#Trafficking pipeline

[ex-foster]

A common argument that porn industry advocates argue is that if porn were abolished, then men would rape "normal" women.

As if the women being raped in porn are not normal women.

Many sex trafficking victims are from the foster care system and perhaps that is not a "normal" upbringing, but we are human beings. We feel pain and humiliation just like you would if you lived our lives.

[hiv-live-laugh-love]

wtf do y’all gain from this. like if uve never been involved with the the foster care system/adoption industry and have no intention of ever being involved with it, u should have 0 guilt in criticism of these systems. so im genuinely curious: what do u gain from believing that the seizure of children by the state is majority justified cases?

[bat-besties]

I'm having Thoughts and Feelings about how Mia and Connor both had outstanding arrest warrants for juvenile detention in Quiver.......

[chvoswxtch]

lucky

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt finally gets to take out the girl that's been leaving care packages at his door for two months.

warnings: swearing, slight angst, tooth rotting fluff (might need to call your dentist after this one)

word count: 3k

a/n: the highly requested fluffy sequel to care packages. thank you to everyone that requested this. i hope you enjoy your first date with matty. ❤️ as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[part one]

“I hate you, you know that?”

Matt nearly spit out his coffee as he lurched over the conference table slightly, forcing the lukewarm bitter taste down his throat as a wave of incredulous laughter tore through his chest.

“What? Why?”

“Because it isn’t fair. It’s bad enough you’re so goddamn charming, and it’s borderline offensive that you’re like the most attractive dude I’ve ever seen. Not to mention that whole wounded duck routine you’ve got going on that makes all the girls fall at your feet-”

“Foggy, I don’t-”

“-but what’s exceptionally unacceptable is that you somehow managed to find a girl that knows about the horns, and not only didn’t run away, but still agreed to go out with you. Like the fact that you’re a vigilante and a walking human disaster totally didn’t phase her at all. That’s…like…against the rules!”

Matt couldn’t help but snicker at the disgruntled tone lacing his best friend’s exasperated voice, and the way the edges of Foggy’s mouth dipped in displeasure. 

“What rules, Foggy?”

“The rules of the universe, Matt. You’ve had too much good fortune-

“Right, like being blinded and orphaned-”

“Oh, shut the hell up. I’m talking about-”

“Guys, please. If you two keep bickering, Matt’s gonna be late. He’s lucky she’s even going out with him at all. Can we finish this?”

Karen glanced between Matt and Foggy with an arch of her brow, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to capture her lips as Matt’s teasing grin faltered into a purse of his lips from that bruise to his ego.

“Wow. Thank you…for that vote of confidence, Karen.”

“It’s true and you know it. Now, both of you sign these damn papers so we can get out of here before she changes her mind.”

Foggy’s expression suddenly turned serious as he focused his attention solely on Matt, staring at him with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

“I swear to God, Murdock. If you fuck up my pipeline to those crack cookies, I will never forgive you. You better turn that Matthew Murdock charm up to a million, you got me? I want those cookies, Matt. Cookies.”

»»———　　———««

It had been five days since Matt had asked you to dinner, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. Between the slew of court cases he was elbow deep in and the extra patrol he’d been doing at the docks to bust a trafficking ring, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to you again. He couldn’t feel your presence when he awoke past his alarm in the mornings, and when he finally got home at the Devil’s hour, he could hear you below him sleeping soundly in your bed.

For the past five nights, the harmony of your heart’s rhythm had eased him into a peaceful sleep like a serene lullaby.

But Karen’s words had anxiety filling every single cell in his body as he navigated the bustling streets of Hell’s Kitchen. 

What if you had changed your mind?

It had been five days. Five days without getting to speak to you again. Five days without another care package. 

That wasn’t unusual, right?

You didn’t follow a strict schedule with them. The drop offs were usually every few weeks. It just wasn’t time for one.

Or maybe you didn’t want to deliver any more of them.

Maybe the reality of who and what he was sank in and gave you cold feet.

Maybe this was over before it began.

“Fuck.”

Matt felt like he was losing his mind playing the role of the plaintiff and the defendant in the case of had he royally fucked this up already. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous to go on a date. Maybe it was because you were the first person he was going on a date with as himself. Not one half concealing the other. Not with a pre-spun web of lies to cover his tracks. Not with a rehearsal to remember to play down his abilities. 

All his cards were out on the table, and while he felt an absolute rush of liberation that you knew the truth already, the consequences of that truth were daunting and seemed to be lurking around every corner of his mind. By the time he reached his door, his clammy hands kept slipping over his key, and sweat had started to bead uneasily along his hairline.

Should he call this whole thing off?

He really didn’t want to. 

Did you want him to call it off?

He prayed you didn’t.

Had you been thinking about him for the past five days too?

He really hoped so.

»»———　　———««

When Matt finally made it to your door, he was nearly out of breath and his cheeks were flushed with heat. He had changed three times because you had, and he didn’t want to be over or underdressed. He focused his senses intently on you, trying to decipher the materials and textures of the outfit you finally settled on. You had music playing as you got ready, and for a few moments Matt just paused and listened to you hum along. You seemed to be in a good mood, and that eased his nerves considerably.

Was it wrong for him to invade on your privacy like that? The angel on his shoulder was already adding it to the laundry list for his confession on Sunday. But the Devil in him argued that he was going to hear you anyway. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help what his senses picked up.

Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet you at your door, Matt panicked and realized he hadn’t got you any flowers, and promptly ran down the street in search of a vendor. He spent eight minutes trying to pick some out. He didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, and roses felt too cliche and insincere. He wanted to pick something special, something that showed he put thought into them, even if he had run to get them right before he was supposed to pick you up.

The vendor had talked him into a bouquet of violet peonies, and since he didn’t have time to spare, he raced back praying that this was the one flower you didn’t hate or God forbid were allergic to.

Matt took a moment to gather himself outside your door; wiping the sweat from his brows with the back of his hand, attempting to steady his rapid breathing, smoothing his windblown hair back into place, and reciting a quiet Lord’s Prayer for good measure.

When his knuckles finally collided with your door to knock, he didn’t know if his heart was racing from the marathon he had just run, or because of you. 

The light patter of your feet eagerly approaching the door caused a smile to grace his lips, and once he tuned out the sound of his own heart raging in his ears, he could hear yours fluttering in your chest like a hummingbird.

You were nervous too.

There was a bright smile on your lips, and a light twinge of embarrassment from how quickly you had flung your door open, and you let out a quiet laugh at your own expense.

“Hi Matthew.”

God, he had forgotten how melodic your voice sounded, and how much he suddenly loved his own name hearing it fall from your lips.

“Just Matt, is okay. Only my priest calls me Matthew. And, well…a few judges in the courtroom. And my partners when I cause them undue stress in the workplace. I mean you…you can call me whatever you want, whatever’s more comfortable. It’s just-it’s kinda formal, and you don’t have to-”

“Matt’s nice. I like Matt.”

“Matt likes you.”

Matt internally grimaced as those words slipped past his lips, and the mixture of disapproval and mortification on his face from his own blunder caused a fit of giggles to erupt from your mouth.

“Well, then we’re on the same page. Glad we’ve covered that base for tonight.”

He let out a breathy chuckle as he dipped his head for a moment, trying to find the source of his usual easy charm to refuel his glaring depletion. He cleared his throat as tilted his head to the side slightly, gazing blankly past his crimson glasses in the direction of your face with a somewhat shy smile on his full lips while delicately handing you the bouquet.

“I uh…didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, but the guy said these were the prettiest ones he had.”

Warmth spread across the tops of your cheeks when your fingers lightly brushed against his to retrieve his thoughtful offering, your lips immediately splitting into a wide grin.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you, Matt. I love peonies. How did you know purple was my favorite color?”

Matt perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter as a proud, dimple-showcasing, toothy grin took over his mouth.

“Lucky guess.”

“Do you always get so lucky?”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight.”

Matt’s dazzling grin immediately dropped, and you could see his eyes widen behind the cherry tinted lenses. As his face paled and his lips parted in horror, his brows shot up above the frame of his glasses.

“Oh God, I didn’t-that wasn’t…I swear I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not-you’re not-this isn’t…I meant the date. Not that I’m expecting anything-I wouldn’t-I just…meant I hope it goes well. I didn’t-Jesus fucking Christ.”

