DA obssesion

It occurs to me that while I may know what the red flags are when it comes to identifying when an online acquaintance may be a personality to keep at arm’s length, it isn’t general knowledge.

A person looking for a victim to abuse emotionally and mentally will typically go for the newest names and faces in the community - people who don’t have a network, who might be afraid to initiate contact with better known names and faces; people who will not be confident that they will be taken seriously if they were to talk about this often uncomfortable and sometimes deeply harmful experience inflicted on them. In short, people who are easily isolated.

So here is a brief suggestion of things that are red flags, especially when taken together. It is just my thoughts, and it is in no way exhaustive.

They are instantly your best friend

Yes, we all want to be friendly and warm to people we meet online. But someone who is looking for a victim, not a friend, will be your best friend. They’ll warn you about people you haven’t spoken to but might be peripherally aware of - there won’t often be any details, but you’ll be left with a nebulous feeling that this person is a bad person, or that person is mean for the hell of it. These people rely on you being so grateful to have someone to warn them about the potential trouble all around you online that you won’t question the fact that they are your only friend in this online community.

They have some tragedy they have to share with you straight away

Be it a personal tragedy, an intense family situation, or even their side of an online argument, they are the victim. Always the victim, they never did anything wrong. As before, they won’t produce links you can follow to see for yourself, or give many details about it. It’s all about creating an emotional connection they can manipulate later.

They are your biggest fan …

Everything you create is gold, there’s nothing you need to improve on, you’re the best writer/artist/creator they have ever come across and the fandom community is so lucky to have you, but …

… they need you to be theirs

Conversations turn often to them degrading themselves, their work, everything they create. They’re hungry for your praise, and you find yourself giving them praise and advice every single day. As you increase this level of warmth and encouragement, their own contribution fades to almost nothing. It is all about them, and because you are isolated, you feel stuck with them.

Suddenly, every little disagreement becomes an all out fight …

Even the smallest difference of opinion is met with furious hostility, and you find yourself scrambling to placate them, to reassure them that they are right, to keep your friend. You have to take all the blame, the full responsibility for whatever they have decided is wrong, and even then, you will end up logging off angry or in tears because of the language they have used.

… but everything is fine the next day

At least, it seems so on their end. You, on the other hand, are now edgy, walking on eggshells, unable to relax in conversation with them, wondering what will set them off next. At this point, you might start to branch out, to get to know other creators, but it soon becomes clear that if you want to continue doing this, you can never mention it to your “special friend”. It sets them off into that violently hostile temper all over again, every single time.

These are the behavioral markers that I have experienced, both in real life and online. People who display these will draw you in, isolate you from as many others as they can, and then will proceed to emotionally and mentally abuse you. Abuse includes threats of self-harm or suicide if they don’t get their way, subtle degradation of your own confidence in your abilities, even attempts to use personal details about your life to throw you off-balance (one example, that I experienced years ago - my nephew had just got his first girlfriend; this person did her damnedest to convince me that his girlfriend was only using him and that I should intervene, an action which, had I done it, would have resulted in isolating me from my own family).

If you notice more than one of these happening in conversations with people online, please don’t suffer it in silence. At the very least, tell someone else in the community what is happening. The only way to keep these things from continuing to happen is to be open and communicative about it. The more we talk to each other, the less these predators can pick and choose their victims. The damage they do is harsh and it lasts far longer than any of us want to believe.

Both followed the pattern described here, and both times I felt unable to reach out to others, or rather, I felt like it was MY fault I was feeling increasingly anxious and like it was MY duty to look after them and make them feel better. One eventually resorted to anonymous messages while the other one followed me for a while on other platforms and with different names, which was scary AF when I realised who it was I’d been chatting with like a totaly eejit.

@shannaraisles, thank you for putting this together!

She was trying to remember how to breathe as they took the first step. Moonlight and shadow crossing over their faces as they moved in a slow circle near the windows. He looked at her as if he could see something no one else could. Something deeper. Something purer. When he looked at her like that, she felt like…she wasn’t sure if she could explain it. If there were words for it. In the common tongue or otherwise.

DID YOU SAY SHY NAKED CULLEN?

And below with his little Commander

We’ve received a number of recruits- 

BOOM I DID IT!

here’s the link - https://archiveofourown.org/works/14042967

below the cut is NSFW! 

He feels heavy and thick in his palm.

He feels heavy and thick in his palm.

He feels wrong.

 But so very right.

This shouldn’t be happening. He shouldn’t be touching himself – pumping his swollen, hard cock in his fist like some untried lad. He’s a grown man. He shouldn’t be hard at the mere thought of her, of what he could do to her. Yet he is. He is and he’s indulging himself, stroking his aching manhood underneath the bubbling water as if that will hide some of his shame.

The faintest, softest groan escapes his lips.

He flushes hotly, burning from his navel to his ears.

