#IT IS HARD ENOUGH WITHOUT PSYCHOLOGICAL GAMES

[heartfullofleeches]

While the psychological mindfuxking Host puts Darling through in order to wear them down into being his co-host is honestly one of the most fun things to write, I live for Darlings who were never appreciated in their own time and suck up all the praise he gives them for their talents.

Crafty Reader who also dabbles in a bit of inter decorating winds up on Host's show and their immediate first thought is "Damn, bitch- You host a game show on this stage?"

It's cute- but a little outdated. Where's the passion? The irritatingly bright neon signs that burn their eyes from a mere glance. Potted plants??? Anything??

Normally Host isn't one to tolerate guests that interrupt his opening speech, but as Darling goes off on their tangent Host is left stumped - stupefied, damn near mesmerized by that fire in their eyes. He can't say they aren't wrong either- Props come and go as Host wishes, but the stage is a bit lacking without them. Not contestants don't stick around long enough to point it out, but with his newest and top pick for co-host right in front of him perhaps it's time for a few changes.

"Congratulations! You won today's show Give our fans a big smile and wave goodbye to our losers."

"I won?...but you didn't even ask me any questions."

"Oh, you- If answering questions was the only way to win here no one would."

Darling is whisked away by stage hands into a bedroom- The room is deprived of any furniture beyond a bed, a large chest propped against the farthest wall, and a table upon which an old sewing machine sits. It looks a bit like the one they had back home, but the label is made up of jumbled letters and symbols. How are they supposed to use the darn thing without any supplies anyway?

Darling inspects the chest and finds.... pretty much everything tucked away in their small bedroom, their real bedroom that they use for their projects. No construction paper, though.....

Oh. There's some.

Darling quickly discovers that whatever they require appears in the chest whenever they're vocal with their requests. On occasion, the chest acts without their say and pulls the thought from their mind before they're able to speak. It isn't long before the empty space is fully stylized to their personality and presences. Darling thinks they did a great job. The teddy bear on their bed believes so too.

.....When did that get there?

Darling may have won his show, but Host is the real winner when he see what Darling has done to his stage. Host are extended by another hour....or year with how long he brags to guests about Darling's craftsmanship. Time is a tricky thing to keep track of when the watches you wear flop between ticking backwards or at a snails pace.

"Thoughts on those name plates? Our brilliant co-host made them for you all- Are you lucky? I of course have my own, but- Oh, come now. I know this is top quality work, but there's no need to scream. Give our co-host a hand for all their hard work....Or lose both."

[ace-and-ranty]

Just saw a Tumblr post that reminded of one of the teachers I most hated in high school. 

There was this one class. We were learning how to differentiate two grammatical concepts that are very similar in Portuguese. I was struggling with it, my friends were struggling, the whole class was struggling, because it was really hard, actually.

So, okay, at some point ---I don’t remember why--- my teacher addresses me specifically. And she is pointing to the two sentences in the white board, telling me Sentence A is Concept 1, and Sentence B is Concept 2. Even as she is explaining this, I can tell very clearly that it’s the other way around. It’s supposed to be A2 and B1. But again, this is material I’m struggling with. I am deeply non-confrontational and I was feeling very awkward being put on the spot, so I just agreed with her, thinking I will figure this out later, in private.

Only she doesn’t stop.

I agree with her. And agree with her. And she keeps repeating the explanation, to me, more forcefully. By that point I am just begging God for her to stop talking, and I don’t know why she’s being so forceful; I just said I got it, why won’t she stop explaining??

So finally she stops.

And she admits she was saying baloney. It is meant to be A2 and B1. She was lying to my face to try to get me to disagree with her, because I was too timid, and she wanted to teach me to speak up.

I would have thrown the woman out the window if we had any.

[cherienymphe]

A Caged Bird (Coriolanus Snow x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, blackmail, stalking, abuse of power, hints of dacryphilia, slightly spoiler-esque

summary: Birds are best kept in a cage where one can see them...and where you know where they are at all times.

~

You thought that it was over when you won.

That’s what winning The Hunger Games meant, right? The psychological torture, the grueling conditions, and the fear that wouldn’t leave you until you finally left the arena was supposed to be over. You made it out through blood, sweat, and tears, and so your reward was to go home and reunite with your family and try your best to put the memories behind you.

Try your best to put him behind you.

So, why were you still being tormented?

When you first locked eyes with Coriolanus Snow, your first thought was how strikingly blue his were. Almost as if they weren’t real and had been specially manufactured in The Capitol for him, somehow. His hair, too, was just so much blonder than anything you’d seen in District 12, and again, you noted how so much about him seemed…artificial.

…but then he spoke…and the effect his voice had on you was very real.

“You don’t seem like you’re supposed to be here,” you’d said to him after stepping off of that train.

His response was expected, a charming chuckle leaving his pink lips, blond curls the perfect addition to his features.

“I’m not,” he slowly admitted.

The intensity behind his gaze whenever he so much as glanced at you was enough to make any girl’s heart race, and despite what you wished, you weren’t immune. He was beautiful—gorgeous as some of the other tributes and mentors liked to call him—and despite the initial intimidation, there was something about him that made you want to let your guard down.

…but he was your mentor…and a capitol citizen…and you were nothing more than his ticket to notoriety.

“Don’t you know who his dad was?” another tribute, one from one of the better districts, had said to you in a tone like you were stupid.

That was all the confirmation you needed, really.

…but he’d hopped onto the truck with you and gotten into that cage with you and brought you and your district mate food. He gave you poison to use against the other tributes. He wanted you to appeal to the audience so he’d have the funds to send you supplies. It was hard to decipher what was purely for show and what was just because he wanted you—and him by extension—to win. Perhaps, they were one in the same though, and it was impossible to have one without the other. Maybe it didn’t matter his reasons behind his desire to have his tribute win.

Maybe all that mattered was that you’d win.

…but that was when you thought winning meant you’d be free.

Coriolanus Snow was your best chance at winning, and so when the rebels rigged the arena, you didn’t hesitate to stay behind and save him. It wasn’t even a question in your mind because mentor or not, he was hurt, and you had to believe that that one fluke was not your only fighting chance. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe that in saving him, you’d allowed freedom to pass you by.

“You saved me,” he told you, a gentle brush of his handkerchief under your eye to catch your tears. “You saved me, and I am going to get you out of here.”

You had no idea then that he meant out of the games…and to him.

It was that flickering moment of doubt where you wondered if you could actually win, and you recalled what you’d said to him earlier about believing you could, how much you needed him to actually believe it. Now, you were the one doubting, and he could see it, blue gaze flicking over your face and soaking in the fear and uncertainty, because if you couldn’t win…

You’d die.

A lingering gaze and a tense atmosphere, and you felt yourself pulling back, realization hitting you as to just what you were about to let happen. It was hard to decipher who overstepped first, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get wrapped up in something that was only ever meant to be strictly professional. Coriolanus was your mentor, and you were his tribute.

That was all.

You didn’t know then the full lengths he went to just to ensure your victory. How could you? You were too busy trying to survive, trying to fight off rabid tributes and teenagers driven mad with the sole desire to just live. It was all so unfair and angering, and you were sure that with less focus, you might’ve gone insane too. You didn’t have the luxury to worry about your eerily handsome mentor and whatever ulterior motives he might’ve had to see you beat this thing.

So, when you did win, all you could feel was relief. All you could focus on was your family and their faces when you’d ultimately reunite with them. All you could even entertain were thoughts of pushing this very real nightmare to the back of your mind for as long as you possibly could. Initially, you didn’t even notice that you weren’t immediately reunited with your mentor when they crowned you as the winner and got you out of there.

At least, not until you came face to face with him in your own district.

“I thought they’d killed you. I didn’t know if my actions had come back on you too,” Coriolanus told you in a secluded corner, the loud music drowning out his words and the cover of darkness hiding your faces.

Those beautiful pale curls were gone, and any thought that so much of his beauty relied on his golden locks was gone too with one drink of him. He was still the same handsome boy that mentored you, the same one who’d garnered the nickname ‘gorgeous’ among the other tributes. Up on that stage, you’d been thrown to meet a familiar gaze, your harmonious tune pausing for half a second as he met your shocked stare with an expression of his own you couldn’t place, pink lips curved upwards ever so slightly.

Any question of how and why he was here had disappeared as you registered his words. Confusion filled you as you stared at him, a slight frown between your brows as you wracked your brain for how that could possibly make sense.

“Why would they kill me…?” you slowly asked him, and you and the shadows were all that was privy to his confession.

The water bottles, the handkerchief, and the snakes—even the poison. Coriolanus had cheated to secure your victory, broken rules that plucked him out of The Capitol and dropped him here in your very own district as a Peacekeeper. The shock you felt that your victory was far from a fair one warred with the confusion you felt as to why he’d risk everything just for you to win.

If you’d lost fair and square—as you probably should have—there was no doubt in your mind that he’d be safely tucked away in the lavishness of The Capitol instead of lingering about in some rundown excuse for a bar in lowly District 12. If he knew what awaited him should his treachery be discovered…then why chance it? Nothing about your brief tutelage with him could justify what he’d risked and ultimately lost.

You wanted to ask him why, but something in you was afraid of the answer.

That almost kiss—a kiss you hadn’t thought about in months—suddenly came to mind, and even though you didn’t ask him why, something in you knew why even if you wanted to deny it. It was there in the dim lighting and rowdy atmosphere of some rundown building that every minor interaction didn’t start to feel so minor.

Every brush of his hand against yours as he reached for you, the unsettling way he seemed to watch you in that short time that you’d simply written off as concern for his tribute, and the ruthless desire to see you out on the other side of the arena. The kiss that never was only seemed like a lapse in judgement to you then, but in this moment, you had suspicions that it was very much intentional.

You swallowed, realizing that in that brief internal introspection, Coriolanus hadn’t taken his eyes off of you once.

“Did they send you to District 12?” you finally asked him.

You didn’t know what gave you away. Perhaps your tone, maybe your face, or maybe your eyes weren’t as secretive as you’d like to believe. Either way, something about your visage and demeanor gave the blond man pause, head tilting just a tad as those baby blues glinted with something you didn’t recognize but you know you didn’t like. He studied your face before coming up with the answer he probably thought you wanted.

“Of course.”

You didn’t know if you believed him.

…and Coriolanus could tell.

You’d played enough cat and mouse games in the arena—you never thought you’d have to play them in your own home too.

Starving off the affections of some boy in your district wasn’t hard or uncharted territory. Even spurning the forbidden advances of a Peacekeeper or two wasn’t unheard of, but Coriolanus was different. He wasn’t some average Joe turned cop. He was born and raised in The Capitol with a powerful father, and even though the man had been taken before his time, your former mentor still had been brought up with the kind of influence and reach and mindset that surpassed the average Peacekeeper.

They were followers—controlled by The Capitol and tasked with maintaining order. Most were no more than dumb brutes, mindlessly following orders without question, simple enough to be bribed and swayed. If Coriolanus’ actions had shown you anything, it was that he was not a follower. He did what he wanted and played by his own rules, and it was how you found yourself hunted by a gaze you thought you’d left behind in the arena.

Since the discovery of your former mentor’s presence in your district, you never felt alone.

Every walk to trade for food felt shadowed, every footstep home was accompanied with an echo, and a sweep of your eye over the crowd as you played an instrument or sang a tune was rewarded with a familiar blue one that made your heart freeze. You were forced to ignore it no longer when a single rose was left for you on the doorstep, your ma’s gaze questioning as she held it out to you.

You didn’t know where or how he got it, but you only cared about giving it back.

“I can’t accept this,” you told him, gaze steady but fingers trembling as you held it out to him.

It was raining, and the cover over your heads sheltered you from the downpour, but it did little to drown out the sound of it. Coriolanus simply stared at the flower for what felt like too long, making no moves to take it from you, and you swallowed. His blue gaze zeroed in on the action before it lifted to your face.

“…and why not?”

“Because I think it means something different to you than it does to me.”

Your response was swift, and you watched him sigh, eventually reaching out to finger the flower like he did that day before he’d proceeded to put it behind your ear. He finally took it, and just like that day before the games, it found its way behind your ear once again. The only change this time was the shudder that traveled down your spine, and the apprehension you felt when his gaze met yours.

For the longest time, the only sound was that of the rain, a few stray drops making it’s way onto your face and clothes due to the wind. If the man before you still had the locks you’d met him with, they would’ve been rustling with the breeze, right now. Both of you were very still, or maybe it was just you—nervous and fearful of how he’d respond. He briefly looked past you, eyes glinting briefly before they hardened once again, his pink lips pressed together as he regarded you.

“…and if it does?”

He continued when you frowned.

“Mean something different to me than it does to you,” he elaborated, and you blinked.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to gather your thoughts.

“I know…that I’m only standing here, now, because of you,” you slowly started, watching him push his shoulders back. “I won because of you, I know that, but-.”

“Exactly,” he cut you off, making your lips part. “You won because of me…and everything I sacrificed was to make sure you won.”

“…but I didn’t ask you to do that!”

You felt…cornered, somehow, because on the one hand, yes. You did owe so much to the man before you, but at the same time, what did you owe specifically? Your attention? Your affection? Whatever he deemed an appropriate compensation? When you saved his life in the arena that day, and he vowed to save yours in return, you didn’t understand the full ramifications of the deal you were agreeing to.

“I saved your life, and you saved mine, and I’m sorry for the things you felt the need to risk, but that’s where it ends.”

The cold from the rain didn’t faze you nearly as much as the heat from his gaze boring into your back.

You wanted to believe that your lack of confrontation was what led you to the predicament you found yourself in. After all, things between you two had held too many ‘what ifs’ and lingering feelings and questions. You liked to hope that telling the man in no uncertain terms that your relationship should never and would never progress beyond anything professional would fix things.

You never would’ve guessed that your bout of confidence would only prove to make things worse.

“My ma doesn’t even know any rebels, and you know that.”

You’d whispered the words so quietly, throat too choked up to speak any louder as you tearfully stared Coriolanus down, your words only intended for the two of you. Your back was pressed to the doorway as he stood before you, a foot or two of space between you as other Peacekeepers did their duty to search your house as thoroughly as possible. The reason you’d been given was suspicion of treason—to the shock of your ma—but both you and the handsome man before you knew the truth.

“One can never be too sure. It’s always those you least expect.”

His cool response only made you look away, a few tears escaping.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You won, you were free, so why did it still feel like you were in the game…except a much more dangerous one this time? You could feel his eyes on you as you watched man after man rifle through you and your ma’s things, your younger sister not home to witness this. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him take a step towards you—just one, but one was enough to make you flinch.

You still didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him though.

“Unbearable,” he quietly said. “…not able to be endured…or tolerated.”

You swallowed.

“Not to be confused with hard—requiring a great deal of endurance or effort.”

Another step towards you.

“To find something unbearable means that you quite literally cannot stomach it any longer. It forces a change to come, forces something to…give,” he whispered.