You were nearly in tears with laughter as Matt stumbled over his words. A part of you felt bad for laughing at the clarity of his humiliation, but it was so endearing knowing he was just as affected by his nerves as you were. This man that went out every night to take down dangerous criminals, and was arguably the most feared man in the city himself, was standing in front of your door stumbling over an apology about an unintended double entendre. 

Reaching out to place your hand on his arm, you gave it a reassuring squeeze, momentarily distracted by the dense muscle you felt beneath the soft material of his shirt, before smiling at him in sympathy as you attempted to control your laughter. 

“Matt, it’s okay. Really.”

He let out a deep exhale, his tongue darting out to wet his lips quickly as he let out a short and dry chuckle. Matt nodded his head in your direction, a faint curve of self-deprecation on his lips.

“Is this the worst first date you’ve ever been on?”

There was a teasing tone accompanying the timber of his voice, but layered beneath you could detect a chord of genuine curiosity intermingled with trepidation. The smile on your lips only grew as you looked up at him.

“Actually, it’s one of the best.”

Matt was completely in awe of you. There wasn’t a single falter in your heart’s rhythm. He felt his lips easily mirroring the smile that was on yours, reaching his hand out to lightly grasp your elbow as your hand was still comfortably placed on his bicep.

“What would I have to do to make it the best?”

“Hm. What’s for dinner?”

“Italian. That I know you like.”

A soft noise of content hummed from your throat, and the grin that bloomed on your lips triggered his own.

“Yeah, you’re definitely in my top three right now. But, the night is still young.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle at the playful invitation that flowed from your voice.

“Top three? I can work with that. I like a challenge.”

»»———　　———««

The restaurant Matt brought you to was a quaint, family owned spot just a few blocks away from your shared apartment building. It’s a place he had passed by on several instances, the aroma of fresh produce and homemade pasta sauce passed down through generations capturing the intrigue of his senses every time he crossed its path, but he had wanted to save it for a special occasion like a celebratory fifty year old bottle of champagne.

And tonight, he was popping the cork on it with you.

The space was incredibly cozy. Tea light candles flickered romantically on every table and cast an amber glow in the somewhat dim lightning. Collections of sepia and noir photos of large families and historic Italian architecture decorated the walls. The imported Sangiovese was rich in tannins and bold in flavor, caressing your tongue like bittersweet velvet. And the loud personality and thick accent of your waiter repeating your orders off in an alluring symphony of Italian made you feel like you and Matt had somehow been transported straight from Hell’s Kitchen to Italy just by passing through the door.

Both of your nerves seemed to evaporate into the breeze flowing through the open windows with every splash of burgundy against your lips and exchange of exquisite flavor from your dishes. Matt asked you questions with childlike excitement, eager to learn more about you, studying you with the exact same enthusiasm he showed important cases that were of the utmost importance to him.

In return, he found himself answering your own inquisitions easily without having to spare the devilish and more complicated details. It was so incredibly emancipating to not have to pretend with you. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t having to play a character. He could just be…Matt.

You approached every question with genuine curiosity and a respectful distance of where his invisible boundaries might be, and it made his heart soar that you were trying so hard to carefully craft his comfort. Matt had known that he was enthralled with you the first time he met you, but by the time dessert came, he was absolutely smitten.

He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but he also didn’t want the night to end.

“Can I walk you home?”

“Hm, I don’t know. You sure it isn’t too out of your way?”

Even if Matt couldn’t feel the way your lips parted into a huge smile, he could hear it in the cadence of your voice. The subtle joke made him chuckle as he nodded his chin in your direction, his own mouth pulling into a charming smirk. 

“I’d still offer even if you lived in Long Island.”

The sudden spill of heat across the tops of your cheeks and the quiet sharp intake of your breath had his heart pounding faster in his chest.

“I suddenly wish I did.”

Even though your tone was playful, he could detect the implications behind your words. You didn’t want this night to end either, and that had him soaring up to cloud nine. Feeling emboldened by your indirect confession, Matt reached his hand out slowly to brush his fingertips against the palm of your hand, easily threading his fingers through your own, reveling in the softness of your skin that he had missed. He felt a spark every time your pulse resonated against his own, and his cheeks nearly hurt from how much he was smiling.

“I prefer you living a floor below me.”

By the time the two of you reached your front door, Matt couldn’t tell if it was the electricity from the building buzzing in his ears or the anticipation that kept building the entire walk, growing larger and larger like a snowball ready to plow into his chest to cause an avalanche when you turned your body to face him. As your thumb lightly brushed against the back of his scarred knuckles, a question that had been bouncing around in his head all evening could no longer go unanswered.

“So, as far as first dates go, what’s the verdict? Did I move up at all?”

Matt splayed his most charming smile across his plump lips, and while the flirtation in his voice was evident, so was the unmistakable undertone of uncertainty. The blood rushing through his veins was roaring in his ears like tides crashing against the shore during a storm. 

“I’d say you made it to the top two.”

Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, seemingly surprised by your answer, his brows raising above the browline of his glasses slightly.

“Second place?”

“Unless you’ve got a last minute testimony for me to rule in your favor, Counselor.”

Your voice remained soft and teasing, but your heart was fluttering violently in your chest, like the hummingbird was trying to escape its cage. Matt carefully let go of your hand, reaching up to pull his glasses away from his face, baring himself completely before you as he slipped the crimson lenses into his pocket. The slight gasp from seeing his eyes for the first time that caught in your throat caused a bashful smile to appear on his lips. 

His tongue darted out to wet them quickly, catching a taste of the tiramisu you shared still lingering on your tongue. He wanted to devour it from your lips. Taking a bold step forward, he did his best to fix his gaze where he thought yours was, leaning in slightly until your noses were merely an inch apart, the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips.

“May I?”

His voice seemed to have dropped an octave lower, coming out in an intimate whisper that you answered all too eagerly.

“Yes.”

Matt couldn’t hold back any longer. He quickly closed the sliver of distance between you, pressing his lips to yours with a satisfied groan, feeling a surge of pride at the way your breath caught in your throat. For a good thirty seconds, you actually stopped breathing. When he reluctantly broke the kiss, he brushed his lips against yours and whispered into them softly.

“Breathe.”

The second the command slipped off his tongue, you exhaled heavily before sucking in a sharp drag of oxygen, and Matt couldn’t stop the smug grin that overtook his entire mouth.

“Well, sweetheart? What’s the verdict now?”

“Yeah…yeah, yeah definitely in the number one spot.”

Matt beamed at the breathlessness of your voice, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you in closer to his chest as he purred into your ear.

“Lucky me.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @desert-fern @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @danzer8705

[ben-marco]

I'm hoping no one here still sees Legion (legion.sys on TikTok) as a legitimate source of information, but just in case you do, you should probably know that they have recently:

Gone 100% down the radfem/TERF pipeline

Made fun of the male suicide rate and complained about Men's Mental Health Month (their excuse is that they don't want it to be during Pride Month, but considering they openly call themselves a "proud misandrist", I don't think it matters to them whether or not Men's Mental Health Month is in June)

Derailed conversations about the genocide in Gaza in order to rant and make bizarre accusations about Israel running a "multinational trafficking ring" in the United States and United Kingdom, decentering actual victims of genocide in order to talk about RAMCOA instead and imply that there are people in the US and UK who are "directly affected" by the genocide instead of, you know, the actual Palestinians being murdered; said that the genocide itself is RAMCOA

Said that surrogacy and adoption are both forms of human trafficking, referred to adoptive parents as "PIEs" or "parent-identified exploiters"

Posted islamophobic and anti-religious content; saying that "islam supports pedophilia" and that "all abrahamic religions" are misogynistic and that you cannot be feminist and religious simultaneously, and

Spread egregious misinformation about ME/CFS, its symptoms and its diagnostic criteria that is easily disproved with basic Google searches; specifically coming up with non-existent "levels" of ME/CFS and stating that ME/CFS results in the growth of white matter in the brain when it's actually associated with the opposite

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter ten

[ chapter ten — 5.5k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ] you don't open the letter. richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

handcuffs, bus, metal detector, strip search. three pairs of socks, toothbrush, toothpaste. everything stolen by your cellmate as soon as you arrive, except what you’re wearing. entire jail segregated to hell. you claimed by the italians, who were expecting you. instructions are simple: stick to the bottom bunk, keep your mouth shut, and you’ll make it. this is jail, not prison.

