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psychreviews2 · 6 months

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Case Studies: The 'Wolfman' - Sigmund Freud Pt. 2

Early memories

Serge's autobiography The Wolf-Man by the Wolf-Man described a lot of challenges that would affect any person, not just him, and is a good companion piece to Freud's paper. His earliest memories included memories of illness. "I dimly remember that it was summer and I was lying in the garden, and although I had no pain I felt extremely miserable, because of the high fever, I suppose...I have been told that in my early childhood I was a quiet almost phlegmatic child, but that my character changed completely after the arrival of the English governess, Miss Oven. Although she was with us only a few months, I became a very nervous, irritable child, subject to severe temper tantrums."

Another memory was of Serge's parents who went on a trip abroad. "My parents were often away, my sister and I were left mostly under the supervision of strangers, and even when our parents were home we had little contact with them." His parents left "both Miss Oven and my Nanya to our maternal grandmother, who unfortunately did not really assume this responsibility." Later on Serge called Miss Oven "a severe psychopath or often under the influence of alcohol...I can remember, and our grandmother confirmed this, that angry quarrels broke out between my Nanya and me on the one side and Miss Oven on the other. Evidently Miss Oven kept teasing me, and knew how to arouse my fury, which must have given her some sort of sadistic satisfaction."

Serge's memories, like for most people, shift and change. Certain underlying patterns of who he liked or disliked would remain the same, but details like the story that scared him in Freud's analysis The Wolf and the seven little kids morphed into a similar story Little Red Riding Hood. "Unlike me, Anna got on with Miss Oven fairly well, and even seemed to enjoy it when Miss Oven teased me. Anna began to imitate Miss Oven and teased me, too. Once she told me she would show me a nice picture of a pretty little girl. I was eager to see this picture, but Anna covered it with a piece of paper. When she finally took the piece of paper away, I saw, instead of a pretty little girl, a wolf standing on it's hind legs with his jaws wide open, about to swallow Little Red Riding Hood. I began to scream and had a real temper tantrum. Probably the cause of this outburst of rage was not so much my fear of the wolf as my disappointment and anger at Anna for teasing me."

Serge described his mother in a more adult sense. "Although she did not suffer from depression, in her youth she...imagined she had various illnesses which she did not have at all. In fact she lived to a considerable age of eighty-seven...Since my mother, as a young woman, was so concerned about her health, she did not have much time left for us. But if my sister or I was ill, she became an exemplary nurse. She stayed with us almost all the time and saw to it that our temperature was taken regularly and our medicine given us at the right time." Serge learned about religion from his mother and Nanya. His doubts about God's omnipotence, not being able to stop evil, made him feel guilty that it was a terrible sin to doubt. Not knowing if there was a God or not influenced Serge to play it safe with faith. Ambivalence between faith and reason was with him throughout his life.

Another important memory related to Serge's sister is in the autobiography. "My sister and I both liked to draw. At first we used to draw trees, and I found Anna's way of drawing little round leaves particularly attractive and interesting. But not wanting to imitate her I soon gave up tree drawing. I began to draw horses true to nature, but unfortunately every horse I drew looked more like a dog or a wolf than a real horse." Serge lived on an estate that grew crops and raised sheep. The white wolves, who looked more like sheep dogs, may have influenced his dream. His memory of those sheep was that 200,000 of them were inoculated with a wrong serum and died.

The Wanderer

Between Serge's parents wandering around and he himself involved in moves, he was a wanderer from the beginning. I found photos of his former estate, Dubiecki Manor, that was purchased by his father one year before Serge's birth. It's a ruin now in modern Ukraine, nicknamed The Wolf Lair, but one can imagine the tree he saw out the window, like a Freudian psycho-archaeologist. Which window did he look out of? What were the walnut trees like back then? "We lived on an estate where I was born only in the winter. Our summer home was in Tyerni, a few miles away. Every spring we moved to Tyerni, and our luggage followed us in numerous wagons. In Tyerni, we had a big country house in a beautiful old park. Trips between the estate on the Dnieper and Tyerni took place during the summer."

The big emotional move for Serge was his first permanent move south. "We moved to Odessa when I was five years old. At that time there were no train connections between our estate and Odessa. One had first to take a little river boat down the Dnieper to Kherson, which took the entire night. Then one had to spend a day and a night in Kherson, and early the following morning continue the journey to Odessa, this time on a larger ship able to weather the possible storms on the Black Sea...My father bought a villa in Odessa, opposite the municipal park which extended to the shore of the Black Sea. This villa had been built by an Italian architect in the style of the Italian Renaissance. Almost at the same time my father acquired a large estate in southern Russia...Only after we were living in Odessa did I learn that my father had sold our estate. I cried and felt most unhappy that our life on the estate, where we were so close to nature, had come to an end, and I would now have to get used to a large and strange city. I learned later from my mother that my father, too, soon regretted the sale, as after a few years our former estate became a city. This recognition that he had made a mistake is said to have precipitated my father's first attack of melancholia."

"A few years later my father purchased a second estate in White Russia of about 130,000 acres. It bordered on the Pripet River, a tributary of the Dnieper. Although White Russia lay in the western part of Russia bordering on Poland and Lithuania, it was at the time, especially in comparison with southern Russia, a very backward region. Primeval forests, ponds, lakes large and small, and many bogs impressed one as a remnant of nature still untouched by man. There were wolves in the forests. Several times every summer a wolf-hunt was organized by the peasants of adjacent villages. During my high school years, I spent a part of my summer holidays on this estate in White Russia and felt myself transposed into the past of hundreds of years ago."

Serge described his uncles and their different personalities. "Alexis, was a sickly man whose first marriage went on the rocks and ended in divorce. He then married a Polish woman and had two sons. This second marriage was a very happy one. Uncle Alexis was a quiet and unassuming man who kept busy looking after his estate and playing chess, his great hobby. He did this in a thoroughly scientific fashion, one might say."

This uncle went from sad to happy, but unfortunately his other uncle went in the opposite direction. Uncle Peter, had a sunny happy disposition, but "soon [he] began to show signs of most peculiar behaviour and to express himself no less strangely. At first his brothers were simply amused, as they did not take his changed behaviour seriously and considered it merely harmless whims. But soon they, too, realized that this was a serious matter. The famous Russian psychiatrist Korsakoff was consulted, who, alas, diagnosed this as the beginning of a genuine paranoia. So Uncle Peter was confined in a closed institution. However, as he had a large state in the Crimea, his brothers finally arranged for him to be taken there where he lived many years as a hermit. Although Uncle Peter had studied agriculture, he later wished to devote himself exclusively to historical research. All these plans, of course, came to nothing, because of his delusions of persecution."

Nanya ended up living as a pensioner with the family, as well as a French governess who seemed to know the secret of happiness, which is concentration. "We visited her from time to time and always found her in the best of spirits. One never had the feeling that she was unhappy or lonely, as she was always busy with little things that absorbed her entire attention."

New Year's Day Guided Meditation: https://rumble.com/v1gvmab-new-years-day-guided-meditation.html

Another influence in Serge's religious life was an Austrian tutor who was an atheist. Being around him allowed Serge to accept that his religious doubts were personal and it was up to us individually to decide if we want to have faith. The problem with Serge was how to deal with the transference, that for so many people, keeps them feeling secure. "...What filled the vacuum thus created?...Perhaps it was a mistake that I took the loss of my religion too lightly, and thus created a vacuum which was only partially and inadequately filled." This would be a deep question that would resound for the rest of his life. How does one stop the search for a parental replacement and feel secure with oneself? The aimlessness wasn't affecting only Serge. His sister Anna seemed to feel isolated and lost.

Anna's trip

"During the two weeks which Anna spent with me on our estate I did not notice anything extraordinary in her behaviour. It struck me as strange, however, that she suggested that I accompany her to the Caucasus, although she knew that I had enrolled in the Law School of Odessa University and that the lectures were just about to begin. When I mentioned this to Anna, she did not insist but she made me promise to write her a letter one week after her departure. This also seemed somewhat strange to me, but I did not attribute any special significance to her request...I saw Anna off at the boat which was to take her and her companion to Novorossysk in the northern Caucasus. We took leave of each other this time with very special warmth. As the steamer took off from the dock, Anna stood in the stern of the ship and waved to me until I lost sight of her. I stayed on the dock a while longer, watching the steamer as it left the harbor and moved out into the open sea."

"Exactly one week after Anna's departure, I wrote her a letter as I had promised. Two or three weeks later we received news that Anna had fallen severely ill, and soon after came the news of her death...We later learned that my sister had taken poison. Following this she had suffered severe pains for two days, but nevertheless she had not told anybody what she had done. Only when the pain had become unbearable did she ask for a doctor. When he arrived she showed him the little bottle which had contained mercury and which had a warning label of a skull on the outside. Apparently this bottle had come from the laboratory which Anna had setup at home for her studies in natural science. Now after attempting suicide she wanted to go on living. There are evidently cases in which you have to be face to face with death to regain your interest in life and your desire to live. At first it looked as if the doctors had succeeded in saving Anna, and she was even said to be out of danger. But after two weeks heart failure set in and caused her death."

After the shock of her death Serge ruminated on reasons why she would do that. "In our childhood it had been said that Anna should not have been born a girl but a boy. She had great will power and a strong sense of direction, and she always succeeded in evading the influence and the authority of her governesses. As she was growing up, Anna's feminine traits began to appear. Apparently she could not cope with them and they turned into pathological inferiority complexes. She was enchanted with the classical ideal of beauty with which she contrasted herself. She imagined that she had no feminine charm, which was not at all true, and that if a man were to marry her he would do so for the sake of her money only, since she felt, among other things, that she was not attractive to anyone."

Rich Woman - Plant and Krauss: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52YxdYmLq24

Late in life during his interview with Karin, Serge recounted more details of his sister. "She was aggressive, and that is the reason the complex did not go away, somehow continued to have effects...There was a childhood seduction when she played with my member. That's something very important when it happens in childhood. I was very small when this seduction took place. It must have been before my fifth birthday because my father sold that estate when I was five. I can remember that we had sat down between the doors and she played with my penis. But must that necessarily have such consequences, or is it already a sign of sickness that something like that has consequences? Perhaps it also happened to other little boys and had no effect, I don't know.

O: Most children do have sexual experiences.

W: So you see, that sort of thing happens, it's no reason for someone to turn into a neurotic. It had no consequences. I'll admit that it wasn't as systematic as what my sister did. But you see, when we looked at those pictures of naked women, I pressed a little against her...Freud describes that...I remember that I felt like expressing something sexual and moved closer to my sister. In any event, she got up and left...It was normal. She couldn't have done anything else, otherwise it would really have been incest. It should not have such consequences...and that must not happen between brother and sister...and that should have put an end to the matter. Well, this sister complex is really the thing that ruined my entire life. For those women who resemble my sister, I mean as regards social position or education, well, that was incest again. There may also be an inheritance of these psychological illnesses, but we won't discuss that...All she ever really did was sit around with a book. She had no interest whatever in clothes. She really should have been a man. It is a mystery to me why my sister killed herself. She was so talented. I cannot remember my sister except reading. She always said that she was no classical beauty. But then, who is? She certainly wasn't ugly. Do you remember her picture? She was fairly pretty. She did nothing for her appearance, nothing. And then that horrible death, mercury. It was horrible torture, her teeth fell out. Why does someone do a thing like that?...There would have been people to take an interest, but she didn't care for them, and then she always thought they wanted her for her money." Later Serge recounts an important story of his sister running away with the daughter of the chief gardener. They had the idea that they wanted to hire themselves out as maids. She later said "'being a maid is really the best profession. You do your work and the rest of the time is on your own...' It could be said that Anna's tragedy, in spite of her intellectual gifts, consisted in her attempt to suppress her female nature and that she failed in this attempt. Of course, I am referring not to conscious acts but to a mechanism entirely hidden from her conscious mind."

Grief travel

After Anna's death Serge noticed his father move his interest from his daughter to him. Serge also had depression and thoughts of suicide. "I had fallen into such a state of melancholy after Anna's death that there seemed to be no purpose in living, and nothing in the world seemed worth striving for. In such a state of mind one can hardly interest oneself in anything." He eventually changed his choice of studies in University and decided to take a trip to the Caucasus to improve his emotional state, and tagging along was a family acquaintance. He was enthusiastic about the region and owned property, 'a Green Cape', in Batum. The trip started in Novorossysk and "from Novorossysk we preceded by train to Kislovdsk, then a fashionable spa in the north Caucasus, famous for it's carbonic acid baths. From there we took a side trip by horse and buggy to Bermamut, a high spot offering the best view of the Elbrus, the highest mountain in the whole Caucasus. We started very early and arrived at Bermamut toward evening, under a cloudless, transparent sky. There we found a small, deserted mountain hut, furnished with only a few wooden benches. This hut was perched on the edge of a vast, seemingly bottomless abyss. Opposite us, like a gigantic sugar loaf towering to the sky stood the majestic Elbrus, which we could admire in all its greatness and glory. The valley separating us from the Elbrus extended on either side into immeasurable distance, and on both sides one saw more and more towering, snow covered peaks and steep rocky cliffs reaching down into the depths. Unique as the site was, my depressed state prevented me from really enjoying it or feeling any enthusiasm. Just when we were in Kislovodsk something occurred to me to deepen my already melancholy mood: namely doubts as to whether my decision to change my course of study was a sensible one. So I started weighing all the pros and cons, but without reaching any satisfactory conclusion. Always immersed in my own thoughts, I was not easily accessible to impressions from outside the world, and I experienced everything I saw as unreal and dreamlike."

"There were other similar spas near Kislovodsk, such as the sulfur springs of Pyatigorsk...[it] was famous not for only its sulfur springs, but also not far from there Lermontov, the second greatest poet of Russia, was killed in a duel. This alone was sufficient for me to visit Pyatigorsk." Lermontov who insulted a man named Martinov and his clothing, and didn't know he overheard him, was challenged to a duel. "Lermontov, being first, fired into the air, but his adversary, declining reconciliation, took sharp aim. His bullet hit Lermontov in the abdomen. Just at this moment a terrible thunderstorm broke out, and the critically wounded man could only be taken to Pyatigorsk only with great difficulty and after a long delay. No physician dared to leave his house in this frightful storm, and medical care could not be obtained in time. Lermontov died three or four days later from his severe wound. He was only twenty eight years old. [We] visited the spot where the duel had taken place. It was a meadow like any other at the foot of a wooded hill from which a beautiful view opened to the lonely mountain Maschuk which, standing apart from the other four mountains, looked like a pointed rock springing out of the plain. Hearing that among the sights of Pyatigorsk there was also a so-called Lermontov Grotto. We went to see it." Serge identified with Lermontov because a friend once said that he looked like him. Identification can be a lot of fun, but pathological if morbid elements are imitated too much, like tragic deaths. Lermontov had a bad end, his sister also had a bad end in the Caucasus, and Serge was veering in that self-destructive path.

After visiting the grotto, their trip became more rugged as they ascended to the glaciers on Mount Kasbek by mule starting from Vladikavkaz. "We rode our mules along a steep, rocky cliff, narrowly skirting the edge of an abyss several hundred meters deep. It was not pleasant to be haunted by the thought that if the animal made the slightest false step you would be hurled into the abyss. But the mules went so cautiously, at a slow and sure pace, that we could not help wondering at them." In a grief travel, the trip is more about dealing with emptiness and loss than to relax and have a good time. Anybody who traveled to escape, especially on long arduous journeys should identify with Serge's masochism and grief. "I am one of those people who feel drawn toward the depths as to a magnet. The anxiety which then overcomes one is primarily directed against this power of attraction, which one has to fight in order not to succumb to it." After an extended stay where Serge's friend caught up with his friends and acquaintances, they continued on the Georgian Military Highway. Along the highway Serge found a place where he could paint. "I got out my paintbox and oil paints from my suitcase and went to the nearer bank of the mountain stream Terek. It did not take long to find a suitable subject, as a very beautiful view opened in front of me after I had taken a few steps. I sat down on my stool and tried to transfer to my canvas the impression of the swift flowing river and the majestic mount Kasbek towering in the background...This was the first time I had done so well with a landscape, and it was the beginning of my activities as a landscape painter."

