#nonconsensual image sharing

[beardedjoel]

smother - part i: deliverance

dark!joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | kofi

summary: starving. lost. desperate. you find a cabin in the woods, and to your dismay, it's occupied. a plan to have a quick bite of food with an intense, intriguing stranger turns into more than you'd bargained for when he makes you realize everything you've been missing out on. 8.6k words chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI! noncon, nonconsensual touching, dubcon - reader eventually enthusiastically consents but the syndrome is stockholming so its dubcon, reader is a virgin, big juicy age gap (reader is 19, joel is late 40s) manipulation/lying/gaslighting, slow burn and tension building chapter, joel is kind of a creepy menace ngl a/n: i'm so so very excited to share the first chapter of my new series! (if this flops after how much i got hyped for it i will be logging off forever) the themes in this story are dark so if the tags aren’t for you it’s understandable & just keep scrollin on by! this will end up being nasty and smutty, but only after a wee bit of buildup so don't fear. comments and reblogs are always beyond appreciated!

Save me. Please, anyone…

Another wave of desolate, crying desperation tears through you as you trudge along, tripping yet again - maybe over your own two feet, a root, the very ground you walk on, something. You’re much too hazy and burnt out to even care what you stumbled on as you just press on, press on, press on.

A wave of pain rolls through your stomach again as it burns cavernously empty. You move as a ghost, a shell of yourself now, using passing trees as support. Your hands touch the cold wood reluctantly, a painful little hiss through your teeth as your fingers practically cramp up from the cold. You’d lost your gloves somewhere along the way, days ago now, what feels like a lifetime. You need to stop and rest desperately now, your body close to giving out. Your heart hammers in fear, wondering if you’d even be able to get up again.

A cabin comes into view in the distance, tucked nicely in a clearing of trees. You think your eyes are deceiving you, that you’ve finally succumbed to the madness that comes with such hunger and loneliness, your brain conjuring up images to comfort you. You see smoke coming out of a chimney on the roof, and your heart equally swells and drops at the discovery - it’s not a shelter for you alone, no. Not a lucky discovery, somewhere to lay your head tonight that’s dry and warm without disturbance. Someone already lives here, has a home here, and they might not take too kindly to strangers. If there’s anything you’ve learned in the last few weeks of your own personal hell, it’s to tread carefully. Always.

You keep your footsteps light and quiet, trying to approach with some semblance of caution. Your empty stomach is pushing you along, begging for any scrap of food that might be inside, hopefully offered up to you by the kindness of a stranger. Berries and the occasional rabbit or lucky can of food found were not enough to live off of anymore - you could feel the way your body faded away by the day, losing any bit of strength you’d had in the first place.

You pause, hitching your breath and then barely daring to breathe at all when you get close enough to hear a sound - a low, throaty grunting followed by the crack of wood. Your eyes scan the area as you sneak closer and then land upon him. He’s broad and muscled, you can see that much from back here. Messy, dark hair that curls all around his head and down his neck. When his body turns enough that you see his face a little bit more, you notice he looks older and has dark, piercing eyes. They send a shudder through you, even from afar, only making you feel colder out in this frosty afternoon.

You wrap your coat a little tighter and decide to get closer, assess the situation, see if he seems friendly enough to give you something to eat and send you on your merry way. He swings an ax high up in the air and brings it down swiftly onto a large piece of wood, splitting it before tossing the logs into a pile already full of more firewood. You press your lips together, noticing how strong he is, betting there are well built up muscles underneath that flannel shirt of his. That makes him a threat, a big one, you quickly assess. 

You’re too distracted, not watching your step, when a large branch cracks underneath your boot. You wince and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, holding perfectly still, your breath coming out in quick, staccato exhales.

“H-hey!” you hear a gruff voice, sounding out of breath. You peek your eyes open slowly to see the man looking in your direction and silently curse yourself. “C’mon out!” he yells, and you see him reach to his waist, hands grazing a shining revolver holstered there.

Your stomach pulls into tight knots and you stand frozen for a few moments. Your brain quickly assesses everything, weighing the options. Running away, with no possibility of eating a single thing is one option, but the likelihood this stranger will shoot you seems high no matter what, so you decide to take your chances.

You put your hands in front of you, palms out, and slowly emerge from behind the trees. You walk gingerly along the crisp, frosty grass, crunching under your feet every step of the way. Your anxious breaths come out in little puffs in front of you as the cold air enters and exits your lungs.

The man falters, his fist closing and then opening again, pulling away from the revolver on his hip a bit. He blinks hard, staring at you in this silent showdown. “W-well shit, you’re just a girl…” he finally says quietly to himself, his posture relaxing a little. You stand perfectly still, choked up now that you’re confronted with the idea of speaking to him, such a large, imposing wall of a man, and those eyes, god, those eyes.

“I’m not gonna hurt you if you don’t give me a reason to, now, girl.” His voice is the tiniest bit softer, and you pick up on his Southern drawl, an accent you’ve heard a few times before. “Do ya need help?” He wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, a gleam of sweat having built up from chopping wood and his large chest still heaving. He takes a step closer to you, and you don’t step back, but feel every muscle coil up tightly as your mind screams at you that this was a mistake, a huge fucking mistake. Your feet tingle, toes flexing and getting ready to run, but you can’t make yourself do it, to take that first step.

Instead, you nod. “I- y-yes…” you say quietly. You’ll never understand why you say it, other than the fact that you’re drawn in by him, by his chestnut hair flecked with gray, his patchy beard that he’s currently scratching. By his build that looks so… safe yet dangerous, but you get the feeling that no, he’d never hurt you. You envision those arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly, shielding you from the world and everything you’ve been through. You never thought much about relationships or boys before - just a few simple and innocent crushes, but it hadn’t been on your radar as such a shy kid and teenager. But this… this was what people talked about - attraction. It nearly stole your breath the closer you got to him, threatening to suck you into what felt like an endless void. 

“Alright,” the man replies, trying to match your quieter demeanor. He glances around, eyes narrowed and scanning the woods beyond you. “You with anyone? Or all alone out here?”

You know why he’s asking, you’ve seen what people can do - sending someone innocent and unimposing out to lay a trap, but you don’t lie when you shake your head. “A-alone. I’m alone, swear, sir.”

His jaw seems to tick, noticeable even from the distance you’re at before he answers you. “Okay, then. C’mon a little closer, I won’t bite, okay?” he says, and he’s so convincing that you do believe him, despite your instincts telling you otherwise. The world is cruel and unrelenting, taking away most of the trust you’ve ever had in humanity the second you place it into anything or anyone. 

You move a little closer, small, gentle steps, and he nods encouragingly. 

“Now there ya go. Look at ya…” he marvels with a click of his tongue, shaking his head once you’re just a few feet away from him. 

He takes in your messy hair, slightly matted from wearing a winter hat on and off the last few weeks and sleeping on the ground. Your clothes have seen better days too, your skin smudged with dirt no matter how many water sources you found to try and rinse off a little bit. Even despite all of that, he gazes at you with a curiosity, with that look of interest that you felt like you’d given him without trying to. It’s quiet for another moment, the both of you sizing each other up, until Joel’s look turns a little more pitiful when you shiver as a sudden gust of wind whips past you, your threadbare coat doing little to protect you from the chill in the air here. You can’t be sure if your shuddering has less to do with the wind and more with the way that this man’s eyes are digging into what feels like your very soul.

“We gotta get you inside, okay? You’re shakin’, and you look like you ain’t had a proper meal in… too long…” He continues to eye you up and down, taking in your weak frame. 

You stay silent for another moment, swallowing hard and then shuddering again. “I - I don’t know…” you breathe out. You might have some sudden, fantastical dream that this man is your savior, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cautious - the mind is a tricky, deceiving thing.

“I ain’t gonna ask again, ain’t gonna beg ya, girl. C’mon,” he says a little more roughly, a hand shooting out quickly and grabbing you by the wrist and tugging. “Just want to get a good meal in you, alright?”

You wince at the grasp on your wrist, the roughness and hardness he’s starting to show you, but you let him pull, starting to move your feet and trail after him. 

“T-thank you…sir,” you murmur quietly, and he swings his head to look back at you, his eyes softening. 

“You’re welcome. Now get inside and get warm. I’ve got a fire goin’.” He lets go of your wrist, trusting you to follow him as his heavy boots clunk up the few steps leading to the front door of his cabin. It’s modest, beautifully constructed, all dark wood around the outside and a small porch. You start to wonder if this man built it himself, or just found it as it is. Your initial impression of him leads you to believe that he does seem like the type to build a whole god damn cabin. He half looks like a lumberjack already in the plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. 

“Found this place ‘bout five years ago,” he says as if he could read your mind while he swings the door open. “Real nice and private, so don’t worry.”

Your eyes narrow slightly at his last comment, but you try to brush it off as you enter inside with him. The warm air hits your body, an immediate balm to your frayed nerves and chilled skin, a slightly smoky smell from the fire hits your nostrils and you immediately hear the crackle and pop of the logs in the little fireplace. The cabin is mainly one big room, a kitchen tucked into the corner right to the left of the door, and the living room beyond that with cozy couches and chairs, even a TV that you doubt is working but find yourself hopeful for some reason. It’s been a long time since you were able to watch a movie, flashing back to childhood memories when you’d lived in a more stable, thriving community that had power. 

Stairs beyond that lead to what you assume are bedrooms or a bathroom, and your eyes curiously take in all the little details and decor - the man’s jackets hanging along the wall near the entrance, his rifle propped next to the door and several different pairs of worn boots. 

You realize you’re just standing right near the doorway, silently looking around in a daze while your new acquaintance has been trying to get your attention. 

“Hey, girl, I’m talkin’ t’ya…” his voice says, the noise fading back into your consciousness.

You shake your head. “S-sorry,” you say quietly, a shy little squeak. “I was just -“

“S’alright. I got some stew goin’, that okay? I mean y’don’t have much of a choice, but I’ll ask anyhow,” he says with a wry chuckle. You simply nod in response. 

“Now go on, put your things down and sit ‘n get comfortable,” he waves towards the general direction of the kitchen table and the couch before turning back to the stove to stir the pot simmering there. You stand, feeling frozen still, panic threatening to climb up through your insides and completely take over. You still don’t feel safe, despite this man offering to warm you and feed you. How could you, you think, when you’ve been running for several weeks, trying to get away from the carnage that became your life. 

He eyes you, unmoving and frightened looking and sighs heavily. “I said,” he says, tension thickening in the air around you, “Sit.”

You clear your throat, desert dry and scratchy, and set your backpack by the door, slowly creeping over to the couch, not wanting to make this mystery man any angrier. You settle yourself down and the cushions feel like heaven, your legs and body achy from the lack of comfort you’ve had for weeks. You try not to show just how good it feels to settle into the soft, plush fabric, letting the cushions mold to your body.

“Good,” Joel coos as he glances at you from the stove. “Now that we’ve got you settled in, you got a name?”

You weakly tell him your name and he shows you the first little smile you’ve seen from him, nodding. “Gotcha. I’m Joel, okay?”

“O-okay.” You push the words out while you watch him stir the pot on the stove. You sit in silence for a few moments, thankful for the time to just catch your breath and think. Just one bowl of stew, and you’ll be out of here. You’ll ask if there’s a community nearby, somewhere that could take you in, then grab that information and run, not bother this man any more than you need to.

Joel walks over, handing you a cup of water that you shamelessly start to gulp down before he goes back and ladles some of the delicious smelling stew into a bowl. The second the scent hits you, your stomach rumbles loudly. Joel cracks a smile as he hears it and continues ladling, a brow quirked. 

“Hungry, huh?” he asks, walking the steaming bowl over to you with a spoon. You gingerly take it from his hands, being careful not to brush your still chilled fingers against his. You swear his eyes flash at you when he notices how avoidant you’re being, but he turns and walks back to the stove, getting himself a bowl as well. Joel settles down into a chair across from the couch where you sit with a weathered groan, just watching you for a few quiet moments. It does everything but put you at ease, your stomach twisting a little. You blow on a spoonful of stew before taking a bite, your mouth an explosion as it waters and takes in the delicious, rich, food. 

“Mmm,” you whine out, unable to help it. Your body wants to lunge forward, lap the stew up until every single drop is in your starved body and you can finally feel a sense of fullness again. You quickly take another spoonful, much too hot, and wince a little as it hits your tongue. 

“Slow on down, girl,” Joel says. “Let’s talk a little and it’ll slow down your eating.”

You just stare, noticing your body is trembling a little bit, and has been since you met Joel outside. You try to take a deep breath to settle your nerves, your legs so tensely pressed together that it's starting to hurt.

“You feelin’ afraid of me, that it?” he asks you, looking a little too self satisfied at the observation as he crosses his arms and leans towards you. His biceps bulge and stretch with the motion and you can’t help but find your eyes drawn to them, the way they pull at the soft flannel of his shirt. You feel your face heat up all the way to your ears and you blink hard, averting your eyes. 

“I- I mean… I don’t know you…” you mutter, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

“I know,” he says, sounding more sympathetic. “Done some bad things in my time, so hell, maybe you should be scared of me. I ain’t a nice guy. But I won’t hurt someone like you, promise ya that.” His words are enough of a reason for you to hightail it out of here the first second you can, but why do you believe them? Why do you believe him?

“How d-do you know I’m not bad too? That I don’t deserve it?” His eyes narrow and his lip twitches into a smirk before he lets out a mocking little chuckle in your direction.

“Oh sweetheart, a man jus’ knows these things. You never hurt even a fly, now have you?” That smirk stays plastered on Joel’s face as he asks and it frustrates you how little of a threat he sees in you, how little fight you have left to give. Yet you can’t find yourself blaming him, you think. If you were facing yourself in his position you’re sure you’d look like as much of a feeble joke as you feel.

You frown, still unable to look him in the eyes for longer than a few seconds, and shake your head. “No… just for hunting…” you admit.

“Alright then. Y’don’t need to act tough in front of me, girl, got it?” Joel concludes, going back to eating his stew.

“Got it,” you respond quietly, letting yourself sink further into the couch as you feel your muscles slowly relaxing.

“Now tell me... what’s this all about? What’s a little young thing like you doin’ out here by herself?”

You bite your lip and sip slowly on another spoonful of stew. “I’m… uh…” you stutter nervously. 

“Spit it out now, there’s nothin’ to be afraid of here, hm?” Joel tries reassuring you, but his words keep coming out so gruffly, doing little to make you feel much better. 

You inhale a deep breath. “Okay…” You swallow. “I was in a… community. I lived there a long time. T-they’re all gone now, I think. We got completely overrun and so I ran.” You sniffle as your nose starts to run from the warmth of the house opposing the cold you’d gotten accustomed to. 

Joel leans forward a bit in his chair, taking a hearty bite of stew, mulling your words over. “Overrun how?” he asks simply, glancing at you, studying your movements, your body language, everything. 

“U-uh, hunters, raiders, whatever they are. Bad.. b-bad people…” You look down at your bowl, not wanting to meet the intensity of his gaze, afraid to fall into his strange, hard warmth. 

“Hm… awful fuckers, ain’t they,” he says, scratching a hand down his beard. “You got away, then?”

You nod and bite inside of your lip, taking another spoonful of stew to keep yourself occupied. “Y-yeah. I ran and ran… just kept… going. They took everything, took over all of our homes…”

Joel sighs, his eyes finally going a little softer. “‘M sorry to hear that, darlin’. You know if anyone is still alive?”

You shrug. “No…”

“Your family? They with ya at this community?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No. They… all, uh, passed a long time ago.” Why the hell are you being so open with this stranger? You don’t owe him your story, your secrets, any of it. But you sense the urge to share it, anyhow. Maybe you’re just that desperate for human connection right now. 

“Mm, sorry to hear it again. We all know that feelin’ in a world like this,” he replies thoughtfully. Your eyes widen a bit at the softness he’s showing you right now and you give him a tight lipped smile to show your own sympathy for his losses. 

“You feel up for tellin’ me a little more about the attack? S’okay if it’s too much,” Joel adds on, still studying you with an odd gaze, almost like he’s drinking you in, quenching some thirst he had. His hand twitches, almost as if to reach out to you, but he’s much too far from where he sits right now. 

“I’m not sure if t-there’s much to tell…” you start, but then you find yourself spilling out more details, feeling the freeing sensation of unloading your burdens onto someone else. You tell Joel your community was small but well taken care of, plenty of supplies and food, in an abundant time in its history the last few months. One evening everything changed, when an armed group of mostly men came in, a few women and children in tow, looking absolutely miserable, and they aimed their guns in the air and shot off a few rounds to get everyone’s attention. People came flooding out of their homes, trying to run, only to be tackled or shot down, forced to give up our food and belongings. You tried to hide for as long as you could before slipping out of the home you shared with an older couple who had been taking care of you since you were a teenager, Harry and Josephine. They’d urged you to run, run, run, so you did. Then came your lost days, where you had no clue where you were, when you’d find your next semblance of humanity. Just trying to head west, further and further from the bitter memories you’d now have to leave behind. Barren towns and wilderness passed you over the days, hardly seeing another soul as you hid from infected, spending your nights crying yourself to sleep when you had the energy. 

