#but I like having my sense of empathy so give it back fuckers I miss what loving people feels like

[star-ocean-peahen]

oh i don’t like this I don’t like this at all

i took a decongestant today and it’s being Really Weird because all my thoughts are round and soft and I’m not constantly aware of all stimuli and my thoughts keep stopping and starting and I can daydream for hours and hours without moving but I can’t make myself think about other people or plan for anything and I kinda feel like I’m not all here and did I mention the worst part:

i!! cant!! stim!! anymore!! none of them are comforting like they used to be and im not falling apart right now because this state of mind makes me feel nice and not need them and i felt exactly this way for years a few years back this is so fucking weird

[babybatscreationsv2]

The Nest pt1

Marvel | Starker

Tony has been hiding from the vampires for years, but when Peter decides that he wants him they take him easily. Now he must learn to survive being a vampire’s pet. There is no escape from the nest.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings under the cut

warnings: kidnapping, noncon, thoughts/mentions of suicide, blood drinking, drugged sex, mind break, stockholm syndrome, dehumanization bdsm

The chains rattled. They shook and clanged against the bed frame. Tony grit his teeth, glaring at the eyelets that had been welded to the frame. He never imagined it would be him. Never in most sadistic nightmares did he dream of this. Ten years ago was the war. Well, the term war was laughable. They had been well organized, the bastards. What little intel the resistance had, suggested that the bloodsuckers had been hiding underground for centuries. Until they realized how easy it would be simply stop. All at once, they flooded the streets. They killed millions. Others were turned. Some were taken. Only the most beautiful, the most talented, the most admired of humans were left alive. Only the most desirable went missing. All the rest were bodies on the ground. The streets had been littered with corpses. Ten years later, Tony still came across human remains while out scavenging: bones, corpses that had been trapped indoors left to rot. The vampires had no empathy for humankind. To make matters worse, so much of humanity had begun to bow to them. They tended farms and ran factories. The vampires commanded them to make whatever goods were necessary for human life. Then they lined up to have blood drawn, payment for their lives. They were slaves, blood banks, livestock. They worked and they bled and they reproduced. People like Tony, people who weren't afraid to die, they were the ones hiding underground now. In the very same caves and caverns as the bloodsuckers who stole the Earth. So no, Tony never imagined that he would be caught. Not because he thought he was stronger than them, but because they kept only the most beautiful. Tony was an old man, graying, wrinkled around his eyes. What did a vampire want with him? Humiliation? They had grabbed him. Dragged him through one of the shining towers they had built. They cleaned him up, checked his blood for disease. Then they left him, both hands chained to this bed. He could hear voices all around. The space was open, only thin white curtains hung around him. When they brought him in, he saw that the entire floor was open in the same way, just beds surrounded by thin sheets. He heard crying, begging, moaning, screaming. And he knew what those fuckers were doing. He just didn't understand what he was doing there. After hours left alone, someone finally stepped through the curtains. The vampire was skinny, pale, with curly brown hair and too big eyes and the softest most inviting lips. If Tony didn't know better, he would think he was an angel. He came to stand at the end of the bed. As he stopped and looked at him, he became statute still. Tony's skill crawled. "What the hell do you want with me?" The vampire continued to watch him. Tony tugged again on his chains, snarling. "Just kill me already!" The vampire moved, gracefully bending to kneel at the end of the bed. He reached forward with long fingers and touched his cheek. Tony thought that was it. The thing would snap his neck and feed on his blood and it would be over. "What are you called?" it said. It's voice was sweet, on the high side, but masculine still. A parody of a young man. "You're worst nightmare, darling." Tony turned and snapped his teeth at his hand but the creature moved too fast. Then Tony gasped, pain crackling through his face. He hadn't even seen the thing move to slap him. It stared at him blankly. "What is it you believe is going to happen? Will you escape those chains? Kill me? Flee the tower?" "All three. In that order." It was still again, observing. Only it's lips moved and it was uncomfortable to watch a human face speak without emoting. "You will do none of those things. I would advise you to let such thoughts go. I have watched men go mad trying and failing and struggling. It is no use." "Because you're stronger than us?" The vampire smiled and Tony's stomach knotted. "The only thing you have that I don't is hot flesh." "Why am I here?" "Because I want you to be. Because you have value to me beyond your death. Don't go getting any silly ideas, though. If you cause trouble, I won't simply kill you. There is no escape. Not even death." "What does that mean?" "It means that I'm going to ask you to do things that you don't want to do and you will quite predictably deny me. When you do, you will be punished. Through pain, through food withheld, through whatever means I desire. But I will never kill you and you will never find yourself in a position to take your own life." Tony scoffed. "I've suffered a lot worse than you." Again the vampire smiled. "I do hope you can obey well enough that I won't have to break you. I don't like dolls as much as the others." "Feel free to try. I'm not your plaything." The vampire came crawled closer. Tony backed himself against the head of the bed. The position left him enough slack to throw a punch, but his wrist was caught in a delicate hand. He swung with the other to the same effect. Gripping tight both of his wrists, the vampire pulled him down until it knelt over him. It squeezed until Tony felt deep bruises forming, until he wondered if his bones would snap. He breathed hard through his nose, teeth grinding together. "What is your name?" it asked him, softly, sweetly, as if it weren't hurting him. "Tony," he groaned. It relaxed its grip, though it still held him tightly. It leaned down, growing closer to his face. Tony tucked his chin, afraid it was coming for his neck. Instead, it pressed its lips to his forehead. Tony felt warmth in his belly. Too long without an affectionate touch. He could vomit. Then it was gone from the bed. "You may call me master or nothing at all," it said. Then it left him alone with only the sound of human suffering through the thin curtains. It was a long time before his heart slowed enough to allow him to rest, but he was tired from running, from fighting, from fear. When he woke, it was not the softness of the bed he felt beneath him. He jumped, but a strong arm around his chest held him down. "Ah, you're awake. You slept a long time," said the vampire. "Let me go!" He struggled, but the arm against his chest might as well have been steel. "No. Might as well relax. Rest with me, Tony." He smiled, pretty and sugary sweet. Tony groaned, but he settled against his chest. No sense in exhausting himself again. "Very good." Skinny fingers stroked his arm. Its hand was too cold to be any sort of comforting. "I hate you." "I understand. Being held against your will must be unpleasant." Tony huffed. "What do you know?" "I lived in the cold and in the dark for so long. I too longed to be free. At least you will never go cold or hungry." "Thanks a lot, I appreciate that. And will that be before or after the blood letting and the rape?" A hand clamped suddenly around his throat. Tony wheezed, air becoming suddenly thin. "Show some respect or you will suffer your first punishment sooner than planned." It let him go and he coughed and choked. His chained hands felt his throat. The vampire trailed fingers over his chest. "You are mine. I don't think I have to explain to you what that means. Do I?" Nails scratched down his ribs. Tony gasped and tried to get away, but there was no where to go. It dug in until he hissed in pain. "No," Tony rasped. "No?" Again it scratched painful lines down sensitive skin. "No, master." He felt a chill and wondered if he was bleeding, but he couldn't see. He felt nauseous. His pride was wounded after such a swift loss. "Good boy," it purred. Its fingers carded through his hair. Tony ground his teeth and stared at the curtain and the shadows that moved beyond. "You'll learn to find a balance you can tolerate. Somewhere between defiant and obedient. You'll find it's the same balance between pleasure and pain." "I don't want any pleasure from you." "Not yet." "Not ever." "My Tony. I can hear you begging for me already. But I waited two hundred years to see the moonlight. I can wait to hear your pleas." Tony fought again, pulling at the chains, pushing against the vampire's arm. It tisked. "Settle." After a moment, he complied. There was no sense in exhausting himself now. "I've been patient enough, letting you settle in." The arm around his chest tightened. A hand gripped his arm and another his chin. The vampire turned his head to one side. Tony struggled, but realized now that the vampire had been giving him slack as he was now fully unable to move anything but his legs. He felt softness against his neck, then the sharp prick of fangs. He gasped and tried again to escape. The fangs burrowed under his skin, bringing pain, but it faded as the creature's toxic venom took over. It numbed his mind, left him in a comfortable haze like no drug he had ever tasted. He calmed. No part of him wanted to fight. He was floating. Yet, he could feel his life draining from his body. He felt the vampire's grip loosen, but he laid limp against its chest. A hand stroked his chest. Lips sucked at the punctures in his neck. It felt good. Like a hickey that was just a little too hard. The pressure at his neck stopped. The haze remained. "You're being so good for me, Tony. It's nice isn't it? Being my blood bag?" it laughed. "I'm gonna kill you," he mumbled. "No. You won't." It nuzzled his neck. "You'll lay in my bed like a whore, counting the hours until I return to grace you with my attention. If you ever learn to please me, I might be good to you. Treat you like a pet." Tony moaned, his head spinning. The vampire stroked his chest like a cat. "Rest now," it said. There wasn't anything else he could do. He woke to the smell of food. He was in a new place. It was a small room. Private. No more screaming and moaning and shadows all around him. There was the vampire. He leaned against the wall. A smooth, pale leg slipped free of his long, gray, robe. He watched him with rich brown eyes and a neutral expression. Tony sat up. His feet touched the cold floor. The only covering he had was the thin blanket in his lap. His hands were still bound and chained to the head of the bed. His stomach rumbled. "Hungry, pet?" "Thought I had to earn being your pet." The vampire smiled. "You do, but I thought the best way to convince you that you want it, is to show you how good it can be." "Is that why we're here?" "You seemed uncomfortable being on display. Don't misunderstand, I will take you to the nest whenever I please. For today, I have gifted you privacy." "How kind-" Tony choked, eyes wide, heart pounding. The vampire had moved so quickly he hadn't seen it. Now it had him by the throat, pressed down on his back it hovered over him, noses almost touching. "The correct response is 'thank you, master'. Or would you prefer I had you in the nest, screaming on my cock, like a worthless toy?" Its nails bit into his skin. "Thank you, master," Tony rasped. He sucked in a breathed as it relaxed its grip. "Good, pet." Its hand wandered down his bare body. Tony pulled against his chains. He squeezed his thighs together as that hand dipped down too low. "Buy me dinner first," he grit through his teeth. "You are dinner," the vampire laughed. His fingers teased the back of his thigh. His skin tingled. Its tongue swiped over his mouth. Tony shivered. "Am I so undesirable?" It was teasing him and Tony wasn't going to be baited. They both knew how his skin was growing flushed. How his cock had thickened, just enough to suggest interest. The creature was beautiful in a way that couldn't be real. Yet, here it was, violating him. "No one looks beautiful when they're attempting to rape someone." "Oh, Tony," the vampire rolled its eyes. Its nose touched his cheek and he felt its breath as he went down until his lips brushed his ear. It felt good. Really good. He wanted to cry. "I am not bound by your mortal rules." "Be-because we're less than you." Tony took a breath. "And no one calls it rape when someone fucks a goat." The vampire huffed. "You can be livestock or you can be a pet. How you view this life is up to you. Make no mistake about escaping it. You won't." It releases him, turning away to a counter at the opposite wall. "Are you hungry?" "No thank you," Tony snarled. The vampire turned and Tony's stomach rumbled at the sight of food. He held a tray of fruit and biscuits and some sort of rolled omelet. An awfully delicious looking meal to feed a pet. How much did this vampire want him to behave? How much could he earn by playing his game? Could he be granted enough privilege to escape? The vampire sat down in front of him. It rested the tray on its own lap. When it offered him a strawberry from its own fingers, Tony took into his mouth without complaint. It fed him the whole tray and Tony took each bite obediently. And when the vampire left him alone, he cried. Days passed this way, though time crawled along. The vampire fed him his meals and fed from him every few days. The pleasure of its bite grew each time. So did the pleasure of its company. Still, Tony waited for an opening. Then the vampire took him by the hand to led him back to the nest. The halls were bare white, unmarked. The vampire must have had some other way of navigating. Tony counted six halls, then a turn to the right. Turn left down the second hall. Then into an elevator on the right. They went up to the top floor with no indication of which floor they had come from. The place was built to be a maze, trapping any human who escaped a vampire's clutches. Any unmarked floor in that elevator could have been the ground level. And even then, vampires could fly when humans could not. There may not be a way out at ground level. Anxiety tightened Tony's chest. He pressed a hand over his heart. He felt it beat, strong, but too quick. He was alive. He could get out still. He could find a way. They reached the top. The doors opened. They passed another vampire leading a young woman into the elevator. It gave his master a sneer before stepping inside. The woman followed looking curiously at Tony. He looked at the vampire beside him, but nothing showed on his face. What reason would other vampires have not to like him? His small size, his more delicate figure, his taste for old men? The vampire pushed open a curtain and they stepped through. Tony tried to block out the sounds. Someone was crying today. It put him on edge. The curtain closed and he was caught around the waist. He turned his head away as the vampire pressed kisses down his jaw. His teeth scrapped his neck and his knees wobbled. He was backed into the bed. They fell back, the vampire on top of him. It pressed kisses and soft bites all over his skin. His head spun with the memory of its venom. Somehow he missed it when the vampire kissed his lips, but then he was there, holding Tony down by his wrists while he kissed him. It felt good and it had to be the vampire venom or the fact that he had no other contact in this world or just that he hadn't been touched by another being in years since running and hiding didn't leave him with many friends. With the vampire pressed between his legs and their lips moving together, Tony felt his body take interest. He twisted away with a disgusted sound. The vampire smiled. "Why resist when you desire me?" It was true. He hated himself but it was true. The vampire was, by appearances, every bit the sort of man he might have taken to bed. Gorgeous and slim. He would been just as lovely beneath him as on top. "Because you're a murderer." "Most humans aren't worth keeping. Your kind kill each other as much as any vampire does. Even now, as your world ends and vampires reign, you're still out there killing and raping and stealing from each other. And then here you are, disgusted by me doing the same." "In my defense, I find humans who do these things equally as disgusting." The vampire's thigh pressed against his cock. A shiver went through him but he made no sound. "This doesn't seem disgusted." "I can't help what my dick decides to do without my consent." The vampire still smiled. It still looked so damn satisfied. "You're everything I hoped you would be." "What are you-" Tony started, but the vampire was done talking. It bent its head and bit into his neck. Tony moaned. His head spun. His thighs squeezed the vampire's waist. Their hips ground together. Tony panted, pleasure climbing. He felt life leaving his body, cold on his skin, but each swipe of the vampire's tongue on his neck, the suction of his lips, might as well have been on his cock. The vampire encouraged his pleasure. A hand slipped between his legs to cover his cock and give him something firm to rub against. He couldn't stop himself. He came and he moaned loud and shamelessly, adding to the cacophony of human pleasure around him. "Good boy," the vampire purred. "Good pet." Pleasure curled through his system. He let his eyes fall closed. He let himself be warm and comfortable for a moment. Then fear struck him. He'd let himself fall into its trap. He'd let himself become vulnerable. With wide eyes he looked up at the little vampire. It smiled, much too happy and much too sweet. It lifted its cum soiled hand and licked it clean, tongue running over his palm and his long, skinny, fingers. Tony felt his cock twitch against his stomach. The traitorous, evil, thing. "Was that so bad, Tony?" it cooed. "I hate you." It caressed his cheek. "That's okay. I don't need your love." Its fingers tangled together with Tony's. He tried to pull his hand free and couldn't. Grinding his teeth he struggled, but the vampire simply lifted his arms and bit into his wrist. The pain felt good. It sent a rush through him before the venom even hit. Watching the vampire feed... he was beautiful. His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks and he moaned softly at the taste of his blood. He opened his eyes, watching Tony's face as he licked the blood from his skin. He sucked lightly, pulling more to the surface with lazy, indulgent, pulls. He didn't take much. Just enough to make him buzz with pleasure. Just enough that he was hard again, impossibly quick. The vampire pressed it's slender form between his legs. Tony whimpered, helpless, feeling its cock against his ass. He could only lay there, feeling heavy, waiting as it prepared to take him. It didn't hurt as badly as he expected. His venom-hazed mind even enjoyed it. He felt full and stretched and that dammed creature's cock rubbed against his prostate and sent pleasure rushing through him. "Good pet," it purred. Tony moaned helplessly. The vampire above him was beautiful and strong. He felt completely the opposite. When it kissed him, he kissed back, lost to pleasure and helpless to its desires. It fucked like it wanted to break him. Or perhaps, it didn't realize its own strength. Either way, Tony couldn't speak to complain. He laid there and he moaned and he took what he was given. He panted as the vampire pressed kisses against his neck. Everything felt too good, like biting into a cake that's too sweet. Sickly so. It grew to be too much. And he passed out before it was done.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 31