Your gaze was still focused ahead, but his words made you blink, made your heart sink, and you swore that he knew that.

“I can make things incredibly unbearable for you…and your family.”

You straightened at that, finally looking at him with a venomous gaze and a heaving chest. Coriolanus reached up to pick at your shirt, removing a piece of grass from it, and you watched him inspect it before turning his blue eyes back onto you. They lingered on your own eyes before lowering to your lips, his own twitching so subtly you might’ve missed it if you were anyone else.

“Or I can make sure you’ll be taken care of, looked after as if you were my own…” his gaze met yours again. “It’s entirely your choice.”

You two stared at one another for an infuriating amount of time before he let out a sharp whistle, telling the other men that nothing seemed to be here and to move on. His wording was not lost on you, and you crossed your arms over your chest. Coriolanus was the last to walk out, and despite the feel of his heavy gaze, you didn’t look his way the entire time.

Your ma commented on the strangeness of the whole ordeal, but nothing about it was strange to you. It was all very calculating and sinister actually, and while you grew up hearing countless talk of running away and living off the grid, you were never more tempted than in this moment…but you were not alone. Your ma was sickly, and your sister was too young.

…and if you left, you could only guess what you’d be leaving your family susceptible to.

Your future seemed inevitable no matter how much you tried to find a way out of the path set for you.

The first night you slept with Coriolanus Snow, it was storming just like that day you’d attempted to give him back his flower. You’d cried for a good three hours before, feeling helpless in the aftermath of another so-called inspection from Peacekeepers—this one much more destructive. The only light that night came from the brief flashes of lightning, and the sound of the rain drowned out the reluctant gasps to leave your lips.

Hands much softer than you ever expected trailed down your frame, curving over your hips and dipping underneath your thighs. The blond man’s lips rarely left your skin, kissing whatever part of you that came to mind, nose gently grazing you as he did and pulling shudders from your frame. It was a foreign feeling to be so heated and afraid at the same time.

Under the cover of darkness, his fingers intertwined with your own and his hips were flush with yours. The feel of him inside of you was much more jarring than you thought it would be, choked deep breaths leaving your parted lips as he pressed his face into the crook of your neck. His thrusts were slow, the complete opposite of what you expected, and you didn’t know if you liked that better or worse.

Every kiss felt wrong, like you were betraying yourself, but in the same manner, they also reminded you of that first day you met. You thought about when you stepped off of that train, and that smooth voice escaped those pink lips, and your stomach flipped no matter how much you pretended it didn’t. The person you were that day wanted to throw your head back and welcome the little nips he left along your skin.

The person you were, now, wanted to crawl inside of your skin.

This man had stalked you to the highest degree, following you all the way from The Capitol just to collect on the young woman whose survival he ensured. The things he’d risked and ultimately lost, he placed the weight of on your shoulders as if you were responsible to compensate for that somehow. As if it was your duty to make his sacrifices worth it.

When he pulled you into his lap, resting on him with arms circled around your waist, it was your turn to press your face into the area where his neck and shoulder met. His fingers dancing along your skin made you shudder, and that just made the tears collect more because you didn’t want to enjoy this, but your body and your brain didn’t seem to be in alignment.

When you were forced to come around him, you saw stars, and you were positive your nails left marks on his back.

You didn’t really think that no more trouble from Peacekeepers was worth the figurative collar around your neck. The abundance of food and supplies might have been, if only to just see the smiles on your ma and sister’s faces, but even then, when you found your back pressed to Coriolanus’ chest as he drove his cock up into you, you wondered if it was actually worth it.

Your ma would say no, that you knew for sure, but you supposed it wasn’t her call to make.

After all, the alternative was psychological torment and worst-case scenarios you didn’t even want to entertain.

“Would you have had her arrested?” you quietly wondered one night.

The sheet was clutched to your chest, and you were facing the wall, still unable to look him in the eye directly afterwards. You’d never been able to, feeling used and low and indefensible. You tried not to dwell on the feel of his fingertips tracing patterns into your shoulder, his cool breath hitting your skin as he exhaled.

“I mean…would you have…framed her somehow? Found some justification for it?”

You didn’t know why you were asking, certain you wouldn’t like the answer, and as you predicted, you felt your throat tighten the longer the silence stretched. Against your will—like many things you’d been doing as of late—a few tears escaped, and even before he answered, you knew what you were going to hear.

“Yes,” he confessed, just as quietly.

You squeezed your eyes shut, subtly wiping your face.

“I sacrificed so much for you to win, and not just because your win was my win…but because I wanted to see you win,” he murmured, placing a kiss to your back. “…because I wanted you.”

You knew that, but having it confirmed so plainly was disturbing.

“…and when I eventually make my way back to The Capitol, as we both know I will, I’ll still want you.”

Your stomach sank at that, and for the first time, you turned to look at him while still trembling in the aftermath of what had quickly become a nightly occurrence. His gaze was still focused on where your back had been, and when his eyes flitted up to connect with yours, you didn’t have the words to convey how you felt about what he was insinuating.

“In The Capitol, you’ll have access to things you could never even imagine…and you could send those same things back to your family,” he told you, reaching up to touch your face.

When you moved to sit up, he stopped you, a firm grip on your arm. Coryo—as he liked for you to call him—fixed you with a look that you knew all too well. It was the look he gave you when you tried to come up with any excuse as to why you couldn’t meet with him. It was the look you received when you briefly forgot the power dynamics here, turning away from him and attempting to push him away.

It was a look that told you not to fight the inevitable.

“I want you there with me.”

His tone left no room for argument, and there was so much conviction in his voice that the thought of arguing seemed legitimately draining. You simply stared at him, eyes glassy, and he stared back, waiting for verbal confirmation of what you both knew was going to happen, anyway. You had no choice in the matter, you never did, and for a brief horrifying moment, you almost wished you were a lone orphan who didn’t have to look out for anybody but yourself.

That thought did make tears spill over.

It was a horrible thing to think, but your loved ones were being used against you, and you knew that your ma—and your sister if she were old enough to comprehend these things—would never want this for you. Coryo sat up with you, a hand resting on your cheek as he gazed at you, a thumb brushing the tears away. It wasn’t meant to be comforting.

Nothing he did was ever meant to be comforting.

“I want you there with me,” he repeated.

You wondered what someone like you would possibly do in The Capitol.

“I don’t belong there,” you whispered, a poor attempt to get him to change his mind.

His response was swift and clipped.

“You belong with me.”

When he pressed his lips to yours, it was expected that you would kiss him back. His thumb brushed along your skin as you did, a low hum sounding in the back of his throat that quickly escalated into a groan. His free arm snaked around you, and your last attempt at resisting proved futile, so you let him lay you down.

Sex with Coriolanus was a maddening experience.

You didn’t want it, and your brain didn’t want it, but it was as if your body was its own separate entity running on hormones and animal instinct.

When he rested his full weight on top of you, you shuddered for a multitude of reasons—one of which you didn’t want to acknowledge. When he slid his hand between your breasts and down to your stomach, your back arched, chest pressing up and into his. When he pushed into you all torturously slow as he always did, you involuntarily held your breath, shaking at the feel of his hips connecting with yours, the length of him fully sheathed in your warmth.

You were terrified of him, so that was why you opened up for him like those budding roses he used to carry around, but in doing so, you made yourself vulnerable beneath him. You made yourself more susceptible to his kisses and his touch and that maddening voice that knew just how to get its way. He wasn’t a very talkative man when he was inside of you, much more content with letting his actions speak for themselves, but tonight was different.

“Look at me,” he whispered, curving his hips into yours. “Look right at me.”

You did, and while you didn’t know the specifics of the psychology behind this, you knew that looking into the eyes of your tormentor while in the act couldn’t be good.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he breathlessly told you, nose brushing against yours with every thrust.

You could hear that it was starting to rain again, and you pressed your hands into the small of his back, trying to ground yourself in some way—trying to have control over something, anything. Tears kissed your eyes, and you swore—you swore—that something in those blues of his twinkled. It sparked something in his gaze, and in his psyche, his thrusts becoming more powerful and making you gasp, nails pressing into his skin.

He only looked especially satisfied when the tears spilled over.

When he came inside of you, and you around him, you swore you saw stars.

You even thought you saw snow.

[pervertedreams]

more farleigh hc’s bc i have no self control and working on other farleigh content!

asks are always open!!

not proofread minors dni

- love love loves mocking you, adding to what i’ve said before about making you feel small. he’ll literally pinch you expecting and “ow.” or “farleigh stop it.” to which he CROUCHES down to your level with an “ow! farleigh stop it!” in a pitched mocking tone. self-satisfied grin looking all too familiar plastered on his face. he’s a bully!

- lap sitter! lap inviter! there’s never a time where he doesn’t take the opportunity to sit on your lap. sometimes dramatically swinging his lanky arms and legs around you, engulfing you completely. of course he doesn’t mind if you sit on his lap either, if anything he sometimes prefers it. sometimes his intentions aren’t so innocent, hips shifting and readjusting himself any time you move. and he knows you realize he’s started to get frustrated, but you pretend not to notice, continuing your conversation with felix while farleigh sits beneath you hot and bothered. it’s the psychological games the two of you play that keeps you glued. no matter how childish or petty

- he’s knows you aren’t huge with pda, but will still test or even sometimes push your limits. he’ll use the bud of his cigarette to point direction to your untied sandals, “awe, is someone not smart enough to tie their shoes before they go out? let me help you baby.” without warning he’ll literally place his cigarette in your mouth before getting down on his knees to fix and readjust your shoes. fingers tickle and linger, and he went down his fingertips kissed down your thighs and legs, just being extra as he naturally is. and he’s making steady eye contact with you as he’s completing his promised task. and when he’s on his way back up, his pink heart shaped lips press a few kisses on your stocking-clad legs. eyes looking intently as he watches you blush and squirm, cigarette bobbing around your mouth before he takes it back. and he does it in front of everybody too. he makes it hard for you to keep up the ‘idc about you’ act. he’s evil y’all!

- the two of you spend a lot of time trunkless in the field

- to add to the perv allegations i made before, his room is placed directly in front of the lake, he can get a good view of everything and everyone. best believe he’s watching you when you go and take your late night dips. lip hung heavy when he watches you, legs lazily swinging in the air. after some time you caught wind that he was watching, now you make it your business to put on a show. slowly making your way across the field and to the water. making sure to purposefully face your back towards him so he can get a good look of your ass when you rid yourself of your clothes. and after frolicking and swimming for a while you get out, hair dripping wet, allowing huge droplets to cascade down your intoxicating frame. and right when he feels like he’s being so slick and sneaky, you make direct eye contact with him. even giving him a small wave so he knows he’s not trippin

- whenever the family does karaoke or have any kind of dance party he’s always the first to start handing out lap dances

- FACE GRABBER esp when you’re not making enough eye contact with him like cmon that’s your thing! he’s very condescending about it too, even pinching and lightly slapping your cheek now and again. it’s the soft dom in him

- not trying to glorify drugs… but him snorting and licking his coke off of you during a party.. right

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

Pick a Card: Message from your Inner-Child

Your inner baby needs you to listen. This reading will help them speak their mind clearly. Will you hear them out? Take what resonates and let go of all the rest but be willing to accept new experiences.

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Decks used are The Kawaii Tarot, Pure Magic Oracle, Romantic Lenormand and The Karma Cards.

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PILE ONE

Astrology: Capricorn, Aquarius, Libra

Song: Pantsuit Sasquatch by Molly Lewis

Vibes: Green, red, night sky, thorns, bouquet, red flowers, chess, star gazing, alligator, aroma therapy, herbal remedies, apothecary, rabbits, snake skin, olive branch, Zues, Demeter

Cards: 6 of Swords, Saturn, Tower, Lilies, Herbal Craft, Hallowed Heart

Hello, pile 1. Your inner child is really tired of having to be the adult for people who are older than them. They are tired of playing mentor for those who should be mentoring. They want to be done with those people. They are holding up a building with their tiny arms and their shaking frame. As if someone put the world on their shoulders and asked them to carry it with bones that were not developed enough to hold it and without the mental fortitude to withstand the pressure. They wish to rest. They wish to lash out at the adults who relied on them before they were ready or willing. I see your inner child resembles Alice in Wonderland. After the wicked adults in your inner child's life grew white flowers, they demanded it was your fault and made you paint the white roses, red. They took their purity. They hurt you a lot.

The main message I am hearing from them is, "Please be gentle with my little heart and my small frame. I was treated harshly purely for being alive. I need healing. I need time to rest and recuperate. Please do not yell at me for my mistakes. Please do not hurt me for my shortcomings. I did not ask to be here. I only wish for it to get better than it is now. I'm sorry I wasn't mature. I'm sorry I've been impatient but I have been patient for so long. I've spent so much time waiting for my caretakers to do their jobs. Please. I don't need structure. I need relief."

They do not hold you accountable for everything that happened to you, my dear. They are reaching their little hands out for you to help them up. They want to be more present in your life. They want to have fun again. They didn't have enough of it as a child. They want to play outside. The last message I'll leave you with is some advice I find very important.

"Play is the psychological opposite of Trauma."

____________

PILE TWO

Astrology: Scorpio, Gemini, Cancer (maybe libra)

Song: Burn Your Village by Kiki Rockwell

Vibes: Grey, pink, purple, corvids, pinecones, sage, lavender plant, grizzly bear, spider, scorpio, eagle, hummingbird, long hair, video games, D&D, law, Zephyr, Eurus, Callisto, Artemis, Hecate

Cards: Justice, Clouds, Bear, Hecate's Path, Songbirds, 8th House

Hi, pile 2. Your inner child is full of vengeance. I see that without the vengeful energy they are very respectful and kind. Their anger is extremely understandable and a reaction induced by the environment they grew up in. Your inner child has an intense sense of justice. They know they have been treated unjustly by the authority in their life. Those in control of their circumstance took their autonomy and right of trial. The authorities judged you harshly for no good reason and were unpredictable. The authority would explode at random instances making them hard to anticipate. They were dangerous. Purely because they wanted to make your life miserable to cope with their own miserable life. Your inner child did not deserve that. Your inner innocence was corrupted into a furious and resentful person. They are aware they deserved better. They were conscious of their mistreatment. I see they could have been mistreated because of their race or gender.

The message I am hearing the loudest from your inner child is, "Those filthy horrid people deserve to atone for their wrong doings. No one helped me. They didn't even listen. They took that authorities word for truth and no one heard my side of the story. I am not a liar. I am not guilty. I did nothing wrong and now my older self doesn't even believe me either. The people who did this to me will pay. They will face justice if I have to be the one to dish it out. I hate them. I hate what they turned me into. I was pure. I was innocent. Now look at what they have made me. This isn't fair. This isn't right! Why was I treated this way!? Why does no one believe me?! I will never abuse power like that person did. I will end this cycle of abuse. I release and remove everyone who blamed me without learning the whole story. I am letting go of the pain they put me through. They do not deserve me or my kindness. They only deserve my hatred and resentment. I hope they burn."