As they moved out of the mountains they descended into a vast steppe with a warmer climate. "It led soon into a fertile valley, in which corn and wheat fields spread out in all directions, with vineyards and orchards appearing on the hillsides. This cheerful southern landscape was in sharp contrast to the grim mountain world we had just left...We spent one night in Kutais and the next evening boarded the train for Tiflis, now Tbilisi, the capital of Georgia...I noticed that in Tiflis there were already electric streetcars, something which did not yet exist in Odessa...As the heat was becoming uncomfortable in Tiflis, we decided after a few days to proceed to Borshom, a health resort in the mountains not far away. Before leaving Tiflis, we took the funicular to the top of a small mountain in the vicinity to the enjoy the beautiful view over Tiflis and its surroundings. Altogether Tiflis made the impression of a handsome and modern town. This applied, however, only to the section called the European, for Tiflis on those days consisted of two separate districts, the European and the Oriental. The latter had all the characteristics of the Orient, with its shouting sidewalk merchants, its turmoil, and its colorful confusion. Borshom, apart from the advantages of its climate, was famous for the mineral water of its springs, which was used all over Russia as a drinking water, similar to Seltzer or Preblauer water in Germany. The landscape there impressed me by its gentleness and reminded me of places in the foothills of the Alps. The mountains were wooded and of moderate height, the meadows were green, and - a rare thing in the Caucasus in those days - the streets and roads were in good condition. After the heat of Tiflis, Borshom's fresh, invigorating air was most gratifying."

Their trip continued from Abastuman to Batum, their final destination. "Batum, situated on the shore of the Black Sea in the southwest corner of the Caucasus, is surrounded by mountains on its other three sides. One finds there eucalyptus and yew, myrtle, cactus, and various palm-like plants. The whole region is characterized by its luxuriant vegetation. Although summer had passed its height by by the time we reached Batum, there was, an oppressive mugginess. The air was not only warm but also very humid, and a thick, sweltering haze always hung over this exotic-looking countryside. Now I had the occasion to inspect personally the 'Green Cape' about which [my friend] had raved so much. It was a garden with some sort of weekend bungalow and it had nothing to do with a real 'cape,' which I had visualized as a promontory jutting out into the sea. We bathed in the sea twice a day but we nevertheless suffered so much from the humid, sultry heat that even [my friend] was not opposed to to my idea of starting our return trip somewhat sooner than originally planned. So after a week we embarked for Odessa and arrived there after a five day-sea voyage."

The waxy perception of narcissism

Despite having an amazing vacation, when major decisions are postponed, they have to be faced. When Serge returned from his holiday, he still had to decide on his vocation. He talked to his father in sessions lasting hours to figure out his problem. "...after a few days my father was succumbing to the devastating ambivalence and was even infected by it." Eventually he chose Law because his attempt to move to the Natural Sciences was more out of avoidance than actual interest. He moved to St. Petersburg with an uncle to continue his studies. He still had depressions and his father setup a meeting with his old doctor for him. "He is inhibited...he cannot get out of himself...I believe the best thing for him would be if he could fall in love." He tried to get involved in St. Petersburg life. Dating, museums, and lectures left him "in a state of indifference or boredom...There was too crass a contrast between the pulsating life around me and the bottomless, unbridgeable gulf of emptiness within myself." He eventually asked his father for advice on a sanatorium for him to really deal with this problem, which at the time was diagnosed as manic-depression, like his father was diagnosed. He consulted with Professor Bekhterev in Petersburg, Kraepelin in Munich, and Ziehen in Berlin. He met is love Therese in one of the sanatoriums in Munich, who was a nurse. But in regards to the success of improving his mental stability, he briefly felt better only to relapse, as was his prior pattern. He then describes the classic description of what narcissism does to your perception. "Then I found life empty, everything had seemed 'unreal', to the extent that people seemed like wax figures or wound up marionettes with whom I could not establish any contact."

When your mind is preoccupied with success, status, and advancement, and strategies of how to get there, there is a loss of appreciation of what is around you. It looks hollow because most of the environment is drained of meaning for your goals. The environment is taken for granted or is viewed as an obstacle. His "veil" was made of dreams and hopes projected onto an environment, like a fog separating one from reality. Narcissism can happen to anyone, but when the pathology is severe, it's a regular state of mind. Being lost in possibilities for power, control and managing fears of uncertainty, covers over your perception in the here and now. It can also act as a barrier to appreciation. You can see that in a prior video that includes some of Heidegger's meditation practices which was in response to the narcissistic method of Nietzsche. I still have to read more Nietzsche and Heidegger, but what it looks like now is that Nietzsche's method can easily turn into narcissism, with that style of rumination over success and power, and Heidegger blamed Nietzsche for that influence which lead him to his ultimate involvement with Nazism and all the rumination about power that it entails. As I read more, it could be a misreading that some people did when they read Nietzsche, or an inevitable consequence of obsessive self-development. The problem with self-development is that one is constantly seeking future improvements and getting addicted to only thinking about that. There has to be a balance between planning in your mind and appreciation in the moment. [See: How to motivate yourself - The Being of Beings: https://rumble.com/v1gv3zl-how-to-motivate-yourself-freud-and-beyond.html]

One of Serge's goals he was ruminating about was developing a relationship with his, then not yet wife Therese. He pursued her, but kept his desire secret from other nurses and doctors. He tried to meet her at Nymphenburg park, but was stood up while he waited into the night. He still pursued her. She eventually consented to walk in the English park with him and talk about her family, and her German and Spanish background. Her calm demeanor with her tragedies, such as her divorce, made her more attractive to him. He focused on finding rooms to rent to privately meet with her, but she rejected him to focus on nursing and her daughter Else. Serge was so depressed that he swallowed a handful of sleeping tablets, but in the end it did no more damage other than making him wake up more slowly. He still tried to meet with Therese only to get another rejection via a letter. Kraepelin and other doctors suggested that he focus on getting out of his manic-depression instead of pursuing Therese. Serge left the sanatorium and stayed at the Bayerischer Hof and pleaded with Therese to see her at least one last time before leaving Munich to never see her again. Later Serge welcomed a visit from his mother, who was able to soothe his ups and downs. They briefly went to Lake Constance where Serge's painful nostalgia returned. The location evoked "an aura of the remote past, and it seemed to me as if the spirit...was still hovering over the place. All this invited meditation about the evanescence and futility of human passion and striving, and about the wisdom of resignation."

Manic depression

Spending time with his family abroad, resuscitated Serge's positivity. Serge told his uncle in Paris of his love affair with Therese. "It was certainly fortunate for me to be in a city like Paris, where the quick pulse of life and even the sight of the streets helped to distract me." On the question of Therese his uncle chimed in. "He thought that it was not a question of 'love' but merely of 'passion' and expressed the opinion that in the view of all these complications at the beginning, no good could have come of it in the future. What is the thing to do if a young man is unhappily in love or if the object of choice seems objectionable to the family? One tries to divert his attention to other women. So my uncle advised me to frequent night clubs and cabarets where plenty of beautiful women 'for one night' were to be found." He also gave him connections to Odessa society ladies.

When Serge returned to Odessa, he waited for his father to return from Moscow. "But more than two weeks passed...Then came a telegram from Moscow with the news that my father had suddenly died." He wanted to go to the theater but a violent storm made him return to the hotel. He was found dead in his bed in the hotel the next day, despite being young and considered in good health. Crucially Serge surmised that "it is true that he suffered from insomnia and regularly took veronal before going to sleep. Perhaps his premature death was due to an overdose of this sleeping medicine." Serge received a condolence letter from Therese who found out what happened. After the funeral and the process of disposing the will, Serge got into arguments with his mother and her secretiveness. He wasn't to get his portion of the inheritance until the age of 28, but it was understandable due to his mental condition.

With this disappointment, Serge moved on with his life, and resumed his painting. He also took lessons. Some of his paintings got recognition, but he fell back into indecision about focusing on painting or continuing his law studies. Eventually he went back to Kraepelin to notify him of his father's death. Serge looked at himself now as a "hereditary case", but there was also a silver lining because he would be close enough to Therese to meet her again. They did meet and agreed to stay in touch by letter. He felt that his meeting Krepelin was just a pretext to see Therese again and that was why he was depressed. Her letter of condolence brought up desires of being with her. His depression abated when he met up with her again. He met up with her in Berlin at the Central Hotel. This time their desires reversed. He now was ambivalent about the relationship and she was more eager to be married since she had a daughter and was suffering financial hardship. It blew up in fight in the hotel. He left for the Schlachtensee and wrote a farewell letter to her with the excuse of his mental condition. As expected, Serge had feelings of regret and fell back into depression. Over time he eventually was referred to Sigmund Freud as an attempt to try something different, and like with many of Freud's patients, he was a last option when other modalities failed.

During this time Serge's Uncle Peter, who had paranoia, died. He was alone and only around animals. He was found later when his delivered food wasn't touched. Rats had been chewing on him during this time. Therese found out in a newspaper article titled "A Millionaire Gnawed by Rats." The law stepped in and Serge was included in the disbursement of his assets, relieving some of the resentment of having to wait until he was 28 to get his father's inheritance.

When he started with Freud, Freud pointed out that his behaviour was normal up until the final break where he was now falling into a pattern of "flight from the woman." But Freud wanted the analysis to continue for some months before returning to Therese. Freud's analysis was hourly, so Serge was able to acquaint himself with the pleasures of Vienna and learned to play card games. Despite Freud's prohibition on Therese, Serge sent a detective to find her whereabouts. "I had learned that Therese gave up her position in the sanatorium, and now was an owner of a small pension in which she and her daughter Else were living. She looked terribly rundown, and her no longer fashionable dress hung about her body which had become so thin that it was scarcely more than a skeleton...In this moment I determined never to leave this woman, whom I caused to suffer so terribly."

The vicissitudes of war

When the war broke out, there were anti-Russian sentiments, and Serge and his mother returned to Odessa for the summer before his planned wedding with Therese. Therese stayed behind in Germany with her daughter. Luckily for Serge, being an only child, he avoided being conscripted. After the war broke out he had to go through a lot of legal work to get Therese a permit to enter Odessa. When she arrived they finally got married, though she sold herself short by saying to Serge "I wish you great happiness in your marriage" as if he was marrying someone else. Despite anti-German attitudes Therese put effort into learning Russian until she was able converse with people. Unfortunately she didn't get a long with her mother-in-law who fought over who ran the household. During this time Serge focused on his law exams and passed, but when things were going well, there was an ever present danger to ruin circumstances. For example, during the Ukrainian independence attempt and the Soviet Bolshevik victory, Serge was caught in crossfire. "In the fall of 1917 the October Revolution broke out. In the late fall of the same year armed conflicts were expected in Odessa. I was advised not to venture too far into the city. Nevertheless one day I went to visit friends who lived at quite a distance from our home. When I set out to return home I was amazed to see how the city had changed in so short a time. The streets were suddenly empty and all the front doors were locked. It was uncanny to walk through this deserted town. Finally I had to turn into a street which ran parallel to ours, from which, in order to reach our house, one had to go either to the right or to the left. As I looked down this street I was terrified to see that it was blocked on the right and the left by armed men. They had formed fighting lines on both sides of the street and opened fire against each other at just this very moment...I crossed the parallel street and turned to the left. The bullets were whizzing and swishing past my ears, but I proceeded at a steady pace, reached the garden gate, and seized the latch."

With the constant flip flop between different revolutions and fighting forces, Odessa finally landed in the hands of the Austrians. This allowed Therese an opportunity to get to Germany to visit her daughter Else who was in serious condition with pneumonia.

The biggest devastation to Serge's independence came with economic shocks during the war. "Our fortune was almost entirely invested in government bonds, held in deposit by the Odessa branch of the Russian state bank. The bonds were destroyed in a fire. Furthermore a constant devaluation of money had been taking place. At the time of the German-Austrian occupation an independent Ukrainian currency had been created, which was expected to drop in value rapidly. The inheritance left to me by my father was still administered by my mother, but I had invested most of my inheritance from Uncle Peter in mortgages. My debtors were now very eager to make considerable payments to me, taking advantage of the devaluated currency."

By the time Serge made it back to Germany, despite a lot of red tape related to his Russian ethnicity, he brought what money he could. He saw Therese again, but now with a shock of white hair. Else was diagnosed as terminal with her tuberculosis and died a couple of months later.

During this dark time, Serge met Freud again who felt there was still a residue left that needed to be analyzed and this analysis stretched out until 1920. "After WWI there was a catastrophic fall in the value of German and Austrian currency, which finally led to a complete collapse...Because of the currency devaluation I had practically nothing left of the money I had brought with me from Russia. So I was forced to look for some sort of job as soon as possible. By exhausting his connections, including Freud, he was able to find an economics professor who got him an opportunity with an insurance company, a job that would sustain him for years."

Psychoanalytic Mindfulness

Some years after the war Serge was again stuck in obsessions. Freud assigned him to one of his followers Ruth Mack Brunswick. When she saw him he was "now earning barely enough to feed his ailing wife and himself. Nevertheless, things went smoothly with him until the summer of 1926, when certain symptoms appeared which called him to consult Freud. At this time it was suggested that if he felt in need of analysis he should come to me...He was suffering from [hypochondria related to his nose acne and treatments]. According to him, [an] injury [from treatment] consisted varyingly of a scar, a hole, or a groove in the scar tissue. The contour of the nose was ruined. Let me state at once that nothing whatsoever was visible on the small snub, typically Russian nose of the patient. And the patient himself, while insisting that the injury was all too noticeable, nevertheless realized that his reaction to it was abnormal. For this reason, having exhausted all dermatological resources, he consulted Freud. If nothing could be done for his nose, then something must be done for his state of mind, whether the cause was real or imagined. At first sight, this sensible and logical point of view seemed due to the insight won from the earlier analysis. But only in part did this prove to be the motive for the present analysis. On the other hand, the insight was undoubtedly responsible for the one atypical characteristic of the case: its ultimate accessibility to analysis, which otherwise would certainly not have been present." Ruth continued associating his complaint that "I can't go on living like this anymore" to his other statements going back to childhood when he soiled himself and thought that he had dysentery, and when he contracted gonorrhea before his sessions with Freud. It was an identification with his mother.

His obsession turned towards reflections. "The 'veil' of his earlier illness completely enveloped him. He neglected his daily life and work because he was engrossed, to the exclusion of all else, in the state of his nose. On the street he looked at himself in every shop-window; he carried a pocket mirror which he took out to look at every few minutes. First he would powder his nose; a moment later he would inspect it and remove the powder. He would then examine the pores, to see if they were enlarging, to catch the hole, as it were, in its moment of growth and development. Then he would again powder his nose, put away the mirror, and a moment later begin the process anew. His life centered on the little mirror in his pocket, and his fate depended on what it revealed or was about to reveal."

Despite starting a fresh analysis, Ruth announced that "all the childhood material appears [in Freud's paper]; Nothing new whatsoever made its appearance in the analysis with me. The source of the new illness was an unresolved remnant of the transference, which after fourteen years, under the stress of peculiar circumstances, became the basis for a new form of an old illness...At the end of 1919 he had come out of Russia and returned to Freud for a few months of analysis, with the purpose, successively accomplished, of clearing up his hysterical constipation." Unfortunately Serge didn't have enough money to pay for the analysis. With no work and dealing with a wife who was ill, Freud was able to collect money for him for six years. "The money enabled the patient to pay his wife's hospital bills, to send her to the country, and occasionally to take a short holiday himself." Ruth described Freud's interest in the patient as someone "who had served the theoretical ends of analysis so well..."

Despite the supposed cure, Serge not only continued identification with his mother, but also his sister. Before his analysis with Ruth, just like his sister, "[Serge's] preoccupations on his looks and health continued on his nose, teeth, and his constipation. In 1924- 1925 Serge found that his nose had healed..." Unfortunately the nose symptoms returned with a pimple on his nose. "He [then] saw the movie The White Sister which reminded him of his sister who preoccupied herself with feelings of depression over acne and not being beautiful enough." Serge had suicidal thoughts about his looks, and he went to his old dermatologist to have the pimple removed. The blood gave him a sense of relief, but he began to worry about scarring. In the end he had minor scarring that ended up being "the finest white line."

