#the thing about me. is i am both stingy in some ways. and impulsive on bigger purchases in other ways. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lampd-intheface · 6 years

Text

Sterling Silver

warnings: none

pairings: LAMP, heavy Prinxiety

author's note: this one's based off of a very popular tumblr post (kudos to you if you recognize it) but i can't seem to find who to credit for that? either way, i just really wanted to write smth smth for the vampire au since a lot of you really seemed to enjoy it

“Virgil, my darling, please. You're being unreasonable.”

As soon as the words left Roman's mouth, he already knew it was the wrong thing to say. Even Logan, who was merely observing from the couch, cringed at his mistake.

Virgil didn't just cringe. He scowled.

Roman was in deep trouble now. He could just tell that Virgil was much more upset now than he was before. Roman had a habit of being impulsive like that and, in these situations, he wished he would learn.

“Okay, I'm sorry for saying that. You're not being unreasonable at all, my sweet--” Roman moved to hug Virgil from behind before grimacing and quickly changing his mind.

What made him change his mind wasn't just the way Virgil cringed away from him (though, in normal circumstances, that would've been enough).

Wrapped around Virgil's waist was a clearly glistening chain of silver. It acted as Virgil's belt but Roman knew better. It wasn't just for holding up Virgil's pants. It was for repelling Roman.

It wasn't just the belt either. Virgil's fingers were covered in silver rings and his ears had silver studs. There was a choker around his neck decorated in silver spikes. He had even put in a silver lip ring.

Now, when exactly Virgil got his lip pierced, Roman didn't know. All he knew was Virgil looked good and Roman found himself hating the lip ring with a passion.

He couldn't even fathom where Virgil got all of these bonafide sterling silver jewelry. Did he just have all of this in stock for times like this? Or did he find a time to sneak out and buy all of them? Knowing Virgil and how stingy he was with money, it most likely wasn't the second option.

“Heya, honey bee, it's your turn to pick what we're gonna have for dinner.” Patton suddenly called from the kitchen, apparently oblivious to Roman and Virgil's current dilemma.

Virgil made eye contact for the first time in a while with Roman as he answered “Why not Italian?”

Roman made a soft whining noise in the back of his throat and Patton laughed “Oh, honey bee, you're so funny. You know we can't have that stuff!”

“Oh, I know.” Virgil drawled out, eyes still directly staring at Roman.

Patton, probably concerned, walked out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron, only to be stunned by Virgil's get-up “Virgil, honey, what's with… with uh… all of this?”

“Why don't you ask Roman?” Virgil crossed his arms and, as he cocked his hip, the belt at his waist jangled.

Patton, definitely much more concerned than before, turned to Roman who only groaned “It's all my fault.”

“Now, what's all your fault, Roman, darling?” Patton reached out and placed a gentle hand on Roman's shoulder.

“We were at the college because I had to pick Virgil up, you know.” Roman began to recall exactly how he got into this mess “I had overheard this girl telling her friend something or another about my dashing good looks.”

Logan and Virgil practically scoffed in unison.

Roman chose to ignore that, pouting all the while “In any case, you know how Virgil doesn't like it.”

Virgil looked a little embarrassed at that but it didn't lessen the rather sour expression on his face.

Patton just nodded, focused solely on Roman's retelling. Virgil had a habit of being self-conscious when it came to his vampire boyfriends. He had this odd notion that they were 'out of his league' and, whenever passerby mentioned it, Virgil grew self-deprecating.

“Well, I had thought a bold romantic gesture would help put my darling's troubled expression at ease!” Roman declared as if he found no problem with his plan.

Virgil's cheeks and his ears practically glowed red at this point. Though, if it was because he felt embarrassed by Roman or because he was recalling the events in his head, Roman couldn't tell.

Probably a healthy mix of both.

“If you had thought the entire thing through thoroughly, you would have come to the same conclusion as I.” Logan stated a-matter-of-factly “Our little starlight here does not favor any sort of bold or grand gesture.”

“Especially if it attracts a crowd of people!” Virgil added in agreement, his scowl less in anger and more in embarrassment. His hand even flew up to cover some of his face as if it would help cool it down.

“But, my love! I only meant to show them how dearly I love you and how the two of us are enamored with each other!” Roman protested, his hands forming fists as he pouted, a tone of passion in his voice.

“I would've even been okay with a kiss! Just a small kiss!” Virgil's other hand flew up as if covering his entire face would help with the situation at all “You didn't have to twirl and dip me before kissing me!”

Patton just nodded, grimacing a little “I see… And this prompted the get-up how?”

“Now he won't be able to make a scene anymore.” Virgil stated a-matter-of-factly, his tone almost copying Logan's from earlier as he lowered his hands.

Patton chuckled “Well, now, I understand where you're coming from, honey bee, but you do know you're keeping ol’ Logan and I away too.”

Virgil made a face that screamed ‘And what about it?’

Logan sensed this and turned to the group with his own little scowl “Wait, excuse me, are you stating that we must suffer through this as well?”

“I mean, we're all vampires here and you know silver stings the dickens outta vampires, Lo.” Patton gestured vaguely towards Virgil.

When Logan stared incredulously at Virgil, the human stuck his tongue out, revealing a tongue stud that gleamed silver.

“Okay, well, that seems a little excessive--” Patton tutted at the sight of the tongue stud and Roman made a dying grunting sort of noise in agreement.

When Virgil didn't seem to respond to that, Patton put on a thinking face “Well, now, I guess I'm about to get a little bit hurt here.”

There was a moment of silence as Virgil, Logan and Roman turned to Patton, all three of them with almost matching expressions of confusion. Virgil, though, looked more suspicious than confused.

“What do you mean?” Virgil finally broke the silence, his feet automatically taking a step back out of habit.

Patton didn't smirk but there was a gleam in his eyes “I haven't hugged you since last night! So, I'm gonna hug you right now.”

“Patton, I am covered in silver--” Virgil started to say but, when Patton inched forward, the words died in his throat.

“Patton, no--” Virgil took a step back and Patton, determined, took two steps forward.

The two took turns taking steps as Logan and Roman watched on. Eventually, though, the backs of Virgil's legs hit the coffee table and there was nowhere else to go.

At that point, he thought Patton would stop but, instead, the vampire kept inching forward.

Virgil seemed to catch on to what Patton was planning and groaned loudly, hastily putting his arms up as if to stop the vampire “Okay, okay, okay, chill! Let me take these off first!”

With little flourish, Virgil took off the chains and the rings and the piercings, letting all of it unceremoniously fall onto the coffee table.

Patton made a noise of happiness and dove right in, hugging Virgil tightly but not too tightly. He even spun Virgil in a little circle. Virgil just sighed, hugging back with a little less vigor.

It seemed his plan had backfired and, though he hadn't been all that serious about it, Virgil was still a little miffed at how easily Patton had--

His thoughts were interrupted by Roman who saddled up behind him, joining in the hug-fest. Virgil made a guttural noise of protest but didn't move away at all.

Logan seemed satisfied by the turn of events and turned back to his book.

“Logan, dear, you better drop that book and come over here.”

Logan, looking less satisfied than before, sighed and placed a bookmark into his novel before he, too, saddled up, further squishing Virgil.

It was Patton's turn to look satisfied.

“Now, honey bee, I'm sure Roman didn't mean to make a scene. You should be a little more lenient on him.” Patton gently reminded Virgil “He has a lotta love to give and sometimes he forgets where he is when he gets his fanciful ideas.”

“And, you, mister, you need to tone down your public displays of affection!” Patton peered up at Roman over Virgil's shoulder and Roman returned the look with his own sheepish one.

“Yes, of course, I apologise profusely.” Roman nodded, pressing a kiss to Virgil's temple and just, in general, basking in Virgil's warmth.

“Now, in all seriousness, what do you want for dinner, honey bee?”

“Anything's fine with me.” Virgil's tone was resigned but he seemed content enough with how their little spat had ended.

Patton looked glad and, reluctantly, he left Virgil's embrace to skip happily to the kitchen. That left Virgil secured tightly in Roman's and Logan's arms.

Logan hesitated for a second before pressing a kiss to the corner of Virgil's lips and another on Roman's cheeks “I must help Patton with dinner since it's been delayed.”

As soon as Logan had left, Roman sighed and his breath tickled as it blew past Virgil's ear “I deeply truly apologize. You know I hadn't meant to-- to-- to make you uncomfortable--”

Virgil rolled his eyes, leaning back into his dramatic vampire's hold “Okay, I get it, princey. It was embarrassing but I might've overreacted too. Just don't--”

“Do it again? Gladly.” Roman's voice sounded strong and sincere as he promised, his lips leaving small kisses against Virgil's temple and along Virgil's jaw before his face settled into the crook of Virgil's neck “I will leave the heavily amorous displays of affection for when we are in the privacy of our own home.”

Virgil snickered at that, content with the promise.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #prinxiety #lamp #poly am sanders #polyamsanders #polyam sanders #alternate universe #lampire au #1500+#mine

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pendulum-sonata · 5 years

Note

Classicalship!