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 31: Kate dances again and reunites with Alfie before receiving a promising telegram. 

                       The floor looked freshly polished. Light from the floor to ceiling windows caused the hardwood to gleam. And the floor was so expansive. There was so much space with very little furniture to get in the way. It had been so long since she had space, room to move around, stretch her limbs.

            She’d been raised in the city. A poor girl in a poor neighborhood, Kate was accustomed to the claustrophobic nature of living in the heart of any city. Every day she went to her neighbor’s house and warmed up by pushing the furniture to the walls so she could have enough space to practice. Even then, she often bumped into things.

            Then she auditioned for the ballet company in a studio downtown. One with a proper barre and proper flooring. She had never danced so well.

            When she first danced on stage, it felt like the whole world was hers.

            Then the feeling was taken away and she retreated to her small spaces. A small flat in Paris. A crowded dressing room where she would stretch. The dancefloor packed with dancers and patrons. Her small flat in Birmingham, the banister used as a barre. Then finally back to Boston, ever the familiar feeling of being suffocated.

            Now, she stood in the ballroom of Arrow House. Suddenly, she was offered all this room and for a second she didn’t know how she would fill it all.

            A bit timid, Kate walked in and set her ballet shoes down on the well-kept floor. A gramophone had been brought in, at her request and was waiting in the corner by the windows.

            She went to the gramophone and found a few records piled neatly on the cabinet against the wall. She hadn’t specified exactly what music she wanted, but instead just said anything classical. Shuffling through the records, her heart soared when she landed on Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake. Her neighbor would make her practice to the music nonstop, insisting Kate was destined to dance the swan’s role.

            After warming up, Kate carefully tied her shoes, the motion so familiar it was as if she never stopped dancing at all. It wasn’t particularly comfortable getting back into pointe, but she knew she needed to work through the discomfort.

            She returned to the gramophone and started the record. Although she couldn’t remember the number in full, she could pick out a few moves that she recalled. And it seemed the years of dancing at the Moulin Rouge and stretching in her little flats had paid off somewhat. She felt as flexible as she was in her prime. And she had remembered the techniques her neighbor barked at her for hours on end.

            When she felt brave enough, she tried a fouetté. It proved to be a bit too much and she stumbled on a turn. Catching herself, Kate couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at what her neighbor might say if she had been there.

            “Weak! Again! Do it right or do not do it at all!”

            Kate smiled to herself and tried again. It was still shaky, but much better than before. When she stopped, she noticed Tommy was standing in the doorway of the ballroom.

            “Oh, Tom, I thought you were out.” She felt her cheeks go a bit red as she went over to turn off the gramophone.

            “I just got back and heard music in here. I was hoping I could catch a bit of you dancing.” He walked in.

            “I’m really out of practice.” She admitted sheepishly.

            “It looked good to me.” He met her in the middle of the room.

            “That’s because you’re not a trained ballerina.” She reminded him.

            He chuckled. “Yeah, I could never do any of that.” He took her hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve danced.”

            “Did you used to?” Kate could vaguely recall a few moments when she might’ve caught Tommy dancing. For sure, it had to be with Grace. Maybe at the Derby or perhaps even their wedding, but Kate wasn’t too sure. The past seemed such a blur those days.

            “I think the only person who really got me to dance was Greta Jurossi.” He mused.

            “Who was Greta Jurossi?” Kate lifted his arm so she could do a small spin under it.

            He smiled though there was sadness in his eyes. He led her into another spin, wincing a bit at how painful the pointe shoes looked. “She was the first girl I ever loved. I lost her to consumption before I went to the war.”

            “Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry.” It was devastating to know that no matter how well Kate knew him, she still didn’t know the true root of all his pain. It could have been blamed on luck. Maybe his family just had no luck when it came to love. In a way it was hard to understand his persistence. So many times, he’d loved and lost. Yet, he continued to allow himself to explore another relationship.

            “Yeah.” He sighed. “It was a long time ago though.” As per usual, he wasn’t willing to accept sympathy. “I don’t understand how that doesn’t hurt your feet.”

            Kate smiled. “It takes a lot of practice. It’s painful at first but you learn to tolerate it. And soon you don’t feel anything.”