I – I shouldn’t –

 – but Maker damn me, I can’t stop.

 The water ripples above his fist as he pumps himself faster, harder – thinking of her, and only her. Eliana Luna. Miss Luna, as he calls her – a layer of professionalism, to keep himself from thinking of moments like this when he’s with her. He lets out a moan and arches his back as his other hand dips underneath the steaming water – trailing down his chest, over his hips, across his hairy thighs –

– then he cups his heavy sac in his calloused palm, and massages his balls teasingly.

Imagining it’s her hand.

Her soft, gentle, delicate hands – one stroking his shaft, her other rubbing his balls –

“ – oh Maker, yes,” he breathes harshly, the chilly air around him fogging his breath.

Blonde, damp curls fall around his sweaty forehead as he rocks back and forth – thrusts into his fist helplessly, wanting more and more and more friction. He’s never felt so desperate for release in his life. He wants this craving, this desire to last forever – but the burn aches, and his instinct is telling him to fuck as fast and hard as he can and envision he’s burying himself deep in Eliana’s tight –

“ – fuck,” he curses, “Elia. Elia. Yes. Oh Maker, yes.”

His voice is loud.

Too loud.

He bites his lip once he becomes aware of the noise he’s making. The hot spring is secluded – private, far off from Haven so that even a lost nug couldn’t find it. Yet she could. He told her where it is. Showed her. Perhaps some secret part of him wanted her to find him like this, in lack of words, he wants to show her how much he lusts for her, how – how bloody crazy she makes him feel –

– he pants for breath and holds himself tightly around the base of his cock, torturing himself.

Not yet.

 He wants to enjoy this.

As wrong as it is.

It feels good.

It feels right.

Letting out a slow breath from the air in his cheeks, he lets his blonde head fall back as he slumps against the edge of the hot spring. The smooth rock and stone are warm on his skin – soothing away the knots in his back, the stiffness in his spine. The icy snowflakes falling from the sky land on his tongue as he parts his lips, quietly moaning her name into the night air.

“Elia. Elia. Oh, Elia – ,”

– he moans deeply, then breathes through his nose as he pumps himself faster.

His brows furrow together as he strokes up slowly – squeezing hard, then swipes his thumb over the leaking tip. The hot water makes his pumps smooth – quick, his hands slick like he can only imagine she would be.

Dripping wet for me –

 – I’d fuck her senseless.

 Maybe my head would be between her thighs, she’d be yanking on my hair –

 – I’d listen to her scream my name, and curse as she came undone.

 Sweat drips down every pore, mingling with the heated condensation from the hot spring. His breathes become labored – chest fluctuating up and down, as rivulets of water slide through the dusting of golden hair all over. He breathes deeper. And deeper. An attempt to hold out longer, to lose himself in more fantasies that he knows will never be real. Not worthy, he knows he’s not –

– and he never will be, not of her, but –

– he’s too far gone to ever stop now.

Eliana Luna, with her long, dark hair – her soft, pale skin – her rosy, tempting lips –

– she has become his worst nightmare, and his best dream.

“Maker’s breath,” he sighs, slinking further into the water.

Damn her.

 Doing this to me –

 – he squeezes his thick cock up and down, undulating his hips as he does so. Water splashes and sloshes around him – spikes of heat rush through his blood, tingling his nerves along with the Aqua Magus he drank earlier. The lyrium. The vodka. It burns in his veins with desire, with lust – confusing all the emotions in his heart, the pain and the ache and the hunger for her.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. E – Elia. F – Fuck – ,”

– the muscles in his arm are so tense, they ache.

But he doesn’t care.

The only sensation he is truly aware of is the pleasure flowing inside him – the heat in his belly, in his hands, around his cock and his balls. He thrusts up into his fist, floating in the water for a moment – he stills, squeezes his balls – but it isn’t enough. His cock hardens, his sac draws closer to his body and then he’s spilling himself while he rapidly strokes his hard length, savoring the bliss.

His vision blinds him, flashing white.

His muscles spasm, sparks of heat blossom all through his blood.

White gobs of come spurt from his throbbing cock, some of it gushes onto his abs and then slides into the water. He feels numb for eons – unable to move, as he opens his eyes that had – at some point – squeezed shut. When he looks down, he burns with embarrassment – guilt overcomes any pleasure he had felt, and he sighs as he cleans himself off.

Then he uses his shaky hands to hide his come in the water.

Yet he can still see it, in his mind.

He can still feel it, on his skin.

Like he’s been burned.

Cursed.

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head, carding his fingers through his blonde curls.

Maker, what have I done?

 He soaks in the water, in his own sin – for a time, lost in the quiet of the forest around him.

His eyes almost slip shut, but then –

– then he hears it.

Something.

Someone.

 He turns around, barely able to see the dark brunette tresses flowing from behind a tree.

How long was she there?

 Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There. Better?