Why am I not surprised :P, anyway this is gonnna be super long, so it will have to be under read more:

General:

How long will they last? - They would last forever cuz they’re both long-commited people

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - Not quickly, and even if it was, they would take too long to figure out like the two oblivious blockheads they are… maybe Yuzu wouldn’t take too long realizing, but would be a bit intimidated if she isn’t sure of his feelings.

How was their first kiss? - I kinda waddle between a surprise peck from Yuzu to Reiji and in between a rougher kiss when the sexual tension is a bit too much to handle :P

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Reiji most likely, but if we’re honest Yuzu had probably figured out that he would ask her but didn’t want to pressure him because she knows feelings are hard for him.

Who is the best man/men? - Yuya would likely be Reiji’s best man, and maybe after much begging proding Sawatari would sneak his way into it to everyone’s dismay.

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - Yuzu would probably had an entire group made of it, just to the top of my head: Yoko, Masumi, Serena, Ayu (although she could be the flower girl too), Asuka, Reira, maybe even Himika lol.

Who did the most planning? - Neither, Himika took over quickly and wanted to argue about it either, because no one would win this conversation against her :’D

Who stressed the most? - I have a feeling Reiji would have a slowly rising stress at the thought of everything and how big it feels, Yuzu wouldn’t get stressed in the emotional part but she would get stressed by all the things Himika plans to put on the wedding and basically turning it into a public event (which she already had second thought about.)

How fancy was the ceremony? -Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. (Unwillingly lol, I kinda imagine them as the type of people who would compromise to the big ceremony Himika wants, but the party would be far more private, only friends and family)

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Leo, even if he was invited, I have a feeling he wouldn’t want to come lol.

Sex:

Who is on top? - I think they switch depending on the mood.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Yuzu, hands down, like after the awkwardness of the first time, I feel she would defitely do it.

How healthy is their sex life? -Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? -Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - I don’t know? I mean it probably varies, but they probably aren’t the type of having ‘quickies’ so I’d say from normal lenght to more? >.>

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - I imagine Reiji is a little too obssesed with ‘performing well’ so he probably does worry about this, but I don’t think Yuzu keeps track

How rough are they in bed? -Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. (lol, Yuzu probably tried to get Reiji to be rough once and he ended up feeling bad about it xD)

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? -No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - Not gonna lie, I think they would have 2 at most

How many children will they adopt? - I mean, they’re already the mom and dad of the team, so I think they technically have plenty of adopted people around.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Neither, I think Nakajima gets to be a nanny and bodyguard

Who is the stricter parent? - People on the outside would think it’s Reiji, but it’s actually Yuzu, not that she would get to be a control freak, but let’s face it: Reiji was probably a pretty free range child and would think it’s okay then Yuzu would get like “You can’t be serious.” face.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Yuzu most likely, but Reiji could be like in a situation where he forbids something and the kids go like “but weren’t you already doing far more dangerous stuff than me at that age?” and he would get stuck, Yuzu would unflinchinly say something on the lines of “I did a lot of things at your age that won’t be doing.”

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - They live in a paradox where they remeber to pack their kids lunches but forget their own.

Who is the more loved parent? - they’re both loved, but the kids probably know it’s easier to manipulate Reiji into agreeing to things Yuzu never would. (you can’t convince me Reiji wouldn’t be weak for his children.)

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? Both take turns, but I can imagine Yuzu is more likely to get into a incident related to her temper and get banned from attending :P

Who cried the most at graduation? - Yuzu in public, both in private,

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Reiji, but for once not because of his permissive tendencies, but because now they managed to piss their dad and it’s gonna be him the one to discipline them, and they’ll remember to never push him too far again.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - I can’t see either cooking much, Reiji is probably clueless and Yuzu may know basic stuff like rice balls or pancakes but that’s it, this is probably another things that falls under Nakajima’s tasks :P

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Reiji, for virtue of having most likely grown with personal cooks or chefs

Who does the grocery shopping? - Surprisingly Reiji, because Yuzu still can’t shake the habit of buying during sales and on a budget and Reiji doesn’t like to be stingy with food.

How often do they bake desserts? - Not too often, because Reiji doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth and Yuzu may have some every once on a while but she prefers fruity flavors than sweets.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Man, I feel that since Yuzu is more active than Reiji (pro duelist) she would go for meat and more protein diet, whereas Reiji is a salad guy.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Reiji would take Yuzu to expensive places to eat.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Yuzu is a social butterfly, so she would like to be out more often and avoid Reiji of becoming a full-blown recluse

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - I would say Reiji if I would believe he wouldn’t follow recipes to the T, maybe he would end up screwing up something but not to that level, Yuzu would probably do it for confusion over the fancy kitchen and what button does what.

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - I think Reiji would be the type to want things tidy and ordered, so he does most of the time without really thinking about it.

Who is really against chores? - Neither, but they have specific chores they do and some don’t even cross their mind it needs to be done: Reiji? Likes things clean and ordered, but ask him if he knows how to do laundry. Yuzu? Very good at keeping thing “clean” but it’s she’s probably the type to have an organized mess.

Who cleans up after the pets? - I don’t think they would have pets.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Yuzu lol

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Both do but for different reasons, Reiji for planning but he hides it well and Yuzu because she has to remember etiquette and all.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Pfft no one, because Reiji doesn’t handle cash, maybe they’d be more prone to find cards

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Both do lol, I imagine Reiji is very thorough with cleaning himself, while Yuzu just likes to relax.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Again, they woulnd’t have pets so… next.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Yuzu definitely does and Reiji indulges her even if he has to bear with wearing an ugly xmas sweater,

What are their goals for the relationship? - I don’t see Yuzu as doing long-term goals (she’s more on the impulsive side) but Reiji probably sees themselves growing old together

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - Yuzu on her off days.

Who plays the most pranks? - Yuzu may do it… I think? But nah.

#arc v #yugioh arc v #classicalshipping #my askbox #ship meme #ask meme #phew this took longer than It thought #timahina

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naromoreau · 5 years

Text

Hooked on you

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x F! Dep

Rating:Nsfw, angst and fluff and smut

I'm dedicating this to the absolutely awesome @leavenopathuntaken for encouraging me with her amazing art and words.

Thanks to @absurdwanderlust and @deputyshitlordsantana for encouraging this shit.

__________________________

Well fuck. Of course all had ended tits up. Not that he’d other expectations, ‘cuz when it came to consider a scenario involving him and a chick like Dep, things just-- just didn’t work out. And it hurt. Worst than the well known kick in the nuts. Hell, he’d take an extra ration of those just so, so- Fuck. Just to get out of that emotional dry spell.

He ain't an idiot. There’d been something bouncing back and forth. Small, real smooth hints that made his heart thud and his mind spin at night when the memories wheeled around. But outta the blue, one day she just-- slow fade him. Nothing too obvious. Just the same show he already knew, the same sad song he’d already danced. Maybe he’s just overthinking it.

No. The little voice inside his head has it right. She’d been joshing with him, that’s all. Just pure teasing between friends and he’d swallowed hook, line and sinker. Like a complete moron.

It’s a matter of time now. I mean, it may be the end of the world or whatever but-- She’s gonna find someone. ‘Cuz she’s hella pretty and, and, not that he’d check her out or nothing, but yeah. She’s gonna find someone. And the thought just tastes wrong.

Why he had to fall for her like that? He ain’t a fucking teenager to keep believing that when push came to shove, she’d stay or say what he craved to hear. And fucking Christ in heaven, this time he’d been hit hard. Shovel on the head kinda hard.

“Thanks for coming with me, man,” she says, severing his brooding thoughts.

Even looking at her is downright painful, the dimples of that smile making his stomach twist in knots, and those eyes, man. Sparkling something that Sharky is never sure to grasp entirely. “It’s ‘aight, shorty, I got you.”

“I know you ain’t a fan of the Wolf’s Den, so I really appreciate it.”

He ain’t a fan of anyone who throws glimmering mistrust in Dep’s direction, not after watch her bleed in his arms, clumps of sweaty wayward hair sticking to dusty cheeks, as the fear rends his heart to shreds. Not when it’d been real easy for her to just kick everyone to the curb and run away. It’s rude and just outright disrespectful. “Nah, it's cool dude, I can deal with the claustrophobia for a bit,” he lies.

She chuckles with her eyes riveted on the road, but the frayed smile tells Sharky she’s far from feeling fine.

“Dep?”

“Mmm?”

“Uh, I know it’s not my business but uh, you ok?”

White-knuckled grip at the wheel before she cracks a lopsided grin in his direction. “Sorta.”

He ain’t sure if it means he should or could pry or pester her further, or if she’s politely telling him to fuck off. So he shuts his mouth. Self-preservation at its finest.

“I mean yeah,” she continues after a few seconds, but her voice is all wavering now. It makes Sharky uneasy, “but I haven't seen Staci since I got him out of Jacob’s bunker and I don't know, I guess-- I guess I’m a little rattled to see him. It could’ve been me y’know?”

“Don’t say that, man.” Never say that, he wants to say, but his voice is harsh and--. He swallows, thick. Better to chuck that idea out the passenger window, ‘cuz thinking about a reality without Dep is just-- better not to amble in that direction.