nothing and no one can touch you when you’re like this, sunk deep inside yourself. your throat is still hoarse from shouting last night, but that’s incidental, not important. nothing is important.

you don’t want to be here, so you’re not. 

you’re standing on the corner with half a pack in your jacket pocket, and he’s not there—you can’t see him right now, not even in your head—but he’s on his way. the winter sinks cold so deep into you that your forehead starts to hurt. if you stand here much longer, you’re going to get a runny nose. you’re itching for a cigarette. you don’t want to smoke without him. 

a lot of people want your attention.

julie, you’ve got mail. who’s this, your man? is he trying to get you back? put a price on it, maybe you can finally get us something from commissary. 

julie, the feds are not playing around. it looks like there’s charges related to human trafficking coming down the pipeline, and they’re trying to tie you to it. i’m doing my best with your defense, but if you don’t want to cooperate, i can’t guarantee—do you hear me? 

julie, when she comes through, we’re gonna take her back here. if you see a guard coming, just keep your mouth shut and kick the dryer, okay?

a lot of people want your attention, but nobody gets it. you can survive this, put one foot in front of the other, only as long as you can stand partly sheltered by the angle of your apartment building, and listen to the wind rushing past. waiting and safe, as long as he never arrives.

the snitch gets carried out on a stretcher.

the lawyer leaves unsatisfied.

you don’t open the letter.

.

.

.

it’s much worse at night. but still, sometimes, you can sleep.

.

.

.

lunch here has a queasy familiarity. it feels like barracks or school. you sit at a long table and corresponding bench with the italians, wondering if all this sodium is gonna worsen your perpetual low-grade headache, squeezing peanut butter from its plastic packet directly into your mouth, not bothering with the bread. 

behind you, you pick out the word doctor in somebody else’s conversation. thinking that it might have something to do with you, you turn and glance over your shoulder, just in time to catch a woman saying, too loudly, no i’m fine. you think her words sound a bit slurred. you’re fifty percent sure her name is aja. 

you’re sweating, says her friend, a woman with box braids whose name you’ve never learned.  she sounds exasperated. did you take something? when she gets no answer, her voice gains a note of urgency. hey. did you take something?

aja, leaning hunched forward on the table, mumbles no.

relieved, her friend says, then just eat your lunch.

i don’t...aja blinks. goes to lift one baby carrot to her mouth, looks at it, then stops. is car warning, she explains.

in the back of your brain, something stirs.

by now, you’ve been noticed by the other women at that table, and they’re staring daggers back. they’re almost all black women, just like all the women at yours are almost all white—and your stare is violating rules more important than the law. 

beside you, your cellmate janine has caught on too. she smacks your arm a little harder than she needs to, annoyed that she has to reiterate a fundamental lesson. mind your business. but you can still hear aja muttering out a slow explanation of increasingly jumbled words, and that’s all you care to hear.

it’s like there was a heavy weighted blanket keeping you down and separate from life, and that’s suddenly lifted. you can see and hear. there are words floating to the surface, and next steps, and you’re on the move, standing up. 

every woman sitting at aja’s table is up on their feet in five seconds flat, except for aja and her friend, though the friend gives you a look that could cut glass. you can hear everyone from your table getting up behind you, too. 

what’s your problem? says one of the women standing opposite.

i’m a doctor. you’re not even looking at her, but when she says, sure you are, there’s enough menace in it to stop you in your tracks. then janine has an iron grip on your arm, trying to drag you away. it’s too late. when you said you’re a doctor, you believed it, and with that the world has come into focus with perfect clarity. the rest doesn’t matter.

is she diabetic? you say.

janine hisses in your ear stupid fucking bitch fast and low and you can see a flicker of movement to your right, another woman from your side coming for you, so you wrestle free from janine and dart a few steps forward. as quick and smooth as if you’d planned it, a woman from aja’s side steps behind you, between you and your own table. she’s taller than you by about six inches. she says, yeah, she’s diabetic. 

permission enough. you sit down on the other side of aja. up close, she’s sweating and wearing a concerned expression, like she’s forgotten where she left her phone. you can hear the guards shouting, getting closer. you ignore them.

don’t touch her, the friend snaps.

who’s gonna take her pulse, then? keeping a careful eye on the friend, you reach for aja’s arm. nobody stops you. aja herself looks at you with vague suspicion in her golden brown eyes, but she’s not all there enough to resist. once you get your fingers on her wrist and find her pulse, you don’t bother counting it for a full thirty seconds, that’s how fast her heartbeat is going. 

at this point, the outside world has gotten too loud, too insistent, and you can feel the moment about to break. 

she needs sugar now, you say to the friend. or she’ll end up in a coma.

got it, she says, and then the guards are on you. with shouts and shoves, they break up the gathering, end lunch ten minutes early. with a yank of your shirt, you’re returned to your group. 

what the fuck is wrong with you, janine hisses, but you barely hear her. you’re still thinking on your patient, trying to get a look. you think you see the friend reaching for somebody else’s tray—to get a packet of strawberry jam, maybe—but you can’t be sure.

.

.

.

it makes no sense. your head throbs. if janine’s threats are even half true, you’re in for more trouble than you know how to handle, and you didn’t know how to handle your troubles before. but somehow, once you’re in the laundry room, it happens. 

you realize that you like it all. the strong smell of detergent, the sun coming in golden through the high windows built too thin for jumpers, the way you have to lean forward and really push against the weight of hundreds of t-shirts in the hamper trolley. even the finicky machine quitting mid-cycle only amuses you, because you know the trick to starting it up again: thump it in the right spot a couple times, hear it rumble back to work. it’s not until one of the guards passes by you that you hear, the fuck are you smiling about? and you realize you were smiling at all. you stop at once.

the thing is: you fucking did it. at dinner, you’ll see aja sitting at that same table, eating and talking clearly. she’ll be fine. you did that. you never thought you’d get this again, but it seems not everything is over. there is still a little life in you, enough to save hers.

not everything is over, and for once you can think about the letter tucked into your bra without it burning you. 

you don’t imagine it contains forgiveness—hope isn’t the same as delusion—but there could still be something in it that you would want to keep. richie could never respect your decision to leave. loyalty is what he’s cared about most, the one value he’s managed to cling onto by the skin of his teeth. but he might at least understand. 

times past, he has understood you far better than you expected, and strangely enough, you’ve understood him too. he might understand you now. stranger things have happened.

you won’t read the letter, of course. but you’ll keep that possibility with you, the one thing you have left to hold.

.

.

.

hey doc, come here. look at this. 

janine is calling to you from across the laundry room, beckoning you towards the back corner where the security cameras don’t quite reach. you hesitate. you’re not stupid. that’s exactly the spot they once made you stand guard, and given how publicly you ignored all orders today, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was janine’s turn to stand watch and your turn to take the beating. it’s been a while since you’ve done that. you’re probably rusty. ah, fuck it.

you leave the bin of stained shirts where it is and walk over, rounding the corner to find two women waiting for you. one you recognize immediately as an enforcer, blonde and tall and glaring ferociously at you. the other, slight and silver-haired, is the leader. 

do you know why you’re here? she says. calm, even pleasant, like a schoolteacher. 

i have a guess, you say.

so the leader explains. she takes her time with it, uses so many words, but the long and short of it is: you have been living an easy life. they have been taking care of you, and you’ve repaid them with nothing but trouble. angie—the massive woman leaning on the far wall, the enforcer—burned herself today in the kitchen, on purpose, badly enough that she got sent to the infirmary. sure enough, there’s a bandage around the enforcer’s left forearm. aja was supposed to also be in the infirmary, unconscious.

why angie and aja would need to be in the infirmary together, with aja unconscious, is obvious. the leader doesn’t need to explain that part. 

interfering is a crime. interfering in someone else’s murder is a crime whose punishment you can’t afford.

i didn’t know, you say. on hearing your thin voice, you realize your mistake. times like these, you’re supposed to keep your mouth shut. matter of fact, almost always, you’re supposed to keep your mouth shut. 

i’ve been told you have a letter on you, the leader says. let me see it.

you say nothing. she motions to the enforcer.

