But even when he did, it was never what she wanted it to be. There was no warmth in his gaze, only cold and regret.

Fucking sentiments.

Sophia reached for the photo and ripped it off the wall. She stared at it closely, contemplating. Then, crumpling it, she threw it into the trash bin across the room and rolled over in the bed, resting her head against the wall. There. No big deal. It’s just a photo. She’s moved on, it’s about time.

It’s just a photo.

It’s just a photo.

“Fuck,” Sophia mumbled getting up and rushing to the bin, getting the wrinkled picture out and smoothing it out. “You’re such a little bitch. What would your mother say?”

She knew exactly what. That she was weak, vulnerable. And weakness meant failure. Winners don’t hold on to old photographs. Winners aren’t petty.

She lied back on the bed and covered her face with her hands. It’s incredible how tired can you become from just being anxious. And about what? Stuff that doesn’t matter anymore. That shouldn’t matter. Sophia looked at the photo for the last time before her eyelids closed shut. She wasn’t sure sleeping would solve her problems, but at least it would stop her from thinking about them.

***

When Nathan told her he would be in the school’s production of the Tempest, Sophia was beyond excited. She kept jumping around him, all bubbly and giddy, saying over and over how proud she was, and how great he would do, and how she wanted to join the production too somehow now that Nathan was in it. And she did, as a makeup artist. She couldn’t contain herself. Before, she didn’t participate in school life much, not having friends to do it with, or the time to spend. Her mom used every free moment she had to get her training. So now, being a part of a performance, doing it together with Nathan filled Sophia with joy.

On the performance’s night, Sophia told Nathan to come for makeup first, since his face required the most effort.

“Don’t move,” she muttered, gently brushing over the boy’s face with paint.

“I’m not,” he mumbled, looking at his knees.

“Just did,” she giggled softly. Nathan huffed but remained silent. His breath was warm on her skin every time she moved her hand past his nose. He was nervous before the performance, as Sophia assumed.

“There,” the girl said, setting the brush aside. “Look at me.”

She raised her hands and lightly caressed Nathan’s face with her fingers, setting his face straight. Moving closer, she looked him over, checking for missed spots. Nathan’s breath hitched and he quickly looked away. His cheeks were burning, and he was forever grateful for makeup covering it. Not finding any significant mistakes, Sophia moved back, grinning.

“Look-look,” she jumped in her chair enthusiastically. Nathan turned his torso to the mirror and smiled widely, seeing the final look.

“Soph, this is amazing. Where did you learn to do all that?”

“My mom made sure I learned to do my own makeup for performances. To hide those hideous freckles of yours,” she mimicked her mother, shaking her head side to side, her voice bitter.

“Your freckles are beautiful,” he uttered. Sophia’s eyes widened. She blinked rapidly, moving a strand of hair behind her ear awkwardly. Nathan, realizing what he just said, felt his cheeks growing hotter. “I—I mean—”

“Thanks, Dimples,” the girl suddenly said, smiling warmly. “It means a lot.”

Deciding against saying anything possibly embarrassing again, Nathan just smiled shyly, fiddling with his fingers.

After that, Sophia was occupied for quite some time, doing the rest of the cast’s makeup. Nathan wasn’t there, so after being finished, she was determined to find him before the show and help him with his lines. Although he was trying to play it cool, Sophia knew Nathan was extremely anxious, and she didn’t want him to be alone with his thoughts at a time like this.

Looking for him, she heard a low voice coming from around a corner. Coming closer, she saw Mr. Prescott hanging over Nathan while hissing in his ear.

“Keep your voice down!”

Air got significantly thicker, and Sophia felt her mouth going dry. Nathan looked even smaller, his dad’s figure was almost pressing him into the ground, making his shoulders shrink. The boy’s gaze was glued to his shoes, he felt cornered and helpless. She couldn’t let this continue. Sophia knew enough about Sean Prescott to see just how much harm was he causing Nathan every day and right now.

“Nate,” she called loudly, making sure to interrupt Mr. Prescott’s speech, “come, I need to fix your makeup.”

She hurriedly approached him and grabbed his hand, dragging him away.

“We’re in the middle of something,” said Mr. Prescott lowly. Sophia stopped and turned back to face him, still squeezing Nathan’s hand in hers. Her narrowed, cold eyes pierced Mr. Prescott’s face.

“The show is about to begin. I have to make sure everyone is looking their best. You are free to visit Nathan in the dressing room and wish him good luck before the show.”

Not waiting for an answer, Sophia turned on her heels and pulled Nathan away, quickly walking towards the tent she came from. Only after entering did the she let go of his hand, leaving him standing in the middle of the dressing room. Sophia walked to the makeup table, grabbed a random brush, and started toying with it. Nathan watched her for a moment, not knowing what to do with himself. His hand went to the back of his neck awkwardly, as he thought of something to say.

“Hey—”

“He’s such an asshole,” she interrupted him, throwing the brush back, “I—Sorry, but—what he’s doing—It’s not okay!” Sophia was rambling, firing herself up the more she thought about what happened. Her hands fell to her sides and clenched into fists. A small smile spread across Nathan’s face.

“I should be the frustrated one, you know.”

Sophia turned around and Nathan’s eyes widened in surprise. Tears were sparkling in her eyes. The expression on her face was so pained, so frustrated as if she was the one to receive the talk from Mr. Prescott. She ached for him. She gave a fuck. Lots of them, actually. Hell, she just dragged him away from his dad. Nathan couldn’t process that. Never in his life did someone care enough about him. Or at all. People were closing their eyes on what was going on in the Prescott family. What was going on with him. They tried to detach themselves, looking away, pretending not to see anything they didn’t want to be a part of. But she didn’t.

Nathan slowly approached her and cautiously took her hand in his, afraid of her reaction but still wanting to try. To his relief, she squeezed it back.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, just above a whisper, “it means a lot. But—don’t cry. Please. Especially because of him.”

“It’s not him, it’s you,” she said, sniffing.

“Well, that doesn’t make it better at all.”

Sophia chuckled, a bitter-sweet smile slowly spreading across her face. She sighed, quickly looking up and blinking rapidly to get rid of the tears.

“Okay, the performance is about to begin, and I’m standing here crying in front of you. Not exactly a good pep talk.”

“They’re going to laugh at me either way.” Nathan averted his gaze and the tension started taking over his body again. Sophia furiously shook her head.

“What? No! No-no-no, Nathan, I’ve seen the rehearsals, your acting is amazing, you’ll kill it!”