The car skids to a stop outside Wolf’s Den, and they hop off making their way inside. He nods at Wheaty on the entrance. That guy is promising, real potential right there, and maybe he can stop by to check on his vinyl collection while Dep’s busy visiting her friend.

At his side, she fidgets, frowning and giving small exhalations as if she were preparing to run a marathon. Sharky cocks a brow. He’d never seen her looking so tense, not even after he rescued her from that flossy motherfucker’s bunker.

“Hey, chica, uh, want me to stick ‘round?” Sharky almost reaches his hand to brush the hunched line of her shoulders, closing his fist to thwart his impulse, ‘cuz touchy-feely is not a line of action he recommends to himself. Not now. Probably not later also.

“No, it’s ok. I just-- I’ll be fine.” She gives a gingerly squeeze to his arm and his brain takes it as a cue to send butterflies fluttering down in his gut. Out-and-out juvenile.

He gulpes and smiles in a silent acquiescing, trudging away from her, every line and wrinkle on his face twisting in flat-out dejection.

He doesn’t snatch his eyes away from the threshold until her footfalls fade in metallic echoes.

------------

He does a mental inventory of all the goodies Wheaty allows him to take back to his trailer park. Lotsa fun stuff to blast while melting peggies and swaying his fuckin’ pantless ass just to show them Seeds they can’t take him down. It’s been well past an hour and he juggles with the vinyls in his arms meandering through narrow corridors, skirting piles of supplies cluttering up on the floor, trying to reach the room Eli always assigns to them when they’re in the premises.

The darkness is uninviting, scrambling his sense of direction and time. And he’s hungry and hopes Tammy doesn’t appear around a corner ‘cuz she ain’t that nice. Then a muffled sob. A strained groan. Sharky joggles to the room closer with the door ajar. Somebody is losing their shit and he can’t blame them. He’d be close to if it wasn’t for-- Whatever. But help your neighbor and all that shit, even though he ain’t the most adequate candidate for that stuff. He’s more than aware of that. When he gets real close, he sets apart two distinct pitches, and his heart leap to his throat recognizing one as Dep’s.

He should’ve taken a step back and get the hell outta there, ‘cuz it ain’t gentlemanlike to go snooping around in other people's business but Dep is there. And he needs to know she’s fine. He peers through the slight opening watching Pratt crying all over Dep’s shoulder, hands clinging to her waist borderline hysteric. He really feels bad for the guy, having spent a good chunk of a month tucked away in Jacob Seed’s personal rendition of hell.

But in the flick of a second his breath freezes in his lungs, the buzz of his blood roaring in his ears. ‘Cuz Pratt is kissing Dep and as much as it’s gut-wrenching to see he can’t tear his eyes away. Like a fucking masochist. Every swipe of his tongue and every second of shared breath stings deeper and deeper, until it’s too much and he forces his legs to unnail and wonkily take him someplace else. Anywhere but there. An ache rises under his breastbone, eyes chockfull with tears, arms tingling and dropping his cargo with a loud clunk on the floor. Breathe. Miraculously he reaches the familiar room with bed bunks and closes the door for good measure.

What the fuck had he been hoping for, really?

Like she’d just turn and say hey man, actually I’m into you? Real fucking stellar. Of course that Pratt fella had the upper hand. He has a real job and not a shady piss business, probably not one forced check-in at County Jail and they both even click in the age department. Not that he thought of himself as old but she’s almost twelve years his junior, not that that shit matters when he’s a complete loser in every aspect of that pathetic thing he dares to call life. He climbs to the upper bunk, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, and just maxes out in seething silence. ‘Cuz it ain’t fair to her but that jealousy thing man, it seeps and twinges and soaks him all, making him clench his jaw and grit his teeth.

Sundry feels whirl up inside him, heels diggin’ in the thin ass cot and fuck, there it is, that feeling bursting under the surface. Fuck. The need to set some shit on fire, like he usually does when he’s crashing down. Down, down.

“Shark?”

He should’ve jumped and run away, but he’s three feet above the ground and has great value for his bone’s integrity.

“‘Sup Dep?” There’s a flickering wave in his voice. Shaky. Unwanted, definitely not convenient tears stinging his lashes. He oughta nip them right in the bud ‘fore she sees them and yeah. That’s not--

“Hey, are you ok? I just- uh, just wanted to know if you wanted to go and eat something?”

Yeah, no thanks. Just to sit there and watch them both-- His stomach rolls over, tight and heavy as lead. “I’ll pass, uh, not, not really hungry today, sh- man.”

Shorty. Sounds fucking outta place. Something born out of his shy-ass attempt to say more. Needing more but ending with less. And he’s waiting for her to jerk her hand in that particular, very Dep like way to say good riddance, you’re not worth my time. But she stays.

His stomach growls of hunger just then. Fucking traitor.

“So, uh, not hungry then?” She moves one pace closer to the bed bunk. Yeah. She's not falling into it.

“Nope.”

And she really needs to go, and leave him alone. Gnawing his misery. Regaining his breath that now is just scorching his lungs. And he doesn't see. Eyes closed under a warm forearm.

A gentle tug at the hem of his pants, makes him groan in his raw throat. “Shark,” she says with that mellow tinge, “what’s going on? could you just--?”

She won’t let that shit fly. ‘Cuz he knows her. ‘Cuz she’s Dep and Dep is a problem solver. He bites his lip. Blinking, once, twice. A blessed drag of his hoodie over sodden eyes, and he prays. Begs. That she just won’t notice.

“Uh, I’m, I’m kinda ragged up, Dep.”

“Seriously man, what’s going on? You’re starting to freak me out-- could you just-- come down here. Please.”

Dude, it’s cruel. ‘Cuz she really cares. It’s such an earnest pleading he finds his legs moving despite his own blockade. When was the last time someone acted like he mattered? Like they actually cared?

He’s down. And she’s sitting on the bunk studiously looking at the wall. Yeah. Allowing him the courtesy of pretend it’s all normal. ‘Cuz Dep ain’t stingy.

Sharky swallows. “So uh, here I am, what, uh, what do ya need, Dep?”

“You can just sit here, y’know? I don’t bite. What’s got into you?” She scoffs.

She gives something like a general glance in his direction. And he sits. ‘Cuz not doing it is just plain giving that’s something’s off. And things would be better if he just had a beer can in his hand.

“What happened,” she asks finally looking him in the eye.

His mouth goes dry. “I uh, I hit my foot with the uh, the pole of the bed.”

She gives a soft snort and let it pass. “I talked with Staci,” she says. Sharky would’ve prefer to being hit by the bat of a grimy peggie than trekking into that direction. “He’s in really bad shape, and I just-- God, Shark, you should’ve seen him, there’s no trace of the guy who used to steal my coffee in the mornings.”

He knows he should say something. But his words are swallowed by the yawning chasm in his stomach. He hums an agreement.

“And I just-- I was thinking, y’know? I’m barely holding my sanity here and it’s all because of y’all.”

She rubs a hand across his. The column of her neck cranes, cranes ‘til those green eyes pierce into quicksilver ones and he can’t hack that shudder. A wild one. She reaches an arm and runs experienced fingers along his jaw. That warm, indistinct thing curls in his chest. Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard gulp.

He sifts her face. Pent-up reactions lingering in the moment. Hooded eyes, tugged up lips. Suspended. She takes a deep breath and is the last thing Sharky can hear before--

She plunges.

Her lips are pressed to his, his fizz of thoughts lost in one stroke. He’s not expecting it when she opens her mouth. Breath goes shallow but his tongue dips, dips up and down. Circling. Greedy. Eyes closed, it’s too perfect to last. An unwanted flash before his eyes. Black beard, tan skin. Not his. Not him. Fuck.

He pushes her off.

“What the fuck Dep?” He hates it. Hates himself. He should just take it and be happy with it. He can’t. Giveaway blur on his eyes. “Ain’t you with Pratt or somethin’?”

“What?”

A sharp blow. More like a, like a real keen strike. Right to the face. But he’s right. And now he’s not sure if he should say it but he will ‘cuz Sharky’s mouth has a mind of its own.

“C’mon Dep, I uh, I saw you back there, I mean it’s cool, y’know? Don’t sweat it, but I’m uh, I’m not into steppin’ into another dude’s territory.”

He’s sure he’s doing right. Being a gentleman and all that shit. ‘Cuz he’s not that much of a fuckin’ asshole. No matter how much he wants it. Jump in and dive.

“You saw it?”

Her hand is gone. Flat, emotionless voice reverberating in the tiny space.

“Yeah.”

“And-- did you happen to hear what happened after that?”

“Uh, nope. I mean it’s not my business to be skulkin’ around to listen convos--”

“But it’s your business to take fuckin’ conclusions without all the information?”

“Uh--” Wordless, lame-ass response. Not much to say to not look like, like a goddamn idiot.