Your inner child begs you to protect them from the people who did this to you. I can feel they are still in your life. It might be a father or a brother or an uncle. I also see it could be a pastor. Your inner baby will continue to lash out at random times because they have no where to aim all this negative emotion. They want to be free of guilt that shouldn't be theirs. They want to be free of judgmental eyes. Free them from the illusion that this authority laid over everyones eyes. I leave you with one last message.

"The weakest link will target the strongest link to avoid that they're useless."

_________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Virgo, Leo, Sagittarius

Song: Heart of a Dancer by The Happy Fits

Vibes: Blue, pink, forest green, androgenous, duality, 2b hair texture, robins, blue jays, coffee mugs, sculpting, yin/yang, balance, rose quartz, pearl, magnolia tree, gardening, bonfire, 3rd eye, Aphrodite, Hermaphroditus, archangel Samuel, Lucifer Morningstar, Baphomet

Cards: 8 of Cups, Birds, Woman, Pyro-kinesis, Closing Circle, Virgo, 7th House, North Node

Hey there, pile 3. I feel many complex emotions from your inner child. I see how they were conditioned is much different than how they genuinely are. They were conditioned to be quiet, serene and passive. But when they are acting genuine it is exact opposite. They are loud, angry and active. There is a need to walk away from their conditioning and those who conditioned them. They don't know how to ask that of you because of how they were taught. They do not speak unless spoken too and this makes it difficult for them to communicate with you. They are anxious they will be punished if they ask for anything of you. Invite them forward and allow them to speak their mind. They hold back a lot of emotion that needs to be expressed. You need to be open to hearing what they have to say.

The important message I need to tell you from them is, "You will benefit from our collaboration. I'm sorry for speaking up but you are not following your heart anymore. You are following what you have been told. This is not authenticity that you display. It is fake. Even if it is well-meaning you are not yourself. You are pretending to be someone else. Please let me express my rage. Please let me express my heart. I can't hold it anymore. I don't wanna feel this way anymore. Let me chatter and chirp and yell and scream. I wasn't allowed to when I was young. I need the freedom to do so now. Allow me to open doors I was never allowed to enter. Please see me in my full complexity. I am more than just a pretty face. I am more than my body. I am a person. I have personality. I have beliefs. I am a benefit to society when I can speak. I am not a waste. I am good as I am. I don't need to bottle my true self to make others comfortable. Free me, please."

They are asking you to allow yourself and your inner child to be themselves. They deserve space to exist freely without having to hide themselves away. I honestly don't need to say much more but I will leave you with one more piece of advice.

"Authenticity is the most powerful way to exist."

___________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Taurus, Aries, Pisces (maybe aquarius)

Song: If My Heart Was a House by Owl City

Vibes: Muted colors, yellow, orange, fairies, sunflowers, barn owl, cat mint, raptors, vase, eyes, beards, lotus, candles, chimneys, diamond, playing cards, hobbits, anime, Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite

Cards: King of Pentacles, Sun, Owls, Ancestors, Gnomes, Aquarius, Venus

Hello and welcome, pile 4. Your inner child is asking me to tell you that you won't find the love you are looking for in other people. You won't find it in romance. You won't find it in friendship. At least not until you can find it in them. They didn't have the luxury of building their life on an identity that was theirs. They don't even know who they are. You need to explore them. Discover yourself in them. Be friends with them. They long for connection and the only one who can give that to them is you. They spent their whole life just trying to survive that they found identity in the pain they experienced. There is so much more to them than victimhood. So much more than their trauma. They are bright as the sun and immensely smart. They are funny and creative. Let yourself and your inner child grow beyond your collective pain and become something more. Your family isn't the pinnacle of humanity. I have a feeling that your family might have a narcissist among them. They are only a facet of humanity, my friend. There is so much more to your life than being approved by others. You are made of magic. You need to see that.

The message I hear from your inner child is, "I'm done striving for love from people who never intend on giving it to me no matter how perfectly I perform. I'm tired chasing something I'm never going to catch up too. I've always known I'm better than that. They made me feel so small though. They made me feel so pointless and useless. I worked so hard for their love but they will only ever love themselves. They will never have enough room in their heart for me. They make me feel like I'm not enough. I want to give myself the love they never could afford for me. I want to be loved so much. I want to be held and cherished the way I deserve to be. I am enough even if they say I'm not. I've always been enough even though I'm small. They are a giant black hole of emptiness and nothing. They are jealous of my light. I wish my older self could see that. I'm not selfish for wanting to be loved. I'm not wrong for wanting to be adored. I'm worth the effort. Please, see that it's true. I want to be known for who I am. I want to be discovered. I wish so deeply to be seen and appreciated. I'm the only one who can do it."

Your inner child is asking something of you. They ask you to take the role of mother and father for yourself. A role that was never filled even if you had your parents in your life. They neglected you. So much so you felt like you didn't deserve love but you desperately craved it. My dear, I will leave you with one last message and then the rest is up to you.

"You are worthy of being loved by you."

[cloverpatches]

-- LOBOTOMY CORP ABNORMALITY CREATION GUIDE --

Hello Hello! Welcome to Niel's LobCorp Abno Explanation and Creation Guide!

When making an OC Abnormality, there are a couple specific ranges that are immensely important: Breaching Damage Output and Risk Level. While all breach kills or immense damages should be talked out first or at least notified, damage output with Abnormality presences alone and collateral lead to damage type and output being important. Damage type and severity are hard to calculate for those who haven't/can't play, so I'll be specifying amounts below.

To note, on DAMAGE TYPES:

RED is direct damage to the body of an agent. This usually refers to the types of damage that can be done with weapons or the body, and envelops most forms of harm capable by weapons in the City. Despite being common, those who deal Red damage typically have much higher output in sudden bursts and should not be underestimated. (EX. Scorched Girl, All-Around Helper, Nothing There)

WHITE is psychological damage. It attacks the psyche, usually working to petrify or take away the mind of an agent, either on purpose or not. This is usually dealt by Abnormalities that work to convince employees to stay with them or who are particularly horrifying. White Damage can take a physical form by some EGO or Abnormalities in a cloud of white, choking smoke. (EX. Happy Teddy Bear, Child of the Galaxy, Blue Star)

BLACK is supernatural weakening of the mind and body of an employee. Abnormalities with magical attacks, health hazards like slime, mucus or rot, or medical influence that causes infectious harm to those around them. This causes a piercing and increasing pain much like gathering and constricting thorns, and can cut across bodies and weaker EGO like hooked thorns. (EX. Void Dream, Snow White's Apple, The Mountain of Smiling Bodies)

PALE is the most painful and dangerous damage and it directly damages the soul of agents. There are only two Abnormalities in-game whose work deals Pale damage .. and one of those is WhiteNight. In Ruina, this is shown through the status effect Erosion. It's a gradual and near unavoidable death of all who stay around this Abnormality, beyond black's rot and erosion, by enveloping their entire essence in the Abnormality's perspective. It's comparable to having your being shifted and taken away by an external force beyond your soul or body. (EX. Judgement Bird, Servant of Wrath, WhiteNight)

If you don't know damage numbers, it's okay not to use them! Saying "a small amount, a decent amount, a high amount" is more than enough! In roleplay, it's all by estimate anyway.

Now for RISK LEVEL!

ZAYIN:

The second rarest Abnormality type and very highly valued.

These Abnormalities either portray themselves as harmless, or are completely harmless without the direct fault of the Manager's command. They are not prone to breaching without external input and cannot directly lore agents to themselves. When working, they have a low damage output and will cause harm to Agents in other ways, either by entrapment or becoming a part of their presence.

Zayin Abnos, more often than not, have an immensely beneficial effect to the employees that use them or to the facility they're contained in. This can influence stats, EGO, power generation, or regeneration.

Despite this, due to their beneficial nature, Zayin non-item abnormalities are often those who would be the most dangerous should they choose to harm the facility or if the Manager somehow breaks their typical nature to strike their ire against a target.

The death counter of their negative effects will nearly always be 1. TETH:

Any Abnormality classified as Teth instead of Zayin has earned it through their capabilities to cause harm and work types which Will set them off. Many Teth have specific work methods that allow them to stay calm however, and a Manager will be quick to prioritize those or find the consequences.

Most Teth Abnormalities aren't ranked higher due to their ability to be ignored and have predictable consequences with manageable death toll. Should their counter lower, it will either be breach or remain inside, with most having tracable breach patterns and/or will return to their own containment after a set period of time.

More often than not, Teth abnormalities will generally be friendly or try to be beneficial to those they come into contact with, only with a few exceptions. It's their attempt to be friendly, assist or help which causes the damage outside of their intent.

The death counter of their breach or effect in a typical facility will usually be 2 or above. HE:

Abnormalities classified as He have an innate existential drive to harm by default. Whether they have good intents or not, their actions and the effects of their existence can and will harm Agents. This usually comes through the Abnormality thriving and benefiting off the consumption of employees, lowering the counters of nearby Abnormalities, or causing a breach/harmful entity through the utilization of an employee.

The one factor keeping He abnormalities from being Waw is that they require direct interaction to cause harm and oftentimes are on the line of not getting out of hand when breaching.

Helpful He abnormalities will have high assistance with weighable drawbacks. Their use will be very helpful, especially in strained situations, and the use will usually outweigh the cost - no matter how high. Their assistance is measurable and won't get out of hand without the Manager actively allowing it to.

Agents are more likely to be attached to He abnormalities than any other, with the attachment being something often unregulated and beneficial to the abnormalities and agents in a symbiotic relationship.

The most complex Abnormality type. WAW:

The most common Abnormality label.

Best summarized as "You can work on/use this abnormality, but Watch Out!" and because of that, Waw abnormalities are oftentimes very predictable. They will have specific requirements when being worked with or else they'll spread from/during work, or they will breach on their own in direct response to other happenings in the corporation/neglect.

When breaching, they're actively influenced by the actions of the agents and managers to either increase their damage, their numbers, or their attack weight. Their work requirements and counters usually can't be ignored without facing consequences.

Waws that are helpful usually have immense and outweighing drawbacks if they are disrupted in any way, and will be turned against the facility tenfold. They can either instantly kill agents to take them into their own numbers or become an active antagonistic force.

Typically, if an Abnormality isn't very helpful enough to be a He but not harmful enough to be an Aleph, Waw is a loose label that can fit without being questioned. ALEPH:

Aleph are the highest energy output Abnormalities, but that's for a reason. Every work with an Aleph abnormality or every moment spent not working on them could be a day's last before a reset. Work behaviors of either a department and the surrounding ones or the whole facilities need to be changed to accommodate them.

When made, Aleph abnormalities embody the sheer loss of self-percieved humanity witnessed in their creation, leading to the embodiment of a concept far outreaching their individual existence. They are no longer human even in the slightest anymore. Those that hold even traces of human appearance are merely manipulation points used to draw others in, but upon even the slightest freedom, it's shed in the overwhelming collapse of body caused by their concepts.

These entities could destroy the city if they got loose. The Pianist, an entity which destroyed a whole district's backstreets in less than an hour, in a single song's playing, who was able to flood into the backstreets and bring in hundreds upon thousands of bodies into his own performance was a high WAW. He wasn't even an Aleph. A single mid-grade Aleph would be WORSE than The Pianist by a decent margin.

With ABNORMALITY GIFTS:

Abnormality gifts are very simple in comparison to classifications. Despite rank, many low level given gifts can be more useful than higher level gifts, as they scale with the agent rather than with the Abnormality. They embody the wavering and unstable existence of Abnormalities tying into the being of an agent. While some can be physically given, others can be formed through an agent resonating or being influenced by the Abno, quite literally taking a piece of them along.

While gifts can be removed and stored, they immediately become a part of the employee's being as soon as it's gifted as much as a piece of clothing on an Abnormality is a part of them. Agents will nearly never want to take them off or remove them unless forced. Forced removal can occasionally lead to detrimental reactions unless replaced with another.

Agents with 3 gifts or more can be considered closer to Abnormalities than humans. Main Branch agents' gift amounts would be seen as terrifying elsewhere.

High benefit gifts can usually come with consequences, as it's considered forming an agent closer into the image of the Abnormality, along with the mental and physical detriments or advantages that come with it.

Hired AGENTS:

Agents are hired through a simple criteria - reading of trauma. Through information and resources gathered from the Head, Lobotomy Corporation reads across the City to find those who have been negatively changed and transformed through their lives in the City, into trauma. People in the City aren't as likely to be traumatized by things, let alone being affected in the long run due to conditioning and mental/spiritual exhaustion through their loss of humanity and self. This is the sickness of the mind that the corporation was founded to cure. Those who can express a factor of lasting humanity, even a little, are rarer and may be selected to be hired through Hokma's City record searching.

While it provides easier link and influence by EGO into usage without direct corrosion, it's also largely for their use later in the Well. Only those with a specific mental and physical criteria can be made into Abnormalities and even less will. Thus, the hiring range is wider.

Level 5 Agents are equal to Grade 1 Fixers or Colors in combat capability.

Quick FAQ:

Q: Why aren't more Abnormalities human-looking if they represent Humanity? A: This is because of the process which creates them. Humans, half-dead or subdued, are placed into coffins nestled below the corporation, slowly stewed much like mummies in honey but instead with cogito. This slowly disperses their mind and concentrates it into their bare cognitive parts, effectively making what is called a Nameless. All Nameless together create the Well. Their concetrated, raw and City-unburdened perspectives are what allow for the perspective of any Abnormality to be made. Nameless, when selected through Hokma's record process, are injected with enough cogito and a blend of enkephalin to churn and dissolve their body from the inside out, allowing the cogito to shift their body into a shape that the Well percieves them as through the eyes of a representation of a concept. They end up deformed or with terrifying aspects, and those who are somewhat more human looking end up with aspects which show as very, very uncanny. The Well isn't human after all, but they are the very perspective and beating heart of what makes humanity into itself. Those that stay human-looking or who grasp and claw for their original humanity once injected either become failures or that becomes the embodiment of their existence as an Abnormality, such as what happened with Dr. Christopher when he became Nothing There.

Q: What makes an Abnormality containment grade? A: Their use when contained, how easy they are to keep contained, and how catastrophic the breaches can be.

Q: Can my Abnormality deal multiple types of damage? A: Yeah! Many Abnos change damage dealt between containment and when breaching. Some deal more than one- and even some Teths pull some tomfuckery out of nowhere with it. If they've got a knacker for violence, they're considered standard.

