Christian Hughes

RP account. MDI, muse and mun older than 21.

[dilffactory]

When Pelle speaks, it's as if the two of them are just having a normal conversation, like they're still eating pizza and smoking resin, or chatting about their shared classes, instead of one of them drugged nearly out of his mind, naked, on his back by a stream in the middle of nowhere, Sweden, and the other bedecked by a crown of greenery, kneeling over him, the proof of the death of their friends smoldering in the distance. He nods appropriately, hums softly to show he is engaged with what Christian is saying -- the vulnerability the American is showing in these moments when he, truthfully, has every right to be losing his shit.

Pelle does admire him, in these moments. It takes a lot for anyone to be able to self-evaluate in the best of times, and he had expected quite a bit more pushback for quite a bit longer. The powder stashed in the pocket of his light linen pants seems unnecessary now, and Pelle is glad of it; though he had planned to have to re-dose Christian, that it is seeming more and more like he does not is an excellent turn of events.

He does not think to tell Christian that he will never see his loved ones again; just the Hårga and Dani (who almost does not need her own mention, since her acceptance had been a done deal the moment she passed through the summer ray archway into the community). Christian will never see his family or other friends again; he will have to call or write his parents. Perhaps they will come to see him, when all is settled and the Hårga feel no need to observe him, in the case that he might tell the truth of his new origin.

"Good."

Pelle pats his friends face affectionately again, his grin growing larger, genuinely pleased.

"This is good, Christian. See? I knew this trip would be good for you."

Pulling away, Pelle straightens, the blond of his hair catching the afternoon sun, and he holds out his hand to Christian.

"Do you think you can sit up, or is it more comfortable to be staying laying down? There is more we have to speak of, but I am thinking maybe you would like to be more comfortable."

[hargachosenone]

As Christian lay there, naked and vulnerable, the lush surroundings of nature seemed to cocoon his senses, amplifying the effects of the drugs swirling through his veins. The disorientation left him with an overwhelming sense of embarrassment about his own nudity. He struggled to piece together how he got undressed and where his clothes were, but the memories remained elusive, lost in the haze of his mind. In an attempt to articulate his thoughts, he mustered the courage to address Pelle, hoping the enigmatic figure wouldn't perceive his vulnerability.

"Uh, Pelle," Christian mumbled, his cheeks flushed with self-consciousness, "I… I can't quite recall… Did I undress myself, or… did someone else do it?"

Conflicting emotions battled within him, like wisps of fog dancing in the morning light. Despite the confusion, a faint smile graced his lips, masking the weight of their situation, which tugged at him from within. The captivating beauty of the surroundings clashed with the daunting unknown, leaving him bewildered yet inexplicably captivated.

As Pelle gently retreated, extending a hand to assist him, Christian felt a mix of trust and uncertainty swirling within him. He rose, guided by Pelle's reassuring presence, feeling like an ethereal figure beneath the radiant midsummer sun. The allure of the Hårga community enfolded him, enveloping him in a bewitching spell he couldn't resist.

Amidst the disorientation, he yearned for clarity, a way to wash away the surreal reality enveloping him. With an effort to voice his thoughts, he hoped Pelle wouldn't perceive his desperate need for reprieve.

"I-I feel strange. Can we, um, do something to snap me out of this? A shower or something?" Christian stammered, his words betraying his vulnerability.

[hargachosenone]

Christian's body instinctively responded to Pelle's gentle touch, his senses hyperaware of every sensation. The brush of Pelle's fingers against his skin sent shivers of both pleasure and confusion down his spine. It was as if the world had narrowed down to that single point of contact, eclipsing all other thoughts and concerns.

A mix of emotions swirled within Christian, his heart pounding in his chest as desire and apprehension entwined. The lingering effects of the drugs intensified his sensations, amplifying the pleasure that coursed through his veins. It was a tantalizing dance of conflicting emotions, leaving him yearning for more while his mind grappled to comprehend the situation.

Confusion clouded his thoughts as he tried to reconcile the familiar bond of friendship with the newfound sensations coursing through his body. The lines between friendship and desire blurred, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable. It was a delicate balance, teetering on the edge of a precipice, and Christian found himself both drawn to and wary of the unknown depths that lay ahead.