The line of her shoulders ease down, and she lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “It’s not what you think, Shark,” she says and he clings to that believe so he bites his lip, to not screw up his chances. “He was just-- It wasn’t nothing romantic y’know? I’m the first fuckin’ person he sees that actually knows him from before all this clusterfuck started.” She shakes her head, a crink around her mouth. Sad, gloomy smile. “It wasn’t as much as a kiss, as uh, I don’t know-- cling to a lifeline I guess.”

She smiles, a hand finding his cheek again. He actually leans into it now, fears now flaky as she scoots closer. Warm thigh against his. “Y’know? There’s a-- a common practice in the department,” she says, thumb rubbing circles on his stubble, and he’s doing everything he can not to sigh like a fuckin’ damsel, “to always focus on the things you care right? Your family, your pet, whatever. You know who I think of every morning?”

He’s paying attention. For the first time he is. Brain nailed to her train of thoughts. “B-Baby Carmina?” he says, voice thick with things he doesn’t comprehend still.

She laughs. Clear, ringing bells kinda clear. “I love my goddaughter but uh, I think you’re playing dumb, dude.”

His pulse flutters. Quick. Escalating into speedily beats, palms damp. He’s all jittery and dizzy, ‘cuz she’s looking at him, sporting a vexing grin. “Uh, Dep? My chick radar is kinda rusty y’know but I’m-- I’m picking some signals here? Just uh, just tell me what to do.” The words roll in a whisper, mouth a dry mess.

“I’ll show you.”

She speaks with a sense of finality just to kiss him as soon as the last vocal fades in the air. Soft lips against his chapped ones. Soon her tongue follows, sweeping along every nook and cranny. Warm and teasing, wheedling low moans from him with every push.

He holds her. Closer. Tighter. It takes him a moment to daze off and click back. This. This right here. All he’d ever wanted. Fuck, it feels good.

He runs his hands down, fighting gravity to not fall back. ‘Cuz they’re sitting on a friggin bunk and he ain’t sure she wants to--

Fuck, she does.

Her hand slips past the waistband of his pants, under his threadbare boxers. Erection now throbbing between her fingers. He pulls her down, arms around her waist.

They fall in a panting heap. Muscles and curves pressing him right where they should be. Like a fucking puzzle. A perfect puzzle.

She slides off him for an instant, and he complains. A groan. But she smiles, shedding off her clothes and breath catches in his chest. He’s burning. Sweating like a pig in the summer. His threads are gone in a heartbeat, not thinkin’ about the beer gut he has come to terms with, or the other fuckton of things that could sour this moment.

“You sure ‘bout this, Shorty?” He asks, ‘cuz he has manners and, and not that his pulsing cock is pressing between her thighs already.

She dips down. Kisses him again. Slowly, sweetly, taking her time. “Are you?”

“You really askin’ me that question, amigo?” he says breathless, both hands making an arrow direct to his dick.

But it's not just that. He’d never wanted anyone like this. Not just a fuck. Not just the feeling of being spent but hollow. He needs the aftermath more than he needs the sex.

“Look, gotta be real honest with you, shorty ,” he says, feelings finally frothin’ out from deep-six within him, “‘cuz you uh, need to know ‘fore all gets weird. I just, I think I love you man.”

He doesn't know what he’s expecting from Dep. Cool, controlled Dep now staring at him, bare and on top of him. What a fuckin’ sight.

“I love you too Sharky.”

Certainly not that. Clean, direct answer, no shades or ifs. It feels weird. Like watching a familiar movie with a different ending. A happy one. He smiles, white teeth through thin lips.

He shifts his body, mouth now roving over her collarbone and she arches. Soon he’s all over her nipples. Okay. He’s good at this. This is where he excels.

He sucks her breasts, touching the warmth of her skin, reaching to every place he can find. The drag of his lips is making her whimper, and his downstairs complain. Twitching. Impatient.

“Fuck, Shark,” she says dreamily, fingers squeezing his cock and lining him up to her entrance.

Slowly, she takes him in. Maddening tightness, slick and hot engulfing him one inch at a time. She eases down on his dick and he’s just about to lose his cool ‘cuz, ‘cuz he’s balls deep inside her.

“Oh, shit, shit, Dep, fuck,” he whines. He grips the side of her thighs, groaning deep at the back of his throat.

She hums, lazy smile tagging a long with a roll of her hips. Oh shit. It’s taking him a goddamn effort not to ram artlessly and let go. But he ain’t a selfish ass.

“You feel so good, Sharky,” she says, drawled words all low and throaty.

That’s his name, that’s his fuckin’ name right there. “Shit, babe, you’re the one to talk.”

Air is suddenly not reaching his lungs. He’s high of her, trying to find his pace, amidst overwhelming sensations. He rocks his hips, steady movements among the gut-twisting little moans she’s giving. At least he’s doin’ it right.

Dep’s bottom lip disappears in her mouth, and heat pools in his groin when her rhythm increases. There’s a blush spreading on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose when he thrust harder to meet her downstrokes.

“Fuck, Shark, yes!”

His fingers dig in her hips to find leverage, sinking heels on the mattress to rock faster, relishing the awe on her face and the blurry haze on her eyes. God, he loves seeing her like this. He’s not sure how long he can take it, his heart already pounding in his ears, head spinning under the delicious friction in every pounding. But sure as fuck he’ll try. She lunges forward, knees burrowed in the cot at the sides of his thighs and palms curled around his shoulders, regaining control, now actually fucking him into the mattress.

“Jesus, fuck, Dep--” he manages to stutter, “y’gonna be the death of me y’know?” He means it and it’d be a fuckin’ good way to go west.

She licks her lips, and he catches a faint smirk and pupils blow wide before he surges to meet her, hand cradling her head. Teeth clicking, tongues swirling desperately, steamy breaths puffing while he’s sure he’s about to break. His mouth trails off, going down the rim of her jaw, dappling her skin with bruises through hard sucks.

The pressure is unbearable, and he’s close, so damn close, feeling the sparks of searing hotness flaring up from his balls, fanning out ‘til his pelvis and his spine seem about to explode.

“I can’t- fuck, Dep, I can’t.”

She kisses him again as an answer, crying out the moment he angles his hips. The hug of her walls is too much, clenching around his cock, pushing him to the final inches of his climax.

“Dep, I’m ‘bout to--” He tries to pull off, but she keeps him pinned in place.

And if he needs more assurance, she roots her hips down, eyes locked on his. “It’s ok, Sharky, I want you to.”

And he loses it. Fucking Christ, he loses it.

He pulls her down, groaning, burying a final, heavy sigh against her skin. His body tenses, mind-wrecking spasms running along his dick and his balls and he’s dazzled by the popping lights under his lids. Sharky holds her, peppering her face with light kisses as the throbbing fades and the spurts stop, the buzz in his ears lowering to zero.

“That was good,” she says playing with a curl of his hair, draped on him.

“Fuckin-A, babe.” His words are still catching in his throat, a hand placed on her lower back.

He wallows in the moment. Just feeling, not thinking. Trying not to be surpassed by the little things he has never appreciated after the fact. ‘Cuz it wasn’t with her. Yeah. Soft breathing, quick heartbeat thrumming against his chest, the way her skin shines under a thin sheet of sweat. And sweet Jesus, that lavender scent.

“So uh, this means we’re like--together? As in, as in a couple kinda together?” He finally asks. He ain’t bad reading signals but now, he needs the assurance. The certainty. He needs the words leaving her mouth, one hooked to the other.

“Nah, you’re just hot and I wanted to jump your bones,” she says with a grin, “of course it means we’re together, as in a couple kinda together, you big oaf!”

Sharky finally relaxes, feeling the strain of the task and the raw emotions soaking in his bones. “Y’know shorty? Don’t get take this the wrong way but uh, I’m actually kinda beat down, so Imma take a shut eye real quick, ‘mkay?” And then he quickly adds, “please, don’t go.”

She laughs, pulling the blanket over them both and curls against him, warm and comfortable snuggled against him. “You don’t need to apologize, Shark and I’m not going anywhere”

He nuzzles the strands of hair splayed on her shoulder and dozes off to the soft rhythm of her breathing, coming to terms with the awesome reality tickling under his fingers.

#yeah i'm back on my bullshit #sharky boshaw #female deputy #staci pratt #far cry 5 #my writing #sharky boshaw x deputy #sharky boshaw x female deputy

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aydascomprehendsubtext · 4 years

Text

The sirens grow and grow

About a month into her stay at Mordred Mansion in Solace, Aelwyn Abernant bursts into the Seacaster Manor late at night (after Adaine has gone to bed), climbs the stairs to Fabian’s room, and kisses him full on the mouth.

“You owe me something”, she says as soon as they separate. By something, she thinks they both understand, she means sex.

They don’t do anything close to sex.

The first time she comes over, Fabian looks supremely confident and is incredibly nervous. She clocks this and ignores it, because this is why she likes him. Adaine and most of her friends are honest. They lie, yes, but they mostly don’t lie about themselves. And they don’t lie about themselves to their friends.

Fabian does. Fabian is made of lies stacked on top of each other. So is Aelwyn.