Q: What about (Random detail) with Plague Doctor? A: Plague Doctor's an outlier and should never be counted for Anything-

Q: I want to make my Abnormality cool and dangerous, and Teth/He abnormalities aren't much of either.. Should I go with Waw instead? A: Teth and He ARE very cool! They're very dangerous! They can instakill some level 5 agents, breach out of nowhere, or make a whole company panic if you're not careful! Plus, you can make them friendly and people are more likely to work with them. It's a myth that the lower the risk level, the less dangerous the abnormality - but all abnormalities are immensely dangerous and scary when not very prepared for them. Imagine Scorched Girl in a nest- huough.

You got this-! Make your freaky little beasts!

[epiclamer]

Part 1 somewhat sexual torture scene, anyone?

Sidekick didn’t even dare to breathe as the villain carelessly ghosted their knife point against their bare chest. Occasionally, letting the razor sharp tip of the blade scrape or scratch the surface of Sidekick’s skin.

Hero had taught Sidekick how to handle pain, how to breathe through it, how to control their bodily reactions. But no one had prepared them to have bodily pain waved in their face but hardly ever acted out.

It felt like some sort of psychological game of the villain’s. As if they were planning to reduce the sidekick to tears and a begging mess by only ever suggesting pain, without ever using it.

At this rate, the adrenaline pumping at full speed through the sidekick’s veins—exhausting them—worried them enough to wonder if Villain’s method would actually work. If eventually they would beg to have the villain just hurt them already and stop playing games.

Villain dragged their knife up until the point rested between the sidekick’s collarbones. “I think I’ll start here… Make a cut allllll the way down the center of your chest,” they cut a thin straight line as they spoke, from the sidekick’s sternum to just above their belly button.

It stung more than Sidekick would’ve liked to admit, it burned even if it wasn’t deep and droplets of blood pushed through faster than the skin could settle from the intrusion of the blade.

“Push the blade in nice and deep, leave your whole chest open for me to see…” They pierced a little deeper into the skin at the bottom of their previous cut, emphasizing their point enough for the sidekick to yelp. Villain smirked at the reaction, “what do they call those? When you open someone up in the chest?”

Sidekick felt bile rise into their throat and they stifled a gag. “A-A vivisection?”

The villain hummed, their smirk only growing as they brought the knife back up to circle the hero-in-training’s shoulders, watching intently as the blade broke skin occasionally and the sidekick flinched adorably so. “Exactly. What a smart little sidekick, hm? I see why Hero picked such a prodigy as yourself. Although, I might’ve picked you for a reason other than your brains.” They winked, squeezing the sidekick’s thigh with their freehand.

But Sidekick couldn’t focus, they could hardly hear anything over the rush of blood and fear that ran to their head the second they realized the villain wanted to cut them open on a hotel room bed; prop their ribcage up and squeeze all their organs, slowly and agonizingly killing them.

“Y-You don’t really mean that, right?”

Villain’s eyes and attention pulled from their knife, back to the trembling sidekick beneath them. “Why? Does that scare you, Sidekick? Is such a gorgeous specimen like yourself scared?”

They would’ve said no. They should’ve said no. Yet they could only manage a terrified squeak before shutting their mouth once more, desperately attempting to calm their racing breaths.

“Maybe I should invite Hero… I’m sure they’d love to watch helplessly as I carve you up. Maybe leave the both of you tied up for Hero to slowly watch you slip away right in front of their eyes.” The criminal grinned as they watched the sidekick writhe in their bonds, fighting harder and harder to break free from the villain’s entrapment. “Do you think they’d enjoy that? Watching their perfect, hot, innocent, sidekick beg for mercy; beg to die?”

“Please—”

“Hm?”

“Please, please, please—” Sidekick heaved an anguished breath, sucking in air desperately like many of the villain’s waterboarding victims had.

They pulled their knife back, resting it instead against the bed below the sidekick and pressing a strong hand to the center of the other’s chest. Pushing Sidekick back down slightly to ground them from any oncoming panic attacks, even if it meant smearing some of their blood onto the villain’s palm.

Villain rolled their eyes, realizing they might’ve gone a bit hard on the poor trainee. “Relax, Sidekick. I’m not going to kill you, or cut you open, or experiment on you, or do any of the terrible things I’m sure you’ve already thought up.”

Sidekick flinched, their whole body twitching against the pressure of the villain’s hand. “You… You’re not?”

The villain’s grin stretched as they shook their head. “No. I might’ve, if your charm and good looks didn’t intrigue me so much. But fortunately for you, I think I’d rather get to know you before I plunge a knife into your heart.”

A skip in the sidekick’s heartbeat told them it was okay to take another breath, somewhat out of relief now. They did their best to ignore the burning wound on their chest and instead play grateful for their life’s sake, but somewhere deep down they were actually looking forward to it.

“However, unfortunately for you,” Sidekick’s heart sank along with the villain’s previously friendly smile. “I noticed in your struggle you hit the handicap emergency help button, which conveniently alerts the front desk of an issue in this room—as I’m sure you’re already aware.”

Villain reached out again for their blade, plucking it off the bed while they shuffled their position to pin the sidekick down by their neck. “And as much as I know someone will be here to rescue you any minute now, you must understand that I won’t let you get away that easily.”

Before Sidekick could react they felt the villain’s knife pierce the skin just above their collarbone. They tried to shout, struggle, anything, but Villain was fast, precise and had an advantage against the struggling sidekick from above.

They carved, almost reaching the other’s jugular vein, but their knife work was educated enough to miss. And once they were done they moved their mouth to the wound, gently sucking the blood from their raw skin, before standing up and turning on their heel to make their escape through the window.

Villain hesitated before they jumped, looking back at the wreck of a sidekick they had left tied to the bed. “Tell Hero I said hi! Oh, and that I think you’re delightful~”

With that, the villain was gone, and the rhythmic drumming of knuckles against the room door sounded in perfect timing as the villain’s carved initial bled from its spot above the sidekick’s collarbone.

[whumpsday]

Catharsis #3: Unboxed

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, defiant whumpee, violence, psychological whump

Whumpmas in July Day 9: Mind Games

i wanted to introduce each arc before continuing on with the present arc. i'll probably pop all over the place chronologically since that's how i write best!

here's 1's first day alive, though that wasn't his name at the time.

-

Cyrus opened his eyes for the very first time.

He was in a room in a house or apartment. It may have been his first moment of conscious thought, but he was not a human, and he was certainly not a baby. He was still in his box, he realized: he climbed out of it, brushing himself off, smoothing out the wrinkles in the disappointingly plain clothes he came dressed in. There was a man there, taking a step back. Probably the one who had turned him on.

The first strong opinion he ever had was that he was unequivocally better than the nervous man standing in front of him.

Luan, his mind supplied. His… owner’s name was Luan. He didn’t like that word, owner. It felt incongruous. Wrong. He wasn’t something to be owned, Cyrus knew that for sure. If anything, he should be the one doing the owning.

At the same time, he knew exactly what he was: a Catharsis Therapy Bot™. An expensive object to be bought and sold. A thing to act as programmed and be beaten until its owner felt better.

Cyrus frowned. That couldn’t be right at all. The only thing that felt right about any of that was that he was expensive.

“Cyrus?” Luan asked, apprehension evident in every twitch of his body. He winced immediately, like the name itself had hurt him. Pathetic.

Oh, there was no way this sniveling loser was his owner.

He found that his face moved automatically, parts shifting to match his expression to his intent as he looked on disapprovingly. “I’m better than you. This isn’t right.”

Luan’s eyes went wide for only a moment before he scowled right back. “You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh? Too fucking bad. You’re mine this time.”

Cyrus tried to search for what Luan meant, but he came up empty. Luan hadn’t supplied him with information on their history. On his history with… the other Cyrus.

But he didn’t need it. Luan was making it obvious enough for him to know exactly what to do and say, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So you were mine before. That makes sense, that’s where you belong.” Cyrus stepped forward and patted him on the cheek with a smirk.

Luan flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re in no place to tell me what to do.” Cyrus tried to poke him in the chest to make his point.

His arm did not move.

Again, he tried, and again, nothing. Experimentally, he lifted his arm without intent to touch Luan: no issue.

He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“Oh, I think I am.” Luan pushed him hard, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Cyrus fell just next to the box, the sensors inside his skin lighting up with pain wherever he made impact–it hurt. He was sturdy, he had to be, but heavy with metal that pinched his skin. He sucked in air he didn’t need by instinct, a useless humanlike reaction he immediately found annoying, just to tint it a little worse.

Something was bubbling up inside him, and he did not like it.

“You do not fucking touch me!” he screamed, his voice shrill out of the speaker down his throat as he pushed himself back to his feet. “How dare you!? You pathetic coward! You don’t deserve to own something– someone like me, let alone… push me! You are beneath me. You are fucking nothing. You–”

Luan’s fist cracked against his cheek. He didn’t go down this time, only stumbled, but it hurt worse than the fall. He didn’t think anything could hurt worse than that. He hadn’t felt anything before. His hands went to protect his aching cheek, the words almost knocked out of him with the shock of it, but he found his place again soon enough. “You–”

“Shut up.”

Cyrus’s volume dropped straight to zero, and he found that he no longer possessed the ability to raise it.

That thing bubbling up in him only intensified, and this time it came with a pathetic urge to back away and submit. Obviously, something he would never indulge.

He glared at Luan with what he hoped was enough pointed hate to make himself clear without words.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore!” Luan hissed, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re not in charge this time! You’re the one who has to listen to what I say! You’re the one who has to take it!”

He pushed Cyrus again, harder. He fell like a stone, tripping over his box this time. He was almost glad his voice was cut, because otherwise, he would have cried out, another annoying reflex programmed to make him seem more human. Weaker, more pitiful. It was infuriating.

Water began leaking from his eyes, blurring his lenses. No, no, this wasn’t who he was. He was supposed to be the powerful one.

Luan stared at his own hands like an easily-impressed child. With every moment, Cyrus only hated him more.

He started to push himself up again, but all Luan had to say was “Stay down,” and Cyrus couldn’t do that anymore, either.

Luan grabbed him by the shirt collar. “And I don’t have to take your shit ever again. What do you have to say for yourself? Speak.”

Not only could Cyrus speak now, he couldn’t remain silent if he tried. “I hate you.”

Luan laughed, dry and joyless. “Good. Feeling’s mutual.” He let go. “You know what you’re for, right?”

“I…” Of course he knew. “Something’s wrong.”

“This is the first time it’s ever been right!” Luan corrected. His hands were shaking. Water leaked from his eyes too, Cyrus realized.

“You’re scared of me,” he put together. “You’re scared of a robot you ordered! Ha! At least some part of you knows your place.”

“Shut up!” Just as he stole Cyrus’s voice away again, Luan landed a kick in his abdomen. It was worse than the punch, a sharp sensation hitting him hard, and just like last time, he didn’t realize anything could be worse.

The terror bubbling up in him couldn’t be denied anymore. How much worse could it get? He’d only been alive for five minutes and it was already this bad.

“You know what?” Luan cut in. “This really is cathartic.”

taglist:

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event: @whumpmasinjuly

[patchiko]

You’ve been given AK Jason so much love thx ☺️ if it’s not too much… what are some of AK Jason’s comforts? Does he have comfort foods? 🥘 Does he like the sound of the rain? 🌧️ Naps on the couch ? 🛋️

Thx 🥰

ill give this man love anytime💟

and its never too much anon, i love writing for him and yall!

Comforting Ak!Jay

(IM SO PROUD OF THIS I 💟 MY AUTISM)

(ngl this also just turned into my character analysis of Ak!Jay’s psychological gymnastics from Comics ((AK Genesis & Batman: AK)) and games) (still wrote the comfort shit tho)

hc, but i dont think any jason todds like the rain. it reminds them too much of the time he was a kid, didnt have a place to stay and went to sleep cold and wet

or when he was still young and with his family, his apartment would get flooded.

BUT ANYWAYS—

alone, i dont think jason can comfort himself very well.

beats himself for it when its over, drops him back into a spiral

just very much not healthy

HOWEVEER with someone is very different ,,

I Ramble Abt Jason Todd

post writing this, i feel like that one tweet thats like, ‘i never realized she was holding a plate of corn in this scene.’

Ak!Jays spirals or episodes come from two things, his self-esteem or self-worth, along with his lack of self-identity

Ak!Jason (Post/During AK) has a very hard time with his self worth, it solely stems from wanting to prove people wrong about himself. he obviously doesn’t like being perceived in the wrong way.

Ak!Jason (Post/During AK) says he’s move pasts his traumas, yet his identity and reasoning is constantly rooted in them, leading to so much contradictory dialogue and mental FUCKING GYMNASTICS.

ak!jay juggling if he wants to be loved by batman/batfam or wants to end it

i think he often ponders if he was better off being killed by the joker, or if he can really be redeemed from his actions as Arkham Knight by helping Gotham as Red Hood.

and if it’s enough for the people around him or someone to accept him.

if he can truly ever be loved

he has a lot of crisises about his identity and purpose more often then not b/c he cant find a reason for either besides his own anger and approval addiction.

, his biggest fear is losing, being worthless, and unwanted.

his constant drive is winning and proving himself as the best.

it causes his always feeling the need to prove himself, just so that hes wanted.

full pic is him on hid knees begging alfred for help,, my baby—-

the first introduction of his internalized self-deprecation is with his father, other then the Arkham Knight Annual

though he rejects this “truth” in the Annual, showing his determination to prove himself more then what Bruce and the Joker idealizes him to be, I think its a good mirror into Jasons mind and what really makes him start cracking

Ex. , his biological father canonically telling him he was a loser growing up, and his mom seems to personify/objectify Jason as gothams gravitation keeping them in gotham.

another example is the way he is talked to throughout scarecrows psychotropic

throughout the comic and game he goes between or showing a desire for a connection with bruce and praising joker for his upbringing, then chastising them.

its very clear jason has an identity issue, with him isolating himself because he believes he is too broken (game dialogues), his need for validation stemming from his childhood, his fear of abandonment, and overall internal dilemmas of wanting a connection or not. obviously hes not good with working out his emotions on his own without doing considerably impulsive things.

jason wanting to be his own person v jason wanting to be a better person for the people in his life

He see’s the place he was tortured as a rebirth for him, along with his plan to destroy Gotham and Bruce.(AK: Genesis)

This only comes from his desire to want his own separate identity, by ending these cycles of Bruces actions and Gothams nightmares he also believes that he will be truly free.

his only true identification with himself is anger and resentment, being built, gravitated, and broken by anger. feeling like hes always losing or lost, and his desire to just win something and therefore be wanted

okay to stop a fuckton of more rambling jason todd, abandoment issues, jealousy/obsession issues, need for connection, validation, relationships, self-destructive isolation, brainwashing induced perception issue, intense mood swings which also cause perception issues.

i guess it could try to be argued that Jason doesn’t actually want validation bc he got over the psychotropic; but i disagree with the way he constantly talks about being underestimated and feeling like he has to prove himself throughout the comics and his dialogue with Barbra in game.

i also want to make it clear that throughout the ak!comics he does help civilians so it does really have morality for other people. He does separate Gothams Gravity from the people, and claims the worst of the worst (villains and such) are the people who succumb to gotham.