And now… here you were, sitting on Joel’s couch and eating stew. Unsure of what the hell you’d do next or where you had to go. You had been an orphan for a long time, but this felt deeper, like you were an orphan to the entire world, almost, like you had nothing to even call your own now. 

Joel sits patiently, watching you stumble on words as you tell your story to him, trying not to get too choked up as all the emotions resurface. How empty things had been, how desolate the landscapes to match your faintly beating heart.

He’s leaned fully forward now in his seat, stew somewhat forgotten in his lap as you finish your recounting of the last few weeks. He breathes in and out, a large, heavy sigh that fills the room. It’s still now, fully quiet for a moment. 

“You’re a strong girl for goin’ through all of that, you know that?” he says finally, eyes softer than you’ve seen them yet. 

You just look down, returning to your stew, taking a few bites now that it’s at the perfect temperature. You’ve stopped shaking now, your body warmed up and starting to recognize that you’re getting full. You can’t eat much, your stomach unable to handle more just yet, so you push the stew away, setting it on the coffee table in front of you.

“Yeah…” you say, not really believing it as you glance out the window to watch the late afternoon sun, glaring off the ground outside, light filtering through the trees. 

“You got somewhere to go? After you’re fed and looked over, of course,” Joel asks, his eyebrow shooting up.

You consider lying, just to avoid what you’re afraid he’ll ask you. What you’re afraid you’ll say yes to. You still end up shaking your head silently, clearing your throat. You feel a sting of tears behind your eyes, your whole body going hot with the need to cry, but a deep desire to not show that weakness to him holds you back. You sniffle and blink, studying the knots in the old wood floors.

“Hey,” Joel says, trying to get your attention, to make you show him your vulnerability. “Look at me, c’mon now.” You hear him shift in his seat, a small movement born of irritation as you refuse to do as he says.

You sniffle again and clear your throat, a shake of your head making your hair fall forward, covering and hiding you further. 

“I said look at me.” That stern tone of his is back, sending a shudder through you and fear rippling deep inside your chest. You flick your red rimmed, shining eyes up to his, meeting the dark brown stare, lines permanently etched in between his eyes from all his years of worry.

“Atta girl,” he coos, completely pleasant now. “I got you, okay? You can stay, if ya need. I got food, a home, a warm bed for ya. If you have nowhere else.”

One more blink sends the tears falling down your cheeks, fat and overdue as they slide down your dirty skin, leaving tracks. You sniffle and nod, suddenly feeling a rush of gratitude towards Joel. He may be a stranger, but he fed you, got you warm, and is offering just about the kindest thing he can right now - an invasion on his space, his personal sanctuary, all for a girl he hardly even knows. 

“Y-you’d really do that?” you ask, a little incredulously, like this is a dream you’re about to wake up from any time now. 

He nods, a half smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Satisfaction plastered there now that he’s swayed you in his direction. “I would. Now I don’t wanna hear another word about it. You need to rest, you’ve been through a lot.”

“T-thank you. B-but-”

“Not. Another. Word,” he practically hisses, flashing his eyes angrily before it fizzles out quickly. You can see him practically having to reign in his impulsiveness in the moment. “There ain’t anywhere else to go that’ll keep you as safe as here, I’m tellin’ you that now. You’d be fuckin’ lost out there.” He sits back with his arms crossed now, and you’re worried that you’ve truly upset him now, that unsettling look in his eye glinting again. He wants you to stay… nearly seems to need it. It scares you, yet you feel a tug, a pull, some form of intrigue wanting you to explore that need, understand just what he could see in you.

“I’m s-sorry… I just - you’ve already done a lot for me, and I’d hate to, well, impose, or something,” you say, trying to appease him. It’s mostly true, anyhow, that you do hate to take Joel’s food and time away from him. 

He stands up and silently walks the few steps over to the couch, sitting down next to you, turning himself towards you. It feels like every muscle in your body tenses at his proximity - it makes him seem even bigger the way he takes up his cushion on the couch, body sinking in deeply, his wide shoulders practically a shield to you right now to everything behind him. Something about seeing him up this close is sending you reeling, able to study the lines in his face, his strong, wiry beard streaked with a few gray spots. You flick your eyes over his face, hoping to not be too obvious, but needing to drink him in, learn his features.

“I’m gonna have you listen to me right now, okay? Make sure you’re listenin’ real good, sweetheart.” He pauses for a moment to catch your eye, reaching a hand towards you but resting it right next to your thigh on the couch. “I’m offerin’ somethin’ mighty nice to you, ain’t I? You were ‘bout to die out there, if I’m honest. Much longer and you’d be a goner, I think. Don’t you?”

He’s waiting for a real answer from you, you realize, so you nod, eyes practically unblinking as you hang on his words, a hot coil burning in your stomach as you feel uneasiness eat at you.

“Right.” He sighs quietly. “I’m not tryin’ to be mean, sweetheart. In fact, I care a lot, that’s why I’m tellin’ the truth to ya like this. You ain’t built to be on your own, can see that clear as day. So I’ll have ya stay here and get fed and get your bearings. And I don’t want to hear anymore about it.” 

Of all the things Joel has just said to you, the thing that is stuck in your mind as you turn it over, is the way he’d said he cares. He cares about you. Would that be such a bad thing to be cared for, even if just for a little bit?

You give him a small dip of your head, a shaky smile coming to your lips. “Thank you. I’m uh, grateful.” You’re not sure what else to say, feeling like you’re signing yourself away to something you don’t feel sure about. 

“Ah look at that - a smile,” he says, clearly feeling much more light hearted now that you’ve agreed to accept his help. 

You sit back a little, your muscles finally losing some of their tension and start to eye Joel a little more curiously. “S-so you just live here all by yourself?” you ask, wishing you weren’t still such a stuttering mess. The fact was, this man made you nervous, in a way that you weren’t used to. He scared you, but in a way that it drew you in, a magnetic pull you couldn’t quite explain yet. Something in him commanded respect, reverence, almost, without trying. It was mesmerizing to witness, completely scrambling your mind if you started to think on it too hard. 

“Mhm,” Joel nods languidly, finishing off his stew and then sitting back with a satisfied sigh. He eyes your bowl that’s only half empty and then flicks them back to your face. “Ain’t gonna finish?” he asks, sounding a little irritated before his face softens. “Probably can’t fit much in your little belly right now, huh? Shrunk right up when you didn’t eat much these last few weeks.”

You nod. “I-it was good, I just… I couldn’t finish. It started to hurt…”

His eyes flash with concern. “We’ll take it slow, then,” he says, a little smile creeping onto his face.

You had noticed his avoidance to say much more about himself, so you decide to try your luck and press him again. You clear your throat, trying to turn towards him a little more as well. “You live alone. Don’t you… do you ever talk to other people?”

Joel chuckles, almost condescendingly. “‘Course I do. Town not too far from here - Jackson. I go once and a while to stock up, trade ‘em for some stuff and they’re mighty hospitable to me.”

You nod, trying not to let his snide laugh and tone get to you too much, blinking away the sensitive little tears that threaten to fall again. Joel cocks his head suddenly, seeming to notice. “T-that sounds pretty nice,” you choke out quickly.

“Sorry if I upset ya. Guess you’re right, don’t get enough practice talkin’ to people,” he says a little lighter now, smiling softly again. Joel’s version of a smile seems to only be a soft upturn of his lips, not friendly by nature. It puts you at ease and unease at the same time, that smile of his, but you’d rather see that than the scowl he was sporting at you earlier today. He pats your thigh a few times, showing his apology, and you watch his large hands move on you, noticing they’re scratched and rough. A man’s hands.

“W-wait… Jackson… this town. It’s close by?” you ask, glancing back up at him, the wheels in your head starting to turn. 

Joel’s face falls in an almost dramatic fashion, the lines between his eyes and around his cheeks getting deeper. “Why d’ya ask?” he says, his tone short and frayed sounding, leaning forward again, practically glaring at you from under his eyebrows.

Your own face falls, jaw slack for a moment before it tightens back up. “I just… I want to get out of your hair as quickly as possible, I-I don’t want to be a bother. Could find a new community there, or something…” You feel quiet as a mouse, unsure of how to assert yourself in front of Joel - it feels like there isn’t space for it when you share a room with him.

Joel’s expression becomes more stern. “Didn’t I already tell you, girl, that I’d take care of everythin’?” he spits out, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You’re visibility tense now, your hands pressing into the cushions of the couch, ready to get up at any moment and bolt. “Y’don’t want to go to a place like that, so big, you’d be lost there, darlin’. Nobody to take care of you…”

He sits back a little, hands falling into his lap and an eyebrow cocked at you. “‘Sides,” he says, glancing out the window for a moment before studying you again. “Too far to go on your own. Can’t have you gettin’ lost in these woods again… look what happened last time, yeah?”

Maybe he’s right. You barely survived these last few weeks without completely losing your mind, and then your life, as he’s been so apt to tell you several times now. Joel… he saved you, and is offering you a place to stay, so the least you could do is be grateful for now. You could always convince him tomorrow, after you’ve had time to think and reset, to take you there, show you the way, and you can see for yourself if it’s a good fit for you or not.

“Y-yeah…” you stutter out, nodding. The look he shoots you has you choking out the next word before you can even think about it. “Yes,” you say more definitively.

“It’s settled then,” he says matter-of-factly, breathing in deeply, his burly chest rising, and then letting it out in a long, slow breath. “You probably wanna get some rest, yeah? I can set up the bed for ya.” Joel says, standing up and grabbing your bowl, taking it to the kitchen along with his empty one. 

“Do y-“ you start, standing up off the couch. 

“Yeah, I got two bedrooms, don’t worry.” His smile grows, liking that he found you predictable enough to know what you were about to ask. Your shoulders sag a little in relief and you give Joel more of a proper smile now, nodding your thanks.

“That would be great, then, yeah. And if it’s not too much…” you voice trails off and you stare at the ground, focusing your eyes on the pattern of the well worn rug underneath your feet. “Maybe a shower, bath, whatever you’ve got.”

Joel turns to face you and then walks back into the living area. He has a calm, serene expression, slightly lit up. “I’ll do ya one better. Get you some clean clothes to wear after that shower, too.”

Nothing in the entire world sounds better than what he’s offering right now.

You hiss loudly as the hot, steaming water hits your leg when you step in. Within moments, you’re basking under it, watching the dirt and dried blood from your various scrapes and scratches swirl down the drain for what feels like ages, finally seeing the water run clear as you lather up the threadbare washcloth Joel had left out for you and scrub yourself down. Every nook, every cranny, your scalp, face, everywhere you could get three times over. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so clean, even when you’d lived back with your community. You hum happily for a few moments, letting the water soothe you for just a while longer. You hoped Joel could forgive you for taking a little bit of extra hot water today given the circumstances.

Joel hears the water running from downstairs, his fists balling up and relaxing over and over as he sits on his favorite chair, his gaze facing the stairs leading to the spare bedroom and attached bathroom. He feels tense, rolling his neck, continuing to pump his fists open and closed. A feeling in the back of his neck, traveling down his spine and legs that he couldn’t ignore - an urge. He stands up an instant later, not bothering with his well-ignored conscience, and walks upstairs and through the bedroom door with careful steps as he still has on his boots. He presses a hand onto the brass doorknob, turning it slowly, ever so slowly, pushing the door open just an inch, just… enough.

His eyes fall on the shower curtain, a white cloth that perfectly shows your silhouette through it. The valleys and curves of your body move around, arms scrubbing yourself. Joel can smell the evergreen scented soap drifting through the steamy, thick air, watching your body move fluidly as you start to hum quietly to yourself and rinse off.

He wishes he could lie to himself, deny that he felt the blood rush straight to his cock at this little show he was watching. So content, so sweet, so vulnerable right now. Need consumes his every cell - the need to show you just how good you could have it here, to take every bit of you for himself. He grins, a hungry little twitch of his mouth, moving to shut the door when a floorboard creaks under his heavy boot, and he freezes, shuffling out of the way quickly.

You’re humming quietly when you hear it, just a distant sound, but enough to catch your ear. A creak of a floorboard, something you figure isn’t unusual for an old cabin like this, but you feel a shiver run down your spine and rush to turn the water off. You throw the curtain open, water dripping down into your eyes. You quickly rub your fingers over them and glance around the spacious bathroom to find… nothing. You sigh, shaking your head, nearly laughing at the relief you feel. You’re just being paranoid, you chastise yourself as you grab the towel off the hook, squeezing the extra water out of your hair and wrapping it around yourself, snuggling into the simple comfort of a fluffy towel as you dry yourself off. 

Your fingers freeze, running cold when you reach the door, noticing a few inches of space that has the door cracked open. You swore up and down that you’d shut the door behind you, giving you that extra layer of privacy in a stranger's home. It wasn’t possible that… no, you think quickly, shaking your head again. You have to stop being so damn paranoid - your brain is just in survival mode still, looking for threats that aren’t there. 

You step into the bedroom, surveying the heavy wood furniture - an extremely cozy, country feel to the room with large logs comprising the bed frame and a patchwork quilt draped over the top. You peer around, feeling somewhat squirmy at the realization you don’t have any clothing. Joel seemingly came in and took your dirty clothes while you were in the shower, failing to leave you anything clean. It made you feel that strange swirl deep in your stomach again, the one you kept brushing off.

This is a kind man. A kind man, got it? Positive thinking.

You decide to pull it together and head out and down the stairs to the living room. You feel your cheeks heat up, a hot heat creeping all over your body as you feel so exposed, standing in your tiny towel as you descend the stairs. Joel’s eyes follow you down, watching your glowing skin, so fresh and clean, hair dripping errantly, leaving water droplets on the floor in your wake. You see a flash of something a little cloudy and hungry in his gaze before it disappears just as quickly as he showed it. 

He isn’t saying a word, isn’t offering anything, so you swallow down your discomfort and clear your throat a little. “Er… I noticed there weren’t any… clothes… for me…”

Joel sits up a little straighter, putting down the book he’s been looking at. He offers you a smile devoid of much emotion and stands up, his eyes locking on your hips for a few extra seconds. “Shucks, sorry about that, sweetheart. Let’s get you something right now. Got your old clothes ready to be done next time I do the washin’.”

You nod, fighting the urge to chuckle nervously as he walks over and passes you, his arm brushing your damp, bare one before he heads up the stairs. You’re grateful you get to trail him, afraid of just how skimpy this towel is if he’d have insisted on following behind you. You follow him into the other bedroom, his bedroom, and it’s a little more decorated, some books and little wooden carvings on the surfaces, dirty laundry scattered throughout. He opens up a drawer and tugs out a tee shirt, handing it to you, then a pair of gray sweatpants and warm, thick socks. 

“These should fit alright for ya, honey. We’ll get you some more proper fittin’ stuff soon, just gotta have a look around this place. This’ll be nice and warm for ya f’now.” He seems more chipper now, clearly much more talkative than before, and you suppose you don’t mind the change too much. It’s only proving that your paranoia was completely unfounded, just a symptom of your current circumstances. You typically find yourself a pretty trusting person, enough to have gotten you in trouble before, but the events of the last few weeks have broken that for you, leaving you feeling like a shell of who you once were. 

You snap back to reality and take the clothing in your arms, nodding in gratitude. “Thank you. I’ll go, um, change.”

Before you turn, Joel’s voice booms through the air again. “Need anythin’ else to eat? Anythin’ I can get you?” He almost sounds hopeful, like he wants you to need something from him. His eyes linger on your body, leaving you feeling just as naked as if you didn’t have the towel over you at all. 

You shake your head nervously. “Er, if it’s alright with you, I think I just want to rest… A full night’s sleep in a bed sounds like heaven right now.” 

“Let’s get you on off to heaven, then.” He grins, letting you leave the room before trailing after you, waiting outside your door while you change into your clothes. You discover some women’s underwear in the drawers inside of your bedroom, gratefully putting on a clean pair before throwing on everything Joel gave you. It’s comfortable and dry, so you won’t complain about the fit or the style - you’d still be in your dirty, worn down clothes if it weren’t for him. 

You creak the door open to find Joel and thank him again for hosting you, only to see him waiting right outside in the hall. You nearly jump, your face completely giving away your tense surprise.

“Jus’ wanted to make sure you got to bed alright,” he says gently, explaining himself. 

“Oh…” You bite your lip. “I, uh, I think I’m all set. Thank you again, Joel, really, for everything.”

His smile brightens as much as you’ve seen it and his eyes look much kinder as he nods, a dip of his head. His hand reaches forward and takes yours through the frame of the door and squeezes it. You freeze at the sudden touch, his hand so warm and rough, calloused fingertips grazing over the softer skin of your hands. It sends your entire body into a fuzzy flash of heat for just a moment before it dissipates. He squeezes once more, thumb swiping gently over the back of your hand before he releases it. Your lips sit parted in shock, eyes a little wider and hand starting to tremble a little. 

