#already survived the underground brothel which is helping a lot but it's still not high enough

[ntrlily]

i forgot how hard it is to grind trauma in degrees of lewdity

[itsmarianstories]

They call me kitty🐾

[Jikook Social Media Au]

Part 30: Past >> Part 31: Ready

Jungkook is a bratty college student, who stumbles through life, trying to find his way. He is attractive and he knows it, so he is used to getting whoever he wants. Until a certain cute boy walks into his life with swaying hips and fluttering lashes, who seems completely unimpressed by Jungkook. However, being the stubborn boy that he is Jungkook refuses to give up just yet, not knowing that with that he has already become a figure in Jimins game of life.

(A/N: Hello! I’m gonna leave another warning here, Jimins backstory is not exactly rosy be prepared for mentioning of drug abuse, prostitution, implied murder... Also sorry for the amount of written parts I hope the Jikook fluff makes up for it ksksk)

_._._._._._._._._._. _._._._._._._._._._. _._._._._._._._._._. _ Jeongguk sighed as he stared out of the window. He couldn’t really see anything outside since it was already pitch black. All he could see were the raindrops that slid down the smooth surface of the glass. His room was dark as well, a nurse has checked on him not too long ago and told him to get more rest. 

He wasn’t in a critical situation but he’d still have to spend some time in the hospital because the the stab in his shoulder tore the muscle and damaged a tendon which meant that if he weren’t extremely careful the movement in his left arm may be irresistibly restricted. The doctors gave him one of these slope thingys to stabilize his arm but in some certain movements it still brought burning pain rushing through his shoulder. Fortunately, the stab in his leg wasn’t as bad and didn’t cause a lot of damage. It would hurt quite a while and leave an ugly scar but at least he didn’t have to be worried about permanent damage. Moreover, he also got himself a nice fever since he was exposed to the cold, humid atmosphere while his body was already in an extremely susceptible state. Well, he probably should be glad he didn’t get a lung infection. 

Jeongguk sighed again as a new song started playing over his headphones. Jin brought him some stuff that he may need while in the hospital, which Jeongguk was very grateful for. It was way more comfortable in his own clothes and with his favourite pillow. However, he still couldn't sleep. The doctor said it was normal after such a traumatic experience and that he probably should go to a therapist. But Jeongguk wasn’t scared or anxious actually. He was just mad, he was so angry. Ever since he arrived in the hospital and had time to think everything through there was this fire slowly simmering in his chest. He was mad at this Seungri guy and his men, he was mad at Jimin, he was even mad at Jin for not being there with him, although he knew how irrational that was. However, all that didn’t compare to the fury he felt towards himself, for not being able to defend himself, for not being able to do literally anything, for allowing those people to stamp all over him, for not being stronger. He swore to himself the moment he was out of this hospital room he’d-

“Bunny?” Someone touched his hand and Jeongguk jerked up, fist already clenched, ready for a punch. Jimin reacted quickly and caught his fist halfway in the air, forcing it down again. 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, you didn’t hear me knocking though.” Jimin explained and Jeongguk let out a long breath, his heart still racing in his chest. He pulled out the headphones and layed back down on the pillows as Jimin sat down on a chair next to the hospital bed. 

“How did you make it past the nurses? Visiting time is long over.” Jeongguk asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I have good connections to some doctors in here, remember? They owe me some favours.” Jimin said and shrugged off his pink, glittery bomber jacket. He was back to his soft and fluffy looks, the leather outfit from last night completely gone. His hair was growing kind of long and the pink was fading, only a hint of it left. He looked cute in his black leggins and the big sweater, however Jeongguk has long learned not to mistake Jimin for who he is. 

“How do you feel?” The older asked now and Jeonggukk shrugged with the one healthy shoulder.

“I’m alright.” He half-lied. He was feeling like shit actually but it was to be expected after what he went through. He was probably doing better than he should. Jimin reached out and pushed his bangs back, laying a hand on his forehead. Jeongguk sighed dreamily at the soothing feeling of Jimins cold hand on his sweaty skin. 

“Your fever hasn’t gone down yet.” He stated and wanted to pull his hand back but Jeongguk held him in place.

“Wait please. This feels nice.” He mumbled, not missing the small smile that crept on Jimins lips.

“Okay,” he whispered and as Jeongguk moved a bit to the side on his bed Jimin followed quickly, settling down next to him. The bed was small and they had to sit pressed together but neither of them minded. 