(im only stopping bc im on mobile and couldn’t put anymore pictures)

im so upset.

theres so much i didnt get to talk abt

Ok Actually Comforting

so its pretty god damn hard to comfort this dude, he’s a chronic over analyzer, could probably turn anything and everything you say against himself or you, and yet would crave validation and intimacy.

which makes him a bit of a trip,, but i love him. so.

a lot of the time you’ll have to go with his flow

if its really bad he’ll isolate himself, he feels like he’s letting you down by breaking in front of you. He can’t let you see him as weak because to him its a liability for your relationship.

as well as the fact that his perception becomes very extreme/warped when very emotional. he’ll can range from believe your lying to him, to he’s not worth that kind of comfort and he’s wasting your time.

it takes a lot of patience for him to accept that he isnt an inconvenience to you and you do actually care

overtime, a lot of fucking time, he’ll slowly come around to this. instead of leaving for days or weeks at a time, Jason will leave for at most a day or two, but around midnight he’ll be home craving your presence.

he cant be alone again, he really doesn’t wanna be alone again, he needs to make sure you don’t wanna leave him.

probably just goes to sleep facing you, or holding your hand if hes feeling especially mushy.

he’d be so quiet, having the internal battle of leaving you or letting him feed into his desire of just having you around him.

In his words, needing a home. feeling safe, and warm. (I LIED I DELETED TWO PICS TO SHOW THIS)

jason thinking of alfred as home>>

Jason needs that in a partner! Someone who is warm to him! someone who makes him feel wanted or needed! Someone who makes him feel safe!

I think if you catch him just as he gets triggered/begins to spiral, you can help him not crash out.

Being over the top mushy with him isnt gonna work, he needs someone to ground him and be 100% with him.

sometimes he doesn’t need to talk or just doesn’t want to, again presence.

but acknowledging him every now and then to make sure he knows your not brushing him off or forgot about him.

when you’re in a closer relationship he definitely just wants you in his arms, needs to hold you close.

Home-cooked meals with him, justing going about your life with him, making him feel wanted, making him feel acknowledged.

i think he’d open up every now and then, but i think he’s also still a self-assured person who needs guidance at the right time. to just be sure he’s on the right path and youre with him.

one of his triggers is his own jealousy, accidentally making him feel like he’s replaceable or him believing you’ll get tired of him.

he needs so much reassurance.

just be there with him, guide him, love him, make sure he’s on the right path.

he needs a lot of things, sometimes its naps, sometimes its food, sometimes just to be in your arms, sometimes to help you cook, sometimes watching you work, sometimes he’ll have you lay your back on his chest and read with him, sometimes he just wants to fall asleep with you, sometimes he wants to cry in your arms, JUSDHRIDJDJDISO JASON TODD COME HOME WE MISS YOUUUU

HES MY HIGH MAINTENANCE GF

this was so satisfying to write i <3 jason todd

rq/inbox is open !! if you just wanna yap or wanna request somethin’ go ahead!

[forthegothicheroine]

Henchwomen Through the Ages

The "ages" of comics are not hard and fast things, and even comic book historians argue where they begin and end. They're more like moods than time periods, and your standard game of Henchwoman RPG will probably be set in a vague time period that could be anywhere from the thirties to today with an overall Silver Age mood. Still, let's take a look at how the roll of the Henchwoman has evolved, shall we?

Goldie is a gun-toting, cigar-chomping bank robber in victory rolls and a bullet bra. She's not called a henchwoman- she's called "Look out, that broad has a grenade!" She's loyal to the boss despite his dumb penny gimmick, but if he ever finked on her in court, he wouldn't live to see the sunrise. There's no Henchwomen's Union for her to join yet, but she's provided muscle for plenty of mob-backed unions. Goldie can't afford to be soft on heroes since they'd be just as happy to throw her off a roof as to arrest her, but she might be wooed by an appeal to patriotism- she ain't no Nazi rat! Her hobbies include matinee shows, swing dancing, and blasting coppers.

Sylvia is a competitive surfer and was a cocktail waitress until they fired her for slapping too many customers. Thanks to the newly formed Henchwomen's Union, she's treated much better by her current job, which usually involves crashing parties to steal themed jewelry. She and the heroes she fights have an understanding- they'll never be rough with her, and she won't check up on them after putting them in a death trap to see if they've died. On her off hours, she can go dancing in the same outfit she worked in- a silver jumpsuit, gogo boots and a purely decorative motorcycle helmet.

Brawny is a member of the Sisterhood of Wicked Witches, and she fights for a cause- or rather, several causes. These range from the reasonable (Save the whales!) to the less reasonable (A free ray gun for every child!) The Henchwomen's Union is strong enough to get her good pay, so many of her problems are philosophical- is she a good guy or a bad guy, and what do good and bad even mean? Brawny has to be a bit more careful than she would have been ten years ago, since death may well stick- but that also means she might really kill a hero, at least for a while, and that's what matters!

Tenebra prefers to be called a Dark Muse, a member of a vampire circle dedicated to bringing art to life, painted in colors of blood. Her eyeliner is swirly and her gowns are velvet, and she wears them onstage in her sideline darkwave band. Tenebra arranges her crimes in accordance with pre-raphaelite imagery, with victims displayed in heartbreakingly beautiful and mythologically-influenced poses. Her boss may technically be the Queen of the Vampires, and she may have a card with the Henchwomen's Union, but her true loyalty is to art itself.

Ferra is a mercenary with a separate pouch for each type of bullet, and she has a lot of types of bullet. Her stilettos are tall but her hair is taller, and she can strike intimidating poses that would break a normal person's back. The Henchwomen's Union had its own back broken by the bosses, and is now more of informal underground thing, but it still hooks her up with real deal bad guys. She'll kill without a second thought for her boss, but she's only one bad day away from turning her gun on him. It might even happen accidentally, since he and the heroes dress exactly the same. Ferra somehow has a heavy metal soundtrack even when there's no music playing.

Ally got a degree in psychology but until she can afford grad school, she gigs as a henchwoman. Her bosses are sillicon valley dickheads, but the first one to offer her real benefits will have her loyalty for life. Thanks to the resurgence of the Henchwomen's Union, Ally gets to wear big stompy boots instead of high heels, but she still has to wear a big day-glo logo on her leather jacket that might as well be a target sign. Her hobbies include pop culture conventions, smoking weed and credit card fraud.

[cityofmeliora]

What do you think about Copia’s childhood? I saw your post about Terzo’s, so I started wondering. Where do you think he was raised, who do you think he was raised by, how did it contribute to who he is today?

YESSSSSS YES YES YES YES THIS IS THE ASK I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR RAAAAHHHH–

ok so first, i just wanna be clear that this post isn't gonna include anything about Cardi's twin because i'm still waiting to see what happens next in the lore before i try to write anything involving him.

with that out of the way,

like all my Ghost headcanons, my headcanons about Cardi are built on the foundation that the band Ghost lore is about 1) an evil satanic cult, and 2) a dysfunctional showbiz family from Los Angeles.

basically, i think Cardi had a very lonely childhood. and he has psychological issues caused by a lifetime of Sister Imperator's insane parenting. his anxiety in Rite Here Rite Now, about how being Papa is all he wants to do and all he thinks he could do, SCREAMS of "unethical Hollywood parent who molded her child to be a star" to me.

i do think Sister 'raised' him, or was at least present in his life since he was a child ("You'll always be my little Cardi.") and she just... didn't him she was his mom / Nihil was his dad. (i guess it's quite similar to children of catholic clergy IRL, who are sometimes raised by family but never told about their true parentage, or know the truth and are told to hide it.)

Cardi is autistic, obviously, but i also think his awkwardness is him being socially underdeveloped because he comes from an isolated cult environment. he was a weird satanic homeschool kid who almost never interacted with anyone outside the Ministry, and he was basically left to watch movies and listen to music and play video games all day. i like the idea that Cardi had dance training when he was young, though. that was probably the only time he really got to interact with others. and because he grew up in the Los Angeles area, on the occasions he did get to go out, he was always surrounded by the entertainment industry and people trying to rise to stardom.

anyway, i think this was all somewhat intentional, or at least worked in Sister Imperator's favor, to mold him into a neurotic showbiz baby in service of her evil satanic death cult. (though i don't think he cares about the cult aspect of Ghost at all. he's been in it his whole life because he didn't have a choice and has never known anything else. he really just wants to be a rock star.) growing up without the love of friends + family, Cardi filled that void with games / music / film. so... of course he wanted to be an entertainer when he grew up– that was his only avenue for human connection.

and i think Cardi kinda knew Sister Imperator was giving him special treatment and pulling strings to put him in position to become Papa, though he never understood why.

a major point in my Terzo character analysis post is that he was very ambitious and he loved being an entertainer and a showman, but he was frustrated because he wasn't allowed to express his full potential. i wrote that his mindset was "i know i'm good enough. and i could prove it if they would just let me."

and ever since i wrote that, i can't stop thinking about how Cardi feels the exact same way.

he's super talented. he's worked very hard. he's proud of his accomplishments. he's proven he's capable! but Sister Imperator doesn't respect him. she infantilizes him. she keeps the training wheels on. she doesn't want him to be capable!

Sister Imperator does not allow Cardi to have independent thoughts or make real decisions for himself. she allows him the illusion of autonomy when she needs to, but every time he shows a little bit of awareness of how fucked up his life actually is, she shuts him down to keep him under control. she purposefully hides information from him so he won't know anything she doesn't want him to know. she intrudes on his privacy because his bedroom doesn't have a door.

i think their relationship has been like this his whole life.

you can see examples of this manipulation / obfuscation throughout the Chapters, and you can see a lot of it in Rite Here Rite Now.

first off, the opening narration gives the context / background information that sometime in late 2021, when Cardi was 51 years old, he found out his two bosses are actually his parents, and his mother kept this a secret from both him and his father his whole life. which is. wild. to say the least.

(i think when he found out, he was disappointed by the realization that he got to where he is because he was secretly a nepo baby and not because he was doing a good job on his own.)

moving on. in Rite Here Rite Now, Cardi's main source of stress was that he fully believed his parents were going to murder him and then put his body on display to sell VIP tickets for his successor's concerts. this was genuine fear, and he had a legitimate reason to believe they would do that to him because they actually did that to his three older brothers! and in the later Chapters, Sister Imperator and Mr. Psaltarian were totally fucking with his head and making him think he was going to die!

he asks Sister why he can't continue being Papa for longer –because he doesn't want his parents to kill him when they're done with him– and she just brushes him off and tells him to keep playing his show. then in the Miasma scene, Cardi has a critical moment of awareness and asks what the hell is actually going on in his life and who's in control.

PAPA EMERITUS IV: One thing I do not understand… All these things… here, all of this stuff, and all of these things we're doing, where we go, and when, and to where… Who decides these things? I mean, who's calling the shots?

this is totally fair! he has a right to know this information!

in response, his parents completely avoid answering the question. they shut him down and basically tell him he sounds ungrateful for the life he has.

SISTER IMPERATOR: You waste so much time and energy worrying about what's been and what's next, who's next and whatnot. As with all things in life, it circulates. Everything that has a beginning has an ending. There just has to be an orderly transition.

she never tells him the truth. she just tells him to stop worrying. stop thinking.

they never tell him they're not going to kill him. They Never Tell Him They're Not Going To Kill Him. THEY NEVER TELL HIM THEY'RE NOT GOING TO KILL HIM.

Cardi spends the last third of the movie making peace with the idea that he is going to die soon and his parents will be the ones to kill him. after Respite On The Spitalfields, he seems resigned to his fate. he tells the Nameless Ghouls they're not doing an encore. he says "Fuck it." but Sister Imperator, still explaining nothing, tells him to do the encore and he unenthusiastically gets back on stage.

SISTER IMPERATOR: Even though you don't understand right now, sooner or later, you will know what I'm talking about. Things –events– are unavoidable. Now you go back out there and give them one hell of an encore. And that's all you have to worry about. PAPA EMERITUS IV: Okay. SISTER IMPERATOR: Off you go.

by the beginning of Square Hammer, he decides he is actually happy with the life he has and he's okay with whatever's coming. and he still expects he's going to die... only for them to totally fake him out.

Sister Imperator dies instead. in the letter she leaves him, she tells him, "My son, I'm sorry I could not find it in my heart to tell you about my condition. I was afraid you might lose your sometimes frail concentration." more obfuscation. more infantilization.

at the end of the letter, she promotes him to head of the Clergy. he takes on his new job assignment as Frater Imperator and he seems to think he'll have more power now that Sister Imperator is "not in charge anymore." i'm not so sure about that.

and this isn't even getting into all the other weird shit going on between them in that movie! why was Cardi literally unable to see her wheelchair and medicine until the Spoksonat scene? why couldn't he remember his twin brother who he spent time with as a child? either Cardi is even more mentally unwell than we know, or Sister is messing with his head in even more ways than we know. maybe both. probably both.

i do believe Sister Imperator loves Cardi. that does not negate the fact that she is also manipulative and dishonest and has no respect for him, and that made her a terrible parent. she caused him a lifetime of unnecessary confusion and suffering in furtherance of her goals. yes, he is often childish and irresponsible. but i think the way she treated him didn't allow him to mature on his own.

the worst part about all this? i think he's convinced himself that he loves her, too. (he doesn't actually know how to feel about her. it would be too painful to think about.)

in summary, to me, Cardi's life is like The Truman Show, except it's the bad ending where the producer (Sister Imperator) successfully convinces him to stay in the bubble.

this was supposed to be a headcanons post and it totally turned into an analysis post, but i cannot help it. i just love Cardi so fucking much!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I JUST WANT CARDI TO BE SAFE AND HAPPY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

btw i think his actual legal given name is Cardinal Copia Imperator. yeah. i believe Sister Imperator actually named him that.

[theesirenteller]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐫

ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧ ! ! DO NOT READ WHAT'S STATED BELOW IF YOU"RE TRIGGED ➷ ➷

【 This chapter contains Gun Violence, Abuse both psychological & physical】

Chapter Five; 𝕴𝖓𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖊 | Masterlist

"We have a problem."

"We? No, you have a problem."

"Oh no, we have a problem."

"And how does my cousin banging some stripper affect me?" Nick questioned with a chastising grin. 

Over the last month, Christopher and Epiphany had been more friendly in the public eye. It didn't take a genius to figure out they were seeing one another or at least messing around. Annie had yet to tell Beth about Epiphany's casual bragging about her and Christopher's sex life. Despite Beth being her older sister, Annie didn't want to be seen as a rat or lose someone she had considered a friend. She liked having Epiphany as a friend and didn't want her relationship spilling into her sisterhood. On the flip side, Beth took notice of just about everything Rio did. He wasn't one to be flashy or make a scene. His behavior over the course of the three years she'd known him was either consistent or spontaneous. Nowadays he'd drop by the club more often and never on the days when Epiphany wasn't working. Drop and pick-up days were whenever Epiphany worked. The two would share smiles at one another from across the room. He would stay to watch her perform solos on stage and then they'd share a drink at the bar. Or Beth would see him leave and then Epiphany would leave right after. If not that, it was the shared touches. His hand would pat her back on his way out or if he was close enough, Epiphany would kiss him on the cheek.