“It’s three cowards stacked on top of each other in a trench coat” he slurs at her, the third time they meet. “That’s what I am. It’s the animals that puff out their fur to make themselves look more intimidating.” He’s incredibly drunk. It’s become obvious that his reaction to the possibility of sex with her is to get very drunk. She would take it personally, but at this point it’s become clear to her at least they’re definitely not having sex and she feels much the same way about him. She is also incredibly drunk, but she has worked very hard to be drunk and maintain strict impulse control. It’s an incredibly useful skill that was probably the only way she survived her small rebellions against the Abernant regime. Watching Fabian, she wonders if that sort of defeats the purpose. If maybe the point is to let some of the control slip. What it would feel like to make that choice for herself.

She’s accepted that their relationship is one of getting drunk and being harassed by his friends and her sister about their life choices. She doesn’t expect things to change. She has no interest in bringing up the fact that he doesn’t want to sleep with her, and he has a teenage boy’s interest in not bringing it up.

So when he does, it’s the first sign she should have caught that this isn’t exactly what she expected.

“I feel like it is only my duty, which I take very seriously, as a man, you know, to… ensure I am not leading you on, so to speak.” He tells her this turned away, opening a bottle of something she recognizes more from her father’s stores than a Hudol party mix.

He’s turned away, but she doesn’t let herself show her surprise. There’s only harm in it. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.” Her voice is dry and she doesn’t elaborate, hoping that’s enough to tell him he can drop it.

He doesn’t. “Well, I’m not -ah- surprised per say, I know you’re an incredibly, and I mean incredibly. intelligent woman and I hadn’t exactly been keeping it a secret but I just felt, as a matter of honor, and duty, as I said, as a man, that I should offer you the chance to leave, if you so choose to find another partner, so to speak.” He’s looking at her now, as if he has summoned his courage. He looks confident. His words flow in the kind of run-on sentences that punctuation would diminish the elegance of. He’s nervous, and they both know it, and she’s got the sneaking suspicion that he’s stopped thinking he can hide things from her.

“That’s alright. You have a caliber of alcohol I’d become accustomed to, and the Hudol boys are dreadfully stingy these days”. She leaves it at that and they both start to work at getting drunk.

She can still hide things from him, because the Seacaster Manor was a crucible in the right kind of delicate conversation and the Abernant House was a cup in hell itself.

She thinks that she might respond to emotional turmoil in a similar way to Bill Seacaster, or possibly Fabian’s mother. Quiet, detached, willing to ignore it as long as he let her. It must be comforting, in a way she realizes is probably not incredibly healthy and he definitely doesn’t recognize himself. She could tell him to stop. But that would probably require ending the only activity she can call friendship now, and some part of her tells her that she can call it friendship if she’s selfish enough to hold onto it.

Well into the summer after their spring break adventure, she is perfectly comfortable with their relationship, even with the knowledge that he’s a little more open, a little less constrained than she is. She can predict him now, she knows. They meet, they both drink, she relaxes under the influence the increment that if she didn’t it would be noteworthy, he gets roaring drunk and emotional in the way that requires ignoring.

And then one night it goes disastrously wrong. He gives her something interesting and new from his father’s cupboard, something she hasn’t seen before and it…

Affects her. In a way nothing has for as long as she can remember.

It’s the only night she can remember snapping to, passed out on his floor, instead of drifting out of a trance of a light doze or just wakefulness. She wants to vomit, and isn’t sure if it’s the hangover or the knowledge of everything she let go like a moron. Like a drunk sorority girl. Like someone who didn’t have anything to hide. Like someone who hadn’t worked to build up everything she still had left from nothing, from the bombed-out landscape of what happens when she makes mistakes. She hurries out of his house and to Mordred Mansion. She makes a sound, and Adaine hears her and makes the first noise of a question she can’t answer, not right now and not ever, and she casts sleep on her own fucking little sister who she said she wouldn’t harm ever again, and curls up into the locked bathroom to sob.

The next night, when she hasn’t seen anyone from the Manor all day after she teleported out and left her crystal, she goes back to the Seacaster Manor. Any other time you asked her, she would be able to tell you why she went over there. Or, she would be able to lie. This time, she doesn’t even have the lie prepared. She doesn’t think. She’s spent the day wandering around downtown, casting protective wards to keep a sending or a scrying spell from getting through.

It’s not that she thinks there won’t be consequences for her actions. She’s not stupid or naive. If you asked her later, she would say she assumed that the difference between being missing 12 and 24 hours wasn’t that large, in the grand scheme of things. If you ask her later, Aelwyn has all sorts of lies she can tell you about why she does the things she does.

In the moment, she just doesn’t want to go home. So she goes to Seacaster Manor.

On the worst night of her life, she’s three cups deep into something that tastes like Penelope’s stolen stash and realizes she may be slightly tipsy. Not enough to worry about, just enough to notice. It’s not until her fourth cup that she realizes tipsy was a vast understatement, and it’s much too late for her to care the way she should.

It’s just… it’s hard. It’s work. Every day, all the time, trying to keep herself safe.

She confesses this, out loud, to Fabian, who agrees loudly. “I didn’t even realize I was exhausted until the moment after Kalvaxus was dead, and I went home to Cathilda and my mother, and there was no one to preform to. My father was dead. I could just be for the first time in as long as I could remember. I almost cried, but I didn’t, and instead I fell asleep. I woke up feeling relieved.”

“That’s the terrible thing when they died,” Aelwyn replies. “It was relief. Adaine was joyful, and she should be. They tortured her and she killed them. But I wasn’t sad for them, and I didn’t get her exuberance. It was just a weight lifted off, and it came right fucking back. I got one moment of trying to be a kid and a person, and then I made myself into what I hated, and it’ll be that way forever.”

Fabian shakes his head. “Come on, Aelwyn. You don’t have to be like this forever. It’s a choice you make every time you lie to someone else or yourself. You can just stop.”

When she shows up at Seacaster Manor, she doesn’t say anything, because she has no idea what to say. She thinks Cathilda is calling Sandra Lynn and Jawbone, and any second now they’ll all be here with Adaine and consequences will be meted out fairly or unfairly and it doesn’t even matter all that much because it’s all degrees of failure.

Fabian says “I said the wrong thing. It doesn’t have to be like this forever, but you can’t just stop because it’s not the thing you’re making yourself. It’s still them. It’s not like they disappeared from you when they died. They still live in your head, and the thing you can do is replace them bit by bit. And the thing you can do is try. Just try.”

She doesn’t know how. How could she know how? How could she even learn? What could she do? There’s not a step she takes that doesn’t have the Abernant strings pulling it forward, and there’s nothing else to her.

Her posture is stiff and fragile, and when he draws in close, she thinks he’s going to kiss her. She wants to recoil, and it takes everything she has not to, because Aelwyn fucking wouldn’t. It’s not what she wants or needs, but when has that ever mattered?

He doesn’t kiss her. He just moves a step closer and puts his hands on her shoulders, so gently they may not be there at all, and she realizes she’s shaking. She doesn’t melt into him. That’s what she’ll say, if you ask her. She doesn’t cry either, which is the truth. But she does shake apart in the comfort of a friend in the first time in as long as she can remember.

The first time she comes over, after he has drunk himself to sleep and she has sat in his room watching the dark turn to light thinking about nothing when she can, she steals out before he wakes up. The embarrassment when he wakes would be delicious, she thinks, but he might ask why I didn’t stop him from drinking so much.

So after most of the night sitting in the room of a boy she has not had sex with, she goes to leave and looks back, just for a second. He’s asleep.

She’s seen her mother and father asleep. They looked severe. Like the lines in their face had been carved there with age, and even when they relaxed the echoes remained. One night, on the cold hard ground of the nightmare forest, she had woken up and looked at them and thought her face must be the same. But she looks at Fabian now, and he looks young. He’s lost all the bravado. In a moment she thinks that they are both much much younger than their parents. They have time before they’re the worst versions of themselves.

#I found an actual dnd group #so i was gone for a while creating a homebrew universe! which was so much fun oh my god!#and now im back with almost 2k of fabian and alewyn being best friends in that way of the incredibly fucked up #why dont they want to have sex? I leave that to the reader #personally i think alewyn is a lesbian #and people who discorse about fabian are exhausting #so this is where i landed!#theyre the bros to end all bros #just getting drunk and being bros #if were being honest im terrified i misspelled a fantasy name but its too late now! Ill just die of embarassment instead #dimension 20 #fabian seacaster #alewyn abernant

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narcopathicabuse · 7 years

Text

Almost everyone has some narcissistic traits, but being conceited, argumentative, or selfish sometimes (or even all the time) doesn't amount to a personality disorder.

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

is a long-term pattern of abnormal thinking, feeling, and behavior in many different situations. The traits on this page will seem

peculiar

disturbing

when someone acts this way -- i.e., you will know that something is not right, and contact with narcissists may make you feel bad about yourself. It's not unusual for narcissists to be outstanding in their field of work. But these are the successful people who have a history of alienating colleagues, co-workers, employees, students, clients, and customers -- people go away mad or sad after close contact with narcissists.

How many narcissists does it take to change a light bulb?

