#𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐈𝐓 : 𝗷𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲, 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗰 𝗷𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗶𝘀.
amalgamation of humanity's worst ... priv. friends only.
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oozey mess

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@vilebit
#𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐈𝐓 : 𝗷𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗲, 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗰 𝗷𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗶𝘀.
amalgamation of humanity's worst ... priv. friends only.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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depravae·
𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ❝ don’t threaten me, i don’t have time to jerk off. ❞
❝ play nice, & you won’t have to jerk off at all. ❞ if looks could kill … stare that she levels is all molten umber & aurelian nectar, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍. just this side of bared teeth + flared tempers, an indulgence in ruination. today’s brand : stolen half - hour extended until they’re both due elsewhere, but there’s no intention to move. bared legs are still sprawled across @vilebit··, ritzy sofa in his office / keenly mindful that filthy bills that could be paying for upmarket furniture are being slipped into someone else’s lingerie, that she’s got things to do besides him. 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚜 … not like she minds, anyway. ❝ can i have my 𝐛𝐫𝐚 back now ? or do you REALLY want me to jam that gun so far up your ass that you cough up bullets ? ❞
“ since when have you ever liked it when i played nice ? ” traditional romanticism never a notion he entertained when it comes to her. dinner dates + movie nights are only for those who haven't mastered the art of conversing in teeth & tongue. actions speak much louder than words — & vulnerability, the only luxury he can't afford. not when he's found himself rather attached to the bite of her venom, annoyed scoffs turning to knowing smiles. familiarity is what he settles it to, boiling down for his penchant for those who bite back : helps that she does it just how he likes it, hard enough to draw red. “ maybe not mine, ” blissed, sporting an unfamiliar calmness in gravelly tone. at that moment, he almost seems content. “ called in sick for you. i'll pay for your fucking time, just ... ” the word catches in his throat, even if for a moment. it's still one of the hardest four letters he's ever had to stay. “ stay, ”
❝ oh here they come, the attention whore. ❞ frankie n kendall
the last thing she would ever do is betray her father — not when he's trusted her with so much, promised her the world that's soon to be made her own. she's controlling the narrative, is what she tells herself ; ivy-league education coming in handy when it comes to convincing herself in the mirror of how meeting her, of all people, would limit any harm done to the family name she holds so dear. maybe dad would even be proud. “ you know you're the one who asked me to come here, right ? you're aware of that ? ” brows knit together as the greeting is only met with an incredulous scoff, constantine-ian roll of cerulean following. restlessness gnaws at her skull even before she sits on the chair, choosing the farthest seat from any window / door out of fear of being seen. what would any of her uncles say if they spot her with the local gossip girl ? arms crossing over the table, rose-tinted brims pursing. “ spit it out, then. what the hell are you doing sniffing around my family ? ”
CILLIAN MURPHY in RED LIGHTS as THOMAS BUCKLEY
❝ don’t threaten me, i don’t have time to jerk off. ❞
filth rolls off the tongue far too easily for someone birthed of nobility ... foul words more similar to those uttered by a pauper rather than a prince ; though only raffaello can still make it sound rather polished. “ not a threat. just a suggestion, ” laced with empty digs of creating a collection of his counterpart's body parts as decoration when refusing to cooperate. he knows a thing / two about dealing with those of the spoiled variety. ( hell, he even ' raised ' three of them. failed experiments as they were. should have just let the ex-wife have a dog ). papers handed over with a grin closer to a tease, rather an odd choice when passing a threat ... but when have they ever been conventional ? something more than friends but not quite lovers, promises kept at bay until the dust finally settles. “ i recall you being more into praise than anything of the ... degrading variety, ” the drag of torturous syllables promising for more to come. “ catalina really did a number on you, did she ? made you bend over and pulled out the old ... wooden stick for being a bad, bad boy ? ”

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❝ some guy with an undercut just called me soy boy. ❞
perhaps ... they should have heeded colette's forewarnings with a little more than just a laugh. how bad can a party of bloodsucks really be ? at least there would be free-flowing alcohol far older than twice of her lifetime, not to mention networking with the characteristically scornful bunch often fitting the guestlist of las vegas' most infamous. money makes the world go 'round, as well as pay for their frequent flights to meet a certain someone. small talk wears at social battery far quicker than it should at that particular night, the assassin finding themself hiding with their phone in hand as they await said bumbling, walking scarecrow. “ did you get my dr- what ? ” azurian lifts + lands at man ... nay, boy, who looks closer to a kid playing dress up in his father's tailored suits — laughter breaks out as tati sports the first smile of the night. maybe they misjudged the night afterall. “ which one ? the guy sucking face with a girl who looks young enough to be his grandkid ? ” a scoff wedges. “ or was it the bad edward cullen cosplay with the weird trench coat ? ”
