#i feel so vindictive ive been wanting this for so long only to be refused and ridiculed by mom and now i finally get to do it.

[weirdlizard26]

im getting a haircut tomorrow. im so excited i just might explode

[liathgray]

yes im planning another fic even tho ive got like 75 others yes im using your ⭐spreadsheets⭐ no i have no idea wbat im doing but its gonna be a Doozy i already know ive been daydreaming about it for a good couple weeks

like its a royalty au but its also zelda which means im gonna havr to create 50mil new characters bcuz i refuse to half ass this (yes i just read the priory of the orange and am riding on the high off a well thought out diverse lesbian fantasy with multiple v in depth courts and what about it??????)

anyway anyway tips and tricks on creating characters??? thats gonna be the trickiest part of this for me i think???? ive never been particularly good at ocs so this is gonna be tough

qlso hi!!!! howre you!!!! its been q minute!!!!! 💜💜💜💜

- writnon

OMG OMG hello writnon!! It's so good to hear from you!

Honestly the way u know something is gonna be fun to write is if you've been daydreaming about it a bunch cause its like... brain rot for ur own ideas. I dont know anything about Zelda but that sounds SO COOL ok ok so for creating characters. Here are some lil tips

Know how important are they are

This will save you a lot go time and energy because really, you don't have to fully flesh out every character. Its perfectly okay to have characters serve utilitarian purposes (ex: the animal sidekicks in Disney movies exist so the princess characters have someone to talk/ voice their opinions to).

If the character isn't going to be around for long, you can just have them server their purpose and move forward. Not everyone has to be complex and that is alright! A simple character is a good character.

The Key Three

This is something that can really help with making your characters feel distinct from one another: give them three key... things.

Sorry thats king broad. What I mean is you can give key traits, emotions they lean towards, items/ people that are important to them, ticks, habits, hobbies, etc. Pick three distinct somethings for your character and keep it in the back of your mind, or write it on their lil character profile thing.

EX: for Alistair Teller, the key three were-- Cheery, vindictive, and conman. For Percy, the key three were-- planes, curious, and energetic.

It's good to have this sort of guideline when creating characters! its a base, cause once you know what their key things are, you can build more around that. Or, conversely, you can do it the other way and give the key things afterwards so that you have a better grip on how you want to writ them.

D&D

ok. listen. LISTEN. this helps I swear.

Give your OCs stats. Hell, give the canon characters stats! it helps to keep there from being a power imbalance with skills and/ or resources.

Stats are designed to keep characters from being too overpowered, and it applies to long form fiction prose as well. giving everyone at least ONE power move, and ONE thing they utterly suck at is 1) funny 2) makes any team dynamics better 3) adds layers to the characters relationships and 4) makes all of them seem more human by default. because they're already flawed in a simple way.

and simple characters are good! they're memorable!

I'm not saying you actually have to like... make a character sheet, but giving a character stats can spice things up a lot. Say your OC is trying to open a jar of pickles and they have an 8 or something in strength. they cant open the pickles! or if someone is trying to be persuasive and they have high charisma. they can persuade!

I think that this is also funny because if you have something happen and check a stat for a character and then cant do it, then it forces the other character to either work together, or more creatively, or pit them against each other, etc. etc.

Names!

Names don't matter. I know everyone stresses about this, but you ca replace names. I've done it several times. this is the very last thing you need to worry about

backstory

you dont need to write a life story. you only need a few moments. find moments that can shape who they are (things that can relate to their key things are especially good!) and have those waiting. You might not ever need to bring it up in the story, but knowing internally how your OC sees things will SUPER help to write them.

in screenwriting we call these the characters ordinary world. it sets up what is normal and expected for them, specifically. it makes up their worldview and how they interact with other people.

haha funny

use your OCs for really convoluted jokes. this isn't a tip its just really fun to do and no one can stop you.

[idkwhoiamanymorebutwtf]

Amity absolutely in not going to choose the Emperor’s Coven over Luz.

 I keep seeing it suggested that Amity’s ties to the Emperor’s Coven could become an issue. That she may decide supporting Luz isn’t as important as her ambitions related to the Coven. That she might chose to side with the Emperor’s Coven, causing a rift between her and Luz. However I don’t believe that for a second, and that’s for two reasons.

1.) Luz is, as of right now, the most important thing to Amity. It's always felt to me like Amity already chose Luz over everything else. Amity has sacrificed her own physical wellbeing, even putting her own life in danger, to help Luz in the past. There's no way Amity's parents approve of Luz so she's put her relationship with her parents, something she's worked desperately for, at risk just by liking Luz, but she continues to be around her. Amity was willing to throw out her social group for hurting Luz. Why wouldn't she follow the pattern and pick Luz over the Emperor's coven too? And I mean..she must know she'll have to. Amity knows that Luz is Eda's apprentice. She knows that Eda is wanted by the Emperor's Coven. She's gotta know that she'll have to pick between the two things eventually, right? And if her plan wasn't to eventually pick Luz when she had to make the choice, why would she have put Luz before her own physical wellbeing, before her social status, and before her abusive parents' wishes? Not to mention , Amity's greatest fear was being rejected by Luz. It wasn't her abusive family. It wasn't being denied by the Emperor's Coven. It was the idea that she could lose Luz. Which makes it pretty cut and dry what the most important thing to Amity is in the end. Amity has already been willing to put so much on the line for Luz. I feel like she isn't going to stop now. Especially since, tbh, it seems like Amity has never been happier than she is currently. Realistically if you were a normal person with a good strong support system and a healthy conviction to follow your dreams then you wouldn't be willing to risk your life and dream job for another person. However Amity isn't a very healthy person. Her family is abusive, her friends are cruel, etc. Amity made their goals for her into her own goals because she didn't feel like there was anything else out there for her, not becsuse she personally wants it. She wasn't happy. Until Luz was kind and optimistic and showed her the potential that there are good people out there. I mean, why do you think she latched onto Luz so quickly and has put her physical wellbeing, social status, and relationship with her family in jeopardy just through having feelings for Luz and standing by her so far? She's willing to do that because Luz is one of if not the only person in her life that isn't abusing her to some extent. She isn't going to act like a normal person with a good support system and healthy ambitions they care about because Amity isn't any of those things and right now Luz means so so so much to her by proxy of being the only person in her life who's good. I don't think she'd give that up for anything, speaking both from personal experience and from the behavior ive seen her exhibit as of late and how much she's already risked.

and

2.)  Siding with the Emperor’s Coven would go against Amity’s strong sense of morality. Amity has been an incredible human being for her entire life. Every flashback we've seen of Amity has shown her as nothing but a good person. She was wrong to treat Willow the way she did, sure, but Amity did it all in an attempt to protect Willow and in the end how could anyone hate her for that? When she was told to befriend Boscha, Amity immediately refused, acknowledging that the other girl was mean, and for as long as the two were friends she never seemed to warm up to the cruel girl. When Amity accidentally got her Grudby teammates hurt she felt so horribly guilty that she quit playing forever. She's made mistakes cause she's a human being and people mess up sometimes, but I honestly think Amity has always been an admirable person. Why on earth would Amity ever support the Emperor’s Coven when she finds out what horrible things they’ve done? And some people suggest that while she’s not a bad person, her ambitions may make her do bad things. But Amity’s integrity has always come before her ambition. That much is made exceptionally clear back in Covention. Amity wasn’t willing to cheat in their magic duel. She refused to lie or cheat and that means that if Luz had really been better than her and won fairly, Amity would have taken the loss. She easily could have cheated. Everyone else did, it wouldn’t have been hard for Amity to do the same. But she didn’t, and she was extraordinarily upset that the other people involved did. Amity was horrified that Lilith cheated in her favor. Even if it helped her look good in front of the Emperor’s Coven, cheating was never even an option that crossed Amity’s mind and she was completed mortified that Lilith tricked her into it anyway. Her ambition was never as strong as her integrity back then, so why would it suddenly overwhelm her morals now? I mean, if cheating in a competition was a disgusting thought that she never considered for a second. Something that Amity screamed at Luz for doing and was completely ashamed when Lilith did it. Then how can anyone expect that Amity would support the Emperor’s Coven after all they’ve done? Even with all the pressure Amity’s under from society in general and her abusive parents, she hasn’t sacrificed her morals yet, and to suggest she might now is to completely disregard the strength of character she’s been shown to possess so far.

“But Wait!” I hear you say, “A clear parallel was drawn between the relationship of  Luz and Amity vs  the relationship of Eda and Lilith! That means Luz and Amity was likely to go down the same route and become enemies!”

And you are correct that there was a clear parallel drawn between these four in Covention. However i’d venture to suggest that this parallel will be used as a contrast rather than to show history repeating itself.

I’ll start by saying that I personally believe the “history repeats itself” trope is very hard to get right and is only really effective in certain situations, this not being one of them. Tell me, what, narritively, would be the positive effect of pushing Amity and Luz down the same route Lilith and Eda went down? I can’t see any good reason for it except the ~shock value~, and honestly anything you do with a character exclusively to shock or upset the audience rather than to develop the characters in their natural progression is a bad choice by default. There’s no reason Luz and Amity need to be like Eda and Lilith. And in fact, not only is the idea of their relationship being a foil the the Clawthorne sister’s relationship more interesting to me because it has an actual purpose (to show that the sister’s both screwed up their relationship and that if you communicate and try to be good people then you won’t end up in a fight to the death against someone you’re supposed to love and that both sister’s could have made steps to be better siblings but they didn’t and that’s on them), but it also seems to fit a lot more cohesively into the narrative knowing what we do about both the relationship between Lilith and Eda and the relationship between Amity and Luz.