“Jimin,” Jeongguk mumbled. His eyes were now closed as he relished in the cooling feeling of Jimins hands on flushed cheeks. The older hummed. 

“Thanks for not sticking to your words.” He said and opened his eyes to see Jimin frown confused.

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk bit his lip and stared at the ceiling again. 

“You know, the ‘You can shoot him for all I care’ part.” He whispered, not really understanding why he was feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. Jimin sat up straight next to him to be able to look at Jeongguks face. His thumb brushed over the cut on Jeongguks cheek.

“Did you believe that?” Jimin asked and watched the youngers face closely. Jeongguk shrugged again, wincing as he accidentally moved his injured shoulder. Jimin leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“That was a bluff, bunny. I had to make them think they had nothing against me. If they had noticed how important you are to me, they would have used you as a hostage. You probably would have ended up quite worse. It was saver for you to stay in that room until everything was done.”  Jimin explained and cuddled up to him. Jeongguk had already learned over the past few weeks that Jimin is actually pretty clingy, once he gets used to someone. It’s adorable and so contrary to his cold hearted, merciless gang leader behaviour. 

“They could have shot me right there and then to get rid of me.” 

“Yeah, it was a risk but I know Seungri and your chances were better like that, rather than them dragging you out into the shooting area.” Jeongguk thought about his words for a while as another question formed in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask that, if Jimin would answer him or if he’d get mad but he thought he’d shoot his shot and see where it goes. 

“How good to you know him exactly?” Jimin tensed slightly but Jeongguk continued. “I mean as they were--- trying to get something out of me Seungri also talked about how you two have a long past and how he taught you everything and that you’d owe everything to him.” Jimin snorted at that, his fingers drawing patterns on Jeongguks belly. 

“Of course he’d say that.” Jimin mumbled before taking a deep breath and groaning. He rolled back on his back and now it was Jimins turn to stare at the ceiling. 

“Do you remember how you once asked me how I came to being a gang leader and all that stuff?” Jeongguk nodded, he has been wondering about that ever since he learned what Jimin is doing. The older sighed.

“Well, obviously some shit has to happen for someone to end up on a path like mine. For me, I sometimes think it was predestined but who knows. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really have a lot of regrets. I’m happy where I am now, but I sometimes wonder how my life would be if I had a normal office job or something. I don’t know,” Jimin chuckled.

“Anyways, I’m an orphan, I grew up in a really shitty orphanage where no one really cared about us children so it has always been ‘survival of the fittest’. The strong kids got the food, the comfy beds, the toys. So I learned to fight my way through life. It was pretty similar in school and once I became older and hit puberty I learned that people tended to underestimate me for my looks, so I used that to get what I wanted. I started using my body to get what I want, whether it was with teachers, other students, or whoever might have been of help for me. Obviously, rumours spread about it and that’s how I got to know Seungri. He was a senior of mine in high school and approached me one day asking if the rumours are true. He told me that I could make a business out of it to get more than just good grades or people to do my homework.” Jeongguk gulped. This was not at all what he had expected. Jimin shook his head slightly.

“I was young and naive. I thought I was the smartest shit and that I’d be in control so I agreed. I thought it were only Seungri and me. He got me the customers and made sure I’d stay save and I did the dirty work. I had no idea that he worked with a brothel and that I was falling deeper and deeper into this whole underground shit.” Jimin frowned. “We actually made quite a lot of money at first and I apparently became very popular in the scene, since I was so young. I had--- a lot of customers and started skipping class until I eventually dropped out of school. It was fine at first, I enjoyed what I was doing, I enjoyed the power I falsely believed I had. Especially when the first high class men came to me. I fucked the previous major, can you believe that?” Jimin chuckled again and ran a hand through his hair.

“One day one of my customers offered me a small pill and asked if I wanted to try. I agreed, not thinking much of it but it only accelerated my downfall. I never learned of the side effect of drugs, I just knew how amazing they made me feel and how much better the sex was so I tried all kinds of stuff that Seungri got for me. I got so used to it that I didn’t want to do it without being high. That’s when I found out that Seungri only used me, he said I owed him a lot of money for all the drugs he got for me and for his ‘work’ as my ‘manager’. He said I had to work more to pay him back and he stopped paying me, so I lost my flat and was forced to move into the brothel that Seungri worked with. That was probably my biggest mistake because it made me dependant. They gave me more and more customers, at one point I had about twenty-five to thirty customers a week. You can imagine, my body was not in the best condition.” Jimin said and turned his head to see Jeongguks wide eyes as he stared at the older in shock. Jimin chuckled again and softly brushed Jeongguks cheek with his knuckles.