Like in my review on the treatment of Narcissism, [See: Treatment of Narcissistic Personality Disorder: https://rumble.com/v1gtj2d-treatment-of-narcissistic-personality-disorder-narcissism-part-4-of-4.html] Ruth appeared to fall into the trap of positive transference, where it's easy for both therapist and patient to flatter each other. "For a time, despite the patient's invulnerability on important topics, or because of it, my relations with him were mostly sunny. He brought the clearest dreams in order that I might show my skill at interpreting them, thus confirming his statement that he was better off in my hands than in Freud's." When Ruth mentioned the death of the dermatologist that worked on his nose, which was the first time Serge heard of the news, he admitted a desire to kill him, sue him or expose him. Ruth then tried to connect this hatred of the dermatologist back to a possible hatred of Freud. Here Serge defended Freud and viewed his analysis with him more as a friendly connection than a professional one. Ruth countered that Serge was not invited to visit Freud and his family, so was not really a close friend. She saw that the patient was stuck wanting to stay Freud's favourite son.

"Our entire concern is with a remnant of the transference to Freud. Naturally this remnant implies that the patient has not been wholly freed of his fixation to the father; but apparently the cause of the remaining attachment is not the presence of unconscious material, but insufficient living-through of the transference itself. I say this in the face of the fact that the patient spent four-and-a-half years with Freud and remained well afterward for some twelve years. It is one thing for the analyst to consider a case complete, and another for the patient to do so. As analysts we may be in full possession of the historic facts of the illness, but we cannot know how much living-through the patient requires for his cure." What he didn't live through enough was seeing his false self in action. Serge wanted to maintain the pleasant feelings of being the star patient to bask in Freud's success. He also had financial needs, needs for social praise and survival needs.

At the end of Ruth's analysis she declared a cure based on the awareness of his nasal obsession being the same as the gonorrheal infection. An emotional castration. This went back to his identification with his mother and dysentery, and a lingering attachment to his father. "He was now able to realize that his nasal symptom was not a fact but an idea, based on his unconscious wish and the defense against it which together had proved stronger than his sense of reality...At last the patient had sufficiently lived through his reactions to the father, and was therefore able to give them up. The modes of analytic therapy are twofold: the first is the making of hitherto unconscious reactions; the second is the working through of these reactions. The second point involves the primary bisexuality of this patient, obviously the cause of his illness. His masculinity has always found its normal outlet; his femininity on the other hand has necessarily been repressed. But this femininity seems to have been constitutionally strong, so strong, indeed, that the normal oedipus complex has been sacrificed in its development to the negative oedipus complex. The development of a strong positive oedipus complex would have been a sign of greater health than the patient actually possessed. Whether the patient, who has been well for a year and a half, will remain well, it is impossible to state. I should be inclined to think that his health is in a large measure dependent on the degree of sublimation of which he proves capable...All at once he could read and enjoy novels...He could paint, and plan work and study in his chosen field, and again take the general intelligent interest in life and the arts and literature which naturally was his."

In his interview with Karin Obholzer, Serge didn't think that Ruth's analysis helped him as much as his own determination, especially when he didn't agree with the diagnosis of paranoia. "I gathered all my strength, stopped looking in the mirror, and somehow overcame these ideas. In a few days it was gone...That is my greatest accomplishment...I believe I had most success while I saw Mack because I took a stand against the psychoanalysts, made a decision on my own. Stop constantly thinking about your nose!" Despite the accomplishment in using willpower to drop his nose obsession, Serge would have to face more losses and grief.

Endless grief

Things were going well for Serge with his paintings and vacations, until 1938, a bad year for Austria. "When I returned home the evening before the day of the referendum, I wanted to listen to a radio concert that had been announced. This concert should have began within a few minutes, but quite a long time passed without a sound...Suddenly came the voice of the announcer...[Chancellor] Schuschnigg spoke. His statement contained the information that German armed forces had already crossed the German-Austrian border, and that Schuschnigg - to prevent unnecessary bloodshed - had given the order that there should be no armed resistance." Despite Therese being somewhat sympathetic to the Germans, she was starting to deteriorate markedly. "Sometimes she would stand in front of the big mirror in the bedroom, look at herself for a while, and then say discontentedly: 'I am old and ugly!'...She gradually lost contact with her surroundings and wanted neither to visit the few acquaintances we had in Vienna nor to invite them to visit us."

As anti-semitism started to increase in Austria, and many Jews were starting to commit suicide, Therese made a strange remark. She said that "as only the Jews committed suicide and the Christians on the contrary were too cowardly to do so, it was unjust to consider the Jews cowardly. From this remark it was clear that Therese regarded suicide as a heroic deed." Later on she shocked Serge again and said "Do you know what we are going to do? We'll turn on the gas." She quickly spoke of other normal things as if she never said anything so extreme. A week later the couple went for an outing to Grinzing. "As we sat in a café there, I told Therese about the changes which had taken place in the office since the Anschluss [annex] and mentioned that the employees had been asked to produce their so-called family trees which would prove their Aryan descent, or - as people mockiningly said at the time - that they had no Jewish grandmother." Her reaction to this was curious and then one day when he went to work "Therese said goodbye especially tenderly, which I took as a sign that her mood had improved." The morbid scene when he returned home showed that Therese was serious about using gas to commit suicide, and had planned it out far in advance. "I stormed into our hallway where warning notes had been put up: 'Don't turn on the light - danger of gas.' From there I rushed into the kitchen, which was filled with the streaming gas as with a thick fog. Therese was sitting near the gas jet, bent over the kitchen table, on which lay several letters of farewell." She had been dead for several hours. "I lived this day and the following ones as though in a delirium in which one does not know whether what happens is reality or a dreadful dream."

Therese's last letters were cryptic of the cause of her suicidal thoughts. Did she think that she had a Jewish ancestor that would be found out? Did she have a terminal disease that she kept secret? In one letter "Therese tries to justify her suicide on the grounds that she would have died within two or three years, and it would be easier for me if this happened earlier."

"I ask you a thousand times to forgive me - I am so poor in body and soul. You have suffered so much; you must surmount this also. My prayers in eternal life shall protect you and comfort you, my blessing goes with you. God will help you to overcome everything, time will heal all wounds, the heart must endure the loss of that which is buried in the earth. It is hard for me to leave you, but you will rise again to a new life. I have only one wish, your happiness, this will give me eternal peace. Do not forget me; pray for me. We shall see each other again..."

"Be reasonable, do nothing rashly but act only after you have quieted down. Take care of your health; be careful not to squander your possessions, so that when you are old you will still have something besides your pension. I have saved only for you, I have loved only you, everything I have done has been from innermost love...Think it carefully before you marry again. Marriage could mean your happiness and salvation - or your doom and destruction. You must find a thrifty, hard-working, good woman - not some frivolous creature. Choose a woman from a good home. Then you can make new relationships. You must resume your life."

"W: ...There was considerable enmity between my mother and Therese. This enmity was Therese's fault. Nothing suited her; she wanted everything different. That's the reason I could not have my mother live with me until after Therese's death. It bothered her that my mother was so attached to her relatives and not to us. That was Therese's idea. Her relatives were the most important thing to my mother, you understand, but I was never really aware of it. Due to the quarrel with my mother, the fortune was lost because I couldn't discuss anything with my mother...And she was constantly with her relatives, and those relatives naturally also turned away from me. So it was an awkward situation.

O: Therese was jealous of your mother.

W: I'd say so. You see it correctly.

O: But your mother also had a prejudice against Therese.

W: Of course. My mother did not like my having married Therese.

O: Because it was a [mismatch]?

W: Of course. She was a nurse - that's a lower class. But you see how it is when a mother is jealous of her daughter-in-law, and vice versa. My mother was always jealous. My father said that he was unfamiliar with that emotion. But she had reason...

O: And a woman after your mother's heart, what would she have been like?

W: Rich, for one thing....Therese sensed her rejection. She was very much attached to her mother, to her parents. She wanted my mother to act toward her as her own mother did....Freud said I was looking for something inferior because she was only a nurse, although...there were difficulties, but...I had...received something very good, you see, because she was a very decent human being." Despite living with Therese, Serge couldn't clearly say why Therese committed suicide. Maybe it was Hitler and she was afraid that her Spanish ancestry had Jewish in it. She also complained about aging and her health..."Freud said that she was perfectly all right psychologically and that only physical illnesses need be considered in her case... Mack said, 'That's where the professor was very badly mistaken...You were married to a crazy woman for twenty-five years.' In the case of my wife, it was real hypochondria that she was so ill. She wasn't ill at all. She imagined she was ill, that she wouldn't live much longer, and so on..."

After the disaster Serge found Psychoanalyst Muriel Gardiner and asked for help "In early spring 1938, shortly after the Nazis had taken over Austria, I came face to face with the Wolf-Man on one of the busy Vienna streets. He did not greet me in his usual polite ceremonious manner but began to cry and wring his hands and pour out a flood of words which because of his excitement and his sobbing were utterly unintelligible." Muriel guided the panicked Wolf-Man to her apartment. Serge used to teach Muriel Russian grammar and talk about his favourite subjects, French Impressionists, Doestoevsky and of course Freud. Muriel couldn't keep up the lessons when she began studying medicine, but she would still be visited by Serge to renew her insurance, since he was working for an insurance company at the time. Serge was in a depressed mood. "My wife killed herself. I've just come from the cemetery. Why did she do it? Why did this have to happen to me? I always have bad luck, I'm always subject to the greatest misfortunes. What shall I do Frau Doktor? Tell me what to do. Tell me why she killed herself."

Serge found his wife Terese dead in the gas-filled kitchen and this was recognizable to Muriel. "Suicides were common in the early days of Nazi Austria, as I knew firsthand from my work in pathology in the autopsy rooms of the general hospital, so of course I thought first of political motives. But this was apparently quite out of the question; neither the Wolf-Man nor his wife was Jewish and they were politically completely indifferent. To my astonishment I found that he scarcely even knew that the Nazis were in power." Muriel managed to get a passport for him and he left for Paris to meet up with Mack Brunswick for more sessions. Muriel went to the U.S. Serge followed Brunswick to England and he returned to Vienna during the Munich Pact. Muriel continued to receive some letters in the United States from Serge until Pearl Harbour. After the war was over news of the Wolf-Man communicated his good mental health and acceptance of his lot in life. He continued to work in insurance and took care of his mother. Though, more sad news arrived about Ruth Mack Brunswick's untimely death. She had died of a fall in the bathroom while on opiates. She had a painful gastrointestinal illness which led to her dependence on painkillers.

On a later visit to Salzburg Muriel negotiated a meeting with the Wolf-Man in Linz. Serge talked about how he benefited from Ruth's comfort but also criticized saying "one could hardly call that a real analysis; it was more of a consolation." He also talked about the kind of women he was attracted to. Muriel pointed out that his taste in women was the same, and connected with his sister's influence. He gained some solace when his mother was opened up more about her own life, which "cleared up for him some of the problems which he had never understood."

Both Gardiner and Pankejeff continued sending letters to each other while Serge continued writing his memoirs. A highlight of those letters was when he got in trouble with Russian soldiers. One day in 1951 he went out to paint, and out of a nostalgia for the Russia of his boyhood he wandered away from the English zone into Russian zone by mistake. He went to the top of a hill and found a nice landscape to paint. When he returned to go home and walked towards a streetcar line he was surrounded by Russian guards. He was interrogated, but strangely, after a few days, the interrogator decided to talk about Russian literature instead. They made an agreement where he would return in 3 weeks to show his other paintings and provide personal documents. Out of a duty to make sure that his case was definitely resolved, he took another chance and returned to the Russian zone. When Serge went back, none of the interrogators were there but instead a different soldier who looked at the paintings and talked about his son who also painted. In the end, they showed no interest in Serge. They warned him that all he needed to do was ask permission and they would allow him to paint.

As age creeped up on Serge he started to admit some of his struggles. "I too am growing older, although, I must sadly confess, not wiser. For many years I thought that I, through the many hard blows of fate which I have suffered, would at least in age become somewhat more mellow and would acquire some sort of philosophic outlook upon life. I thought that in old age I could at least spend my last years at a distance from the emotional struggles of which I had so many in my life. But it seems these are illusions also. I am still far away from the capacity for a contemplative life..." Quoting from later works of Freud he showed how difficult it was to deal with strong impulses. "It is interesting how the 'id' can be. How it can dissemble, apparently following the commands of the 'ego' and 'superego,' but in secret preparing its 'revenge' and then suddenly triumphing over these apparently higher courts. Then the old emotional conflict breaks out, and the apparently subdued mourning for the great loss which one suffered so many years ago makes itself felt again. Freud says that the unconscious knows no time; but as a consequence the unconscious can know no growing old...Unconscious processes [can] gain the upper hand." For Gardiner, much of Serge's complaints about losses, like in his family, and his loss of status, he handled it about as well as many people can. For her "there is no doubt Freud's analysis saved the Wolf-Man from a crippled existence, and Dr. Brunswick's reanalysis overcame a serious acute crisis, both enabling the Wolf-Man to lead a long and tolerably healthy life."

The Ego and the Id - Sigmund Freud: https://rumble.com/v1gvdo1-the-ego-and-the-id-sigmund-freud.html

The Wolfman and other cases - Sigmund Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780142437452/

The Wolf Man by the Wolf Man - Sergei Pankejeff, Ruth Mack Brunswick, Muriel Gardiner, Anna Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780465091973/

The Wolf Man: 60 years later - Karin Obholzer: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780710093547/

The Cries of the Wolf Man - Patrick J. Mahony: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780823610907/

Freud Standard Edition Vol 12: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780701205256/

The Correspondence of Sigmund Freud and Sándor Ferenczi, Volume 1: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780674174184/

The Assault on Truth - Jeffrey Masson: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780345452795/

The Wolf Man's Magic Words: A Cryptonymy - Nicolas Abraham & Maria Torok: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780816648580/

Freud and the Rat Man - Patrick J. Mahony: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780300036947/

Violent Origins: Ritual Killing and Cultural Formation - Walter Burkert, Jonathan Z. Smith, René Girard, Robert G. Hammerton-Kelly, Renato Rosaldo, Burton Mack: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780804715188/

The War that ended Peace - Margaret MacMillan: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780143173601/

The First World War - John Keegan: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780676972245/

The Origins of the War of 1914 - Luigi Albertini: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781929631261/

Lothane, H. Z. (2018). Freud Bashers: Facts, Fictions, and Fallacies. Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association, 66(5), 953–969.

Homosexuality Anxiety: A Misunderstood Form of OCD - Monnica Williams: https://www.psychologytoday.com/sites/default/files/attachments/72634/williamshocd2008.pdf

Misusing Freud: Psychoanalysis and the Rise of Homosexual Misusing Freud: Psychoanalysis and the Rise of Homosexual Conversion Therapy - Jonathan Barrett: https://digitalscholarship.unlv.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1027&context=psi_sigma_siren

How do I know I'm really not gay? Fred Penzel: https://iocdf.org/expert-opinions/homosexual-obsessions/

Sigmund Freud urged his disciple to divorce: https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1987-11-12-vw-20532-story.html

The Master's mad move: https://www.theguardian.com/books/1999/jan/30/sigmundfreud

Conditions for intuitive expertise: a failure to disagree. Daniel Kahneman, Gary Klein Am Psychol. 2009 Sep; 64(6): 515–526

Alan Cumming Is Bisexual — And You Might Be Too: https://www.advocate.com/bisexuality/2015/03/30/alan-cumming-bisexual-and-you-might-be-too

Alan Cumming Sounds Off On Being Bisexual And Being Married To A Man: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/alan-cumming-bisexual-_n_4460070

Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/

#oedipus complex #sigmund freud #psychoanalysis #sergeipankejeff #HOCD #bisexuality #homosexuality #castration anxiety

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noteguk · 4 years

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any way you want it | kth | m

— summary; in which your best friend, Taehyung, finds out about your unsatisfying sexual experiences and decides to put an end to that track record himself.