“Anytime,” Joel replies simply, his face falling before he turns to walk away, leaving you standing breathless for several moments before clicking the bedroom door shut behind you. 

You jolt out of your sleep, a gasp of breath catching in your throat and dying out as you go to yell, finding your mouth tightly clasped by a large, warm palm pressing in.

“Shh, shh,” the voice comes, right near your right ear. You shudder involuntarily from the hot breath fanning on such a sensitive spot  and try to yell again, letting it die out as a whimper against the skin pressing on your mouth.

“Shh, it’s alright. I got you,” Joel coos, his voice coming out hoarse. “No yellin’.”

You squirm helplessly against his hold, realizing another arm is draped across your abdomen, holding you in place. Your body exhausts quickly, still half asleep as you feel your struggle die out. Joel’s hand across your mouth loosens slowly, relieving the pressure.

“You were havin’ a nightmare, darlin’. Shh… c’mon now…” His hand that had been against your lips ghosts up to your head, landing in gentle strokes against your hair. You blink a few times, heavy breaths through your nostrils now as you try to steady your mind and body. Your chest struggles against his heavy arm as it heaves, your body fully taut and mind trying to play catch up.

“W-what…” you murmur groggily, laying stiffly as Joel holds your waist, fingers brushing against your curves, pressing you close as his other hand still works tender strokes along your hair.

“Oh, sweetheart, glad I heard you, hm?” he practically whispers, his face nuzzling close to the skin right under your ear. You feel the tickle of his breath and facial fair, prickly and rough against such delicate skin. You squirm gently, trying to signal that everything is too tight, too much, too… confusing. Joel is lost in his own world, absorbed in the softness of the places he begins to touch, hand grazing from your waist to your bare arms, fingertips exploring hungrily under the guise of being caring. 

All he’d needed, alone and laying awake tonight, his body burning and resolve thin, was a simple touch. A chance to show you all that you needed, all he could provide for you. Only to help you, to take care of someone who couldn’t care for herself. You’d proved that much to him - you needed his guidance, his protection, his experience.

“What’re you…”

“Jus’ comforting you, darlin’. C’mon now,” he whispers, never once pulling back or stopping the exploring he’s doing with his hands. 

He runs through his list of reasons to convince himself why everything he’s doing is perfectly necessary before losing sight of all of it entirely when he strikes that sliver of bare skin where your tee shirt has hiked up a bit off your waist, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. His hand travels a bit higher, pushing the shirt up and grazing famished fingers across your ribcage and stomach. A small groan ripples across his chest, the vibration felt by where your body meets his. He surprises you next by tugging your shirt back down, covering the bare skin before returning his hand to your hip, pulling you closer. He’s a wall of pure mass, muscle underneath his soft belly and chest, a man who’s strong but still showing a bit of his age. You nearly whimper and shake, feeling a sickly heat coursing through your veins now.

“Mmm…” he mumbles in your ear, your own voice caught in a trap of fear lodged right in your throat. Equally afraid of the way you don’t know how this night is about to end and that you’re not sure you mind where it’s going. You’ve never understood men or their intentions, and never had anyone bother to teach you, no worked up teenage boys offer to show you when you were at that age. No, you were left to guess, giggled at by other girls when you couldn’t pick up on their meanings as they discussed their own secret rendezvous. This had to be everything they talked about, didn’t it? The way you could feel heat and energy practically pulsating off of Joel’s body, his noises anything but natural sounding as he hummed little groans in your ear.

“Y’just needed someone, sweetheart. Y’need someone to take care of you, don’t you?” he finally says, fingers still running their way across your hair, nails scratching against your scalp. You whimper quietly at the feel of it, how damn good it all feels. You don’t move, don’t speak as he goes on.

“Need a man like me, darlin’, y’do. I can see it - need me to take care of everything…” He mumbles similar sentiments repeatedly in your ear before bringing his lips right to your neck, just letting them graze, the wet but chapped skin of his lips pressing in gently on your pulse point. You try not to gasp, the feeling as pleasing as it is terrifying, finding yourself gripping the sheet tighter to try not to give yourself away, give him any kind of response. 

“Don’t you, honey? Need me to take care of you?” He sounds a little more desperate now, needy for the answer he’s searching for from you.

He’s broken you down to the point you feel tears stinging at your eyes, the long awaited emotional release you’ve needed sitting right there on the precipice, a small crack waiting to fully rupture. You can’t be sure if you nod, just imperceptibly, you think, but Joel’s body language relaxes against you as he leans his entire chest and torso into you even more, giving you a squeeze. You know then that he got his answer, just what he was looking for. You let the tears slip out, rolling down your cheeks, onto the pillow on one side, likely falling right onto Joel’s face or in his hair on the other. He seems to barely notice, just swiping them quickly off your cheeks before resuming his position wrapping himself tightly around you.

“Good, sweetheart… good girl, I got you…” 

You hear his breathing start to even out shortly after, steady rise and fall of his chest against your body, and you realize he’s dozed off. Like he got what he wanted and decided he could rest now. Your entire body relaxes, a careful breath whooshing out that you hadn’t even been aware you were holding in. His hand is still tangled in your hair, other one possessively on your hip, giving you absolutely no room to move. You’re not sure you want to anymore, anyways, never having had such strength covering you, cloaking you from all of the dark, sinister things that the nighttime holds for you.

If you’re going insane, feeling safe with this man who forced his way around your body tonight, then so be it. Why shouldn’t you let yourself feel safe for once? Let yourself feel less of that burden, turn it over to Joel? Your own turning wheel of thoughts starts to scare you, the little voice in the back of your head telling you what you already know and have been trying to ignore. The one little thing that you immediately put your finger on but were too scared afterwards to lift it back up and observe it closer.

You weren’t having a nightmare, no, not at all. You knew when you woke from one, as sure as the god damned sky was blue and the grass was green. It wasn’t a foreign concept to you by any means after what you’d been through in your life. And tonight… tonight hadn’t been one of those nights. 

dividers by @/saradika!

thank you @jupiter-soups and @huffle-punk for always beta-ing my shit and talking inspo with me. love you to the moon and back <3

[mariacallous]

If anyone can rally up a base, it’s Taylor Swift.

When sexually explicit, likely AI-generated, fake images of Swift circulated on social media this week, it galvanized her fans. Swifties found phrases and hashtags related to the images and flooded them with videos and photos of Swift performing. “Protect Taylor Swift” went viral, trending as Swifties spoke out against not just the Swift deepfakes, but all nonconsensual, explicit images made of women.

Swift, arguably the most famous woman in the world right now, has become the high-profile victim of an all-too-frequent form of harassment. She has yet to comment on the photos publicly, but her status gives her power to wield in a situation where so many women have been left with little recourse. Deepfake porn is becoming more common as generative artificial intelligence gets better: 113,000 deepfake videos were uploaded to the most popular porn websites in the first nine months of 2023, a significant increase to the 73,000 videos uploaded throughout 2022. In 2019, research from a startup found that 96 percent of deepfakes on the internet were pornographic.

The content is easy to find on search engines and social media, and has affected other female celebrities and teenagers. Yet, many people don’t understand the full extent of the problem or its impact. Swift, and the media mania around her, has the potential to change that.

“It does feel like this could be one of those trigger events” that could lead to legal and societal changes around nonconsensual deepfakes, says Sam Gregory, executive director of Witness, a nonprofit organization focused on using images and videos for protecting human rights. But Gregory says people still don’t understand how common deepfake porn is, and how harmful and violating it can be to victims.

If anything, this deepfake disaster is reminiscent of the 2014 iCloud leak that led to nude photos of celebrities like Jennifer Lawrence and Kate Upton spreading online, prompting calls for greater protections on people's digital identities. Apple ultimately ramped up security features.

A handful of states have laws around nonconsensual deepfakes, and there are moves to ban it on the federal level, too. Rep. Joseph Morelle (D-New York) has introduced a bill in Congress that would make it illegal to create and share deepfake porn without a person’s consent. Another House bill from Rep. Yvette Clarke (D-New York) seeks to give legal recourse to victims of deepfake porn. Rep. Tom Kean, Jr. (R-New Jersey), who in November introduced a bill that would require the labeling of AI content, used the viral Swift moment to draw attention to his efforts: “Whether the victim is Taylor Swift or any young person across our country—we need to establish safeguards to combat this alarming trend,” Kean said in a statement.

This isn’t the first time that Swift or Swifties have tried to hold platforms and people accountable. In 2017, Swift won a lawsuit she brought against a radio DJ who she claimed groped her during a meet-and-greet. She was awarded $1—the amount she sued for, and what her attorney Douglas Baldridge called a symbolic sum “the value of which is immeasurable to all women in this situation.”

Last fall, tens of thousands of people registered to vote after the superstar posted a link to Vote.org on Instagram. And in 2022, her fan base, so enraged after waiting hours to buy tickets to the Eras Tour only to be beaten out by bots, reignited conversation around antitrust issues with Ticketmaster and Live Nation’s mega-merger. A cringy Senate hearing followed, and an investigation into Live Nation’s agreements with venues and artists is ongoing.

Swift and her fans could advocate for legal changes at the federal level to pass. But their outrage could do something else: lead platforms to take notice. “When you have a really massive group of users saying this content is unacceptable in this very high-profile way, the power there is about what it says to the platform about what users will and won’t tolerate,” says Cailin O’Connor, a professor of philosophy at University of California, Irvine and coauthor of The Misinformation Age: How False Beliefs Spread. X did not respond to a request for comment on the images and its moderation efforts regarding deepfake porn. Elon Musk bought the site in 2022 and quickly gutted its moderation teams. Advertisers have also dropped off recently after Musk’s apparent endorsement of an antisemitic conspiracy theory.

It’s not clear whether Swift will take on this issue. A representative for Swift did not respond to a request for comment for this story. Harassment of female celebrities is frequent and often brushed aside, but deepfakes are harming them and others without the same power. This could be a moment for Swift to use her powerful platform—or at least for her fans to push the issue before the public.

[antiporn-activist]

We knew this was coming, and it's here...

Teen Girls Confront an Epidemic of Deepfake Nudes in Schools

Using artificial intelligence, middle and high school students have fabricated explicit images of female classmates and shared the doctored pictures.

April 8, 2024

After boys at Francesca Mani’s high school fabricated and shared explicit images of girls last year, she and her mother, Dorota, began urging schools and legislators to enact tough safeguards.Shuran Huang

After boys at Francesca Mani’s high school fabricated and shared explicit images of girls last year, she and her mother, Dorota, began urging schools and legislators to enact tough safeguards.Shuran Huang

Westfield Public Schools held a regular board meeting in late March at the local high school, a red brick complex in Westfield, N.J., with a scoreboard outside proudly welcoming visitors to the “Home of the Blue Devils” sports teams.

But it was not business as usual for Dorota Mani.

In October, some 10th-grade girls at Westfield High School — including Ms. Mani’s 14-year-old daughter, Francesca — alerted administrators that boys in their class had used artificial intelligence software to fabricate sexually explicit images of them and were circulating the faked pictures. Five months later, the Manis and other families say, the district has done little to publicly address the doctored images or update school policies to hinder exploitative A.I. use.

“It seems as though the Westfield High School administration and the district are engaging in a master class of making this incident vanish into thin air,” Ms. Mani, the founder of a local preschool, admonished board members during the meeting.

In a statement, the school district said it had opened an “immediate investigation” upon learning about the incident, had immediately notified and consulted with the police, and had provided group counseling to the sophomore class.

Tenth-grade girls at Westfield High School in New Jersey learned last fall that male classmates had fabricated sexually explicit images of them and shared them.Peter K. Afriyie/Associated Press

“All school districts are grappling with the challenges and impact of artificial intelligence and other technology available to students at any time and anywhere,” Raymond González, the superintendent of Westfield Public Schools, said in the statement.

Blindsided last year by the sudden popularity of A.I.-powered chatbots like ChatGPT, schools across the United States scurried to contain the text-generating bots in an effort to forestall student cheating. Now a more alarming A.I. image-generating phenomenon is shaking schools.

Boys in several states have used widely available “nudification” apps to pervert real, identifiable photos of their clothed female classmates, shown attending events like school proms, into graphic, convincing-looking images of the girls with exposed A.I.-generated breasts and genitalia. In some cases, boys shared the faked images in the school lunchroom, on the school bus or through group chats on platforms like Snapchat and Instagram, according to school and police reports.

Such digitally altered images — known as “deepfakes” or “deepnudes” — can have devastating consequences. Child sexual exploitation experts say the use of nonconsensual, A.I.-generated images to harass, humiliate and bully young women can harm their mental health, reputations and physical safety as well as pose risks to their college and career prospects. Last month, the Federal Bureau of Investigation warned that it is illegal to distribute computer-generated child sexual abuse material, including realistic-looking A.I.-generated images of identifiable minors engaging in sexually explicit conduct.

Yet the student use of exploitative A.I. apps in schools is so new that some districts seem less prepared to address it than others. That can make safeguards precarious for students.

“This phenomenon has come on very suddenly and may be catching a lot of school districts unprepared and unsure what to do,” said Riana Pfefferkorn, a research scholar at the Stanford Internet Observatory, who writes about legal issues related to computer-generated child sexual abuse imagery.

At Issaquah High School near Seattle last fall, a police detective investigating complaints from parents about explicit A.I.-generated images of their 14- and 15-year-old daughters asked an assistant principal why the school had not reported the incident to the police, according to a report from the Issaquah Police Department. The school official then asked “what was she supposed to report,” the police document said, prompting the detective to inform her that schools are required by law to report sexual abuse, including possible child sexual abuse material. The school subsequently reported the incident to Child Protective Services, the police report said. (The New York Times obtained the police report through a public-records request.)

In a statement, the Issaquah School District said it had talked with students, families and the police as part of its investigation into the deepfakes. The district also “shared our empathy,” the statement said, and provided support to students who were affected.

The statement added that the district had reported the “fake, artificial-intelligence-generated images to Child Protective Services out of an abundance of caution,” noting that “per our legal team, we are not required to report fake images to the police.”

At Beverly Vista Middle School in Beverly Hills, Calif., administrators contacted the police in February after learning that five boys had created and shared A.I.-generated explicit images of female classmates. Two weeks later, the school board approved the expulsion of five students, according to district documents. (The district said California’s education code prohibited it from confirming whether the expelled students were the students who had manufactured the images.)

Michael Bregy, superintendent of the Beverly Hills Unified School District, said he and other school leaders wanted to set a national precedent that schools must not permit pupils to create and circulate sexually explicit images of their peers.

“That’s extreme bullying when it comes to schools,” Dr. Bregy said, noting that the explicit images were “disturbing and violative” to girls and their families. “It’s something we will absolutely not tolerate here.”

Schools in the small, affluent communities of Beverly Hills and Westfield were among the first to publicly acknowledge deepfake incidents. The details of the cases — described in district communications with parents, school board meetings, legislative hearings and court filings — illustrate the variability of school responses.

The Westfield incident began last summer when a male high school student asked to friend a 15-year-old female classmate on Instagram who had a private account, according to a lawsuit against the boy and his parents brought by the young woman and her family. (The Manis said they are not involved with the lawsuit.)

After she accepted the request, the male student copied photos of her and several other female schoolmates from their social media accounts, court documents say. Then he used an A.I. app to fabricate sexually explicit, “fully identifiable” images of the girls and shared them with schoolmates via a Snapchat group, court documents say.

Westfield High began to investigate in late October. While administrators quietly took some boys aside to question them, Francesca Mani said, they called her and other 10th-grade girls who had been subjected to the deepfakes to the school office by announcing their names over the school intercom.

That week, Mary Asfendis, the principal of Westfield High, sent an email to parents alerting them to “a situation that resulted in widespread misinformation.” The email went on to describe the deepfakes as a “very serious incident.” It also said that, despite student concern about possible image-sharing, the school believed that “any created images have been deleted and are not being circulated.”

Dorota Mani said Westfield administrators had told her that the district suspended the male student accused of fabricating the images for one or two days.

Soon after, she and her daughter began publicly speaking out about the incident, urging school districts, state lawmakers and Congress to enact laws and policies specifically prohibiting explicit deepfakes.

“We have to start updating our school policy,” Francesca Mani, now 15, said in a recent interview. “Because if the school had A.I. policies, then students like me would have been protected.”

Parents including Dorota Mani also lodged harassment complaints with Westfield High last fall over the explicit images. During the March meeting, however, Ms. Mani told school board members that the high school had yet to provide parents with an official report on the incident.

Westfield Public Schools said it could not comment on any disciplinary actions for reasons of student confidentiality. In a statement, Dr. González, the superintendent, said the district was strengthening its efforts “by educating our students and establishing clear guidelines to ensure that these new technologies are used responsibly.”

Beverly Hills schools have taken a stauncher public stance.