“I’m gonna spare you the details but my condition became worse and worse and I tried to block out the pain with more drugs. I had my lowest when I almost overdosed and collapsed on the chest of no other but the police captain of the local police station, which was probably my rescue, because obviously he didn’t want to be connected to my death. He organized me being taken to a hospital.” Jimin smiled nostalgic. “He was a sweet man, he even visited me in the hospital and I confessed my situation to him in a very ugly breakdown. He promised to help me, if I promised to stay silent about him. Obviously, I agreed and that when I got to know one of my best men now. Namjoon, was a former officer that the captain ordered to help me. At first he just helped me getting out of that shit hole and getting away from Seungri but we became kind of friends and stayed in contact.” A grin spread on Jimins face as he kept talking.

“About a year later, I got to know Taehyung, he’s the one who blew up the bunker, do you remember?” Jeongguk nodded. “He used to be a normal dealer with high aspirations.” Jimin explained and shook his head amused. 

“He was also mistreated a lot so we made plans together to build our own empire, a better one, where we won’t have to fuck people up to make them loyal. That was uhm--- about five years ago, now I think. The most difficult part was to get loyal people, who didn’t see us as naive, stupid kids. I admit, it was a long, bloody way up. We had to be fierce, you know? There are probably about thirty different rookie gangs and constantly new ones or old ones falling apart. It’s very hard to actually make it. But we were stubborn and unafraid to do whatever it takes. We were probably also pretty lucky that we knew the right people and that others constantly underestimated us. Well, it doesn’t really matter now. The point is we made it. So I guess, Seungri did kind of start it all, by dragging me into this and making me ruthless.” Jimin shrugged. “But I don’t own this fucker shit.” Jeongguk just stared at Jimin for a while, his mind slowly processing Jimins story.

“What did you do to him?” Jeongguk asked eventually and Jimin scrutinized him closely for a while.

“Nothing yet, I’m keeping him in a cell in our base. Why?” Jeongguk scooped a little closer towards Jimin. They were facing each other, their noses almost touching, their breaths mingling. 

“When I was tied to that chair and Seungri was--- s-stabbing that knife into me I-” Jeongguk clenched his fist and took a deep breath. “I felt so helpless, so--- vulnerable. They could have done with me whatever they wanted and I had no chance to defend myself whatsoever.” Jimin stared deep into his eyes as he spoke and somehow Jeongguk felt that the other knew exactly what he was talking about. The older cupped his cheek again but his eyes never left Jeongguks. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again, never. Please, teach me how to fight back.” Jimin inhaled a sharp breath. 

“You said you don’t want to become a monster like that.” Jimin mumbled. Jeongguk moved his head a bit so their foreheads were pressed together.

“I had a lot of time to think about that while laying here and I realized that the kind people usually get taken advantage of. I’d rather be a monster than having everyone else stamp all over me.” Jimin made a deep sound in his throat, his hand moved from Jeongguks cheek to his neck where the grip tightened in his hair. 

“Why is this turning me on?” Jimin mumbled against Jeongguks lips. The younger snorted but returned the passionate kiss, allowing Jimin to take the lead and pushing him back into the mattress.

---

(A/N: Whoop, any questions?)

[vegetalass]

Chain Smoker Robin Hood

Happy Birthday @phen0l!! Sending you all my love and wishes to you for this year! 

this is honestly such a mess…….. but i hope it makes sense and you enjoy regardless! 

i really enjoyed writing an MP reader that was almost caricature-like, as this is a super interesting dynamic i was barely able to capture…. 

i just thought of all the dialogue first and was like… time to rip off someone else’s idea!!!! *sunglasses emoji* 

but whatever lol…… please @ me

posted on AO3 here 🌈

Warning: contains sexual themes and drug mentions!

Prostitute!Levi/MP!Reader - 2279 words

Time seemed a lot slower back when Levi was a little boy. Not that he can remember every single day of his childhood with clarity, but back then, his life seemed to consist of only two things. 

His mom, the first. Her job, the other. 

In fact, one of the first things he remembers understanding was his place amongst all of it. Her love, their home, and then, between all of the men.