“They hate me, Soph. It doesn’t matter what I do or how I do it.”

“Fuck ‘em,” she said, throwing her hand to the side. “They’re just a bunch of jackasses who prey on others. Forget about them. Nathan,” Sophia took both of his hands into hers, “you love theatre. So why not do what you love?”

He looked at her, contemplating, still uncertain, yet grateful for her presence. She tilted her head, looking at him with begging eyes.

“Please, Nate. For me?”

He sighed and nodded.

“For you.”

Sophia squealed and, standing on her tiptoes, pecked Nathan’s cheek, leaving a burning mark. Nathan reflexively covered the kissed spot with his palm, feeling pleasant warmth spreading throughout his body.

“I’ll go find a seat. Break a leg, Dimples.”

***

Sophia woke up to a new message notification. She grumbled, slowly turning over to face the room. The sun has set, she could barely tell the furniture apart in the dark. A sigh left her lips.

“Great, here’s to a sleepless night.”

She brought the phone closer to read the message. The second her eyes went over the screen she jerked up, sitting straight, her body immediately tensing up.

Dimples meet me at the pool

Time seemed to freeze as Sophia sat there, propping herself on her hand, staring at the dialogue that remained dead for months and months until a minute ago. She was blinking rapidly, trying to make sure she was awake. Being the only light source in the room, the phone screen highlighted her face: furrowed brows, lips pressed into a thin line, narrowed eyes that went back and forth over the five words that looked so simple yet were so hard to comprehend. Her heart was pounding as she read the message over and over, trying to see something through the letters. The phone buzzed again, and Sophia jumped, almost dropping it.

Dimples we need to talk

What?

“Are you fucking serious,” she hissed, squeezing the phone harder. Gradually, worry in her chest started turning into anger as she got off the bed, walking to the center of the room and stopping there, eyes not leaving the screen. Oh, now he wants to talk? The moment she decided to screw it he wants to settle things? No thank you. Sophia started typing viciously, one sentence after another, asking what he was thinking she was going to say, did he really think this would work, how dare he do this to her after ignoring her for months in school corridors. Finishing up, Sophia read her answer over. Letting a sigh of frustration, she highlighted the entire thing and erased it.

“Fuck me,” she said under her breath, letting her hands helplessly fall to the sides. Reaching the nightstand, she flipped the lights on and looked over her room, not knowing what to do with herself. Honestly, what was she supposed to do? There was that chance to get clarification, to confront him, to demand answers for his actions. But the timing… she spent so much time forcing herself to move on, to stop caring about Nathan, about their relationship or what was left of it. Choosing to look back meant to waste all her efforts to move past the pain and to jump right back in.

Sophie walked to the wardrobe mirror, looking at her reflection, questioning herself. No matter how much she wanted to shift the responsibility on somebody, there was no one else but her and herself in this room. Her figure, emaciated, bony even through the clothes, stood in the mirror frame downcast, small. Her eyes, too tired for her liking, stared back returning all the questions where they came from. In the midnight silence of the dorm, a decision was to be made; and there was only one person capable.

***

Nathan knew where to find Sophia without her answering to his texts. As the summer approached, she gradually grew more and more frustrated, detaching from him and leaving school earlier each day. In the mornings, she looked exhausted, slowly walking from classroom to classroom, sometimes limping, holding onto her bag with both hands. She was smiling less and seemed constantly distracted.

Nathan knew parental abuse when he saw one. Sophia was strong, way stronger than him. He was sure she kept most of her pains to herself, swallowing them without sharing. But now and then even she vented to him about her mother, and it was enough for Nathan to know that this woman was nothing good for her daughter. Now, as he was walking towards the gym, he figured her feelings were about to spill over the edge. It broke his heart to know what she was going through but he understood it better than anyone else.

He found her sitting on the floor, defeated, hunching her back over her feet. She was still wearing her ballet attire, which meant she’s been training extra hours. Her legs were covered in bruises. Her mother was really out there to crush her in every possible way.

“Hey,” he called quietly, slowly entering the room.

“Go away, Nathan,” her response was sharp, yet he could hear the trembling in her voice she tried to mask by harshness.

“You know I won’t.”

Nathan closed the door behind him and slowly approached Sophia. Noticing his figure above her, she quickly got up and started walking to her bag.

“Then I will.”

“Sophia,” he called her loudly, making her stop in her tracks. He saw her fists clenching as she drew her shoulders in. “Talk to me.”

Nathan knew she’d hate this. Hell, he hated this phrase even more than Sophia did, but for this exact reason did he use it on her. Because he knew she would resonate with it. With him.

“She keeps calling me worthless. Every. Day.” Sophia turned around to face him, her eyes flooded with tears. “That I will never make it if I keep slacking off. But I’m not. I’m tearing my ass off twenty-four-seven, I don’t have a fucking life, Nathan!”

The end of her sentence came out as a sob, and she ran hands through her tied hair, making an effort to maintain a straight face as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“And it wasn’t even my fucking choice! She made it for me! And now she tries to take it away from me. The only thing she let me have, that fucking bitch!”

Hearing the queue, Nathan quickly approached her, pressing her body to his as she sobbed into his chest, her tears soaking through his cardigan. He held her as tight as he could, wanting to squeeze out all the pain she had bottled in for weeks.

“I have nothing else in my life, nothing,” she repeated, holding onto his arms with all her remaining strength. Nathan gently took her by the shoulders and moved Sophia away to look into her eyes. They were red, puffy, and devastatingly tired. She looked back at him in despair, waiting for him to say something.

“You have me.”

Nathan didn’t think anymore. Sophia’s tears made him say and do things without planning them first. He couldn’t bear seeing her upset and hastened to distract her, no matter what it took. So he acted on his instincts. Squeezing her shoulders slightly, taking one moment to gain the courage he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. Closing her eyes, Sophia relaxed into the kiss, not letting go of his arms. The setting sun laid its soft orange rays on their bodies, outlining them in the evening glow. Sounds of birds, leaves, and students were coming through an open window, yet all of them seemed to dissolve in the room’s air. Time moved lazily slow, almost stopping completely.

They didn’t want it to end.

***

Standing in front of the pool entrance, Sophia contemplated her decision for a hundredth time, constantly asking herself if this was a good idea and if she should leave before it wasn’t too late. The door was unlocked. The view of it made her scoff: of course, how else could it be. The school territory was empty, to no one’s surprise, it was past midnight. Sophia was sure some outlaws were up partying at someone’s dorm room. And some of them were standing outside the pool, doing nothing but thinking too much about a yes-no decision. Street lanterns shed their toxic orange light onto the ground, mixing with the moon’s subtle glow. Sophia shifted uncomfortably, hugging herself. The air was cold and cruel, sending goosebumps dancing on her skin.