in your second tremendously stupid choice of the day, you fight back. you duck one punch only to get your ears rung by another, square in the left eye. after that, she deals with you easily, with the advantages of height, weight, reach, and the knowledge that this might be her one chance to get you back. she hates you and she fights like it, like she might just kill you and call it an accident. it’s all you can do to keep quiet, not yell for help. 

in under a minute, she’s back to the leader with your letter in her hand, snatched from your bra. the sound of your own heavy breathing is so unsteady, it’s almost as bad as crying. your eye has already begun to swell up. 

we have a problem, the leader says. if you can’t follow the most basic instructions, how can we trust you? and if we can’t trust you, what can we do? 

in the silence, you realize: they have everything now.

you need to prove that we can trust you. you have no idea how you could possibly do that, and then she adds, tell me about what you did for linda.

this time, you think it through before you open your mouth. 

you know what she’s asking about, of course. it’s the only thing you’ve ever done for your boss’s wife directly, and you were told to keep it secret, too. an iud for her daughter-in-law, along with a fake fertility treatment. what a woman would do to convince the people closest to her that she wants children, when she doesn’t. you know what those men are like.

i don’t know what you’re talking about, you finally say. if you have a problem with linda, go settle it with her. 

the enforcer starts forward, but the leader stops her. i’ll give you the night to think about it, she says, as undisturbed as ever. but first, i want you to tell me the list of things we could do if you turn out to not be trustworthy. i need to make sure that you know.

you need to get these women away from you so badly now that it’s almost easy to talk. 

you could kill me. you say that first because you doubt they’d bother with that much effort. or make my life miserable. you could keep that letter. you could talk to your boss and work it so i get stuck in here for a ten-year stretch. 

and other than that?

i don’t know.

we could make it so you never work as a doctor again.

does she know?

her pale green eyes give nothing away, and the longer you stare at her, desperately trying to pierce her pitiless calm, the more you feel you’re only exposing yourself. eventually, you give up. it doesn’t matter if she knows. the carusos know. if they expose you, the best years of your life, spent in hard work and little else, they’ll be gone. the worst years of your life, spent in restless loneliness and little else, they’ll be gone too. if that bomb drops, there’s no point to any of it. a decade of your life, best and worst, all for nothing. every second of every day. everyone you pushed away. 

i’m in jail, you manage to say. i don’t think i’ll get work as a doctor ever again.

i’m just the messenger, the leader says. see you tomorrow.

.

.

.

that night, you wait for janine to snore, then you bury your face in the pillow and discover that you’re wound too tight to even cry. the pillow smells like old socks. you turn over and stare up at the bunk bed above you instead. 

it’s not a choice, it’s just pure dread. in this place, you have nobody else. if the italians drop you, you’ll be as easily extinguished as the slugs that little boys like to sprinkle with salt, but it’ll take much longer, however long they make your sentence. your lawyer said the feds were trying to pin human trafficking on you. maybe they’ll succeed. it’s life or hell, that’s the point. life or hell isn’t a choice.

you will tell them what they want to know. they will pass it back up the chain to old caruso, who in turn will figure out that alessandra has been fooling him all along with that combination of iud and fake fertility treatment. wronged the family, in his eyes. maybe, given the raid that came not long after, it will be considered a sign that she knew the end was coming and helped it along.

maybe she did snitch. you don’t know. does the truth matter? this man looked at his own wounded son and said, he should be dead. not helping death along was his idea of fatherhood. but he had considered it, you know. this is the man you’re going to deliver your patient to, the man who has you by the throat.

when you first learned about the hippocratic oath, you found it romantic in the only way you could bear: do no harm. not be kind or even do good, not change the world or save the day, and certainly nothing as lushly irrational as love. something possible and real. a solid foundation. first, do no harm. 

alessandra might never know that you’re the one who gave her up.

that’s your patient, you remember a veteran surgeon saying to another resident. you can’t exactly remember what made him say it, some disrespect, but the viciousness of his voice left an impression on you. the unspoken seemed obvious. they’re the patient, you’re the doctor. they let you cut them wide open and put your hands inside them, so you better be prepared to show some fucking respect. surgeons always have a reputation for ego, so maybe it had nothing to do with treating the patient well, maybe it was a pure ego thing. but it felt, and still feels, like a personal claim. you violate your own patient and you might as well be a leafless tree, an unloving father.

you think over the leader’s words, trying to find yourself some loophole. relive each word as best you can while sniffing back snot because you have no tissues. but all you find is that the letter is gone now too, and with that, you tighten your jaw and refuse to let yourself start crying, because this time if you lose it, you’ll be lost.

the laundry room sunlight feels like it fell on your face years ago. that hope is gone. richie would not understand you abandoning your patient, and you wouldn’t want him to. you don’t even want him living in the same country as this fucking place. 

why didn’t you open that letter when you had the chance? if it’s not understanding, it’s probably rage, and you want that.  you would willingly read in excruciating detail just how fucked up it is that you caused his best friend’s death and then wormed your way so deep into his life that you could see him up close fighting the grief like a fish against the hook. you’d take that. if he tells you to go fuck yourself, fair enough. as long as it’s his words. that letter is the last of him, and you want it. 

that letter is the last of him because once you give up alessandra, there’s no coming back. once you give up alessandra, you’re not just a legal liability, not just a burden, but a genuine honest to god piece of shit twice over. you were a piece of shit already, but this?

you only realize you had hope now that you’re losing it. you only know you want to be a doctor once your license is on the line; you only know you were going to go back to him now that the door is receding many more years into the distance. there’s some life left in you, yeah. that’s not a good thing.

.

.

.

when you get up out of bed the next morning to meet your fate, your left eye has swollen up so badly you can barely see out of it. you face the morning, the sudden harsh overheads turning on, with half vision and a desperate, helpless longing to be numb. the numbness doesn’t return, though the leader does. 

she sits next to you at breakfast. there’s no enforcer this time. apparently you’re not enough of a threat.

well? she says.

you should’ve cried last night; maybe then you wouldn’t feel such an intense urge to cry now. stupid. you say nothing. you want to pick at the lumps of rubbery scrambled egg on your tray, but you only stare at them.

this is your chance. she doesn’t say it like a threat. she says it like a friend. you sure you have nothing to tell me?

it’s happening, you can feel it happening, but you can barely process. she thinks your silence is a no. she thinks she’s being denied. and you know you need to tell her what she wants to hear, but the guilt of it is so heavy that your mouth stays closed. you’re terrified of her. of yourself. you know what will happen once you crack and open your mouth and let your patient down: your life will be over. and you have no idea of exactly what will happen if you don’t open your mouth, but your imagination can fill in those blanks a thousand different ways. 

you’re just fucking scared in all directions, and what it amounts to is this: you keep your mouth shut.

after what feels like hours, the leader speaks.

okay, she says. i’ll pass it on. 

she gets up from the table. around you, women are eating and joking and squabbling as usual. it doesn’t feel like you made a decision. it doesn’t feel like the end of anything. it just feels like you’re waiting for the next punch to land.

.

.

.

days go by and you’re still tensed, waiting for that punch. nothing seems to change, but it’s cold comfort. and there’s no comfort in the moral victory, either—discovering that you have a single principle left doesn’t make you feel any better when all your energy goes into keeping your guard up. every dull hour, every dull meal could be taken away from you at any moment. the afternoon light in the laundry room is still beautiful. somebody should try to hurt you, and soon. if they don’t, you’re just going to lose it.

and then there she is. the enforcer, sitting on your bed, when you come back from the laundry room smelling of bleach from the white shirts. the burn on her arm is still bandaged. in full light, she looks even bigger. dirty blonde hair swept back in a ponytail, grey eyes hateful. 

when she takes out that blue envelope, your chest tightens. you can tell that she enjoys the look on her face, but it doesn’t last long. it’s strange. she tosses the letter with a dismissive gesture, and it lands on the floor between you.

congratulations. she still hates you, that much is clear—but she’s no longer enjoying herself, and that’s vital. that’s a good sign.

yeah? you say.

jack says you pass. 

she shoves past you hard on her way out. it’s all you can do not to snatch up the letter from the ground, to try and look as though you have some kind of control. 

.

.

.

> dear julie, 

> i don’t know if you remember me, but you dated my best friend mikey a while ago. when i found out you got arrested, i talked to tina about it. she said you helped him till the day he died, and you’re the one who got us narcan.