— contents and warnings; smut, childhood best friends, Taehyung x reader, bigdick!tae, breast play, oral (f receiving), dry grinding, dirty talk, tae has a praise kink, unprotected sex (be responsible!!), rough sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, Taehyung takes things personally but he has good intentions, this is what happens when mutual thirst gets suppressed for years of friendship

— words; 6.6k

— author’s note; i have no idea why but this fic was so fucking hard to put down into words??? I felt mentally constipated the entire time but it’s finally here

Taehyung wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when you called him at almost two in the morning, complaining about your newest nightmarish date and practically begging to come over. Like the good friend that he was, he made sure to tell you that you would be more than welcome to join him in his newest documentary marathon about aliens, and wondered if you could bring him some takeout on your way over there. Like the bad friend that you were, you said no.

To be fair, the nearest takeout place was across the city from his apartment (about thirty minutes away and in a bad neighborhood), and you were already having a horrible night as it was. Besides, you refused to take part in Taehyung’s search for a high blood pressure and cholesterol levels, arguing that it wasn’t the right time to stuff his face full of hypercaloric noodles.

But you did pity him enough to comply with his second request: a big pot of vanilla ice cream, which you were sure you’d end up consuming too. You were in a crisis.

As if to prove that the gods above were laughing at you, during the walk of shame to Taehyung’s apartment, it had started to rain (because of course it did), and your umbrella was only able to save you from the shoulders up before it crumbled and flew away from your gasp, rolling on the asphalt like a ball of dirt in a Wild West movie. By the time that you dragged yourself to his front door, you were completely soaked (and not in the way you had planned for that night to end), and about to break down crying.

Taehyung, like the angel that he was, helped you with your heavy coat and talked you into taking a warm shower before you got sick. He took the supermarket bag from you (where the ice cream had probably already melted) and walked you to this bathroom, excusing himself so he could grab you some dry clothes — and you only saw the ones he had picked when you got out of the shower.

With a silly smile dancing on your lips, you fumbled with the black booty shorts that Taehyung had jokingly gifted you that past Christmas — one that read “daddy’s juicy butt” in big, bold, neon pink letters over your ass — and then decided that your dignity was already dead by that point, so another kick wouldn’t hurt. Taehyung had also given you one of his favorite band shirts, which he only revealed during desperate times.

Your heart melted with the thought of your best friend trying to comfort you, and pulled the fabric close to your face so you could take a deep inhale, drowning in his scent. It smelled of that stupid cologne that Taehyung had used ever since he hit puberty, and a bit of fabric softener.

The two of you had an extremely close friendship, to the point that it got kind of strange at times. Ever since childhood, it was joked that you and Taehyung had been long lost soulmates — doing everything together, from going to school to laughing at the same exact jokes during movie marathons, often at the same moment and for the same amount of time. Before puberty hit (and the hormonal rage took over your first teenage years) you couldn’t remember disagreeing with him even once. You two had always been in sync.

But the uncomfortably close part only hit after you two went to college, and your anxiety for being a virgin in a sea of starving sharks got the best of you. After long conversations, you had managed to convince Taehyung to help you learn a thing or two about the art of naked wrestling.

Apparently it was weird to give your best friend a handjob and a blowjob for the sake of education. Go figure.

Regardless, your friendship wasn’t affected by any of that — even if you two had agreed to never mention any of it ever again — and you could always count on Taehyung to catch you when you fell.

Even if it was at two am on a Tuesday, after one of your nightmarish dates.

You threw yourself on the couch next to him, hugging your knees against your chest to form a barrier between you and the divine providence that had taken you to that point. You had half-assedly dried your hair, but pools of wetness had started to build on the back of Taehyung’s shirt.

Instead of accusing you of ruining his favorite piece of clothing, Taehyung reached for the remote and paused his documentary just as the narrator was starting to explain how hieroglyphs were actually part of an alien language. “Just tell me how bad it was,” he said, a mustache of ice cream melting over his top lip.

You took a peek at the bowl of melting vanilla on his center table, and decided that you would probably pass the desert for the night.

You glanced at him sideways, voice coming out monotone. “You sure you want to go down that path?”

Taehyung licked his sweet mustache off and nodded, clearly intrigued. “Yeah, hit me with it. You look like you need all the help that you can find.”

You sighed, turning around on the couch so you were facing him — legs still against your chest. “Okay so… I went to his place...”

“Yes…”

“And... we had dinner, talked for a bit.”

“How was the talk?” He asked.

You shook your head, trying to kill the memories inside. “He didn’t let me say a word. He just went on and on about this new website he’s working on, and how expensive his wine glasses were.” You scoffed, angry at yourself for ignoring the clear red flags of an arrogant douchebag. That was what the desperate need for immediate human connection could do to someone, you thought. “Apparently it’s supposed to be the next Facebook or something. Or twitter. I honestly wasn’t paying much attention.”

He chuckled. “Starting off strong.”

“That wasn’t even the main issue,” you said, lowering your forehead so it was touching your knees. You just wanted the world to end at that moment, so you wouldn’t have to go through those experiences again. “After that, we sat on his couch and started watching a movie. And you know how that goes, we started kissing, he pushed me down and got on top of me…”

“And?” He instigated.

With a sigh, you raised your head, meeting your friend’s gaze. Taehyung thought he had never seen you look so dead inside. And he had seen a lot from you. “And he humped like… my lower abdomen for about three minutes and came in his pants.”

Taehyung cringed visibly, taking one hand to cover his mouth. “Oh, man. That’s bad.”

You nodded, strangely relieved at his reaction. Part of you was worried that you were the evil witch in that scenario, that maybe you had done something wrong. “The worst,” you agreed. “Wanna know what else?”

“What? There’s more?”

“He didn’t even ask me if I was satisfied with whatever the hell that was.” You told him, bitterness dripping from your tongue. In the grand scheme of things, that was something silly to get mad over, but the fact that your date didn’t even have the guts to ask if you had gotten something out of that was ridiculous. “Not that I could possibly be. But it’s like he didn’t care and I was just a pillow for him to hump like a… sexually repressed religious teen, I don’t know.”

Taehyung only nodded, realizing that there wasn’t much that he could say to fix the situation. “Was he a good kisser at least?”

You sneered. “I think he was trying to crush my face with his.” You glanced at your friend, only half of his face bathed by the yellow and orange shades coming from the television. Maybe a documentary about ancient history and alien expeditions wouldn’t be so bad. Worst case scenario, it would knock you out, and you wouldn’t have to think about that mess anytime soon. “Also, too much tongue, just… the amount of saliva…”

“Got it. You can stop there.” Taehyung raised one hand, his eyes closing for a second. His palm lowered and met one of your knees, standing there in a silent attempt at consolation. “I’m sorry about your terrible date experience, dude.”

“If you could even call it that.” You ran one hand through your hair, suddenly overtaken by a wave of anger. “God! I was just… so… ugh! Like… ughhhh!!”

Taehyung, bless his heart, sometimes couldn’t understand the random neanderthal sounds you threw his way. “So... what?”

At last, your makeshift protection came crumbling down, and you collapsed on the couch dramatically, legs dangling off the edge. Taehyung thought that you were being possessed for exactly two seconds before you started talking again. “I did a full body shave for this night, Taehyung. Do you realize what that means?” His lips fell open, but, before he had the chance to answer, you continued. “It means that I really wanted to get railed tonight. Actually, I wanted to find a guy who actually knew what he was doing for once in my life.”

Taehyung chuckled, trying to disperse the tension in the room. “Come on, the dating pool can’t be that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad,” you said.

He wasn’t giving up that fast. “How bad?”

You raised your head to look him dead in the eyes, a silent threat, before finally uttering, “Try no-man-has-ever-made-me-cum bad,” and crashing your head back against the sofa.

If you weren’t so hyper-focused on your own sexual melodrama, you would have noticed the thick silence that fell between the two of you, Taehyung’s face contorting into fifty different emotions within a few seconds. He thought that he had heard it all — from the secrets hidden in Machu Picchu to the obvious extraterrestrial influence on earthy religion — but no amount of bad documentaries could ever prepare him for that revelation. That didn’t make any sense.

“Wait. Seriously?” He finally found his voice and managed to push his doubt out of his throat. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

You chuckled, humorless. “Oh no, I’ve had plenty of those. Just not from another person.”

“How’s that possible?” he asked.

“I ask myself that every single day.” You sighed, forcing yourself to sit back up. Taehyung was staring at you like you had just grown two extra arms, and you wondered what an amazing sex life he must’ve had for that confession to get him so confused. “Guess I’m just really bad at picking partners, who knows.”

There was a soft grunt on your throat as you fixed your position on the couch, suddenly feeling the exhaustion of your entire day piling up at once. Your gaze mindlessly traveled to the TV — a big plasma monstrosity that Taehyung had bought compulsively during a Black Friday sale — looking at a white-bearded man pointing maniacally towards a specific, round-shaped hieroglyph. You didn’t even need to hit play to know that he was making it seem like it was an UFO, but curiosity got the best of you.

“Can you pass me the remote?” You asked, pointing at the small device that laid beyond Taehyung’s body. “I kinda wanna see what—”

“I’ve made tons of girls have orgasms,” Taehyung interrupted, looking at you like he had just clicked out of a transe.

You laughed at his monotone voice. “I’m happy for you, Tae.” You leaned over his legs so you could finally reach the remote. “That wasn’t a jab at your masculinity, I’m sure you’re a very caring partner, and I’m sure there’s tons of guys out there that—”

“I can make you cum too, if you want.”

You had just grabbed the small piece of plastic when his sentence hit you like a smack in the face, making you drop the remote back on the couch, eyes widening. “You… what?”

He suddenly broke eye contact, taking one hand to massage the back of his neck. “Did that sound as creepy as I think it did?”

“A bit, yeah.” You forced out a light chuckle, trying to break the ice. There was no sign of mockery in his voice, and you didn’t know how to react. You could not say that the offer wasn’t tempting (you’d be lying if you claimed that you didn’t think Taehyung was attractive), but his proposal was so oddly-placed that it sounded like a joke. “What are you talking about?”

Taehyung sighed, turning his head to look at the television. “I just think it’s really unfair that no one has ever made you cum before.”

You smiled. “That’s very nice of you, but…”

“And I want to help you with that.” He looked back at you. Oh, he was being a hundred percent serious. There was no longer a single ounce of doubt in your mind. “We’re friends, it’s not gonna be weird. We’ve done similar stuff before.”

“We were a lot younger, though.” You didn’t know why your mouth suddenly felt so dry, your fight or flight response kicking at full strength. You could tell that Taehyung was also trying to convince himself about the strangeness of the situation. “It’s gonna be kind of weird, yeah.”

“Not if we don’t make it weird,” he threw back. Was it bad that you were actually considering it? Maybe it was the piled-up exhaustion combined with the years of sexual frustration, maybe you were finally out of your mind. But you were really considering it. “I don’t wanna pressure you, alright? Just making a friendly offer. If you don’t want it, that’s fine.”

You kind of wanted it, though. There was too much accumulated libido inside you from years and years of unsatisfying partners, and you trusted Taehyung with your entire heart. It sounded like a safe enough bet: if all went to shit and it got too awkward, you two could just stop, no hard feelings. Besides, you knew that Taehyung cared about you, which was more than you could say about all your dates in the past couple years.

And the more you stared at him, probably looking like a deer in the headlights, the more you grew soft under his presence. At once, you were hit with desires that you had never considered before: you wanted to kiss those soft lips, wanted to know how his large hands would feel around you. You really, really wanted to know how it was to have a good sexual experience with someone, and you couldn’t think of a better candidate than your best friend. Even if you still thought it could be seen as a little bit weird.

But you also kind of didn’t care.

You licked your lips, finally finding your voice after a long moment of silence. “How… how would you do it?”

Taehyung turned his head and looked at you, noticing the expectation in your eyes. “How would you want me to do it?” He asked.

You tried to think, but your mind was completely blank. What did you want him to do? What did you like? Suddenly you weren’t sure about anything anymore. “I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing down.

Taehyung smiled at your nervousness, one of his hands moving to your chin and tilting your head up. “How ‘bout I start by kissing you?” He questioned, gaze flickering to your parted lips. “Is that alright?”

There were no words in your throat, so you simply nodded, closing your eyes as he leaned in.

Taehyung’s mouth tasted of vanilla and you thought, even for a moment, that you were in paradise. The second that his tender lips met yours, your anxiety melted away, giving space to a newfound flame of desire. Taehyung kissed you softly, sensually, taking his time caressing your mouth and drowning in your heat. His hand moved to the back of your head, pressing you closer to him and leaning your head to the side so he could deepen the kiss.

He sighed heavily into your mouth when your tongues met, his other hand moving to hold your waist. The position on the couch was kind of awkward for kissing, with the two of you sitting side by side, so it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when Taehyung tugged you onto his lap, making you straddle him.

The kiss was starting to get hungrier, messier, a small whimper dying in your mouth when his palms traveled down to cup your ass, pressing you down against his semi-hard cock. Taehyung sighed and groaned at the feeling of you on top of him, loving the way that your fingers played with his hair, your body so perfectly tight against his. If there was any hesitation before, it had completely vanished by that point.

It caught you off guard when he suddenly broke off the kiss to ask you, “Do you like any pet names?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Hm? What?”

He placed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “You know, you want me to call you by something?”

You realized that Taehyung was really taking that personal service to a different level, and you couldn’t say that you were let down by it. If any of your past partners had the dignity to ask what you liked, you wouldn’t be in that position in the first place. “I… like being called ‘baby’,” you told him.

Taehyung smiled. “That’s cute. Baby it is.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Taehyung’s lips were back on yours, a dreamy sigh leaving his mouth as your tongues met once again. Only a few seconds passed before he shifted his weight to lay you down, never breaking the kiss as he positioned himself between your legs, hovering over you. Taehyung started trailing a path of kisses down your neck, his large hands slithering beneath your oversized shirt and caressing the skin of your stomach.

“Can I take this off?” He asked, tugging at your shirt.

You agreed and, within a heartbeat, that piece of clothing was already on the floor, and Taehyung was diving in to kiss the valley of your naked breasts. You moaned timidly when one of your nipples was wrapped by his lips, his tongue coming out to play with it. Taehyung’s other hand was occupied fondling your other breast, tugging and pressing down on it, and the sensations were taking over your mind.

“You have great tits,” Taehyung mumbled against your skin, switching to mouth your other nipple.

“I’m glad you like them,” you teased, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. You were letting out these cute little whimpers that were making him lose his mind. “Feels really good.”

“Yeah?” He asked, moving back to kiss his way up your neck. His tongue was hot and heavy as it danced on your skin, and you knew that those sucks he was giving you were surely gonna leave a few marks on your flesh. But you didn’t really care. “Gonna make you feel even better, baby.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the pet name — it sounded heavenly when Taehyung used it with his deep, honeyed voice; his warm breath hitting your neck as he continued with his ministrations.

He kissed his way to your cheek, placing a small pec on your lips before saying, “Can you do something for me?”

You nodded. “What is it?”

Instead of responding right away, Taehyung’s gaze fell to your lips, and he was once again attacking them. That time, you weren’t able to hold back the whimper that you let out, your panties already glued against your core with how much he was turning you on.

One of his hands had trailed down your exposed abdomen, teasingly playing with the hem of your shorts. You held your breath when he tugged them down, bringing your underwear with it and throwing them somewhere in the living room. Taehyung grunted loudly when his fingers slipped past your folds, digging into your heat. His brain almost short-circuited because of how wet you were.

He broke the kiss and looked you deep in the eyes. “I want you to sit on my face, baby,” he said, and his request shot straight to your core. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

“Are you sure?” You asked. You had never done that before.

But Taehyung wasn’t sharing your reluctance. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes darkened. “Wanna taste you so bad. Sit on my face, please.”

And you didn’t need any more convincing than that. Taehyung helped you get up from the couch so he could reposition himself on it, laying flat on his back and watching as you settled yourself above him, thighs on either side of his head. The couch was the exact size for that, a little smaller and you’d have one leg dangling off the edge.