I get the feeling Lilith was always jealous of Eda. That Eda was stronger. That Eda outshone her. It may not even have been fair a lot of the time, after all, Eda is known to cheat her way through things. And it also seems as if Eda, instead of supporting and reassuring her insecure sister, was proud of this and held it against Lilith that she was better. Well, when Luz and Amity first met, Luz outshone Amity too. Amity was angry and bitter and disliked Luz because it fucking hurt to have her achievements taken away from her unfairly. They easily could have gone down the same route Lilith and Eda did. With Luz sticking to her guns and insisting she was better, that she deserved the recognition more anyway and Amity acting like a jealous, vindictive child. But that didn’t happen. Luz tried her best to make it up to Amity and Amity, once Luz expressed her remorse and took steps to make amends, not only accepted it but reflected on her own behavior and admitted she herself could have been better too. How did Amity and Luz manage to overcome a conflict that’s still tearing two grown women apart?  By overall being better than Eda and Lilith were. Luz felt terrible for hurting Amity. Eda was proud of outshining Lilith. Amity didn't let herself be overcome with bitterness or jealousy and instead reflected inwardly on how she could have been better too. Lilith just kept getting worse and worse and straying from the path of morality more and more. We can see it clearly in Covention. Lilith cheated. Amity on the other hand would never stray from her integrity even if she wanted to win and was mortified to find out what happened. Eda bragged and taunted and teased Lilith for cheating. Luz ran after Amity to comfort her. Overall Amity and Luz are better than Lilith and Eda and that's why I don't see them making the same mistakes.  Another difference I see, Lilith let her desperation for power make her a bad person. Amity realized she was being colder than she'd like to and instantly ditched her cruel friends and tried to he better. Eda let's her wild nature make her inconsiderate (she's not just a criminal for not joining a coven, she does actual morally wrong crimes too) but Luz tries her best to be kind and to make people happy and he selfless in general. As I said before, they're both better than their mentors. Both Eda and Lilith made mistakes that lead them to where they are (although Lilith is objectively the worse of the two, she isn't necessarily the only one to blame for their relationship failing). Because Luz and Amity are a contrast to Eda and Lilith, not a repition of their story. Luz and Amity show what can happen when you communicate and try to understand and empathize with people and don't stray from your own morals no matter what other people may do to you.That's something it doesn't seem like the sister's ever learned how to do, and that's what tore them apart. But it's something Luz and Amity exhibit consistently. Communication, mercy, understanding. and that's why they aren't doomed to be like their mentors. Because as I said before, they contrast Lilith and Eda's dynamic in every way simply by being better friends to each other and people in general.   

[thisartofeveryday]

For those of you who thought I should make my life story into a book…here is the outline. For the sake of clarity as you are reading, let me explain who the characters are. The kids from my Dads first marriage: Jim1, Patty, Seana. The kids from my Mom’s (Mary Ellen) first marriage: Mary Jane and Jim2. My brother that I am a full sibling to is Charles (chuck).

I think you might know that 95% of our lives are lived from the unconscious mind. From birth to age 7 a childs mind is in Theta wave (hypnosis) and everything that they learn in those years (mainly through observation and repetition) is the program that their minds run for their entire lives. Knowing this – I look back on the first 7 years of my life.

I think we moved 7 times in those 7 years. I am certain it was because of Dads extreme anger management problems and the fact that he is a sociopath, a pedophile and a rapist. Zero stability or chance to make lasting friendships. My dad was sexually abusing me and unpredictably violent. I was terrified of him. I was being terrorized/bullied by my brother, Chuck, who was every bit the sociopath that my dad is. My mom was overwhelmed by the number of children she was responsible for - none of which she actually wanted- and add to that, her husband was sexualizing all of the kids, so really being the last of her kids I was the last of her problems. Being the youngest (and as traumatized as I was), I was quiet and easy to forget about or push to the side. The older kids were the ones in the spotlight and where all the attention went. They were enrolled in activities and they were more the same age, so they were a unit. I was just an observer of them. I felt so left out and forgotten. Always.

I was a mistake and a burden (dads exact words to me on my 11th birthday). Mom made sure I knew that she thought I was mentally retarded- she would joke about it all the time. (I guess she never made peace with her sister being autistic) She also loved humiliating me even when I made it clear she was hurting me. Remember her sausage fingers joke or how many years I got called Boomer? I absolutely hated both of those things, made it clear, and yet she refused to give up the name calling and humiliation. There was very little respect for my personal boundaries. Dad would assault me in the middle of the night and I would wet the bed out of fear- then he would make me sleep in it to teach me a lesson. Mom would do nothing to help me, though she was awake in the middle of the night when I would work up the courage to go into their room to ask for help. She let him treat me like that. Goddamn…I remember the night terrors and being scared to be in my room at night because the scary man was sitting in the rocking chair, in the dark, next to my bed.

I have a memory of being in the garage in our house in South Windsor. I was playing with our basset hound, General…I was crawling around on the floor and the dog mounted me and was dry humping me. Dad got this sick laugh and let it happen. Mom walked in and got mad at him, but did nothing to help me. My personal boundaries were nonexistent. Nobody was protecting me from him. I remember him eating the food off my plate at dinner…or kissing me on the ear or touching me when I would tell him I hated it and to stop. I remember the baths dad would have me take with him and how he taught me to touch and work his dick. I remember the photos he would take of me after the bath. I remember being 7 years old and trying to lay on his bed and be sexy enough for him. I remember kissing mom passionately the way that dad taught me to and mom getting upset and asking me where I learned that. I remember having a baby doll that I drew all over, angrily, with lipstick. I remember being scared because my ass was bleeding and I told mom while her brother and sisters were visiting and she shushed me and scurried me away. I remember him also beating the shit out of me…sometimes for no reason. I remember being deeply attracted to and absolutely terrified of him. I was 7.  These are the only memories I have of my dad. I don’t remember him being there for me, or interested in me as a person, or engaged in anyway. I just remember him being what I now know is a predator.

7 to 13: I remember some stability in Connecticut because we stayed there for three years… but I also remember having moments of being deeply depressed and hiding in the basement of the house writing notes that I hoped someone would find, asking for help to get me out of there. When I look back, those were my first experiences with disassociation from stress and waves of major depression. While I was being assaulted during those years, those years were all about Mary Jane, Seana, and Jim2. These three had each other. These three were a team. I was just an observer to your lives. I had no voice, no opinion, no importance, never truly included and absolutely my feelings went unheard and did not matter. We can say it was the age difference, sure, that’s part of it…but that’s also just an excuse. Things could have been done to validate my importance too.  I had Charles bullying me….I had my Dad assaulting me. I was so alone.

My internal voice wants to shout: Why did nobody see this? Why did nobody help me? Where were my siblings? I guess everyone was doing the best they could…

Literally anyone looking in knowing the truth could have easily assessed that this was a horribly destructive environment for any child to grow up in. I know dad was doing this to all the kids. I wasn’t the only one. It is absolutely stunning to me that through the years of my life I have consistently been blamed by my Mary Ellen (narcissist/borderline personality disorder) and the people who chose to listen to her twisted opinions that there was something wrong WITH ME.  I mean, logically the mental health issues I have faced my entire life are perfectly normal and healthy reactions to a situation that was deeply flawed. But somehow the blame has always fallen on me.

The very first thing I think when I think of my mom is her asking me “Whats wrong with you Melissa”. Ive lost count of how many times she has asked me that very question.

I now know that its just deflection. Queen Narcissist cant take responsibility for her actions so she puts it on the person who she always denied a voice. That’s nice. Very loving and motherly. Doesn’t fix the 40 some odd years of my life that I believed her and wanted to die.

Right around age 9 or 10, we move again. I remember it being a big scandal – I think the truth came about that my dad is a sociopath, a pedophile and a rapist. (By the way, that’s in my DNA. I get to live my life connected to that. I look just like my dad. I think like a Painter. It’s fucking unsettling.)  I remember all the pressure to say nothing about the move and to constantly behave as though we were the perfect family and nothing was wrong. So incredibly demented.

I remember a HUGE fight about Seana and Jim2 staying behind in Connecticut. (by the way: I also remember Jim1 leaving for the Marines and wondering where my brother went and why he never talked to me. At one point he came back to visit and gave me a beautiful geisha doll in a glass box that mom destroyed in a fit of anger at me…she intentionally violently knocked it off the top of my dresser in one of her vindictive off the handle rages…Im sure at 8 years old I totally did something to deserve it, right.)

And, of course I remember the night Seana was killed. (why did the man that killed her not serve jail time? Why are bad people never held accountable?) Dad wasn’t there. Again, Dad wasn’t there. As I recall he was having an affair with some woman in Arizona? Mom was already distraught to be back in Michigan. That night, I remember being awake before the call came in…watching the clock radio in my bed… it had a short in the wire that would spark. I was listening to the Beatles: My guitar gently weeps…. To this day, I hate the Beatles.The phone rang. Mom screamed to you “Mary Jane, OMG, Seana is Dead”. I didn’t understand what happened. I just knew we were packing up like we did so many times before to take yet another long drive across country. It felt to me like another move. I didn’t understand death or that my sister was gone forever. I didn’t get it.  

(an aside: I struggled in school. When I was in Beginning Algebra One for some reason that class would make me check out and I would always soul travel to the night Seana was killed and it felt like it was happening to me. I took that class 4 times including summer school before I passed.)

(later, when I was maybe 13, my dog got hit by a car in the street and now I knew what death was so I freaked out like Mom did when Seana died and I remember Mom shaming me: You cried more over than damn dog than you did at your sisters funeral. Very nice. Very motherly. Very supportive and kind of her.)

At Seanas funeral, I remember not knowing what was expected of me. I was just so focused on getting it right and who I was supposed to kiss (because that sexualized stuff was already so ingrained).

There were so many goddamn rules for behavior, (rich white republican ex-military country club going family that we were) and I remember getting it wrong and being scowled at all the time. Mom was always angry and stressed out. We had to BE someone and over and over again: “Don’t forget the family name” and how important our clan was (hilarious that she kept the Sterling last name because her current husband is too ethnic and this sounds classier to her than her own actual last name)….

Meanwhile, My developing sense of self was being assaulted and neglected/ignored out of me and I felt wrong all the time for every single action I took.

I think we moved back to North Carolina briefly and then to Florida? Whatever the case….

Then we move again. Again. Again. Now we are in Florida. Im 10. My parents are getting divorced. Mom is deeply goddamn depressed. My family is falling apart. I don’t know where my brothers and sister are. Everything is exploding. Im powerless and hostage to all this. I cannot underline the importance of that sense of being hostage to a situation that I was powerless to escape and having my feelings and my personhood completely ignored and erased. It consumed me. I wanted to die. I am, as always, the least of moms concerns.

In Florida I was so incredibly dissociative. I was experiencing C-PTSD. I remember feeling numb all over. Having no ability to react to this little girl that fell off her bike in front of me….I just stared at her…the adults nearby yelled at me for doing nothing. I went further into my head. I was so checked out. People just thought I was quiet or shy or retarded. I was deeply traumatized and needed help.