When he was at his smallest, he figures that it must’ve been easy enough to stash a baby away in a closet cradle, at least for a few minutes at a time. A toddler is a lot harder, though, and he knows this from memory; it being that most of the few memories Levi has of his mother consist of being told to be patient and quiet. 

He was a good listener, though, and soon enough, as the seemingly endless streams of men began to make sense, so did the rest of his tiny world. 

Is there somebody else in here? 

Despite the time Levi spent curled up in a closet, and the way his mother was never a guaranteed constant, she never failed to make it known how much he was loved despite the constant facade she had to put on during most of her working hours. 

As though the person he thought his mom was and the woman Olympia were two separate people, and the world was divided between fucking things and living. 

He knows now that’s not the case, but sometimes it still feels like the world really is that simple, especially when he’s forced to face the smiles of people who have never had to struggle to survive. 

That’s always when he thinks of his mom the most; her death seemingly meaningless to people who do not care that she got sick and died, even though they are the same people who paid to fuck her. 

Part of him wishes that he could’ve done her right… as if he could go back and change the past, but he was young when he knew her, and he’s not sure what doing right by someone really means. Not in a whore house, at least, because violence was something he found for himself later. After, of course, following in her footsteps. 

Sorry, Mom, he often finds himself thinking, the image of her gaunt and lifeless frown one of the only things he has left of her. 

That, and his fucking job. His job as a prostitute and lackey for his no good uncle Kenny, who has never once hidden his hatred for humanity under his ugly smirk and a cigarette. 

What is he called again? The Ripper? 

Levi thinks that Good-for-Nothing Shit-for-Brains fits even better, which is funny, because he was the one to bring Levi to the Military Police, and then to you, in the first place.  

Shut up, Pisshead. Go back to fuckin’ the Police for all I care.

He can’t say that you are the worst of them… but it’s a really low bar. 

The Military Police all look the same to him, regardless of how they treat him. 

Your face blurring into something, someone, he has seen one thousand times; your cynical smile one of privilege, or luck, and also of hatred, for a military who cheated you out of serving a country you used to love, because since enlisting to fight for it, you can no longer say that you do.

At least not here, and not with him.

Because for all the times he has offered to fuck you in the way that your people have fucked him, you have always laughed and said no. 

Fucking things is out of the question, you told him once, while enthusiastically showing him around the Military Police station, which he supposes he has to appreciate. The freedom that you’ve allowed him, that is, and the fact that you’ve been good to him.

Kind, even, despite your awful peers. 

That’s ironic, he had replied, the dust on every windowsill a cruel reminder of his home. 

Because before you, he had no semblance of hope that he’d ever get to leave the Underground, and now, here he is running from it. 

It would almost seem surreal, this whole world that you’ve spun up for him, and that there’s still the possibility that you could easily take it all away; but part of him knows that you have better things to do than fuck weak boys from the Underground. Things like... stealing military gear, or running off to roll and smoke funny things with the rest of the shitty Military Police boys. Things that he knows aren’t police related, though these were all just guesses, since nobody really knows what is it that the Military Police actually do with their time. 

It’s also guaranteed that he won’t find out while sat across from you on the plush down of your Military-Police-grade issued bed, or during any other time at all, because you are still hardly an exception. 

And while he could almost strangle you for it, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort, too busy sprawled out on your bed next to him, busy lighting a cigarette. 

“What?” you start, cocking your head to the side when you notice his grimace, the newly-lit joint between your lips doing nothing to stifle your grin as you stare at him with dark, half-lidded eyes. 

“What?” he parrots back, confused, if not mostly irritated by your unending and sarcastic cheer. 

“You know, if you’re worried about all this…” you wave your hand in the air, fresh smoke curling under the light of the candle on your bedside table, “Don’t be.”

He glances at you, still disgruntled from being ripped from his daydream about the past, and sighs, “I’m not.” 

He knows what you’re referring to, what it is that Kenny’s talked you into, and that the only reason you’re even doing a favor for him by keeping his prostitute nephew in your quarters is to keep your relations with the underground on the friendly side of business casual. 

But Levi isn’t a fool. He knows that good things don’t last, and that there’s not a single Military Police elite who has ever said what they mean.

Even at your nonchalance on the issue of housing the likes of him in your room, it doesn’t matter. Soon he will end his stay with the military and return back to the Underground. He will go back home to the brothel, and will return to days spent watching the whores’ kids and waiting for the next well fed member of high society to request him to take his clothes off. And after your transaction with Kenny comes to a close and you run out of shit gear to sell, he will have no chance at returning to the surface unless the world fucking ends or the Military Police forget about their sworn duty of lying to the poor. 