“Whatever,” she whispered. “Get in, get out. No big deal.”

With this mentality, Sophia approached the door, pushing it and walking inside.

The smell of chlorine hit her nostrils. It was pitch-dark; Sophia fetched her phone to see where she was going. The sound of her steps resonated with the walls, sending an echo through the entire building. She wondered if Nathan could hear her coming. Passing through the girls’ changing room, she entered the pool itself. The turquoise water was still, its reflections played leisurely on the walls. Stopping, Sophia looked around, searching for the painfully familiar figure. It wasn’t long until she saw him: standing across the room, his hands in his pockets, his gaze somewhere down. She walked closer, hesitant to approach him. Her footsteps echoing made Nathan aware of her presence, and he snapped his head up, looking at her surprised. Silence thickened the air, as they stared at each other from the opposite sides of the pool.

“Hey,” Sophia’s voice came out too hoarse and quiet for her liking.

“You came,” Nathan stated, turning to get a better look at her.

“You’re surprised?” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked suddenly. His speech was fast and abrupt.

“Excuse me?”

“Somerset. Why? You hate it. All of it. Why go there?”

“Do you care?”

“You know I do.” Nathan’s voice went lower as he looked away.

“Actually, no, I don’t think I do anymore!” Sophia felt frustration growing in her chest. “You act all nice around me, then high school starts and you just fucking ghost me! Start acting like you don’t know me, avoid me, talk shit about me?”

“I’ve never talked shit about you.” His eyes return to meet hers.

“Oh wow, thanks, Nathan, how fucking nice of you.”

“If you go, you’ll regret it.”

“Jesus fu—you know what? I knew coming here was a mistake. But at least now I won’t have any difficulty forgetting you. Have a good life, Prescott.” Turning on her heels, Sophia walked back into the changing room, rushing to the exit. Her loud footsteps spread across the building, disturbing the silence. Reaching the door, she aggressively pushed the opening beam. To her dismay, it caused nothing, and the lock remained shut.

“No,” she mumbled pressing onto the beam again, “no, no, no. Fuck!” Sophia slammed her hands on the door, helplessly pressing her forehead against it. She was locked in.

They were.

Instantly regretting the decision to exit her room at all, she looked down at her feet, trying to think of any possible solution. The only option available seemed to be coming back to the pool.

“Fuckin—” Sophia winced and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. Deciding there was nothing to lose anymore she slowly made her way back. Nathan, seeing her figure yet again, looked at her questionably.

“We’re locked in.” She stated. “Can you open the door?”

“Shit. No, I can’t.” “What?” she threw her hands in the air, “you opened it in the first place!”

“Yeah. You were supposed to leave it open.”

“You were supposed to freaking tell me!”

“I thought you’d figure.”

Letting out a growl, Sophia walked to the pool’s wall and slid down, sitting on the floor and burying her gaze in her phone. Its sharp brightness illuminated her annoyed face as she opened Facebook and started scrolling down her feed, not looking at any of the posts. Nathan sighed.

“What are you doing?”

“Waiting,” she cut off.

“For what?”

“For the school guard to open the door.”

“We’ll be here till the morning.”

“Great, I haven’t checked my news feed since yesterday.”

Nathan looked up, frustrated. His eyes searched the ceiling for some hint, yet all he saw was jiggling water reflections.

“Talk to me Soph, please.”

“Funny, I was telling you the same thing a few months ago. Guess how that turned out?” “Stop acting like a bitch already.”

“Oh-ho-ho,” Sophia’s eyebrows flew up as she shifted attention from her phone, fury burning in her eyes. “Look who’s talking!” She shot up and finally closed the gap between them, approaching Nathan and staring him directly in the eye. “You have completely lost your shit if you think you can treat me like I’m some annoyance to you, after asking me to come here. Is this why you called me? To get another chance to be an asshole?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

“I wanted to ask you about Somerset.”

“Bullshit!” she pointed at his chest, putting Nathan under pressure, making him look away, “you could’ve used your phone for that, instead of luring me into the pool at midnight. Why do you suddenly give a shit? Why are you suddenly so invested in my life? Why, after months of neglecting me and ignoring my existence do you think it’s okay to—”

Nathan grabbed Sophia’s hand and yanked it off. His eyebrows knitted together in rage as his gaze locked with Sophia’s, making her take a step back.

“Because I don’t want you to leave!”

***

The entire school was gossiping about Sophia for the last week. It’s been a month since Nathan Prescott has officially “unfriended” her, and everyone was out for blood, ready to say anything for the littlest sense of entertainment.

“Oh em gee, have you seen Hughes lately? She looks like a fucking Victorian ghost.”

“Uh, don’t get me started, I don’t believe this shit for one second. Anorexia my ass.”

“Imagine faking a disease for attention? Can’t relate.”

“Shh!”

And that was the queue for Sophia to enter the classroom, per usual. She looked different from middle school. Her face was pale, exhausted. Her cheekbones were horridly sharp, sticking out unnaturally from her visage. Her eyes, hollow and fatigued, surrounded by dark circles, slowly looked around the room, before she approached her desk, sinking into the chair like a rag doll.

Quickly after her, Nathan entered the room, being immediately surrounded by people who were discussing Sophia mere seconds ago. He greeted them indifferently and glanced in Sophia’s direction, catching her eyeing him back. The space between them stiffened, unspoken words lingering in the air.  Nathan was the first one to look away, rubbing his neck and sitting down. Sophia followed, burying her gaze in the surface of her desk. She always knew how these encounters would end, but the awareness never eased the pain. It was the first month since she last spoke with Nathan, and it was insufferably far from being the last.

***

“I don’t want you to leave, Sophia. You’re the only good thing this entire shithole has, the only good thing I have, without you… nothing will make sense.”

For the first time in months, Sophia saw softness in Nathan’s gaze. She crossed her arms protectively, feeling emotion already creeping on her. She examined his features she’d already forgotten after such a long pause.

“Then why did you abandon me?” Her question is quiet and not even angry, just sad and hurt. She looks at him with pain and expectation, finally granting him the benefit of the doubt.

“Because—” Nathan grabbed onto his head along with the last bits of composure, squeezing his eyes shut. His breath fastened as he started rocking his body back and forth. “Because I’m fucked up, Sophia! Okay? Everything about me is fucked up.”