I remember Mary Jane and I sitting on the bed watching this music video by The Cars. In the video there is a woman who is laughing and crying. I remember asking MJ what she was doing because I do that too and I think she told me she was having a mental break down.  

I remember getting a Walkman and listening to the Police nonstop. That was my only retreat from how much I hurt. WHY DID NOBODY SEE THIS AND HELP ME?

I remember during that time that I was given another baby doll. I remember MJ and mom watching me play with it to see what I would do. I felt scared of them both and the creepy way they were lurking to watch me. I felt ganged up on. I couldn’t trust anyone. I was so alone. I wanted to die.

In Florida, I remember my birthday and dad cocking his fist back like he was going to punch me in the face…he did that sick laugh and told me he wished I was never born and that I was a mistake. (later when I told this to Patty she explained he punched her in the face on her 11th birthday. Im related to all that. That’s in my dna.)

My body was changing. I was getting my period. I felt crazy. I was in that HUGE school in Jacksonville and I had no friends and I was so scared. Everything was terrifying….and Dad was getting more unhinged thus Mom has Jim and Lynn move in to protect her and had you come back… and then I remember walking in to the living room in the middle of a sunny afternoon and mom on the pull out sofa, trying to make dad jealous, was fucking the guy who was there to buy the house  that we had just moved in to because we were MOVING AGAIN….

Not to mention, I remember MJ and I quickly taking Dads gun to the beach to bury it so he because he wanted to kill us all.

Im not even 13 yet….. Are you exhausted?

Any one of these things would make a fully functioning stable adult fold like a house of cards. “Whats wrong with you Melissa?”…. It took something like 20 years of therapy but now I have some clues to answer that question. Here are some more clues:

We finally make it to Boone. Mom followed her best friend, Mary Jane. After all that… that incredible pressure cooker of my pre teen childhood we arrive in bumfuck nowhere, North Carolina….and everyone is gone except the sociopath brother. The house is basically empty. Everyone abandoned ship. Where did my brothers and sisters go? I remember coming home after school and there would be nobody home. For my entire life I had come home to my family but now there was no one. I would sit on the couch and watch the clock with growing anxiety and cry until mom came home from work. It was beyond torturous. And then she would be pissed off that I needed her because she just got home from work. At this point Mom is just angry and exhausted all the time. She had to get a job outside the home for the first time in her life which she hated, she was sick of being a mom…she wanted it all to be over so she could have HER life. Charles was getting more and more abusive- physically and mentally and had to be sent away for our protection.

And then she starts dating Don Bailey. I think the sex must have been amazing because the guy was an utter low life. He was living off of her/my child support money… and beating the shit out of her. Their fights were never goddamn ending. I would hide in my room after school and not come out. I was so alone. I had no friends and no escape. Mom was friends with Mary Jane, not with me. Mom wanted nothing to do with me. One day we were driving home and I was so attached to her. I needed my mom so goddamn bad… I was struggling to make friends at yet another new school and the PTSD made me feel so distant from everyone but I had no words for what was wrong with me I just thought I was terrible at making friends (I remember this: pathetically I checked out a book at the library: How to be your own best friend)… She pulled the car over and told me “we cant be friends.” Mom has some glorified memory of us driving around looking for our favorite tree in Autumn… the only thing I remember is that conversation…her rejecting me when I needed her the most… after we moved to the town my sister lived in so she could be close to her.

Again, still no help with the major depression, the CPTSD… just a lot of blame “why cant you be happy Melissa…whats wrong with you?” and I cant be clear enough about this: all her spare time at home was spent on Don, not me. I didn’t have clubs and groups and activities that she as sure to enroll me in. I didn’t have my brothers and sisters there with me. It was just me, after all that, trying to figure it out.

I was a burden to her. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me and be done. I felt it always.

An aside: When she was unsure if she wanted to stay in Boone, I remember her asking Charles if we should stay or go back to Florida…after he chimed in with his answer, I gave my opinion which she angrily scoffed at me and told me it didn’t matter what I thought, Id go where they tell me to go.   My voice didn’t matter, I was a burden to her. I had no value as a person. I was powerless. So there I was in my bedroom that was the walkway between the living room and her room… at the mercy of whatever happened with no privacy or power over my life….. whats new.

Another aside: During that time we had gotten a dog that was a total pain in the ass for her to take care of. She gave it away while I was at school. I came home and the dog was gone and I was tearful thinking it ran away. She gave my dog away without telling me.

Then we moved out to Valley Crusis (9 miles outside of town…so isolated. I was so alone. The isolation was killing me. Where were my siblings. I needed help. I needed someone who was just there for me.) and Dons abusive behavior got even more extreme. I remember him picking me up from a concert that I was at….because he had sent Mom to the hospital with a sprained wrist and a busted lip. He was laughing about it when he told me to get in the car. Another time I remember Don looming in my bedroom door when Mom was at work and it was just us in the house… telling me: “Go ahead and call the police, nobody will believe you anyway.” I remember the woman who lived up the hill from us, with the curly hair…I think her name was Susan… coming down to the house while Mom and Don were gone and telling me If it ever gets too bad, you can always run up here. The neighbors knew I needed help. Where were my brothers and sisters? Where was my Mom? FUCK.

I remember Mom having many off the handle rages at me because I looked like a boy and my hair was crazy and I was so fucked up. I remember one morning after she had raged at me so hard that I was in stunned silence… we were sitting at breakfast at St Sinners and MJ kept looking at me, she knew something was wrong, I was clearly checked out and fucked up. I needed my sister. I had no voice or ability to speak up. I was scared of her husband, Glenn. Nobody helped me. Mom was the star of the brunch party!

I remember getting my first job at 15 and working at St Sinners…. Then, when mom bought the restaurant I stopped getting paid. She cut me off from my paycheck and told me it was my “duty to the family”… but she had Jim2 and his first wife Lynn there working and they were getting paid…and also stealing her money to fuel their coke habits. She didn’t value me, or my efforts but her golden son Jim can do no wrong even when he is fucking her out of her business.

I remember Jim2 offering me coke at a house party and John Golden and another friend getting me out of there away from my own brother. I remember Lynn being LIVID that I would stop by their house when I was lonely and wanted my family but instead I got shamed for thinking I could stop by and see them…and mom would tell me that “they had BUSY LIVES and I should leave them alone.”

I remember being so fucked up and alone in Boone….I mean, I now know I was just in shock and experiencing major depression. Mom kept asking me Whats wrong with you Melissa…when I was your age I had to choose between boyfriends… etc. Its incredible to me how Mom normalized my childhood abuse and completely erased my feelings or my personhood then blamed me for somehow being a problem child or wrong in whatever way….more incredible: people believed her.  

During those years in Boone I remember her doing things like openly making fun of me when I thought I might be gay, fixing regular hamburgers and telling me they were tofu when I became vegetarian…starting a burn pile in the back yard full of toxic things after I told her how important recycling was to me and laughing at me as I cried…..every chance she had to make me feel awful about being me and disrespected she took.

Once I visited her at her office and she told me I was “too ugly to look at and she didn’t want anyone to know I was her daughter and to never come to her office again.”

Shes right, we were not friends. She was a jealous mean girl, obsessed with appearances and her shitty boyfriend.

Lets not forget when she, with Mary Janes help, stacked my portfolio with MJs lithographies and coached me how to lie to get me in to Governors school for the summer. She wanted me gone and she got her wish. I remember feeling like a fraud that summer. I wasn’t good enough to be there. I had to lie to be included. I remember she didn’t even drive me there. She had Don do it. He harassed me in the car all the way there, 3 hours…. then dropped me…16… off on the curb in front of the college and drove away. All the other kids had parents excitedly helping them get set up in their rooms…excited about their major accomplishment of getting in to Governors school… I was there with my milk crate of shit, a fraud. alone. Acting like a tough girl who didn’t need anyone. I was a pro at that. Mission accomplished, she was rid of me.

I remember how deep my depression was becoming by the time I was 18. That last year of high school I would bang my head against my bedroom wall in an attempt to knock myself out, in hopes that I would get sent away to a treatment center or something. I couldn’t take all the fighting between her and Don. I fucking hated him and he was in my house and there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to throw myself down the back stairwell at school. I barely graduated high school my depression was eating me alive.

Amazing that nobody IN MY FAMILY SAW THAT I NEEDED HELP. I was invisible. Mary Ellen cast her proclamation that all was well, she was amazing and I was a problem child and that was that.

I have a million stories about Mom demoralizing me during those years…. Whats weird is that I have no memory of my Mary Jane there. I think she was so involved with Glenn and way up the mountain, I had no way to reach her. And I was scared of her husband Glenn. And, we were never close. And, she was Team Mary Ellen…. So I was just alone and wanted to die. Sincerely. Goddamn. Let it end.

I remember Don telling me that Mom was using my child support payment to make her car payment. So I asked her about where my child support was going and she told me she used it for my Blue Cross Blue Shield Insurance…. So I called the insurance company to see if I had coverage…. They had no record of me. She was, again, a liar….

When I graduated high school she couldn’t get me out of the house fast enough. She pawned me off on my boyfriend Gebeaux and expected him to simply take care of me. We broke up. He didn’t sign up for that. I was basically kicked out of the house in valley crusis. I wasn’t prepared for life on my own. I wasn’t ready. She just wanted to be done being a mom so Hey..I came back to the house one day and all my stuff was packed and that was that. I had to figure it out. Fuck me.  

At one point during that time I was living in a trailer with my friend Stacy. Mom was horrified about this. I was getting food stamps and she was so ashamed of me for being so low class. She came to the trailer and was completely off the handle. She said there was “no air” in there and grabbed a 2x4 and smashed out all the windows. Mind you from her perspective it was just another example of what a loser I am, living in a trailer on food stamps how did I end up such a piece of shit when she is such a wonderful mother… it must be because there is something inherently wrong about me.

She has seen me as trash who is incapable of being anything great my entire life.

Somewhere in there she stopped dating Don and started dating lawyer Rand Sterling…who broke her ribs multiple times and literally pushed her out of a moving car and then she walked 5 miles back to his house to be with him.  That relationship took her to Texas. She followed the money. The insanity of that relationship is all I heard about from her. She needed Jim2 to come protect her from her husband multiple times. I absorbed all of this through her very rare but insane emails to me. She has always used me as her emotional manipulation dumping ground.