He’s honestly not sure which will come first. Not with the Titans that he’s heard so much about, which you’ve already provided enough basis for him to understand, and what that means for everyone who fights them and everyone who doesn’t. 

It’s a life of luxury… or not, and for Levi, he has never experienced the former. 

Maybe that’s a good thing. 

“I can do illegal things...” you begin again, staring at the ceiling in thought, and Levi can’t help but roll his eyes at the fact that you are just someone who will not quit.  

He knows all too well the kinds of things you mean, and though he is the outlaw-and-whore from the Underground that you agreed to house, he rolls his eyes anyway. 

“You shouldn’t.”

There’s not a single lavender candle you could light for him to make him feel comfortable with you, and he feels empty when he finally does look at your unchanging, pleased expression from where you lay on the bed. 

“But I can,” you tease, your cigarette dripping blue ash on the sheets when you shrug. 

He grimaces, before glaring at you, but you only laugh when you peek at him, finding it easy to recognize the street rat in him. 

“Oh, c’mon!” you sit up, beginning to crawl to him from your side of the bed, the collar of your white night shirt dipping below your chest. Levi curses himself for noticing… and then for thinking about the fact that you are someone who has never had to starve. 

“We’ll put you in a nice outfit, add the cape and everything.” You say as you reach him, brushing your fingers over his hair, the cigarette now between your lips, “You’ll look so handsome.”

He is reminded of the many women who call him that back home. 

Don’t frown, Levi!

“And then…?” he asks, one hand reaching for his neck to halt the downward creeping of your fingers. If it were before… when he was still that boy in the brothel, he’d know what to do with your hands. He’d know how to hold them, and move them in such a way that allowed him control of a situation, and a body, that he was being paid to please. 

But you are not that person, and he doesn’t want to be that boy anymore. When he does manage to catch your fingers in his, he drops your hand at least to spare himself the pain of thinking about the fact that he does not want to succumb to the same fate of his mother. 

No matter how much he wishes he could’ve saved her.

He blinks the thought away, as yet again, you don’t seem to acknowledge his distress, laughing as you blow smoke toward the ceiling, “Then ship you off to, I don’t know, wherever you want to go.” 

He pauses, and turns to face where you still kneel behind him, the only thing left between his face and your body a thin strip of silk. You raise an eyebrow at his blank eyes, before realizing that he has nothing to do with his hands since he managed to put yours down.

You purse your lips at his hesitancy to respond, “That’s what you want, right?”

He remains quiet. Contemplative. Always has been, and you can tell, always will be. 

It’s not as if he doesn’t have things to say. He does. He will. But you are not someone who really inspires him to talk, because you are the police, after all, and old habits really do seem to die hard. 

It would make Kenny laugh if Levi were ever able to tell him that. Not that he wants to speak to him anymore than he already has to, but if he’s really honest, you are right. This is what he wants, and he can’t even ask for it.

You’re no longer frowning by the time you take another inhale of your cigarette, and when Levi glances at you, you offer the stick to him. When he does take it, he realizes that he doesn’t plan on giving it back. 

Besides, the warm smoke feels good in his chest.  

He remembers the first time he picked one out of Kenny’s pockets, and he thinks of every time he shared one with a customer. The thought doesn’t seem to hurt as much anymore, not when he’s smoking with you, at least, and for some reason, he doesn’t seem to know why. 

You begin again, because by now, Levi realizes that you always do.

“Erwin likes you, you know,” you say, finally aware enough to remove yourself from his side of the bed to shuffle through the papers at your tiny desk, “which means that I can finally say I did right by someone.” 

Levi scowls at your words, “What the Hell does that mean?” 

He has never been a man of many words, but he cannot help the outburst. 

“It means that you can go to war for me.” You are laughing again now, any remainder of your frown gone just as quickly as it appeared. “You know, join the Survey Corps and all that shit.” 

His sour face falls soft at the thought, and you smile from your seat, not realizing the weight of your words as you begin to gaze off into the distance of your candlelit room. 

“Maybe I’ll even go with you... Leave this shitty burg for once in my life.”

Levi isn’t looking at you, though. He he hasn’t been for a while. 

He thinks about being a kid again; about the way that the world still seems to be divided into two things, fucking people and living, and how there is only one thing left that he wants. 