His body responded with an ache of longing, craving the connection that Pelle's touch promised. Yet, beneath the surface, uncertainty lingered, as Christian questioned the nature of his own desires and the implications they held for their friendship.

Caught in this whirlwind of conflicting emotions, Christian's most natural reaction was to lean into Pelle's touch, seeking comfort and reassurance amidst the sea of uncertainty. It was a silent plea for understanding, a vulnerable moment that spoke volumes about his internal struggle.

Christian's mind struggled to make sense of the fragmented memories that flooded back. Amidst the haze, fragments of conversation floated to the surface, like disjointed puzzle pieces fitting into place. Mark's words echoed in his mind, a reminder of his own doubts and frustrations in his previous relationship.

"So then you can bitch to us for that week about how much you regret it," Christian murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and recognition. "And we'll be like 'Dude: you've been wanting out of this absurd relationship for the last year.' Oh sht, that's right."

The weight of truth settled upon him, mingling with Pelle's words about the Swedish women and the promise of a new beginning. It was a revelation that both terrified and intrigued him, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and explore uncharted territory.

A mix of emotions swirled within Christian—confusion, desire, and a deep yearning for something different. The allure of the unknown, of a fresh start and untapped possibilities, beckoned to him, mingling with the lingering arousal that the drugs had awakened within him.

"What does it all mean?" he whispered, his voice laced with a blend of anticipation and trepidation. "The Swedish milkmaids, the promise of new connections… Can I really leave it all behind and start anew?"

The questions hung in the air, unanswered yet pregnant with potential. Christian turned to Pelle, seeking solace and guidance in his friend's steady presence, hoping that together they could navigate the uncharted path that lay before them.

[dilffactory]

Pelle nods again, the smile on his face elusive but present; noticeable, but not too eager, not too obvious. He wants to be reassuring to Christian, but not foreboding. To the American, so much of the last day must have been terrifying, even if he was persistent in keeping his head in the dirt for so much of it. To Pelle, it's amusing, how Dani had been the one most aware of what was happening around them, moving from uncomfortable to terrified, before being reborn into her place in their community -- while Christian had been so dedicated to not being aware, seeing each thing through what made it all the easiest for him.

It's a habit of Christian's, going with the path of least resistance. And it had served him well, up until now, even if it had hurt others. He'd been searching, searching, searching for meaning, but had been unwilling to make the space to grow, as growing required. Being uncomfortable and even terrified was a rite of passage into adulthood in most societies -- yes, even in the American culture that had failed Dani and Christian, amongst others, but the auburn haired man had done his best to dodge around opportunities for unfolding towards any sense of destiny.

Slowly, Pelle removes his touch from Christian, hands still cool from the river folding against his own chest and he sprawls himself next to the American, long legs splayed out before his gaze casts to the clear sky above them. They had been lucky, this year; no rain, normally welcomed except for their Midsommar celebration, had darkened the sky or threatened their rituals, and he wonders how Christian must see it through his own eyes.

No clouds, just a bright blue unmarred by the hazy polluted air of cities and towns.

"Christian, if this visit to my family had gone the way you had expected, and you had gone on to Germany and elsewhere with Josh and Mark and Dani, and returned to America... what would your plan have been?"

He sounds patient and kind, one hand drifting down to the dirt and grass between them, the hair on his bare arm drifting against Christian's, zinging with intention.

[hargachosenone]

Christian's mind raced as he absorbed Pelle's words. The whole situation felt overwhelming, but there was something about Pelle's genuine concern that brought him some solace. It was as if Pelle could see through his facade and understood the struggles he had been trying to hide.

Pelle's observation about his tendency to avoid difficult situations hit home. It was true; Christian had often taken the easy way out, avoiding confrontation and uncomfortable truths. But now, faced with this strange and unfamiliar place, he couldn't ignore the truth anymore.

With Pelle's hand gently brushing against his arm, Christian's heart pounded, and he felt a mix of emotions he couldn't fully comprehend. He tried to focus on the question at hand, about his original plan, but his thoughts were a jumble of uncertainty and conflicting desires.

"In the past, I didn't really have a plan," Christian confessed, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I was just going along with whatever seemed easiest at the time. But being here... it's like everything's changed. I want to confront my fears, understand myself better, and stop running away from life."