I had my first total mental break right around 19 years old. I was fetal position on the floor at my girlfriends house… Jenn… I couldn’t stop crying for multiple days and I felt my mind split in two. I literally went into a black hole and was begging for death. Jenn and the next door neighbor scooped me up off the floor and drove me to the Watauga County Mental Health and got me some help… but at this point I was having a total mental collapse… the part of me that was traumatized was a child denied her voice or any recognition of her Self, so I had no way to articulate what was wrong and Mom had denied and normalized the abuse and denied me voice and my personhood for so long that I had ZERO chance of articulating what was wrong… it was buried so deep inside of me and I was so scared to trust anyone…. I was experiencing schizophrenia and Major depression.

Jenn helped me with my depression. Jenn made sure I was housed and fed. Jenn took care of me. I owe her my life.

I mean, that is an extreme mental health episode. Where was my family? How could none of the people who were supposed to love me the most see any of this? Why did none of them help me? Why did all of them think I was to blame? (my guess: Team Mary Ellen)  

Somewhere in that year my friends were moving to Chapel Hill so I packed up the car that my child support paid for and I went down the mountain. She threatened to call the police on me for stealing the car.  She told me I needed discipline and needed to go into the Army. She just didn’t know what to do with me…such a problem child. If I remember correctly, you echoed her sentiments. Everyone was always so angry at me for being so wrong and so bad. None of my family (meaning MJ and mom because my brothers had long bailed on me and my extended family has never made a single attempt to reach out to me or know me at all.)  were my friend, or loving, kind or compassionate.

I got away….I went to Chapel Hill and lived with my best friends Kerry, Lesley, Julie, and two other guys in Kerry’s Moms rental house. I was working at the Columbia Street Bakery and dating this boy, Richard…. Who happened to be a really abusive drug dealer… who held me down one night and violently orally raped me and when I called mom for help she told me with the exasperation of a mother who had supposedly tried so hard to do the right thing and raise her child with love and support but that child was just tragic and terminally fucked :

“I don’t know whats wrong with you Melissa, I guess you just like the bad boys.”  

Again, no self reflection on her behalf…she did nothing to help me.

I didn’t know how to get away from Richard who was playing mind fuck with me and I was getting high with him (LSD) …which was basically, me being drugged and him using me for sex but not being loving or kind in any way (felt like home)  Eventually, Richard got busted for selling a page of lsd to an undercover cop and threatened to kill me because he thought it was my fault… so I had to get out of there and I went to New York to chill out and work for the summer at the Omega Institute of Holistic Learning… to just be around hippies and eat good food. I hung out with Baba Ram Dass and Ben & Jerry…and took a class on the whirling dervish… These moments when I wasn’t in the pressure cooker of my life were both brilliant because I needed healing but also the worst because all this trauma would start to surface and I didn’t know what it was or how to speak about it. I would start to shatter again.

I believed it was my fault and there was something inherently wrong with me.

I was so lost. I needed help. I needed a parent or loving compassionate family or someone trusted to guide me through that time in my life. I had no one but my friends from North Carolina who were just as fucked up as me. I needed help. I needed help. Oh my god, I needed help.

Omega ended…I had no money to get out of there, nobody to turn to for help, no clue what to do next, I certainly couldn’t go back to Mom who hated me and was living with Rand so fuck that… I had no idea where my brothers and sisters were and no relationship with them so that wasn’t on my mind as an option…..so I caught whatever ride I could get and ended up in Boulder. One of my friends from Omega hooked me up with her cousin for a month and I tried to make it work… it was basically winter in Colorado at this point and I was out there door canvassing for Green Peace making no money and freezing to death. Just walking door to door for Greenpeace… looking in on other families and their loving lives together. I was so fucking sad. I was hungry and scared and completely out of options. I had to get out of there.

I called Mom for help. She said: “You got yourself into this, get yourself out”…. And hung up on me. The bitch hung up on me. I was stranded and so scared and I needed my mom. She hung up on me. She blamed me. She wanted to punish me for being such a problem. She was done being a mom. She hung up.

I remember having gone to the Planned Parenthood to get some medical help because I was sick. I explained my situation and the nurse looked at me incredulously and said “where are you parents?” I explained to her that Mom hung up on me.  I was devastated, living in a constant state of shock. Scared out of my sense of self or ability to connect to the present moment.

I was a fractured soul in every possible meaning.

My month at my friends place was over and I had to find an apartment or live on the streets. It took me another month of begging whatever guy I could find to give me a place to stay and then I contacted the boy I was dating at Omega, Scott, and asked him for money to get a bus back to North Carolina. He helped me. Bless him. He got me out of there.

I got on the Greyhound and ended up going to Idaho to visit with my friend Stacy (who I lived in the trailer with) and stay with her for a couple weeks to get grounded and feel safe with a friend for a minute. My mental break was coming back full force. I was inconsolable.  I remember laying on her bed fully having an out of body experience from the stress and being so disoriented. She is so patient and kind. She took care of me. When my time with Stacy was up, the next layer of insanity: I got on the Greyhound and took a 5 day no sleep, no food journey across country. I got chased down, carrying all my bags of things and looking like a little hippie… on a layover, by a group of drunk men in Wyoming…they almost got me but I found a laundromat that was open and full of people so I ran inside and hid until my bus was leaving again. I was terrified. By the time I made it back to Lesley and Kerrys house in Chapel Hill it was New Year night…I got some hours back at the Columbia Street bakery I was working at and got some money rolling in.

I want to mention that Poverty, which I have lived most my life in, is no joke and more damaging than anyone outside of the experience can understand. It is cyclical, like bi polar…. Living paycheck to paycheck or however you get just enough to maybe hold on for a moment longer but never knowing if more will be coming is a terror. Always feeling like the bottom is going to drop out…and never knowing when youre going to eat…and what that does to your hormones and your mental health…. Poverty is proven to damage people on a cellular level and have lasting effects that lead to chronic illness.

After making it back to NC, few weeks later the boy from Omega came to Chapel Hill and told me he wanted to marry me and wanted me to move to Boston with him. So we took a little road trip and eventually ended up in Boston. As a surprise to no one sane, that was not a lasting relationship. So after a year of misery in Boston, (more poverty, more loneliness, more no family) Scott drove me back to Chapel Hill and that’s when the girls and I all moved up to Asheville. All the while, checking in with Mom who was yelling and shaming me for being such a fuck up.

I can’t underline enough: I was disassociating the entire time. I was having episodes of schizophrenia. I was experiencing major depression and bi polar disorder. The stress of my entire life was more than I could handle and I had no support and no compassion and nobody validating my experience or me as a person. People just thought that was who I was. I was just fucked in every way possible and believed she was right and all that was normal and I was a terrible piece of shit. She had everyone believing that.  

Mary Jane believed her. She echoed her sentiments to me. Go Team Mary Ellen.

I moved up to Asheville and got somewhat stabilized. I was again living with my friends and I got a decent job at the Laughing Seed Cafe. I met Mark and I had decided to go to college because I thought that would make Mom happy and I needed to DO something with myself.  

Mark and I were together maybe 8 weeks before we moved across country and started a life together. Eight weeks.

I was so adept at being a high functioning  dissociative major depressive and I had no way to articulate what was wrong with me (all that stuff that had been normalized and ignored…all the ways my feelings and personhood was erased)… I just knew something evil bad was in me and it took me out from time to time. I thought it was my fault and I was ashamed of myself.  I was living in a constant state of shock. CPTSD.

So, I get myself into college and thanks to Mark and his truck we move across country.

When I hear my friends now talking about saving money for their kids college and really setting them up for success by helping them choose a school and get settled in or making sure they don’t have to work so they can focus on their studies and have a healthy social life with friends and do activities Im so confused. I didn’t know parents and families helped their kids with such things. I didn’t understand that in other families they help, protect and support. I made it through without any of these blessings.

Mark and I get a shitty apartment (the ceiling caved in out of rot and the place was full of roaches. The property managers stole my drum set and we would catch them on the roof at night peeping through the skylight to watch us), I get a full time job managing a restaurant…in addition to schooling full time...Im overwhelmed by the workload, scared to be across country, freaked out by college and the expectations… it was too much. I was away from the source of my abuse and things started to surface… I NEEDED HELP.

I needed my family except, honestly, I have none. Additional mindfuck: when I tried to talk to people about this I get the old trope about how everyone has tough relationships in their families and I need to love my mom and work it out with her.SO I KEPT GOING BACK FOR MORE WITH MOM BECAUSE I NEEDED HER LOVE SO BAD AND I THOUGHT THE PROBLEM WAS ME. Further, because I was so regressed I just sounded like a petulant child when I tried to talk about the abuse I had no accurate words for so nobody outside the experience really got it or could conceive how bad things really were for me… why would they? My family is extraordinarily fucked up, like nobody I have ever known.

In college, nobody comes to check on me and make sure Im ok. Nobody was calling. Id get rare emails or letters. When I would tell mom how hard it was, mom would mock me and tell me to suck it up when I would reach out to her and “complain” about how things were going for me… See, because its always my fault and Im never measuring up.

An aside: To this day, 40 years later, Jim2 has yet to even send me a single email to check and make sure Im ok or get to know me at all. He has never responded to the multiple emails I have sent him, so I stopped reaching out. I used to cry to mom about it and she would tell me that he “has a busy life” and I had to understand that’s why I wasn’t a priority to him. Personally, I cant imagine anything being more important than making a connection with your little sister, but I guess Im biased and not like him: busy getting high and drunk and being a cool party guy.  

During my college is when he married Lori. I worked over time and got a plane ticket to be at his wedding. I was sick to my stomach at the idea of having to be around my family but I love my brother and I wanted to be there. He ignored me the entire time I was there. I was a HUGE FUCKING DEAL that I could afford the ticket and made the effort to be there for him. I showed up for him….He ignored me. I was devastated and felt invisible and so worthless.

Another aside: I was 24 and that very first Christmas on the west coast Mom calls me, driving herself to the ER to get her stomach pumped from a suicide attempt. She was dramatically telling me her goodbye in case she didn’t make it. I was stressed and powerless beyond the telling of it. I cried all the way through that Christmas. Again: Mom always uses me as her emotional manipulation dumping ground. Out of all her children, Im the one with heart and she gets the sympathy she is working me over for.