Taehyung took his hands to your thighs, running them up to your hips. His eyes were focused on your pussy, and you never felt so exposed when he started pressing you down lightly, guiding you closer to his mouth.

You held the back of the couch for support and did as he requested, lowering yourself until Taehyung had you flat on his tongue. Your breath trembled and caught in your throat when he licked a thick stripe from your entrance to your clit, humming around the taste before doing it again. Taehyung was an expert at erasing your worries because, with a few more licks, he had you fully losing yourself in his sinful ministrations.

It wasn’t long until you were whining out his name, your folds lazily dragging against his tongue as you started to grind on his face. “God, Taehyung!” You called out, hand coming down to tug at his hair. Taehyung grunted in satisfaction, the vibrations of his deep voice sending shockwaves through your pussy. “That’s… that’s really nice. You’re really good at this.”

He moaned in response, closing his eyes at your words. Taehyung was eating you out like his mouth was made for it, like he was starving for your taste and you were all that he could think about. He licked you from your entrance to your clit, playing with your sensitive spots and enjoying the tremors of pleasure that ran through your thighs, his hands locked tight around your hips. You sobbed and cried over him, making special effort to keep your legs steady as you rocked yourself on his tongue.

It was only when he decided to suck on your clit that you realized how absurdly close you were. You clenched your teeth and whined out, yanking his hair harder. “Do that again, please,” you asked and Taehyung, like the good friend that he was, was quick to comply. Taehyung wrapped his mouth around your clit in a way that had you trembling over him, licking and sucking on your sensitive nub like his life depended on it. “Fuck, that’s so good, Tae. Feels so good…”

He moaned again, more desperate this time, and some part of your mind understood the pattern that he was presenting you: Taehyung really, really liked your compliments. And you had no problem giving away any more of them.

“You’re licking me so well, Tae, you’re gonna make me cum like this,” you told him, meaning every word you said. Taehyung was a Greek god beneath you, staring up at you with those dark, focused eyes as if he dared you to cum on his tongue. “God! You’re so good for me.”

And then your praises ran thin, because your mind was gravitating somewhere else — seeking for the high that was dangerously close. It was only when Taehyung started toying with your entrance, brushing two of his fingers on it, that you came undone, crying out his name like it was a personal prayer.

There was a smirk on your mouth as you came down, a flooding relief that overtook you. You never thought that you could come so hard in your life, especially when it depended on another person, and you were so, so happy to be wrong that you could cry.

With shaky legs, you removed yourself from Taehyung’s face, straddling his lap and watching as his lips glistened with your arousal. His pink tongue came out to lick them, a hum on his throat as he took in your fucked-out expression.

“You did so well, baby,” he said, placing one of his hands on your waist. “Come here.”

Obedient, you leaned in and sighed as his mouth met yours. This time, Taehyung didn’t wait to eagerly insert his tongue inside your mouth, making you taste yourself on him.

He pulled away leisurely, his voice hoarse. “Can you taste how sweet you are?” He asked. “I loved making you cum on my tongue, baby. You looked so pretty.”

Taehyung breathed out, planting kisses on your neck, one hand trailing down to squeeze your ass. You whined at his tight grip and pressed yourself down on him, feeling his hard cock poking out against the fabric of his sweats.

Taehyung groaned at the stimulation, pressing down on your asscheek again. You rolled your hips on top of him, wincing in sensitivity as his member brushed your clit. “Loved your pussy so much, baby,” he continued, sounding like he was lost in a daydream, “I can’t wait to be inside you. Bet you’d be so tight for my cock, hm?”

“Yeah,” you managed to speak. Even if you had just reached your orgasm, you were still aching to feel something inside you. You wanted Taehyung more than you could understand. “I want you to fuck me, Tae, please.”

He breathed out, his hands tightening around your flesh as you rolled your pussy against his cock once again. Taehyung looked like he was one heartbeat away from completely losing his self control, and hearing you beg for him to fuck you wasn’t doing him any favors. “Gonna need to lie down for me, baby,” he asked.

With a few more shifts on the couch, Taehyung had you beneath him once again, your legs open for him as he removed his shirt and pants. It wasn’t long before his cock sprung free from its confinement, standing erect. You licked your lips at the lustful sight, pussy clenching in anticipation as you took him in — Taehyung was big. Bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, that’s for sure; long and thick and already leaking for you.

You would’ve cried out in need if he didn’t interrupt you. “What are you looking at?” Taehyung asked, the ghost of a smile creeping up on his lips.

Your stare oscillated toward his own. “That’s why you have such a good track record, your cock is huge.” You bit your lip, thinking about how good he would feel inside you. You didn’t know how it was possible, but you were pretty sure the last time you’ve seen his cock — back in the dark ages of your freshman year of college — it wasn’t as big as that. Or maybe you just didn’t have anything to compare it to.

“Hey, I just used my tongue on you, don’t ignore my efforts,” Taehyung teased, wrapping one of his hands around his member so he could pump himself a few times. The playful atmosphere swiftly shifted back, and, when he spoke up again, his voice was deeper. “You think you can take it?”

“Yeah, I can,” you said. You couldn’t be sure, but you were sure going to try.

Taehyung hummed, moving a bit closer so he could brush his tip against your pussy, coating it with your wetness. You closed your eyes in expectation, knowing that you’d love the stretch he would give you.

“You want it?” He asked, a touch of desperation covering his words. Taehyung was nearing his breaking point, and the fluttering of your pussy on his cock was making him go insane. “Want my cock inside your tight little cunt, baby?”

You nodded, frantic. The brushing of his thick tip on your hole was becoming too much, your walls clenching around nothing, seeking for something to fill you up. “Yes, fuck, I want it so bad.”

“Are you tight for me, baby?” He was trying to prolong that moment for as much as he could, keep the pretty face you made when you pleaded for him to fuck you burned in the back of his head. Making you cum once was a victory he would take forever, but making you cum around his cock might as well be his life’s biggest achievement. “Ready for me to fuck you?”

You cried out when he started pressing himself inside you, guiding his crown inside your pussy, then stopping. “Yes, Tae, just put it all in, please,” you whined, hands fumbling for support on his broad shoulders. Taehyung already had you clenching around nothing, you didn’t know what else he wanted from you. “Please, please, fuck me.”

Taehyung chuckled, looking down at where you two met. He was only human, and his self control was short lived. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Your back arched off the sofa as you felt the delicious drag of his large cock inside you, opening you up gradually, taking its time before filling you up to the brim. You gasped and sobbed at the overwhelming feeling, nails digging on the skin of his back as Taehyung groaned besides your ear.

“Fuck, that’s so good.” He let out a shaky breath, and you swore you never heard his voice get so husky before. “I just slipped right in. You’re so fucking wet.”

Your mind was an apocalypse of confused thoughts and forgotten exclamations, eyes fluttering shut as you dove into the sensation of Taehyung inside you — his hips angling backwards, tilting up just enough so he could move himself away from you core, only to come slamming back inside. The stretch of his cock was amazing, it was making you drunk, and all that you could think about was how much pleasure it was giving you.

“So-So big—“ you muttered, half aware that the words actually left your lips.

“How do you like it, uh?” Taehyung asked, his voice dripping sin and hunger. You could tell that he, too, was getting carried away by the feeling, his hips rutting themselves against you at a lazy pace. “Gonna give it to you any way you want it, baby.”

You bit your lip, a small moan leaving your mouth when Taehyung leaned closer to you, distributing hot kisses on your neck. You swore you’d be happy if you died then. “I like it rough,” you answered.

He groaned, apparently satisfied with your response. “Whatever you want.”

Taehyung got to his knees on the couch, deciding to put one foot on the ground for support, his hands raising your hips to help him reach even deeper inside you. Faster than your brain could compute, the shallow, lazy pace he had sat was being replaced with a harsh, fast pumping that made you cry out his name, eyes closing in sheer bliss.

“Tae! Yes, yes, just like that,” you sobbed, running one hand through your hair. You felt like your body was floating, every cell of your body overheating with the amazing pleasure that Taehyung was giving you. You never had someone fucking you so hard, his cock pistoning inside you, your body bobbing up and down on the couch.

Taehyung’s eyes were glued to the bouncing of your breasts as he continued to fuck you, a deep groan leaving his chest. “That’s it, take it,” he moaned out, quickening his pace even more. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, mouth opening in a silent scream. “Gonna make you cum so hard around my cock, baby. Gonna fuck you until you cry. Want that?”

“Yes, yes, please,” you moaned. “Feels so good, Tae.”

“You like my cock, baby? Like it filling you up?” He asked and you could only nod pathetically, your entire body too fucked out to even respond. “F-fuck, your pussy is so good. Tell me that you love my cock.”

“I love your cock,” you whined, feeling like a complete hot mess under his thrusts. “I — fuck! — I love your cock so much, Tae, it’s so big.”

Your words motivated him to fuck you even harder, his member hitting even deeper inside you. Taehyung was getting lost in the stretch of your pussy around him, the glorious sounds you were making, the lust that coated your face every time you called out his name.

“Shit, I don’t know how anyone could look at you like this and not want to see that pretty face cum.” He was breathing out hard, grunting every time your cunt tightened around him. Taehyung wanted to see you like that forever, taking his cock like a good girl, creaming all over him and begging to do it again. You were wrapping around him so perfectly, taking all of him so well, that he didn’t think he’d manage to move on from that anytime soon. “So fucking hot.”

Taehyung chased after your high like a starving man looking for food, experimentally changing the angle and force of his thrusts to see what would get the best reaction out of you. At last, after a pathetically loud cry from your part after he raised your legs up, it seemed as if he had found it. “I bet you’d be so tight cumming around my cock, baby,” he was thinking out loud at that point, trying to make sense of the pretty sounds and expressions you were giving him so eagerly. He wanted nothing more than to see you cum — it was personal at that point. “I wanna feel you cum around me, baby. Wanna feel it so bad.”

“I’m c-close.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, eyes closing tightly. There was a light heat in your cheeks and sweat on your forehead that was making Taehyung wonder if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “You’re so good, T-Tae, you’re fucking me so well…”

Taehyung thought that he could cum right then and there, pushed over the edge with those sweet words alone. He loved being good to you, loved making you feel things that no one else managed to before. He was intoxicated by that sense of superiority, drowning in your praise. He wished that he could fuck you forever.

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he pushed you on, his words hanging somewhere between an order and a breathless plea. You were getting so tight around him that it was making him crazy, your wetness coating his cock and dripping down between your legs like his own personal brand of aphrodisiac. “You can do it, come on. I wanna see you cum so bad.”

You smiled at him, a cute, fucked-out smirk that made Taehyung go to heaven and back. “So good for me, Tae, you’re so big,” you said, your voice so needy and high-pitched. Your orgasm was looming over you, pressing down on your lower body and making you see stars. It was only a matter of time before Taehyung got you crying out his name, back arching off the couch and mouth falling open in delirium. “Tae! Fuck! Don’t stop, please, I’m gonna—“

But your warning came a second too late, because you were already spasming around his length, body shaking as Taehyung thrusted hard inside you. Just as expected, you were absolutely fucking gorgeous when you came — all quivering lips and rolling eyes —, and Taehyung was beyond satisfied to know that he was the only one who saw that pretty face of yours.

“That’s it, baby, fuck.” Taehyung was starting to feel his own high approaching, called by the delicious tightening and releasing of your pussy around him. His thrusts were messy and harsh; his sweaty hair falling over his eyes like a cascade. “Can I cum inside you, baby? Can I fuck you full of my cum?”

You noticed the desperation in his tone and, with the throbbing of his member inside you, you knew that he wasn’t far. “Yes, please,” you said. “You were so good for me, Tae, you can cum wherever you want.”

And it was that final taste of praise that pushed Taehyung over his limit; waves upon waves of cum filling you up as he rode out his high. “God— fuck!” He cried out, drunk on the feeling of your walls milking the last drops of cum out of his cock. A few lazy pumps later, and he was collapsing on top of you with a mumbled, “F-Fuck.”

There was an instant of silence after his orgasm, the quietude only filled by Taehyung’s heavy breathing. You took one hand to his head, caressing the strands as a smile blossomed on your lips. “Well, I believe you now,” you said playfully. “I’m sure you made a bunch of girls orgasm.”

Taehyung chuckled, breathless. “Thank you, I try,” he said, looking up at you. The darkness in his gaze was gone, and it was just your best friend staring back at you. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you admitted. You never felt so good in your life. “You?”

“Fantastic, thanks for asking.” He leaned back so he could sit up, running one hand through his disheveled hair before saying, “I’m gonna grab you a towel, hang on.”

Taehyung left you for a couple minutes before coming back to clean you up, tenderly wiping away the mess you two had created. After he was done, he discarded the towel on the floor and crawled back to rest on your chest once again.

There was a comforting quietude that floated in the atmosphere, only filled by the muffled buzzing of his freezer and the vague sound of raindrops drumming on the window. You didn’t really know how to deal with that entire situation, didn’t know how things would stay between the two of you. But, at that point, you made the decision to keep those worries for the following morning and, instead, just enjoy his warmth radiating all around you.

The glorious silence, at last, was broken when Taehyung started mumbling against your breasts. “Hey, ___?” He called.

“Yeah?”

“How many dates have you been on?”

You hummed, thinking for a moment. “Ever?”

Taehyung made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I don’t know, like, this past year.”

“Uh… like… five or six? I think?” You answered, looking down to meet his gaze. You knew that wicked expression very well. “Why?”

He smiled. “Because we have a lot of shitty dates to make up for.”

#bts fic #bts smut #taehyung smut #taehyung fic #bts #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #bts x you #bts x reader #reader insert #smut #au #taehyung au #bts au

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childotkw · 3 years

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I've been holding of babbling about this, but today I browsed through every ILYWT post and: I absolutely get the hype. God, how I fucking love Barty.

There's this book scene in Goblet of Fire that's so good. Harry's trapped in the staircase, under his invisibilty cloak, has dropped the golden egg clue and the Marauder's Map and is about to be discovered by Filch and Snape, when Barty shows up and goes out of his way to help him out, doing some top notch acting and ridiculing Snape. Love it.

And, opposed to the real Mad Eye, Fake Allastor was exellent not only at reading people but also at interacting with them. Barty's intelligence allowed him to see right through people, but he also had great people skills. Praises, for example, were rare, but always incredibly on point. Like when he made Neville feel proud of his knack for Herbology or when he told Harry that he'd make a good Auror, something Harry actually took to heart, even after the betrayal. Even though every word of Barty was deliberate, it was still always meant, in those moments. And he was terribly engaging, too! No less terrifying than Mad Eye, but much more captivating and inspiring. The real Allastor always lacked that particular energy and he was always rather dry with everyone, which I always found disappointing. Barty nailed his gruffness, but he added the spice. He was a delight because he managed to come across as a real force, even though he was extremely contained, both mentally and physically, when he had to be Mad Eye.

And then there's his past! People would describe him as a nice, young man and would wonder how that could have happened to him. The fact that he actually cried for his mother in the cell, before quieting down and almost dying is still heartbreaking to me. And then: Whole years trapped under an invisibility cloak, with only his father's elf acknowleding his existence and caring for him? Under the Imperio? That's gut wrenching. The man is evil, but he is almost just as sympathetic. You almost want to see him burning it all down.

Lastly, there must be some sort of PTSD. And yet. What I really don't get is how he managed to stay so sharp. Yes, there is certaintly a fair amount of insanity, but it's so controlled, at least when he wants it to be, when he's performing. He drank polyjuice potion multiple times a day and had to keep up his act 24/7 for an entire school year. With an already fragile mental state. But he kept in complete control the whole time and he fooled everyone. Having to drink the potion and being stuck in Moody's physical form aside, he was even enjoying himself. He's properly scary and I enjoy it so much.

I imagine that you will have a blast writing him. Twisted characters are the best, although I do hope that Harry will have the right influence on Barty, of course. I absolutely adore the idea of them getting tangled up into each other, god. You also mentioned wanting to write an OS about Barty's childhood and youth and I really hope you will. He's a thrill and I feel like you capture him beautifully.

This really was just a really long rambling session with no real value, since I don't have any questions, but it had to get out of my system. Stay safe and healthy, lovely.