He paused, his gaze fixed on the clear blue sky above them. The world seemed both vast and daunting, and he felt small and insignificant in comparison. But in that moment, he also felt a flicker of determination, a spark of curiosity about what lay ahead.

"I don't have all the answers, and I'm scared," he continued, honesty lacing his words. "But I want to try, even if it's uncomfortable and challenging. I want to grow and be better, not just for myself but for those I care about." His voice wavered slightly, but he met Pelle's gaze with newfound resolve. In this strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, he felt a connection with his friend that gave him strength.

[hargachosenone]

Christian's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of that fateful night when everything had changed. The images of Dani's devastated face and the darkness that had engulfed her family flickered in his mind, casting a shadow over his thoughts.

"Yes, I remember," Christian replied, his voice tinged with a mix of guilt and remorse. "We were sitting there, eating pizza, and Mark and Josh were questioning our trip to visit your family. They thought it was some sort of strange cult or hippie commune. I didn't take it seriously then, but now…"

His voice trailed off, the weight of realization settling heavily upon him. In that moment, he understood the gravity of their conversation and how it had shaped the course of events that led them to this place. Regret washed over him like a tidal wave, knowing that he had dismissed Dani's concerns and disregarded the signs that something was amiss.

Pelle's words echoed in his mind, prompting Christian to search for deeper meaning in their past actions. The realization dawned on him that there was a greater purpose behind their visit, a purpose that had eluded him until now. His heart sank with a mix of understanding and apprehension.

"What's going on here? What do you want with me?" Christian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were brought here for a reason. I know..." The questions hung in the air, his voice heavy with uncertainty. Christian looked to Pelle, seeking answers and a sense of direction amidst the chaos that surrounded them. Deep down, he knew that the path ahead would be filled with challenges and revelations, and he hoped that Pelle held the key to unlocking the truth they both sought.

Christian's senses were on edge, his body flooded with sensations that overwhelmed his every thought. The drugs still coursing through his veins heightened his arousal, turning his own desires against him. It was a maddening dance of pleasure and fear, a tormenting paradox that drove him to the brink of insanity.

Every touch, every sound, seemed amplified, as if the world had transformed into a labyrinth of sinister delights. The cool breeze against his skin felt like a fiery caress, sending shivers of both pleasure and unease down his spine. His own body betrayed him, responding to the slightest stimulus with a surge of desire that bordered on painful.

Thoughts became a jumbled mess, his mind clouded by a fog of confusion and primal instinct. Rationality fought against the intoxicating frenzy that gripped him, but its feeble attempts were futile. Fear gnawed at his core, twisting his perception of reality and magnifying every shadow into a lurking threat.

Christian's world had become a kaleidoscope of terror, his own body a source of both pleasure and torment. His heart raced, his breath quickened, as he desperately tried to regain control over his own mind. But the more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the abyss of sensory overload.

Amidst the chaos, Christian's instincts screamed for escape, for release from this twisted nightmare. Yet, his bound limbs and the watchful eyes of his captors held him captive, stripping him of any semblance of control. It was a waking nightmare, a relentless assault on his senses that left him teetering on the edge of his sanity.

In this distorted reality, Christian's most natural reaction was a desperate plea for relief, for an end to the overwhelming sensory overload that threatened to consume him. But his cries went unanswered, drowned in a sea of chaos and desire. His only solace lay in the faint hope that someday, somehow, he would find an escape from this twisted web of pleasure and fear.

[dilffactory]

Pelle nods slowly, though that isn't exactly what he meant. Still, it seemed better to give Christian gentle encouragement instead of outright correct him, and so his lips part to give a gentle

"Yes, good, and--"

Before he delves further into his meaning, considerate of how overwhelming the world had been for his friend in the last week, and how his mind is just barely on the edge of recovering from the influencing elements he has both ingested and inhaled. Idly, his hand begins to stroke Christian's bare flesh again, but this time higher, around his shoulders, down the barely-there muscle of his left arm. A part of him he would no doubt have lost, if Dani had chosen him for the bear.

"The Swedish milkmaids, Christian." It sounds as if Pelle is on the verge of a good laugh, an amicable chuckle, as if he could be reminiscing over something silly from their shared past over pizza and beers and a bong full of nothing more harmful than cannabis. As if their other friends, who had accompanied them here, had not died regrettable deaths in the name of the Mother, to ward off the evil affekts that threatened his home.