> that sounds about right to me. i heard negative things about you once, but i never believed them. some things only come around once in a while, like a leap year. (which doesn’t have 365 days, it has 366.) one of those rare things is a friend who’s there when you need them. you have to recognize them when you see them. i think i recognize you now.

> this is just me saying that we haven’t forgotten you. tina says hi, and i’ll come visit, if you’ve got the time to spare. i’m guessing you’re pretty bored in there, and i can honk my horn and take a pie to the face as well as the next guy. 

> yours,

> richie

.

.

.

yeah, that’s him. 

you know it’s him on the first reread, because you can see all the tightness falling away as he writes, from the cramped propriety and false casualness in the first sentences to the dear clown stupidity of the last. you know it’s him on the second reread, because he’s lying in his own way, trying to fit in with what you wanted, pretending he’s just the friend of your ex, not admitting to knowing you. you’re crying. you’ve waited a long time to cry. that’s incidental. 

it’s only on the fifth reread that you snag on the part about the leap year. it’s the weirdest part, the parentheses. long after you have the letter half-memorized and tucked away in your bra, after dinner and lights out, you’re thinking on it. you fall asleep to the question and wake up the next morning with the answer. 

i’d bet my life that there was a sig p365 in his hand when they found him.

some things only come around once in a while, like a leap year. (which doesn’t have 365 days, it has 366.)

what if it wasn’t you?

no, you’ve been inside for less than two months and you’re already detaching from reality. that’s probably what’s happening here. but you can practically feel the warmth coming off the page, and that’s all that matters. 

your nose is practically fountaining snot, and without kleenex, you just wipe it on your sleeve and read the letter again.

it’s only hours later that you stop obsessing over the letter for long enough to truly realize what has happened. you’re going to be okay. 

.

.

.

the days pass quiet now. your swelled eye heals up slowly, until one morning you have full vision again. just as before, all you do is sleep, eat, work, and keep to yourself. nothing has changed. 

nothing has changed on the surface.

.

.

.

you think about alessandra all the time, because of course you do. 

just because old caruso couldn’t get you to flip on her doesn’t mean she’s safe, and yet you think about her the way you think about aja, the way you think about a gap-toothed surgery patient from way back in your residency sometimes. the thing that made you text your bosses begging for news about the carbon monoxide poisoning patients. that’s still in you. 

you know you can’t actually save anyone in a way that lasts—any and all work can be undone in an car-crash instant, and sometimes is—but still. one of your patients has to make it, or else what’s the point?

eventually you stop seeing aja around, but you don’t hear any talk about her getting killed, so you figure: that’s the one. that’s the one you got to save. it makes no sense, you know, but you have this feeling that if you get to save anyone, you only get to save one. so you try to prepare for the news that alessandra is gone. 

but when the news comes of a death in that family, it’s not the one you expected.

you stare at your lawyer, shocked. wait, so old caruso is dead?

suicide, she says matter of factly. hung himself in his cell. 

the fuck? so do we think that… you trail off, mindful of the cameras, even if they’re technically supposed to be turned off for lawyer consultations. you believe he’s dead, but you don’t believe for a second that he actually killed himself. 

your lawyer shrugs. who knows. all that matters is that apparently there’s an informer of some sort that’s turned over a bunch of shit—cellphone records, emails—and they’re willing to give an affidavit that you were threatened. there’s a couple pretty graphic and specific examples. for example, allegedly, after the first surgery you performed in the easystop basement, the oldest of caruso’s sons put his hand in the semi-coagulated blood and—

he’s dead now, you feel obligated to say. it’s whatever. you remember it well, though you wish you didn’t.

she’s admirably noncommittal, your lawyer. it would be nice if it wasn’t so annoying. which one is dead now?

most of them, i guess. the father’s dead, the oldest son is dead, and the youngest son will probably never be the same despite your best efforts. considering those numbers, it’s nothing short of a miracle that jack, the middle son, has apparently decided to spare you. you kept your mouth shut on behalf of his wife, but right now there’s such a tangle of complications and so few actual facts available to you that you can’t begin to guess what’s truly happening behind the scenes. you can only be grateful that you haven’t been hurt worse. 

your lawyer is considering you with shrewd eyes. after a second, she says, if i can get you a plea deal, will you take it? 

i can’t testify, you say automatically.

i know. i think i can get a deal without testimony included.

wait, really? 

she gives you a look, as if to say, catch up, dummy.

how many years? you say.

months, possibly. we’ll see.

you hardly know what to say to that. cool, you say, feebly.

you’ve kept your mouth shut, so they’re taking it easy on you, that’s the bottom line. it feels like a copout to escape the worst punishments on the basis that you were coerced, even if that’s true, because you feel like you probably deserve worse. but fuck, you’ll take mercy from anywhere right now, right and wrong and dignity be damned.

i’ll let you know. your lawyer gets up to go, but just as you’re about to call for the guard, she stops short. oh, one last thing. your landlady finally agreed that you don’t need to pay her rent for the past two months.

lovely.

she threw out all of your belongings that the cops didn’t take.

can’t say i’m surprised. it still hurts, but it’s a hurt dwarfed by the immense relief of an imminent plea deal. i’d sue, but we both know my retainer’s gonna run out too soon for that.

she did forward your mail to me, though. 

my mail? what is it, a dollar fifty off a personal pan pizza?

one postcard from your mom and her boyfriend and his family. one interview request for a doctoral residency program in indiana. 

you don’t know which of those is weirder. the residency applications you mostly did in a period of loneliness and boredom. they were an exercise in desperation daydreaming, not meant to touch real life, and you never even imagined a person reading the papers you submitted. getting a response, a good response, is as strange as a character stepping off a page. and your mom having a boyfriend is no surprise, but a boyfriend with a family? the world’s ended, yeah, but is the world ending?

can you forward those to me? you say.

they’re already in the mail. you should get them within the next two weeks.

when your lawyer leaves, you’re still sitting there. the guard has to call your name twice before you get up.

what a fucking week.

.

.

.

if you’re gonna get out in months, then…

.

.

.

you earn seventy-two cents per day working in the laundry. the first time you go to the commissary, you buy a stamp, an envelope, and a blank card. then you smuggle detergent out of the laundry room so you can bribe janine into letting you borrow her pen.

you have richie’s letter memorized, but you read it again anyway. then you stare at the blank white space of the card. 

what is there to say? well, fucking everything, but there isn’t much you can say with the inevitable prison guard reading it all too. that cuts you off from saying most things, and then dignity wants you to shut up about the rest. sorry i thought my life was over and tore you to pieces about it. turns out my life isn’t over, can we be friends again?

thing is, if you write him a letter, he’ll write back, even if it’s to tell you to fuck off. and honestly at this point, you’d give up a lot more than dignity for that. so here fucking goes.

> dear richie,

> thank you for writing. i’m not good company right now and i can’t really write letters, but maybe we can get coffee sometime when i’m out?

> yours,

> julie

the yours gives you away, but you have so little else to offer. and besides, he started it.

it’s disciplined. that’s what you’re trying to tell yourself. it’s disciplined and concise and it gets across exactly as much as he needs to know and jesus fucking christ that short note looks absolutely pitiful in the comparatively vast white space of the card. 

so you make an addition.

> p.s. tear the bottom off for eva.

as best as you can, you draw the horses from memory. arched necks, white and dark patches on their coats, as close to the style of the girl who loved horses as you can. and then one girl with a superhero’s mask and a cape, holding up an apple so the tallest horse can eat it. you don’t draw well, but you don’t have the pen long enough to try a do-over. there’s a small chance you’ll make her smile, and that’s all you want. 

lick envelope, peel stamp, and send.

[ next chapter pending ] [ masterlist ]

.

.

.

a huge thank you to all readers.

taglist: @garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned, @fancyvoidtragedy, @justficsandstuff, @fromirkwood, @gills-lounge, @lostfleurs, @spicydonut25— if anyone wants to be added to or removed from the taglist, let me know!

[jangillman]

President Trump's Achievements

Hey!! What has Donald Trump done while he was in office (as at July, 2017)!!!

1.Supreme Court Judge Gorsuch

2.59 missiles dropped in Syria.

3.He took us out of TPP

4.Illegal immigration is now down 70%( the lowest in 17 years)

5.Consumer confidence highest since 2000 at index125.6

6.Mortgage applications for new homes rise to a 7 year high.