When administrators learned in February that eighth-grade boys at Beverly Vista Middle School had created explicit images of 12- and 13-year-old female classmates, they quickly sent a message — subject line: “Appalling Misuse of Artificial Intelligence” — to all district parents, staff, and middle and high school students. The message urged community members to share information with the school to help ensure that students’ “disturbing and inappropriate” use of A.I. “stops immediately.”

It also warned that the district was prepared to institute severe punishment. “Any student found to be creating, disseminating, or in possession of AI-generated images of this nature will face disciplinary actions,” including a recommendation for expulsion, the message said.

Dr. Bregy, the superintendent, said schools and lawmakers needed to act quickly because the abuse of A.I. was making students feel unsafe in schools.

“You hear a lot about physical safety in schools,” he said. “But what you’re not hearing about is this invasion of students’ personal, emotional safety.”

Natasha Singer writes about technology, business and society. She is currently reporting on the far-reaching ways that tech companies and their tools are reshaping public schools, higher education and job opportunities. More about Natasha Singer

A version of this article appears in print on April 11, 2024, Section B, Page 1 of the New York edition with the headline: Fake A.I. Nudes Create Crisis in Schools. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

[someone-will-remember-us]

Westfield Public Schools held a regular board meeting in late March at the local high school, a red brick complex in Westfield, N.J., with a scoreboard outside proudly welcoming visitors to the “Home of the Blue Devils” sports teams.

But it was not business as usual for Dorota Mani.

In October, some 10th-grade girls at Westfield High School — including Ms. Mani’s 14-year-old daughter, Francesca — alerted administrators that boys in their class had used artificial intelligence software to fabricate sexually explicit images of them and were circulating the faked pictures. Five months later, the Manis and other families say, the district has done little to publicly address the doctored images or update school policies to hinder exploitative A.I. use.

“It seems as though the Westfield High School administration and the district are engaging in a master class of making this incident vanish into thin air,” Ms. Mani, the founder of a local preschool, admonished board members during the meeting.

In a statement, the school district said it had opened an “immediate investigation” upon learning about the incident, had immediately notified and consulted with the police, and had provided group counseling to the sophomore class.

“All school districts are grappling with the challenges and impact of artificial intelligence and other technology available to students at any time and anywhere,” Raymond González, the superintendent of Westfield Public Schools, said in the statement.

Blindsided last year by the sudden popularity of A.I.-powered chatbots like ChatGPT, schools across the United States scurried to contain the text-generating bots in an effort to forestall student cheating. Now a more alarming A.I. image-generating phenomenon is shaking schools.

Boys in several states have used widely available “nudification” apps to pervert real, identifiable photos of their clothed female classmates, shown attending events like school proms, into graphic, convincing-looking images of the girls with exposed A.I.-generated breasts and genitalia. In some cases, boys shared the faked images in the school lunchroom, on the school bus or through group chats on platforms like Snapchat and Instagram, according to school and police reports.

Such digitally altered images — known as “deepfakes” or “deepnudes” — can have devastating consequences. Child sexual exploitation experts say the use of nonconsensual, A.I.-generated images to harass, humiliate and bully young women can harm their mental health, reputations and physical safety as well as pose risks to their college and career prospects. Last month, the Federal Bureau of Investigation warned that it is illegal to distribute computer-generated child sexual abuse material, including realistic-looking A.I.-generated images of identifiable minors engaging in sexually explicit conduct.

Yet the student use of exploitative A.I. apps in schools is so new that some districts seem less prepared to address it than others. That can make safeguards precarious for students.

“This phenomenon has come on very suddenly and may be catching a lot of school districts unprepared and unsure what to do,” said Riana Pfefferkorn, a research scholar at the Stanford Internet Observatory, who writes about legal issues related to computer-generated child sexual abuse imagery.

At Issaquah High School near Seattle last fall, a police detective investigating complaints from parents about explicit A.I.-generated images of their 14- and 15-year-old daughters asked an assistant principal why the school had not reported the incident to the police, according to a report from the Issaquah Police Department. The school official then asked “what was she supposed to report,” the police document said, prompting the detective to inform her that schools are required by law to report sexual abuse, including possible child sexual abuse material. The school subsequently reported the incident to Child Protective Services, the police report said. (The New York Times obtained the police report through a public-records request.)

In a statement, the Issaquah School District said it had talked with students, families and the police as part of its investigation into the deepfakes. The district also “shared our empathy,” the statement said, and provided support to students who were affected.

The statement added that the district had reported the “fake, artificial-intelligence-generated images to Child Protective Services out of an abundance of caution,” noting that “per our legal team, we are not required to report fake images to the police.”

At Beverly Vista Middle School in Beverly Hills, Calif., administrators contacted the police in February after learning that five boys had created and shared A.I.-generated explicit images of female classmates. Two weeks later, the school board approved the expulsion of five students, according to district documents. (The district said California’s education code prohibited it from confirming whether the expelled students were the students who had manufactured the images.)

Michael Bregy, superintendent of the Beverly Hills Unified School District, said he and other school leaders wanted to set a national precedent that schools must not permit pupils to create and circulate sexually explicit images of their peers.

“That’s extreme bullying when it comes to schools,” Dr. Bregy said, noting that the explicit images were “disturbing and violative” to girls and their families. “It’s something we will absolutely not tolerate here.”

Schools in the small, affluent communities of Beverly Hills and Westfield were among the first to publicly acknowledge deepfake incidents. The details of the cases — described in district communications with parents, school board meetings, legislative hearings and court filings — illustrate the variability of school responses.

The Westfield incident began last summer when a male high school student asked to friend a 15-year-old female classmate on Instagram who had a private account, according to a lawsuit against the boy and his parents brought by the young woman and her family. (The Manis said they are not involved with the lawsuit.)

After she accepted the request, the male student copied photos of her and several other female schoolmates from their social media accounts, court documents say. Then he used an A.I. app to fabricate sexually explicit, “fully identifiable” images of the girls and shared them with schoolmates via a Snapchat group, court documents say.

Westfield High began to investigate in late October. While administrators quietly took some boys aside to question them, Francesca Mani said, they called her and other 10th-grade girls who had been subjected to the deepfakes to the school office by announcing their names over the school intercom.

That week, Mary Asfendis, the principal of Westfield High, sent an email to parents alerting them to “a situation that resulted in widespread misinformation.” The email went on to describe the deepfakes as a “very serious incident.” It also said that, despite student concern about possible image-sharing, the school believed that “any created images have been deleted and are not being circulated.”

Dorota Mani said Westfield administrators had told her that the district suspended the male student accused of fabricating the images for one or two days.

Soon after, she and her daughter began publicly speaking out about the incident, urging school districts, state lawmakers and Congress to enact laws and policies specifically prohibiting explicit deepfakes.

“We have to start updating our school policy,” Francesca Mani, now 15, said in a recent interview. “Because if the school had A.I. policies, then students like me would have been protected.”

Parents including Dorota Mani also lodged harassment complaints with Westfield High last fall over the explicit images. During the March meeting, however, Ms. Mani told school board members that the high school had yet to provide parents with an official report on the incident.

Westfield Public Schools said it could not comment on any disciplinary actions for reasons of student confidentiality. In a statement, Dr. González, the superintendent, said the district was strengthening its efforts “by educating our students and establishing clear guidelines to ensure that these new technologies are used responsibly.”

Beverly Hills schools have taken a stauncher public stance.

When administrators learned in February that eighth-grade boys at Beverly Vista Middle School had created explicit images of 12- and 13-year-old female classmates, they quickly sent a message — subject line: “Appalling Misuse of Artificial Intelligence” — to all district parents, staff, and middle and high school students. The message urged community members to share information with the school to help ensure that students’ “disturbing and inappropriate” use of A.I. “stops immediately.”

It also warned that the district was prepared to institute severe punishment. “Any student found to be creating, disseminating, or in possession of AI-generated images of this nature will face disciplinary actions,” including a recommendation for expulsion, the message said.

Dr. Bregy, the superintendent, said schools and lawmakers needed to act quickly because the abuse of A.I. was making students feel unsafe in schools.

“You hear a lot about physical safety in schools,” he said. “But what you’re not hearing about is this invasion of students’ personal, emotional safety.”

[intersex-support]

Image description: [ First slide is a logo that combines trans and intersex flags by putting trans colors inside the purple circle. Text says #Trans intersex solidarity. The rest of the slides have text that reads: Gender affirming care for trans teens is under threat - and the same bills force surgeries on intersex babies. 90 of the 120 gender affirming healthcare ban bills in states across the USA have carve outs to permit nonconsensual surgeries on intersex infants. That's 75%! This is why we need #TransIntersexSolidarity!

Eradicating our sex traits, our genders, our bodies, is eradicating us.States are segregating trans, nonbinary, and intersex people into false sex and gender binaries by simultaneously forcing trans+ youth to detransition AND authorizing non-consensual interventions on intersex infants and children. We can’t let them. The accelerating gender and sex apartheid must be stopped. #TransIntersexSolidarity

Legislators: So you want to save the children? Here's how. Protect youth by preserving their rights to bodily autonomy and self-determination. Protect youth by letting them be their authentic selves. Let trans, nonbinary & intersex youth make their own choices about their own bodies, when they are informed and ready. #TransIntersexSolidarity

Solidarity from intersex communities with trans+ youth in the United States and across the globe! [body] Some people are trans and/or nonbinary. Some people are intersex. Some people are both trans+ and intersex. We are all united in our shared birthrights to be both free from interventions we do not want and to have access to the gender affirming care we do want. #TransIntersexSolidarity]

Sharing these graphics from @intersexawareness on Instagram. Trans and intersex communities have always been tied together, and right now both of us are under attack. Solidarity is more important than ever!

[dear-yandere]

sinner, saint.

yandere! scaramouche x f! reader (+ implied yan! dottore x reader x yan! patalone). scenario, harbingers’ shared darling au.

› word count: 1.7k › tw: physical abuse (choking, electrocution), explicit imagery of starvation, nonconsensual groping, implied past noncon, implied past nonconsensual medical play, victim-blaming, brief suicidal ideation.

art belongs to 大神　知狼  (pixiv).

( i loved you as icarus loved the sun— too close, too much. )

“i-i couldn’t stop them.”

you’re pleading now. the statement burns your throat and it takes all you have just to welcome it. to welcome the sensation of feeling, to the sensation of being alive.

so you welcome it as if it’s your last. it may as well be.

“liar.” comes his response, detached and disinterested from the weight of his words. “you didn’t even try, did you?” his voice isn’t composed and practiced like it normally is, now replaced with wanton anger and embarrassment, and laced with hints of sorrow. he kneels atop your body, his weight stifling and tiresome against your weakened bones. the back of his thighs dig harshly into your bony hips, but you haven’t the energy nor the mental fortitude to push him off. “you took it like a whore”, he growls. “you didn’t even cry out. you didn’t even ask for help.” he doesn’t know that, but the false accusations mean little to you. he won’t believe otherwise.

but your heart still aches. you expected him to believe you, of all people. that you wouldn’t dare let them defile you like they had, that you are loyal to him and him alone. 

“you’re fucking disgusting.” he spits. you can smell blood on his hands, but when you look down, they are pristine, even as they clamp around your throat with intent to squeeze. his grip on your neck is tolerable for the moment, but you can feel the twitch of his joints as he restrains himself from killing you right then.

because when he looks down on you, all he sees is a tragedy. scaramouche has always held a thinly-veiled contempt for you, but the sight before him is disgraceful. your skin sinks against what little muscle you’ve managed to retain. flesh clings to bone, punctuated by a flimsy nightgown which falls against your ribcage like a noose. the sheer bodice collects beneath your breasts, pooling in a pathetic display of satin immodesty. littering your chest and breasts are countless scars and hickies, some so fresh they are the cause of the disgraceful situation you’ve found yourself in. the worst mars congregate around your abused nipples, where upon further examination, he finds puncture marks indicative of a needle. his vision blurred red at the edges when his eyes fell on the patches brutalized skin mere moments ago. he doesn’t dare look lower. because aside from the pitiful state of your physical health, the disgusting markings which decorate your breasts were none of his doing.

“how could you let them touch you like this?”

scaramouche doesn’t like what they do to you. if you were his, you would suffer differently. you would be his and he would choose what punishments you shall endure. you would be his and he could break you himself.

he has to force himself to look at your brutalized body. despite the skin which clings to your bones like a noose, you are still breathing. you are still alive, and it fills this harbinger with an unforetold rage. how could you let them defile you like this? what have they done to you that even you refuse to disclose to him? what have they done to make you fear them more than you fear him?

“you must’ve liked it.” he accuses, disregarding the look of dissent in your eyes. the image of pantalone and dottore having their way with you while he was gone makes him want to scream. “you wouldn’t have let them lay a hand on you otherwise, right?” he knows it’s a lie. you don’t have the slightest say in how the harbingers choose to spend their time with you so long as they return you in one piece. “you like the way they hurt you.”

a realization hits him.

“you like them more than me.”

his free hand thumbs callous circles into the fresh punctures and hickies dotting your right nipple; without warning, he presses down, and you cry out. to be shared amongst the harbingers — you are so powerless in this arrangement. so visionless and vulnerable and so utterly weak in every aspect of the word; and yet, within the tragedy that is you, there is still resilience. there is still defiance and there is still, above all, hope. one that has been obscured beneath layers of blood and tears, one that inlaid itself against your shallow and broken bones, one that will die and rot with you like a boneless dog clinging to any nourishment it can find.

“when will you stop lying to me, [name]?”

his hands leave your exposed, aching breasts and find their place against your neck. he fits perfectly around your throat. under his touch, you can still bend, but you will not break. not yet. not until he wills it.

before you can beg him to stop, the air caught in your throat is wrung from existence. electricity quickly fills the void it left behind, fills the gaps between your synapses, fills them to the brim with wanton thunder and lightning. dainty hands clamp around his wrists, willing them away with what little strength you can muster, but it isn’t enough. overpowering any of your subjugators is in futile attempt. the electricity isn’t even the worst of it. it’s his hands. the way they wrap around your neck like a noose. the way they squeeze like the blade of a guillotine. the way the falter just before you die, because he doesn’t want you to die. not yet. because death is too good for you, because in his hands, he is god and you are his plaything.

it’s only within his hands can you learn that death bows to him.  

“i should just kill you.” he says, but the sound is muffled to your ears. everything has gone numb, and all you can do is watch his delirium. fingernails press into the sides of your neck to leave bloody scars, but all you can hear is remnants of his incensed tirade.  “i won’t need to share you with those disgusting insects if you’re dead!” he laughs wildly, and through your blurred vision, you see him lean in. the look in his eyes is crazed, bloodshot with tears and anger. his lips are pulled back over his teeth, which clench together so harshly you wonder if they’ll break. “you’ll finally be mine.” 

there are tears in his eyes. he’s in pain. as if he’s sapped the pain from your bones and taken it upon himself. 

your heart aches for him.

you begin to seize.

it’s brief this time, the convulsions. you can no longer feel it. the only constant is that the room is spinning and your head is bursting and there’s a fire beneath your skin, but you can no longer feel it. you wonder when your mind will numb like your body has, but it never comes. you had always thought death to be deep blackness, but in its place, you see light. stars have fallen from the sky itself to dot your eyes, and you wonder if they’ve come to mark your end. 

but the gods have always been unkind.

“then please...kill me.” you manage to say, wondering if your voice will get lost within the light, too.

it doesn’t.

because he pauses. there is hope and pity in your voice, and he finds an inkling within himself—to destroy it, to pull it from the pedestal it’s managed to erect in the midst of disaster and ruin it. so he loosens his grip, and that faint light within your eyes refuses to snuff out. you’re gasping for air — your body can’t help but crave it, no matter how much your mind craves death.

“don’t be stupid.” he croons. his voice is softer now, apologetic, and you don’t even flinch when he gently thumbs the fingerprint markings on your neck. against your better judgement, you find yourself clinging to the hope that he’ll let you live. that he’ll let you go and never hurt you again. that he’ll protect you from those who only wish to harm you. it’s a foolish thought — perhaps you are as stupid as he says — but hope is the only thing holding you afloat.

“you can’t leave me too.” his whispers, letting his head hang listlessly. his body untenses, and he brushes away wet strands of hair clinging to your forehead so gently you wonder if he’s had a change of heart. a hint of curiosity flashes crosses your face, and despite the tiredness you’re desperately trying to fight off, your interest urges him on. the tears swelling at his eyelids finally fall, and he detests the sight. the very thing that made her cast him aside. “if i told you who i really am, would you abandon me?” he mindlessly collect the tears from your cheeks. “will you leave me like she did?” 

you cannot fathom what he’s been through to cause him such anguish. he is never this gentle with you, never this vulnerable. this isn’t scaramouche anymore, and you cling to it. this vulnerability, this leverage. 

you give him the answer he wants.

“i...i won’t,” it was out of self-preservation, you hope, but an insignificant part of your gut tells you otherwise. it couldn’t be that you care for him... right? after all he’s done to you? 

maybe you are stupid.

he smiles gently, as if he’d expected that much. you’ve always been so easy to read...so easy to manipulate. 

his hands cup your cheeks and lift your gaze to meet his. his actions are still harsh, but there is hope and pity in his eyes. the same hope and pity in yours.