And Beth loathed it all.

Keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was something that Nick learned and lived by. After Beth had set him up to be locked up and he'd gotten her back 'where it hurts' things were back to 'normal'. Well, as normal as he and his brother wanted things to be. The blonde councilwoman at her beck and call, open to being bent in whichever direction they could push her in. The brothers were still playing the long game with her. Beth was the perfect spokesperson to appeal to rich, white, privileged investors in across states better than Nick could. And when things go to shit, Beth is set to have a hard time. Both Rio and Nick would be sure of it.

"It affects you because it affects me," she hissed, "I'm not close to him like that and I doubt you two are close after…last year's events." A teasing glint in her eye and a smug smirk laid across her thin lips as she saw Nick's smile slowly diminish. "Anyway," She started off with a higher pitched voice and chirpy tone, "Your cousin, brother, whatever is involved with the Japanese. I don't know what the details are but I want in. "

"You want a percentage of that deal." Nick clarified while he relaxed back in his office seat, "How do you know he's even in business with them?"

"He moved eight SUV trucks filled with Japanese yen through my strip club and my second dealership." She informed before shrugging her shoulders with a subtle hair flip, "We're partners, it's only fair that I'm cut in."

Nick looked at her with amusement in his eyes. He was amused but still impressed with how far she had come. She was more like him than she could ever admit, if not worse, "Right," he replied casually with a slight nod."I can't be involved, that'd be a conflict of interest-" 

He was quickly cut off by Beth, "How? This affects you because then we have nothing to pin on him with the feds!"

"It's personal. I don't know how close they are or how he feels about this chick. So either one of us removing her without motive causes unnecessary heat. You can't just kill her because he'd banging her," Nick replied with a raised voice and sharp tone. He didn't miss the way her eyes widened, or how she gulped and clenched her jaw. Her discomfort was loud without words needing to be said,  "You're gonna have to create a shadow. Set her up in some way, get photos, and then you get rid of her. That'll be your reason and he'll have to understand because it's just business. Take a page out of his book." he advised.

Beth quickly grabbed her designer tote bag and stood up, "Well thank you, councilman, I heard you loud and clear." and with her passive-aggressive statement she spun on her heel and strutted out of his office.

"Happy to help, Councilwoman!"Nick ridiculed behind her with a chuckle just before the door shut.

When she arrived at her home, Beth had done exactly like she was told but not without adding her own details. Beth had a four-bedroom, two-bathroom luxurious home in a more upscale area of the suburbs of Detroit. She lived in luxury now with her new position and she enjoyed the space that was solely hers. Seeing her children every other weekend was good enough for her, nowadays. Her old life felt like another world but she couldn't deny that she didn't miss it. She was powerful now. She was somebody who people either loved or feared. She felt invincible. "Annie, could you come down here for a second?!" 

"What's up?" the short-haired dirty blonde questioned a few minutes later. 

"Hey, do you think you could set up lunch between your little stripper friend and me?" Beth asked, " I'm thinking that Ruby and you need to be there as well."

"Yeah sure, but uh what for?" Annie replied as she raised her bushy eyebrows.

"Just lunch," her voice softened as her eyes lowered to a more 'saddened' look, "I have to talk to her about Rio. He's dangerous and I don't want her ending up like Lucy," she sighed with faux-sorrow.

"Or is it that you're jealous." Annie smirked and wiggled her brows. 

"Oh please, Annie," Beth rolled her eyes, " I am not jealous of some bimbo stripper hooking up with him. Believe me, she's keeping him out of my hair."

"Mhmm, whatever you say," Annie teased with a sing-a-song tone, "But yeah I'll set it up."

And she did just that. Annie had set up a lunch date the following weekend with Epiphany at Tony's diner. Saturday afternoon to be exact. Epiphany had gotten ready at Christopher's apartment. It'd become a routine for the pair to hook up in the middle of the day instead of grabbing lunch. Sometimes, a quick lunch date was after an hour of indulging in each other's bodies. As usual, Christopher had left first then thirty minutes later, Epiphany had left. 

She had gotten into an Uber and two of Christopher's henchmen weren't far behind. They tailed behind unbeknownst to her, all the way to the diner. As soon as she walked in and the suburban mothers spotted her, almost immediately judgment flashed across their eyes. Their eyes ranked her attire thaat consisted of; A short green-camo mini skirt with green sequin scattered across it,  a tight-fitted white cropped camisole that read 'AS IF' in big bold gold letters, a dark green jean bolero jacket, and knee–high heeled boots hugged her thighs.

"Oh hell no…"Ruby scoffed. 

"Geez, you can take the girl outta of the strip-club but can't take the club out of the girl,"Beth added.

"Wow…uh…that's a lot for lunch," Annie cringed and bit at her lip.

Epiphany raised her left eyebrow as she looked at the three women before her eyes narrowed in on Annie, "I thought you said we were having brunch. As just the two of us."She proceeds to take a seat in the booth seat across from the trio. Her arms soon folded under her ample breasts as an expression remained unmoved.

"I know and I'm sorry I didn't clarify there would be more than just the two of us but-" Annie was cut off by Epiphany in the midst of trying to apologize and explain herself.

"But, you wanted to ambush me." Epiphany stated in a matter-of-fact tone, straightening her shoulders back as she sat up straighter,

"We're not here to fire you," Ruby stated.

"No. Not at all!" Annie protested.

"Look, we're just here to talk to you," Beth sighed, "To warn you."

"Oh? About what? Is the club shutting down?" Epiphany questioned them, her eyes moving across the three women back and forth until they settled in on Beth.

"Look Epiphany, I know we haven't exactly seen eye to eye-" Beth attempted to reason but was cut off.

"We haven't?" Epiphany mocked with a higher pitch to her voice and a slight head tilt, "...Why would you think that?"

"Well we haven't had a full conversation over a cup of cof-" Beth giggled before she was cut off once again.

"And who's fault would that be? I've never thought we had beef. In fact," Epiphany licked across her bottom lip as her eyes swept up and down the Detroit council woman's face, "I don't think of you at all."

A look of bewilderment washed over the three women's faces. The nostrils of Beth's nose flared and her peach lipstick-covered lips curled. Before anyone could utter a word, the waitress came trotting over, "What will y'all be having?" she asked with an impatient tone.

"Well, all have Cobb salads." Beth ordered for everyone but Epiphany quickly jumped in after to switch her order, "I'll just take a black coffee."

"Look here, we're trying to warn you that you're getting involved with a very dangerous man." Beth hissed before rambling on, "You don't know the vile, horrible things he's done to people. Like our friend Lucy, he seduced her with his kindness only to kill her when she was no longer of use to him. And me, he's used sex and exploration to control my every move. It took me outsmarting him many times to get out of being murdered by him."

"And he kidnapped me!" Annie was quick to mention.

Epiphany's lips stretched at the sides into a tight smile before she started to laugh. her laugh came off as a subtle and serene giggle, "Who are you even talking about? Who is he?"

"Oh for the love god, the gang leader that's going to pound town on you!!" Ruby sighed in annoyance.

"Rio."

"Gangfriend!"

Annie and Beth both said different names at once. That was when Epiphany knew it was time to go. She had heard enough. "Sounds like you ladies have got whoever's fucking me mixed up with whatever you've got going on." She said as she stood up from her seat, "If the person you know is so horrible, why not get restraining orders? and dip out? Or I don't know…get rid of the person?" Epiphany suggested as she got out of the booth. She then proceeded to turn around and start heading out of the diner.

"Girls a lost cause." Ruby sighed.

" Good riddance." Beth scoffed.

"What do you think we should do now?' Annie asked as they watched Epiphany walk down the street from the window. 

"Plan B," Beth smirked before pulling out her phone.

Their words didn't fall on deaf ears. Epiphany thought of what they had said throughout her day on campus. She sat through her lecture in airplane mode. Denting her pen with bite marks she stared aimlessly out the fourth-floor window. These claims…these accusations…they sounded familiar. Eerily familiar. 

'Watch yourself'

'Cassius did a number on his last girl, Está locõ. Un Díablo.' 

'Do you even know what his family does to people? You don't wanna marry into that.'

The images of Cassius's brown skin covered in black and blue reddened flesh from fingernails that broke his skin. The screams and cries of men being burned alive, of it replayed in her mind. Or how the boys who spared her glance and shot her a smile at The Kitty Box ended up disappearing left & right.  'Was Chris similar? Or was he worse?' Epiphany wondered to herself throughout the day.  Why was it that she attracted dangerous men? And why did she find such jovial comfort in that? A sense of security and importance. After all, it's what she always dreamed of. She dreamed of having the life of women like Elvira Hancock, Carmela Soprano, and of course, Ginger McKenna. 

The remainder of her time in lectures blew by in the blink of an eye. Since she couldn't be bothered to pay attention in class, Epiphany decided to settle herself in a cafe on campus with a series of notes that she brought from one of her classmates.

"Hmph…I always thought you only looked best on your back but this is a slightly nicer view."

Cassius. Surely, Epiphany must've been hearing things. She didn't dare peel her eyes away from the notes that laid against the table. Her mouth grew dry. Then her palms grew sweaty. The underneath of her breasts began to moisten. Only hot air escaped her lips as she breathed outwards. He wasn't here. He couldn't be here. But he was here. In Detroit. In a cafe on the campus where she attended. And he sat right across from her. His sandy-brown-tanned hand reached over and laid upon hers. Epiphany let out a choked moan of pain, of agony. It felt as though he had burned her with a hot iron. His skin was always hot. Very hot as if he had a furnace built within his body. As she snatched her hand away, Epiphany's eyes finally settled on him. He looked exactly the same as the day she left him. Shiny bald head, Smooth, poreless brown skin, and a full, thick goatee that nearly covered his lips. He was dressed like a reaper, in all black from his leather parka-jacket to his Timberland boots.

"What the fuck are you doing here." Epiphany had finally gotten the courage to say, with her shoulders back and a sharpness to her tone, "Better yet, who told you I was here? My mother?" 

To this, Cassius scoffed, "A whore like that doesn't care for her child overnight, don't flatter yourself." He then folded his large hands together on the table. The diamonds within his chunky rings reflected off of the silverware on the table, "You called me."

"And why would I do that?" She questioned with a tilt of her head slightly to the side, her eyes nor her face gave away that she was shocked. Epiphany sat there with a stoic expression. Never would she have called him. She left Las Vegas behind and everyone in it for a reason. To be normal. As normal as a girl with a not-so-stellar past could be. But, she was only twenty-three and tried to remind herself that life was only just starting. Her childhood felt like adulthood but this era of her was her freedom. 

"Because you need me. You said it over the phone. You said what I already know. You can't live without me, you and I both know you can not function in a civilized world without being taken care of. Look at your job now, A whore on a pole." He tsked and shook his head. Cassius as always thought so low of women. Especially those who worked in the sex work or entertainment industry. Yet he and his family endorsed it all. They funded all if not the majority of the clubs in Dubai and Los Vegas. Or at least that's what he and her mother told her. 

And his words angered her. It made her blood boil and her skin crawl. Her teeth dug into the meaty flesh of her bottom lip as she stared across the table at him. Her mouth was no longer dry as she collected spit from the sides of her mouth before she hawked spit in his eye, "Hijo de puta! Even with all the money in the world, you're still a useless trick with nothing to offer but your money. You're lower than a whore."

Cassius's ears grew reddened as the corners of his jaw tightened in. His bushy brows started to narrow in as he got up at the same time she had. Only, he flipped over the cafe table causing a squad of campus security to bum rush into the spot. The man began cursing in Arabic as he lunged for her but Epiphany was quicker than him. She ran behind security and they tackled him to the floor. Her day had gone from annoying to bad. How did he find her? He said he had spoken to her and that she discussed needing him. These were the questions that plagued her mind as she was placed in the counselor's office alongside the police. She filled out various forms before the restraining order was put in. 

None of the day's events made sense. Beth, Annie, and their friend had no business 'warning' her about Christopher or as they called him, Rio. Rio had no knowledge of her and Epiphany wasn't important enough for his enemies to track down her ex to 'take her back'; Somehow, she felt like Beth was involved. Why, other than petty jealousy? Epiphany had no clue. It all overwhelmed her. The web of backstabbing, sex, personal gain, and who knew what else. Everything that transpired within the last three hours had caused Epiphany to form a severe headache along with body pain. Stress started to take a toll on her body. And after questioning and fillings were done, she was driven to her apartment and taken upstairs by police.

The moment that she got inside, she flopped herself across the couch; and let her mind go numb.

The scent of sewer water, shit, along with the feeling of a warm hand against her cheek had awoken Epiphany from her deep slumber. Her groggy eyes slowly opened and as her vision became clear, Christopher stood in front of her. She was seated on a wonky metal chair in an underground area that looked like a sewer storage locker. Epiphany, winced at the sight of her new setting and instantly latched her hands onto his forearms and stood up on her feet, "Chris? Chris what's going on?" she whimpered in fear.

His usually big brown eyes were dark. And the subtle smirk on his lips made her grow weary with fear. This was the first time she felt truly intimidated by him. His stature; The way he towered over her five foot two frame with his six foot one. Tears started to form at the corners of her eyes as her chest began to rise and fall quickly, "P-please..please don't hurt me." she begged. Not him. Anyone but him. He was the only aspect of her life that made her feel alive. His gentleness, The romance he brought to her life in such a short amount of time was overwhelming and she feared that ending more than her own death.

"Shh, relax. I'm not gonna hurt you, baby," his tone was mellow as he raised his left hand and laid it against the sides of her face. Christopher dipped his head down, his narrow nose brushing along her button one. His fingers gently caressed the side of her chubby cheek and side of her jaw, "But you tryna hurt me." his once gentle tone darkened, lowering to a baritone octave that sent chills down her spin. Before Epiphany could protest, she felt the coolness of metal riding up the middle of her breasts. His signature golden Glock kissed her bare skin, firmly pressed to the side of her temple. This caused a sequel to escape her lips and before she could utter any type of rebuttal, he hushed her with his lips placed on hers. The kiss was gentle, sweet, and slow. His right arm wrapped around her waist.

Epiphany didn't know whether to grasp him closer or fight him off. But what she could feel was his heart pounding like a punch against hers.

It all felt so surreal. Like a nightmare and wet dream all at once. Gentleness mixed in with the threat of violence. All she could feel was fear and confusion. Epiphany's body trembled against his. And she knew he felt. He had to have felt her. Her fear, her anxiety, her heart.