“Is this your reason for shutting me off?” She interrupted him.

“You weren’t supposed to see any of it. I cut you off so I could figure my shit without getting you involved. But it got worse and worse, and I just—I couldn’t allow you near me. You don’t deserve this,” he pointed at himself, “any of this.”

“It’s not your call to make,” Sophia parried, loosening the grip on her shoulders, “the amount of time I spent questioning myself, trying to figure out what I did wrong—”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“Well, you weren’t there to tell me.”

Sorrow distorted Nathan’s expression. He narrowed his eyes, fighting back emotion, seeing Sophia’s lips shiver lightly.

“I know, I—shit—I blame myself every fucking day for this. For fucking this up and losing the only nice thing I had.”

Sophia remained silent, biting on her cheek. Nathan couldn’t tell what she was thinking, he felt exposed, put on the spot, which probably suited him right. It was a nerve-wracking feeling like the judge was about to voice the verdict, and he was the accused. He watched her face cautiously, afraid to catch any sign of distressing news.

“You still have it.”

Sophia’s voice was barely above a whisper as she said it, returning Nathan’s pained gaze. Maybe she was wrong for doing this. For giving him another chance so soon. Or at all. But this conversation, no matter how heartbreaking, was the best thing happening to Sophia in a long time. She couldn’t help but feel happy from just being able to talk to Nathan again. Yeah, she probably was stupid.

“Is there really nothing you can do to open the door?” She quickly followed up, changing the topic.

Nathan shifted in his place.

“I’m—I’ll see if someone’s up, maybe they can break us out of here.”

Sophia nodded, watching him reach for the phone into the pocket of his jacket. As he was pulling it out, she noticed something small falling to the ground and landing at her feet. Before Nathan could notice, she kneeled and picked it up. It was a photo of her.

She remembered that day clearly: she was training in the gym, and Nathan was watching her, taking pictures. He said he needed to snap some photos for his photography assignment, but something was telling Sophia he just wanted to spend time with her. Either way, she didn’t mind. She was already done dancing when she heard his camera click again.

What’re you doing? She asked him, sitting on the floor.

Sorry. You mind? He shyly lowered the camera.

You know I don’t. It’s just—I’m not exactly photogenic right now. She smiled, gesturing around her.

Wanna see?

She nodded. The photo was surreal. Sophia’s figure was seated on the floor, her upper body bent down, reaching forward over her lifted knees. Her feet, bare, with the dance shoes lying next to them, were bruised and calloused, framed by Sophia’s hands treating them. She remembered Nathan calling it The Cost. It was dark but wholesome. Very much Nathan’s style.

“Oh, um—" She heard Nathan stutter, making her digress from the photo.

“You still have it,” she stated softly, astounded.

“Of course I do,” he said hesitantly. He reached his hand forward, taking the picture back from her, their fingers lightly touching in the process. Sophia sighed, rubbing her face tiredly. To think she spent most of the day not doing anything yet felt more exhausted than from any of her ballet training. Lowering herself, she sat cross-legged at the pool’s edge, watching the water shift in the dark. Nathan did the same, placing himself next to her. His phone screen caught her attention, and she glanced to the side, catching a glimpse of his contacts. Among many names of the Blackwell academy, one of them said “Freckles.” This made her smile: guess she wasn’t the only one.

“Nope. None of the assholes are answering. Guess we’re stuck here. Sorry.” He looked at her, seeing her small smile.

“Freckles?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Oh. I—I forgot to change it, it’s—I can—”

“Whatever. I didn’t change you either.”

Silence fell on them again, leaving the pool to be the only source of background sounds. It wasn’t awkward anymore; if anything, it felt relaxing to finally sit there quietly in each other’s presence. Like the old times. Sophia would lie if she said she didn’t miss this. Without Nathan in her life, silences became insufferable, but in his company, they were calming. She could spend hours just sitting there, doing nothing if Nathan was beside her. Water reflections danced on their bodies, turning them and the entire room pale-blue. It almost felt like some otherworldly place, away from Earth.

She glanced at Nathan: he looked nervous; she could tell he wasn’t as relaxed as she was, but it was fair, considering he was the one at fault. She eyed him up and down, noticing that his leg was shaking lightly. He really got worse from middle school: his ticks severed, he became fidgety and snappy. Sophia could only imagine the amount of pressure he was under. His dad was probably giving him hell every day. Watching him tremble, she decided to fill the silence with talking.

“So,” she began, uncertain of how to phrase the sentence, “what’s going on with this, “she gestured between them, “us.”

“We’re friends,” he answered, although it sounded more like a question as if he was unsure of his own words. Sophia pursed her lips, looking at her reflection in the water. If they already were going through all the highs and lows of their relationship, she could as well add to the discussion. Not looking up, she muttered it out, quick enough not to change her mind:

“Aren’t we more than that?”

There was silence again, and Sophia wasn’t sure if Nathan was silent because he didn’t understand what she meant or because he did. She fought herself over stopping the thought now or proceeding and seeing where it would go. She ended up thinking she’s already said A, might as well say B.

“We kissed. Last year of middle school.”

She waited again and, receiving no answer still, proceeded.

“At the gym.”

“I remember,” Nathan interrupted her description.

“What was it?” She finally looked at him, gaining up the courage.

“A kiss,” he said shortly, still avoiding her gaze.

“Nathan, I swear to god,” Sophia rolled her eyes, “you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, okay? It just—sort of happened.”

“You never mentioned it after that. Then summer came, and you disappeared.”

“I didn’t want to ruin what we had.” Sophia gazed at Nathan skeptically, quirking a brow, forcing a groan out of him. “Not in that way. I was afraid it would ruin our friendship.”

“First of all, ironic, second... why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” She furrowed her brows in confusion. Nathan closed his eyes and turned his head away completely, hiding his face.

“That I love you.”

Sophia froze in her place, starring at the back of Nathan’s head, his words echoing in her mind. He turned his head back, still looking at the pool.

“I don’t wanna say it.”

She looked at the pool too, as if there was something that grabbed their attention from each other. Seeing Nathan’s reflection, she looked at him, noticing he was looking back at her through the water.

“You just did.”

Perhaps it was easier, looking at each other’s reflections instead of facing reality because Sophia’s heart was pounding with merciless force. It was everything she could hear in her head: the thumps of her heart and Nathan’s confession, smashing together into a big mess that sent Sophia into a hazy trance.