            Tommy nodded absent-mindedly. He had some idea of what that was like.

 ~~~~~~~~~~ 

            “Miss Lynch.” Ollie looked pleased to see the woman walking towards the bakery.

            “Hello, Ollie.” She smiled. “Alfie’s expecting me I hope.”

            “Yeah, you can go right in.” He opened the doors for her.

            Her heels attracted attention from the distillers but when they lifted their heads, they averted their eyes quickly. They would discuss the return of the American woman, but not until she was out of the room and they were absolutely sure Alfie wasn’t near either.

            Alfie smiled when Kate entered his office. “There she is.”

            “Good to see you, Alfie.” She greeted warmly.

            “London ain’t been the same without you, love.” He chuckled and sat down behind his desk after greeting her.

            Cyril trotted up to Kate when she sat too. “Hello, handsome boy,” She cooed and ruffled his ears. “I’ve missed you too, yes I have.”

            “M’glad you’re here safe and sound,” Alfie said with a rare tone of empathy and concern. “’Course no one was more worried than our dear Tommy, but I’m sure he told you that.”

            “Well, I appreciate it. I’m just glad to be home.”

            “So, everything wrapped up back there then?” Alfie posed a question that sounded innocent enough but of course, was meant to pry.

            “I’m guessing Tommy wasn’t too forthcoming on the matter.” She surmised if he was asking for the story.

            “Of course, he didn’t, you know him.”

            Kate sighed. She hadn’t exactly said out loud what specifically happened to anyone. But she trusted Alfie to accept the story for what it was. She understood Tommy had heard enough and telling him more would only further anger him and deepen his guilt.

            “He caught me talking to Tom on the telephone. He started to…he said he was going to kill me. So, I killed him before he had the chance.”

            “How did you leave the scene?” Alfie wasn’t about to clutch his pearls at what she told him. This was his job, and he could get technical about it if he wanted to. And in Kate’s case, he wanted to because he wanted to ensure what she did wouldn’t catch up to her in the future. Of course, if it did, he wouldn’t mind going to arms for her even if it meant having to work alongside Tommy.

            “I made it look like someone had killed him and kidnapped me. That’s what his men think still as far as I know. I have someone there who is going to help spread the rumor and give it some validity.”

            “Clever lass.” Alfie looked proud of her. “Good riddance to ‘im, yeah, fucking deserved it.”

            Kate didn’t look vindicated or happy with herself. “He just…” She picked at her fingernails. Alfie had been a confidante to her in the past, but she wasn’t sure how well he could help with what happened in Boston. She might’ve felt more comfortable speaking with Polly or Ada about the matter, but Tommy’s family was a tricky situation and she didn’t want to complicate things.

            Alfie picked up on her discomfort and knew there were things she hadn’t said that were on the tip of her tongue. “Whatever he did, right, it don’t take away from who you really are.”

            She shook her head. “I just…it’s affecting my relationship with Tommy because I can’t get over happened. And I can’t explain it properly to Tommy because I know he only blames himself even if it wasn’t his fault. I can’t tell him otherwise. So, I feel like, there’s nothing I can do but sit with how I feel.”

            “It don’t help that the fucker’s rotting now?” Alfie asked. Perhaps it varied, but he knew he got a satisfaction whenever he put someone who wronged them in their place. Whether it was metaphorical or Alfie really did put them six feet under.

            Kate shook her head. “I feel it’s something I can’t shake. I-I’ve gotten better about being around Tommy but when I’m with him. I still feel like people can see it on me. I know that makes no sense but people know what happened and I can only assume they can guess the outcome. It’s like they can see it written on my face or something.”

            Alfie frowned; his brow furrowed. “Is he the first man you killed?” He asked, not sure if they’d ever discussed the topic before.

             Kate’s mouth opened slightly. No more lies, there was no point to continue lying. She had come clean to Tommy. “No.” She admitted. Although her death count was very low, probably compared to the men she ran with her entire life, it was still much more than a normal woman. “It’s not about me killing him. I don’t care if people know about that. I care if people know that he-” She tilted her head to the side hoping he would pick up on her hints so she wouldn’t have to say it out loud.

            “He took advantage of you.” Alfie nodded. He could understand Tommy’s anger. Kate had become like a sister to Alfie, he thought very highly of her. And no one messed with Alfie’s family blood related or not.

            Kate wrapped her arms around herself. “You think I’ve been through enough that it wouldn’t bother me.” She tried to laugh bitterly but couldn’t force herself to.

            “Don’t say that, Katie. You can allow yourself to be hurt, right? That fucking monster hurt you and you deserve to be upset. Deserved to kill him too, so don’t ever feel guilty ‘bout that.” He reminded her. “Now, Tommy, he’ll learn to forgive himself. But don’t try to coddle ‘im. You be honest with him.”

            “I will.”           

            “Good, lass. Now, looking to the future, what’s next, aye?”

            “Well, everything’s out in the open now.” She took a deep breath. “So now I’m going to move forward.”

            “You have plans?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Good, so do I.”

~~~~~~~~~

            “Kate?” Tommy caught her coming in through the front door and passing by his study.

            “Hi.” She smiled when she saw him.

            “How was London? Alfie’s well?”

            “Yeah, it was nice to see him again.” She walked into the room to give him a kiss.

            “I’m sure he was happy to see you as well.” Tommy chuckled. “Sure, he was scrambling to make things work when you were gone. You’re crucial to his smuggling operation.”

            “I know, and I make sure he remembers.” She laughed softly, feeling a bit lighter after speaking with Alfie.

            “You’ve a telegram from London.” He sifted through the papers on his desk to hand it to her.

            “Oh, good, I’ve been expecting one.” She took it from him and scanned the typed letter with a nod. “Good.”

            Tommy sat back in his desk chair; his fingers laced over his stomach. “Good news?”

            “Yes, and it pertains to you as well.”

            He raised an eyebrow. “Aye?”

            “While you mend your relationship with your family, you should be looking for allies. Especially since Luca Changretta is still a threat you need to keep mindful of.” She started, proposing the business plan she thought of a few days earlier.

            He nodded. “Okay.” Letting her continue.

            “There’s a gang in London known as the Forty Elephants.”

            A skeptical look began to form on his face. “I’m aware…”

            “I’ve reached out to their leader, Alice. Just to meet up. I think it’s something you should consider. You’re looking for territory in London, looking for allies, and Alfie’s neutral with them.”

            Tommy’s doubt was mixed with amusement. “They’re a petty shoplifting gang.”

            “They’ve chased out four independent gangs in the West End. They were allied with Elephant and Castle but as you know, Sabini’s been getting the upper hand over them recently. I think you need to step in. Alfie’s allied with Elephant and Castle, but if you absorb them and aid the Forty Elephants, you gain control over West End and your tie with Camden Town is much stronger.”

            His mirth faded as he realized Kate was elaborating on a very solid plan. “You’re confident about this?”

            “Very.” She looked pleased that she was getting through to him.

            He smiled and shook his head with a look of awe. “God, I’ve missed your wits.” He said affectionately.

            “It’s good to be able to use my wits again.”

            He chuckled. “Alright, send a telegram back to Alice, tell her I’m willing to meet with her. You’ll be with me, of course.” He arranged. “Now, c’mere.” He grabbed her hand to pull her onto his lap so he could kiss her.

//The title IS Roguish WOMEN. So prepare yourselves my friends. For the forty elephants. 

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @giftofdreams @biba3434 @kimmietea @karmezii @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe

Tag list: @radical-gecko @actorinfluence @meltingicequeen @merlettina

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[rahorak]

@anonymous:  what’s something you love about each of your ship partners? the muns and muses :)

Yoo  this  is  such  a  nice  little  ask!  I  love  to  gush  about  my  writing  partners  because  to  be  honest?  They  all  deserve  it,  if  anything  for  putting  up  with  my  kicking  in  their  door  with  headcanons  at  random  times  &  other  bs.  I’m  gonna  talk  about  them  all  in  order  of  exclusives  >  mains  >  other.  In  this  essay  I  will

DIANA  /  @moonaspect​​​.

Moon  is  such  a  darling.  We  talk  every  day  over  Discord  &  she’s  become  such  a  big  part  of  my  routine  at  this  point.  I  am  also  a  lonely  fucker  &  am  going  through  some  stuff  at  the  minute  &  she’s  a  great  help!  She’s  so  talented  as  well,  I  cannot  comprehend  how  she  does  what  she  does  with  a  canvas  but  here  we  are.  Thank  you  so  much  for  putting  up  with  my  bs.  I  could  go  on  &  on  but  just  know  that  Moon  has  a  very  special  place  in  my  heart.  She’s  such  a  valuable  friend  &  she  gives  me  a  reason  to  get  up  in  the  morning. . .  Or  afternoon,  depending.

As  for  Diana  she  does  a  wonderful  job  with  her.  She’s  written  her  for  as  long  as  I’ve  known  her  &  it  shows  ——  her  love  &  dedication  to  this  character  is  so  inspiring.  Her  Diana  is  exactly  what  you  would  expect  her  to  be,  &  especially  since  I’ve  seen  her  RP  her  for  so  long,  she  just  feels  canon  to  me.  You  can’t  have  Diana  without  angst  &  Moon  has  taken  this  to  the  next  level  at  times  but  as  a  fellow  angst  lover,  I  love  to  see  it.

✦   Favorite  things:  Moon’s  voice  &  Diana’s  resilience.

SORAKA  /  @starthieve​​.

Nix!  Oh  gosh  I  could  talk  about  Nix  for  hours  but  I’ll  try  to  keep  it  short  &  sweet.  We  also  go  way  back,  you  see.  Words  cannot  describe  how  much  I  love  this  woman,  as  we’ve  been  through  hell  &  back  together  &  even  to  this  day  she  continues  to  be  one  of  my  best  friends  who  always  has  my  back.  We  don’t  plot  as  much  as  we  used  to  but  I  honestly  miss  that  ——  I  miss  coming  up  with  stupid  scenarios  &  screenshotting  them  to  pester  the  rest  of  our  friends  with  for  eternity  afterwards.  We  need  to  make  more  doodles  together  too.  I  love  you  Nix,  let  there  never  be  a  doubt  in  your  mind  about  that.

Her  Soraka  is  honestly  a  big  mood.  She  is  so  loving  &  giving  &  I  always  just  imagine  Nix  &  Soraka  to  go  hand  in  hand  cause  they’re  both  such  empathetic  sweethearts.  I  will  never  shut  up  about  Nix’s  writing  &  how  beautiful  &  graceful  it  is  to  read.  Even  her  headcanon  posts  are  so  well  put  together  &  even  though  she  isn’t  posting  much  at  the  minute  I  love  to  see  her  pop  in  every  once  in  a  while  with  a  meta!

✦   Favorite  things:  Nix’s  &  Soraka’s  big  hearts.

ASHE  /  @arrowdeft​​.

Kirin  is  so  talented  my  heart  skips  a  beat  at  times  when  I  read  their  writing!  I  don’t  know  much  about  them  on  a  personal  level  other  than  they’ve  been  going  through  some  rough  times  lately  &  I  really  hope  that  my  small  contributions  to  the  ship  helps,  even  if  just  a  tiny  bit  at  times.  I’ve  been  enjoying  reading  their  content  for  Kai’sa  as  well,  though!  They  seem  to  have  a  very  interesting  &  realistic  take  on  her  so  far  &  I  love  me  some  of  that.  Also  pretty  graphics  10  /  10.  My  door  is  always  open  if  you  need  anything,  Kirin!