(a) Just one -- but he has to wait for the whole world to revolve around him. (b) None at all -- he hires menials for work that's beneath him.

This is a compilation of observations I've made from various people I've known well for many years. Most of these traits apply to all of the narcissists I've known, but that doesn't mean that they'll all apply to the narcissists you know. My narcissists are all high-functioning -- that is, they've maintained gainful employment, marriages and family life -- and there may certainly be narcissistic traits that I haven't observed among the narcissists I've known. You can go directly to my

full commentary

on narcissists' traits or you can select what you're most interested in from the

pink box

below. Narcissicism is a personality disorder and that means that narcissists' personalities aren't organized in a way that makes sense to most people, so the notes below do not necessarily go in the order I've listed them or in any order at all. Interaction with narcissists is confusing, even bewildering -- their reasons for what they do are not the same as normal reasons. In fact, treating them like normal people (e.g., appealing to their better nature, as in "Please have a heart," or giving them the chance to apologize and make amends) will make matters worse with a narcissist.

[For general discussion of cognition, affectivity, interpersonal functioning, and impulse control in personality disorders and NPD. It's also interesting to compare these traits below with characteristics of normal six-year-olds.]

amoral/conscienceless

authoritarian

care only about appearances

contemptuous

critical of others

cruel

disappointing gift-givers

don't recognize own feelings

envious and competitive

feel entitled

flirtatious or seductive

grandiose

hard to have a good time with

hate to live alone

hyper-sensitive to criticism

impulsive

lack sense of humor

naive

passive

pessimistic

religious

secretive

self-contradictory

stingy

strange work habits

unusual eating habits

weird sense of time

The most telling thing that narcissists do is

contradict themselves

. They will do this virtually in the same sentence, without even stopping to take a breath. It can be trivial (e.g., about what they want for lunch) or it can be serious (e.g., about whether or not they love you). When you ask them which one they mean, they'll deny ever saying the first one, though it may literally have been only seconds since they said it -- really, how could you think they'd ever have said

that

? You need to have your head examined! They will contradict FACTS. They will lie to you about things that you did together. They will misquote you to yourself. If you disagree with them, they'll say you're lying, making stuff up, or are crazy. [At this point, if you're like me, you sort of panic and want to talk to anyone who will listen about what is going on: this is a healthy reaction; it's a reality check ("who's the crazy one here?"); that you're confused by the narcissist's contrariness, that you turn to another person to help you keep your bearings, that you know something is seriously wrong and worry that it might be you are all signs that you are not a narcissist]. NOTE: Normal people can behave irrationally under emotional stress -- be confused, deny things they know, get sort of paranoid, want to be babied when they're in pain. But normal people recover pretty much within an hour or two or a day or two, and, with normal people, your expressions of love and concern for their welfare will be taken to heart. They will be stabilized by your emotional and moral support. Not so with narcissists -- the surest way I know of to get a crushing blow to your heart is to tell a narcissist you love her or him. They will respond with a nasty power move, such as telling you to do things entirely their way or else be banished from them for ever.

If you're like me, you get into disputes with narcissists over their casual dishonesty and

cruelty

to other people. Trying to reform narcissists by reasoning with them or by appealing to their better nature is about as effective as spitting in the ocean. What you see is what you get: they have no better nature. The fundamental problem here is that narcissists lack empathy.

Lacking empathy is a profound disturbance to the narcissist's thinking (cognition) and feeling (affectivity). Even when very intelligent, narcissists can't reason well. One I've worked with closely does something I characterize as "analysis by eggbeater." They don't understand the meaning of what people say and they don't grasp the meaning of the written word either -- because so much of the meaning of anything we say depends on context and affect, narcissists (lacking empathy and thus lacking both context and affect) hear only the words. (Discussions with narcissists can be really weird and disconcerting; they seem to think that using some of the same words means that they are following a line of conversation or reasoning. Thus, they will go off on tangents and irrelevancies, apparently in the blithe delusion that they understand what others are talking about.) And, frankly, they don't hear all the words, either. They can pay attention only to stuff that has them in it. This is not merely a bad habit -- it's a cognitive deficiency. Narcissists pay attention only to themselves and stuff that affects them personally. However, since they don't know what other people are doing, narcissists can't judge what will affect them personally and seem never to learn that when they cause trouble they will get trouble back. They won't take other people's feelings into consideration and so they overlook the fact that other people will react with feeling when abused or exploited and that most people get really pissed off by being lied to or lied about.

Narcissists

lack a mature conscience

and seem to be restrained only by fear of being punished or of damaging their reputations -- though, again, this can be obscure to casual observation if you don't know what they think their reputations are, and what they believe others think of them may be way out of touch with reality [see remarks on

John Cheever

elsewhere on this page]. Their moral intelligence is about at the level of a bright five- or six-year-old; the only rules they recognize are things that have been specifically required, permitted, prohibited, or disapproved of by authority figures they know personally. Anyhow, narcissists can't be counted on not to do something

just because

it's wrong, illegal, or will hurt someone, as long as they think that they can get away with it or that you can't stop them or punish them (i.e., they don't care what you think unless they're afraid of you).

Narcissists are

envious and competitive

in ways that are hard to understand. For instance, one I knew once became incensed over an article published in a national magazine -- not for its content exactly, but because

she

could have written something just as good. Maybe she could have -- she hadn't, but that little lapse on her part was beside the point to her. They are constantly comparing themselves (and whatever they feel belongs to them, such as their children and furniture) to other people. Narcissists feel that, unless they are better than anyone else, they are worse than everybody in the whole world.

Narcissists are generally

contemptuous

of others. This seems to spring, at base, from their general lack of empathy, and it comes out as (at best) a dismissive attitude towards other people's feelings, wishes, needs, concerns, standards, property, work, etc. It is also connected to their overall

negative outlook on life

Narcissists are (a)

extremely sensitive to personal criticism

and (b)

extremely critical of other people

. They think that they must

be seen as

perfect or superior or infallible, next to god-like (if not actually divine, then sitting on the right hand of God) -- or else they are worthless. There's no middle ground of ordinary normal humanity for narcissists. They can't tolerate the least disagreement. In fact, if you say, "Please don't do that again -- it hurts," narcissists will turn around and do it again

harder

to prove that they were right the first time; their reasoning seems to be something like "I am a good person and can do no wrong; therefore, I didn't hurt you and you are lying about it now..." -- sorry, folks, I get lost after that. Anyhow, narcissists are habitually cruel in little ways, as well as big ones, because they're paying attention to their fantasy and not to you, but the bruises on you are REAL, not in your imagination. Thus, no matter how gently you suggest that they might do better to change their ways or get some help, they will react in one of two equally horrible ways: they will attack or they will withdraw. Be wary of wandering into this dragon's cave -- narcissists will say ANYTHING, they will trash anyone in their own self-justification, and then they will expect the immediate restoration of the status quo. They will attack you (sometimes physically) and spew a load of bile, insult, abuse, contempt, threats, etc., and then -- well, it's kind of like they had indigestion and the vicious tirade worked like a burp: "There. Now I feel better. Where were we?" They feel better, so they expect you to feel better, too. They will say you are nothing, worthless, and turn around immediately and say that they love you. When you object to this kind of treatment, they will say, "You just have to accept me the way I am. (God made me this way, so God loves me even if you are too stupid to understand how special I am.)" Accepting them as they are (and staying away from them entirely) is excellent advice. The other "punishment" narcissists mete out is banishing you from their glorious presence -- this can turn into a farce, since by this point you are probably praying to be rescued, "Dear God! How do I get out of this?" The narcissist expects that you will be devastated by the withdrawal of her/his divine attention, so that after a while -- a few weeks or months (i.e., the next time the narcissist needs to use you for something) -- the narcissist will expect you to have learned your lesson and be eager to return to the fold. If you have learned your lesson, you won't answer that call. They can't see that they have a problem; it's always somebody else who has the problem and needs to change. Therapies work at all only when the individual wants to change and, though narcissists hate their real selves, they don't want to change -- they want the world to change.

And they criticize, gripe, and complain about almost everything and almost everyone almost all the time.

There are usually a favored few whom narcissists regard as absolutely above reproach, even for egregious misconduct or actual crime, and about whom they won't brook the slightest criticism. These are people the narcissists are terrified of, though they'll tell you that what they feel is love and respect; apparently they don't know the difference between fear and love. Narcissists just get worse and worse as they grow older; their parents and other authority figures that they've feared die off, and there's less and less outside influence to keep them in check.

Narcissists are hostile and ferocious in reaction, but they are generally

passive

and lacking in initiative. They don't start stuff -- they don't reach out. Remember this when they turn and rend you! They will complain about the same things for years on end, but only rarely do anything to change what dissatisfies them so badly.

Narcissists are

naive

and vulnerable, pathetic really, no matter how arrogant and forceful their words or demeanor. They have pretty good reasons for their paranoia and cynicism, their sneakiness, evasiveness, prevarications. This is the one I get suckered on. They are so out of touch with other people and what goes on around them that they are very susceptible to exploitation. On the other hand, they're so inattentive, and so disconnected from what other people are up to, that they don't recognize when someone is taking advantage of them.