During my college years, I would ask Mom for help she would mock me “Im sending baby Sava (MJs daughter) a care package…are you a baby? Do you need one too?”

Mean girl jealousy that I went to college and her life was taken from her by her children….

In college I had no friends, just Mark. No time for activities and my mental health was so fragile I had no ability to form friendships. I was barely hanging on. I would be catatonic in my time at home. We had this geometry screensaver on the computer and I would be frozen staring at it for hours while my brain felt like it was going to shatter. I was an absolute wreck and a shell of a person…but I was determined to prove I could graduate college and I wasn’t a fuck up. I wanted Mom to be proud of me.

I guess it should come as no surprise that after 4 years of no time off, working and schooling 80 hours a week, getting zero support emotionally or financially from my family …. that absolutely NOBODY FROM MY FAMILY CAME TO CELEBRATE ME AT MY GRADUATION.

Nobody came. Nobody celebrated me. Nobody saw the value in me or my hard work.

I remember being on the phone with Jim2 the day of my graduation. I had called him to ask why he wasn’t there for me. I was in tears. He told me that if that was the worst thing that ever happened to me, congratulations on your nice life. He thought it was bullshit that I was so upset. He thought I was being a baby. This loser dropped out of college which he had a scholarship for and did nothing with his life but drugs and alcohol and saw no value in me or what I did on my own. He didn’t show up for me.

Me going to college and graduating on time with full credits was a major fucking accomplishment on so many levels.

Not one of my family was there for me and I will never forgive or forget that.

We moved to the same fucking town Mary Jane was in when she was in college and never ONCE did anyone come to check on me and be interested in what I was doing or validate how amazing it was that I was in school and making it happen on my own.  

When I talk about how alone I feel in life, its in my bones.

I had worked over time to get Mom a plane ticket so she would be there for my graduation and she called me a couple days before to tell me pathetically “She couldn’t get the day off work.”  (Lie: I think she has some legal issue and couldn’t leave the state or something like that.)

After she called to bail on my graduation… at 27 years old… I had a heart attack on my walk home. I collapsed in my living room. Mark found me on the floor when he got home from work. She literally broke my heart. I was devastated. I was in shock. I was dissociating. I was so fucked up. I needed help. Poor Mark. He didn’t know what was wrong and neither did I.

Shortly after my graduation, MJ graduated and she drove to see her and was sure to tell me about it. I mean, they are BFFs so, no surprises there. GO TEAM MARY ELLEN, right?  

Whats wrong with you Melissa? My family. My family is whats wrong with me.

During college I was stressed to the point of being catatonic when I wasn’t at work or school. My mental health was tanking in every possible way… but the pressure cooker of school and work kept me hemmed in and my desire to prove that I was someone worth loving (because god knows I wasn’t going to be loved just for being me…No one was simply going to show up for me or simply be there. I had to earn it.)

…. then we moved to Seattle and I had three years at Amazon in that pressure cooker of a job… (10 to 14 hours a day, 6 days a week) working as a Lead running a team of 200 people to keep me too busy to feel my feelings or connect to emerging myself.  

At some point after I graduated and it no longer mattered, I remember MJ came to visit me one time. That was nice of her. Thank you for trying, MJ.

But heres the fun part: Mark. Mark loved me.

Mark is the very first and to this day ONLY person who has been intimately involved in my life who loves and respected me just as I am.

It was Mark loving me that allowed me to start developing a voice and for that very young very traumatized person inside of me to start coming to the surface. Mark was the very best thing that has ever happened to me….and, ironically, it was because he loved me that all that evil finally came to the surface…and was our demise.

All the things dad did to me, all the never ending abuse from mom that sought to vilify and demoralize me… all of the hurt from the abandonment from my brothers and sisters… all that evil came up because he Loved me enough to make me feel safe and supported…I just didn’t know that then and couldn’t see or feel that he was the most tremendous gift this life has ever given me ….

and I started sexually assaulting myself in my sleep (woke up one time with an entire box of tampons inside of me and had to go to the doctor to get them all out). I would throw punches in my sleep. I was having an utter mental breakdown/ breakthrough… and then I started acting out sexually with other men that I met online. I felt like I was being puppet mastered from some evil unknown source. I was manic and acting out sexually. That default programing from my childhood was calling the shots. I didn’t have a sense of self so I was acting from what I knew and what Dad taught me about myself and the self-worth that mom made sure I didn’t have.

I say acting out sexually. What I should say is reenacting the trauma…which there was so very much of. I was on auto pilot and at that time if you asked me if that’s what I wanted to be doing I would have said yes out of programming but the core truth of who I am knew it was not at all right or who I am or what I wanted…that core didn’t have a voice yet.

2001, Amazon had laid us all off. I got hired working at a treatment center for abused youth.  I was major depressive and would be fetal position on the floor and cry for a month at a time but I didn’t know why or what was wrong… I was just deeply goddamn depressed and wanted to die. All the time. Goddamn. Let it end.

Poor Mark. He didn’t know what was happening. He was the perfect boyfriend. He tried so hard to help me. I honestly could not have asked for a more perfect man to come in to my life…and he was stuck with me. Mentally fucked Melissa with no clue what was wrong… and worst of all, I thought I had to get out of my relationship with Mark.

Crazy,right?….I asked Mom for help. She had no relationship with me and no clue what was going on in my life…She is a complete train wreck of a human and so deep in her own denial and so wrapped up in her latest abusive relationship with a rich man that she could honestly give a fuck about me and thought the worst of me anyway… so yeah, break up with him and oh my god Melissa I don’t know what to do with you.

I kept cheating on him over and over again. I was off the rails with my manic depression. Spending, fucking, driving my car too fast…. Through a chat room, I got mixed up with a man that felt like Dad to me and I was entranced and captive to him. Mark asked me to marry him and I broke up with him, moved out.. I was off the rails with the sexual acting out/re traumatizing myself.

(Mark immediately met the woman he has since married and has been with for the past 18 years. I would give anything to have that man back in my life…Throughout these years, my memory of how he treated me has been the standard by which I have held all other men and nobody measures up….Beyond his character and integrity, the art, music and intelligence that lives within this handsome and kind man is incomparable. I blew it. Fuck. I pushed away the most incredible man I ever knew and he loved me. I still love him to this day.)

At that same time I heard a rumor at work that one of the counselors (reggie, 24) had slept with a client(raya,16). I knew reggie was capable of it (I had slept with him) so I reported it to the Unit manager, Big Mike. ……What I didn’t know is that Reggie, Mike and the guy I was so into, Cash were all friends who grew up together and in the same gang……

and so it was that month that I moved out from Mark that the man that I was so “in love with”, Cash, drugged me at a house party and raped me with 4 of his friends to teach me a lesson for reporting Reggie.

I remember sharing a beer with Cash and then feeling tired and dizzy and asking to lay down and then multiple hours of being barely coherent and having no control over my body and being passed around for everyone to fuck over and over again.

Cash was a sex trafficker and grooming me all along. No wonder he felt like home. My need for family and my daddy issues in full effect, I couldn’t break the spell. I was terrified of him and wanted him to think I was so sexy…..He was masterful with the mindfuck and kept me under his thumb at all times which felt like attention and love to me and was intense enough that I could feel it.

At that time, in Washington, you had a statue of limitations of 8 years to report a rape.

Mind you, I was so dissociative and still had no idea I was a person or had any rights to my thoughts or my body… I was really goddamn checked out at that point in my life….I was in shock. The childhood assault trauma was just surfacing and I had no words for it because it had been normalized and my feelings negated by my parents So, I didn’t know if I had been raped or not….it took me years to figure out that its wrong to drug someone and have all your friends fuck them…

I didn’t know I should or could ask for help. I didn’t believe I could be helped. I didn’t think anyone would help me. I didn’t know I was a person. I didn’t know I had rights. I didn’t know I could escape or how.

ANYONE CONFUSED ABOUT WHY I DIDN’T KNOW HOW TO GET HELP OR THAT I DESERVED IT???????

Whats wrong with you, Melissa?

In the meanwhile, Cash was making sure I wouldn’t report it.

He knew I was away from Mark, had a history of sexual assault and no family, and that I lived in absolute poverty so there was zero chance I could escape him.

I was in so much trouble. I needed help. I called Mom. I explained that it all to her. I explained that they were a gang. That it was sex trafficking… that I needed help…. To which she said “Let them play godfather. Whats the worst they can do?”….. (nice way to minimize the extreme danger I was in and negate me as a person, don’t you think?)

that bitch loves to see me suffer and struggle, doesn’t she. Doesn’t it make her look amazing when I look like shit? So she didn’t help me. She shit talked me to the rest of the family like I wanted to be in that situation because I was trash. Nobody helped me.

I remember talking to Mary Jane around that time explaining that I was getting counseling and she, like mom, shamed me and told me I didn’t have bipolar or something like that… She was Team Mary Ellen all the way and me getting counseling was just attention seeking or something like that.

See, this is why MJ and I have never been friends or close. I cant trust her. Shes not someone I think of as an ally. Sorry about that, MJ. Im not trying to be mean but… look at why I think that.

I really do look up to her though. She is so smart and capable. But I cant trust her and this is why.

By the way, here’s just a few of examples of the worst they can do while “playing Godfather”: They were so invested in making sure I never spoke about the rape they made sure I was living in such constant fear for my life (mental domination) that I was too scared to talk to anyone about it:

*They had voyeur cameras in my house…that they were making money off of.

*They had software on my laptop to collect all my personal data (social security, passwords, answers to security questions) so I am owned by them to this day.

*They had GPS on my car to track me everywhere I went and would leave notes on my car to let me know I was constantly being watched.

*They flipped my therapists office and stole all her files to make sure there was no record

*They poisoned my dog every day for a month while I was at work…I would come home to Milo cowering in the corner like he had been abused all day long and diarrhea all over the floor until one day I yelled out in my home with nobody there that I would find Cashs son and do the same to him…and I went online and found his childs home address…yelled that out to my empty apartment…and after that day Milo was never sick again….

*Then there are the 2 times they broke into my apartment in the middle of the night, drugged me in my sleep and did whatever and dumped me at the park. One of those time I woke up with half my face slack and paralyzed as though I had a stroke. By the grace of god I got the feeling back but to this day its still a little droopy.