Kirin’s  Ashe  is  just  perfection.  She’s  the  right  amount  of  stern  &  soft.  She’s  so  stubborn  &  I  love  her  for  it.  I  can’t  help  but  root  for  her  honestly.  &  when  they  write  for  her  it  just. . .  Everything  makes  sense  ——  why  they  chose  Ashe  as  a  muse  &  it’s  so  lovely  seeing  her  come  to  life  the  way  she  does  in  Kirin's  hands.  You  just  can’t  help  but  admire  Ashe  for  her  achievements  &  her  overall  character.  When  Kirin  writes  for  her  she  feels  so  regal  &  composed,  but  also  down  to  earth  at  the  same  time  which  is  a  wonderful  combination.

✦   Favorite  things:  Kirin’s  ideas  &  Ashe’s  devotion.

LUX  /  @lightweaved​​.

Liv  aaa  (  Or  Star,  which  is  a  super  cute  pen  name  by  the  way.  )  is  first  of  all  GORGEOUS.  Second  of  all,  is  someone  I  wish  I  spoke  more  to!  But  to  be  honest  that’s  on  me,  mostly.  Thinking  about  it  I’d  actually  love  to  get  to  know  her  more!  She  just  seems  like  such  a  nice  &  warm  person  to  be  around,  idk.  Oh  &  she  has  a  knack  for  making  pretty  graphics!  I like the style  a  lot,  it’s  so  clean  &  readable,  as  is  her  blog.

This  Lux  though.  Is  so  good  &  so  interesting.  It’s  so  interesting  to  see  what  can  be  done  with  Elementalist  Lux  &  I  love  the  inclusion  of  Spellthief  as  well.  It’s  nice  to  see  Lux  being  taken  in  a  direction  that  isn’t  necessarily  what  you’d  expect  for  her  ——  that  she  can  fend  for  herself  so  well  &  that  she  is  willing  to  do  work  as  a  spellthief.  She  also  has  a  super  cute  design.  I  have  a  weakness  for  when  people  personalize  their  canon  muses  to  fit  their  portrayal  better  &  this  is  no  exception  ——  Star’s  Lux  is  simply  too  pretty.

✦   Favorite  things:  Star’s  brightness  &  Lux’s  cheekiness.

KAYLE  /  @unholyshe​​.

Aqua  hits  an  aesthetic  that  hits  my  heartstrings  IRL  &  here  on  Tumblr.  I’m  always  on  the  edge  of  my  seat  when  I  speak  to  her  because  in  all  honesty  she’s  hilarious  as  fuck  &  I  really  enjoy  plotting  with  her.  There’s  just  something  about  the  way  she  talks  that’s  a  perfect  balance  between  dishing  out  actual  plots  &  joking  around  with  it  that  I  love.  God  I  love  Aqua  so  much,  she’s  just  so  funny  &  nice  to  be  around  &  I’m  always  excited  to  talk  to  her!  I  hope  you  feel  better  soon,  though,  cause  depression  sucks  &  I’m  here  if  you  need  anything.  I  hope  you  know  that!

Literally  any  character  that  Aqua  touches  I’m  in  love  with.  I’m  excited  to  RP  with  any  of  them  to  be  honest,  but  to  stick  to  Kayle?  I  love  that  Aqua  isn’t  afraid  to  show  off  her  bad  sides.  That  she’s  given  her  dimensions  &  that  she  feels  exactly  like  Kayle  should  feel.  Even  though  she  puts  Leona  through  hell  I  can’t  help  but  love  them  together.  What  can  I  say,  I  have  a  weakness  for  characters  helping  each  other  grow  as  individuals!

✦   Favorite  things:  Aqua’s  humor  &  Kayle’s  bitchiness.

TIANNA  /  @ofironloyalty​​.

Good  Grace  we’re  here.  Insert  more  name  jokes  here.  She’s  snuck  her  way  into  my  heart  &  I  do  consider  her  a  good  friend!  I  love  waking  up  to  messages  from  her,  whether  it  be  OOC  or  plotting  related.  It  also  always  excites  me  to  read  her  posts  on  my  dash  &  I  strive  to  maintain  a  spot  as  her  #1  fan.  Grace  doesn’t  take  herself  too  seriously  &  I  love  that  about  her,  it’s  so  nice  to  be  around  people  like  that.  She’d  rather  laugh  about  her  own  shortcomings  or  joke  about  which  is  so,  so  refreshing.

I’ve  said  it  before  but  Grace’s  Tianna  is  everything  you  need  Tianna  to  be.  She  is  strong  physically  &  mentally,  steadfast,  a  little  stuck  up  &  of  course,  has  the  willpower  of  a  true  Demacian  High  Marshal.  I  feel  very  lucky  that  I  get  to  ship  with  such  a  lovely  muse  &  mun,  honestly.  Tianna  is  strict  when  she  has  to  be  but  she  is  also  a  big  softie  at  times  when  she’s  allowed  to  be  &  it’s  so  sweet.  It’s  been  great  getting  to  know  both  mun  &  muse,  &  I  hope  to  get  to  interact  much  more  in  the  future!

✦   Favorite  things:  plotting  with  Grace  &  Tianna’s  soft  side.

HONORABLE  MENTIONS.

&  last  but  not  least,  some  honorable  mentions  are  @defyances​​​,  @foxcharmed​​​  &  @blessercoeur​​​  (  Hi  again  Moon!  )  whom  I  have  just  begun  plotting  /  exploring  ship  dynamics  with.  I’m  coming  to  love  the  dynamic  that  each  of  these  pairings  have  &  I’m  so  excited  to  explore  them!  Irelia  &  Leona  is  just  great  content  all  around,  with  a  side  of  angst  in  the  whole  long  distance  thing.  Ahri  &  Leona  is  such  a  wholesome  mess  of  Leona  teaching  Ahri  how  to  Empathy™  &  them  finding  love  in  that  somewhere.  A’ni  &  Leona  are  just  two  hearts  who  beat  to  the  same  rhythm  in  multiple  ways  &  I’m  so  pumped  to  see  them  interact  more  &  getting  along.

Unprompted  asks    /  /    Always  accepting.

[dirtyfilthy]

The Betrayal Of Chelsea Manning By The Coward Adrian Lamo

I have only participated in “cancel culture” once that I can remember. Once, over the broad course of my life, and that was when Adrian Lamo sold Chelsea Manning out to the authorities. Motherfucker has the  sheer gall to call himself a hacker, and then rats someone out — not because of his principles, but from a constant desire for pure narcissistic supply -- and all this from a position of trust no less… 

I was real angry, and I wanted to put the boot in, any way I could. There was a special circle of hell reserved for people like Adrian Lamo… and as it would turn out, he was already in it. 

Amongst petty vendettas like stuffing his wikipedia page with all the well referenced dirt I could dig up, along the way, and kind of by-the-by, I ended up doing a lot of research on the guy, and then, well, the picture of Lamo that emerged… 

Jesus. 

He’s been a hardcore benzo addict since his twenties. If you know what to look for you can tell in some of his interviews, slurring his words and looking very spacey.  He never really had a real job, never broke into the industry he was aways on the fringes of. It’s kinda crazy, if you search for “homeless hacker Adrian Lamo” you can still see what the mass media thought of him before he turned in Chelsea. 

He’d kind of weaselled his way into popular consciousness by being a shameless self-promoter, and then managing to get caught in that spectacular “rebellious teenage hacker” vs. “huge faceless corporation” way that tends to capture people’s imagination. 

There were whole articles about him in Wired. Multiple in fact. Here’s one of earliest from 2004 (unfortunately now behind a paywall), “New York Times vs The Homeless Hacker”. The first few lines can still give you the gist, however

A self-styled security expert and serial self-promoter, Adrian Lamo made headlines as a grayhat hacker. Then the Gray Lady came down on his head. Not long ago Adrian Lamo was exploring an abandoned gypsum processing plant in West Philadelphia with two friends, when a police cruiser drove slowly by. Lamo’s friends were high on methamphetamines…

https://www.wired.com/2004/04/hacker-5/

Even during this phase of his life, a lot of people in the scene didn’t like him. At least, there were people complaining on hacker boards about him stealing exploits and then burning them for the publicity.  In the end he got off with probation and home detention, and that was the end of blatantly hacking into shit. Any more and he would certainly end up in prison. Attitudes were changing, the authorities had stopped seeing hacking as just high-spirited teenage hijinks. and the increasingly severe penalties could land you some serious time. 

After this, he just sorted floated around. He never got job in the industry like the rest of us, and I suspect he may have been  basically unemployable for one reason or another. The next time he popped up in my news feed was in 2010 with a strange article from ex-hacker turned journalist and friend of Lamo’s,, Kevin Poulsen — “Ex-Hacker Adrian Lamo Institutionalized, Diagnosed with Asperger’s” 

The first paragraph or so reads:

Last month Adrian Lamo, a man once hunted by the FBI, did something contrary to his nature. He says he picked up a payphone outside a Northern California supermarket and called the cops.

Someone, Lamo says, had grabbed his backpack containing the prescription anti-depressants he'd been on since 2004, the year he pleaded guilty to hacking The New York Times. He wanted his medication back. But when the police arrived at the Safeway parking lot it was Lamo, not the missing backpack, that interested them. Something about his halting, monotone speech, perhaps slowed by his medication, got the officers' attention

— (https://www.wired.com/2010/05/lamo/)

The article claimed Lamo had been arrested for acting strangely and then institutionalised, basically claiming the police had arrested him because he was autistic. At the time, I didn’t really give this a second thought, “oh well, ho-hum”. As itt turned out, this was a case of the most spectacular kind of “spin” I think I’ve ever seen; the only place the article actually intersected with general consensual reality was in stating Lamo had been arrested and placed on psychiatric hold.

The real story, which is entirely far more pathetic, was that Lamo’s family had become worried about his benzo use (“prescription anti-depressants”) and had cut him off. He totally lost the plot at this point and stormed out of house. Concerned about his mental state, and with fears for his physical safety, it was actually  his own family that called the police to try and find him. 

When confronted about this fairly massive discrepancy, Lamo claimed he hadn’t exactly “lied” as such, and had simply withheld some facts due to personal privacy concerns. 

It was at this point I finally began to see the whole tattered trajectory of Lamo’s entire life — trace the greasy path of his rainbow with my fingertips, and watch as the once bright twine became  increasing gray and frayed as each thread began to curve back towards it’s inevitable impact with the earth, when, at which point, everything important would begin to totally unravel around him.

At his core, Adrian Lamo was a narcissist, and so Adrian Lamo absolutely believed in the Adrian Lamo narrative, as only a narcissist can. Near of beginning of his tale, this was easy to do. He was a wandering Daoist sage, a renegade techno-monk character in a Neal Stephenson cyberpunk novella, and anytime he wanted to see his own reflection he could simply look in any of the major newspapers.  