Narcissists are

grandiose

. They live in an artificial self invented from fantasies of absolute or perfect power, genius, beauty, etc. Normal people's fantasies of themselves, their wishful thinking, take the form of stories -- these stories often come from movies or TV, or from things they've read or that were read to them as children. They involve a plot, heroic activity or great accomplishments or adventure: normal people see themselves in action, however preposterous or even impossible that action may be -- they see themselves doing things that earn them honor, glory, love, riches, fame, and they see these fantasy selves as personal potentials, however tenuous, something they'd do if they didn't have to go to school or go to work, if they had the time and the money.

As Freud said of narcissists, these people act like they're in love with themselves. And they are in love with an ideal image of themselves -- or they want you to be in love with their pretend self, it's hard to tell just what's going on. Like anyone in love, their attention and energy are drawn to the beloved and away from everyday practicalities. Narcissists' fantasies are static -- they've fallen in love with an image in a mirror or, more accurately, in a pool of water, so that movement causes the image to dissolve into ripples; to see the adored reflection they must remain perfectly still. Narcissists' fantasies are tableaux or scenes, stage sets; narcissists are hung up on a particular picture that they think reflects their true selves (as opposed to the real self -- warts and all). Narcissists don't see themselves doing anything except being adored, and they don't see anyone else doing anything except adoring them. Moreover, they don't see these images as potentials that they

may

some day be able to live out, if they get lucky or everything goes right: they see these pictures as the real way they want to be seen right now (which is not the same as saying they think these pictures are the way they really are right now, but that is another story to be discussed elsewhere). Sometimes narcissistic fantasies are spectacularly grandiose -- imagining themselves as Jesus or a saint or hero or deity depicted in art -- but just as often the fantasies of narcissists are mediocre and vulgar, concocted from illustrations in popular magazines, sensational novels, comic books even. These artificial self fantasies are also static in time, going back unchanged to early adolescence or even to childhood; the narcissists' self-images don't change with time, so that you will find, for instance, female narcissists clinging to retro styles, still living the picture of the perfect woman of 1945 or 1965 as depicted in

The Ladies' Home Journal

Seventeen

Vogue

of that era, and male narcissists still hung up on images of comic-book or ripping adventure heroes from their youth. Though narcissists like pictures rather than stories, they like still pictures, not moving ones, so they don't base their fantasies on movies or TV.

Grandiosity can take various forms -- a narcissistic woman may believe herself to be the very model of perfect womanhood, the standard by which all others are measured, and she will try to force her daughters

to be just like her

, she will not be able to cope with daughters who are taller or shorter than she is, fatter or thinner, who have bigger or smaller feet, breasts, teeth, who have different favorite colors than hers, etc. Narcissistic men can be infatuated with their own looks, too, (witness

John Cheever

, for instance;

Almost Perfect

) but are more likely than women to get hung up on their intelligence or the importance of their work -- doesn't matter what the work is, if he's doing it, by definition it's more important than anything you could possibly do. Narcissists I've known also have odd

religious

ideas, in particular believing that they are God's special favorites somehow; God loves them, so they are exempted from ordinary rules and obligations: God loves them and wants them to be the way they are, so they can do anything they feel like -- though, note, the narcissist's God has much harsher rules for everyone else, including

you

. [Many readers have questions about narcissism and religion. Here is an interesting article on the Web:

"Narcissism Goes to Church: Encountering Evangelical Worship"

by Monte Wilson. "Modern American Christianity is filled with the spirit of narcissism. We are in love with ourselves and evaluate churches, ministers and truth-claims based upon how they make us feel about ourselves. If the church makes me feel wanted, it is a good church. If the minister makes me feel good about myself, he is a terrific guy. If the proffered truth supports my self-esteem, it is, thereby, verified."] [More on

grandiosity

Narcissists have

little sense of humor

. They don't get jokes, not even the funny papers or simple riddles, and they don't make jokes, except for sarcastic cracks and the lamest puns. This is because, lacking empathy, they don't get the context and affect of words or actions, and jokes, humor, comedy depend entirely on context and affect. They specialize in sarcasm about others and mistake it for wit, but, in my experience, narcissists are entirely incapable of irony -- thus, I've been chagrinned more than once to discover that something I'd taken as an intentional pose or humorous put-on was, in fact, something the narcissist was totally serious about. Which is to say that they come mighty close to parody in their pretensions and pretending, so that they can be very funny without knowing it, but you'd better not let on that you think so. [Interestingly, this is the only trait on this list about which there seems to be any controversy. Maybe I've just been unlucky! I've known narcissists who'll make fun of others, repeat jokes they've heard others laugh at, and laugh at jokes when others laugh, but knowing how to make people laugh is not necessarily the same as having a sense of humor.]

Narcissists have a

weird sense of time

. It's more or less like they are not aware that the passage of time changes things, or maybe they just aren't aware of time's passing at all. Years can pass without touching narcissists. Narcissists often look, or think they look, significantly younger than they are; this youthful appearance is a point of pride to them, and some will emphasize it by either preserving the styles of their golden youth or following the styles of people the age they feel they "really" are. That their faces don't show their chronological age is a good sign that they haven't been living real lives with real life's wear and tear on the looks of normal people. The narcissists' years have passed without touching them. Bear in mind that narcissistic adults have had decades of not being in synch with the times or with other people, so that by now they are really out of it. Sometimes it just seems like they have a highly selective memory -- which, of course, they do, sort of; they pay attention only to what has their name in it in the first place, so after 30 or 40 years, you shouldn't be surprised to hear a narcissist say something like, "Didn't the Beatles have a couple of hit songs while we were in high school?" or to suddenly discover that the narcissist doesn't know that M&M's have little m's on them or that smallpox was eradicated over 20 years ago. They are not being ironic: they really don't know. They were off in their own little world of fantastic perfection. On the other hand, as far as I've seen, all that stuff really is in there, but is accessible only intermittently or unpredictably. Narcissists ordinarily have spotty memories, with huge and odd gaps in their recollections; they may say that they don't remember their childhoods, etc., and apparently most of the time they don't. But they will have sudden accesses of memory, triggered by God knows what, when they remember details, everybody's names, what people were wearing, why the people in that picture from 1950 are standing the way they are, what the weather was like, etc. -- in other words, every once in a while, their memories will be normal. But don't count on it.

Narcissists are

totally and inflexibly authoritarian

. In other words, they are suck-ups. They want to be authority figures and, short of that, they want to be associated with authority figures. In their hearts, they know they can't think well, have no judgment about what matters, are not connected with the world they inhabit, so they cling fanatically to the opinions of people they regard as authority figures -- such as their parents, teachers, doctors, ministers. Where relevant, this may include scientists or professors or artists, but narcissists stick to people they know personally, since they aren't engaged enough with the world to get their authoritative opinions from TV, movies, books or dead geniuses/saints/heroes. If they get in trouble over some or another opinion they've put forth, they'll blame the source -- "It was okay with Dr. Somebody," "My father taught me that," etc. If you're still thinking of the narcissist as odd-but-normal, this shirking of responsibility will seem dishonest and craven -- well, it is but it's really an admission of weakness: they really mean it: they said what they said because someone they admire or fear said it and they're trying to borrow that person's strength.

Narcissists have

strange work habits

. Normal people work for a goal or a product, even if the goal is only a paycheck. Normal people measure things by how much they have to spend (in time, work, energy) to get the desired results. Normal people desire idleness from time to time, usually wanting as much free time as they can get to pursue their own thoughts and pleasures and interests. Narcissists work for a goal, too, but it's a different goal: they want power, authority, adulation. Lacking empathy, and lacking also context and affect, narcissists don't understand how people achieve glory and high standing; they think it's all arbitrary, it's all appearances, it's all who you know. So they try to attach themselves to people who already have what they want, meanwhile making a great show of working hard. Narcissists can put in a shocking amount of time to very little effect. This is partly because they have so little empathy that they don't know why some work is valued more highly than other work, why some people's opinions carry more weight than others'. They do know that you're supposed to work and not be lazy, so they keep themselves occupied. But they are not invested in the work they do -- whatever they may produce is just something they have to do to get the admiration and power they crave. Since this is so, they really don't pay attention to what they're doing, preferring the easiest thing at every turn, even though they may be constantly occupied, so that narcissists manage to be workaholics and extremely lazy at the same time. Narcissists measure the worth of their work

only

by how much time they spend on it, not by what they produce. They want to get an A for Effort. Narcissists lack empathy, so they don't know what others value or why. Narcissists tend to value things in quantitative ways and in odd quantities at that -- they'll tell you how many inches of letters they received, but not how many letters or from how many correspondents; they know the price of everything and the value of nothing.

A narcissist may, in fact, hold himself to a grinding work schedule that gives him something like an addictive high so that, when wrought up, he can be sort of dazed, giddy, and groggy, making you wonder if he's drunk or otherwise intoxicated -- now, that's a

real

workaholic. Usually, this excessive busyness appears to be -- and some will even tell you this -- an attempt to distract themselves from unpleasant or inconvenient feelings (i.e., it's a manic defense against depression -- and, note, with narcissists it's inaccurate to use "happy" or "unhappy" because their feelings are just not that differentiated; "euphoria" or "dysphoria" are as close as they get to ordinary pleasure or distress) or to make themselves unavailable to others' emotional needs.