"You were tempted with the promise of Swedish milkmaids, and though chores are equally distributed here amongst the Hårga according to ability and not gender, that is a temptation still available to you, Christian."

It had not been his intended purpose, inviting Christian to his home, amongst his family, but the stars had been wrong before. And, in the end, Pelle had lead their new May Queen home, and that had righted all the wrongs in his reading of the star charts.

"Do you understand? I know it is hard to focus, but I need to know you understand."

[hargachosenone]

Christian's body instinctively responded to Pelle's gentle touch, his senses hyperaware of every sensation. The brush of Pelle's fingers against his skin sent shivers of both pleasure and confusion down his spine. It was as if the world had narrowed down to that single point of contact, eclipsing all other thoughts and concerns.

A mix of emotions swirled within Christian, his heart pounding in his chest as desire and apprehension entwined. The lingering effects of the drugs intensified his sensations, amplifying the pleasure that coursed through his veins. It was a tantalizing dance of conflicting emotions, leaving him yearning for more while his mind grappled to comprehend the situation.

Confusion clouded his thoughts as he tried to reconcile the familiar bond of friendship with the newfound sensations coursing through his body. The lines between friendship and desire blurred, leaving him disoriented and vulnerable. It was a delicate balance, teetering on the edge of a precipice, and Christian found himself both drawn to and wary of the unknown depths that lay ahead.

His body responded with an ache of longing, craving the connection that Pelle's touch promised. Yet, beneath the surface, uncertainty lingered, as Christian questioned the nature of his own desires and the implications they held for their friendship.

Caught in this whirlwind of conflicting emotions, Christian's most natural reaction was to lean into Pelle's touch, seeking comfort and reassurance amidst the sea of uncertainty. It was a silent plea for understanding, a vulnerable moment that spoke volumes about his internal struggle.

Christian's mind struggled to make sense of the fragmented memories that flooded back. Amidst the haze, fragments of conversation floated to the surface, like disjointed puzzle pieces fitting into place. Mark's words echoed in his mind, a reminder of his own doubts and frustrations in his previous relationship.

"So then you can bitch to us for that week about how much you regret it," Christian murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and recognition. "And we'll be like 'Dude: you've been wanting out of this absurd relationship for the last year.' Oh sht, that's right."

The weight of truth settled upon him, mingling with Pelle's words about the Swedish women and the promise of a new beginning. It was a revelation that both terrified and intrigued him, a chance to shed the burdens of the past and explore uncharted territory.

A mix of emotions swirled within Christian—confusion, desire, and a deep yearning for something different. The allure of the unknown, of a fresh start and untapped possibilities, beckoned to him, mingling with the lingering arousal that the drugs had awakened within him.

"What does it all mean?" he whispered, his voice laced with a blend of anticipation and trepidation. "The Swedish milkmaids, the promise of new connections… Can I really leave it all behind and start anew?"

The questions hung in the air, unanswered yet pregnant with potential. Christian turned to Pelle, seeking solace and guidance in his friend's steady presence, hoping that together they could navigate the uncharted path that lay before them.

[dilffactory]

The concern in Christian's voice brought Pelle up short; the other man has been through it, as the Americans say, in these last few days. Although Pelle had thought him a sort of pathetic, pitiful weakness, he hadn't been lying, to Christian or himself, when he said he had thought of their friendship with fondness. And, yes, Pelle had thought of his friendships with Mark and Josh with just as much fondness -- he is sad that they are gone from this earth, but pleased and proud that he had brought exactly what his family needed to purge the evil from amongst them.

That Christian had a further purpose was a pleasant surprise. Pelle cannot say that he is disappointed in the continued state of Christian, nor that he foresees any issues from the redhead in his own pursuit of Dani in the future.

So at his further question, Pelle pulls his hand back immediately, palm held up towards Christian so that he might see the genuine consideration for him in the Hårgan's actions.

"Explaining to you as you have asked, Christian."

It is the truth, but not to the question Christian had asked most recently. The answer to that will come in time, but Pelle does not wish to force the issue. The blunt manipulation and ignoring of Christian's second guessing, his concerns, had been fine enough practices when they had not expected him to live past the Yellow Shrine, but now that it was becoming a more... long term arrangement, things would have to be different.