“I can take it back,” Nathan rasped. His leg was shaking furiously now, sending his entire body in motion.

“Don’t.”

Sophia’s voice, like a triggering alarm, distracted them from the water surface and brought their gazes together. Their eyes shared terror, it intertwined somewhere in the middle, making their bodies tense, yet being the common ground for them to stand on. Sophia couldn’t tell if she was still breathing or not, her mind seemed to separate from her body, taking off and wandering around the room, merging with the water glimpses that kept dancing on the walls.

Their bodies, like magnets, slowly gravitated toward each other, shortening the distance until there was none. Nathan smelled of cologne and cigarettes, she smelled of lavender and sedatives. They balanced on an edge, not being able to move or breathe any longer, just rooted to their spots, insanely close, contemplating the last millimeter that held them apart. Then, like going down a slide, their lips pressed together, and the ball of tension exploded, returning the air into their lungs and the sense of control over their muscles. Sophia’s arms entwined around Nathan’s neck, she pressed her body to his, shifting the weight on him, willing to give herself to him entirely. Nathan’s arms accepted her with passion, locking behind her, pulling her in his direction. The motions of their bodies made them lose their balance and sent them into the pool. A loud splash emerged into the quiet air, disturbing the room’s silence. The gleaming reflections broke loose and began to shake vigorously, setting the entire place in motion.

All the noise around them turned into a vacuum as their bodies floated below the surface. Pushed back up, they gasped for air shortly before their lips collapsed again, with a bigger force. Nathan lifted Sophia up, resting her on top of him while her hands found his cheeks, grasping them to hold him close. Nathan held her body tightly against his, as if afraid of her moving away. Sophia lifted her lips from his ever so lightly, just to be able to whisper her pleads into them.

“I don’t want to leave,” she sobbed voicelessly, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, “I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to leave.”

“Stay,” he replied shakily, kissing her ear. She lifted her head and looked Nathan in the eyes, furiously shaking her head in agreement. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with pool water.

“I love you, I love you,” she choked on her cries, kissing Nathan again, eager, desperate, forcing the entirety of her emotions down on Nathan’s shoulders. He accepted it gladly, happily, holding her close and swearing on the entire world to never leave her again. To never let go.

***

The aftermath wasn’t as fun after the heat of the moment passed. Seated on the floor in some towels they found in the changing rooms, their bodies shook from cold, as they leaned against each other seeking warmth.

“I don’t know what I will say to my mom,” Sophia said, chuckling, “she’ll probably beat the shit out of me.”

“I won’t let her,” Nathan replied, “I’ll call my lawyer and make her stay the fuck away from you.”

“Aw,” she cooed, “I wouldn’t normally find your rich talk adorable, but it’s very nice of you.”

Her smile then faded, which caught Nathan’s attention. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, distracting her from her thoughts.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just—” she played with the hem of her towel anxiously, “maybe it’s not her who needs to stay away. Maybe it’s us.”

“What do you mean?”

She turned to face him and grabbed his hands in hers, suddenly determined.

“Let’s run away.”

He looked at her startled as if trying to be sure he understood her correctly. “Huh?”

“Fuck this place. Fuck Arcadia Bay. Fuck Blackwell. Fuck Somerset. Fuck all these people, two-faced snobs, and dirty junkies. Fuck our parents. Fuck everything.”

She moved her hands away, looking at him hesitantly, afraid of his reaction. Would he disagree? Would he get angry with her for saying something so radical? Would he refuse her and her offer? Sophia felt the time drag painfully slow as she watched Nathan’s face for any sign of emotion, anything that would let her know what he thought.

Growing anxious, she averted her gaze.

“You know what—”

“Fuck everything.”

Her head jerked back, meeting with Nathan’s determined gaze. Staring back at her, he nodded, smiling devilishly. “Fuck everything!”

Seeing his reaction, Sophia started laughing, connecting their hands back together. The relief ran through her body, lifting the tension of her shoulders.

“Fuck everything,” she echoed after him.

Nathan leaned in, kissing Sophia, feeling her smiling against his lips. The smell of chlorine, usually irritating, brought him a sense of joy he’s grown so unfamiliar with. He could sit there forever, on the cold floor tiles, wearing damp clothes, freezing, yet feeling growing warmth starting from Sophia’s lips and transferring to his, spreading through his body.

Nathan’s phone rang, breaking the moment. Groaning in irritation, he pulled away from Sophia, checking the new messages.

“Victoria answered,” he said, typing, “she called the guys to break us out.”

Sophia smiled, pulling the towel off her shoulders. “Cool. Can’t wait to change.”

“Tell me about it,” Nathan chuckled, getting up and offering her a hand. She rolled her eyes, accepting it.

“Although,” not letting go of his hand after standing up she brought her face close to his, “I am glad we got locked up.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“What will Victoria say about—this?” she squeezed Nathan’s hand firmly.

“I don’t care. Why?”

“I kind of thought you were a thing. She was always around you.”

“What? No, we’re just friends. Wait,” he looked at her slyly, “you thought we were together and still kissed me?”

“You kissed me,” Sophia countered.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Their dialogue got interrupted by loud noises piercing the air.

“That’s our queue. Let’s get out of here,” Nathan said, walking in the exit’s direction. Sophia lingered in spot, looking at Nathan’s back. He suddenly stopped, looking back at her.

“Soph?”

She raised her eyebrows in question.

“Did you mean it? Running away?”

“I did, “she said firmly. “Did you?”

He nodded.

“Good,” she smiled.

Nathan smiled back at her. He looked calmer, steadier. Reassured.

“C’mon,” he said after staying silent for a moment, “or you want to spend the night in the pool?”

Sophia rolled her eyes, catching up to him.

“Maybe another time.”

[eviestrol]

Synastry Ship - Renee

Hello again! I hope you like your nose piercing - I always think they look amazing! Can I please get a synastry compatibility with Lucas from NCT/WayV? My nickname is Renee. Thank you!

Thanks for requesting!!

Pros

Conjunction Sun - Jupiter: This aspect puts emphasis on your long term goals resulting in a great abundance of whatever you both seek to experience in your lives. Your good luck is emphasized, material and spiritual benefits are indicated as you help each other expand your horizons. You will have higher confidence and a better sense of who you are. You will ultimately give each other the benefit of the doubt in most situations.

Sextile Sun - Uranus: Very exciting and spontaneous relationship! There is a strong sense of freedom in your relationship. You encourage each other to be yourselves. He constantly surprises you with new ideas to keep the relationship fun and interesting. There are frequent changes and new discoveries that keep you on your toes and feeling like you are moving forward.