❝ who said i never killed anyone? ❞
tangled sheets + the remnants of the last summer sunset, record player thrumming the beat to la vie en rose ; the most romantic love song of the last century even unmatched when pitted against the look of love shared between the two. home is found in the most unlikely of places. fitting perfectly when embraced in the arms of her beloved, snort accompanying an amused eyeroll. “ oh, yeah, jack the ripper ? ” with any other companion, fear would have struck & sent her running. a fawn finding comfort in the embrace of a predator — sunken marks on the nape of her neck a testament to just how easily the demise of a poor soul will be at his hands & yet, she's nothing but all smiles. she's starting to get used to the bite of the nip, finding euphoria in letting go. anything for him. propping bird bones up on elbow, lips nearing his as a smirk mimics the one he often sports. she's picked up a few habits. “ what are you waiting for ? maybe i'd be a good sookie to your eric, ” lacquered digits trace his burgundy-soaked lips, pearly whites nipping into her own. “ or d'you just fancy me as your good little bloodbag ? ”
I haven’t gotten an F since I failed recess in second grade. “Teachers need a break too, Amy.”
▸ 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙘𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣 (2018-𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵) sentence starters & prompts.
assorted quotes & prompts from tv show that’s ruined my life. some lines have been changed slightly to be more applicable. mature content and language may be used, feel free to adjust as necessary.
❝ do you want to make a deal with the devil? ❞
❝ what am i gonna do with a soul anyway? ❞
❝ souls are boring. boo, souls! ❞
❝ if we get through this, is there a thing where we, like, talk to each other about stuff… normally? ❞
❝ you mean you wanna talk about the big shit? ❞
❝ we don’t have any feelings, what are you talking about?❞
❝ you sound deranged. ❞
❝ i was wondering, do you think it’s possible to sue a person - a grandparent, for example - in an affectionate way? ❞
❝ i love you, i’m glad you’re part of my life, but i’m taking legal action against you. ❞
❝ the fucking belligerent zucchini here is set to close negotiations for good. ❞
❝ you’re going to sue greenpeace? i like your style. who do you think you’re going to go after next, save the children? ❞
❝ can he do a speech? the demented fucking piss-mad king of england? ❞
❝ the only way they’ll respect you is if you try to destroy them. ❞
❝ you’re not a killer. you have to be a killer. ❞
❝ family therapy, family therapy, family therapy! ❞
❝ i have, like, twenty bucks left. the world is so fucked up. ❞
❝ your principles? don’t be an asshole, you don’t have principles. ❞
❝ this is not fucking charles dickens world, okay? ❞
❝ i just wonder if the sad i’d be without you is less than the sad i get from being with you. ❞
❝ are we talking to each other on the deck of a majestic schooner? is the salty brine stinging my weather-beaten face? no? then why the fuck are you wearing a pair of deck shoes? ❞
❝ you don’t hear much about syphilis these days, very much the myspace of STDS. ❞
❝ what i think they meant to say was that they wished your mom gave birth to a can opener, because then at least it would be useful. ❞
❝ when you laugh, please do it at the same volume as everyone else. we didn’t get you from a hyena farm. ❞
❝ they did once call me the cunt of monte cristo. ❞
❝ you little slime puppy. ❞
❝ don’t threaten me, i don’t have time to jerk off. ❞
❝ who said i never killed anyone? ❞
❝ i don’t mean to be insulting, but having been around a bit, my hunch is that you’re going to get fucked because i’ve seen you get fucked a lot. and i’ve never seen [name] get fucked once. ❞
❝ i’d castrate you and marry you in a heartbeat. ❞
❝ i just feel because of my physical length, i could be a target for all kinds of misadventures. ❞
❝ oh here they come, the attention whore. ❞
❝ do you have a fetish for nearly killing our dad? like, just the tip, but for nearly killing our dad? ❞
❝ the gang’s all here, it’s like the fucking sgt. pepper for broken corporate america. ❞
❝ you aren’t judas-ing, are you? ❞
❝ sometimes i think, should i maybe listen to the things you say directly in my face when we’re at our most intimate? ❞
❝ are they playing from the approved playlist? because my thing was all bangers, all the time. ❞
❝ oh really? it’s not cool to tell the president to blow me? ❞
❝ some guy with an undercut just called me soy boy. ❞
❝ he never saw anything he loved that he didn’t want to kick just to see if it still came back. ❞
❝ right now, i’m the real you. ❞
❝ we should be good people. wouldn’t it be nice to wake up in the morning and not feel like a fucking piece of shit? ❞
❝ i think you’re a super talented superstar, and i love you. ❞
❝ oh, you’re such a fucking bitch. ❞
“i don’t think it’s fair women have an excuse once a month to act irrationally angry when the rest of us have to keep it together all the time.”