*They sent their equally psycho boy Alex into my life to keep watch on me. He was horribly mentally abusive. I was so broken and demoralized. I needed to get away. Instead, I got pregnant. Alex also gave me syphilis ..and so I had an abortion. I had to get two Orders of Protection to get Alex away from me. When I called mom for help with the pregnancy, she was off the rails hysterical and I was yet even more scared and alone. Mom blamed me for all of it. Further evidence Im trash. I got pregnant by a mistake by a black man.

There is more, I mean it was 8 years of daily torture… but I think you get the idea. Complete mental domination was the name of their game.

I had no friends. None. I was so fucked up. I was terrified to speak to anyone because everything felt like danger. Just these men showing up when they felt like to to fuck me and terrorize me. Eight years. My 30s. I was miserable beyond the telling of it.

Whats wrong with you Melissa. I needed help. I was so scared. I needed my family. I got yelled at and shamed. I was so alone. I wanted to die. I was so depressed and fucked up. Goddamn. Let it end. And the worst of it all is that I really didn’t even have myself. I never had a chance to be safe enough to develop a self. I was a shell of a human. I was out of my head. I was so checked out with the PTSD and the trauma of it all. I was scared to be alive. Soul fracturing is real.

This was how I spent my 30s. Somehow pulling myself together to go to work during the day because I didn’t want to be homeless, coming home and having a total mental collapse at night and all the while being mentally tortured by a gang of sex traffickers and when I reached to my family for help I got blamed for being a fucked up piece of shit.

I had no one. When I talk about my isolation and how alone I am, its cumulative.  Its all this and more.

I don’t need to volunteer at a shelter on Christmas to be with someone for the holidays. I don’t need to get a dog. I need family. I need to be validated on a daily basis that I matter and am loveable just as I am. I need someone safe who is simply there. I need people in my life who celebrate me without me asking. I need people who are there for those simple mundane acts of living that define us…I need to come home to love.

The miracle: I kept myself employed and was successful in my corporate career path, I kept myself housed, and drug and alcohol free the entire time. I had the where with all to get counselling and try to work through my shit. I never gave up on myself even though I didn’t yet know who I am and my family had absolutely written me off from day one.

Then the Recession happened. I, of course, had never learned money management skills so there really wasn’t any savings to rely on. I was comfort eating like a motherfucker, I had student loans, a car payment and insurance and a foolishly large and expensive apartment, I had these lecherous men that were taking advantage of me financially too… I was manic depressive… I was paying for counselling (which if I am not mistaken over the years has totaled $100k) But to be honest, I don’t know where my money went… so when the Recession hit it took about 2 months before I was selling off everything I own and living in my car….where I stayed for the next year with my dog.

Nobody help me stay safe or in my integrity. I had no friends in Seattle to turn to. Mom told me to put my things in garbage bags and throw it all away…take the dog to the pound… and work with my counselor (she was angry about me getting help because she perceived it as being me trying to vilify her and this was her chance to punish me for getting help) and find a shelter to check in to because I wasn’t welcomed at her home.

Let me say that again: My mom knew I was losing everything, told me to throw my life away, dump my kid at the pound and told me to check into a shelter, I wasn’t welcomed at her home.

MY MOM.

Shes sees me as trash. She threw me away. Doesn’t she look amazing when Im failing?

Work in Seattle was impossible to find. I literally had 700 resumes out. Understand, I have held a job consistently since I was 15 years old and somehow mom thought this moment was me being a lazy piece of shit and just trying to manipulate her for money when I asked for help.

Sure. Ok.

I spent the next year in my car with no money coming in other than whatever odd jobs I could grab on craigslist to make my car payment. I drove back to North Carolina to seek help from my friends and my brother. My friends back home were not in a position to help me in any long lasting way but bless them all for what they did…

but Jim 2, who lives in Raliegh, was. He just declined. He made me a sandwich…told me there was nothing he could do for me (he has three houses)…and I spent the night in my car outside my brother’s house.

I had an ex acquaintance from Seattle who lived in Raleigh. He was part of the abuser sex trafficking gang. He let me sleep on the floor but would beat the shit out of me if I tried to sleep on the couch. I was so demoralized and out of my head, I needed literally anyone to be there for me….so, I stayed there, on the floor, for a month.

My brother was 15 minutes away, could have kept me safe but my brother chose to do nothing to help me.  

Whats wrong with you Melissa. My family. Definitely gonna say my family.  

When it was clear that North Carolina wasn’t going to be any better for work than Seattle I decided to drive back to the west coast. I had to drive through Texas and I didn’t stop at Moms house. I didn’t even try. Why would I?  I was so hopeless and out of my head with depression and PTSD. I was screaming into the great black nothing. I was cutting myself all over to get the evil out. I would punch my own face black and blue from self loathing… again, thinking it was all my fault and that I was defective. I mean… my own family didn’t want me. Nobody did. It was me. I was a horrible piece of shit and deserved to die. Nobody loved or wanted me. Nobody kept me safe. I was deeply lost in the void. I wanted to die. Goddamn. Let it end.

That year in the car was by far worse than the 8 years of being tortured by sex traffickers or the 13 years of living with my sex predator father or the 7 years of being stuck in bumfuck North Carolina with my moms abuser boyfriend stealing the show.

Without question having nobody and knowing that nobody cares if you are safe, in your integrity, have a door to lock, privacy of any kind, if you are fed or showered… knowing for a demonstrated fact that there is not a single person on earth who cares enough to validate your humanity is the absolute worst feeling I have ever known.  Being completely dehumanized, demoralized, erased. I begged for death.

Whats wrong with you Melissa?

Fun fact: during that time, instead of helping me or offering me a job at her business doing the exact job I did so well at Amazon (I asked for one and told her I would sleep in the attic at the office and she told me No), to mock me and show me what a failure I am and that I was just trying to manipulate her for money because Im a lazy loser

Mom went to her local Costco and applied for a job to show me how easy it was for her to get hired.

I mean, if youre going to be void of a soul, you should really go for it. Kudos, Mom.  

I drove through California on the way back home to Seattle and met my sister Patty for the first time. We look like two peas in a pod. We think exactly the same. She is undeniably my sister. It was the most incredible feeling.

For the first time in my entire life I actually felt and thought the same as someone else.

She casually declined to introduce me to her family. They kept looking at me incredulously because we look just the same… but she would shoo them away when they would come over to talk. I met her at her restaurant and then she took me to her palatial home. She has a huge family. She had tons of photo albums… and then she started talking about Dad…like she was in a trance and talking about a favorite lover… it was clear that Dad had sexualized her and maintained that relationship with her well into her adult life and that was the reason she had no contact with us and didn’t want a deeper relationship with me. One conversation was all I got with her. I slept in my car outside her home. My sister didn’t help me. Whats wrong with you Melissa???

In one shot from LA I drove back to Seattle. I figured out that the Queen Anne neighborhood had the lowest crime rate so I parked there. I was so sick to death of all the nights that year that I would wake up with someone trying to break in to the car. Thank god I had Milo with me. He saved me multiple times from intruders that year. My body was a wreck from car living and shit food. My mental health beyond destroyed. I was really just done. Run through. All the way run through.

I did a brief stint staying in Silverdale with my friend from NC that I managed to re connect with on my drive back… but the hour drive into Seattle from Silverdale was too much so I lumped it and just slept in my car in Queen Anne once I secured my job…..

I went in to Top Pot Doughnuts every day for a month and demanded a job until they gave me one. I was 8 weeks into that job, still sleeping in the car but I had forward momentum when I totaled the car. I had the very last car payment in the seat next to me I had worked so fucking hard to maintain my payments in good faith despite it all and come out of that situation with my car but nope…fuck me. I was on my way to the gym and I was giving myself a pep talk telling myself everything was going to be ok….and I ate it…40 miles an hour into a stopped truck on the West Seattle Bridge. Entirely my fault. Milo went to the pound. All my earthly belongings went to the impound yard. I went to the ER…. And I called every single person I knew and who I thought could help me.

Just when you think you have nothing left, turns out you can go lower. Nobody returned my call.  

Me, the unwanted, loveable piece of shit. I could die and nobody cared. Whats wrong with you Melissa?

I got out of the hospital, I had made contact with my online friend Rishad and he let me stay for a couple days… BLESS HIM… In those two days I got on the bus. I took the bus that goes through Capitol Hill and up to Queen Anne where my job was. I wrote down every apartment for rent phone number I could see and I started making calls. In the first true lucky break I had in years, this apartment manager woman at a really sweet little apartment on the hill heard me out…heard my story… it was the 15th of the month. I had my car payment check and I cashed it and gave her the money… She gave me the keys and a wink and told me I could move in “on the first”, that’s what the money I gave her would pay for…. and that she definitely didn’t know anything about a dog so no pet fee was needed.

I went right upstairs, LOCKED MY OWN DOOR and laid on the floor with literally nothing left to my name and cried so fucking hard.  

I had whiplash from the accident. I fractured 4 molars on my steering wheel and over the years as my dentist promised they have slowly one by one fallen out of my face. I had broken both my feet and wracked my knees…. But I had a place that was my own and a job and that’s all that mattered.

I went right to the pound the next day and got Milo. I went to the impound lot and got what was left of my life. I missed a sum total of two days of work…. I was so thankful to have a job again I blocked out the pain from my broken body and I just kept going.

(Mind you the only thing Mom has ever been proud of me for in my lifetime is losing weight. That’s what got her attention…that’s what she was impressed by. I went on a diet.)

That next year, I lost 70 pounds at the gym. I perceived my training team as the family I never had and I was good at lifting weights. They weren’t honestly my friends or family but it was something consistent and I needed that stability and I needed them so fucking bad. It took 5 years to start to return to a somewhat functioning human... Lifting helped me get back into my body and stop checking out so much. My nutrition plan made me focus on myself every moment of every day…and nothing beats depression like clean food and working out. Structure and consistency.

My PTSD was off the rails though. I was worse than a soldier coming back from war…I never signed up for that shit and it started when I was a child. I was suffering. I wanted to die. Every moment of every day. I was miserable to be around. Nobody wanted to be my friend. So, trust me…just work and the gym with my illusion that people were there for me and me inappropriately and overly attached to them.