Sextile Sun - Neptune: You intuitively know how the other is feeling and may feel that you have found your soulmate. It’s easy to forgive each other and love flows easily between you two.

Conjunction Moon - Uranus: You will feel an instant attraction, an almost explosive excitement about the potentials for your new relationship, and a desire to meet his emotional needs. Your sexual attraction is heightened and his desire to meet your needs is interesting but you will need intellectual stimulation if this relationship is going to mature.

Conjunction Venus - Uranus: Instant, powerful attraction. Often a sign that it was love at first sight. However, the attraction may be erratic and it may subside as suddenly as it started. It is vital that you give each other freedom for this to work. He may be less willing to be constant than you want. Attempts to give this relationship too much structure may drive a wedge between you two.

Trine Venus - Pluto: Great sexual and emotional bond. Couples with this aspect feel an urge to procreate and need to be extra careful if that is not on the agenda. You feel like soulmates and feel an intense pull between you two. The tendency to be consumed by each other and the relationship is there. It is easy to become possessive of each other. It will be very hard to tear you two apart.

Trine Mars - Uranus: Very exciting and adventurous relationship. This could be a relationship that lasts forever, and yet you still feel the excitement as though it were a short fling. You find it easy to act freely and without restraint.  

Conjunction Mars - Pluto: Strong sexual attraction. There is an abundance of passion and intensity within the relationship that may be expressed healthily through sex. You feel more comfortable with your sexuality and primal urges and he may feel intimidated by this. He may turn to manipulation in order to feel like he has some control over the relationship. This aspect may bring out some competitiveness in you. You’re very protective of one another. Your actions and feelings are extreme. Any fights you have will be dramatic.

Trine Saturn - Neptune: You help ground his wild or lofty dreams and help make them into form. He helps open your mind to all things spiritual and helps you overcome any insecurities you may have. If you’re a cynic, he will help soften and open your soul a bit. He helps you believe in magic and you help ground him in reality.

Sextile Saturn - Lunar node: You help each other achieve your ambitions.

Cons

Square Mercury - Pluto: You challenge each other to think more deeply and to back up your ideas, but the intensity created from this can be overwhelming. You may hang on to old issues for too long. You do not see things in the same way and this creates issues and conflicts between you.

Square Jupiter - Neptune: You will most likely encourage each other’s self-indulgent tendencies. Both of you could neglect domestic responsibilities. You may think he is too immersed in a private dream world and he may find you too traditional.

Opposition Saturn - Pluto: You feel a need for security and you project these needs onto him, holding him personally responsible when you feel vulnerable. He has a tendency to let out his emotions on you no matter how hurtful. He allows his emotions to get all pent up and he explodes on you. As time goes on you may forget what it was that even attracted you to each other in the first place.

Overall: Instant attraction. He keeps the relationship fun and interesting, but it may be hard to get him to commit. The excitement never dies down and you may be competitive with each other. Domestic responsibilities will be neglected. The relationship is intense and there is likely to be some very explosive moments, both positive and negative.

I hope you like it! Feel free to request again at any time~

[hisgirlwonder]

Innocence Lost (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Length: 3.8K words Warning: Probably quite a bit (abandonment and betrayal, emotional abuse, manipulation, daddy issues, degradation, anal stuff, use of body fluids, etc) Synopsis: In your father’s eyes, you were his and his alone... until you weren’t; until he’d sold you to the Son of Satan for his own survival. Notes: Just a warning that if you are triggered by issues such as family problems, emotional abuse, abusive men in general, etc, that you probably shouldn’t read this. I wanted to try and make something really horrible since I needed a break from fluff so you’ve been warned. I took inspiration from a couple of movies and I hope you enjoy! If you want to read anything else I’ve written, you can find stuff in my masterlist. (ps. I had to make YN look like Vivien for the sake of my story.)

When you look back on everything, you realise a part of you had always known that your father only cared about himself. It all started when you were nine or ten and recall falling asleep to the sound of your parents screaming at each other. Tears rolled off your face and soaked your pillowcase while you held a hand over each of your ears in an effort to drown out the noise. One day your mother had enough, took off to go and get a pack of cigarettes but she never returned. You spent hours sitting by the front door before and after school waiting for her return – it was like this for almost a year.

A naïve belief had planted itself inside your mind as a child that he did his best to love you which was somewhat true… except it wasn’t really. Loving your child should be unconditional and yet for your father it was the exact opposite; with strict conditions. He only loved you in the moments that he didn’t see her.

The disappearing act of your youth changed him forever. It changed you, too, but this is when he began to figuratively sink himself into and under your skin. Looking at you pained him because you were the spitting image of her when they first met all those years ago; head full of long, luscious, strawberry-blonde locks and piercing blue eyes which bore through a man’s soul and found their way into his heart without even trying. His existence became like a sign at a crossroads – stagnant and unable to move and he couldn’t bear to be without you because she had already left. Your father couldn’t let you leave, too.

The name Michael had been mentioned in passing a long time ago when the two of them first met and went into business; that’s all you’d been told; no surprises if he turned out to be as corrupt as your father. The man who helped bring you into this world seemed wholesome on the surface but beneath it all he was a crook; a man who used manipulation, treachery, sometimes even force, to get what he wanted. His Devilish dealings and misdemeanours probably were the reason why when Michael came along you couldn’t jump into his arms fast enough.

Being as oblivious as you were, you gave excuses for the behaviour and never fought back because you were brainwashed into thinking his actions were warranted. Your mother, after all, gave birth to you and it was only fair for you to take over her role in the household which meant dealing with his venomous tongue.

When this new person appeared in your life, seemingly out of nowhere, he lit up your life like a firework on the fourth of July. He was charming, charismatic, and all the things your mother would have warned you about had she still been around - you imagine she would have told you a man is only as good as the company he keeps. You’d already discovered your father was bad news and you were to learn that Michael was too, despite the pretty face.

**

“Y/N, come here. There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

You’re called to come outside and meet the visitor your father has invited over. It’s near impossible to contain the excitement you’re feeling because you’ve never had your own visitors so you run as fast as you can to the door. There’s a man standing on the deck who doesn’t look much older than you standing there and hands down he is one of the most beautiful human beings you’ve ever seen.