7.Arranged 20% Tariff on soft lumber from Canada.

8.Bids for border wall are well underway.

9.Pulled out of the lopsided Paris accord.

10.Keystone pipeline approved.

11.NATO allies boost spending by 4.3%

12.Allowing VA to terminate bad employees.

13.Allowing private healthcare choices for veterans.

14.More than 600,000. Jobs created

15. Median household income at a 7 year high.

16. The Stock Market is at the highest ever In its history.

17. China agreed to American import of beef.

18. $89 Billion saved in regulation rollbacks.

19. Rollback of A Regulation to boost coal mining.

20. MOAB for ISIS

21. Travel ban reinstated.

22. Executive order for religious freedom.

23. Jump started NASA

24. $600 million cut from UN peacekeeping budget.

25. Targeting of MS13 gangs

26. Deporting violent illegal immigrants.

27. Signed 41 bills to date

28. Created a commission on child trafficking

29. Created a commission on voter fraud

30. Created a commission for opioids addiction.

31. Giving power to states to drug test unemployment recipients.

32. Unemployment lowest since may 2007.

33. Historic Black College University initiative

34. Women In Entrepreneurship Act

35. Created an office or illegal immigrant crime victims.

36. Reversed Dodd-Frank

37. Repealed DOT ruling which would have taken power away from local governments for infrastructure planning

38. Order to stop crime against law enforcement.

39. End of DAPA program.

40. Stopped companies from moving out of America.

41. Promoted businesses to create American Jobs.

42. Encouraged country to once again

43. 'Buy American and hire American

44. Cutting regulations 2 for every one created.

45. Review of all trade agreements to make sure they are America first.

46. Apprentice program

47. Highest manufacturing surge in 3 years.

48 $78 Billion promised reinvestment from major businesses like Exxon, Bayer, Apple, SoftBank, Toyota...

49. Denied FBI a new building.

50. $700 million saved with F-35 renegotiation.

51. Saves $22 million by reducing white house payroll.

52. Dept of treasury reports a $182 billion surplus for April 2017

(2nd largest in history.

53. Negotiated the release of 6 US humanitarian workers held captive in egypt.

54. Gas prices lowest in more than 12 years.

55. Signed An Executive Order To Promote Energy Independence And Economic Growth

56. Has already accomplished more to stop government interference into people's lives than any President in the history of America.

57. President Trump has worked with Congress to pass more legislation in his first 100 days than any President since Truman.

58. Has given head executive of each branches 6 month time Frame dated march 15 2017, to trim the fat. restructure and improve efficacy of their branch.

Observe the pushback the leaks the lies as entrenched POWER refuses to go silently into that good night!

I hope each and every one of you copy and paste this everywhere, every time you hear some dim wit say Trump hadn't done a thing!

THANK YOU!!!

Oh, yeah, and there's this..........

[allycat75]

Other characters in this junior high drama-mystery, that is so bad, CAA would convince our Boston Dumb Fuck it was a smart vehicle for him.

Because let's be honest, the crazy fan narrative is tissue paper thin and frankly uninspired. So who else we got!

The Publicist, who couldn't sell a sweater to a naked man in Winnipeg in the dead of winter and did no vetting of possible partner's problematic behavior. Did she think the fans would be that dumb because they saved him from a dick pic embarrassment? By the way, this is way worse that any dick pic.

The agents, looking for extra revenue streams now that their human trafficking pipeline has gotten too much exposure with the biggest client rotting in prison. Also include some (streaming) studios here who have deals with said agents and need their own additional revenue streams now that they figured out their existing business models don't work anymore, but are in need of a fourth yacht and 3rd private jet.

The ingenue who has been told her value is what is on the outside and how she can make older men feel. They will give her anything she wants and she doesn't have to work hard like the racially inferior, ugly and fat ones. It's not her fault everyone else is jealous. And if she doesn't get her way she acts like a petulant child and throws a tantrum until those around her capitulate.

The clout chasing friends, and possibly family. Whether it is for free trips, social media exposure, acting roles or just plain dickishness, they love taking advantage of their little cash cow, even if he looks sick, over worked, depressed and empty. Just keep smiling in them fancy photos while your "friend" slowly fades away. But then I guess the joke is on them, because, like the destruction described at the end of "The Lorax", "Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not."

The lawyers who can't seem to get The Golden Boy out of a super shady contract. No morality clause? No milestone clauses where if it looks like the situation is causing either party damage they could bail? Seems to me some of the requirements reek of illegal behavior- bribery, blackmail/coersion, immigration violations, along with punative emotional damages (just read the GQ article and look at most any picture of him since last November and you can see what I mean).

And finally, we have The Golden Boy himself. The one who could do no wrong. But that was only because he "shushed" all warnings out of his head. Whether it was hubris, greed, carelessness, frivolity, gullibility, obfuscation or just plain stupidity, he got himself into this mess somehow and can't seem to get himself out of it. It has destroyed his relationship with his fans, his ability to find and choose good roles, taken the joy and sparkle out of his eyes, caused him to dissociate from his entire life and career (says it himself in the GQ article), given up to smoke pot and play video games all day like a loser, "married" someone with the exact opposite traits he claimed to desire and is now associated with the antisemitic racists he used to fight against, while displaying some nasty misogynistic behavior throughout the process. And for what?

Yeah, but it's his fans that are crazy.

[ex-foster]

Former foster kid quote on the foster care to sex trafficking pipeline.

[le-trash-prince]

Damn I really want KimKenta fake dating when Pete sends them undercover to go bust a human trafficking ring (and if it’s a bdsm club for the wealthy that they’re infiltrating, and kenta has to be collared and kneel with his head in kim’s lap the whole time??)

All that confusion and wariness and dancing around each other. Kenta being touched more than he ever has in his life while telling himself it doesn’t mean anything (but wanting it anyways). Kim slowly realizing just how much he trusts Kenta to have his back. The enemies to fake lovers to partners to real lovers pipeline.

[bootyduke]

why the movie "the sound of freedom," is bullshit we need to keep an eye on

i need yall to know that the sound of freedom movie is being called qanon shit because it perpetuates qanon lite and holds up the pipeline to average people. it's only in theaters now rather than years ago when it was produced, because qanon has created a fervent audience for it. the fervent audience is now a counter to the fact that the studios involved in its production were swayed from releasing it by experts in child trafficking who informed them of the misinformation it would spread. this movie not only sensationalizes child trafficking, it also simplifies what leads to child trafficking in a way that creates a false perception of how it happens at all, especially by depicting children exclusively being kidnapped by strangers rather than the more common situations where kids trust their abusers and come to depend on those who exploit them in exchange for housing, food, and drugs that traffickers often force their victims into dependency. it even fails to acknowledge the fact that most (67%) child trafficking victims are between 15 and 17, most often queer kids kicked out of their homes by parents, with a majority of young child victims being sold into slavery to pay off debts or in exchange for drugs by their own parents. sound of freedom turns perpetuators of child trafficking into anonymous villains and implies complicity in government, especially liberal government figures, rather than focusing on the parents who kick out their kids or neighbors who groom those parents and take in their troubled teens and send them somewhere no one cares enough about to investigate until they're completely missing. "raising awareness" of child trafficking is a noble goal, but relying on the terrifying shock of toddlers being assaulted rather than dissecting the systemic ways children are coerced and exploited muddies the waters and makes us directionless and afraid, with mysterious figures implied to be the real source of the problem (hint: when a movie has vague, powerful monsters instead of the real villain being the deeply entangled web of multi-system failures, there's a 50/50 shot the audience will stumble into "its the jews fault," while attempting research outside the conventional sources films like these say are controlled by "the media, re: the jews again." that's the whole point of the vagueness and instilling mistrust in reputable news outlets and academia.)

furthermore, the film is based on and vindicates tim ballard, a guy who quit his effective but not-so-action-packed work against child pornography with the cia, to go to south america and document himself "saving" people from human sex trafficking in colombia and haiti. ask anyone who works in trafficking prevention and they'll have some THINGS to say about this guy, they fucking HATE tim ballard! "but why?" you may ask. the answer is that he thinks things stop existing when not in direct line of sight. mr. ballard failed to think about how the extenuating circumstances surrounding these survivors, such as debt, drugs, poverty, and housing. as such, almost everyone tim "rescued," from trafficking wound up right back where they were within a handful of years. tim is also a proponent of the qanon conspiracy theory and fully believes that children are being molested and drained of blood by a secret kabal of wealthy elites to harvest their adrenochrome. this conspiracy theory has deep roots in one of the longest-standing antisemitic conspiracy theories on earth about jewish people stealing away christian/white children to drink their blood or use it for dark magic, aka blood libel.

this movie is designed to make its viewer fall down the rabbit hole of disinformation and qanon. its star, jim cavizeel (aka jesus from passion of the christ) has completely fallen down that rabbit hole since filming the damn thing, and cites the sound of freedom as the lynchpin in his journey there.

the sound of freedom is not worth your time, but it is worth your time to learn why this movie is sensationalized propaganda so that you can refute it.