After his arrest and release, the rest of the world moved on. His peers all settled down to well-paid industry gigs, and you couldn’t just pop the New York Times through an open proxy any longer — well, at least: not most of time, anyway. His own sword, never the exactly the sharpest in the first place, was beginning to show some signs of a serious structural rust. 

Without the constant assurance of people telling his own story back at him, what was he exactly? What did the mirror portray to him now?  An unemployed, semi-homeless drug addict, a hacker who couldn’t hack his way out of wet paper back with pick axe, the tired punch line to any number of bad jokes...   

Of course, the many similarities to my own life were not exactly lost on me. I was basically a case of being a few near misses and unlucky hits away from sitting in his exact position. I had made the transition to an industry career successfully, but I was still a drug addict with mental heath issues.  I had gone through my own narcissistic stage when I was younger, but thankfully grew out of it, the old moons no longer pulled on my tides the way they used to. 

The essential Lamo pattern had began to emerge. Still chasing the same bright stars that had long since sunk beneath the horizon line of the ocean; Lamo would begin to feel irrelevant —  Lamo would get then his name in the media in some fashion. A momentary peace was then achieved, then came a brief period of post-orgasmic. cosmic serenity. 

But of course, the wheel of karma will not stop spinning for anyone, and so, soon enough and all-to-quickly, the entire process of personal renewal, would have to, you know…..  begin anew.

A few other case studies were observed. An unreleased, permanently unfinished documentary featuring Lamo was mysteriously leaked on the internet. Of course, Lamo himself had leaked it. And there was always appearing on various morning television shows, Good Morning America, Fox News & the like.

But then the mother of all opportunities just dropped into his lap.

Chelsea Manning needed someone to talk to. 

Chelsea knew Lamo was Bi, so he was at least in the LGBT community. Adrian was a hacker too. He’d fought against the system in his day, he was certainly someone who would “get it”, she was very sure of this.  And when she did reach out, he was indeed very sympathetic. Honestly, it seemed like he really cared. Just a genuine human being, reaching out across the vast emotional void to provide a sense of empathy to someone who really, really needed it right now.. 

He was very sympathetic when Chelsea told him all about her struggles with gender identity, and he was very sympathetic when she said she was leaking gigabytes of information to Wikileaks…. But behind his sunglasses, Lamo eyes had already morphed into a marquee LED matrix endlessly scrolling his own name. Think of the news coverage!

This was big. This was very big.

It would, in fact, turn out to be fucking huge. Of course, within in the hacker scene, and to a certain extent, even outside it, everyone just fucking loathed him now.  Eventually even the news moved on, nobody wanted any more interviews, and in the end, when everything has already been all said and done: you are ultimately left with only yourself….

… a pathetic drug addict.  Of course, I have to keep telling myself that one point of intersection does not an entire venn diagram or an actual equality make. But I can’t shake the feeling that, perhaps, maybe we weren’t really all that different.  Maybe my own betrayals have had the simple luck of being a lot less public. 

Perhaps my own sins were just as ugly, but far less ambitious. 

Adrian Lamo died alone, from a drug overdose, in a private unit in an aged care facility in Wichita, Kansas.  He was 37 years old. An autopsy showed his kidneys were already failing. 

I guess Sartre got it wrong. Hell isn’t other people, it’s being left totally alone, with nothing else around but the tedious company of your own terrible self, and of course, the fucker won’t stop talking...

So obviously there was nothing more I could do to hurt Adrian Lamo, nothing that Adrian Lamo hadn’t done already. He had long since locked himself away in a prison cell of his own making. I do wonder if maybe one too many silent 3am’s hadn’t come crawling around the clock face when he was there & awake to witness it, lying in bed & staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about things.

Like I’m doing.

Shit, I hope don’t go out that way. 

[home-halone]

I thought I could handle the recordings. I never realized how visceral the reaction I'd get was, just from hearing stories of emotional abuse and manipulation from other victims. I'm in tears for them. I have nothing but empathy and love for these people, and I stand by them but hearing their accounts is just so hard hitting. I'm in tears because I know the exact feeling of being in their shoes. It disgusts me that so many others had experienced this, and that he's neither the first nor the last.

The more I heard about their stories as I clicked to listen to each one, the more I realize how precisely my old situation fits the same pattern. In my case it did not happen on FFXIV and the abuser in question was a completely different person.

I actually used this game to escape my previous MMO.

I don't know if it's appropriate for me to speak up about the abuse I experienced here, or in this situation, if it takes the spotlight away from the here-and-now of it all, but if anything it just reiterates how common it is and how easy it is to miss. So, so easy to miss.

Did you guys know I used to be a healer main? I loved playing support, and I could never bring myself to tank or DPS. I liked helping my friends and working with them.

Did you guys know I used to be wholly content doing casual stuff? I didn't care about endgame, and clearing the latest content. I just wanted to hang out with friends, doing silly things, making a whole army of alts to try new things and classes with. I liked to explore and have fun at whatever pace I wanted and I didn't fucking care if anyone thought it was lame.

But then I met him.

I'd seen Q* around before. He was real life friends with P, someone I played with on occasion, but I had no real interactions with him.

At least not until Q and that friend had a fight, and pretty much left him with nothing. He played the game casually, and ended up borrowing much of P's things. Now that they weren't on speaking terms, he had nothing. I wasn't the richest player or anything, but a friend (who quit playing shortly after) and I offered to give him some in-game money to start off fresh.

Eventually, I saw him around more and more often, and I started to play with him. I invited him to communities I had been a part of, including a very casual weekly group raid group. It was very much less savage and more like extreme primals in terms of difficulty. So it wasn't anything crazy, really.

When we weren't doing that, we were farming and raking in cash for glamour. I thought it was nice because I knew that being P's friend meant he was of a higher skill level than I was. I trusted his opinion and followed his lead basically. Not only that, I really connected with him in a way I hadn't connected with other people. Spending time with him was a lot of fun, and we'd be on Skype for literal hours.

It was the same story. Very charismatic, somewhat flirtatious guy. It was all for fun until he started sounding serious and I found myself very into it even with all the red flags and gut feelings. When I confronted him about the nature of our relationship it moved to us becoming a couple.

But don't tell anyone.

It was a secret.

The same story.

I should've figured it out because a lot of times it felt like he was talking at me instead of to me. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but that's what it was. Consent was a line he would try to push. He would switch from an absolute sweetheart to using disappointment and frustration against me to get what he wanted. He never raised his voice, but he was excellent at making me feel like shit.

If I didn't play well enough. Because "this is so simple". Or if I didn't know where certain items were stored. Even knowing I have problems with my memory. If it turned out he had it the whole time, he’d laugh it off. If it was with me, he’d be so so disappointed and upset and tell me I’m careless.

Q wanted another group to raid with. I get it. He wants to do more, because that's just his skill level. I was in a very casual guild, but they looked up to me as a mother figure, partly because of my age compared to everyone else's, partly because of the character I RPed. I knew I could convince them to play, and it would make him happy.

They were all new, so they weren't like the regular group. But that just made them so malleable for him.

I became stricter and nitpicky towards people who treated me like I was the group mom. I kept the same tone but there was an underlying annoyance. Why couldn't they be as good? Some things are so simple. I started to echo what Q told me. Because if they failed, to Q, I'd failed.

Praises became so hard to come by. Even when I singlehandedly shortlist and fix our raiding roster, when I make literal spreadsheets for schedules and attendance and for the item directory just so I don't forget and I keep things perfect and convenient for him, just so he wouldn't be upset or disappointed. And he would top it off by being sweet and make up for two weeks worth of not spending time with me. He treated me like a retainer. Sometimes worse. I was there to accompany him to dungeons. As far as he was concerned, that was probably all I was good for.

Because when I'd asked to spend time talking, and not playing, I'd just get told that I was suffocating him. Like I was demanding more time, and what we had wasn't enough.

I organized every raid we had, I was raid leader, I called the shots, I pushed a group of casual players into helping me avoid feeling like shit by doing well enough. When it was my fault, I'd be blamed. Even when it wasn't, I'd be blamed. There were times when I had to fill a role we were missing. It couldn't be helped. Not everyone had every class. All Q had to do was show up and do the easiest fucking class. If we'd wipe, he'd ask me why I wasn't on healer. But somehow when I play healer he'd find all the ways to tell me what I was doing wrong. I didn't feel dependable. I always felt like I fell short and I wasn't good enough.

But I had to reassure everyone, I had to remind everyone. Cast this buff when X happens. Use this element for better DPS. I had to keep it all together until he shows up. Even when we'd reached one of the deepest parts of the dungeon we'd never seen before, and I was happy and excited for them, he wasn't. He was just disappointed we didn't clear.

So I became disappointed too.

Somehow, I had hoped it was the stress of school and it would pass. And Q will go back the the way he used to be when he and I first met. It was stupid but it was some sort of blind faith I latched onto. That somehow if I'd endured and if I were the bigger person, he would wake the fuck up. Obviously that wasn't true at all.

It got to the point where I really was just his retainer. Hold this. Go here. Go there. Why are you not producing the results I want? Affection was a reward, or something to quell me when I was upset and not a staple expression. I'd drawn a lot for him, but I'd hardly get a response. When I was kidding around and having fun making silly voices, all he said was "What is that voice? I'm just gonna mute you." And actually did. He was very pushy when it came to intimate stuff, asked for pictures and pictures and all that but showed me maybe two shit quality photos of himself and a 5 minute skype video call.

I could fucking solo heal 11 people and he wouldn't be impressed. He would nitpick me and ask why I hadn't used the right buff at the right time. Because healing is so easy. I would spend 4 hours straight doing some super menial stuff that would get an open-world boss into spawning mobs that you could farm. When I tell him I'd finally accomplished it, he'd check hours later when he wakes up to say "it isn't there anymore" and nothing else. I'd have to hold on but once he's salty he can rage quit at any point he wants.

I would be praised by other people, and I'd have fun without anyone pointing out how poorly I do or what I'm missing. The disparity was so evident but I kept lying to myself.

I gifted him an official comic of one of "our" favorite series via mail. He never thanked me. He complained about how inconvenient it was that HE missed the delivery and now HE has to go to the post office to pick it up.

I never got to read it.

After half a year of enduring this, I'd confided what I'd experienced with my guild, it came to light that he had been abusing them too. I'd realized we'd effectively converted my poor, fun-loving casual guild of friends into a farming mill for profit.

We farmed not for fun, but for profit. It was awful. Some of my friends still never want to set foot in that game again. It's been 4 years since then.

That's when I'd worked up the courage to break it off. Not for myself. It was kinda pathetic that what woke me up wasn't the need to fight for myself, but because he had hurt my friends. The ones who trusted me to guide them. People I'd hurt myself, by pushing them beyond what they really wanted via peer pressure.