A hand presses against your lower back, pushing you closer to this unknown person. Introductions from your father are had and you learn that this aesthetically pleasing person standing before you happens to be Michael. In a display of kindness, you hold out a hand for him to shake but he has other plans – taking that same hand in his and placing a kiss on the back of it. Your attempt to greet him is a failure because your vocal chords seem stuck; held down by nerves at the sight of this gorgeous man. Michael can feel the shyness you’re emanating and continues to hold your hand; only now stroking the palm with a couple of fingers.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you. F/N has told me so much about you.”

His voice bewitched you without any effort but your heart-eyes and swooning are cut short by your father interrupting, inviting Michael inside for lemonade. Michael replies with an answer that sounds as if there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The three of you walk to the kitchen which is fine until daddy dearest makes a comment in your ear when you’re getting the jug of lemonade from the fridge about how Michael is a good man and how he’s going to take care and look after you. You have no idea what he meant nor did you care because, for the first time in your life, a boy had awoken something inside you.  

You sit on the chair closest to Michael after the drinks are poured and are enamoured once again; intoxicated by his presence. Michael proposes a toast, to friendships, meeting you, and for you being as magnificent as described. Your skin began to flush because your father had been the only man allowed to call you that.

**

Two months have passed and what started off innocently enough has transpired into something else. Michael, of course, has nothing to do with it because he hasn’t touched you besides holding your hand or brushing your hair, but your mind works in other ways. Somehow he’s gotten trapped inside your skull and every thought and dream is about him.

One Friday night, your father decides to leave you alone with Michael. You were nervous but unsuspecting of anything, even when your father nods at Michael before he leaves. You would learn in a few weeks from now that this was more of a signal for him to start the plans the two of them had concocted.

With the two of you in the house all alone, it meant that you could give each other undivided attention without any interruption.

Your legs are draped over Michael as you usually would except instead of resting a hand on your kneecap sweetly he’s travelling up one of your thighs from the inside of your kneecap. You’re biting at your lip as he’s half way up your thigh but unfortunately his fingers don’t move any further, instead, he use them to tuck strands of fallen hair back behind your ear. Michael sweetly questions if you wanted to go to your room and play a game and, of course, you couldn’t say yes fast enough because you were ready for anything after feeling just a miniscule amount of affection.

**

You sit on your bed, bouncing legs in anticipation for what happens next. It’s only natural for you to feel this way because up until a few weeks ago you were untouched. The curiousity becomes all too much and you ask, “What game are we going to play?”

Michael takes a seat next to you and holds your restless legs still in an attempt to dispel any anxiety. Once you’ve stopped moving nervously, he cups a cheek in his hand and looks at you in a way that you’d never seen before. To any other woman who had been with a man, they’d know the look; he was holding back the growing hunger inside.

“A special game.”

“I like games,” you admit excitedly. You were a grown woman and yet a child all the same – you’d been stuffed into a box by your father and shielded from most if not all things that would break you out of his grip. In the throes of a mental breakdown, he even unenrolled you out of school and hired a tutor he trusted because he didn’t want someone else poisoning your mind or stealing you. He couldn’t lose another woman that he loved most. Once you’d finished school, there was no need for you to work because of the wealth your father had acclaimed - he forced this upon you and would use it if you ever stepped out of line. ­

“Lay down on the bed for me, will you?” he asks with eyes locked onto yours, fingers stroking at the curve of your jaw. Under his spell, you followed the instruction without a breath of hesitation. Michael slips off his shoes and lays on the bed as well; perched up on one elbow and the other hand strumming along your upper thigh.  

“Is this okay?” Michael questions you, making sure you were comfortable with what was going on. It seemed as if the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you in any way. You’re nodding but the truth is you wanted to yell out for more; beg for his hands to roam your body and take every last bit of your innocent; burn holes into your flesh from the intense fires of his want.

Then it happens.

“Would it be okay if I touched you in other places? You can say no if you don’t want me to.”

There he goes. Michael lays out the option to quench your thirst and to sate your desires but he also gives you the option to back out. As if you really had a choice.

“Y-y-yes,” you stutter. With no real understanding of how this works, you just agree and allow him to lead the way. He wastes no time getting in between the thick of your thighs and his fingertips dance over the fabric of your underwear; providing weak stimulation. At first, you jump because these aren’t your hands and you’d never felt anything quite like it before but you just went with it. Michael’s smiling at your reaction because he knows soon he’s going to defile you and turn you into his cock-hungry slut all in a matter of moments.

Two of his fingers push the layer of fabric out of the way and he traverses the slit between your legs. Michael playfully teases how wet you are, how ready you are, and you hide behind your hands. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment could only hide for so long because Michael pulls your hands down; he didn’t want you hiding anything back from him. Michael wanted, and needed, to see the way you reacted to him corrupting your body. His long, ring-adorned fingers glazed with slick travel to meet with your swollen bud, teasing it with his tips, and you feel a different kind of heat run through your veins – no longer embarrassed but set alight.

The events that conspired over that afternoon led you to believe magic was deep-rooted within Michael, embedded in his DNA. There was no other way to describe the power he had over you. What started as fingertips stroking at your bud as if your body was braille led to his plump lips devouring you; tongue lapping up the mess from the multiple orgasms he brought upon your body. After the final orgasm from his mouth, you thought that was it but turns out it was only the beginning.

When you gave him the signal, he slid inside gently and you could swear every thrust of his hips brought you closer to Heaven. You sang out in moans and your good girl image was broken when you began cursing. After the two of you had finished and you were catching your breath, the thought hit and you wondered if without your father would you have ever felt this from a man? The answer was probably no.

**

In the weeks that followed after the first time, things with Michael had heated up to the point where it could almost burn you alive. Your father pretended as if he didn’t know that Michael was fucking you in the room next door to his but anybody could have heard the noises that came from your mouth and your bedroom furniture.

For the first time in your life, you become needy for something other than your father's love. In your desire for Michael, practically ripping his clothes off when the two of you were alone. He had cast some kind of spell, turning you into someone you didn’t recognise. You became messy and had a sex drive that skyrocketed to the point where you no longer cared; allowing him to pound you into submission over every surface in your house.

One day Michael begins to touch you differently; with less passion, less care, instead just fucking you and not paying any attention to your body whatsoever. It becomes too much and you demand to know what’s changed. His all so sudden denial and strange behaviour you left you standing there in disbelief, hands on hips like a bratty child. You yell at him as he’s walking away, “You’re a liar and you can’t do this, Michael. You’ve gotten under my skin somehow and made me sick with this disease.”

When he realises he’s got you to the point where he wants you, he spins around on his heels and walks towards you. His eyes pierce into you with intent. “You want to feel something, do you?”