The irony is that I looked amazing and strong and I was, yes. The reality is that I wanted to die. I begged for death. I had two suicide attempts in those years….I surprised myself and cut my wrist with my house keys on the way to work one day and another time I walked into traffic but the car swerved.

Coming out of all that happened and processing all that trauma took more will power and resolve than anything I have ever done. It was so dark. I felt demon possessed. I was out of my head. I would find myself walking out of my place into public with no skirt on just my tights or other crazy shit like that. I was talking to myself, having heated arguments with nobody there all the fucking time. I was punching myself in the face. I was cutting and other such self harm.

It was really bad. I was hurting so fucking much.

And, I had another sociopath boyfriend taking full advantage of my disadvantage…keeping me fucked up because it kept me there for him. Thomas was in my life for 7 years. Absolute Scum. But he was the only person who would show up in person for me. I needed to be held. I was so out of my head and I still had no friends in my life…just people on the internet.… So again, this familiar situation: I just let him use me so I could have literally anyone there. The social and emotional isolation was killing me and I was convinced I was in love. He felt like home. He kept telling me we would be together if I waited. That he loved me. That I was the Key! I was the only time he was happy. The reality was he wouldn’t speak to me during the week. He would just show up on a Friday or Saturday night when he felt like it, from 1am to 3am…literally show up with his dick out to fuck me…very often wouldn’t speak to me when he was there…then he would leave and that was what I considered my relationship and love. It was about 2 years into our “relationship” that the truth slowly started to surface that he was in a long term relationship and he lived with her….

The details of how twisted he is and how he manipulated my daddy issues is disgusting. How he used neglect to keep me working so hard for him to be there and begging for his attention….really sick.

He felt like home which is the worst part. He was exactly like home.

It took me three years at the doughnut shop to get emotionally stabilized enough to make a plan for next steps. I was too emotionally fragile to go back to corporate work or be in an office environment. I knew I wanted to go to massage school and I really thought it could be an answer for me even though Mary Jane and mom had previously shamed and mocked me when I said I wanted to go. Mom didn’t think I could be anything better than a waitress. She told me to stop complaining that I hated my work and just go do it.

It was around this time that I had to move out of the apartment because they raised the rent by double on my sweet apartment and I found my way into squatting in my Art studio, where I have been for the past 7 years.

This studio has been so needed and healed me in so many ways. It is private enough to have a complete mental collapse and since it was a former isolation tank/jail… Nobody can get in here….bars over the windows and a steel door…so, I could sleep at night for the first time in years. The rent is crazy affordable which allowed me to go to school and later afford activities to try to learn social skills and be a real person in the world…. This place is my everything.

When I had my first art show… consisting of the photos that I took when I was living in my car. One of the ways I survived and changed my paradigm to get out of the car alive was that I would walk around and task myself with Looking through the eyes of Love. I would try to find one thing each day that I could see beauty in so I could continue to see good in the world…thus my collection of flower photos that I maintain to this day as my gratitude practice.

Mom picked up the phone and called me the night of my show.

(Mind you, she has never been there for me. Over the years since she kicked me out I think we have talked on the phone maybe 10 times. There have been years where she refused to give me her phone number…she made a game of it for years…I would email and ask for it she would say she was going to give it to me in her reply but never would. Then she finally did and a week later she changed it again. Psycho. Another time I can remember a time we talked on the phone and I ended by saying I love you and she was silent and struggled to say it back. Whats incredible is that she has always pretended to be someone who knows me and knows whats going on in my life and talks about it with such authority. This is a narcissistic abuser in action. What she was doing was scanning my social media and whatever scraps of information she could get and twisting it into whatever story she needed to support her storyline about me being a problem child and a fuck up and what a wonderful mother she is so she could continue to live in denial. She cant face the past and she has never done any work to own her part or apologize. So, now Ive cut her off. She does things now like call the place where I get my mail and had the people who run the PO box office tell me my mother called and she is worried about me and she asked them for whatever information they had on me -so I had to get a new PO Box place where the owners have English as a distant 2nd language-  or she will go through my friends list on social media and contact people to see if they will keep tabs on me for her and share her story about what a problem I am and how she is just a loving mother who I have scorned and of course people believe her. She said the magic word: Mother. Nobody would suspect what kind of Mother she actually is and they see me all angry, regressed emotionally like a child and so fucked up and struggling in the world so she must me right about me, yeah? Text book actions when you try to break away from a Narcissist)

So…I get into the studio and Im all set up for my show and she called me to say this: “So, youre having an art show huh? You think youre so great. Youre still alone though aren’t you? (the mean girl was jealous that I somehow retained a sense of self and did something neat to be proud and again, she wanted to punish me…the woman is demented.) You know, the longest relationship you’ve ever had is with that damn dog.” And then she laughed at me. Made some shit comment about my basement studio “not having air” and some other bullshit and we ended the call. My party guests were arriving. My self-confidence was missing in action for the rest of my night.   Nice, right? That’s my mom.

Shortly after I get in to the Studio Milo got sick. Really really sick. As I promised him from day one, I would never let him suffer for my own selfish reasons…. So, I rented a car, took him to the vet and had him put down. The love of my life and my great protector. This sweet soul that was my constant source of love and hope for 14 years. When I posted on my facebook thread about his passing, mom commented that she was devastated at her loss. Because, you know… Milos death, this dog that she wanted me to throw away, was about how it impacted HER.  …yeah….ok.

I want to mention out of the context of a clear timeline that somewhere in here I trained for and ran two Tough Mudders. They are 12 mile courses with 20 really fucking hard obstacles. They are designed to be run with a team. I ran them both solo because nobody wanted to join me. On the days that I went to the events, neither my Trainer or the man I was so in love with, Thomas, sent me as much as a good luck text to wish me well or acknowledge my accomplishment. My previously 215 pound ass had shrunk to 140 pounds and, at 40 years old ran a team event solo and made it through in TWO AND A HALF HOURS completing every single obstacle, no excuses…. And nobody who should have been excited and invested in my success said a word.

I was still invisible. I still did not matter. I was still not celebrated by the people who should have been there for me.

I want to point this out: Even I did not think I mattered or what I was doing was noteworthy. I was still so checked out and erased to myself that it didn’t click in my head that my life and all that I was doing and surviving was me doing the impossible.

My friend Luke (who I met online dating but I knew we were meant to be solid friends for life) made a point to come with me to the first Tough Mudder. He spent the entire day out there and he took photos of me… He is the reason that I can now reflect on what I did and actually SEE MYSELF. That gift is immeasurable. Luke evidenced me. Im here today as a whole person in part because of him.  Also of note, the transition time between the apartment and the studio: Luke let me stay with him. He kept me safe and he was my sounding board and my true friend. I have nothing but the deepest most heartfelt love and respect for him. His story is equally harrowing and he is a miracle in action. Thank you Luke. I love you. Youre in my inner circle for life.

Now that Milo was gone and I was feeling somewhat more stabilized as a human, I knew it was time to make my career plan and try to get into massage school. Here is the next great stroke of luck in my lifetime: I went to Discovery Point and I talked to the women that run the school I explained my situation and that I was completely broke. They let me go to school for free in those 9 months with the understanding that I would clean the school on the weekends, make what payments I could as I went along and work out a payment plan immediately after graduation and that they would hold my diploma until that was complete.  OH SWEET MERCY.

My days during those 9 months were 17 hours long. I would manage the café in the morning 5am to 1pm, go to the gym to lift and run from 2 to 4, then to school from 5 to 10pm…all the while walking to get to each place. I was getting something like 12 miles a day. I did it. I made my 9 months of cleaning the school and keeping my life on track ( no cheering section, nobody doing laundry, cooking, keeping bills paid or there to comfort me but me: Whats new?) , I passed my exam and I was on track to move my life forward.

I feel like there should have been a celebration when I graduated because that’s fucking astounding…. but, hey… nothing happened, nobody in my life said a word of congratulations about it. Surprise.

I live alone. I have no friends beyond those that exist on the computer, acquaintances from community, and a few co workers that I have hung out with from time to time and I always make a big deal about that on social media which gives the illusion that I have people, but I really dont. My only contact with others is at work. I go home to an empty room and there is no support or comfort. Its really impossible to describe to people who have people what it is like to live with this constant isolation and utter lack of emotional intimacy and how it eats you alive…but this has been my life.

People who don’t understand tell me to get a dog or volunteer or pay for therapy for companionship. That’s a cruel tone deaf response. People need people and it is reasonable to want to be loved, intimately, from the outside in. What I want is to simply matter, and be loved and valued, and have someone who is there without having to do something to receive that…..

Because I have yet to be understood when I talk about it, I have for the most part stopped talking about my isolation that is to this day very real for me.

Im so lonely I just want to die. Whats new.

In the next year, I was waiting tables still and somehow managed to pay off $10k for my license… on a year where I only made $24k. again, no celebration when I told my co workers about it…. I thought it was a big deal.

During that year I went to the doctor and discovered that I was literally malnourished. I was pushing it too hard with working out and keeping everything on track and my personal trainer wasn’t actually reading the food journal I sent him each night… so I got pneumonia as well….but just kept going.

I also got my Personal Training Cert and my Nutrition Counseling cert that year and started working as a Personal Trainer while I looked for a Massage job. Things were lightening up for me. The tremendous crushing weight of my entire life was lightening up.

But the reality of who my Trainer was and what a fraud he was came to the light. He was sleeping with some of his clients and I have a laundry list of unethical things he, and his business partner, were doing. When I held him accountable that was the last straw for him. He was sick to death of weathering my PTSD and how fucked up and sick I was and how fucked up I was over Thomas all the goddamn time… and additionally I was calling out all the ways he was unethical: I was bad for business. I was bad for him in the fitness community.

He kept gaslighting me to try to get me to leave but that was my community for 5 years and I didn’t know what to do…….So, Matt did whats guys do: Shes crazy… and shit talked me throughout the fitness community.  He kicked me out of his gym and I now have no gym to work out at and no trainers willing to work with me. Thanks Matt! Super appreciate you!

I maintained my own lifting program for another year but honestly, I was in it for the community and sense of belonging that I never had before in my life. Without that and with Matt shit talking me in the background so I had no support elsewhere my program started to slip…. Add to that, I had begun  working full time in massage and my shoulder got burnt out. I have a repetitive stress injury from my Amazon days that was made worse at Tough Mudder when I got my arm yanked nearly out of its socket in an obstacle… so, Lifting started to fade… and honestly, I was burnt out on the regiment of it all. I needed a break. I deserved a huge break.