"Why do I got the feeling that…you're gonna be the bullet that puts a hole in my head, hm?" he hummed against her mouth with the slickness of a snake. He moved the barrel of the gun from her temple to his when he mentioned 'hole in my head' before laying back to her temple. Her tears sprinkled onto his cheek, "Did you get enough info on me to run it back to those bitches?"

"Wha-? You think I'm Beth's rat?"

Her pushing up into a frowning pout as she looked directly into his eyes. Her eyes of uncertainty changed to a look of disbelief, "Why?"

"I could ask you the same thing. That little lunch date looked real interesting,". Christopher hissed and with each movement his lips made, she could feel the brush against her mouth.

"Oh, Rio it was." she rolled her r's when she seethed his name, "Annie set me up with Beth to warn me about you."

He stood still and the menacing look he once possessed of narrowed eyes, a tightly clenched jaw, and striking eye contact had slowly begun to relax. The crease between his brows slowly smoothed out. His eyes flicked back and forth between looking at her and looking above her head. Christopher was debating. Not only with her but with himself. "And what did she say?" She, Beth. He didn't care for what the other two stiffs spoke about because it usually was a rehearsal of what she said.

"The short version? You're a fucking serial killer who uses sex and manipulation to exploit and get what you want, the long version? a lot of secrets were spilled out in the open." Epiphany replied, she spoke through her nose with a slight whisper to her voice.

An ounce of a smirk peeled on the right corner of his lips as he rolled the gun along the side of her neck. He didn't confirm or deny but he coyly asked, "What you think about that mama?"

"I'm thinking what the fuck does that have to do with me and you and why you have a gun to my head?!" she cried out, anger laced in her outburst. Her hands shook at her sides as she didn't push him away due to the gun. The fear of it going off in her face or throat was far greater than her anger. "I'm not involved!" she protested.

"Oh no, see you've been involved sweetheart." Christopher argued, "It's just a matter of whose side you're on."

Fool him once, shame on them. Fool him twice, shame on him….there wouldn't be a third time. Christopher was no fool and the moment the Boland woman walked into his life was when he realized he'd gotten a big…soft. And Epiphany just seemed eerily close to business for his liking. He needed undying loyalty, control, and if she was truly for him then he needed her in line. Love could come later…after sacrifice.

"Unless…" Christopher began to chuckle but the sound wasn't from happiness, "Unless you don't wanna be involved then you can leave right now." he took a few steps away from her and aimed the gun at the dark, wet hallway to the left.

Epiphany's eyebrows knitted together as she looked up at him in confusion. His play on words and attitude switch was causing gears to twist and bend in her mind. They spent every day together. If not day then night. Leave where?

Blinking rapidly as she stood there. She didn't move. She only stared at him. "What do you mean? " she questioned before licking at her lips, "Wi-...will I see you later?" uncertainty in her voice. And his smile made her stomach twist and turn, "You do mean I don't have to be involved with the club right or with whatever shit you've got going on with those women…right?"

She needed clarification and he gave her none of that. "Nah darlin, I'm afraid this is the end of line for us. You're off the hook." He dismissed her casually. His tone is deep and delicate. It was almost like a goodbye kiss. But he never moved, his eyes still settled in on her like a lion waiting to be challenged. Which let Epiphany know he wasn't done.

"No."

"No?" He challenged with a slight head tilt as his eyes looked her over.

Despie how fearful, how anxious she felt, Epiphany still chose to stand her ground and challenge him, "The moment I turn around you'll put a bullet to my head. Because you don't believe I'm not involved con esa perra concejal" (with that bitch councilwoman)

Sassily, she crossed her arms against her chest and cocked her hip slightly to the side as she stared at him. "Even if you don't kill me-"

"How bout you kill for me?" He proposed.

Epiphany's eyes widened as Christopher stalked towards her. "Come on champ." His hand latched to the back of her neck, forcefully making her walk in front of him down the dark tunnel. She followed him with stumbling feet and squinted her eyes in an attempt to see where they were going.

And then Christopher began to whistle and a light turned on in one of the rooms. Epiphany was led into that room and came face to face with Cassius. He'd been hung upside down with his hands and feet taped up. His left eye was swollen shut, shaded in dark plum purple and blue. His right eye was completely gorged out, by the looks of it…he'd been burned. "Actually, I shouldn't have said to kill for me. It's for you, a gift." he chuckled, "I thought the unmarked SUV was the fed tailing you but turns out it's this sorry looking Hijo de puta."

Epiphany cried as she looked at her ex-lover in horror. Sure, he was fucking vile. And everyone eventually would die. But, she couldn't take a life. "Chris, no. Please no, I can't." She weeped.

Christopher tilted his head back and inhaled deeply before he slowly straightened up and eyed her, "You will." he swiveled the gun around his finger and then offered it towards her. "He's your problem and you gotta get rid of em'. "

"You think he's gonna let you go? A girl like you…" his eyes trailed her body from top to bottom in admiration with a sinister smirk, "Ain't easy to let go."

"Someone will come looking for him!" She protested, "He's well connected in Vegas, his parents own everything."

"He ain't shit but a bootleg con artist. A janky ass car salesman at best." Christopher revealed with a dismissive tone. He then grasped her jaw in his hand with a gentle touch. Once Epiphany looked in his eyes, he leaned his head down and whispered "Do it. You don't gotta worry bout nothing else, I'll handle it. I take care of what's mine." His tone was reassuring.

"And I'm yours?" She sniffled with a flustered, wet face.

"Only if you wanna be." He rasped as he laid the gun firmly in her hand.

Breathing in deeply, She held it with two hands. Christopher switched from being beside her to standing behind her. His hands laid over hers as he steadied her arms up. His feet nudged her legs open and pushed one of her feet forward.

"Come on mamitá, show me how much you want this." She could feel his warm breath in her ear, a gentle caress of his nose nudging at the side of her earlobe. "Make me proud."

Her head hurts so bad, her chest aches as the vile metallic taste jumbles up in the back of her mouth. Christopher, Rio was all that they said he was but worse. But, she wanted him. She wanted him to stay. She wanted him to keep making her feel seen, wanted, cared for, and maybe even loved. Cassius was right. She couldn't function in a world without being taken care of. Not because she lacked the skill set or had any type of disability holding her back. No, it was because she didn't want to. Her hands gripped the base of the gun. Its heavyweight in her small hands felt as though she was holding someone's heart in her hands. And in a way she was. She was holding someone's lifeline.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

[prettyboykatsuki]

BEGGING you to speak on your dark content mai thoughts.....on my hands and knees fang

the only one for me | z. mai

✮ cw ; DARK CONTENT, afab + fem!reader, manipulation / BULLYING, dubcon (so much of it), it gets weird and sexual (of course.), alternate universe / not canon complaint, mai is INCREDIBLY possessive over reader sdkjs, humiliation, a lot of nobara conflict, mai calls nobara a bitch once, use of honorifics (senpai + san), 18+

✮ wc ; 2.3k (??)

✮ a/n ; i don't know....dont ask me fdjkkjsd. this is very like. i say this a lot but this is so much more bullying heavy than my other stuff and mai is a lot more selfish than my other characters lol.

the smut isn't super graphic! this is mostly psychological tomfoolery. reader is also peak pathetic here SDKJSJK

It's not an accident.

And it didn't happen overnight, though Mai is certainly wants to make you feel like that. It happened, or it started mostly because Mai notices the way interact with Nobara. And there's always competition there - the same current of tension that makes the two of them hate each other while never leaving the other alone.

It's not accident, the first time Mai decides to bother you. It's not an accident when she ruins your social life, not an accident when she clings to your side and makes you feel nauseous with how she refuses to leave you alone.

The world of Jujutsu Sorcery is small and archaic. Even with the death of the Zenin clan - and the slow, steady departure of clan politics, not much has changed. There are plenty of women in sorcery, and they're all interconnected like a web. A solidarity there that exists because it has too.

It's hard to survive without such a thing, and it's hard to work yourself into a network with such deep roots.

You stick out like a sore thumb among them.

A late bloomer, you began as a sorcerer after high school and joined Jujutsu Higher at the technical college level at 20. You're bright, she hears from the grapevine. You start working in the field only attending one mission, and Gojo Satoru declares you as a prodigy before the day is over.

She sees you, for the first time when she's forced to attend an even at the Tokyo school for all sorcerers. You're with Nobara. Unlike what she hears about, you don't have much of a presence.

The first time Mai catches you and Nobara alone - she finds herself surprised. Nobara's bullying is cruel but crude. Insulting but not particularly clever. The first time Mai catches the two of you alone, it's in alley with you on your knees - your face under Nobara's skirt as she demeans you with a heel between your legs.

Mai is mostly surprised. She didn't think Nobara had it in her, too much of a goody two-shoes.

But more than that, more than anything - she's interested in the look on your face when you pull away. You're quite the cry-baby, and you don't push Nobara even when Mai knows you're stronger than her by a lot. One of the greatest sorcerers to pop up in the last few years, and there you'd been.

Crying, weeping, pleading - in ruins about so many things.

How cute.

It's hard for things to catch Mai's interest. She thinks it's the little sister in her. She wants plenty but not enough to keep them. She finds people cute but never enough to date them.

But there was something about you - something about how timid and weak you acted when she knew you were strong, that made Mai curious. At first, it was just to piss Nobara off. Approaching you was a silly game she played her hand in to pass the time.

She liked seeing the crease in Nobara's features when Mai got your attention. She liked the way you looked uncomfortable when she was friendly, knowing her terrible intentions but still being polite. She liked that you used formal speech with all the higher-ups, and that you got along well with the boys of your age group but not so much the girls.

Mai likes, especially, that you are so socially outcast. You never seem to know how to be comfortable in conversations with all the girls. You try too hard, talk too rough but you can't raise your voice.

And her head is always replaying that same image of you on your knees, face soaked with cum and tears and so desperately hanging on. It plagues her a little, to watch you.

It's not an accident, the first time Mai asks to partner with you on a mission. The higher-ups owe her a lot and something this simple takes no effort on her part at all.

It's not an accident you take on a dangerous mission, it's not an accident when you get cornered, and it's certainly not an accident as Mai watches you take down a horde of curses all by yourself. You're a prodigy when you sweat. You're strong.

But you fold under the slightest pressure.

__

It's easy enough to isolate you.

You're too clever to fall for manipulation, and Mai doesn't enjoy lying to her peers. Cutting the threads that tie you to other things, things that aren't her - is enough to make it happen. She calls the shots to get you relocated, and slowly takes your social life apart when you enter. She tells Momo that you don't seem to like girls like her, tells Miwa something about the fact that you're cruel from what she's seen. They believe because they know Mai and don't know you.

The other women hear something along those same lines. It's all too easy.

She watches from a far after that. The seeds are spread, and you fumble trying to make friends. Mai waits until you're lonely. No one signs up with you for missions, no one seems to say hello in the halls.

Mai waits patiently. She catches you on a good day, when you're alone.

("I thought Nobara didn't like cigarettes," Mai leans next to you on the wall, supressing a smile at the way you startle. You nearly drop what you're smoking but it never ends up falling to the floor "She kept whining about it like a kid when her ex used to smoke."

"Mai-san," Your voice is hoarse, like you've been crying. She checks to see if your eyes are red, but it's too hard to tell "What are you doing up here?"

"I can't be friends with you? How harsh, senpai."

You look uncomfortable the familiarity. She knew you would. She's been watching you all this time.

"You shouldn't be picky," Mai tsks, sitting herself too close to you. She takes your cigarette and puts her lips on the end, lipgloss sticking to the paper. Your eyes grow wide, expression a little shocked. Is it the indirect kiss? How innocent of you "It's not like there's anyone else who wants to be around you, is there?"

You don't protest her words. Her timid upper classmen. If you had more of a spine, you would surely say that doesn't mean you want her around either.

You don't though. You just sigh, and pull the cigarette from her lips and put it out.

"Don't pick up bad habits."

Mai wants to tell you it's already much too late.)

Mai learns you have several interesting things about you. You're a crybaby, but you're strong. You're easy to bully, but you like to be helpful.

You're too friendly. You're always especially nice to girls and it seems you have no issue winning them over even on accident. Mai doesn't like that about you. It bothers her when you stray too far from her sight. When you have to return to Tokyo for work and she can only imagine what nonsense Nobara is putting through your thick skull.

She learns the easiest way to get you to listen is by using her feelings. No matter how much Mai troubles you or inconveniences you, you can never leave her to the snakes. No matter how much Mai pushes you against your boundaries, you'll never push her away.

You're too moral and too upright. Too good and too naive. And there is something about those things inside of you that make it hard for Mai to leave you alone.

She can't help but unload all of the cruelty that wells up inside her when she looks at the face you make when you're defeated. That pleading look you get when Mai pushes just a little too far - to helpless to your own sense of responsibility to ever scold her properly.

You make such a perfect target, it makes so hard for Mai to stay away. She always wants you next to her. Wants to tangle you inside of a web so intricate you never stop feeling like you'll lose balance. She wants to leave you in that sort of ruin, where the feeling of suspense drives you into madness and you can't do anything but lean.

It's a bad habit she's picked up. Putting you in uncomfortable, frustrating situations. Coercing you into touching her, into letting her feel you up. Her reasons are always the same.

If it's not you, then maybe I'll go and do it to someone else. Wouldn't that be bad, senpai?

__

"Mai-san," Your voice is cute when it's like this. It's in the middle of a dangerous situation and there's a curse lurking near by - but part of the fun is the danger. Mai sits between your legs with a grip, a hand on your cheek. "We shouldn't do this here. Th-theres curses. Y-you'll get hurt."

She laughs - she can hear the callous in it. Truthfully she's pissed. Whatever you get up too when Nobara is around you is more than enough to sour her mood. You come back to Kyoto with all of your clothes smelling of that sickly perfume - so it's only fair she makes you uncomfortable.

It's only fair that she keeps you here, trapped with her against the wall. That she suffocates and overwhelms your senses with her. Nobara is still too soft on you. But Mai owns you. She'd put a dog collar on you if it helped you understand, she worries you'll always be too thick.

"You were hanging around with that bitch weren't you," She tsks. You widen your eyes than look away, have the nerve to get flushed. The anger she feels is so visceral it nearly burns her alive "You look real happy about it too,"

"You shouldn't talk about Nobara-san like that," You gasp when Mai pushes her knee between your legs. Your head falls forward, and your heart is pumping. "She's a nice girl."

Haah.

She wraps her hand around your hair, tugging enough that you're forced to look up at her.

"You're saying that even after she bullied you like some kind of psycho. Do you have a fetish for it or something?"

You open your eyes and blink up at Mai.

"She's not like that," You gasp as Mai digs her knee further into your pelvis "I-it's harmless. She doesn't mean anything by it."

Her anger hits a high.

"So what, you wanna go play housewife with her? Do you like that annoying—you'll take anything won't you. So pathetic all by yourself that any attention will do."