“then know this well. death is a luxury you do not deserve.” 

his voice is still soft even as he says such harsh words. its meaning is directed at himself, but you don’t need to know that. you don’t need to see any more of his hurt, no more than he’s already bared. 

hands hover around you neck once more, and he holds you like he would a chess piece — and squeezes.

you’re gasping for air again, but death only answers to him.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

PSA on respecting actors’ rights to privacy.

Hello friends. As you may have seen on this page, we enjoy being unhinged and thirsty, however, it is never at the expense of a person’s right to privacy.

Since yesterday afternoon I have seen a video floating around (originally on Twitter, but it has spread) that a girl took of Ewan Mitchell from the back as she followed him down the street in London.

Apparently she walked past him and gasped and he noticed and smiled. She could have stopped and asked for a picture, he probably would not have minded (we’ve seen the fan photos before), however, the girl said she felt too shy to ask. So instead, took out her phone and filmed him walking off, without him realising!

It’s a troubling world we live in where people would rather take and post images that are voyeuristic and nonconsensual than ones that someone has agreed to be part of. This type of behaviour is unacceptable and I do not support that on this page. Such images won’t be shared or supported.

Just because someone’s job puts them in the public eye, does not mean they are automatically stripped of their rights to privacy and dignity. These people are human beings. Treat them as such if you encounter them out in public.

If the tables were turned and it was some random dude following this girl around videoing her then there’d be an outrage.

Be respectful.

[ukrfeminism]

New research shows the number of deepfake videos is skyrocketing—and the world's biggest search engines are funneling clicks to dozens of sites dedicated to the nonconsensual fakes.

Google’s and Microsoft’s search engines have a problem with deepfake porn videos. Since deepfakes emerged half a decade ago, the technology has consistently been used to abuse and harass women—using machine learning to morph someone’s head into pornography without their permission. Now the number of nonconsensual deepfake porn videos is growing at an exponential rate, fueled by the advancement of AI technologies and an expanding deepfake ecosystem.

A new analysis of nonconsensual deepfake porn videos, conducted by an independent researcher and shared with WIRED, shows how pervasive the videos have become. At least 244,625 videos have been uploaded to the top 35 websites set up either exclusively or partially to host deepfake porn videos in the past seven years, according to the researcher, who requested anonymity to avoid being targeted online.

Over the first nine months of this year, 113,000 videos were uploaded to the websites—a 54 percent increase on the 73,000 videos uploaded in all of 2022. By the end of this year, the analysis forecasts, more videos will have been produced in 2023 than the total number of every other year combined.

These startling figures are just a snapshot of how colossal the issues with nonconsensual deepfakes has become—the full scale of the problem is much larger and encompasses other types of manipulated imagery. A whole industry of deepfake abuse, which predominantly targets women and is produced without people’s consent or knowledge, has emerged in recent years. Face-swapping apps that work on still images and apps where clothes can be “stripped off a person” in a photo with just a few clicks are also highly prominent. There are likely millions of images being created with these apps.

“This is something that targets everyday people, everyday high school students, everyday adults—it's become a daily occurrence,” says Sophie Maddocks, who conducts research on digital rights and cyber-sexual violence at the University of Pennsylvania. “It would make a lot of difference if we were able to make these technologies harder to access. It shouldn't take two seconds to potentially incite a sex crime.”

The new research highlights 35 different websites, which exist to exclusively host deepfake pornography videos or incorporate the videos alongside other adult material. (It does not encompass videos posted on social media, those shared privately, or manipulated photos.) WIRED is not naming or directly linking to the websites, so as not to further increase their visibility. The researcher scraped the websites to analyze the number and duration of deepfake videos, and they looked at how people find the websites using the analytics service SimilarWeb.

Many of the websites make it clear they host or spread deepfake porn videos—often featuring the word deepfakes or derivatives of it in their name. The top two websites contain 44,000 videos each, while five others host more than 10,000 deepfake videos. Most of them have several thousand videos, while some only list a few hundred. Some videos the researcher analyzed have been watched millions of times.

The research also identified an additional 300 general pornography websites that incorporate nonconsensual deepfake pornography in some way. The researcher says “leak” websites and websites that exist to repost people’s social media pictures are also incorporating deepfake images. One website dealing in photographs claims it has “undressed” people in 350,000 photos.

Measuring the full scale of deepfake videos and images online is incredibly difficult. Tracking where the content is shared on social media is challenging, while abusive content is also shared in private messaging groups or closed channels, often by people known to the victims. In September, more than 20 girls aged 11 to 17 came forward in the Spanish town of Almendralejo after AI tools were used to generate naked photos of them without their knowledge.

“There has been significant growth in the availability of AI tools for creating deepfake nonconsensual pornographic imagery, and an increase in demand for this type of content on pornography platforms and illicit online networks,” says Asher Flynn, an associate professor at Monash University, Australia, who focuses on AI and technology-facilitated abuse. This is only likely to increase with new generative AI tools.

The gateway to many of the websites and tools to create deepfake videos or images is through search. Millions of people are directed to the websites analyzed by the researcher, with 50 to 80 percent of people finding their way to the websites via search. Finding deepfake videos through search is trivial and does not require a person to have any special knowledge about what to search for.

The issue is global. Using a VPN, the researcher tested Google searches in Canada, Germany, Japan, the US, Brazil, South Africa, and Australia. In all the tests, deepfake websites were prominently displayed in search results. Celebrities, streamers, and content creators are often targeted in the videos. Maddocks says the spread of deepfakes has become “endemic” and is what many researchers first feared when the first deepfake videos rose to prominence in December 2017.

Since the tools needed to create deepfake videos emerged, they’ve become easier to use, and the quality of the videos being produced has improved. The wave of image-generation tools also offers the potential for higher-quality abusive images and, eventually, video to be created. And five years after the first deepfakes started to appear, the first laws are just emerging that criminalize the sharing of faked images.

The proliferation of these deepfake apps combined with a greater reliance on digital communications in the Covid-19 era and a "failure of laws and policies to keep pace" has created a “perfect storm,” Flynn says.

Experts say that alongside new laws, better education about the technologies is needed, as well as measures to stop the spread of tools created to cause harm. This includes action by firms that host the websites and also search engines, including Google and Microsoft’s Bing. Currently, Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) complaints are the primary legal mechanism that women have to get videos removed from websites.

Henry Ajder, a deepfake and generative AI expert who has monitored the spread of the technologies, says adding more “friction” to the process of people finding deepfake porn videos, apps to change people’s faces, and tools that specifically allow the creation of nonconsensual images can reduce the spread. “It's about trying to make it as hard as possible for someone to find,” he says. This could be search engines down-ranking results for harmful websites or internet service providers blocking sites, he says. “It's hard to feel really optimistic, given the volume and scale of these operations, and the need for platforms—which historically have not taken these issues seriously—to suddenly do so,” Ajder says.

“Like any search engine, Google indexes content that exists on the web, but we actively design our ranking systems to avoid shocking people with unexpected harmful or explicit content they don't want to see,” says Google spokesperson Ned Adriance, pointing to its page on when it removes search results. Google’s support pages say it is possible for people to request that “involuntary fake pornography” be removed. Its removal form requires people to manually submit URLs and the search terms that were used to find the content. “As this space evolves, we're actively working to add more safeguards to help protect people, based on systems we've built for other types of nonconsensual explicit imagery,” Adriance says.

Courtney Gregoire, chief digital safety officer at Microsoft, says it does not allow deepfakes, and they can be reported through its web forms. “The distribution of nonconsensual intimate imagery (NCII) is a gross violation of personal privacy and dignity with devastating effects for victims,” Gregoire says. “Microsoft prohibits NCII on our platforms and services, including the soliciting of NCII or advocating for the production or redistribution of intimate imagery without a victim’s consent.”

While the number of videos and pictures continues to skyrocket, the impact on victims can be long-lasting. “Gender-based online harassment is having an enormous chilling effect on free speech for women,” Maddocks says. As reported by WIRED, female Twitch streamers targeted by deepfakes have detailed feeling violated, being exposed to more harassment, and losing time, and some said the nonconsensual content found its way to family members.

Flynn, the Monash University professor, says her research has found “high rates” of mental health concerns—such as anxiety, depression, self-injury, and suicide—as a result of digital abuse. “The potential impacts on a person’s mental and physical health, as well as impacts on their employment, family, and social lives can be immense,” Flynn says, “regardless of whether the image is deepfaked or ‘real.’”

[smallgodseries]

[image description: A middle-aged man stands in a garage wearing a wrinkled blue work shirt, with a patch that says ‘Len’. His arms are crossed and he holds a ‘RIGID’ monkey-wrench. Behind him, a sign reads ‘SPEEDY LUBING’. Text reads, “113, Len ~ Small God of the Day Job”]

::Today we share Len to honor the incredible team working hard and long to save Lee’s brave nephew.::

There is no shame in an honest day’s work.  No reason to lower your eyes and refuse to answer when someone asked you what you did for a living; no reason to feel like wiping a counter or turning a wrench made you somehow lesser, made you somehow inferior.  Len knows all who labor, whatever color their collar happens to be, and he loves them all with equal grace.  White collar, blue collar, the occasional butcher or surgeon who considers themselves blurred all the way into red collar, they are all his children.

He also loves those who aspire to leave his grace, the artists and authors who dream of making their muse their master, riding their passion all the way to plenty; the ones who dream with genuine delight of the day they can marry and retire, staying home to raise a family, doing the hard work of education and nurturing while someone else serves in Len’s temples.  He loves them knowing they want nothing more than to leave him behind, one more forgotten god on a life path littered with unneeded theologies and thrown-aside prayers.

He has room for them all, and he knows there will always be another, because there is always work to be done, and always hands to do it.  He would prefer that all who work beneath his banner be there of their own free will.  He knows that isn’t the case, and those are the only prayers that he regrets.  The compelled.  The captive.  The nonconsensual.  He cannot free them from his temples, must depend on human hands to untie the knots and undo the locks, but he can hope for them, and he can answer them as kindly as his nature allows.

Len loves the workers.  Len loves the union man.  And Len loves an unvoided warranty.  Take care of what you own, Len begs, or be without.

Len loves you, too.

Artist Lee Moyer (13th Age, Cursed Court) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.

Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities:

Tumblr: https://smallgodseries.tumblr.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/smallgodseries

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/smallgodseries/

Homepage: http://www.smallgodseries.com/

[womenaremypriority]

This might be a stupid question, but regarding the accounts sharing nonconsensually shared images of Native American women- should I share the ones I found so people can block? I just really don’t want to do anything that might further share them. I’m worried someone will use the list to find those sorts of accounts to follow. But also I really want to share so we can get them taken down

[whyyoualwayssoradical]

Nonconsensual deepfake pornography is just a click away on popular search engines like Google and Microsoft’s Bing.

Deepfake pornography often grafts a person’s face into a real pornographic scene — for example, a famous woman’s face will be “swapped” with an adult star’s face, making it appear that the famous woman is nude or engaged in a sexual act.

NBC News found that deepfake pornographic images featuring the likenesses of female celebrities were the first images Google and other top search engines surfaced in searches for many women’s names and the word “deepfakes,” as well as general terms like “deepfake porn” or “fake nudes.” The searches were conducted with safe-search tools turned off.

Legal experts, advocates and victims say nonconsensual deepfake porn has grown into a crisis, and they’re asking tech platforms to step up where laws and law enforcement have yet to take action. A growing number of states have enacted or introduced laws to govern the use of deepfakes, particularly in elections, but nonconsensual deepfake porn has only continued to spread.

NBC News searched the combination of a name and the word “deepfakes” with 36 popular female celebrities on Google and Bing. A review of the results found nonconsensual deepfake images and links to deepfake videos in the top Google results for 34 of those searches and the top Bing results for 35 of them. More than half of the top results were links to a popular deepfake website or a competitor. The popular deepfake website has cultivated a market for nonconsensual deepfake porn of celebrities and private figures.

Googling “fake nudes” returned links to multiple apps and programs to create and view nonconsensual deepfake porn in the first six results, followed by six articles about high school boys’ allegedly using the technology to create and share deepfake nude images of their female classmates. On Bing, searching “fake nudes” returned dozens of results of nonconsensual deepfake tools and websites before surfacing an article about the harms of the phenomenon.

Bing’s AI chatbot, Copilot, which appears as an option for search results, tells users that it can’t show them deepfake porn. Copilot says, “The use of deepfakes is unethical and can have serious consequences.” But dozens of links to and examples of nonconsensual deepfake porn are a click away on Bing.

The findings underscore the growing prevalence of nonconsensual deep fake pornography and call into question what action technology companies are taking to limit their spread, even as tech companies are pouring resources into AI initiatives like Google’s Colab and Bard and the products from OpenAI, in which Microsoft is a major investor. Google’s lack of proactive patrolling for abuse has made it and other search engines useful platforms for people looking to engage in deepfake harassment campaigns, according to experts.

Google’s core web results don’t have policies about AI-generated content, but Google said its search features, like panels with selected information, don’t allow manipulated media or sexually explicit content. Google’s Play app store forbids “apps determined to promote or perpetuate demonstrably misleading or deceptive imagery, videos and/or text.” However, Google’s Play Store continues to host an app that has previously advertised the creation of pornographic deepfakes.

Google allows deepfake victims to request the removal of such content from search results through a form, but it isn’t proactively searching for and delisting deepfakes itself. The takedown request page says, “We only review the URLs that you or your authorized representative submit in the form.”

A Google spokesperson said in a statement: “We understand how distressing this content can be for people affected by it, and we’re actively working to bring more protections to Search. Like any search engine, Google indexes content that exists on the web, but we actively design our ranking systems to avoid shocking people with unexpected harmful or explicit content that they aren’t looking for.

“As this space evolves, we’re in the process of building more expansive safeguards, with a particular focus on removing the need for known victims to request content removals one-by-one,” the statement continued.

While Google dominates search engine traffic, alternative search engines like Microsoft’s Bing and the independent search engine DuckDuckGo also feature fake nude images of celebrity women in search results. The content featured on top image search results for Bing includes fake nude photos of former teen Disney Channel female actors, and some of the images use pictures of their faces that appeared to be taken before they turned 18. (A reverse image search for some of the faces used in some of the photos returned results that were posted online before the actors turned 18.)

A spokesperson for Microsoft also pointed to a form where victims of nonconsensual intimate imagery (NCII) can report it appearing in Bing search results. In August 2023, Microsoft clarified that it considers sexually-explicit deepfakes to fall under its NCII policy.

The Microsoft spokesperson said in a statement: “The distribution of non-consensual intimate imagery (NCII) is a gross violation of personal privacy and dignity with devastating effects for victims. Microsoft prohibits NCII on our platforms and services, including the soliciting of NCII or advocating for the production or redistribution of intimate imagery without a victim’s consent."

[mariacallous]

Google’s and Microsoft’s search engines have a problem with deepfake porn videos. Since deepfakes emerged half a decade ago, the technology has consistently been used to abuse and harass women—using machine learning to morph someone’s head into pornography without their permission. Now the number of nonconsensual deepfake porn videos is growing at an exponential rate, fueled by the advancement of AI technologies and an expanding deepfake ecosystem.

A new analysis of nonconsensual deepfake porn videos, conducted by an independent researcher and shared with WIRED, shows how pervasive the videos have become. At least 244,625 videos have been uploaded to the top 35 websites set up either exclusively or partially to host deepfake porn videos in the past seven years, according to the researcher, who requested anonymity to avoid being targeted online.

Over the first nine months of this year, 113,000 videos were uploaded to the websites—a 54 percent increase on the 73,000 videos uploaded in all of 2022. By the end of this year, the analysis forecasts, more videos will have been produced in 2023 than the total number of every other year combined.

These startling figures are just a snapshot of how colossal the issues with nonconsensual deepfakes has become—the full scale of the problem is much larger and encompasses other types of manipulated imagery. A whole industry of deepfake abuse, which predominantly targets women and is produced without people’s consent or knowledge, has emerged in recent years. Face-swapping apps that work on still images and apps where clothes can be “stripped off a person” in a photo with just a few clicks are also highly prominent. There are likely millions of images being created with these apps.

“This is something that targets everyday people, everyday high school students, everyday adults—it's become a daily occurrence,” says Sophie Maddocks, who conducts research on digital rights and cyber-sexual violence at the University of Pennsylvania. “It would make a lot of difference if we were able to make these technologies harder to access. It shouldn't take two seconds to potentially incite a sex crime.”

The new research highlights 35 different websites, which exist to exclusively host deepfake pornography videos or incorporate the videos alongside other adult material. (It does not encompass videos posted on social media, those shared privately, or manipulated photos.) WIRED is not naming or directly linking to the websites, so as not to further increase their visibility. The researcher scraped the websites to analyze the number and duration of deepfake videos, and they looked at how people find the websites using the analytics service SimilarWeb.