Even when I broke it off it didn't feel satisfactory. It just felt like he didn't care. He went, "ah yeah, it's difficult." I mean that response makes sense considering at some point he told me I wasn’t his real girlfriend until I had sex with him lol.

And that was it. He gave back my stuff in game but lol wait remember the part where he knew I had memory problems? The fucker stole some gear from me and took advantage of that. Burn in hell, Q.

I lied about the reasons why I no longer wanted a relationship and made it seem simple, and I couldn't call him out. I didn't want to upset him. I was afraid of the dirt he had on me. I was afraid of what he'd say to me. Part of me is still afraid he has some of these things on me, years and years after it had happened. I never told anyone the full story really.

I moved on to FF at this point and it was a fresh start, with another friend inviting me to play. No one to tell me what was wrong.

But it sticks to you. The bullshit people like Q and Oldbear do to get what they want. If I said that I raid ONLY because I find it fun (and I do find it fun), it wouldn't be wholly truthful.

There's a part of me that still hears his sleazy voice telling me I'm not good enough. What I'm doing is easy. Support is easy.

I wanted to stop supporting and do things on my own ability. So I switched to DPS. I kept pushing the boundaries of my comfort zone to shut the voice up. I am good enough, and I can raid. I'm afraid to try new classes because of that fear of failure he'd inflicted on me.

I've never gone to a therapist because of the costs and the general stigma in the country, so I don't know how deep this has settled within me. But it's enough that I carry that elitist voice in the back of my head telling me I have to do more, more, more and that I'm not good enough.

Sometimes I’m in denial it was abuse and I probably just had a bad relationship with poor choices ;;;; Like I said, he never outright yelled at me, and he never swore at me or called me names, so I did not think it was abusive. But he gaslit me and used my emotional attachment as leverage whenever he could, would put me down but get away scot-free for things he’d do.

Anyway tl;dr emotional abuse is fucked up and downright diabolical and disgusting and victims suffer some repercussions long after they've moved on and fixed their lives, and now several of these women have had the chance to speak out and name their abuser we must give them that closure and draw attention to this very real and heartbreakingly commonplace issue.

[svtskneecaps]

Blink and You’ll Miss It - Part 7

Summary: Sanha’s been a curious shit her whole life. Jackson’s always told her she’s going to get herself killed at some point. She thought that was a bunch of bull, but he might’ve actually been right. She might be in way over her head on this one.

Featuring: A bunch of bull, a lot of cursing, merciless butchering of honorifics, and other things. Essentially, it’s a Comedy of Errors: Story Version.

Warnings: Cursing. Lots and lots of it.

First ~~~ Previous ~~~ Next

Masterlist

Sanha almost slammed the door, almost turned tail and ran for it, almost lashed out. Apparently she needed to get her fight or flight instinct fixed, because she didn’t do anything except stare.

He’d noticed that the door was open, but all he’d done was turn away from her, shoulders shaking. Questions swirled through her head, but the only one that seemed applicable was “What the fuck?” and she accidentally said it in English. Apparently he understood, because his broken breathing changed to apologies.

This was so above her pay grade.

How long she stood there, she had no idea; she wasn’t timing it. She didn’t know what to do. Should she close the door and go one with her mission? She didn’t. She’d probably regret it, but she crouched down, finding a spot next to him and taking a page out of her mother’s book: rubbing circles on his back with her hand. It’d always calmed her down.

BamBam uncurled after what felt like longer than it probably was, swiping a sleeve across his face. He almost seemed scared to look at her. She wasn’t sure if now was when the conversation started. She felt like Poe Dameron, “So who talks first, you talk first? I talk first?” except the situation was completely different.

He pulled in a shaky breath, and her scrambling brain pulled back. “Why?”

“That’s not very specific.” The words dropped from her lips almost without her knowledge. Apparently it was instinct to treat everyone like Jackson when she got nervous and add a little teasing.

“Why are you helping me?” He turned slightly, still not quite facing her.

She didn’t know the answer herself. “Empathy?” The opal ring they’d picked up the hour before enhanced that. Maybe that was her issue. And now she’d die because of it. Sanha, you idiot. She didn’t know what to say. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine now.” She got to her feet and offered him a hand up. With the startled look he gave her, you’d think she was handing him the keys to her house. After a second of hesitation, he took it.

“Kay, but now you have to give me a five minute head start before you kill me,” she joked, fully expecting to not see the sunrise.

To her surprise, BamBam sighed and stared at the floor again. “That’s the other guy’s job.”

He’d hit her weakness. Her interest was piqued. She was already dead at this point; she might as well go out doing what she loved. “Other guy?”

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve got a twenty minute power point presentation all about why you should tell me anyway. Title is You Never Know Until You Try.” He snorted.

“Okay, fine.” He still didn’t look at her. “There’s another spirit, I guess that the girl summoned to help her. He stole my body with me still in it and he’s been using it.” He finally met her eyes. “I’m sorry about your friend, by the way.”

She surveyed him, a couple quick once-overs, and nodded. “I believe you.”

That obviously shocked him. “You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Nope.” There’d been a change of plans. Forget the initial mission; she had the sneaking suspicion it wouldn’t make sense to continue with it anymore. She shook her head. “We need to leave.” Ignoring the confused look on his face, she moved to the door.

If Sanha had thought the other three were bad at moving their bodies, BamBam was worse. I twas no fault of his own, of course. He hadn’t even had the limited freedom the other kids had as semi-free roaming spirits. He probably hadn’t moved on his own in fifty years. That didn’t change the fact that he was walking like a baby giraffe, but it was cute.

They only made it to the entryway.

“Sanha!”

She cringed, hearing Jackson’s voice calling out, and turned around reluctantly.

“Get away from him, he’s dangerous; you know that!” Jackson came closer, and she backed away, instinctively moving between him and BamBam. The hurt expression on his face broke her heart, but she wasn’t sure yet.

“Yeah, well, you know me and running towards danger,” she mumbled, taking a few steps back.

“This is different now, you know this. He could kill you!”

He wouldn’t be acting this way. He never had before. Jackson would’ve noticed her actions, would’ve asked what she knew that he didn’t, would’ve done anything else but this. She slipped her phone out of her pocket and lit up the screen.

His eyes were blue.

“BamBam, get out of the building.” She kept her voice light and didn’t look away.

“I’m not going to just-”

“BamBam,” she repeated, “get out of the building.”

He didn’t argue that time. She knew he hadn’t left either, but she heard him move towards the door. She just hoped it was enough.

“Why do you trust him more than me?” Jackson’s voice asked. “Come on, I’m your best friend.”

“No; Jackson’s my best friend.” She stashed her phone back in her pocket, preparing herself. “You’re just some blue eyed dickhole.”

“They’re just contacts!”

She had to chuckle, even though she was 100% terrified. “Checkmate, fucker. Jackson oppa hates contacts. He’s scared of them getting stuck behind his eye.”

His face darkened and he rushed forward, but she was already running. She didn’t bother with vocal instructions and grabbed BamBam’s arm, pulling him along behind her. They didn’t stop running until they were through the fence, and then they just stopped there, catching their breath. Sanha slumped against the fence. BamBam just dropped.

“How’d you know?” BamBam asked after awhile.

“How’d I know what?”

“Any of it.” He rolled onto his back. “That Jackson was possessed, and that I wasn’t.”

“Easy.” She smiled. “Your eyes were blue earlier, like, aggressively blue. And then his eyes were blue in the entryway.”

“You based all of that on eyes?” He squinted at her. “You couldn’t have known what color my eyes were supposed to be.”

“Well the eyes worked for Jackson oppa. And they were only what sealed it for me with you. I had some other bits.” She bounced a little on the chain link fence, letting it rock her a little. “Like how bodies are functionally invincible when they’re not controlled by their matching spirit. A five on one fistfight shouldn’t end in the one winning. I’ll admit,” she added as an afterthought, “I didn’t really think about what it all meant until I saw you in the closet.”

“Thank you again for that.” He bowed his head a little, getting up again.

“Don’t mention it.” She flashed a cheeky peace sign, hoping to get him a little more comfortable. “It’s all in the line of duty.”

He laughed a little as they started walking. “What duty?”

“Nosing into every corner of people’s lives. That’s what my mom likes to say, anyway. My business is everyone else’s business.”

“You should print that on a business card and start a private eye service.”

Her eyes lit up. “That doesn’t sound half bad.”

He grinned at the expression of childlike glee on her face. The conversation fell away for a few steps, but it picked back up as Sanha pushed the door to her own dorm building open. “How are we going to break it to everyone else?”

“I’ll make a power point and wake everyone up in the dead of night to show them.” She rubbed her hands together. “It’s brilliant! The neighbors will hate me, the use of modern technology will confuse most of the kids, and the other two will probably actually kill me. There’s no way the plan can go wrong.”

“I thought you said two of them would kill you.”

“At this point I’m not sure I’m entirely opposed. I’m living on borrowed time~!” she sang, taking long, fluid, waltzing steps down the hall. He shook his head at her antics and trailed along behind.

Luckily for them, the kids crashed in Sanha’s dorm were out for the count. She didn’t have to explain that second. Her phone read 3:42 am, and it had been a week which had been more than eventful.

“Go ahead and crash in the room down the hall and to the right, second door,” she directed him. “Just don’t go rooting around in the stuff, okay?”

“We still don’t know what we’re doing about this,” he whispered back, indicating himself.

“i’ll deal with it when I’m lucid.” She fought back a monster yawn as she spoke. “I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours and I’ve got to figure out how to exorcise my best friend by midnight today. I’ll burn that bridge when I get to it, okay?” She wasn’t sure when she’d slipped into English, but either way the malapropism sounded better in her native tongue.

“I thought it was ‘cross that bridge’.” He frowned in confusion, also speaking English.

“There’s a whole grammar thing involved that I’ll tell you about in a couple of hours if you still want to know.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Don’t worry, I love talking people’s ears off with fun tidbits. Now go to bed.”