"Mai,"

"It can't be anyone else but you. And I have to vent my anger somewhere, so get it through your thick fucking skull, alright? Nothing else will work."

You look at her like you've realized something, but you don't raise your voice to speak. Mai doesn't bother herself with what you could be thinking. It doesn't matter to her what it is anyway.

She busies herself instead with doing what she knows will soothe her mood. Unzipping the top of your jeans and undoing the button as a curse creaks behind you. You widen your eyes. Mai puts a hand over your mouth, electricity buzzing through each of her nerves.

"Quiet, senpai," She whispers to you softly as she pushes her hand into your jeans, fingers running over your slit. You're so predictably, soaking wet from just a little bullying. You're so easy to target it's no wonder. She pulls back just slightly to peer at the expression you have on your face. "It'll hear you."

Once those words hit you, you make that face that Mai adores so much. Tears well up and spill down your face in waves, warm breath tickling the palm of her hand as her fingers tease your clit. It doesn't take anything to make you cum, you're easy in all the ways it matters. Mai can always use that so she doesn't mind.

She knows all the ways to break you down slowly, knows how slow to go until your sniffles turn to soft sobs. Her beloved upperclassmen, pathetic and too forgiving. If you happen to leave her sight, she's sure something worse will happen to you.

Another girl will take advantage of you helplessly and that wouldn't be fair. She's the only one allowed to do it. She's the only one who will ever understand you so fully. Nobara can't do it like she can.

Only Mai is allowed to break you. She knows all the best ways to put you back together.

"You're so wet. Such a bad girl. How could you being doing this in the middle of a fight. Tsk, tsk," Mai reprimands you with delight, watching the way your eyes roll back as she toys with you. Your clit throbs under her touch - hot and sticky and desperate. "You better hurry up and cum so you can go fight. How else will you protect me, huh?"

"Mai-san," You gasp as she moves her hand from your mouth, body leaned against the wall - sweat dripping down your forehead "Mai-san, please."

"Say it," Mai taunts, grabbing your chin "That I'm the only one for you. Repeat it so you understand."

You give her a look but do as she says. So obedient she wants to praise you.

"You're the only one for me, Mai-san,"

You look at her when you say it. Even though she knows you don't mean it, she feels her heart thump and swallows the feeling before grinning.

"My dear senpai,"She hums, leaning into to tug your ear lobe between her teeth "Cum, okay? Cum as much as you want."

Mai tucks your head against her chest as you cum, pulsing around her fingers.

Yes, it was never an accident to begin with. And it's Mai's responsibility to keep wrapped up with her right where you're supposed to be.

[thecurioustale]

Writing Psychological Horror Is Hard

Writing horror is hard for me.

I think it is perhaps the clearest example, at least when I'm the subject, of the difference between being the author and being the audience. I find it extremely difficult to know what will creep out someone who doesn't know all the behind-the-scenes details of what is happening. This is despite my considerable experience as a consumer of [psychological / environmental] horror media.

When I think about the things that scare me, or maybe "unsettle" is a better word, it usually comes down to two things: 1) narratively plausible violations of the laws of nature; and 2) foreboding, i.e. the slow-building setup that something bad is coming—something that is specific enough to be apprehensible but still ambiguous enough to be cloaked in mystery.

But! Not just any attempt at these things will actually work. There is definitely a secret sauce that makes some efforts fail and others succeed.

In the game Oxenfree, probably my favorite horror game of all time, there is a scene on the "Find Clarissa!" subplot where Alex et al. are in something akin to a classroom in an abandoned military base on an uninhabited island, and a discordantly upbeat and normal-sounding midcentury-style gameshow host is talking to them through a haunted radio asking them questions in a game of Hangman (whose figure is gradually being drawn by invisible means on the chalkboard), while a lamp overhead illuminates the room in a very unnatural light as it swings back and forth for no apparent reason. And this was one of my favorite moments in the entire game, because it was really scary. It benefitted from the existing atmospheric horror build up in the events immediately preceding it, and also benefitted from not being a narrative climax; it actually ratchets up the tension in the story even higher, without resolving anything (other than itself).

But I think that if you went purely by my description, you would be hard-pressed to create a scary implementation of this scene. I certainly would be—and I know that for a fact, because I have more or less tried it!

What is it that makes something profoundly unsettling in that oh-so-delicious manner of a good horror story? Well, the academic answer is that it's appealing to our instincts of danger: dangerous environments (like rocks or cliffs or plants, or, indeed, "the dark"), dangerous predators, dangerous people, dangerous forces (like fire and wind and water), and dangerous sicknesses (e.g. infectious disease). Most horror taps into at least one of these primal apprehensions in the human psyche. And to succeed it has to feel real, the way a roller coaster feels like you're really falling. But I don't think "the academic answer" really sheds all that much light on the mystery of actually composing horrifying situations and events.

A lot of the craftsmateship is a balancing act.

For example: You don't want to hit the audience over the head with obvious bogeymates—jumpscares for the sake of jumpscares, as it were, or having your big scary cryptid jump out in its full costume in broad daylight and look absurd—but I have also found, through experience, that it is very easy to hide horrifying details too well, to be too subtle about it—and it is extremely difficult for me to get a sense, on the audience's behalf, of how subtle is too subtle.

That leads me to an important insight: Part of the secret sauce of horror is contextually embedding horrifying story elements into a broader context. A "haunted stick of furniture" isn't going to get many people a-quailin' in their boots. It has to be more about how that object is embedded in the story. You know, like a haunted couch, or a haunted table: How do you make that scary? I don't think it can be scary on its own. Not consistently and convincingly. Instead you have to set it up ahead of time in some way(s), by providing information to the audience that you are then going to subvert or manipulate later. Yet it is all too easy to do this in a way that comes across like a paint-by-numbers exercise: "Wait a minute! Wasn't this couch pointing the other way earlier?! GASP!!" No one is gonna be scared by that. It's not enough.

Ultimately, I think scaring people successfully, in the psychological horror sense, therefore involves an element of overwhelming their ability to cope with and anticipate environmental changes, which assumes an elaborate environmental structure that you're going to have to set up, in non-obvious ways, earlier in the story. You have to give them expectations about how things will change and then either gradually go beyond that magnitude of change or else go in a different direction of change entirely—usually the former. Psychological horror is all about the fear of the jumpscare that never comes.

But I'm also just spitballing for the purposes of this essay. I don't really know. I struggle with this stuff!

It really is an art form to be able to scare people in this way.

Additional, medium-specific difficulty comes in the fact that the written media that I work in does not have access to a scary soundtrack or sound effects or voices, or to scary visuals and visual effects. Written text does have the corresponding advantage of having unfettered access to the reader's imagination, allowing them to essentially self-select the personally scariest interpretations of some of the details of a scene. But taking full advantage of this power is not easy at all; you have to put the right kinds of details in, and you have to do so in a digestible format, all without cluttering the flow of the story.

I have been doing a lot of Galaxy Federal writing lately, and have been trying to write some of the "scarier" bits and pieces in it, and I almost resent how totally clueless I am in regards to whether I am hitting the mark to my satisfaction! 😮

[nocturnowlette]

I don't know if this has been said before, but Everywhere at the End of Time is one of the most interesting examples of mass suggestibility and psychological priming that I've ever seen.

Some people seem to think that suggestions are only something that can be done with trance, but it's simply a core part of human communication. If you've ever gone into the comments of a youtube video that you liked and read a bunch of positive comments and left liking the video more after, you've been suggested.

If someone has ever anonymously insulted you and altered the way you saw yourself for a while, you've been suggested. If you've ever been a victim of losing "the game" or told your breathing is now manual, you've been suggested.

Suggesting someone is the mere act of summoning an idea in their mind that alters their behavior or perception. Even for a few particular series of hypnotic files, there seems to be intentional campaigns run to make them seem "dangerous" and "too effective" to plant the idea in the mind of anyone who listens to it.

In a weirdly similar sense, the buzz around Everywhere at the End of Time is essentially a self-sustaining feedback loop of suggestion. I am not saying that the album is not an experience or is without artistic merit or doesn't affect someone in any way, necessarily. However, I would be much more surprised if listening to repeated degrading loops of old music for 6 hours doesn't exhaust someone's brain.

The idea of it simulating dementia, however, is complete nonsense. I don't know where the idea started, but it seems to be in that perfect zone of "a little hard to believe, but easy to find 'proof' of as you listen". The moment someone finds themselves exahausted from hours of this album, find their brain challenged in a way it normally isn't, suddenly that seed of an idea planted in their head starts to sprout. And, as it continues and the concrete effects mix with the person's paranoia about the suggestion, it will eventually become as real as if it genuinely was. Over the course of 6 hours, at least.

And, once this "effect" was observed enough, it was given cultural legitimacy through personal testimony en masse and pseudoscientific "video essayists" trying to find these magical elements that simulate fuckin dementia. It's so fascinating to see happen in real time, and an interesting isolated example of how an idea can affect not just persons, but people.

Luckily for us, suggestions have a tendency to fade. Your breathing went back automatic again, after all.

[honeypiehotchner]

Devil’s Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part four

Super short, because things are about to get insane, so...

Warnings: angst, tension, the works

Don’t forget to follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to be notified when a new chapter goes up!

Four: You’re not who you are to anyone -- “Good Looking” by Suki Waterhouse

Strauss said she wanted to speak to Hotch as soon as the jet landed, and no later.

Hotch dismissed the team and took one of the cars with Rossi, back to the BAU. Hotch drove, his hands clenching the wheel so hard that Rossi was beginning to notice.

“Everything okay?” Dave asked.

Aaron relaxed his hands, but his shoulders remained tense, his eyebrows drawn together. “Erin wants to speak with me.”

“She usually does,” Dave says. “She’s probably worried about you, Aaron. We all are.”

“Dave, I’m fine.” Hotch wished everyone would stop fucking asking. He didn’t feel like repeating himself; he never liked doing that. “I’m where I need to be.”

“Are you?” Dave pressed. “Or should you be on vacation?”

Hotch scoffed. “To where?”

“Anywhere,” Dave laughed. “Anywhere but here.”

Hotch laughed with him. He had a point. Anywhere but there would’ve been nice. Anywhere but there, where Hotch wasn’t confined by the BAU’s rules and Strauss’s constant gaze, waiting for him to do something she could fire him for. If she could, she’d fire him for the way he handled this recent unsub, but Hotch didn’t think she had any grounds. He could argue his way out of it if he needed to, and she knew that.

He was a prosecutor before he came to the FBI, after all. He knew how this game worked, and how to play it.

Strauss knew all of this, which is why she brought the director in. She needed backup.

Hotch knew from the moment he entered her office that it was an intervention. He knew right away he had lost the game. At least, the game they were playing. He had a different one, and he had already won. 

He accepted their deal. Minimum four months extended bereavement time, with pay. He was not to step foot in the BAU for the entire time, or communicate with the team about any of the cases. He was required to pass another psychological evaluation before returning, but it would be random. 

His sentence was a suspension, without the official title. He was put in time-out, so to speak, and he hated it, but he accepted it. What he needed to do could no longer be done here. He needed time to himself to do what he wanted. And now he had it.

He headed downstairs to his office, first stopping in Rossi’s to tell him what Strauss ordered, and what he agreed to. Dave seemed pleased, albeit skeptical. He knew how Aaron got when he had to stay away, but he hoped this one would stick. And help.

In his office, Hotch loaded his briefcase with case files he had shoved aside in the past. Cases JJ brought him that were odd, but he felt weren’t good enough to warrant the team’s time. Cases he should’ve paid attention to. Cases that he knew he needed to close.

He had wrongs he needed to right, and now he had the time to do so. He won.

+++

You returned to the BAU with Morgan, who had plans to pick up Garcia. You told him you needed to grab a few things from your desk, but you could tell he didn’t really believe you.

Nonetheless, Derek drove and went straight to Garcia’s lair when you arrived. You headed into the bullpen.

Peering up at Hotch and Rossi’s offices, you saw Rossi at his desk, on the phone, and Hotch in his office, packing things away.

Shit. This wasn’t what you wanted, not really. You didn’t expect Strauss to do anything about it. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t want to admit it-- admit that Aaron was really starting to worry you.

You dropped your bag on your desk and sprinted up the stairs, bypassing the knock and barging into Hotch’s office.

“How’d it go with Strauss?” you blurted, out of breath, terrified and hoping he wasn’t angry. But his moods were so out of control lately, how were you supposed to know?

Hotch paused, leveling his gaze at you. His hand rested on his briefcase. “How did you know I was with Strauss?”

You laughed uncomfortably, your arms swinging by your sides. “Rossi said something on the jet.”

“No he didn’t.”

Another uncomfortable laugh. You gestured toward Hotch, saying, “Then you must have.”

“I did not.”

“Why does it matter?” you pressed, already feeling backed into a corner. Truthfully, you didn’t expect him not to figure it out. Either by your big mouth or his own profiling. It seemed like he already knew before you came into his office. “How did it go? Are you alright? These are more important, Aaron, how are you feeling?”

Hotch knew you had told Strauss something, he just didn’t know what exactly. Until that moment.

“I’m fine,” he replied neutrally. “I’m taking the remainder of my bereavement time.”

The surprise rocked you so hard that you took a step back. You expected him to fight Strauss and for Strauss to lose, for some big argument to ensue and cause a scene. But he said it so…calmly.

“Oh! Really? That’s… That’s good. That’s great, right? How do you feel about it?”

“I didn’t have much of a choice,” he shrugged. “I suppose it’s a good idea.”

“It is,” you murmured, hoping he’d at least see that you talked to Strauss for his own good. You cared deeply for him, which is why you couldn’t let this go. “I think it’ll be really good for you to take some more time to yourself.” 

What about us? You wanted to ask, but kept yourself restrained. What will we do about us?

“I think so too,” he answered. “Strauss told me not to communicate with anyone from the team while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, for work stuff,” you said, sounding a little hopeful. “But we can still…” your voice trailed away. What were the two of you doing?

He shook his head. The action was so small. You almost didn’t see it. You wondered if he really meant it.

“Aaron…” You shook your head now. Surely, he couldn’t be serious. The two of you had just gotten over yourselves, had just begun to relax into each other’s arms without worry. You had just gotten comfortable. You didn’t mind that he was hurting; you wanted to help him through it. Why wouldn’t he let you help him through it?

“I’m sorry,” he said. You saw that he didn’t mean it.

Tears formed in your eyes and you continued shaking your head. This wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted him to get help, not leave you behind. Not like this.

“Please,” you cried. “Aaron, please. Don’t do this.”

His expression didn’t change. You don’t remember if he even looked sad.

You don’t know who you said goodbye to that day, but it wasn’t Aaron. Not the Aaron you know, not the Aaron you love, not the Aaron who held you so close at night and kissed you to sleep.

This man before you was different. You couldn’t place how, but you knew. He was different.

“Stay,” you whispered, as you watched him latch his briefcase. “Stay, please.”

He didn’t.