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depravae·
protean shift, prosaic posture found when limbs settle / situated in grooves they’ve come to know, not quite docile in his lap but something like it. 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎, when petals part beneath sweeping touch & constitution assuages … no sign of the presage that gathered only moments before. where digits had once GRASPED for him, now they skim across jawbone & come to waver against junction of his shoulder. ❝ yeah, i like lookin’ at ‘em. i like being special like that … special to you … turns me on. ❞ shame is, she’s not lying / 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚊 𝚏𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 ; no divination like one she’d had when she’d realised that this wasn’t entirely horrifying. that business + pleasure could meet, one entirely designed to eclipse the other in wanton tidal wave. ❝ 𝗂 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗈. i mean it, i’m SORRY for disappointing you … i won’t do it again. ❞ rhythm hitches, stutters underneath caress / if she had any sense, even the faintest fucking modicum of it, she’d be aghast. not whatever this is, 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 offered on silver platter : ❝ giving me a choice, hm ? that’s sweet of you … you can, uh. feed. if you want. feels nice. ❞
there's never a second where he handles her with fragility, always teasing at the border of going too far — only because he knows she can take it, as if she was birthed close to twenty-six years ago just to be an instrument to his most vile of fantasies. always takes countermeasures, hoever : he knows himself better than anyone else. carelessness a regularity in how he manhandles, never forgetting to trickle his own lifeline upon her lips as they meet his. same red almost matching painted lipstick. “ you won't do it again ? what, am i supposed to just ... take your word for it ? ” it would only take a snap, a twist of nimble flair to break her ... she would be gone + reborn into something undeniably his. when it all comes down to it ; he's nothing but an addict at heart. nothing stopping him from owning every party of her, devouring her until there's nothing but a shell of her former self to be made into his own. her blood just faintly powers over everything else, the only thin line hindering him from complete possession. “ you're so messed up. what would your friends say if they saw you like this, hm ? ” skin traces along remnants of him he's already made on her skin, a silent reminder of what could come next. “ damaged, fucked little thing, aren't you ? ... made just for me. i don't know what's easier ; getting you to open your legs or ... ” blues follow the stretch of her neck & power takes over principle as canines sink into flesh ... there's really no high quite like this.
depravae·
& sometimes, it’s all too elementary to forget exactly why she’s gotten so entangled ; figuratively, literally. ( lissome frame still veiled in nothing more than french linen, dreadfully accustomed to buttery texture / a stolen moment, that’s all it had taken. 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚋𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍. ) artful gaze 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 over various photos ⎯⎯ like she’s trying to CATALOGUE them, the useful ones. so many feature smudged charlotte tilbury & licentious grin, spectral hand around graceful throat. ( what’s worse : the lack of valuable intelligence, or this squalid predilection she’s come to regard him with ? ) his voice is an icy shock, tendrils wrapped right around every vertebrae + christ, if she was a little WORSE at her job, she wouldn’t have to do this. alas. muscles tensed out of instinct are fine, but she can’t afford to sound overly contrite. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. ❝ pretty sure i skipped that little life lesson, actually. ❞ wills lazy drawl into submission, the kind he’s come to expect ; for what it’s worth, she doesn’t shake. doesn’t falter. guilt on feline demeanour isn’t that of janus - faced agent, but merely apologetic lover. ❝ sorry, i wanted to airdrop a couple photos & videos to myself. the mirror ones ? should’ve asked you to do it earlier, i just … forgot. ❞ bedsheet still clutched to vulnerable flesh, lacquered talons reach out to 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 / back into delicate down of his mattress. ❝ i’m sorry, yeah ? … we look fucking good, though. definite lockscreen material. ❞