Many of the websites make it clear they host or spread deepfake porn videos—often featuring the word deepfakes or derivatives of it in their name. The top two websites contain 44,000 videos each, while five others host more than 10,000 deepfake videos. Most of them have several thousand videos, while some only list a few hundred. Some videos the researcher analyzed have been watched millions of times.

The research also identified an additional 300 general pornography websites that incorporate nonconsensual deepfake pornography in some way. The researcher says “leak” websites and websites that exist to repost people’s social media pictures are also incorporating deepfake images. One website dealing in photographs claims it has “undressed” people in 350,000 photos.

Measuring the full scale of deepfake videos and images online is incredibly difficult. Tracking where the content is shared on social media is challenging, while abusive content is also shared in private messaging groups or closed channels, often by people known to the victims. In September, more than 20 girls aged 11 to 17 came forward in the Spanish town of Almendralejo after AI tools were used to generate naked photos of them without their knowledge.

“There has been significant growth in the availability of AI tools for creating deepfake nonconsensual pornographic imagery, and an increase in demand for this type of content on pornography platforms and illicit online networks,” says Asher Flynn, an associate professor at Monash University, Australia, who focuses on AI and technology-facilitated abuse. This is only likely to increase with new generative AI tools.

The gateway to many of the websites and tools to create deepfake videos or images is through search. Millions of people are directed to the websites analyzed by the researcher, with 50 to 80 percent of people finding their way to the websites via search. Finding deepfake videos through search is trivial and does not require a person to have any special knowledge about what to search for.

The issue is global. Using a VPN, the researcher tested Google searches in Canada, Germany, Japan, the US, Brazil, South Africa, and Australia. In all the tests, deepfake websites were prominently displayed in search results. Celebrities, streamers, and content creators are often targeted in the videos. Maddocks says the spread of deepfakes has become “endemic” and is what many researchers first feared when the first deepfake videos rose to prominence in December 2017.

Since the tools needed to create deepfake videos emerged, they’ve become easier to use, and the quality of the videos being produced has improved. The wave of image-generation tools also offers the potential for higher-quality abusive images and, eventually, video to be created. And five years after the first deepfakes started to appear, the first laws are just emerging that criminalize the sharing of faked images.

The proliferation of these deepfake apps combined with a greater reliance on digital communications in the Covid-19 era and a "failure of laws and policies to keep pace" has created a “perfect storm,” Flynn says.

Experts say that alongside new laws, better education about the technologies is needed, as well as measures to stop the spread of tools created to cause harm. This includes action by firms that host the websites and also search engines, including Google and Microsoft’s Bing. Currently, Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA) complaints are the primary legal mechanism that women have to get videos removed from websites.

Henry Ajder, a deepfake and generative AI expert who has monitored the spread of the technologies, says adding more “friction” to the process of people finding deepfake porn videos, apps to change people’s faces, and tools that specifically allow the creation of nonconsensual images can reduce the spread. “It's about trying to make it as hard as possible for someone to find,” he says. This could be search engines down-ranking results for harmful websites or internet service providers blocking sites, he says. “It's hard to feel really optimistic, given the volume and scale of these operations, and the need for platforms—which historically have not taken these issues seriously—to suddenly do so,” Ajder says.

“Like any search engine, Google indexes content that exists on the web, but we actively design our ranking systems to avoid shocking people with unexpected harmful or explicit content they don't want to see,” says Google spokesperson Ned Adriance, pointing to its page on when it removes search results. Google’s support pages say it is possible for people to request that “involuntary fake pornography” be removed. Its removal form requires people to manually submit URLs and the search terms that were used to find the content. “As this space evolves, we're actively working to add more safeguards to help protect people, based on systems we've built for other types of nonconsensual explicit imagery,” Adriance says.

Courtney Gregoire, chief digital safety officer at Microsoft, says it does not allow deepfakes, and they can be reported through its web forms. “The distribution of nonconsensual intimate imagery (NCII) is a gross violation of personal privacy and dignity with devastating effects for victims,” Gregoire says. “Microsoft prohibits NCII on our platforms and services, including the soliciting of NCII or advocating for the production or redistribution of intimate imagery without a victim’s consent.”

While the number of videos and pictures continues to skyrocket, the impact on victims can be long-lasting. “Gender-based online harassment is having an enormous chilling effect on free speech for women,” Maddocks says. As reported by WIRED, female Twitch streamers targeted by deepfakes have detailed feeling violated, being exposed to more harassment, and losing time, and some said the nonconsensual content found its way to family members.

Flynn, the Monash University professor, says her research has found “high rates” of mental health concerns—such as anxiety, depression, self-injury, and suicide—as a result of digital abuse. “The potential impacts on a person’s mental and physical health, as well as impacts on their employment, family, and social lives can be immense,” Flynn says, “regardless of whether the image is deepfaked or ‘real.’”

[khaleesiofalicante]

As someone who works on the topic of nonconsensual intimate image sharing (please stop calling it revenge porn - it’s not porn and it cannot be called an act of revenge when the victim didn’t do anything to deserve it)…This episode of Ted Lasso was written oh so beautifully.

Just well fucking done.

I’ve seen so many shows and movies tackle this issue before but not like this.

The emphasis on accountability of the person who receives the nudes, the absolute disregard for consent, the “if you don’t want anyone to see, then don’t send nudes” logic, the idea that certain people (such as celebrities) are not entitled to privacy, the reality of shaming and blaming the victim, the complicity of bystanders in sharing and resharing and of course how this is yet another product of the patriarchy where women are called prudes for showing too little and sluts for showing too much.

Well fucking done, writers, well fucking done.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

About the background lore/world building, I cant help but wonder about twisted wonderland's media/pop culture or artistic movements and the like. Like are morally grey characters and antiheroes really a facet of their popular media and if so why doesn't Vil try to lean more towards those roles? If they arent really a part of their media and storytelling then what happened or didnt happen to cause them to be absent?

They have magicam which is pretty much magical Instagram so do they have other sites like tumblr or facebook or ao3? Or even specific nonconsensual parts of pop culture, like is there a twisted wonderland equivalent to the muppets? A magical adjacent Monty Python? Unsolved mysteries with Robert Stack? Or if they had an equivalent to Forensic Files would it focus on the same aspect of our Forensic Files or would it tend to follow the magical sector of their police forces and criminal investigations?

I just think it would be interesting to see how their media develops differently from ours considering various factors, like the proven existence of ghosts and monsters, or the elongated life spans of the fae, not to mention the elephant in the room of the undeniable presence of magic. Like without a doubt they wouldn't have all those true haunting and ghost hunting shows because they would most likely be considered rude and invasive, and there probably isnt going to be any equivalent to the Lord of the Rings, but what would they have, ya know?

cbksdbjebew I’m sorry 😅 I live under a rock like Patrick Star, so I’m not familiar with most of the specific pop culture examples you named 💦 I won’t be speaking on those, since I have little to no context for what they are. But!! I do wonder how Twisted Wonderland’s media and pop culture scene is similar to and/or different from ours!

In the real world, there are definitely instances of people writing a certain genre (for example, Battle Royale), but the genre not really “blowing up” until a popular modern rendition (ie Hunger Games) of it is done, thus thrusting pop culture into an era of oversaturation of that genre (ie more teenage/young adult dystopia novels). It could be that Twisted Wonderland has not yet hit that “popular modern rendition” for morally grey characters/antiheroes yet? A lot of the media and public opinion actually referenced in the main story seems to imply that the current media being offered paints its characters in absolutes (good/evil).

The other possibility is that Vil has too much pride in his profession to take morally grey/antihero roles. He’s been painted as a wicked villain for the entirety of his childhood; it wouldn’t surprise me if his personal ambition, desire to prove his nay-sayers wrong, and rivalry with Neige (the epitome of pure and good) spurred Vil to want to be perceived as the other extreme (the same insane "pure and good” image that Neige has). Vil would want to go “all the way”, not go only “halfway there” or take the role of something far more ambiguous. I would actually argue that Vil only gets around to embracing ambiguous and morally grey roles in episode 6 (whereas he was very black-and-white about it in episode 5). Overblot Idia taunts Vil by calling him a “hero” come to save the day, but Vil rebuts him by saying, “there are no heroes or villains”.

If Twisted Wonderland has Magicam, then I don’t see why they wouldn’t have other social media platforms and sites too! I think in episode 5 Cater shows a video on an unnamed site which required them to watch an ad before they could view the actual video…? So that might be Youtube or another video sharing platform? Azul mentions streaming in episode 6, so there must be some equivalent to a streaming site like Twitch??? There might be other examples that I’m not thinking of off the top of my head.

I think that having magic on set would actually be super useful! For productions like hand-drawn cartoons and films, it could help animators (at least the ones that can use magic) minimize physical strain (since they use their hands so much). For live action productions, magic can be used for special effects instead of like... I don’t know, fog machines, stunt doubles, or whatever else is normally used 😂 And since different races and species exist (fairies, ghosts, merfolk, beastment, etc), maybe there would be more of a push to educate the public about the different races and species? Like more documentaries and resources so that the general public is more culturally competent!

[lovelessdagger]

Starlight - Chapter Thirty-Two: An Image of Perfection

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

Warnings: Explicit Language. Horror. Angst. Suicidal Ideation. Medical Horror. Nonconsensual nonsexual touching. Panic Attacks. Torture/Whump. Imperialism. OC only chapter. Feminine despair

Words: 8.3k

Summary : “It’s better she die now, killed away from him and in such a circumstance to guarantee he never mourns her. Never spares a thought aside from regret and with all feeling lost but bile in his throat.”

A/N: Yell at me, I’m not even sorry. I had Mitski on repeat while writing this.

Starlight Masterlist Here

Read Chapter Thirty-One Here

Read on AO3 Here

“When beginning my studies under Mistress Nala Se approximately twenty years ago on Mount Tantiss, there were two primary objectives,” Doctor Pershing tells Moff Gideon. The Imperial enters the private study where the girl continues to lay—once again unconscious on the surgical table. “To perfect successful cloning of Force Sensitives, and somehow, enhance preexisting DNA for something not unlike a super solider. Under your payment and generosity,” he chuckles, “These efforts have been continued by myself and my colleagues in the years since. So far, as you know, results have been null. Until, now.”

Gideon approaches the girl, lifting and letting her arm fall. “Explain them to me.”

“Every test I have sent of the Inquisitors, genetics are entered into an Imperial database. In the past when sampling was collected from Project Harvestor for example, it would be for identification purposes. Now, per your request we merely hold it for study. When there is nothing extraordinary it’s erased.”

“Get to the point.”

“Of course. Regardless of what we do with the sample, it’s always run through in case of possible matches to what we already have. Now, matches aren’t uncommon. Some appear with links to Jedi lineage from those captured by the Inquisitors of the past. Others to criminals, Senators on rare occasion.”

Pershing approaches the girl, correcting her position. He presents the datapad containing the report to Gideon.

“What you see here is a model of a typical DNA strand. In humans at least, we can quantify half being from the mother, half being of the father. When a match appears in our system it links to whatever half is represented. Generally when a link is found to… a Jedi for example, it is a percentage. Reproduction was frowned upon in the religion, they’re typically a relative through some design. Cousin, shared aunt, grandfather. A match such as child to parent never happens. It’s thought to be impossible. It’s part of my job to understand the possible and impossible.

He swipes, chaining the screen. “This is a model of her DNA. What has been flagged is a direct, perfect link—“ he swipes again, a third labeled stand appearing, “to this.”

Gideon takes the tablet, his hands almost shake. “You’re certain?”

Doctor Pershing nods. “As the night is dark.”

“How?”

“That is the question of the hour, and it’s not where shock ends either.” Pershing takes back the tablet, continuing to scroll. “If we take a closer look,” he says. “There are several mutations, and coincidentally none have negative affect on the girl.”

“What are they?”

“Most are unknown currently, but her health is perfect. No conditions, no… misshapen organs. In fact I would say her quality of life is improved. Lung capacity, strength, heart.” Pershing clears his throat, guiding Gideon down the table. “What do you think of her?” He asks. “Physically. How do you perceive her?”

“She has an ideal build,” Gideon offers. “Decent height, weight. Excellent strength.”

“And of the face?”

“Attractive.”

Pershing snaps his fingers, moving to her head. “Yes!” he says. “She’s attractive.” He cups her jaw from behind, raising her head. “Ideal distance between features, plump skin, free of blemish. Perfect teeth, nose, lips. All her proportions… flawless. This is with no evidence of surgical work. But the question comes, who does she look like?”

Gideon shrugs. “No one I would recognize.”

“Now who doesn’t she look like?”

“I see your point.”

“Moff Gideon,” Doctor Pershing says. “The shock of this girl, it shouldn’t come from the link found. Were it just the one, the answer would be clear. We could call her a clone, like the many I’ve seen and seen be created before. That is not the case.”

“Then what is it?”

“There remains a link unfounded, and that simply cannot happen through natural reproduction. That is impossible. I’ve seen many clones start, live, fail, die. Millions of samples have been created in my career alone. None turn out to be force sensitive by chance, and as we’ve seen there are extreme difficulties with the intervention of high M-Count blood. It is of my belief that this girl is genetically engineered. Every part of her, mutations, genetics, appearance. It’s all been preselected and implemented to perfection.”

Moff Gideon looks to him, air caught inside. “She’s a strandcast?”

“She’s a miracle.”

---

“Would you say you have a soul?”

Primitive, is one way to put it. Insulting, is another. This little shoebox of a room—white and sterile, twenty paces from one end to the other. The space is relatively dark, three of the five overhead lights blown out. One remains over her, and one above the door—a clunky gray thing needing to be manually opened and closed.

Unwillingly, Lumina lays in the sole interrogation chair of the room, arms and legs bound by metal straps, leather for her waist. The wires and machines from the doctors study followed her here, heart rate slow, steady on a monitor to her left. An IV and a sedative run down her arm that she cannot feel.

The world is warped and she cannot create, much less comprehend thought. Her muscles have the strength of jelly. Her head falls against the board of the chair and she must breathe through her mouth to receive her necessary oxygen.

It’s like she’s drowning.

Throughout random intervals of the day a sporadic changing of the doctor and a bobbling medical droid enter the room, signaled by the prison-like buzz sounded by the door. The droids says nothing to her as it checks her vitals, only repeating the numbers to itself.

The doctor does not share its silence.

In her sleep, he’s conducted a vanity cleaning. Wiping her face and hands free of blood. This is known through the bound hours spent staring into the reflection of the pane of one-way glass directly across.

She looks insane, though how much of a departure that is from her usual appearance is a thought she won’t dwell on. Circles run dark under her eyes, hair knotted and frizzy. Her clothes have dried to her skin. They’re stiff and smell of mildew.

The doctor encourages the stare. He tells her about the experience of becoming self aware and realizing the state of her reality. Realizing the she is in fact human. Whatever that can mean.

He always asks how she is, if she’s slept at all. All she can do is sleep, the drugs in her system don’t allow for consciousness longer than two hours at a time.

She doesn’t say this.

He has a habit of taking her chin between his fingers and tilting her head from side to side. He always apologizes for touching her so intimately.

He asks her questions, simple ones requiring one word answers. He never mentions the name Vader, he doesn’t ask how she escaped the Death Star, he doesn’t care. He asks about her favorite color, what time of day she prefers, if the room is too hot or too cold for her liking.

She’s yet to answer any of it.

There have been times where he comes with an IT-O unit. The black orb circles her, rod posed for an electrocution that never comes.

They refuse to torture her.

Instead, audio of Imperial propaganda plays into the room on a twenty-four hour loop. It’s the same combination of tracks she’d heard as a child. 

“After the betrayal of the Jedi, Chancellor Palpatine rebuilt the failed Republic into the Galactic Empire,” the female voice says, soft like were saying a fairytale. 

The Emperors voice comes in after a second of static. “In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire! …For a safe and secure society,” he says.

“You have been chosen to lead the Empire into glory,” the girl continues. “The Empire depends on you.”

A flashlight blinds, inches from Lumina’s face. It waits until her left pupil is entirely dilated before moving to the right.

“Do you understand the concept of soul?” Doctor Pershing asks. “Do you understand that you are alive right now?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“Do you want to be alive?”

Her tongue smacks to the roof of her dry mouth, chewing on air. She feels rancid. 

“Cui ogir'olar,” she answers.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize that language,” Pershing says. “How many do you speak?”

She repeats words in her head, counting on her finger for each one remembered.

Ge’tal, red. Tal, blood. Kyr,amur, kill. Kyrayc, dead.

A scanning flash of red light passes over her face. “Do you find learning new things easy?”

Lumina’s head falls against the rest, closing her eyes.

“You exist to serve the Empire,” she says in time with the recording. “You are nothing without the Empire.” 

“It’s late,” the doctor concedes. “You’ve had an eventful day. We’ll continue in the morning.”

“The Empire needs you.”

She’s left with no one but herself.