Oh, never apologise about rambling to me about Barty! He's one of the most interesting characters to me at the moment, so I'm always excited when I see his name! Having people get so animated in my inbox is so much fun!

You raise so many good points!

Barty, while fucking insane, is someone with such control over himself and everything around him. He's constantly aware of the potential consequences of what he does and says, and he's a master actor.

You mention that Barty-as-Moody being excellent at reading and interacting with people, and it's so true. I like the idea, or the implication at least, that Barty is incredibly empathetic. He could almost instantly clock someone and their wants / weaknesses / insecurities, and then manipulate them with ease. Sure, a part of that can be attributed to the fact that 80% of the people he's having to manipulate are literal children - but he also knows how to play people like Dumbledore, Snape, Minerva, etc. His ability to connect with people just means he's extra effective at getting into their heads and tricking them.

And god yes - Barty's past is 100% both tragic and so, so intriguing. His journey from a regular, if very intelligent, young boy to a trauma-riddled and dangerous man would have been so awesome to see play out. His sheer determination and willpower is terrifying.

I'd say in ILYWT exploring the ways Harry will influence Barty in return will be so much fun. I'm really happy so many people like this AU because it's one of my favourites and I think the potential it has is so so awesome.

Thanks for sending this ask in - I do love these kind of things! You stay safe out there too, darling, and have a wonderful day! 💕💕

#anonymous #In Learning You Will Teach AU #barty crouch jr #harry potter #barty x harry

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truetgirl · 2 years

Text

And just like that, here we are at the end of the month. Well, the second to last day of the month, but these are every other day so this is it for this year. I’ve been enjoying this a lot, it’s felt good to flex my old analytical muscles again. I don’t claim everything’s terribly well polished, but hey, I’m just doing this for fun and I think the core points all stand. But, without further ado, it is time to wrap us up. Here to do it is:

Catradora!

NGL I did not like catradora as a ship for a looooooong time. I’m the kinda person who gets vengeful about when people I love hurt me, and Catra most certainly hurt Adora and a lot of other people, though in a different way, very badly. I could see the appeal for other people, and I was increasingly coming to appreciate Catra as a character (I already loved Adora and she just got new layers of that love), but as a ship they still made me feel... wrong, I think is the word.

The first thing that changed that was when we finally hit a point in Catra’s arc that actually put me completely on her side. Seeing how she was treated as a kid, and on the flipside how Adora was treated, really threw how they acted and interacted into some sharp perspective. Catra had always seemed, to me, like she was the person who decided to be evil because they wanted to be, or just didn’t care, or only cared about, at best, their very closest friends. The things she did seemed like completely her own choices, and from that lens she would have been nearly irredeemable (nearly, bc I kinda doubt any character is ever COMPLETELY beyond redemption of some kind).

That perception flipped neatly on its head when we were shown Catra and Adora’s upbringing. Adora’s actions still looked mostly the same, if slightly more tragic, but Catra’s? Everything Catra did, and everything we see her do after learning about her childhood, is thrown into such sharp relief when you realize the trauma that led her to see the world the way she did. Trauma, make no mistake, is not an excuse for doing terrible things. But I’ll admit I was willing to entertain the thought of forgiving her for a LOT more than I ever thought I would after finding out she got treated as the emotional punching bag for an abusive mother. Finding out the depth of the betrayal she must have felt when Adora, one of the only good things she believed she ever had or ever would have in life, the person to whom she was so utterly devoted, had from her perspective dropped her for almost nothing, after all their years together. I understood the feeling of being trapped and having no ability to imagine escape, even when the opportunity presents itself. Adora could leave because she’d never known how bad things were. Catra couldn’t because she had always known, known for literally longer than she could remember, that there was never any choice. It fucking messes with your head, that sorta thing. You don’t think about what might be beyond the bad situation, you just think about how to survive within it.

Then we have Adora. Like I mentioned, Adora had never known how bad things were. She’d never realized how much power the Horde had over her. When she learned of it, and learned of it after she had already been pulled out of their direct influence, the decision for her to leave was easy. She clearly didn’t understand Catra’s decision to stay at first, and fair enough. In her shoes I think I would have a hard time understanding it too. I think, over time, she almost certainly came to blame herself for not convincing Catra to leave with her. This assumption being based on how Adora blamed herself for damn near everything that ever went wrong near her. She felt she should have known how much pain the person she was closest to in the world was in. Felt she could and should have done something, no matter how impossible that would actually have been.

Whatever the ultimate reason, though, and even after Adora very clearly accepted that, at least with Catra, not everything was her fault, Adora never gave up the hope of getting her person back, not entirely. She never gave up on Catra, however she had to act outwardly. She tried to reason with Catra in the crimson waste, clearly didn’t seem to think it was the waste of breath it looked like to us in the audience. After Catra had done just about every horrible thing imaginable, Adora still risked everything to save her because she’d shown just one glimmer (hehehehe) of hope that she could change. Right at the end her greatest dream, after everything they had been through and how uncertain even their basic survival was at the time, was to be with Catra. To be safe, comfortable, and at peace together among their friends.

In real life I think this would maybe, almost definitely, be unhealthy. But in fiction the rules aren’t quite the same. In a story, undying hope and love like this is practically awe-inspiring. In a world full of worthy yet seemingly, soul-crushingly hopeless causes, a story in which unyielding love and persistence in the face of great adversity wins out is beyond inspiring. And that love being for a deeply hurt girl who nonetheless is capable of better than the things she has done out of pain and fear? Give. It. To. Me.

#kelly's pride posts #kelly things #catradora #adora #catra #she ra #spop #she ra and the princesses of power

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years

Text

Suicidal Misunderstanding XVII

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XIV - - - - Part XV - - - - Part XVI

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Anakin scarcely had time to relax into the confirmation that Obi-Wan still loved him when his Master drew back.

“Anakin- you have no idea how much I simply want to stay like this, but we don’t have much time before I have to talk to the council, and there’s some matters I really feel we must discuss privately before that happens.”

“Ok.” Anakin wiped his face with the sleeve of his robe and sat at the foot of his Master’s bed, vibrating with intensity.

“First of all.” Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “I know this sounds insane, but I need you to believe me- I’m from four years in the future. Or I had an incredibly detailed, four year long vision. Either way- I know things. I know where the war is leading us.”

“Alright.” Anakin nodded in relief. Looks like Bant was right. Thank fuck- I hated her theory the least. “So when you-” He vaguely mimed a stabbing motion “-You were trying to ‘wake up’ - from a memory?

“Yes! Exactly!” Obi-Wan replied, relieved at the ease of the explanation.

Anakin smiled reassuringly, then lunged to grab a pillow to whack his Master over the head. “You- fucking- kara- blast- idiot.” Anakin grit out, thwacking his master repeatedly with gentle rage. “Do. You. Have. Any. Idea. How! Fucked! Up! That! WAS! FOR!-”

Obi-Wan snatched the pillow, “Yes! Yes! I didn’t intend to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry, and you are perfectly entitled to your anger, alright!”

“I- oh.” Anakin paused, sitting back on his heels, not really sure how to go respond.

“Anakin- I know the identity of the Sith Master. I know who’s behind everything.” Obi-Wan stared intently into Anakin’s eyes.

“Obi-Wan- that’s great!” Anakin said excitedly. If Obi-Wan knew who was responsible for all their suffering then, “That could end the war, right?”

Obi-Wan continued to gaze searchingly at his dearest friend and brother’s face, gently opening himself up to their bond, trying to find any hint of duplicity.

Anakin faltered under the scrutiny. “Right?”

Obi-Wan took another deep breath. He didn’t know. This was Anakin, before Palpatine- did something to him. It wasn’t too late.

“Anakin...it’s...someone we trust. Someone you trust. He- Darth Sidious- he’s been running both sides of the war.”

Anakin paled, eyes darting to the door, voice dropping to a low, urgent whisper, “He’s on the Council? Fuck that’s bad. Obi-Wan, what do you need me to do? I don’t have my lightsaber right now, but-”

“No!” Obi-Wan replied quickly. “No! I mean, yes, it’s bad. But he’s not on the council. It’s- Anakin. I’m so, so sorry. But I saw a security hologram of him giving the final order to- to wipe out the Jedi and the Separatist leadership.” Anakin watched in alarm as Obi-Wan shuddered viscerally.

“I saw his speeches declaring victory over us, over everything. He personally killed half the council when we finally, finally found him out, far too late. Yoda barely survived- we were- the two of us were all that was left. I spent the last few years listening to his decrees as ‘Emperor’ - declaring the scarce remaining Jedi traitors to be hunted down. Making non-humans second class citizens. Enslaving worlds.”

Obi-Wan grabbed the front of Anakin’s tunic. “Please Anakin. He- he’s evil. He doesn’t want peace, or freedom, or justice, or security. He’s just been manipulating us all for his own ends. All of us. This whole time.”

“It’s going to be ok, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said earnestly, grasping his Master’s hands. “I believe you. If the force gave you this clear a warning- or this incredible a second chance, then obviously we have to listen! I won’t let it happen how you saw, I swear. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him.”

Obi-Wan felt like he was teetering over the edge of a precipice. He sucked in another breath- why was it so hard to breathe-

“Anakin- It’s Palpatine. Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord.”

Anakin froze. “That’s- not funny.”

Obi-Wan barked out a single hysterical laugh. “No, no it is not. But it’s true. I told you- I saw it and- it makes a twisted sense, even only looking at the informational available at this point in time! How the Separatists always stayed one step ahead despite our advantages. How the clones and the GAR came to exist in the first place. The constant increase in war time powers- Dooku karking told us the Senate was under the control of a Sith-”

“We’re listening to Dooku now?” Anakin asked, getting angry for lack of a better response.

“Anakin...”

“I mean of course that’s what the Sith would want you to believe! He’s the chancellor! Turning the Jedi against the leader of the republic is such a Sith move.”

“Anakin...”

“And- and- MIND CONTROL! What if it was it was mind control! You even said you thought that you thought Cody was mind-controlled, right?”

Obi-Wan drew back, alarmed and suspicious, “How do you know that?” he rasped hoarsely.

Anakin rolled his eyes. “You told Cody, remember? That first night? In the hovercar?”

“Ah. Right. Sorry. That first night is still a little fuzzy.” Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose. “I still can’t believe I time-traveled while high on one end and drunk on the other. It’s so- undignified.”

Anakin snorted. “You must have taken a lot of spice, huh?” he joked.

Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably.

“I- oh for Krong’s sake,” Anakin groaned, slapping himself in the forehead. “Obi-Wan- were you actually trying to kill yourself?”

“No!” Obi-Wan replied quickly to the loaded question. “I was just looking for a- temporary escape. I did mention that a Sith Empire ruled the galaxy and Yoda and I were all that was left of the Jedi order, right? He didn’t seem totally sane the last time I saw him, either! Not to mention, I spent most of the last three years alone in a desert.”

“Oh.” Anakin grew somber. “Master, that-”

“And that still doesn’t explain how you knew what I said to Cody.”

“Well, the day after I came back to our quarters to find you in the process of stabbing yourself in the heart you woke up, declared Master Che both dead and a Sith trick, then sunk into a self-induced coma.” Anakin snapped. “The healers, I think understandably, set aside privacy and called everyone in to try and figure out what the fuck was going on”

Obi-Wan cringed. “That...makes sense. Sorry again.” He cleared his throat. “Look, we’ve got seconds left before council interrupts- I just- didn’t want you to be blindsided by the Palpatine reveal.”

“But you admit there was mind control involved,” Anakin insisted. “Cody wouldn’t have turned on you without it, and neither would the Chancellor.”

“Anakin- I know we never liked to talk about it, but the Vod had a lot more opportunity to be compromised en mass. They were designed for a purpose we never fully understood and their entire childhood consisted of indoctrination; we already knew Dooku was involved with their ‘commissioning- we just ignored it.’”

Anakin bit the inside of his mouth, tasting blood as he restrained himself from screaming. He didn’t want to think about Kamino and he had to make Obi-Wan see past the nightmare he witnessed, before he convinced the council of an innocent man’s guilt.

“There wasn’t anyone else who might have been mind-controlled, who turned on you, or the Jedi? You said everyone died- there had to be someone besides some of the clones and one old man doing the killing,” he said desperately.

Obi-Wan’s sputtered, “That’s- that’s different- it was so obviously Palpatine’s influence.”

“But there was someone else you think might have been acting against his will.” Anakin pressed, sensing a weak point.

Obi-Wan looked gutted. “I don’t know- I want to believe you would never do such terrible things but you did and it all happened so fast...”

“So you admit-” Anakin stopped as his brain caught up with his mouth. “Wait- me?”

Obi-Wan’s face twisted in anguish but he didn’t break eye contact as he nodded.

Anakin swallowed hard. “Obi-Wan... what did I-” he cut himself off as the door opened.

Master Windu entered and squinted suspiciously at the two of them.

"Mace!” Anakin said nervously. “We were just- crying. You know. Being attached and, and all that.”

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped open as he stared bug-eyed at his Padawan. “Mace?” he repeated, dumbfounded.

Mace Windu inhaled slowly through his nose. “Your friends had plenty of time to bond while we were trying to make sense of your more... disastrous traits.” He waved vaguely.

“You just gestured at all me,” Obi-Wan replied, offended.

“Well, you’ll have the opportunity to help clear up our misconceptions. Master Aerdo is preparing a meeting room in the Halls so you can explain everything, just like you wanted.”

“Oh, fuck.” Anakin whispered softly.

“It’s a different room, Anakin, I made sure of it.” Mace reassured him.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan parroted in delight.

“Well, I’m glad you know everyone’s names, at least.” Windu muttered. “Master Che will be by to check you over one more time, she should have some proper robes for you. Should we contact Commander Cody? He’s at a pre-departure briefing with Master Tiin not too far away.”

“No.” Obi-Wan responded sadly. “We can’t alert anyone outside the halls about even the existence of this meeting. Maintaining secrecy right now is too important. We’re going to need to take a significant amount of extremely careful action on a lot of fronts if we want to unravel the Sith’s plots- and I hate to say it but stopping the actual war is unfortunately going to need to wait for last. We’ll still end things sooner than they would otherwise, but if we meddle too much right now... Whatever story you were using to explain my- absence the past few days, please simply double down on that.”

The Master of the Jedi Order nodded slowly, holding off on questions with well-practiced restraint.

“Alright Windu, Skywalker, get out.” Che ordered, brusquely pushing her way in with a hovercart.

“Yes, Master Che.” Anakin acknowledged, jumping up. He gave Obi-Wan a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before he departed. “We’re going to get through this.” he said valiantly, trying to project confidence.

Obi-Wan smiled weakly, “I’ll see you two soon.”

“That’s up to me, actually.” Master Che said cheerfully, snapping her gloves.

Part XVIII

#star wars #my au #suicidal misunderstanding au #star wars au no 27 #potentially triggering #suicide references #my tags got so long that im just going to post them later as a big meta #star wars fanfiction #time travel #star wars au

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musicloverdani · 2 years

Text

Whenever I watch Legacies and anyone says something implying or saying that Klaus is reason why Hope is a good person it always triggers the part of me that is anti Klaus. Mostly cause Hayley actually raised her. So all of her good traits came from Hayley. Not Klaus.

Klaus’s best traits were his decision making, his intellect and his strength. Hayley’s best were her leadership, her empathy, and loyalty which are things that Klaus eventually learned from Hayley with the help of Cami. So why does Klaus get sole credit when they mention Hope’s good traits? It doesn’t make sense to me, especially because they could make an argument for Hope being like Klaus, if they were to actually talk about his actual good traits and not the ones that he got from Hayley. To me, it’s like they’re rewriting history where Klaus was always this super caring and loving good guy and he was just made to be a villain because people took advantage of him or forced him to do bad things or something.