You step closer, pushing him back from his chest. “Yeah, but you have other things to do.”

This was the moment he was waiting for; the one to rip you in two and destroy everything you knew.

One of his hands takes you by surprise, colliding with your cheek and you’re left with a stinging that sliced through the skin because of the strength of the hit. You’re rubbing at your skin to soothe the pain and he taunts you, asking if it was enough. You bit back at his smart mouth and told him that wasn’t the kind of feeling you wanted.

“Maybe I don’t want to give you what you want.”

You were like an addict begging to blow your dealer for one more hit, offering your body up for some kind of satisfaction. “Since when did you ever turn me down?”

The push and the pull between the two of you are almost identical to how your parents would fight and that angers you even more. Michael snaps, pushing you back onto the bed; holding your wrists above your head, slender fingers digging into their hollows. He too has also become triggered; the similarities in your hair and eye colour to his mothers set him off.

“We’re going to do something a little different if that’s how you want to play.”

The way he spoke to you left you expecting hands of his to wrap themselves around your throat like you envisioned your own father doing if you disobeyed him but Michael did the opposite; dropping your wrists and leaving the room for a minute.

**

Michael returns and walks in slow, calculated steps to the end of your bed where you see him attach a pair of the handcuffs to each side of the bed frame. The thought crossed your mind as to where he would have got them but knowing your father, you wouldn’t be surprised if Michael had gone snooping and found them in your father’s drawers. He moves his fingers in a come hither movement and you crawl across the bed to the end but you aren’t close enough for his liking and so he pulls you swiftly to the edge of the bed, only to lock a cuff around each of your wrists.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

You could lie and tell him that it wasn’t but it was written all over your face. He smacks at your face again as hard as before, you wince in pain.

“Since you want to feel something so bad I’m going to make you feel more than just my cock inside you.”

Michael undresses, throwing the clothes on the chair near your bed carelessly before getting behind you. He rips off your clothes – your button up sundress ruined from angry hands, leaving buttons strewn over the bed and some minimally attached to the fabric. He tears the lace underwear from your body and throws the ruined item of clothing to the side.

You’re sweltering from the heat of your own lust but the same can’t be said for Michael - because of your likeness to his mother, he’s neck deep in disgust and power. He brings his aching erection to your slit, rubbing the aperture between your legs before forcing himself past your folds and inside. The thick girth filled your tight cunt in full; the ridges of him hitting the entrance in ways that sent shivers down your spine. Michael takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back as he growls, asking you if you knew what you are – obviously joking and saying you’re needing to get laid isn’t the answer because he yanks you back harder.

“You’re a pathetic bitch,” Michael snarls. The grip he has starts to hurt the roots of your hair. You whimper, unable to come back with anything because you were distracted by the discomfort. Michael doesn’t care and yells at you to look at how pathetic you are in the mirror adjacent to your bed, further adding to the degradation. His eyes are fixed on the sight of his hands hooking around your hips, pulling you into him. The handcuffs dig into your skin but you were enrapt with pleasure.

Michael is gentle only for the first few thrusts before picking the speed up and the repeated collision of hip bones on your ass become almost ferocious. The sounds of enjoyment you were making served as gratification for Michael’s inflated ego. You were so lost in focusing on Michael and how he was fucking you in a way you’d never even dreamed of that your orgasm crept up on you. It all comes to a stop when he feels what you’ve done and he scolds you for it. “You came without my permission, did you? I guess you’re just going to have to pay for it.”

You have no idea what’s going on behind you but can feel him exiting your body – he still needs to cum but he needed to make it count after, in his mind, you betrayed him like his mother did. His sick enjoyment from your humiliation reaches another level when he can see the nectar stringing from your pussy to his shaft while he removes himself. The sight of it all over his cock gives him an idea and so he rubs the tip, now covered in a muculent glaze of your own arousal, against your other hole and slides the head inside. He remains still, leaving you unsuspecting of his intent, but it wasn’t long before he gave you his entire length. Michael had trained your ass with many toys since you began having sex and so when he fully enters you, waves of pleasure roll throughout your body. He can only handle about five or six thrusts before he’s sent over the edge, emptying his seed into your ass.

“Look at you, fucked with an ass full of my cum. I bet you like being used like a piece of meat, don’t you?”

Michael pulls the weakening erection out of you and wants to take things even further. In his own twisted punishment, he shoves two fingers in your ass to scoop out some of the viscous fluid and forces them into your mouth to make you gag on the remnants of his perversion.

“I want you to hear exactly what I’m saying and shut the fuck up while I’m doing it. Don’t think you can use your smart mouth right now when I have the advantage here. You know why your father introduced me to you, don’t you? It wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart but because he sold you to me for a place in my Outpost.”

You begin to mewl in discomfort as the high begins to wear off. He’s digging his fingertips into your cheeks, forcing your mouth open and making sure you can’t say anything or move at all.

“He let me use you to my own advantage because he knew you look a lot like my mother. You want to know the reason your father and I have bonded so well recently? Because we both have women in our lives who have ruined us. When I said he had to offer me something more than money, he didn’t hesitate in giving me his pure, virgin daughter to destroy. It seems only fair too, don’t you think? Your mother ruined your father and what better way to get her back then to ravage the child she held in her womb. My mother ruined me too. It’s the ultimate betrayal to your God. ”

You’re unable to look anywhere else except straight into the eyes of Michael in the mirror before you. He was devoid of any emotion except hatred; blinded by his own rage of his mother.

"All I ever wanted was love and affection from her, and what did I get? Nothing. She tried to kill me. But now I’ve got you and you’re the next best thing. That sickness you claim to have? You’re not wrong. I have a special kind of power running through my veins which has allowed me to infect you like a parasite; burrowing itself into your organs and attaching it to most vital ones.”

Michael gets up to dress himself then walks around to the front of the bed to undo the cuffs holding you up. You collapse into your bed and rub where the handcuffs had been digging into. He leans on the bed frame, peering down at your still body; laying motionless in a state of shock. “There are a few ways this could play out. I could kill you myself, you could die from the apocalypse, or you can be my slave.”

The reality of his seriousness and your future to come begins to sink in but you don’t move. You lay there on the bed, a ruin of cum, sweat, and fear for what to do. Michael turns around to check himself in the mirror; tidying up his hair, refusing to look at you but he offers his own form of an olive branch, “If you want to play along, your father knows where I am. Otherwise have fun rotting with the rest of the world.”

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