Narcissists

feel entitled

to whatever they can take. They expect privileges and indulgences, and they also feel entitled to exploit other people without any trace of reciprocation.

Some narcissists spend extravagantly in order to impress people, keep up grandiose pretentions, or buy favorable treatment, and some narcissists overspend, bankrupt themselves, and lose everything. My personal experience is that narcissists are

stingy, mean, frugal, niggardly to the point of eccentricity

. This is a person who won't spend $1.50 on a greeting card but will instead send you an advertising flyer that came with the newspaper. This is a person who will be very conscious of her appearance but will dress herself and her children in used clothes and other people's cast-offs. [

Note: Thrift is not in itself a narcissistic trait; neither is a fondness for old clothes. The important element here is that the narcissist buys clothes that other people she admires and wishes to emulate have already picked out, since she has no individual tastes or preferences.

] These are people who need labels or trademarks (or other signs of authority) to distinguish between the real thing and a cheap knock-off or imitation, and so will substitute something easy and cheap for something precious and dear and expect nobody else to know the difference, since they can't. These are people who can tell you how many miles but not how many smiles.

Narcissists are not only selfish and ungiving -- they seem to have to make a point of

not

giving what they know someone else wants. Thus, for instance, in a "romantic" relationship, they will want you to do what they want

because

they want it and not because you want it -- and, in fact, if you actually want to do what they want, then that's too much like sharing and you wreck their fun and they don't want it anymore. They want to get what they want from you without giving you what you want from them. Period. If you should happen to want to give what they want to get, then they'll lose interest in you.

Something I had not connected with narcissism until I read about

Reactive Attachment Disorder

is that narcissists I've known have had

unusual eating habits

or appetites, including eating match heads, dry cake mix, chicken bones, raw meat, dog kibble, egg mash, bits of paper, wood pencils; some binge or gorge on ordinary foods, others seem always to be on one or another self-imposed, self-invented eccentric dietary regime. This behavior does not seem to have much in the way of affective component compared to, say, "normal" eating disorders.

Narcissists are

very disappointing as gift-givers

. This is not a trivial consideration in personal relationships. I've seen narcissistic people sweetly solicit someone's preferences ("Go ahead -- tell me what you really want"), make a show of paying attention to the answer ("Don't you think I'm nice?"), and then deliver something other than what was asked for -- and feel abused and unappreciated when someone else gets gratitude for fulfilling the very request that the narcissist evoked in the first place. I've seen this happen often, where narcissists will go out of their way to stir up other people's expectations and then go out of their way to disappoint those expectations. It seems like a lot of pointless work to me.

First, narcissists lack empathy, so they don't know what you want or like and, evidently, they don't care either; second, they think their opinions are better and more important than anyone else's, so they'll give you what they think you ought to want, regardless of what you may have said when asked what you wanted for your birthday; third, they're stingy and will give as gifts stuff that's just lying around their house, such as possessions that they no longer have any use for, or -- in really choice instances -- return to you something that was yours in the first place. In fact, as a practical matter, the surest way NOT to get what you want from a narcissist is to ask for it; your chances are better if you just keep quiet, because every now and then the narcissist will hit on the right thing by random accident.

It's very hard to have a simple, uncomplicated good time with a narcissist

. Except for odd spells of heady euphoria unrelated to anything

you

can see, their affective range is mediocre-fake-normal to hell-on-Earth. They will sometimes lie low and be quiet, actually passive and dependent -- this is as good as it gets with narcissists. They are incapable of loving conduct towards anyone or anything, so they do not have the capacity for simple pleasure, beyond the satisfaction of bodily needs. There is only one way to please a narcissist (and it won't please you): that is to indulge their every whim, cater to their tiniest impulses, bend to their views on every little thing. There's only one way to get decent treatment from narcissists: keep your distance. They can be pretty nice, even charming,

flirtatious, and seductive

, to strangers, and will flatter you shamelessly if they want something from you. When you attempt to get close to them in a normal way, they feel you are putting emotional pressure on them and they withdraw because you're too demanding. They can be positively fawning and solicitous as long as they're afraid of you, which is not most people's idea of a real fun relationship.

I always have the problem that I get fed up and stay away from THEM long enough to forget

exactly

what the trouble was, then they come around again, and every narcissist I've known actually was quite lovable about half the time so I try it again. A clue: Run for cover when they start acting normal, maybe expressing a becoming self-doubt or even acknowledging some little fault of their own, such as saying they now realize that they haven't treated you right or that they took advantage of you before. They're just softening you up for something

really

nasty. These people are geniuses of "Come closer so I can slap you." Except that's not the way they think about it,

they think about it -- no, they're thinking, "Well, maybe you do really care about me, and, if you really care about me, then maybe you'll

help

me with this," only by "help" they mean do the whole thing, take total responsibility for it, including protecting and defending them and cleaning up the mess they've already made of it (which they will neglect to fill you in on because they haven't really been paying attention, have they, so how would they know??). They will not have considered for one second how much of your time it will take, how much trouble it may get you into in their behalf, that they will owe you BIG for this -- no, you're just going to do it all out of the goodness of your heart, which they are delighted to exploit yet again, and your virtue will be its own reward: it's

supposed

to just tickle you pink to be offered this generous opportunity of showing how much you love them and/or how lucky you are to be the servant of such a luminous personage. No lie -- they think other people do stuff for the same reason they do: to show off, to perform for an audience. That's one of the reasons they make outrageous demands, put you on the spot and create scenes in public: they're being

generous

-- they're trying to share the spotlight with you by giving you the chance to show off how absolutely stunningly devoted-to-them you are. It means that they love you; that's why they're hurt and bewildered when you angrily reject this invitation.

Appearances are all there is with narcissists

-- and their self-hatred knows no bounds. The most dramatic example I can think of is from

John Cheever's journals

. Throughout his life he had pursued surreptitious homosexual activities, being transiently infatuated with young men who reminded him of himself in his youth, while also living in a superficially settled way as a married family man, a respected writer with an enviable suburban life, breeding pedigreed dogs and serving on the vestry of the Episcopal church. When his secret life (going to New York City for a few days every now and then to pick up sailors and other beautiful boys for brief flings) came to scandalous light, his family sought to reassure him by telling him that they'd known about his homosexual activities for years. Now, a normal person would be ashamed and embarrassed but also relieved and grateful that scandal, not to mention chronic emotional and marital infidelity, had not caused his wife and children to reject and abandon him -- but not the narcissist! Oh, no, Cheever was enraged that they would ever have thought such a thing of him -- if they really loved him, they'd have bought his artificial "country squire" persona: they would have seen him as he wished to be seen: they would have believed his lies without question or doubt.

Narcissists don't volunteer the usual personal information about themselves, so they may seem

secretive or perhaps unusually reserved or very jealous of their privacy

. All these things are true, but with the special narcissistic twist that, first, their real life isn't interesting to them so it doesn't occur to them that it would be interesting to anyone else and, second, since they have not yet been transfigured into the Star of the Universe, they're ashamed of their real life. They feel that their jobs, their friends and families, their homes and possessions aren't good enough for them, they deserve better.

Narcissists not only don't recognize the feelings and autonomy of others,

they don't recognize their own feelings as their own

. Their feelings are sort of like the weather, atmospheric, acts of God. The narcissistic think that everyone's having the same feeling as they are. This means that usually their own pain means nothing to them beyond the physical discomfort -- it has no affective component. When they do get some painful affect, they think that God is punishing them -- they think that their trivial errors are worth God's specific attention to their punishment. If you try to straighten them out, by telling them that your feelings are different, beware: their idea of sharing their feelings is to do or say something that makes you feel the way they're feeling and, as they make a point of not sharing anything desirable, you can expect something really nasty. The sad fact seems to be that narcissists feel just as bad about themselves as they make others feel about them.

Narcissists are noted for their

negative, pessimistic, cynical, or gloomy

outlook on life. Sarcasm seems to be a narcissistic specialty, not to mention spite. Lacking love and pleasure, they don't have a good reason for anything they do and they think everyone else is just like them, except they're honest and the rest of us are hypocrites. Nothing real is ever perfect enough to satisfy them, so are they are constantly complaining and criticizing -- to the point of verbal abuse and insult.

Narcissists are

impulsive

. They undo themselves by behavior that seems oddly stupid for people as intelligent as they are. Somehow, they don't consider the probable consequences of their actions. It's not clear to me whether they just expect to get away with doing anything they feel like at the moment or whether this impulsiveness is essentially a cognitive shortcoming deriving from the static psychic state with its distorted perception of time.

Narcissists

hate to live alone

. Their inner resources are skimpy, static, and sterile, nothing interesting or attractive going on in their hearts and minds, so they don't want to be stuck with themselves. All they have inside is the image of perfection that, being mere mortals like the rest of us, they will inevitably fall short of attaining.

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