icy hues dart down to dishevelled lover, searching for any hesitance ... tracing every inch of her to seek for any hints malfeasance, particularly ones hinting at betrayal. hand reaching to grasp her chin, fingers resting on her cheek to beckon her gaze to him with nowhere else to seek refuge. it's a familiar sight, though this one holding an undeniable tension — this time, not necessarily the pleasant kind. he's all too used to have daggers pressed to his back, though not once has it been at the hands of a human, of all beings. let alone one he's been so open with, some would argue even borderlining on vulnerable : parading open wounds to her as if they were honoured medals. “ you like looking at those pictures ? seeing who i am, what i can do, how good i fuck you ? you're 'kinda fucking special, you know. being there in the middle of all that, tits out and all, ” thumb teases at smudged lips, dragging painted petals across callouses with an eerie softness ... calm before the storm. “ i like you, cassandra. it'd be a real fucking shame if you keep disappointing me like this ... even though, something tells me that it gets you off knowing that i can fuck you or kill you whenever i want, ” he's done it once, he'll do it again ... & no one would ever know. tone dips an octave, features unmoving from its usual brand of controlled madness — stoicism hosting an anger spanning centuries, remain unmoving until digits travel south, resting carefully on her neck. a pause before talons sink into the skin of flesh, nearly hitting vein ... never a good enough time for a snack / snap at her neck. “ so what'll it be this time ? you've been real nice lately, i'll even let you choose, ”
on loving your siblings
I don't love anyone, Belle and Sebastian//The Reynolds Pamphlet, Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda//The Other Boleyn Girl(2008)//Fleabag, 2x06//NA//Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, Jewish Literacy//Antigone, Jean Anouilh//Maurice Sendak//Little Miss Sunshine (2006)//The Elektra Complex, @filmnoirsbian //NA
depravae·
𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. saints headquarters. 𝚏𝚘𝚛. @vilebit· & kendall constantine.
❝ hey, kid. ❞ what kind of a GREETING is one - armed hug ? solicitude not something taught in constantine bloodline / bloodshot hues say more than epicene attempt at affection. ( 𝖺 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍, but what of that raised on … nothing of the sort ? what 𝚑𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜 between ruination & remiss ? ) clearheaded for once, grievous vignette of the very ghost they’ve both managed to avoid. ❝ he’s not in, ‘least that’s what his receptionist said. something about a 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 … ❞ blunt scratch at the back of his neck, he peers out from furrowed brow with something contiguous to a smile on acuate features. ❝ did you get that weird text from him too ? ❞
bloodshot eyes meet ones that almost fall tear-stained. a regularity which should never come to be, especially when facing whom they are blood-bound. another day slotted out just for the patriatch just to be missed, another promise broken ... another disappointment. yet there she is, early as always — first one to come & always the last one to leave, only to be greeted faster by an older brother who is in no shape to be meeting someone who would chew him out just for looking at him wrong. alexandre carries a weight far too heavy for one person to bear, she just wishes that he would let her share it. even if fractured beyond repair, at the end of the day ... what are siblings for ? “ yeah, um ... i've been waiting for a bit, ” two hours, the clock says. “ says it's important ? something about people targeting him, looking to put him away. maybe he's ready to call us in. show us the ropes. who knows, right ? ” if kendall can't be strong for herself, the least she can be is strong for him. “ when was the last time you saw him ? ”
𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃 @ 𝐉𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒' 𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 — 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝟰 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗻𝗮𝗵 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗮 <𝟯
trust is a funny thing. the notion never usually entertained by a man who only lives for himself. there's only a handful number of people he trusts throughout his half a millennium walking the earth : all of which are employed under him, at least associated in some way. when he let her into his life, slowly opening the metaphorical + quite often enough physical doors into his den of rancid atrocities ... he never thought it would go past anything than relieving stress through indulging vices. cassandra quinn has become something of a bad habit. never thought he would actually start to trust @depravae, nor even entertain the thought. it was supposed to be a test of some sort, one of his eccentricies that no one but him truly understands — twenty minutes. the time it would take for him to get a quick shower, phone left on his bedside table ... no intention of hiding, the ocassional notification illuminated within a picture of her taken in the background. that enough should be a warning sign, a hindrance, even ; yet humans always seem to disappoint. “ your parents ever told you it's not polite to snoop around ? ” steps lighter than usual, no booming echo announcing his path yet broken only with gravelly inquiry. arms crossed adjacent to the doorway, brow raising in her direction. “ care to tell me ... why the fuck are you looking through my phone, cassandra ? ”