“You need the Empire.” ---

“I am going to present to you a series of images,” Doctor Pershing says. “There is no need to be vocal if that is not a wish. The monitors on your head will capture your neurological reaction.”

In the hologram, each picture is tinted blue and fuzzed with static. They skip on a perfect interval of three seconds. It is the same planet assessment given to her as a child. A basic intelligence quiz.

In her mind, she answers perfectly.

Coruscant.

Lianna.

Corulag.

Lothal.

Naboo.

The exam pauses here.

“I looked over your supporting documents,” Doctor Pershing says. “You mentioned how Naboo felt familiar, do you wish to expand on that? What is it particularly about Naboo that you enjoy?”

With no answer he continues.

The images change to sentients, different species, officers she would be required to know. Inquisitors now long dead. He stops on the profile of a human male.

An Inquisitor, estimated age, thirty. 

“You’re suspected to be thirteen when it happened,” he says. In the corner of her eye, she catches the line of her heart monitor quicken. “Do you remember the events leading up to the incident? From what I understand, you claimed to have acted in self defense. It’s quite unusual that a child of your size would be capable of such an attack.” Then, “Do you regret what you’ve done?”

Once more she is silent.

The slideshow continues as normal, more familiar faces appearing. Tidhel, Petiko, their friends. Neri, Relena—the latter etching a particular frown on Lumina.

When a blond appears—one of unfortunate interest—the corner of her mouth twitches. She can’t help the laugh that comes, the long awaited break of sanity—bold, cackled. She runs out of breath, gasping.

“Comments?” Doctor Pershing asks, more than startled himself.

“It’s the boy savior,” she almost sings, defeated.

“Have you met him?”

Her head shakes. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

“Why is that?”

Inside the projector its lightbulb shatters, concluding the exam.

---

Dreams are flashes of events already passed. She can’t stop seeing Din’s face, staring. He screams at her, she hears every word she made him say, and all the ones she didn’t. 

Either way, all observations made are true.

What’s worse is she would do it again. Not the lying or secrets, but the manipulation. She’d make him say those things a million times over if she had to. Convinced she’d never survive any longer under his affection.

It’s better she die now, killed away from him and in such a circumstance to guarantee he never mourns her. Never spares a thought aside from regret and with all feeling lost but bile in his throat.

She craves to be another mistake. It’s all she knows.

Deep in unconsciousness Lumina wants nothing more than to sleep in the bed she’s made. To not wake.

One way or another her mind drifts to the Child. Lost and alone. She doesn’t spare a moment to debate if Gideon is right in his statement that she is blame for his taking. She now accepts guilt with no jury.

She’s always been at fault, why should this be different?

If she cannot rectify the sum of her twenty plus years of life, she can at least fix this. 

She will reunite the Child and the Mandalorian.

And then she will be content to be nothing.

---

Waking up, Lumina jolts upright, panting. The room spins for bit, lights dizzying. She tries to wipe her face, but both wrists remain shackled.

The doctor sits across from her, chair cushioned. He carries a datapad, and one lamp powered on atop a small table.

“Look around,” the recording says. “You are weak. You are nothing special. Everyone is waiting for you to fail. Are you going to let that happen?”

“You’re awake,” Doctor Pershing says. “Excellent. Welcome back.”

He grabs a cup she hadn’t noticed before, placing it to her lips. She peers inside to the still water. He encourages her to drink, and she does.

“You’re very special,” he tells her. “You need your strength. It’s important you stay at peak physical ability.”

“What happened?”

“You had a negative reaction to truth serum. You fell unconscious the moment it entered your veins.”

“How long was I out?”

“Around five hours.”

Regretfully she does have Vader to thank for that. Regular endurance training meant going over every trick in the Imperial handbook. Multiple times. Psychological drugs are hardest to combat, Sith or not. Best to shut down, avoid the torment, deal with the aftermath.

“While you were unconscious, I took it upon myself to further examine your psychosis; hallucinations, delusion, mania, paranoia. Medication can treat this.”

Her eyes close, audible breath through her nose. “I’m not crazy,” she whispers.

“You should have no shame in it. Profound trauma, such as you’ve received, at a young age is a known factor to an onslaught of psychological disorders.”

Lumina scoffs, forming into a chuckle. “You’re a clone engineer. Not a shrink.”

“Yes,” Pershing agrees. “But I have studied the psychology many clones. It is essential to understanding how to best improve production. What I mean to say is, I want to help your…” he motions to her, “Current state.”

“If you want to help, you’ll let me go.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Not yet at least.” He sets the cup back on the table. “I’ve come to realize I’ve never gathered a proper name for you. According to my documents, you’ve used plenty in your life. Is there a preference of one over another?”

His foot taps the ground, powering on his data pad. “Let’s see here… Midnight? That’s quite pretty. Nebula, Estelle… I see you have a preference for names related to space,” he chuckles. ”Do you enjoy stars?” Doctor Pershing pauses before his next words, setting the tablet down. “You’ve met someone named Star before, is that correct?”

Reality comes back together. 

“What” Lumina asks. Her brows push together, nails biting into her palm.

“From what I understand, you two were great friends. It’s quite upsetting, what happened.”

“What happened…” she repeats.

“You killed her,” he says.

“No—”

“They found you with her body. You killed her. There is no easier way to phrase it. Killing the Inquisitor… Star. Those were not directives given by someone else, were they? You wanted to do those things.” 

“He deserved it,” Lumina says.

“Did she? You were both children, I can’t imagine that’s justified.”

She’s quiet, scrunching her face. “It was an accident,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know…” She’s slow, quiet. “She was my friend. I don’t know what happened—we were practicing and— she couldn’t breathe.“

“And she died.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened after?”

“I was put in solitary for—for months I don’t—“ Lumina’s breathing quickens. “They put me in this room and—there were lights on the walls but, the wiring was bad it wouldn’t turn on.”

“How do you know the wiring was faulty?”

“I felt it.”

“The wires?”

“The energy. It couldn’t pass through. It was trapped. I wanted to help it but nothing worked.  I got so upset and—“ She stops, swallowing the air. “And I remember I was—I was—and no one—and and then it all turned on—”

“The lights?”

“Everything. It kept flashing and turning on and off and on and then it all broke. The door opened and I tried to run but… they sent me back with the others and acted like it never happened. I tried asking and… no one listened. All anyone wanted to talk about was her. And not that she was dead, that somehow I was the one who did it. They said I was crazy, and they never locked me up. It never happened.”

“And…” Doctor Pershing clears his throat. “What do you believe?”

Lumina’s face goes blank, sorrow wiped in a second. Her head tilts, body leaning forward. “I know what I saw.” She laughs, passive. “My whole life these things have always happened to me. Things no one can make sense of, and instead of trying, they say I’m psychotic and I’m not— I’m not crazy. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I think we should take a break,” Pershing says.

“I’m not crazy!” She laughs again, a sudden stop with lips pressed together. “Nothing is real,” she whispers. “None of this is real!”

She hears her own heartbeat in double time, muscles tense and spasm. A lingering effect of the serum. 

The voice of the shadow returns, laughing in her ear.

“I’m afraid it is all very real,” Pershing tells her. “What you need is rest.”

“Just tell me what you want,” Lumina pleads. “Tell me what he’s making you do. What does he want? I’ll give it, just—make it stop. Please.”

He looks from the girl to the data pad, and back again. ”Make what stop?”

“Make him go away.”

“Who?”

The light overhead flickers.

She cries at the ceiling, eyes pinched shut. 

“Star received her name from being the star student, is that correct? Is that where this name of yours comes from? Star—“

Lumina lunges forward, held back by the straps. “Finish that and I rip out your throat,” she growls. She heaves every breath, sweat beading on her forehead. “I have sat through all your stupid tests. I’ve had no food, no water, you force to lay in my own filth for days. Fine. I don’t care if you want to strap me here for the rest of my life. Do it. If anyone says that word to me, I’ll kill everyone on board and save you for last. Do you understand me?”

“I,” Pershing stutters. “Yes, yes. Yes. I apologize.”

“Get out,” she mutters. “Get out!”

The buzzer sounds, and two stormtroopers open the door from the outside. The doctor leaves, and the room is committed to darkness. ---

The next day Doctor Pershing acts as if it never happened. He doesn’t give her a name.

“I spent time ruminating over your story with the lights,” he says in place of his usual greeting. “Something similar happened in the cargo hold before you came. I have a theory.” Pershing reaches for the lamp, still on the table. “And if I am to prove it, I will need your cooperation.” He grabs under the shade then presents his hand holding the lightbulb.

In caution he places the glass in Lumina’s hand. She rubs her thumb over it, warm to touch.

“I want you to turn it on,” he says. “Holding it, just like that.”

“What?”

“There is enough energy inside of you to turn on this lightbulb. I would like to see you do it.”

“Inside of me?”

Doctor Pershing grabs the tablet, he presents the screen with a labeled line. “All sentients carry some form of an energy field solely by living. If we look at a spectrum, humans emit electromagnetic radiation on the lower end here,” he says pointing. “Your levels—“ his finger moves up the line, “—are here. This should be fatal, and yet here you are in perfect health.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Physical health at least… I’ve noticed when you are upset, electrics fail.” He points to the ceiling and says, “Lights are a frequent victim.” 

“I don’t break them on purpose.”

“I know. However, upon my further inspection, I’ve discovered you indeed don’t break them. Take the projector from the other day, for example. When it occurred, I believed you only shattered the glass. That is not true. What you have done is provide a voltage so high, the filament burns out and explodes. That,” Doctor Pershing says pointing to her, “is the result of chaotic energy you provide.”

“And… how am I doing that?” she asks.

“I theorize you absorb nearby energy and release it. The issue is, you don’t know have control.” He takes her hand, setting down the lightbulb with the other. “If you are cooperative in my testing, I will help you master this ability through science. I’ve told you from the start, I do not want to hurt you, and I have remained true. You can trust me.”

Lumina pulls her hand away, wiping it on her soiled pants. “Is that what Gideon wants?”

“Moff Gideon does not know, and I do not plan on informing him. The study will remain between us. I give my word.”

She scoffs. “And why should I care for that?”

Clearing his throat he says, “Because I believe everything you’ve said. Who else can say that? Help me in my studies,” he whispers. “You are everything I have been waiting for. Allow me the honor of not just becoming my subject, but my partner as well. We could accomplish extraordinary things together. Not to mention the betterment to your situation it would cause. What do you say?” 

Lumina sits in silence, cringing at the lazy use of the muscles in her hand.

She spits at his face. “Eat my shit.”

---

Gideon visits later that day. He comes with a league of four troopers who never point their guns away. Lumina stares at the red dot on her chest.

“I see your patient is comfortable,” he tells Pershing. “How are the tests coming along?”

“She continues to be uncooperative,” Pershing replies. “Her heart and oxygen also continue to decrease to alarming levels. I fear the worst if proper care is not taken. Food for instance I believe would benefit her greatly.”

“Is she actively dying?”

“No.”

“Then she will learn that nourishment is a privilege here. She can eat when she complies.”

Part of Lumina wants to respond, tell the doctor not to worry. That she’d been kept in isolation for far longer than some odd days without nutrients. She’d sooner die from exhaustion than starvation.

Of course she says nothing. Watching Gideon pace the room, hands behind his back, examining like he understood.

“I should have you killed,” he says, sparing her a glance. “Doctor Pershing has more use for your body than your mind. But I’m not as generous as he is.”

“You made me a promise,” Lumina coughs. “I would’ve helped you.”

“No you wouldn’t. You see, unlike your precious Mandalorian, I’m not that gullible. You never had intention to rejoin the Empire, that much I could see. You’ve lost yourself. I was correct in my assessment. You are nothing but a scared child without your father to protect you.”

“I could tear this whole ship apart if I wanted,” she pants.

“Is that so? Because from where I’m standing, you can hardly stay awake.” He frowns, bending to match her eye line. “You’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he whispers. “It’s an accomplishment how beautiful you are, even like this.”

“Touching,” Lumina scoffs. “But I just got out something serious. Rather not rush into anything else so soon.”

“Once your programming is reestablished, you will become everything I dreamed of.” Gideon steps away, positioning himself behind the control unit of the chair.

“My programming?”

“Children in the Harvestor Project are conditioned to be incapable of acquiring a sense of self,” Pershing says, stepping beside him. “They form a dependance on direction, but curiously, you’ve always had a mind of your own. Your purpose since creation was to serve the Empire. To obey, to not act out of turn. However, independence is where you excel.”

“You’re defective,” Gideon says.

“I’d argue she’s more deviant,” Pershing counters. “She understands the rules, her position, what’s expected. From our time together I’ve discovered the circumstance isn’t from a flaw of conditioning. Rather, something she consciously denies.”

“She wouldn’t be the first needing reprogrammed.” Gideon flips the main switch on the control board, and rods release from the ceiling to circle her.

Lumina peers above, a flood of panic entering her eyes in a second. It leaves just as fast, replaced by coldness. “You really think shocking me is the best idea when I’m hooked up to half the room?”

“Have no fear. We have no intention of harming—” Pershing attempted to reassure.

Gideon raises his hand, commanding silence. “I can handle the asset from here.”

“Sir, I must protest. If she receives electricity—“

“Doctor Pershing, I believe you have another subject to care for, no? It isn’t wise to leave children unattended for long periods of time.”

“Children? What are you doing to him?” Lumina bites, pulling against the restraints. “If you hurt him, I swear—“

“The Child is in good hands,” Gideon tells her. “Far better than you are, certainly.”

“Where is he?”

“You have far worse to worry about currently. Doctor Pershing you are dismissed. Be sure the door is closed on your way out. Sound tends to travel.”

“I am going to ask you a series of questions,” Gideon says after he leaves. “You will answer truthfully. If I feel you are lying or you are uncooperative, I will ask until I am satisfied. Answer enough, you’ll be rewarded.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Lumina says. “When I get out of here. You’re dead.”

“When you are released…” Gideon muses. “All of this will be nothing more than a distant memory.” He shrugs. “A bad dream. Let’s begin.”

---

Lumina’s first meal is a serving of exactly three items. One slice of toast with egg, one bowl of sliced fruit, and one cup of water. The items are fed to her by a protocol droid. She eats all but the egg, flopped on her plate with a broken yolk. 

When she is finished the droid exits, the horrid sound of the door buzzing again. She can’t say she’s resentful for the meal. Though nothing extraordinary, she’d forgotten she was hungry at all until the smell wafted through the room. 

This did however pose an interesting and certainly humiliating predicament of what should be done after digestion has run its course. They have yet to allow her a wash… other bodily needs be dammed.

“Inquisitors are stronger than Jedi,” Lumina mutters in time with the tape. She stares at her reflection, the image getting worse with each day. She yawns, “Inquisitors have purpose. You will have meaning.”

The door sounds again, metal slab pulled open. The usual IT-O unit floats in, forked rod waving about. 

“I had one of you as a pet when I was younger,” she says to it. “Called it Itchy. Dad let him poke me when I acted up. I think I’ll name you…” Trailing, she follows it around the room. “Scratch. As tribute.”

“Maker, you’re pathetic.” The voice comes from outside, feminine, Coruscanti oddly enough. It’s overly modulated, static breaking at the end. The owner walks in, tall and dressed head to toe in black. She wears a mask over her face, and a uniform Lumina could never mistake for anything other than that of an Inquisitor.

Her lightsaber must be hidden… behind the cape maybe.

Lumina gasps. “Scratch you could’ve said you brought a friend,” she chastises. Her gaze bounces between the two before settling into the chair. “My stars, a real Inquisitor. I have been waiting for you to show up since I got here. You people really know how to edge a girl.”

The Imperial stalks to her, a foot away from the base of the chair. “How in the Force did you survive?”

Lumina blows out air. “You’ll have to be more specific, but if you mean after Rebels won, I fulfilled my dream of letting men look at me half naked for money. It was exhilarating.” She stretches her neck, knuckles cracking in her fist.

The Imperials walks away, to the control panel of the chair. “You put on quite a show yesterday,” she says. “Certainly entertained me.”

“Well some of us have to have fun here. Haven’t you heard? I’m apparently—“ Lumina laughs, “—Clinically insane.” Her eyes narrow. “You are real, aren’t you?”

The mask looks up. “As real as you are.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Good.”

One by one the restraints on Lumina’s limbs and torso unlock. With the chair in a vertical position, she falls on her knees. Hands slap the floor to break her fall.

“If we’re jumping right to the execution,” she says. “I hope you people manage to actually keep me dead this time.”

“Get up,” the Imperial tells her. “We’ll have to act fast before they notice you’re gone.”

“What?”

“Get up,” she repeats, hauling Lumina to stand by the arm. “Can you walk?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

The Inquisitor grips the bottom of her mask, pulling it off with a mechanical hiss. Underneath reveals pale white skin and blue eyes that match ice. “I’m an old friend.”

Lumina’s jaw drops, eyes blown wide. “Ghost?”

“It’s good to see you Killer.”