"Do you remember, Christian, the night Dani's family died? When we were eating pizza, and Josh and Mark were convincing you that Dani was not right for you?

Do you remember what was said about this visit to see my family?" 

[hargachosenone]

Christian's mind raced, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of that fateful night when everything had changed. The images of Dani's devastated face and the darkness that had engulfed her family flickered in his mind, casting a shadow over his thoughts.

"Yes, I remember," Christian replied, his voice tinged with a mix of guilt and remorse. "We were sitting there, eating pizza, and Mark and Josh were questioning our trip to visit your family. They thought it was some sort of strange cult or hippie commune. I didn't take it seriously then, but now…"

His voice trailed off, the weight of realization settling heavily upon him. In that moment, he understood the gravity of their conversation and how it had shaped the course of events that led them to this place. Regret washed over him like a tidal wave, knowing that he had dismissed Dani's concerns and disregarded the signs that something was amiss.

Pelle's words echoed in his mind, prompting Christian to search for deeper meaning in their past actions. The realization dawned on him that there was a greater purpose behind their visit, a purpose that had eluded him until now. His heart sank with a mix of understanding and apprehension.

"What's going on here? What do you want with me?" Christian murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were brought here for a reason. I know..." The questions hung in the air, his voice heavy with uncertainty. Christian looked to Pelle, seeking answers and a sense of direction amidst the chaos that surrounded them. Deep down, he knew that the path ahead would be filled with challenges and revelations, and he hoped that Pelle held the key to unlocking the truth they both sought.

Christian's senses were on edge, his body flooded with sensations that overwhelmed his every thought. The drugs still coursing through his veins heightened his arousal, turning his own desires against him. It was a maddening dance of pleasure and fear, a tormenting paradox that drove him to the brink of insanity.

Every touch, every sound, seemed amplified, as if the world had transformed into a labyrinth of sinister delights. The cool breeze against his skin felt like a fiery caress, sending shivers of both pleasure and unease down his spine. His own body betrayed him, responding to the slightest stimulus with a surge of desire that bordered on painful.

Thoughts became a jumbled mess, his mind clouded by a fog of confusion and primal instinct. Rationality fought against the intoxicating frenzy that gripped him, but its feeble attempts were futile. Fear gnawed at his core, twisting his perception of reality and magnifying every shadow into a lurking threat.

Christian's world had become a kaleidoscope of terror, his own body a source of both pleasure and torment. His heart raced, his breath quickened, as he desperately tried to regain control over his own mind. But the more he struggled, the deeper he sank into the abyss of sensory overload.

Amidst the chaos, Christian's instincts screamed for escape, for release from this twisted nightmare. Yet, his bound limbs and the watchful eyes of his captors held him captive, stripping him of any semblance of control. It was a waking nightmare, a relentless assault on his senses that left him teetering on the edge of his sanity.

In this distorted reality, Christian's most natural reaction was a desperate plea for relief, for an end to the overwhelming sensory overload that threatened to consume him. But his cries went unanswered, drowned in a sea of chaos and desire. His only solace lay in the faint hope that someday, somehow, he would find an escape from this twisted web of pleasure and fear.

[dilffactory]

Fingers roughened from work stroked against the ridge of bone that made up Christian's hip, and Pelle smiled at him -- it is not a malicious expression, but, then again, when has Pelle ever been malicious towards his friend? Genuine kindness radiated from his lanky body, as it always had; though he had pitied his American friend and found the traits inside of him at times undesireable, the truth of the matter was Christian had always been his friend. As had all of their group, even Mark. This Midsommar had demanded the purity of sacrifice, and Pelle had loved them all individually and as a group; of course, poor Ingemar had not carried out his duty so wholly. He had brought his friends from abroad with the intention of their ends furthering the purge of evil affekts from the community, but it had not been in love.

Bitterness and envy had tempted Pelle's oldest friend, his brother -- and so Ingemar had sat in the Yellow Temple and burned with his sacrifices, thus that his evil affekts made clear through his motivations would be purged from their community, as well.

And Pelle? He wore the leafy crown, declaring his identity to their family and friends as The Green Man.