When the truth is that yes, Klaus had an abusive childhood and but chose to kill his mother for hiding the truth, more from Mikeal than from him, rather than his father who was his actual abuser. And he chose to be a terrible killer for centuries for no reason other than he could. Klaus wasn’t totally devoid of feeling and could be generous at times, to those that he cared about, but he was not this dark Angel that it feels like Legacies tries to frame him as. Its just icky to me that Klaus gets so much attention but not Hayley when Hayley is the direct influence on Hope and Klaus is not. And when they have these nature vs nurture conversations on if Hope is a good person because Klaus is a villain to everyone, it’s always something like “no Klaus was a good person, you’re just like him Hope and that’s a good thing”, and that is disingenuous to me. I like Klaus, I do, but we don’t need to lie to her to make her feel better or just because he’s dead.

I don’t know, I think what I’m saying is that the show started with Hope saying something along the lines of “were you really the villain or is it a matter of perspective?” And they’ve been more leaning towards it being perspective rather than the truth which is that he really was the villain. He just died before he could change the legacy he was leaving his daughter behind with. Which was one of fear, pain and murder. Which is what Aurora was talking about and was right about.

But I will say that Legacies is just the product of the contrivances of TVD and TO, where twice they wrote the narrative of “two brothers, one good and one bad, the bad one has been bad for centuries and done bad things cause they felt like it, but what if they weren’t really all that bad, but they were just being bad because they weren’t as good as the good brother who is actually at fault of why they are the bad brother.” And I hate it.

Cause I do find the characters interesting, and with stories with high stakes like TVD and TO they are always good to have around because they aren’t standing around arguing about the ethics of one choice over another (which I do feel like that kind of character was missing in Legacies. Penelope almost fit there but she left too soon. Which is probably why I always like the evil version of everyone. Except Josie, I hate Dark Josie. But that’s for another post. But Malivore Landon and Ethan, and No Humanity Hope were so much fun). But they always woobify those characters so people feel bad for them and absolve them of all their bad choices. So now in Legacies, Klaus and Damon are held up as if they were good boys with hard lives while Stefan, Elijah and Hayley are barely ever mentioned and if they are it’s probably the bad stuff.

This is still a very rambling post but to conclude, I suppose what I’m saying is that I think is my biggest problem with Legacies is my problem with the entire TVDu, and that is that Klaus Mikaelson was the best villain that they ever produced and they need to quit retconning him into some sort of hero or anti hero.

#is this anti Klaus?#legacies #maybe this is more anti sympathetic villains #or I just really hate when Hope says “I am my father’s daughter #cause I’m like girl you barely knew him #the version of Klaus that sacrificed himself for you was not the full Klaus #and even though I get that Klaus is important to TVD but for legacies #legacies barely dealt with vampires #so why do they only mention Klaus all the time and barely mention Hayley?#honestly Hope did more magic than anything I feel like Esther should be mentioned more than Klaus about nature

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illumiru · 3 years

Note

hi cami!! based on literally everything because you have good taste I was wondering if u had any fic recs?? I am in like a good fic desert and if u have any good reads would love to read them! thank u!!

Thanks!! I have to be honest that I don't read a lot of dc fics lately bc a lot of what's posted on AO3 doesn't appeal to me tbh. But I do have some favorites that live rent-free in my head. I hope you enjoy!

baby, it's a sign of the times by danishsweethearts

Dick Grayson has a pretty bad day, but hey, he's coping.

let your love grow tall by danishsweethearts

In a move endearingly predictable and highly amusing, Dick Grayson buys a bunch of plants and proceeds to pack bond with all of them.

cold was the night and hard was the ground by danishsweethearts

Laundromats are save points.

i've been longing for silence by danishsweethearts

The Titans are Dick's family. Damian is also Dick's family. Cue the collision.

un haeng il chi by danishsweethearts

un haeng il chi (언행일치) | yán xíng yī zhì (言行一致) idiom 1. word and actions coincide; to live up to one's word 2. to match words with deeds 3. practice what you preach

The Cassandra Wayne guide to truth-telling, manifestation and prosperity.

big d stands for big (demon)or by danishsweethearts

The one where Titans Tower is haunted, and Dick Grayson, Boy Wonder, original Robin, one and only Nightwing, esteemed leader, part-time exorcist, un-haunts it.

young volcanoes by dottie_wan_kenobi

You should join the Justice League, Dick says when he’s ten years old and hopeful. No, Bruce says. You should join the Justice League, Dick says when he’s fourteen and realistic. No, Bruce says. I’m going to join the Justice League, Dick says when he’s seventeen and furious. No, Bruce says. No, you are not.

Dick is nineteen now. And he’s not joining the Justice League—he’s joining the Titans.

the last of the real ones by dottie_wan_kenobi

Gar is like a blessing. He doesn’t seem to notice the shiny parts of Vic, not until it really counts—when there’s wires sticking out, something shoved through Vic like it was nothing, when he’s in danger. And even then, he treats them like any other part of the body, like a wound is a wound and it doesn’t matter that it’s not flesh, but technology.

When he asks, Gar tells him about Cliff Steele, and shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m just used to robot guys, I guess,” he says, flippant like he’s not the first person Vic has met who didn’t recoil at the sight of him.

Vic manages a laugh, his eye—his real eye, his human eye—stinging.

if you just call me by BeatriceEagle

“Dick.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Dick, look at me.”

Slowly, as if he were pushing against a terrible force, he lifted his head.

“I have known you since I was thirteen years old, and I have known you in a dozen other lifetimes, so I need you to believe me when I say that there is nothing you could do that would make me stop loving you.”

Dick held her gaze. He looked like he was searching for something in her eyes, so Donna held still and hoped he found it.

“Did you really know me in other lives?” he asked.

_____

Dick and Donna, after the action, through the years.

once upon a time... by Mayarene Rose (DickRoy)

The announcement is the talk of the kingdom. Men on horses, coming from the capital itself, shout it to every corner of the land to make sure everyone hears.

There will be a three-day festival held in honor of the crown prince’s name day!

So of course, no one can shut up about it and everyone’s making plans to make their way to the capital, one way or another.

Gotham, after all, isn’t known for its decadence. Celebrations from the capital are few and far in between. But, it’s also well known that the king absolutely dotes on his children. The has the makings of being the biggest feast anyone has seen in their lifetime.

“Huh,” Roy says. He’s in a farming village when he hears, about five days ride from the capital if he had a horse, which he does not.

Or the one where Roy is a knight errant, Dick is the crown prince, and there is a three-day celebration.

Dr. Wilson, Will I Ever Play the Violin Again? by HoodEx (DickJoey)

1 Missed Call 1:12 PM TUES 9 MAY Frank Hardy

A fond smile spreads over his face. He remembers Dick writing that as his own contact name in Joey's communicator the first time he and Joey exchanged numbers. Joey knows it's an action influenced by paranoia rather than something meant as an inside joke between friends, but he likes to think of it as a mixture of both.

"Who are you mooning over?"

Lissa crosses her arms over her chest and cuts across the room to get closer to him. Joey tries not to instinctually jerk his communicator closer to his chest as she peers down at it with a curious glint in her eye.

"Frank Hardy," Joey spells out with his fingers. "He's a friend of mine."

Her brow furrows. "Frank? Have I met him?"

Joey shakes his head.

"What do you think he was calling for?"

Hopefully not to tell me that the world is on its way to ending, Joey thinks, worrying at his lip.

"Not sure," Joey signs. His thumb hovers over the call-back button. "I guess I'm about to find out."

Red Letter Day by silverwhittlingknife

Dick Grayson, stressed pseudo-parent to a preteen assassin, tries to solve the case of Damian’s Mysterious Wednesday.

He never expected it to help him fix his relationship with Tim, too.

(... Though only after everything fell apart first.)

Eventual fix-it for Dick & Tim’s Red Robin fight, but other rocky relationships - Dick & Jason, Tim & Damian, Damian & Bruce, Dick & Bruce - wow, this family is dysfunctional - might improve too. Eventually. They just have to, y’know, work through All of Their Issues first. XD

Two of Six by silverwhittlingknife

There’s nothing special about this kid, no reason to remember him. But Dick remembers. Because of the photo.

Dick and Tim’s pre-nu52 relationship, from the beginning all the way to the end.

or: how Dick acquired a stalker, attempted to make him go away, and failed so badly that he acquired a brother instead.

(So far: missing scenes from childhood, Lonely Place of Dying, Knightfall, and Knightsend. Current arc: Prodigal.)

In the Palm of Your Hand by lapsedpacifist

Dick was forced into becoming a host for an entity of unknown strength, unknown motive, and unknown reach. The only thing he did know? It needed him alive.

Neurodegenerative series by lapsedpacifist

The general premise: Bruce has completely forgotten about Dick, and Dick only. Now tension is high between them and the rest of the family as they attempt to resolve the memory problem -- while drawing battlelines and realising that Dick had always been much more than a brother to them all.

the primacy of personal conscience by birdsofthesoul

"WHAT MAKES IAGO EVIL? some people ask. I never ask."

— Joan Didion, Play It as It Lays

Or: Dick, his family, and the moral morass of a wishing well.

This is all I could think of at the moment! I'll add more once I read the ones I encountered while I made this list. Enjoy!!

#anon.txt #fic recs

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number5theboy · 4 years

Note

Please elaborate on how Five could've turned into the most insufferable character to watch

Thanks for asking me to elaborate on this text post:

@tessapercygranger, @waywardd1 and @margarita-umbrella also wanted to see a more detailed version of it, and I ended up writing an essay that’s longer than some of my actual academic essays. So buckle up.

WHY NUMBER FIVE SHOULD BE THE MOST OBNOXIOUS CHARACTER IN TV HISTORY, AND HOW HE MANAGES NOT TO BE

Number Five: The Concept That Could Go Horribly Wrong

Alright, let’s first look at Five in theory in an overarching way, without taking into account the execution of the show. The basic set-up of the character, of course, is being a 58-year-old consciousness in a teenager’s body, due to a miscalculation in time travel. Right off the bat, Five is bar none the most overpowered of the siblings; by the end of Season 2, no one has yet been able to defeat him in a fight. He is a master assassin – and not just any master assassin, but the best one there is – and a survival expert, able to do complex maths and physics without the aid of a calculator, shown to have knowledge of half a dozen languages, has very developed observational skills and, to top that all off, he can manipulate time and space to the point where he can literally erase events that happened and change the course of history. And Five knows how skilled he is; he is arrogant, self-assured and sarcastic, and his streak of goodness is buried deep inside. David Castañeda once described Five in an interview as 90% chocolate with a cherry in the middle, meaning that you have to get through a lot of darkness and bitterness before knowing there is a good core, and I think it’s an excellent metaphor. However, Five is also incredibly, fundamentally terrible at communicating with anyone, and, because he is the only one with time travel abilities, the character a lot of the actual plot - and the moving forward of it - centres around. Also he’s earnestly in love with a mannequin, who is pretty much a projection of his own consciousness that functions as a coping mechanism for all the trauma he has endured. All in all, this gives you a character who looks like a teenager, but with the smug superiority of a fifty-something, who a) is extremely skilled in many different things, b) has a superiority complex, is arrogant and vocal about it, and most of the superiority is expressed through cutting sarcasm, c) has one very hidden ounce of goodness that he is literally the worst at communicating to other human beings, d) is what moves the plot along but is also bad at talking to anyone else, meaning that the plot largely remains with him, and e) his love interest is essentially a projection of himself. Tell me that’s not a character who is destined to be just…obnoxious, annoying, egocentric, a necessary evil that one has to put up with to get through this show. There are so many elements of this characterisation that can and should easily make Five beyond insufferable, but the show manages to avoid it, and I’m putting this down to three aspects.

That Trick of Age and Appearance

Bluntly put, Five as a character would not work if he was anything else than an old man in a 13-year-old body. Imagine this character and all his skills and knowledge, but actually just…a teenager. Immediately insufferable. Same goes for him being around 30, like his siblings, all of which are stunted and traumatised by their father’s abuse. If Five, being comparatively unscathed by Reginald to the point where he explicitly does not want to be defined by his association with his father, were 30 like his siblings, it would just take the bite out of that plot point and also give him a lot less time in the apocalypse, reducing the impact it had on him as a person. And making Five his actual 58-year-old self would make him very similar to Reginald, at least on surface level, with the appearance and attitude. Five and Reginald are two fundamentally different people, but having one of the siblings being a senior citizen that’s dressed to the nines and bosses his siblings around in a relatively self-centred way does open up that parallel, and would take away from Five’s charm as a character. Because pairing the life experience of a 58-year-old with the appearance of a teenager gives you the best of both worlds. You get the other siblings (and a lot of the audience, from a glance in the tags of my gifsets) feeling protective and paternal about Five, but his age and experience also give the justifications for his many skills, his arrogance, in a way, and his ability to decimate a room full of people. It’s the very interesting and not new concept of someone dangerous with the appearance of something harmless, a child. This is also where Five’s singular outfit comes in. I know we like to clown on Five to get a new outfit, but I think what gets forgotten often is how effective this outfit is at making the viewer take him seriously. The preppy school uniform is the perfect encapsulation of the tension between old man in spirit and young teenager in appearance. The blazer, vest and especially the shirt and tie are quite formal, relatively grown up. They’re not something we, the audience, usually associate with a teenage boy wearing; it makes Five just a little bit more grown up. But there is also a reason characters in this show keep bringing up Five’s shorts and his socks, because those are not things that we associate with grown men wearing; they’re the unmistakably childish part of his school uniform. Take a moment and imagine Five wearing a hoodie or a t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers; would that outfit work for him as well as the uniform does? Would he be able to command the same kind of respect or seriousness as a character? I don’t think so; the outfit is a lot more pivotal in making Five believable than a lot of people give it credit for.

Writing Nuance

The other big building block in not making Five incredibly insufferable is the writing. Objectively speaking, I think Five is the most well-written, and, more importantly, most coherently written character on the show (which does have to do with the fact that the show’s events are all sequential for him), and his arc and personality remain relatively intact over the course of the two seasons. More to the point, a giant part of what makes Five bearable as a character is that he is allowed to fail. He is written to have high highs and low lows, big victories through his skills and his intelligence, but also catastrophic failures and the freedom to be wrong. His superior intellect and skillset are not the be-all end-all of the plot or his character, just something that influences both. His inability for communication has not (yet) been used to fabricate a contrived misunderstanding that derails the plot and left all of us seething; instead, it’s a characteristic that makes him fail to reconnect with the people he loves. This is a bit simplified, as he does find common ground with Luther, for example, but in general, a lot of the rift between Five and his siblings is that they can’t relate to his traumas and he does not understand the depth of Reginald’s abuse, which is an interesting conflict worth exploring. Another thing that really works in Five’s favour is that he is definitely written to be mean and sarcastic, but it is never driven to the point of complete unlikability, and a lot of the time, the context makes it understandable why he reacts the way he does. Most of the sarcastic lines he gets are actually funny, that certainly helps, but in general, Five is a good example of a bearable character whose default personality is sharp and relatively cold, because it is balanced out with many moments of vulnerability. Delores is incredibly important for this in the first season, she is the main focus of Five’s humanising moments, and well-written as she totes the line between clearly being a coping mechanism for an extremely traumatised man and still coming across to the viewer as the human contact Five needs her to be. In the second season, the vulnerability is about his guilt for his siblings, it’s about Five connecting a little bit better to them. There’s also his relationship with the Commission and the Handler specifically – which honestly could be an essay on its own – that deserves a mention, because the Handler is why Five became the man he is, and this dynamic between creator and creation is explored in a very interesting way – their scenes are some of the most well-written in the entire show. And TUA never falls into the trap of making Five a hero, he is always morally ambiguous at best, and it just makes for an interesting, multi-faceted character, well-written character, and none of the characteristics that should make him unlikeable are allowed to take centre-stage for long enough to be defining on their own. I know a lot of people especially champion the scenes where Five goes apeshit, but without his more nuanced characterisation, if he was like that all the time, those scenes would not hit as hard.