It’s great up there, Levi. I’ll take you to see it one day.

He takes another drag of your, no, his cigarette, the smoke now clouding his side of the room, and looks at you… but thinks of his mom, and the way not a man in her family could do her any justice.

“Isn’t that romantic, little Robin Hood?” you laugh when you look at him, the familiar smile on your lips suddenly more weary than he’s ever seen it. He wonders if you know what it’s like to make a sacrifice for love, and if you’ve ever had to fight just to live. 

You don’t really seem like the type.

And although you remain in your daze, as you raise a new, unlit cigarette in his direction as if to say Cheers, even Levi can admit that he’s just a little bit excited at the thought of finally being free. 

[recentanimenews]

Birdie Wing: Golf Girls’ Story – 05 – Deep in the Sand Trap

In a rather nasty twist of fate, the land for a new casino that Eve was golfing for on behalf of Catherine is the very land on which her found family presently squats. I had assumed Klein owned the bar they live in, but nope. We also learn that the three little ones are immigrant orphans who will be deported. Eve can’t help but think she’s responsible for potentially destroying her family.

She visits Rose to voice her outrage, as Rose most certainly knew full well that Eve’s fam lived on the future site of the casino. But Rose has no sympathy for Eve; she did her a favor by letting her play against Aoi, while Eve repaid it by beating Vipére. Eve goes over everything that’s happened in the episode so far, and decides that the solution to this crisis is, of course, hitting a ball with a stick…in a way only she can.

As luck would have it, Vipére just happens to stop at the very spot Eve is doing her reflecting. Eve asks for golf betting gigs, but if Snake Woman had any, she’d take them. After she lost to Eve, Nicholas took everything she had (except, oddly, her Morgan roadster…). I must say, the speed with which Vipére became a comic book villain to a charming and likeable (temporary?) ally to Eve is truly impressive.

Aoi’s sole scene in this episode is a brief one, as we follow her on her extended press junket. The scene makes clear two things: 1.) No matter how cutthroat the Japanese high school golf circuit is, Eve has a lot more shit to deal with than Aoi, and 2.)  Eve is still foremost on her mind, so much so that she confuses journalists by insinuating she lost to someone in a tournament she won by 12 strokes.

Much to Catherine’s consternation, Nicholas does not honor their proxy golf deal and assassinates her politician so that the council votes for him to maintain control of the Casino. When Cathy won’t accept a 70-30 split in Nick’s favor, it comes down to another game of golf (though why either party would believe the other again escapes me). One of his underlings is, ahem, good friends with Vipére, who gets the lowdown on the impending game.

Knowing that Eve will give her a better chance of crawling out of the abyss, Vipére basically takes her in (to what I assume is a safe house) and puts her on a grueling training regimen. Or at least the thought it would be grueling; instead, she’s astounded by Eve’s stamina. Turns out Eve already underwent even more grueling training under Leo, the man who taught her how to golf with a lot of tough love.

The name Eve, AKA Evangeline, is the only thing Eve remembers when she suddenly woke up with bandages on her head. She was saved by Klein and Lily, who were then living and working at a brothel at the tender age of 14 and 10, respectively. Eve accepted Leo’s tutelage so she could golf her new sisters out of that brothel and into a life of safety and comfort. But now that life is back on the line.

Back down in her high-tech underground course, Madame Catherine learns that Nicholas, through Vipére, has hired Eve to be his golf proxy this time around, with Vipére serving as her caddy. Catherine, in turn, has picked Rose to be her proxy, and clearly this is something Rose has set up from the beginning…and something tells me she’s immune to Vipére’s stinky charms.

The stage is thus set for the most over-the-top, high-stakes golf game yet: one that may decide whether Eve’s friends have to return to prostitution to survive while the little ones get shipped back to their home countries. As halfway points of cours go, it’s not a bad place to be. I can’t wait to watch Eve potentially struggle but ultimately prevail over a too-arrogant-by-half Rose…and wish nothing but the best for dear, déar Vipére.

By: braverade

[behdahbswriting]

Ship me out of sight

“You don’t know what she’s capable of; she’s got a fucking gun....”

It’s a woman’s voice, or maybe a man’s voice that’s high pitched. Not that I’d be able to tell, and I’m not even sure that’s what was said.  I don’t know anything right now; I don’t know where I am, I don’t know what I did to get here- my head is throbbing, and my legs are burning. I can feel the bruises on my arms, on my ankles, and around my throat.  There’s someone there too, someone lingering around me, I can smell it -the cigarettes and the vodka. I can’t stop shaking and when it goes dark- like someone’s buried me six feet underground- I start to wish I was dead.