[zvaigzdelasas]

Benin has prevented neighbouring Niger from using its port to export its first crude oil, as a border dispute rages between the two nations.

President Patrice Talon's government is demanding that landlocked Niger reopens its side of the border if it wants to use Benin's ports.

Mr Talon accused Niger of treating its neighbour like an “enemy”.

Relations between the two nations soured after the military staged a coup in Niger last year.

Benin and other West African nations imposed sanctions on Niger, including border closures, in a bid to force the military to hand back power to the elected government.

The sanctions by the Economic Community of West African States (Ecowas) were eased in February, and were expected to normalise trade relations with Niger.

But Niger refused to open its land border for goods coming from Benin.

Mr Talon has accused Niger of not co-operating to restore ties.

"If you want to load your oil in our waters, you must consider that Benin is not an enemy country and that [its] territory cannot be the subject of illicit trafficking or informal exchange," he said on Wednesday.

"If tomorrow the Nigerien authorities decide to collaborate with Benin in a formal manner, the boats will be loaded," he added.

Niger's junta has not yet responded to his comments.

Benin’s move puts at risk Niger’s plan to begin exporting oil - the landlocked country has been producing about 20,000 barrels per day primarily for domestic consumption due to the lack of an export route.

Following the completion of a 2,000km-long (1,240 miles) Chinese-built pipeline through Benin, production was set to rise significantly to 110,000 barrels.

The dispute is seen as undermining the project and affecting relations between two countries that were close trade partners before the coup in Niger.

Herve Akinocho, the director of the Centre for Research and Opinion Polls in Benin, said the country would lose about $7m (£5.6m) daily from oil transit fees that Niger would have paid.

9 May 24

[beardedmrbean]

MEXICO CITY — In a small town in Mexico’s western state of Michoacán, members of a criminal group forced residents to pay for high-cost internet service — or face death.

After these threats, residents made monthly extortion payments while simultaneously reporting the situation to authorities.

After months of investigations, officials raided three properties, finding evidence such as antennas, internet repeater equipment and connections, which were handed over to the prosecutor's office.

While it may sound surprising for Mexico's drug cartels to be involved in internet service, those who follow the criminal groups' activities aren't at all surprised.

"Drug cartels have diversified their operations since their inception," security analyst David Saucedo said. "Many of them started as criminal organizations whose main activity wasn’t drug trafficking."

Some gangs were involved in, for example, fuel theft, others were involved in vehicle theft and others specialized in robbing public transportation, Saucedo said.

“Criminal groups that joined drug trafficking already had these other activities beforehand.”

Besides the billions of dollars cartels make from the drug trafficking industry, the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration says the most powerful drug cartels, Sinaloa and Jalisco New Generation (CJNG), are involved in many illegal ventures that result in profits.

“The Sinaloa Cartel is most closely identified with drug trafficking but is also engaged in extortion, the theft of petroleum and ores, weapons trafficking, migrant smuggling, and prostitution,” the 2024 National Drug Threat Assessment states.

CJNG directs the theft of fuel from pipelines, extorts agave and avocado farmers, migrants and prison officials, and taxes migrant smugglers, the report said.

"The portfolio is extensive. However, while drug trafficking is the most profitable activity, it has a longer recovery time for the investment compared to other ... criminal activities, which yield almost immediate profit," Saucedo said.

From cartels calling older Americans to offer timeshares in Mexico, leading to the loss of nearly $40 million, to cartel-backed smugglers reaping growing profits in the trafficking of migrants across the U.S-Mexico border, their criminal range is extensive.

Here are some ways where the cartels have extended their reach:

Fuel theft

Fuel theft, known as huachicoleo in Mexico, is a highly profitable activity for organized crime groups. In the first nine months of 2022, Mexico's state-owned oil company, Pemex, lost $730 million from illegal pipeline taps.

Cartels in Mexico have developed a sophisticated approach to fuel theft, which involves corruption, precision and violence.

This includes tactics such as bribing Pemex employees and local officials for information, drilling precise illegal taps into pipelines, and using modified tanker trucks to transport stolen fuel for distribution in black market networks.

Several cartels are involved in this criminal activity. For instance, the Santa Rosa de Lima Cartel, led by Jose Antonio Yepez, also known as El Marro, established its dominance through fuel theft before entering into drug trafficking.

Additionally, CJNG and the Gulf Cartel are also linked to fuel theft, which supports their criminal activities.

Avocados

Mexico's multibillion-dollar avocado industry, which continues to break records for exports every year, has also been one of the main targets for drug cartels.

Avocados are known as “green gold” in Mexico, and the country has become the world’s largest producer of the popular fruit.

But as growers’ fortunes have risen, they have faced increasing threats from drug cartels seeking a share of the profits.

In Michoacán, the only state authorized to export the fruit to the U.S., CJNG and local gangs demand payments from farmers, often referred to as "protection fees."

These fees can range from $135 to $500 per hectare monthly, depending on the size of the farm and the level of perceived threat.

The extortion process begins with cartels identifying and targeting profitable farms. Armed cartel members then approach the farmers, issuing threats of violence or property damage if the farmers refuse to comply.

In February 2022, the U.S. suspended avocado imports from Mexico after a U.S. official received a death threat while working in Uruapan.

The imports resumed a week later following new safety measures applied by Mexico’s government in the region.

Two years later, locals say the situation hasn’t changed much, and avocado growers continue to deal with criminal organizations in the area.

Tortillas

The average Mexican consumes about 70 kilograms of tortillas annually, according to the Mexican Agriculture Ministry. It is a staple in Mexican cuisine, which is why cartels have decided to profit from it.

Extortion from cartels affects nearly 20,000 tortillerías, directly impacting the prices paid by Mexicans.

According to the National Tortilla Council, in an interview with The Washington Post, out of more than 130,000 tortillerías in the country, between 14 to 15% percent suffer from extortion.

Homero López García, the organization's president, told El Sol de México that establishments must pay between $135 and $190 weekly to multiple criminal groups to continue operating.

"Well, look, nothing surprises me anymore," Saucedo, the security analyst, said about cartels extorting tortillerías. "Perhaps it's a somewhat insensitive and cynical posture from me, but the truth is that I remain open to all possibilities in this regard."

Chicken

In a video posted on social media two days before Christmas 2023, an armed group was seen arriving at a poultry shop in Toluca, Mexico, kidnapping four workers and putting them into a white van.

The Mexico state prosecutor's office said the victims were retailers who were forced to buy chicken in some establishments. Likewise, they had to pay a fee of $2.50 per kilo in exchange for not getting killed by the Familia Michoacana cartel.

Authorities said as a result of their efforts to combat extortion, the criminal groups La Familia Michoacana and CJNG lost over $43 million from threatening poultry and egg vendors in municipalities of the Toluca Valley and the southern part of the state.

The state prosecutor's office said in 2023 alone, they received 4,010 complaints for this crime, of which they determined that only one in four was made in person, with the rest being indirect through phone calls, social media, and emails.

Three months later, the four workers kidnapped in December were found alive, and four perpetrators were detained, but those behind the abductions remain on the loose and the extortion of poultry vendors continues, officials said.

'Piso' fee

"They were asking me for $600 monthly for cobro de piso; we reported it, and we had to close for a month," Guillermo, a businessman in downtown Mexico City, told local media, recalling the extortion from the cartel.

The cobro de piso, which is the fee cartels charge business owners in exchange for "protection," has been the main problem for merchants in Mexico City.