“Sure thing mom.”

~~~~~~~

Being a lying piece of trash, Sanha didn’t actually get to sleep for another hour as she searched up how to properly exorcise a person. After coming up with thing, she’d accidentally fallen asleep out of frustration. Needless to say, she was a bit disgruntled when she woke up with her face buried in the arm of the couch.

“Took you long enough,” Jaebum teased when he saw her sit up.

“You sleep like a rock, noona.” Youngjae took his chance and ran away with it.

“Yeah well you try researching for hours.” She covered her mouth as she yawned, setting her laptop to the side before it slid off the couch. She was honestly surprised it hadn’t yet. “And then doing some work in the field too.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Mark noted. The boys were all sat on the floor in a circle around the couch. She wasn’t sure when that had happened, but it didn’t matter.

“Danger is my middle name,” she mumbled in English, moving into the kitchen space to grab a breakfast bar and check the time. She calculated she’d slept for a measly 4 hours. That was more than enough to get her through the day.

Probably.

“We just went antiques shopping.” Yugyeom jumped in. “It wasn’t dangerous.”

She bobbed her head around, singing “field trip” under her breath as she grabbed her breakfast bar.

“What time did you get back?” Jaebum asked.

Yugyeom shrugged. “Around one, I think?”

“Sanha, what did you do?”

She turned around to find Jaebum staring at her. “What d’you mean what did I do?”

“Jackson told me you only get dancey when you didn’t get sleep. What time did you get to bed?”

She shrugged. “Four or five.”

All the sane individuals in the room erupted. She made vigorous shushing noises at them. “Shut the hell up, you’ll wake the kid!”

“We’re all awake.” Jinyoung glanced around the circle.

“Oh yeah.” She hummed, closing the cabinet door. “I may have gone on a bit of a field trip and picked up a straggler.”

“She gets dramatic when she’s tired,” Youngjae stage whispered to the group. She made a face at him and took her spot on the couch again.

“I got back from antiques shopping with Yugyeom and realized that it was dumb to go in guns blazing again.” She figured it would be better to get her motivation out of the way first. “Because five on one somehow wasn’t enough, and I doubt seven on one would be enough either. We needed a new plan, and my best idea was stealth.”

“You went back on your own?!”

“I know, it was dumb, but it wasn’t the worst thing ever.”

Jaebum slapped his forehead. “This is the exact opposite thing Jackson would have wanted!”

“As it turns out, Jackson oppa makes up 90% of my impulse control.” She ignored his mutter of ‘that’s terrifying’ in favor of finishing her story. “And anyway, some good came out of it. I got some info.”

“Info like what?” Jinyoung asked.

More awake, she got down to business, opening the wrapper on her breakfast bar. “We can’t beat this guy by kicking the crap out of him. It won’t work. We have to get him out of the body.”

“Sanha, we’re missing pieces.” Jaebum’s words were muffled by the hands he had still had on his face, but she recognized his meaning.

“Oh shit, right, sorry.” Sometimes she got so caught up in the investigation she’d forget that the people she was working with didn’t have all the bits. “So as it turns out, we’re not up against a demon, it’s actually a spirit. See, it wasn’t actually BamBam in control; that’s why we couldn’t hurt him.” She explained how she’d gotten to the conclusion again and was relieved when nobody questioned her on it.

“So now we have to get the spirit out of BamBam when we get Jackson?” Yugyeom sounded more excited than all of them at the news.

“Actually, no. That there’s a bit of a story, but I actually got BamBam last night. ‘s wild how that works.” She watched as the kid’s face lit up. Ah. Her half baked hypothesis was correct. BamBam was the kid’s best friend. “Let the poor kid sleep though, he’s had a rough night.”

“Is the spirit in Jackson, then?” Mark asked.

“Good guess. Yeah, that’s what we’re working with right now. It’s going to be a little more difficult to get him back than I thought.”

“You already did research, didn’t you?” Youngjae knew her well enough to know that much.

“You bet. Exorcisms are out.” She picked up her notepad and took a bite out of her breakfast bar (finally). She covered her mouth with one had as she kept talking. “They’re just for demons; it’s all about Christ and God and the Lord’s prayer and shit. That’s not going to work for us.” She paused. “As a side note, don’t look up exorcisms at four in the morning. Spooky shit, that.”

“So are we just researching how to get spirits out of bodies now?” Mark’s fingers danced around, slightly anxiously.

“Yeah. There’s got to be a way to do it, since this dickbag managed to do it to you three. We just need to find it.”

“Language,” Jinyoung mumbled.

“Sorry.”

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews… Orange is the New Black (S05E05) Sing It, White Effie Airdate: June 9, 2017 @oitnb Ratings: @netflix Score: 8.75

**********SPOILERS BELOW**********

OITNB has a habit of having white folks tell black folks’ stories… Normally you can kind of sense it right away, but after watching ‘Sing It, White Effie’ I had to look up the primary writer. I’ve talked about this a few times but never on this grand of a stage. I know that this has been addressed by many in previous years including Essence Magazine (which, yes I do read). It’s true that we as human beings, of blood and guts and organs and bones, are for the most part the exact same, sans a few genetic defects that only affect a certain race… And it’s true that some of us in different parts of the world have very different experiences due to environment. For instance, for over a decade in Miami, my only friends have been ones of color… Literally 98% Latin & Black… Despite how other parts of my family live, I live very differently. Growing up a 'sexually fluid’ ginger with a mother who was a very young teenager in high school gave me a vastly different experience than most. I’ve always celebrated my fucking weirdness. In high school I was literally a walking oxymoron, wearing 90 inch GAT pants I stole from the mall or borrowed from my friend, GlowGirl (yeah in the late 90s we all had Rave Names, didn’t you know?), paired with an oversized button up I found in my step-dads closet and a vest from Structure and Brooks Brothers eyeglasses that my Grandmother bought me on a visit… Not to mention spiked up Backstreet Boy haircut (that may or may not have been blue), tousled in the front, and fucking candy and jelly bracelets from the base of my thumbs up past my elbows. What the fuck, right? You’d think I’d look back and hate it, but all I see is a RAD fn’ Rave Star with 'anti-anti’ 90’s culture embodiment… Serving up Rave-Tastic Soccer Playing Prep Freak “on a Lemonade budget”…. Thank you, Shea Coulee!

Diversity has always been a part of my life in one way or another. I love to trade perspectives. I ask questions and offer up personal experiences instead of telling people their way of thinking is wrong, because I want people to understand me and I want to understand them. I truly believe that if we all at least tried to understand each other instead of this 'This opinion is right. This opinion is wrong,’ divisive mindset so many have seem to have adopted as of late the world would be a much better place. That being said, I just wrote a few articles on the 3rd Season of '60 Days In’ and stated there were certain topics I couldn’t completely speak on, even being a diverse ginger gringo faggot or whatever anyone wants to throw my way. On the internet today I was told I have a PHD in Cock Sucking (and other things that literally just look like letters on a page to me) and on the bus just last Monday, I let Snapchat take a quick, disappearing peak at a woman attacking my partner and I on the bus with an umbrella who called us 'stretched out asshole faggot cock sucking mother fuckers that will fry in hell’, I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried. She had gotten a glimpse at my partner helping me on the bus because I have some issues moving around on Monday’s due to some disc issues in the upper parts of my back and went in for the kill when my partner asked if she could please turn the music down that she was blasting from her phone like she wasn’t aware that one can totally sonically invade someone’s space. None of these experiences give me the proper perspective needed to make a complete series featuring an episode that looks through the lens of a woman of color’s standpoint on Culture Appropriation on an all white 'DreamGirls’ production at the 'White School of Rich Bitch Privilege’.

Don’t get me wrong, this is probably the best take on racial issues I’ve ever seen on OITNB. I was moved, accomplished NYC playwright and television writer & editor Molly Smith Metzler, whose worked on two of my favorite Streaming Only series (OITNB & Hulu’s 'Casual’) is a raw talent that streaming networks would be lucky to have work on their exclusive series… But it all still felt like it was missing something. Some might tell you that the 'diversity’ plays itself out in front of the camera, but I assure you as a writer that it takes a village. When it comes to television particularly, everything is filtered through a lens after a lens after another lens…. As the showrunner draws out a storyboard with producers and then oversees the writing of a script which is handed to an editor and then off to a director which directs the actors who have their own interpretation of that character who are then filmed and framed by a cinematographer who hands over the multiple takes to an editor, who then slices and dices and puts together the final product that the network may possibly need to approve and by now I’m out of fucking breath. And I didn’t even mention the composers, casting directors, production designers, art directors, set decorators, costumes, makeup, the fn’ art department, sound department who collaborates with special effects people, not to be confused with the visual effects crew and the dozens and dozens of others who’s lens it funnels through to make a finished product. Did I make a point yet?

'Sing It, White Effie’ is by far the best of #OITNB5 but just like the tears that filled my eyes during the final moments when a young Janae has an epiphany when she realizes what her trip to a private school that has a trio of rich white girls playing the main characters of 'DreamGirls’ truly represents…. Just like Taystee’s beautiful, enthralling speech that I’m sure we all applauded and were worked up over emotionally… It just could have been better. No matter what you know, no matter what you’ve seen, no matter how intense your empathy radar is, no matter how many shoes you have traded with other people… We can write out someone else’s story, we can do our research, we can firmly believe the things we say, we can identify pieces of a puzzle of someone else’s story through idiosyncratic experiences, but we’ll never be able to put the entire puzzle together without the missing piece.

I don’t want it to seem like I’m complaining, I’m only imagining that a fantastic show could be even bolder, even more intense, even more 'on the nose’ with it’s ironic comedy style, that’s sometimes dark so that it fades into the drama with more ease. I love OITNB, I do. I would go as far as to say that this is the most bingeable show ever created. The hardest thing I’ve had to do in the past few months (thank god) is to decide to go to sleep instead of watching and writing about another episode of this very show. Slowly but surely, the inmates of Litchfield are shown to notice little things that are waking them to the impending consequences that are sure to devastate these women in a major way.

Right now it’s the little things, like Suzanne (Uzo Aduba), the usual most 'out of touch’ resident of Litchfield, observing the fact that she’s not being fed during regular hours. Gloria (Selenis Leyva) has come to a point where she is completely overwhelmed, she can’t carry on her normal duties anymore. Her genuine concern for Daya (Dascha Polanco) as well as her inner turmoil she’s experiencing for generally losing control paired with the backfiring of attempting to steal the gun from Daya to impede the takeover is a weight she can no longer carry. Her phone call to Diaz (Elizabeth Rodriguez) was another truly successful, relatable, and dramatic moment that puts the audience inside Litchfield for an oh-so important instant. I think we can all relate to a point in time where we are completely at a loss for what to do in a situation, maybe we want to ask for help, but we don’t know how, or even where to start, or even if we could be helped at all… So you just need a familiar voice on the other end of the line. The family dynamic is so strong with this one, and as a person who lives in a Latin Dominated city, there’s a certain way that pride is carried here that I see in these characters. These actresses are truly amazing to bring their distinct perspective into a script that is not their own, essentially that is what makes this show so special in these dramatic points of reference. It is bigger than the writers, who are great, but just not as diverse as we would like.