Aidan Gallagher’s Performance is Underrated

But honestly, none of the above would matter that much if the Umbrella Academy didn’t luck out hard with the casting of Aidan Gallagher. I think what he achieves as an actor in this show is genuinely underappreciated. Like, the first season set out to cast six adults having to deal with various ramifications of childhood trauma, and a literal child that had to be able to act smart and wise beyond his years, seamlessly integrate into a family of adults while seeming like an adult, traumatised by the literal end of the world, AND had to be able to create the romantic chemistry of a thirty-year-long marriage with a lifeless department store doll. The only role I could think of to compare is Kirsten Dunst in Interview with a Vampire, where she plays a vampire child who, because she is undead, doesn’t age physically, but does mentally, so she’s 400 in a child’s body. And Kirsten Dunst had to do that for a two-hour movie. Five is a main character in a show that spans 20 episodes now. That’s insane, and it’s a risk. Five is a character that can’t be allowed to go wrong; if you don’t buy Five as a character, the entire first season loses believability. And they found someone who could do that not only convincingly, but also likeably. As I said, he is incredibly helped by the costuming department and the script, but Aidan Gallager’s Five has so much personality, he’s threatening and funny and charming and arrogant and heartbreaking. He has the range to be convincing in the quiet moments where Five’s humanity comes to show and in the moments where Five goes completely off the rails. Most child actors act with other children, but he is the only child in the main cast, and holds his own in scenes with adults not as a child, but as an adult on equal footing with the other adult characters. That’s not something to be taken for granted. But even apart from the fact that it’s a child actor who carries a lot of the plot and the drama of a series for adults, Aidan Gallagher’s portrayal of Five is also just so much fun. The comedic timing is on point, he has the dramatic chops for the serious scenes, the mannerisms and visual ticks add to the character rather than distract from him, and his line deliveries, paired with his physical acting, make Five arrogant and smug but never outright malicious and unlikeable. It’s just some terrific acting that really does justice to the character as he is written, but the writing would not be as strong if it wasn’t delivered and acted out the way Aidan Gallagher does. He is an incredible asset for this show.

Alright, onto concluding this rambling. If you made it this far, I commend you, and thank you for it. The point of all of this is that Five, as a character, could have been an unmitigated disaster of a TV character. He is overpowered, arrogant, uncommunicative and could so easily have been either unconvincing or completely unlikeable, but he turned out to be neither. It’s a combination of choices in the costume department, decisions in the writing room, and Aidan Gallagher’s acting skills that make the things that should make him obnoxious and annoying incredibly entertaining, and I hope you liked my long-winded exploration of these. Some nuance was lost along the way, but if I had not stopped myself, this would’ve become a full-blown thesis.

#thanks for the ask again #TUA #The Umbrella Academy #Five Hargreeves #tua s2 spoilers #my meta #i guess #Replies #Anonymous

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soranis-sunshadow · 4 years

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Hordak can’t catch a break even on his birthday...

Oh fandom, you really like this sort of drama don’t you?

A few days ago, on Hordak’s birthday, there was this ‘interesting’ post in the tag – since, apparently it’s impossible to get any peace even on that day.

I was too tired to answer it at the time after being on call the day before so, here’s my delayed answer to all of that:

First off: this post has this bit in it when asked what that person dislikes about SPOP.

He doesn’t need to get a redemption and he doesn’t get one in the show.

None of his actions constitute a redemption arc. The man merely acknowledged his personhood and freed himself from his master and God. That’s what his arc was about: the right to have a personal identity.

He gave himself a name and wanted to be his own person. That’s it. That’s all he wanted.

The man was merely freed from Prime’s influence- an influence he was born into since he’s been specifically manufactured to serve as a disposable mass produced soldier and worshipper of Prime.

If the argument that Catra was “forced” to commit crimes and thus she is not completely guilty of them since she was under duress – then the argument doubly holds for a person who has been directly programmed and conditioned to do so under the threat of death or mental rape (purification).\

Even while away from Prime, he was still conditioned to obey and brainwashed by Prime’s cult. He literally knew nothing else – he was not meant to. It’s how indoctrination works.

Prime’s clones aren’t people to Prime, they are tools. Those clones, while cut off from Prime still want to serve and please him: That’s what Wrong Hordak’s purpose in the show is- to show us just that.

Hordak is not considered “OK” because Entrapta likes him. Hordak is merely shown – by Entrapta that he could live apart from his cult and have worth outside what Prime tells him he has.

Just like real life cult victims, he needs an outsider to help him see a way out of the cult. The nature of indoctrination and brainwashing makes it impossible for the brainwashed person to know they are brainwashed unless someone points it out.

Now for my favorite thing:

and

oh and

Oh boy… this makes me just so damn uncomfortable.

To offer a bit of context as to why. I have never been on social media before SPOP or in any fandom and as such, I have never encountered the ‘all men are evil’ discourse that seems to infest these places. It’s been quite a bit of culture shock for me.

What is it that makes anyone think it is ok to judge a person because of an accident of birth? (being born male)

Why does hate for 50% of the human population get such a free pass on these platforms? Misandry is just as terrible as misogyny. You are being biased against another human because of their gender. I don’t care that males are perceived as ‘privileged’ – that doesn’t make it ok to be terrible to them unprovoked.

How does hating all men help achieve equity?

Do you realize that this sort of discourse is exactly how you radicalize people against the very cause you are championing? You breed hate and adversity for the rest of us who actually want to to have a discussion on the topic.

I’m a feminist myself (in a country where feminism is hard-work) and let me tell you, making all men hate us does nothing but push away potential allies and make it a lot harder for our voices to be heard.

Feminism is about equality, not women dominating.

Now onto the second post: the one comparing Catra and Hordak with the question of which of them is a better person.

This whole war orphans that were personally abducted and tortured into serving the horde HC that some ppl have is really starting to get boorish. This has been going on for more than 6 months.

I have no idea why everyone thinks he went down chimneys and stealing babies left and right while cackling villainously. The man had a busy schedule of brooding in his lab, wallowing at his inability to use insulated cables and having his device blowing up in his face with the occasional Skype call to Shadow Weaver to see what the Horde is doing.

And yet, to a part of the fandom, this is what he looked like:

( @bat-burrito made this one and it’s glorious)

And if you don’t believe me about the lab recluse thing, you don’t have to, the show pretty much states it for me.

and

Hordak is a recluse that stayed in his lab and let the running of the Horde and most operations to Shadow Weaver and later Catra. He did not personally abuse anyone and he is not the origin of the cycle of abuse.

Shadow Weaver was a child grooming manipulative woman before she even joined the Horde – she did this to Micah while she was not “evil” or presumably abused by Hordak.

Even if you want to HC that Hordak abused her somehow, he is still not the one who started the cycle: Horde Prime is.

The whole fandom seems to forget about the eldritch monstrosity that created a whole army of brainwashed slaves to worship and die for him. Prime is the one that sent Hordak to die and gave him the motivation to try to prove himself worthy of life and love. If you want to point fingers, point them at the origin of all of this. This fandom has a strange Prime blindness. He is never talked about when it comes to being the start of all of this.

If Prime didn’t exist, Hordak wouldn’t exist. If Prime hadn’t sent Hordak off to die, then his clone wouldn’t have accidentally ended up on Etheria. None of the things in the show would have happened.

Adora would have died of exposure in a field, the monarchies on Etheria would have continued as they are and the planet would have continued to exist in despondos.

He is a dictator, yes. So are the princesses. Monarchies are dictatorships where the ruler is born into power. Hordak gained his through military might while Glimmer was born with hers and enforced it with tradition. I don’t really care to play “who’s the better dictator”. The princesses have their power because of the runestones- magical rocks put there by the First Ones to channel the planet’s magic and use it as a weapon. How come no one talks about that?

Do you think a king/queen keeps their crown without effort or subjugation of their subjects?

Also, Hordak had never interacted with Catra before SW dragged her before him to be judged. He was indifferent to etherians in general and didn’t seem to care which of them were his underlings so long as the operations were running smoothly. He was more focused on his portal and returning home than on anything else. He did not set out to “ruin lives” or quest for power. What he wanted was to return to his deity and become a mindless part of the whole again – that is as opposite to power hungry as you can get.

Catra was directly abused by Shadow Weaver throughout her childhood. That makes Shadow weaver responsible for 100% of that abuse.

Catra was found in a box by Adora and adopted by Shadow Weaver. Hordak didn’t know or care that she existed.

He is responsible for the war, he is responsible for the war casualties and the property damage. He is not responsible for Shadow Weaver being a terrible person and mother figure.

Again with the orphan thing. We have 5 cadets in the show.

Adora was found in a field.

Catra was found in a box. Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio are unexplained. The only lizard ppl we see in the show are in the Horde or the Crimson Wastes. The other two could just as well be the children of some of the soldiers.

I may harp on about what a bitch Shadow Weaver is – the reason I do so is because she is legitimately terrible to the two girls in her care.

I was the unfavorite growing up, I WAS the Catra in my family who could do no right while my sibling was the golden child. I don’t however hate Shadow Weaver. She is a cartoon character in a show and she does the things she was written to do. Hell, she is a very compelling and believable villain. Her motivations are clear and she is consistent. Her voice actress portrayed her splendidly and her character design is superb. I like her but that doesn’t mean that I don’t acknowledge her role in the story. I don’t however make up parts of the story to make her more evil than she was or treat my headcanons about her as absolute fact.

Again, sigh: Prime is the worst villain in the show. He is quite literally Nyarlathotep and does this to planets:

This to people:

and this to the people he created to serve, worship and love him:

How is that not worse?

I love Catra and it genuinely annoys me when people erase her agency or try to paint her as one-dimensional victim. Catra was an antagonist for most of the show and she rocked it! She was 400% more efficient at it than cloneboy. Give the queen some damn respect and recognition! Catra had a lot of agency and her actions moved the plot of the show more than those of the protagonists. (they were mostly reactive).

Catra pulled the lever of the portal in a moment of distress after a breakdown, a Shadow-Weaver related breakdown because that’s how trauma works.

Hordak didn’t make her do it, he didn’t send Catra after Adora either. These were Catra’s choices. They came from a place of hurt but they were her choices still.

The portal was a means of transportation, not a weapon. Building it was not Catra’s mission, it was Hordak’s. He built it so he could contact Prime and either summon him here or go home –whichever course of action Prime wanted. Again, Hordak wanted to go back to this:

...

The only person who knew the device was dangerous was Entrapta and she tried to warn Hordak about it. Catra was the one who stopped her, violently so, then sent her to die on Beast Island- the fate Entrapta saved her from a season ago. Catra then tried to have Hordak open the portal before it was ready.

When he wouldn’t – she pulled the lever herself because that is how desperate she had gotten at that point, to show Shadow Weaver how wrong she was. That is how hurt Catra was by her mother figure’s betrayal and abuse.

Don’t take that away from her. Don’t call it curiosity or naivete or whatever. She knew the portal was dangerous but she wanted to prove Shadow Weaver wrong so badly that she didn’t care at that point. She had been pushed that far.

Catra’s actions led to Angella’s death but she was not directly responsible for it. She didn’t activate the device to kill Angella, it merely happened accidentally. Catra was however glad it happened and wanted to profit from the aftermath of her death.

Hordak didn’t care or plan to kill Angella personally. There is no in-show moment where any of that is portrayed. Since he doesn’t care about the specifics of running the horde seem to know what they are conquering at the moment, it seems that that was usually a task reserved for his second in command.

^ - troop movement ordered by Catra

Hordak doesn’t even know what his own army is doing.

Again with the Hordak “drilling into orphan’s minds”… I seriously doubt that any of them had ever seen him out of his lab or that he came up with the propaganda himself.

Manipulation is more Shadow Weaver’s game not his. For all of Hordak’s faults, he is not deceptive or manipulative. If anything, he is woefully incapable of spotting lies. (it might have something to do with him being born in a society where lies were almost impossible because of the hive mind and Prime being able to browse his thoughts at a whim- as such, it wouldn’t be a skill he would have been able to develop).

Hordak canonically despises deception and lies. I really don’t understand where this image of a manipulative and cunning Hordak comes from. He wouldn’t be able to plot himself out of a paper bag if his life depended on it.

First off.. S4 Catra was his equal, not his subordinate. Don’t take that away from her. She earned it.

He doesn’t look that threatening here...

And again: Prime created the system. He made clone slaves and programmed them to serve. His clones have hardware installed for the express reason to facilitate his control over them. He has a religion in place to make sure their thoughts do not stray from his purpose. I am legitimately boggled by this fandom’s tendency to completely forget about his existence.Does anyone really think that these people that are born “prechipped” and programmed to know nothing but Prime’s Light are really knowledgeable about human morality?

That they would know that conquest is bad when that is the express reason for their creation?

If I were born in that situation, I’m not sure I would have known any better. Hell, if any of the clones even try to disobey Prime, they would get either mindraped (erased) or killed for the effort. They really have no choice, even if they knew that killing in Prime’s name is wrong (they don’t) they really can’t do anything about it. They have no choice but to be what they were made to be. I find it personally abhorrent when these designer slaves are held accountable for what Prime has made them do.

And to the people that say Hordak was free of Horde Prime once he was stranded on Etheria.. That is not how indoctrination works. The fact that I can’t go to church this Sunday because I’m locked in the house and can’t find the keys doesn’t make me an atheist.

Hordak was serving Prime even on Etheria. He keeps mentioning it to both Entrapta and Catra. He started the war because that’s what he thought Prime wanted of him and that’s what he’s been programmed to do. Personal and informed choice really doesn’t factor into his decision at all.

He is not sympathetic because Entrapta likes him. Notice how I haven’t brought up his relationship with her up to this point?

He is sympathetic because he literally had no choice but to do the things he was indoctrinated into doing. He was build and programmed for it, just like all the other clones. They are not able to deviate from that because of the way Prime functions and rules over them.

There is no point in the show where Hordak relishes over his status as a ruler or the “luxury” it affords him. He does not engage in the same behaviors his progenitor manifests.

There is no point in the show where Hordak relishes over his status as a ruler or the “luxury” it affords him. He does not engage in the same behaviors his progenitor manifests. He attempts to emulate Prime in order to project authority in the only way he knows how but since those are some really big shoes to fill, he is woefully inadequate.

If Hordak had been power hungry, he would have stayed in despondos and ruled his own faction. Being away from Prime is the most powerful and autonomous he’s ever been and yet, he wants to throw all of that away in order to be a powerless, nameless part of the whole. What Hordak wanted was to be enslaved by Prime because that’s what he had been created for.

“vengeful” – and how did Hordak manifest this vengefulness? Who did he take revenge on in the series?

“apologize” – when and where in his 3 minutes of screentime would he remember everything after 2 mindwipes, realize that the whole worldview he had since inception is wrong, realize that he had been mistaken into doing the horrible things he did and then go to all of the characters and apologize for it?

Would anyone be convinced of that had it happened in 3 minutes? I’d rather they don’t redeem him than do a shit job at it.

Very true. He’s not a better person. He’s just a person in an impossible situation. Both Hordak and Catra were handed a raw deal, I don’t understand why everyone insists on pitting them against one another. They both did bad things and they were both in horrible situations. The specifics don’t really matter since neither of them would have done the things they did had they been more fortunate.

This is the exact reason for which I don’t hold Cara’s actions against her. Catra’s only model of success was Shadow Weaver. She emulated her abusive mother figure because she had no other example and because she wanted to please that woman. It does not excuse the way Catra acted but it explains it.

I really don’t understand why some people want Catra punished. I’d rather she get love and help. That is what she needs. In time, she will want to do better and be better by herself. She doesn’t need to be forced, heavens know, she’s been forced enough as it is.

They are really different. Catra got an abusive, shitty and violent childhood. Hordak got this:

He was literally robbed of a childhood.

She was taught by Shadow Weaver that weakness gets you killed. Hordak was not allowed to have emotions to begin with, or thoughts of his own, or a name...

Comparing to victims of abuse to see which one of them is more likable is such a strange concept to me.

Catra was robbed in s5 too. I don’t hold that against her. I blame it on the writers. S5 could have been a lot better.

#Hordak #Catra #catra vs hordak discourse strikes again #can we please stop with this #it's been 6 months #my pixel is nicer than that pixel #a cartoon villain is not an actual despot #cartoon and fandom activism is not real activism #Cartoon characters can't apologize for their actions unless the writers make them #the writers in s5 were too busy with butchering the previous seasons to actually put any thought into the cohesiveness of this show's themes #everyone felt a bit ooc in s5 #spop critical #spop fandom drama #spop

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