*          *          *

Finally, I woke up, sweat dripping from my face, tears coming from my eyes as if I cried in my sleep and my head's still fucking throbbing. I was fine a couple of days ago, but they don’t tell you the consequences of accepting help from the wrong people, the kind of shit that gets you killed. I shouldn't say that though, cause my family tried, believe me, they tried harder to warn me of dying then they did about unprotected sex- which could kill me just as equally.  I never listened to anything though, and I set up a trip by myself. Figured I’d head across the border, I could get across without a passport and just shuffle around from one state to another for a while until I found something- or someone- permanent. So, I didn’t have a plan- first mistake- but I didn’t just go without a plan to keep myself safe. I knew the laws of each state, open carry- licensing, and weapon laws- all of it. I just wanted to be on my own away from all my -imaginative- drama. Which brings me to my second mistake- thinking I could do anything alone knowing damn well how I'm treated out here on these streets and in these neighborhoods. There might as well have been a bounty on my head for $5,000. See, there was a guy who killed a woman a few years back in Toronto and was let out on $5,000 bail- she was beautiful and a mother, and she ended up dead. So that's basically where my mind wasn't. I didn't think of that then, and I'm still trying not to think about it now, but I'm still breathing, aren't I? So I must be thinking of something. My therapist said it's a survival instinct, but I think it's just me making up excuses for what happened to all those people because of me.

*         *         * I can't think a whole lot of anything right now, just staring at the ceiling and remembering when I was listening to my annoying ass sister, as she begged me to stay.  As of now-I'm in a hostel- not a brothel- let's get that clear first off. I couldn't afford a hotel, and those dingy little motels smell like piss and had cockroaches on the fucking walls. Who knows what kind of disgusting diseases were all over those bed sheets? I had about $3,000 saved in my bank account, the majority of it going into luggage, car rental, and bus tickets to get me wherever the hell I want to. First stop was Seattle, don't ask me why- I saw it in that 50 shades movie and I just really liked the skyline. So, Seattle it is, a hostel right by the bridge, you could see the sunrise every morning and see it set every night. It was a girls only hostel- specifically a girls-only sorority looking apartment with no cocaine on the tables and no stocked bar- so no fun. The booking woman looked like a cheap version of the Kardashian clans mother- over made up with makeup creasing in her wrinkles and smelling like every expensive perfume mixed on her skin. I wasn't going to judge her, but I could tell she didn't have much of a life, so in a way, I pitied her at first. The tour was standard- kitchen to cook in, bathroom to bathe and piss in, bedroom to fuck and sleep in, and of course, a living room to not socialize in at all. I took a glance at the other places in the hostel; there were around six rooms not counting the master one, one each with a girl either doing her makeup, watching tv, or eating a cup of noodles on her bed. I couldn't take them- or the scenery- seriously so I just ignored the fact that I was apparently the oldest one there. I'd have to deal with the implications of maturity much later on anyways.

When I first showed up, the rent lady said we could check in for a cost of $200 for a week. An hour later she said I could just pay her $500 up front and stay for a month, I figured It was my best price and best place to settle in for a while since I was running out of money- and fast. I gave the lady $500 in cash and called it a night. Within a few hours of not being able to sleep, I heard one of the girls crying- annoyed I opened my door and looked where it was coming from in the living room. It was the girl who was doing her makeup all fancy; she'd just gotten home and looked a bit roughed up to me. "This is only temporary..." I told myself, don't get into it with these people who wouldn't give two shits if you disappeared tomorrow, just leave them be. I did just that, I put on my headphones and drowned out everything else, I collapsed at some point and woke up to the sun shining directly in my eyes. I looked in the living room, and at the open-concept kitchen right next to it, the same girl was making herself a coffee and seemed to be doing better. I got up, threw a baggy t-shirt on and headed for the bathroom. Within a millisecond I was swarmed by the girls, the youngest ones anyway, they wanted to know why I was alone- did I have a boyfriend/husband and of course- did I hear anything about the disappearances in the city- which was a long pause and a no. I was intrigued but reminded myself to stay within my bounds for comfort and shit.