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depravae·
for a moment, she almost chokes. doesn’t utter thoughts that brew something wicked, 𝒗𝒊𝒍𝒆 on the back of poison tongue / nearly keeps it to herself, mulled over until there are metaphorical holes in thought she keeps so dear : ❝ it’s going to be 𝙼𝙴, tati. no bullshit. he hasn’t … said it, but who else is it going to be ? ❞ modesty thrown to the wind now ⎯⎯ why bother with such false pretense ? if something 𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗲𝘀𝘁𝘂𝗼𝘂𝘀 seethes at the edges of ersatz calm, why not lay the future out on the line ? ❝ torrigiani’s not built for it, & aristide doesn’t want it. not really. the kids … kendall’s hungry, sure, but she’ll be satisfied if i throw her a bone. the boys will get caught up in a pissing contest before they even think about the top job seriously. jean - paul’s intimidating, but he’s DISTRACTED. he thinks i don’t notice the girl he keeps sneaking in. ❞ rachitic sigh, simultaneously jubilant + cirumspect. like this has percolated just beneath, 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗇 - 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖾𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 just below the surface / beam starts to tug at lips long bereft of their usual cherry lacquer. ❝ it’s mine for the taking. & when it is … i’ll offer YOU something good. ❞
don't only make friends in high places, make them in the right places : words to live by from their parents. while they might not be the most stellar examples of parenting ( no saint should be allowed to raise a child, especially one groomed to kill instead of live to be their own person. autonomy has never been a concept the bloodsuckers undersood ) ... they've taught her more about the real world beyond what books could tell. titles fade, yet true power emerges from those who lurk patiently before going in for the kill + make their moves according to reason, not passion. “ if he's so distracted, why not go for it now ? if he doesn't say it, make him. i know you saints have literal eternity at your disposal but who wants to wait that long ? ” everything they know about the boss was through passing whispers + the limited hours he spends briefing, most of which were left to be done by anyone else but the man who knows most. from what they gathered ; how hard can it really be to put a stake through his heart ala amy dunne ? “ you can turn it around. push the organisation into how it should be rather than how it is. take control of the city while the government is weak ... make it yours, ” more sincerity was spoken in the two seconds they spoke than in the past two months. “ slayers are coming in dozens, you know. it's now or never, ”
depravae·
whatever this is, it’s got teeth sunk so far into yielding flesh / & it’s not like tatiana LINGERS at the precipice of his mind all the time, okay ? it’s just that sometimes, he longs for them in ways entirely unbecoming of whatever the fuck they’ve settled on. ( craved callousness, moments of something that borders on tender & shit, maybe it’s all in his head. 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚜 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔, seeking clemency in interactions devoid of it, but … ) ❝ yeah ? that’d be, um. pretty cool. you can come to the afterparty too, if you want … um, with me … not, like, with me, but … ❞ & there they go, distracting him so WHOLLY that he bites off last syllable with something hoarse / 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒇𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒑𝒔, thick swallow. lightest graze & canine digs into lower lip again, turned so supple underneath faintest touch. wrapped around their little finger, isn’t this how it goes ? ❝ 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗁 … your hands … all of you. ❞
ignorance is a blessing bestowed upon he who has done little to no wrong in his life. compared to them, anyway ; he's almost biblical, halo atop unruly curls with a smile megawatts above storming thunder. no matter how many times they've met like this, hands roaming familiar planes they've kissed + bruised — even if his stature towers over theirs, the innocence of boyhood never truly left him. corrupted hands dance & taint, yet he remains pure ... almost immune to the horrors of the world beyond his four walls. divine protection must be presented for him somehow, someway. how else can they explain how much he draws them in ? it can't, it musn't be that simple. “ do you want me to come with you, sólnce ? why can't you say it, afraid i'll say no ? ” can't even ask a simple question : really, it boggles the mind why they've come again & again. utterly spineless, ready to bend himself broken for even the most minuscule affirmations of how he's under their thumb, just another scared little boy thinking he's worth something just because he was raised with a silver spoon. “ if only those people know who you really are. getting off on being told how sick you are, how you much you need someone to tell you how worthless you are without your cock, ”