If it’s one thing that a talented white woman would write with a pristine birds eye view, it’s satire of a what it would be like to be a rich white woman turned into a slave by white supremacists… Oh yeah, and one white nationalist. Judy King (Blair Brown) looks completely insane with her messy hair, ketchup stained face, and belt leash around her neck. I literally can’t stop laughing as I write this. The image will be forever stored in the memory banks of my brain. Taystee is PISSED. The Helicopter Press snapping a photo of Judy King tied to a cross on top of a roof by skinheads wearing hijab’s has interfered with Taystee’s intentions, which means everyone’s intentions, but most importantly… Justice for Poussey. She means to buy Judy off of the skinheads and grab 'The PR Guy’ Josh (John Palladino) to issue a statement, but the skinheads make Taystee & Friends work for it, holding a ridiculous auction, which doesn’t really work… But for the sake of moving the core narrative onward in what is as close to real-time as possible, I suppose it’s fine…. I’m just not sure where everyone else came from considering in one scene they were alone and the next minute the area is full of potential bidders. Just goes to show you even some of the best shows are fat from perfect.

Pensatucky (Taryn Manning) has yet another memorable moment, again the drama is really what is setting this season ablaze. Big Boo (Lea DeLaria) catches Pensatucky & Coates (James McMenamin) making out. Of course, this not only enrages Boo for obvious reasons, but it also has her worried for Pensatucky’s safety. A lot of people seem incredibly uncomfortable with this subplot, but Manning delivers the true Pensatucky 'thought process’ in a 'methamphetamine metaphor’ that’s just divine. 'No matter how much I wanted different, I had to respect the chemicals… Because Lye doesn’t feel anything until it touches ephedrine’, Pensatucky means this… And even if you don’t understand the white trash chemistry behind the metaphor, she delivers it in the most earnest & steady manner. There’s a beauty to it. She continues… 'Have you ever wanted somebody that you shouldn’t?’ Boo doesn’t have it, 'Of course. It’s called masturbating. Now say goodbye and walk the fuck away, son.’ Pensatucky is a character that we’ve already explored so much throughout the past 4 ½ seasons, but there are so many notes to this character and to Manning’s delivery that they could literally go on forever. This is the very opposite of Piper (Taylor Schilling) who literally seems like a new person, someone completely alien to the Piper who kicked off the show in S1. Even her interactions with Alex (Laura Prepon) feel off key. Maybe prison is changing her? Or maybe they have no idea what to do with the character. They certainly know what they want to do with Alex, as she has started a bit of an 'outdoor prison’ revolution… Grass Roots, if you will!

We should mention that Coates escapes by way of Pensatucky stealing the gun from 'The Incompetent Queens of White Trash’, Angie (Julie Lake) and Leanne (Emma Myles), who don’t even realize that their 'secret hiding place’ they stored the gun while on a massive DXM trip is actually the back of the belt that Angie had no idea she was wearing. Coates actually takes the gun with him… All of these events have me worried for Pensatucky and there is really only so much that Boo can do. Right before his grand escape, Taystee and company lead Judy out for a press conference. Taystee begins and Danielle Brooks delivers her words like a Viola Davis or Meryl Streep in the making. She hands it over to Judy but pulls back when she realizes that Judy lying about her ill treatment will only hurt their cause… And to roll back to my original point, which I rolled off on a bit of a passionate tangent… Taystee literally says the words that I positioned that first point around… Judy King cannot speak for Taystee or any of the inmates, for that matter. This isn’t exactly a Pensatucky 'Methamphetamine Metaphor’ but dammit… In the face of previous controversy the show, particularly the writers room, has been accused of, you’d think that they’d hire equally as talented women of color to write this speech, portions of these episode, entire episodes. Once again, I take nothing away from the talented Molly Smith Metzler, she did an excellent job here… I just think that this scene, as well as others, could pack so much more power and benefit from the proper frame of reference.

[uniquewastelandmiracle-blog]

It is 12: 46 a.m. March 2, 2017 I did not take the Nyquil. I still cannot stop crying. It’s 12: 49 now, and I am 21 crying and crying. My eyes ache. I’m hungry. I already felt terrible because I spent since 8 p.m. I spent trying to understand the simplest form of Music theory from Edinburg University. Coursera really is a gift that I’m too mentally incapable to use to its fullest potential. Aside from knowing the shaft and semitones are, and abbreviations used within like EGBDF and FACE, I’m dull beyond hope. I spent four hours trying to learn a skill I was truly passionate about, and still am for some reason, and did not make any progress. I spent four hours trying to jot down a melody on an online music software and I failed miserably. At one point I nearly felt embarrassed, like I was being watched by a group of people who were silently watching me, but I knew they were watching at how pathetic I was at making music, and trying to grasp how I was this challenged.

Remembering Max Martin say in his early twenties that he had no idea what the hell a producer was or what one did, that he spent day and night trying to figure it out does make me feel a little better, but not better enough. I promised I would never harm myself again. No more cuts. No more pills. No more attempts. I would really have stooped low, even for me, to start carving my skin in my twenties. That’s some shit I left behind in my teenage and elementary years. No more. But then there’s the news. It always breaks my heart to hear of those certain things that take place. I know no one will ever read this, and yet I’m still petrified to open up. I feel like I’ve been mocked for the way I feel about certain things so much that its not even worth talking about it anymore. It’s just something that lingers on in the back of my head till it pushes itself forward sooner or later and the next thing you know its 12:59 a.m. and I’m bawling my eyes out wishing I had an ounce of contentment in my life.  

I’m trying very hard not to let anyone make me feel silly for the way I feel. I’m crying out of empathy, hopelessness, and frustration. If only I could play god for one fucking day and wipe out every form of evil on this planet. Fucking sewer rats, all of them. I’m friendless, and crying all by myself in the middle of the night with snot constantly running down my top lip as I wipe it over and over and over and over again. It’s like being thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty all over again. I should just do it and get it over with. I’m scared of life. I’m also scared of death and I’m stuck in the middle of deciding which one will bring me more peace and calm me the fuck out. I do have a cool uncle and this cool cousin who I’d terribly miss. I don’t think I’d miss my mother at this point. The woman who claims to see me as her number one priority but leaves our most heartfelt talks to play Stepford wife to a husband that abused her daughter for years. The woman who can cook like a pro, and clean like a champion but never has given me the slightest interest in my own interests. The same virtuous woman who can draw, paint, design, speak four languages, do henna, dance, teach, knit, stitch, sculpt, bake, and maintain her physique like its second nature to her but must force herself to listen to my ‘problems’ and give me fifteen minutes of her time. Right in the middle of us talking, he calls to her and without a warning she’s gone out of my sight and won’t be available, my own mother, in my ‘my’ home for hours to come or even till tomorrow. At least in India my mother was actually my mother.

I feel worthless. I convinced my self over the past year that I was an alright gal with something decent to offer to the world but today that feeling is not there. I feel completely useless, unintelligent and hideous. I don’t feel like attempting to write another song, or listen to Edinburg’s music theory videos, or playing around with the Midi. I don’t feel attempting vocal warm ups or covers. In fact, there is only one thing I feel like attempting.

But there is not a single soul out there that would love the rodent as heavily as I do and have. The little cherub has never licked anyone else besides me anyway. Who would every caress him, cuddle with him and sleep beside him the way I do? Who would hold him so close that you can hear the life through the meat of his little body and feel your heartbeat and your favorite family member’s together? I can’t do anything that would hurt myself, because overall it will hurt him, and the little rabbit is turning only three on March 19. A gentle, over emotional, anxiety filled Pisces like me. I knew this little episode of self-hatred, anxiety mixed with depression and panic was coming. I started doing things that should’ve given me clues but even I can’t recognize my own indirect behavior. I stop brushing my hair and stopped eating healthy.  I have not done cardio for weeks now and I have no cleaned my drawers and organized my closet like I do. I started letting myself go in little ways. I started looking for my old contacts to help me self-destruct. But I’m fine as long as no one can tell right?

I am rambling on and on. I stopped crying but my heart still hurts. I’m just another, over emotional young girl that’s just being ungrateful yea? No. I don’t think so. For years I have felt extremely alone. I’m just some emotionally crippled bitch that pities herself a little too often to the world of men and a few women perhaps too yeah? My tears almost returned. I’m too alone. Too out of touch with my identity, if I even have one. Too away from home and the people who make me feel like I’m at home. I’m too far away from my passions and my ability to help oppressed people and creatures. I’m too far from anything I want to have, create, or give and no matter how good I claim my intentions to be, I can’t reach happiness. The top of my shirt is wet from my tears from before. My stomach is rumbling because I’m fucking starving. I’ve got no appetite. I don’t want chocolate or pizza. K actually maybe pizza.

And I’m not even mad at whatever celestial little fucker is out there because of what happens or doesn’t happen to ME. Nope. I know I am damn blessed, even when I’m sobbing so hard because I don’t understand why I can’t grasp basic music theory and how I’ll find a job to support myself. It’s what you’ve done to others. I’m not even talking about my family!  “God”, if you’re out there, I’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done to the people of color in the past. You’ve made every single one of them suffer. You didn’t leave any one of us out! Fair play fucker, fair play indeed. Reading about the ‘contributions of men’, the colonization, the raping, stealing, plundering lands that belonged to the default peoples of the land, bombing the life out of them for sources you can exploit, the sex trafficking and tourism….Its illogical at this point to even believe that there is good out there, that there is someone out there that is ‘god’.

What god makes people kill in its name? What god allows all these crimes against women, against the children, against Africa? What god let’s Nazis in 2017 gain presidential power? A bad god. Fuck you god, I hope you fucking die. The people’s ignorance, evil, intolerance has made me almost as intolerant of them as they are in general. Religion is the fucking devil. All that rape, crime, oppression of women, texts written by fucking men, rituals that make no fucking sense, false sense of morality, I’m through all of it. I’ve decided from today on wards I will never step in another temple again. Going to temple made me realize how false religion is. The Indian Americans at my temple are nearly all wealthy, educated, well rounded but so disgusting. They all hate each other and talk about each other behind their backs, all of them. They all are judgmental, kiss ups, that are about materialism and prestige. It irks me to talk so bad about the people who are descendants of my own nationality, but these first and second generation immigrants are a disgrace to Mother India. They don’t act like the real Indians in India. Where there is genuine hospitality even in the street vendors and among rickshaw drivers. I have never been able to identify with the 2nd generation of Indian Americans that I’ve seen come and go in the temples I’ve been to. They are nothing like the Indians in India, I mean aside from their looks I suppose, almost nothing else is similar. Not the same amount of culture, nationalism, understanding and deep appreciation of our strengths and abilities- none of it. 

So what did I learn about myself after writing 1700 words? That I’m an atheist, piece of shit that rambles on so much, everyone must think I’m annoying and that’s why no one talks to me. And that when I want to fucking die like right now at 1:47 a.m., I can’t because I’ll feel bad for my cousin, her father who is my uncle, and my pet rabbit and yes I suppose my mother. Everyone else doesn’t mean shit to me anymore. I am going to go take a piss and then cry myself to sleep. Maybe I’ll get lucky and won’t wake up.