I can see all the windows and the one door; I can feel the anxiety go straight through me. It starts at my head; first, I overthink- scream? No. run? Fuck no. Punch, kick, bite? -Do you want to be tortured with a hot curling iron again? Then again-I tried my hardest to ignore it, but it kept spreading like a fucking cloud of smoke. It's in my throat and my ears now. I can't hear to be clear I'm deaf, so I shut my eyes-they say canceling out a few senses helps the other ones, so I close my eyes- feel my throat burning like acid was shoved in my mouth- and feel for something with my hands. I felt the footsteps, the clicking of heels and something else- thud-thud-thud-thud-glass breaking- some girl just pissed off the most massive guy here. I can feel the running of her feet, running fast and then it just stops- a louder thud- he must have knocked her out with his gun. My throat dries up and closes; she was young- too young. She was only 14, and she just signed her death certificate for not complying with the john or "daddy." I keep feeling for something- then it spreads in my chest. I sense it carefully- I can't breathe anymore so at this point I'm hyperventilating hoping I'll pass out until they've done what they wanted with me. I feel it spread to my arms, and my hands, then it spreads to my stomach. It burns, I remember the hunger I was feeling earlier, now- I can feel the sickness come over me. That feeling of knowing what's happening and not being able to do a fucking thing about it. I hold my stomach to try and calm it- if I throw up, or if I complain even my stomach feeling sore would be the least of my problems. I'd be forced to clean it and eat it while being whipped with an electrical cord or something worse. The anxiety spreads to my legs now, going past parts I'm trying to ignore, my waist and hips and everything in between. Everything burns as if someone took a blow torch to me- as if I was being made to feel what it was like to survive torturing slowly and surely. I don't feel much in my legs now; the anxiousness doesn't send me kicking or trying to get out of my chains on my ankles. It just makes my legs

I killed them, all of them, or maybe just three of them. I remember what it felt like, the way the gunshot back and almost made me hit my face. The way the shots rang out as I felt them in my hands, arms and my chest. I felt it and saw it, but I didn't hear it, that's why I was still standing. They say when you hear a gunshot at close range your ears start ringing and you can't think for a second; I don't have that problem, so I kept going. I emptied the entire clip, which was apparently ten bullets.

The one guy I recognized him, from over a year ago, he beat me, and I killed him. The other guys, I have no clue who any of them are, I just saw them enter rooms that ended with screaming and crying coming from the girls. I heard the whips, the torture they put the girls through, and that was it. That's all I knew about them- and it was enough- I didn't care about their family, their work, if they were given an honor medal for being in the army, if they were a prestigious doctor or lawyer- they were worthless. They didn't deserve mercy, not from me, not from the women- not from some God people seem to make up in their heads.

The others left and ran- or they were already dead. I didn't stick around to check and see, the only one I care about was Serena.

My brother showed up- of all people, and he's not even my brother anymore, I hardly ever saw him. He was in the army for some time when I was a kid; he used to fly in a helicopter called some birds name. There are pictures of him during his time over there. Now he's forcing me to do the same fucking thing.  I don’t want to survive this shit just to be sent to my death sentence again.

I'm not some fucking moronic little girl who cant handle herself anymore.

He said I have to go to Chicago and enlist, or I’ll go to jail, or I’ll end up dead.

Sounds like a never-ending five-way street to ending up assaulted by more men and beat to death if you ask me, but of course he didn’t.

I don’t know what he's trying to do but I'm in this stupid fucking uniform now and we’re on our way. I said I wasn't going to cry, cause soldiers don’t show emotion unless someone dies, but I feel like I did. I died back there, I survived, but that part of me that was still human is fucking gone now. It's like my soul or spirit or whatever the fuck you want to call it, is floating around somewhere waiting for me to go looking for it but I cant do that. I'm fucking gone; I killed people, I reduced myself to having no more humanity left, so this last stop, this drop off the face of the earth- it's all I've got left, and it's my only chance at "normal."

The one thing I swore id never do was to take another person's life, but those criminals weren’t people, they weren’t human, they were there to rape, beat and kill all the women who were with me. They were there to kill me too; they knew it would only cost them a little bit of bail money to get off scot fucking free. I keep saying I didn’t think about it; I didn’t even think about how to fire a gun and how to aim it. I just did it, and now I'm stuck in a hot ass car on my way to Chicago with the only person who could find me alive. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be anybody? It’s a fucking joke; I should have just let them kill me when they had the chance. If I did...nobody would be dead and I wouldn't be on my way to another shit show.