---

Moff Gideon’s light cruiser is different to other ships Lumina’s had the misfortune of being on. The skeleton crew onboard makes the ship which holds hundreds feel eerily empty. Her footsteps sound in time with Ghosts, marched side by side.

Granted, Lumina is noticeably less graceful, stretching her legs to keep up. This was far easier when they were the same height, now being towered over.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” Ghost answers, turning a corner sharp. “I am. My question,” she starts, looking down at Lumina, “is how we all watched you die thirteen years ago… and here you are.”

“I didn’t die,” Lumina says. “I fainted.”

“Vader said your heart stopped. He carried you out himself.”

“I was in a coma. He kept me on his ship until I came to. Everything else followed.”

Ghost hums, short and paired with a huff. ”Did you know he would take you?”

“No. How could I?”

Her gloved hand closest to Lumina clenches. “Aren’t you lucky then.”

“Hardly.”

“People would kill for what you got,” Ghost tells her. “They did. You had greatness handed to you. You never had to work for it.”

“I worked plenty.”

“You lived in a palace with servants and private training from one of the greatest Sith in the galaxy. You became legend without anyone knowing who you are.”

Lumina frowns, tilting her head. “What are you doing here? And I don’t just mean here, I mean why are you working for the Empire? Palpatine ordered all Inquisitors be terminated two years after I left. That included the school. You made it out, why come back?”

“You may have found lesser living to be—exhilarating was it? But some of us believe in serving a higher purpose. We were humiliated before given a chance to prove ourselves. Don’t you find it interesting the Empire began to lose against the Rebels once we were cast out?”

“I can’t say I ever connected the two.”

“Of course not.” She stops their walk, leaning with her back against the wall of the corridor. “Inquisitors were the best weapons the Empire had. One of us against a fleet of them, who wins?”

The hypothetical needs no contemplation.

“You make a good point,” Lumina says. “But I actually served in the war, skill wouldn’t have saved you from the Death Star’s fate. Either of them.”

“You made it out.”

“I have an uncanny inability to die, believe me I’ve tried. Besides, the Rebels had Jedi on their team as well.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ghost groans, rolling her eyes. “If I have to hear name Skywalker one more time—“

Now Lumina gags, her eyes doing the same. “It’s better you don’t say it at all. I understand your frustrations, if it weren’t for Blondie I’d have actually gotten somewhere in life.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Emperor,” Lumina smiles, “gave my father a choice. Continue with me as his heir, or the street rat. My death, the story you’ve all heard? It only exists because Vader had preferred a son.”

“He gave you up?”

“Happily.”

“That’s devilish.”

“I know.”

“It’s quite admirable.”

Lumina nods. “I know.”

“He ruined your life,” Ghost says, tossing her mask from one hand to the other. “Do you ever want to get back at him?” 

“Being able to kill him myself is all I’ve dreamed of for ten years now.”

“Why don’t you?”

Lumina shrugs. “He’s an intergalactic celebrity and the poster boy for this ridiculous New Republic. I’m a Sith legend with debated existence. Our paths don’t cross. Besides, I was in hiding until… fairly recently, and I’ve had more pressing matters to attend to than find a wannabe Jedi with a bad haircut.”

Ghost snorts. “It is horrid isn’t it?”

“I’m at least grateful he never wore that stupid little braid they all have. I’ll get to Blondie eventually, right now I have a couple other names on my list I have to cross off.”

She almost misses the way Ghost’s eyes flash wild, brows raising in intrigue. “Care to divulge?”

“For starters, I’m not a fan of your boss.”

“Gideon?” Lumina hums. “He is not my boss, it’s insulting to imply so.”

“Then what is he?”

She smirks. “A pawn. In reality, we’ll soon have no further use for him. He will be disposed of and we will continue onto the next until perfection is reached.”

“You know,” Lumina says. She runs a hand through the top of her hair, cringing at the tangles. “You’ve mentioned we quite a bit, you’re the first Inquisitor I’ve seen in years.”

Second.

The other grins, pushing herself off the wall. “While you were busy playing Coruscant’s local tramp and—I’m sure, wallowing due to your sad pathetic life—“ her arms stretch out, walking backwards “—I took it upon myself to rebuild.”

Lumina follows, scowl present. “I hold the record for most kills in the history of any single Underworld syndicate member.”

“Weren’t you the one who called keeping track of kills cheap?”

“Not when other people do it for you.”

“Yes well, I’m sure common thugs were quite the challenge.”

“I put Red Axe on the map,” Lumina argues. “What have you done?”

Ghost shrugs, turning to walk proper. “I met God,” she says. “I wasn’t impressed.”

---

“A few years ago I heard some idiot defector talk about Vader having a child,” Ghost says at the end of their walk. She guides Lumina inside a dark room, small blinking lights the only vision. “They say that watching you die was the only time Vader looked human.” She plays with the central computer system, the main hardware in the rooms center activating. “That he carried your body out himself, just like he did then… I think you’re the only person he’d ever been remotely compassionate towards.”

It showers the room in in blue, screens on the wall turning to a static fuzz.

“He’s the one who found and brought me to the Academy in the first place,” Lumina says, looking around. “It was always the plan to take me in. I don’t know if you can watch over a kid for that long and not care about them.”

“Even Vader?”

“He always wanted a family.”

“We were family once.” With a changing output of frequency, Lumina cringes.  “I always knew it was you, from the stories. You always—You’d keep to yourself, but when lessons were over you never stopped. You never gave up. I never doubted you were alive,” Ghost says, closing her fist. “I spent years looking for you. Did you ever think about me once?”

“No,” Lumina admits, with no inflection of emotion. “I was told you were all dead. There was no point in thought after that.”

Ghost nods. Her posture changes, her slightly slumped shoulders turning straight and stonelike. “I knew I’d find you again, just as I promised. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

”Moff Gideon says you’ve been resisting since you arrived. I thought you’d be excited to return,” she says, looking down at her mask. “To finally be free again.” 

Frowning, Lumina steps forward, now directly behind. “It’s hard to feel anything these days.”

Ghost turns sharp, facing her. “I wanted to give you a gift, to welcome you home.”

Lumina raises a brow. “Gideon’s head on a stake?”

“Not yet,” Ghost smiles. “But soon.”

In a projected hologram, a list of numerical names scroll in aurebesh, followed by numbers and locations. 

“What is this?” Lumina asks.

“My army,” Ghost says. “Our army. This is every Inquisitor I have recruited into the Empire. Their designations, and the location they were found.”

“You put together a band fifteen Inquisitors?”

“It was sixteen. Blaze was once a part of the cause. Unfortunately he went missing some months ago. I assume he died.”

Ah.

“His weakness was most disappointing. Now, Law and Fortune are of the last of our class.”

“Fortune was on Raxus?”

“Gambling if you can believe it,” Ghost says. “Luck holds a different name with her.” She reaches into the hologram, expanding profiles to display mugshot like photos. “Her prediction accuracy has exceeded tremendously since last you knew her.”

“That’s useful.”

“I’ve tried my best to ensure we have only human recruits,” she says. “Though with limited options I’ve had to settle.”

Ignoring the comment, Lumina asks, “You’ve done this all yourself?”

“Yes. When I met Moff Gideon there were only a few of us. Thanks to him we’ve more than tripled in numbers.”

“Does he run testing on everyone?”

“Yes. It’s a part of our agreement.”

“Agreement?”

“In exchange for my access to unlimited Imperial data and resources, I grant Gideon favor and an opportunity to examine every Inquisitor I create.”

“So you allowed him to treat me the way he has been?”

“No,” she denies quick. “You are not an Inquisitor, and I certainly did not create you. Had I known they’d keep you locked up—they’ve disgraced you.“

Lumina nods, pursing her lips. “You act like the Grand Inquisitor.”

“It’s a role that suits me, don’t you agree?”

“It is what you’ve always wanted.”

“It was on the list.”

“You don’t wear the pendant,” Lumina says. “You bare no signifier at all.”

“I’ve had no one to bestow me the title,” Ghost says. “A position like that is given and earned.”

“Well who’s in a position to do it?”

“You of course.”

She almost chokes. “Me?”

“You are the chosen one,” Ghost tells her, looking over. “The natural successor to lead us. You are—“ she mocks a bow of her head, “—our great Lady of the Sith, after all.”

In truth it comes with a feeling Lumina isn’t sure she can become accustomed to. “I’m not sure I agreed to that.”

Ghost’s eyes roll, and the reflection of the hologram within them. “I have come to the understanding that you entertained a new lifestyle, briefly. One more… intimate than regulation allows.”

“It meant nothing to me.” She’s too quick in the response, bitten like venom.

“I thought so. Now, I have no qualms if you only sought pleasure. But to lower yourself to the likes of a Mandalorian, I knew you could never demean yourself in such a way.”

“You realize they are warriors, don’t you?” Lumina asks. “I would think you’d find their valor formidable.”

“Mandalorians exist through reactionary fear of Jedi. Any group who finds Jedi a difficult opponent earns no respect from the Empire. I say their planet was destroyed for good reason.”

“Being?”

“To eliminate weakness, and make way for something stronger. ”

“Your Inquisitors?”

“Our Inquisitors,” Ghost corrects. “They’ve been waiting for you to lead. They all think you’re a god, their chosen messiah.”

“What do you think?” Lumina asks.

She takes a moment before answering, “I think you’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

“And what would that be?”

“A chance. They’re yours if you’ll have them.” She stops on a profile of a young girl. The data beneath lists as no more than eighteen in age. Her stare is blank, soulless.

“Does that include child soldiers?” Lumina asks. “She’s far too young.”

“She’s capable.”

“She’s a kid.”

“So were we,” Ghost counters. “CF-802 comes from outside the Academy and already holds her own against members.”

“If she’s from outside the Academy, how did she end up here?”

“The same way we all did,” Ghost offers. “She was found.”

“Stolen,” Lumina corrects. “Children of the Academy were taken, not found.”

“Taken to live free of mediocrity,” Ghost laughs. “Found to have purpose. You shouldn’t get lost in semantics. You say Lord Vader found you. How do you know you weren’t taken as well?”

“That is what he told me.”

“And that, my dear sister, is what we tell her. Her and all the other outsiders. I call them The Lost,” she says. “It’s what they were before joining. They’ve been under our training for years. You’ll see them to be the most obedient and hungry. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do. They will obey your every command, no questions, no arguments.”

“I still haven’t agreed,” Lumina says. “I’m not the same as I used to be.”

“Yes, you’re stronger.”

“I’m slipping,” she bites as a whisper. “Everyday I feel myself get weaker. Physically, mentally. And it isn’t as if Gideon’s been any help to me.” Her hands turn to fists. “It’s like I’m being buried alive everyday inside of myself. It’s harder to stay awake, to breathe, to think. I’m in no position to lead anything, much less an army.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“They say I’m a maniac.”

“Good. We all are.” Ghost takes Lumina’s hand, placing hers on top. “The Empire rests on your shoulders. It has for years. Are you so willing now, once the control you’ve always wanted is yours, to deny your destiny? Don’t you lay your loyalties to the Emperor?”

“Of course I do,” Lumina mutters. “I always have. But I refuse to play nice with Gideon after what he’s done to me.”

“You don’t have to play nice, you have to play smart. If you’d prefer to return to your cell and stay in treatment until you die, fine. If you want to get even, you’ll stay in the game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gideon wanted to bring you in peacefully, that’s why he hired you in the first place. I don’t know what happened the day contact should have been made, but it scared him. He overreacted, correct, but only because you scare him. They say you’re crazy? Be crazy. Scare him so bad he’ll never think of hurting you again.”

“How?”

Shrugging, Ghost says, “Make him think he got what he wanted. Answer the doctors questions, commit yourself to serve. He has ego, he won’t doubt you for a second. Then, when the time is right, we strike.”

“Or, you can get me out now. You help me make a plan to end him once and for all.”

“Possible. Although…”

“What?”

“I overheard Moff Gideon tell Pershing that… Well, I couldn’t make sense of it, but he said that once you comply, that he’ll reunite you with a child?”

“A child?” Lumina repeats, color fallen.

“Yes. What does he mean by that?”

Her head shakes, brushing sweaty palms on her thighs. “Where do you keep the rest?”

“The rest?”

Pointing to the list of Inquisitors, Lumina says, “The other children you train, the ones not yet ready. If I’m to be in charge I need to know every detail of operation. Where are they?”

Ghost looks at her, a small tilt in her head and a smaller tight-lined smile. Her tongue smacks the roof of her mouth. “You should get back to the room. If anyone notices you’re gone the whole ship will be on lockdown. They’ll kill you on sight,” she informs. “Besides, if we’re to do this right, you shouldn’t be out of uniform regulation. No one will take you seriously looking or smelling like death.” She takes Lumina’s arm in her own, hooked by elbows. “Don’t worry, there are excellent tailor droids onboard. When the time comes, they’ll make you perfect.”

---

“Flowers,” Lumina says on Doctor Pershing’s entrance. Retied to the chair, not a hair is misplaced.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve asked why I liked Naboo. Naboo has flowers.”

“Flowers?” he repeats.

“Someone showed them to me once. I never knew they existed, and when I saw them… it was like seeing a piece of myself.”

---

To her own regret, Lumina is thinner than she last remembers, staring at the reflection of her wet body. Her arms wrap around her back and front, gently pressing the space of flesh between. She spends ages examining every piece of herself as she rubs in lotion.

Nothing is ideal, but it is a welcomed sensation to be free of filth.

If that.

She takes extra care at her scars, her hand running up her arm until her shoulder is reached. She gathers her hair in her hands, lifting it above her head until it falls again. 

Slow, she dresses in the simple undergarments left on the counter. She turns on her toes, eyes never leaving herself.

Gideon’s obsession with her appearance mimics all that she’s received before. He behaves like Neri Kelli, the soft inconspicuous touching, the gentle words filled with poison. The first time Neri saw her he wouldn’t let her out of his sight for a whole day.

At the time she thought nothing of it. 

Vader became invested in her appearance the moment she began to grow into her own. Mandatory haircuts disappeared until it reached her just past her shoulders, regulated to stay at the exact length. Too short to tie up, just long enough to get in her way.

He decided she should practice balance and strength through dance and gymnastics. On days he’d bother to watch her progress, critiques focused on her landings. He held a perfect vision of exactly how she should look.

Like it came from memory.

Every meeting they had, he would begin by staring. He’d watch her kneel, and even when she could stand he would say nothing. At times he instructed her to close her eyes, and he’d continue to watch.

It stopped when Boba first gave her a scarf.

Vader hated her eyes, they were the last things he’d want to look at. Now they’re the first anyone notices.

Why wouldn’t they be?

She grabs from the inside of a cloth bag, set by the sink, laying its contents down one by one. The protocol droids were kind enough to follow her every instruction for her uniform, down to the placement, length, and color of zipper.

The base of her dress is a catsuit, the fabric hugs her body and the zipper rides down half the front. Its high collar and long sleeves leave only her hands, feet, and head exposed.

She dresses from the top down. Metal pauldrons double layer painted black with red trim. The color repeats on her arms, one an accented durasteel vambrace, hollowed for a knife to fit. The other wrapped in cloth from elbow to wrist. She pulls on leather pistol garters around her thighs, tall boots to match. 

“A kama?” The droid asked while Lumina watched the holographic image of herself dress. “Those haven’t been in style since the Clone Wars. Might I instead recommend an overcoat with a longer train?”

“Make sure the kama is made of armorweave,” Lumina told it. “With a storage case on each side.”

The piece belts around her waist, falling even over her hips.

Stepping away, Lumina takes in all that she is—and all that she isn’t. In truth she never found herself particularly attractive, never mind beautiful. She’s only seen her bruises, her blood, her scars.

But now… perspective shifts. 

She looks like a fighter, a leader. It’s as if the dying part inside of her stopped, reversed. She can’t say it bothers her, in fact it’s the opposite. It’s what she should have felt playing dress up in Canto Bight.

She realizes she doesn’t know how to not be pretty.

It’s uncanny, standing in what she’s been told is her prime. Freshly picked, collected in ripeness. Fallen.

She stands enjoying the fruit without shame.

And in turn, releases that very thing.

Ghost waits for her outside the door, oblivious. She’ll never know how this feels.

Lumina invites her in, opening the door with a flick. She says nothing as host, tying her hair back. 

“You clean up well,” Ghost says, stepping beside her. She pins the Imperial symbol to Lumina’s chest. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll enjoy it.” From behind, Ghost presents Lumina with her lightsaber in open palms. “I wanted to get you one like mine,” she says. “But you’ve always been different, why stop here?”

“Gideon took this from me,” Lumina says, grabbing the hilt. “I thought I’d never see it again. Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Ghost says. “It’s your right.” She steps back, examining Lumina in full. She smiles. “Now you’re perfect.”

“Almost,” she corrects, pulling on leather gloves. “Something’s missing.”

“What?”

Lumina leans into her reflection, nose inches from the glass. She pulls away. “How soon can I get contacts?”

----

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fruits of Sin

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