No, he had never acted against Christian in anger, or bitterness, or envy; simply as a friend who loved his friend, and recognized in him the corruption his community could be served by purging. That Dani unexpectedly had saved Christian from becoming The Bear had been surprising, but not disappointing.

If Pelle should not lose Christian, while gaining Dani as their new May Queen, then all the better.

"Good."

He leans in, pressing a kiss to Christian's forehead. A whimsical act of care, maybe, but it calmed Pelle, cleared his mind of the turns and twists of plots that had been required to bring them to this point, and perhaps it would calm Christian, too.

"You are safe, and you have Dani to thank for that, too. It's not what was expected, but she is the May Queen and so the Mother moves through her. The why is not for us to Understand, you know? But that does leave us with what to do with you."

Blue eyes drift down, past Christian's nose and jaw, down his bare chest, sparse wiry hair between his pecs and trailing down his soft stomach towards... Ah.

"You are still feeling... sensitive, Christian? Unusual for the smoke to last this long, but... It does bring about the answer to our question.

What is to be done with you? Surely, you understand you cannot go home. Dani is staying; she is of Hårga, now.

And you are not. But you cannot leave, and that leaves us with you."

Pelle's stroking hand, gentle but insistent, makes it's way inwards. Across bone and thin skin, ghostly touches of fevered primal desire that he knows will stoke Christian's fire. And those skilled fingers wrap firmly around the root of his friend's existence, now.

"And this."

[hargachosenone]

"I don't know how to process this. Everything I thought I knew about myself is being upended, which scares me." He confessed. Christian's body quivered under Pelle's touch, a mixture of confusion, arousal, and fear coursing through his veins. The roughness of Pelle's fingers against his hip bone sent a shiver down his spine, yet the warmth in his friend's smile offered a sense of genuine care. It was a paradoxical moment that left Christian questioning the intentions and complexities of their friendship.

Pelle had always been there for him, even when he didn't fully understand or appreciate his companion. Christian couldn't deny their bond or the kindness emanating from Pelle's slim frame. But now, amid this Midsommar celebration, Christian couldn't help but feel like a pawn in a grander scheme.

The concept of sacrifice loomed over their gathering, and Pelle had brought his friends from abroad with a purpose. While he claimed it was to purge the evil from their community, Christian couldn't shake the bitterness and envy that whispered in the back of his mind. Ingemar's fate had been sealed in the Yellow Temple and burned alongside his sacrifices. Christian couldn't help but wonder what fate awaited him.

Pelle, adorned with the leafy crown, symbolizing The Green Man, seemed to hold the answers. He professed his love for his friends and their group, yet Christian sensed a hidden agenda beneath his words. The unexpected turn of events, with Dani saving him from becoming The Bear, had left Christian bewildered but not entirely disappointed.

Christian felt comfort and unease as Pelle kissed his forehead, a whimsical gesture of care. It was a momentary respite from the convoluted plots and plans that had led them to this point. Pelle reassured him of his safety and credited Dani for it, reminding Christian of her role as the May Queen and the vessel of the Mother's influence. The why of it all remained elusive, an enigma beyond their comprehension.

But then Pelle's gaze traveled downward, his blue eyes fixating on his exposed form. The mention of sensitivity and the lingering effects of the smoke invoked a tremor of anticipation within Christian. He understood the implication behind Pelle's words, the path they were veering towards. There was no going back home, no escaping the grasp of the Hårga. His fate was entwined with theirs, and Pelle clarified that leaving wasn't an option.

Pelle's hand continued its gentle yet purposeful exploration, traversing Christian's body with skilled familiarity. Each touch stoked the flames of desire, intensifying the primal sensations coursing through Christian's being. And then, with a firm grasp, Pelle took hold of his essence, the core of his being, reminding Christian of his vulnerability and the control that Pelle wielded over him.

"W-what are you doing?" Chris whispered difficultly.

[dilffactory]

It is sad, he thinks, to watch Christian like this. His friend has always been something sad -- not like Dani-sad, but a little pathetic, a little unsure of himself and who he is and where he stands in the world. Which is not unusual, really, and particularly for Americans, but whereas most might try on a few hats before deciding on what fit them best, Christian... had stolen other's identities, tried them on like second-hand clothes at a thrift store, before discarding them when they ultimately did not fit.