"The first group of affected businesses are restaurants, followed by convenience stores in second place, and then jewelry stores in third place," said Jose de Jesus Rodriguez, president of Mexico City’s Chamber of Commerce.

In the past few years, extortions have been on the rise. Depending on the areas, some establishments would receive calls, emails, or in-person visits from armed men asking for the cartel's fee.

"They have tried several times, it's through calls," restaurant owner Israel Zavala told Mexican media. "The trust in the authorities isn't very high; complaints have been filed, but they don't proceed."

Analyst Saucedo said the problem with the metrics is that we have never had access to their accounting books.

“We will never have the total amount of the taxable fee because many do not report it to the authorities.”

In Mexico City, there are many criminal organizations involved in activities such as drug dealing, but also charging extortion fees to small business owners like tortilla shops, street vendors, and taxi drivers.

"Since Mexico City is a densely populated area, and we have a very large informal economy, many people are unfortunately susceptible to paying protection money. Consequently, it is a profitable activity for the local mafias," Saucedo said.

 "Besides paying an official tax to come to work, you have to pay another one to them," Angel Campos, a vendor at a street market in Mexico City, said.

[darkmaga-retard]

By Jack Hellner

After watching the debate between President Trump and Kamala Harris, what was essentially a dynamic of three-against-one as the two moderators obviously teamed up with Harris, we’re reminded that the media is one of the biggest enemies of the American people.

ABC didn’t ask Kamala if she felt responsible for the Haitians overwhelming the town or any deaths and other crimes they have committed.

ABC didn’t ask why Kamala spread the false story that our border guards were whipping Haitians. Why were she and Biden, along with so many journalists willing to destroy the guards’ lives without evidence?  Why didn’t she ever publicly apologize for her lies?

ABC didn’t ask Kamala about her responsibility in any deaths or rapes at the hands of illegals. Why don’t we know the names of all the victims?

ABC didn’t ask why Joe Biden, to whom Kamala currently acts as a right-hand man, signed so many executive orders to open the border as soon as he took office. If they cared so much about securing the border and enforcing existing laws, why did they do that?

ABC didn’t ask about all the illegals that Biden and Harris ship around the country in the middle of the night; Democrats in the media don’t care about illegals being used as pawns, except when a Republican like DeSantis shipped a few dozen to the very rich Martha’s Vineyard, a sanctuary city, and then they whined like stuffed pigs.

ABC didn’t ask why Kamala supports sanctuary cities, who refuse to enforce laws and cooperate with ICE. That would be a logical question since she says she is always for enforcing laws.

ABC didn’t ask Kamala about the 300,000 children that have disappeared under her watch. They didn’t ask  why she never brings it up. Doesn’t she care about human and child trafficking?

ABC didn’t ask why Kamala supported the violent riots and bail funds for criminals in 2020. They didn't ask her if she felt responsible for those who died because of her actions.

ABC didn’t ask Kamala why it was O.K. to contest elections in 2004, 2008, and 2016, protests which included some violent riots.

ABC didn’t ask Kamala why she has never visited with or uttered the names of the thirteen military members who died in Afghanistan since she says she respects the military so much.

ABC didn’t ask why Biden lifted the sanctions on the Russian pipeline while closing the American pipeline. Trump gave them the question.

Kamala never answered the question whether she believes in any limits on abortion, since that is what most Americans want.

ABC didn’t ask why Democrats won’t vote for the Born Alive Act, since Kamala falsely insisted those late-term abortions don't happen.

ABC didn’t ask why she never visited East Palestine, Ohio after the environmental disaster. Doesn’t she care about people’s health and the environment?

ABC didn’t ask about all the new taxes Kamala wants to impose and how they would help the economy grow.

ABC didn’t ask her about her false allegation that grocery stores are gouging, when their net profit margins are extremely low.

When Kamala repeated the talking point that Trump’s tariffs would supposedly cost $4,000 per year, why didn’t they ask her about the over $10,000 per year in costs each average family suffers through because of the high inflation?

ABC didn’t ask her why Democrats work so hard to block poor and minority children from attending better schools when their schools are failing, since she cares so much for children.

Kamala never answered the question about why so many of her policies have changed, even though she promised she would.

ABC didn’t ask her if she still supported requiring people to buy electric cars since our use of oil is an “existential threat,” or why she would support fracking if oil is an existential threat.

ABC didn’t ask her why Biden wasn’t charged with multiple felonies despite being found to have stolen and mishandled a huge number of classified documents for fifty years, since she says no one is above the law.

They didn’t ask her if she thought it was O.K. that Biden took Hunter around the world collecting obvious kickbacks for access.

They didn’t ask her why the Biden administration has worked so hard building up Iran’s finances when the nation pledges death to America and death to Israel.

And they didn’t ask her why she, the Biden staff, and the media covered up Biden’s clear incompetence for years from the public. Isn’t that an important question?

The reason ABC didn’t ask Kamala any of the above questions, and why they didn’t “fact-check” her real lies like they did to Trump’s supposed lies (they weren’t), is because they don’t care about anything but Democrats winning.

The ABC journalists, and all other journalists covering for and aiding Democrats, should report their massive contributions to the FEC, since they are just campaign workers. They haven’t cared about facts for decades.

[ben-marco]

loving the legion slander. sorry to be a hater on anon I'm so glad someone's finally calling them out on their shit. just a couple notes I thought I'd leave

- the fact their alpha to omega document has no cited sources iirc and they just... made pretty much all that shit up, knowledge already known to the OEA community aside.

- the "multinational trafficking ring" thing with Israel they seem to have mentioned is directly related to the whole shitty NWO conspiracy pipeline that's able to be seen in bad RAMCOA spaces sometimes. to dumb it down further, the antisemetic idea of "the JOOS are taking over the world!!!!!".

- the fact they co-opt asab terminology, made by intersex people (i don't believe they're intersex but its not my problem to investigate and confirm/deny), into saying "observed sex at birth" (with a plus sometimes? what??). i love how legion just makes up shit and runs with it for real

The whole "Alpha to Omega" document drives me absolutely mad. I read it and it was 50% already known, obvious information and 50% fanfiction that sounded like it was from Fritz Springmeier's secret drafts. And of course...0% citations! Because why would Legion ever cite any source, ever, for anything?

Also yes, the "multinational trafficking ring" shit is 100% antisemitic propaganda. Literally just recycled from the trash that Ozian, Springmeier, and Svali have been regurgitating for decades. And, you know, a ton of far-right conspiracy theorists who peddle the same stuff. I was floored when Legion dropped that one.

I think they've recently (as in, within the past 12 months) claimed to be intersex as a result of PCOS but they never claimed this when I knew them and it seems to be one of those identity labels they've just started claiming like the "level 4" ME/CFS and level 2 autism and whatever else. When I knew them, they were perisex nonbinary transmasc, ablebodied, and neurotypical.

[violentviolette]

u cant do something that is not possible. mind control is not a thing that is physically possible. programming is not a thing that is physically possible to do. humans have researched and tested this *extensively* and have never once been able produce any level of proof that it is possible, in the same way that its not possible for human beings to fly unassisted. MKUltra was a failure. brainwashing is not real, psychic powers are not real, there is no amount of literal physical and pschological torture u can inflict upon another human being that will allow u to mind control or program them and we know this because nazi germany, the ussr, and the us government very literally physically and psychologically tortured thousands of people to death to try and prove it and still couldnt. there has never once been a provable documented case of human sacrifice in the history of the colonial united stated. there has never once been legitimate evidence of a satanic trafficking ring. satanic ritualistic cannibalism is not real and does not exist in real life. it has very legitimately never once happened. these things are not real and anyone trying to convince u they are despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary has an ulterior motive for doing so and is almost certainly a far right extremist. this is very literal foundational qanon shit

people peddling ramcao are exactly the same kind of grifters as psychics, mediums, faith healers, and homeopaths who claim to cure cancer with essential oils and yoga. they are using the same exact kinds of propaganda techniques and lies to deceive and take advantage of vulnerable people.

this is not differing opinions. this is a proven and verifiable known fascist conspiracy theory and believing in it puts u inside the alt right pipeline. believing this shit is believing in nazi theories. and believing in nazi theories does infact, make u a nazi. so there is not a "differing of opinions" there is facts and logic and reality and there is facisist nazi lies