It was a sad thing, indeed, and perhaps a touch malicious. But no longer.

If Christian could not find himself an identity, the Hårga would forge one for him from the fires he had missed by the sheer merciful whims of their May Queen. Pelle watches him squirm, winces at his yelling, but otherwise does not make a sound. When Christian denies his offering, he simply uncups his hand, letting the cool stream water splash against his face.

"Easy, Christian. There is no danger for you, now."

Atleast, so long as he did not create danger for himself. Any attempts to escape would ultimately cause a relapse; either the paralytic compound would be utilized again or... well. It would be a waste, certainly.

Pelle does not hate Christian, simply thinks of him as a lost, sad blinded man, vain and unaware of how foolish he seems, pretending at being something he is not.

Struggling against the gift that would cease the need to struggle.

He kneels again, one strong hand pressing against Christian's hip to keep him flush against the ground, the other coming to cup the American's cheek, the prickle of his red beard a little irritating against Pelle's palm, which was still cool from the water. It must feel a relief, in this hottest of summers.

"You must calm yourself, and I will explain. Yes? Do we have a deal?"

[hargachosenone]

Lying there, stripped bare under the open sky, Christian felt embarrassment wash over him. Every inch of his exposed skin burned with humiliation, his body a canvas on which his insecurities were mercilessly painted. Pelle's words cut through the air, like daggers finding their mark, unveiling the sad truth about his existence.

The uncertainty that had always plagued him, the constant struggle to find his place in the world, now lay bare for all to see. Pelle's assessment of his borrowed identities, like ill-fitting clothes hastily discarded, stung with a malicious undertone. It was a poignant reminder of the hollowness of his attempts to be someone he was not.

Christian's voice faltered as he denied Pelle's offering, desperately clinging to the remnants of his tattered pride. The cool water splashed against his flushed face, a meager respite from the sweltering weight of his shame. But he could not escape the reality that his choices had brought him to this moment of vulnerability, where his body was no longer his own.

Pelle's presence loomed over him, a mixture of pity and understanding in his gaze. Christian's skin prickled as Pelle's hand pressed against his hip, holding him in place, a physical reminder of his powerlessness. The roughness of Pelle's red beard against his cheek heightened his discomfort, a small irritation amidst the swirling turmoil within.

In this scorching summer heat, Christian's body yearned for release to escape the raw desire coursing through his veins. But he was trapped, restrained by physical ties and the web of expectations surrounding him. The thought of his helplessness being witnessed by others sent a fresh surge of embarrassment through his veins.

He struggled against the inevitable, longing for control. Still, a part of him yearned for the liberation that surrender could bring. The conflicting emotions collided within him like a storm raging beneath the surface. As Pelle knelt before him, his hand firmly against Christian's hip, the desperate ache for guidance warred with his wounded pride.

Christian's eyes, filled with shame and vulnerability, were locked with Pelle's. In that fleeting moment, he surrendered to the weight of his inadequacy, his voice quivering as he reluctantly consented to the unknown.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice a fragile echo, "we have a deal."

[hargachosenone]

@dilffactory

comes from here

As Christian's eyes flickered open, his body slowly regained sensation, and a flood of confusion washed over him. The reality of his restrained state hit him like a jolt of electricity, igniting a primal surge of fear and desperation. Instinctively, he began to squirm against the restraints, his muscles straining against the unforgiving bindings that held him captive. His voice erupted in a desperate cry, a raw expression of his yearning for freedom reverberating through the air.

"Let me go!" he pleaded, his words echoing with terror and fury. His eyes darted frantically, scanning the unfamiliar surroundings for a shred of familiarity, a glimmer of solace amidst the bewildering chaos. Questions tumbled through his mind like a torrential storm, demanding answers. How had he ended up in this predicament? What had they done to him?

Driven by an adrenaline-fueled surge, Christian's natural response propelled him to fight against his confinement, to push against the invisible forces that sought to control him. His body thrashed with wild abandon, a defiant rebellion against the unseen bonds that held him captive.

Fear, anger, and a primal instinct for self-preservation coursed through his veins, igniting a fire within him. Every fiber of his being screamed for liberation, a way out of this nightmarish labyrinth that had trapped him. He was afraid to drink the water Pelle gave him because he was no longer sure of what it was going on.