I think it was right around 2014 when Mom had me come to Houston for Thanksgiving as though we are friends or she was a Mom. The highlights of that visit include her telling me the reason I wasn’t welcome in Houston during the Recession was because her husband Rumi forbade it.

(I forgot to mention that all through the years of her being with Rumi she has painted this picture of him being physically and emotionally abusive. That she was hiding money to escape him and what a horror he is. She had some secret email account that she sent me emails from at one point and told me that she was trying to hack his email to see who he was having affairs with or some other drama….. but you know if you ask Jim2 who his best friend is, its Rumi…apparently they text all the time…so, you know…she loves to lie and paint these horrific pictures of who people are to support whatever her manipulation is to get sympathy or whatever pay off)

Anyway, While I was in Houston visiting her she was acting like everything was normal and fine and that I had just made up whatever it was that I went through during the Recession. She reminded me that since I “left home” at 18 she has had to give me something like $20k in support and implied what a burden I am and how I always have my hand out. She has kept track of the financial support she gave me as a parent and wanted me to feel like shit for needing her. Cool….

Another example of how mentally deranged she is: While I was there we went out to lunch. Mind you, I have maybe $100 to my name at that time. I offered to pay for lunch at this fast food place and after we ordered she commanded me to go pick a table. So I got a booth with a chair. I sat on the booth side so I was facing the café and could see her when she came out of the restroom… I waved her over and she sat in the chair. Unbeknownst to me, the booth side made me taller than the chair side…. She got this twisted angry look and became livid that I thought I was better than her. Paying for lunch and sitting above her like that….. The next day Mom and Rumi started playing a really fun game where they forgot my name and kept calling me “Savannah” (my niece) for the remainder of the time I was there …. You know… because at 44, they saw me as a child. Nothing like a little game of erasing your daughter’s person hood and replacing it with infantilism to let your daughter know you really see her and respect her.

I really hope this is making clear why I have a strict no contact in place with her that I will never change.

Now its 2017 and I get hired at my dream job. The Spa that I am at is beautiful. My co workers are the best. I make really fine money. My mental health is slowly coming together. I got Thomas out of my life and have enough mental clarity now to really see him for who he is.  I had spent yet another holiday season alone and the isolation was killing me, as per usual…so I decided that the best thing for me to do to help pull me out of my PTSD and stop being so scared to be seen or heard would be to go to music school…. Learn how to make friends for the first time in my adult life and be with people who were not my co workers. Try to trust people again. Try to trust that I could be liked for who I am….though rejection has been a very prevalent theme in my life… Try to learn some social skills that I missed out on basically my entire life.

How to simply hang out and play….was brand fucking new to me. Music school was really really really hard… not to mention I have no musical ability and I get triggered by stress pretty quickly and freeze… but I knew it was the right thing to do to reparent the kid inside me who never learned to make friends or be in activities with others and who wanted to play drums…. So hell yeah. I did it.

Thank you to Katy,Tracy,Melissa,and Kiyan for coming out to see a couple of those shows and being there to support me. You have no idea how much that meant to me.

I thought if I could make friends there I would have people to go out with and maybe could have a chance to meet a man and have a relationship… but all the women there were married with children and had little interest in going out at night, and I still wasn’t fully integrated as a Self yet… so that was a bust.

Music school was really me making up for my 20s and 30s when I should have been out at shows and hanging with friends and making art and and dating but instead I was being mentally tortured by my entire life. I gave it a good shot, but Im a mixed media artist not a musician and that’s really that. I have to take it in stride: Bless my heart for trying. Thank you to all my bandmates for being so kind and supportive of me and for being stellar humans

I was in my first year of Music school when I met the most amazing man, Joe. He was magical. He honestly loved me for me and I loved him right back. It was fast and deep and I felt so completely seen and wanted by him and OH MY GOD I NEEDED THAT FOR SO LONG. He made incredible things happen and took me on dates that made me feel like a Queen…. But Joe was terminally ill and two months later took his own life. I was in shock again….but kept going as I do.

Also out of context of timeline: When I got into that sweet little apartment I would go down to Edge of the Circle which was just a couple blocks away and get Tarot readings from Raven and Kiyan. I didn’t know how to simply ask for friendship so I would buy Tarot readings to have someone to talk to. These two helped me so much in so many ways…through their compassion and through helping me develop my Self and my skills. Over and over again these two have shown up as real people who have treated me with integrity. People who genuinely care about me and support me in my developing personhood. Ive made it through because of them and so many others along the way.

The shitty thing about being knocked out of your self is that even though you have people around you who care, you often cant see it or feel it and like a dick minimize what people are doing for you because the all-consuming feeling that nobody is there is so much larger than the gentle loving efforts of those around you…. And what happens: you push away the people who are there for you because they have self-respect and youre unwittingly being a dick. I want to say Im really sorry about this because I know for sure Ive done this.

Also out of context of timeline: Somewhere in here I started working in Tarot and caught a lucky break and got hired at Percys to be their Reader. Huge shout out to Krista who made that so possible for me. That Tarot night did more for my sense of Self and well being than I can explain and I was a success there largely because Krista made it so beautiful and kept that night going for me.

I also want to say Thank you to Tracy, Katy, and of course Brian who were my friends and co workers at the RowHouse Café… through those early massage school years. Endless support and encouragement from these guys, even when I was too fucked up to really receive it or reflect it back. Im really lucky to have met you and have had you in my life.

It was right around the solar eclipse and the night before that hurricane hit and flooded Houston and moms house got flooded that I emailed her a long list of things she had done that hurt me and explained that I would be taking time away from her and Id let her know when we could speak again. The next morning after I sent that email I again felt puppet mastered…. But this time by the little kid inside me… I literally woke up, jumped out of bed and started to dance. I was filled with glee. I was amazed by myself. I don’t know where that came from except to say that the kid inside me was OVERJOYED to be free of her.

In the coming years I kept proving to myself that I wont let her back in and that Im safe now… and as I have been staying true to this practice of not letting her, or anyone like her, back in my life… I have become happier and more whole as a human being…. More capable of making good choices in friends and finances….

She made an attempt to contact me around the holidays this year. I saw her call but let it go to voice mail. The message she left was something to the tune of her wanting to know if I had forgiven her yet and gotten over it. …See, because its about me and what I need to do because its my damage that is the problem here…. Nothing had changed with her. It was still my fault. No apology. No self reflection. Had I forgiven her yet. For fucks sake: I will never forgive her.  

I have learned to celebrate myself, take my self on vacations and to my great delight I had friends who spent time with me and took care of me!!!!!! Incredible!!!!!, give myself the compassion and nurturing that I always wished I had and reasonably should have had from my family. I have been working on being able to see the love that is there for me from the people that I have in my life, though I still struggle with that.  I have been working so hard on Self Love, Self Respect, Healthy boundaries, creating safety and stability in my life in all way and I know that Im doing great work because my inner me, those little kids inside of me that needed a parent are really responding to the parenting Im giving them…. Check this out:

A month or so after I declined her call I was out at the café in my neighborhood, having a treat and a coffee and doing some writing. I was sitting at the table and this incredible feeling came over me as though a golden light was shining on me and I could see it glittering down on me. I started laughing and crying like when you cum really hard and youre filled with ecstasy and bliss. And then I had a vision of being in a hospital room that was in the forest… it was just two walls of the room and then the woods…I could see deer and birds. In the hospital bed there was a person in a full body cast. The cast had moss growing on it and tiny sprouts of pine trees. The Doctor walked in to the room to check on the patient. I was both the Doctor and the Patient. I told myself: Hey, its time to get you out of there. And I grabbed my circle saw and started to cut my cast from end to end and crack to open like a sarcophagus. I told myself Welcome Back! We are so glad you are here!!! Go slow, take your time getting up. No rush.

I was so elated. I walked home immediately. Upon arriving at my studio I had another vision of all the ages of myself, down to the youngest and up to the oldest and wisest all linking hands. I recognized these women as my Sisters/MySelf… all of us agreed that the next would watch out for the next and that nobody would ever hurt us again. SOUL RECLAMATION.

For the first time in my life I am here, in this body, in this present moment. The first time in my life I am ME. Im currently 6 months in to my actual LIFE. THIS IS ME. I AM HERE. OH MY GOD. I MADE IT.

Yes now, of course, the world is ending and my career in massage is tenuous at best and I might be fucked again…. But so not worried because honestly, Ive survived worse with less. So I will figure this out and keep myself alive, housed and fed.

Over the years my attempts to talk it out with Mom were pointless… she would erase my feelings and angrily tell me that it was hard on all of us. She would hold no space for me and just be my mom and have some compassion for her baby girl. Nope: It was hard on all of us so stop complaining… but see, I was a child and they were my parents and that was my family and I had no choice…. So really, at this point, Im done. Im better off on my own.

I don’t know what else to say other than those yearly years were tremendously bad for everyone in my family, yes. I can now at this time in my life see and understand why everyone did what they did…. That my parents were also victims of abuse from their parents and all that and yeah, I have compassion and Im really sorry they had to go through that….But it doesn’t make it ok or make mom someone I will let back in my life. I mean, I went through it and Ive dedicated my lifes work to helping others heal and I try to be so good to everyone around me so…. No excuses. And, I still have questions like: Fuck, why did dad never go to jail? Im guessing it was about the money…..and really, how did nobody in my family see that I needed help?

Anyway… Ive done epic amount of self work to be here today as a whole person and really change my reality to one where I have value and can share love. Im still working on it… My social anxiety is still the worst. I can barely form words into sentences when Im out in public and I dont have a job to do as my role to play....but you know, I keep trying and its easier and keeps getting easier… and I have amazing friends like Brad to have mini adventures with… and I have my Studio to do my art in and now that Im feeling so much more whole as a person I think I might actually see some work through to completion that I can be proud of… and I have a job that I love and Im getting training for some other skills to expand my skillset and I feel that things can only get better from here so

I feel so lucky to be alive and so fucking grateful to be me and I really like myself. It’s a miracle. All things are possible if you just remember: LOVE IS THE KEY and keep moving in that direction.

That’s my experience and now you know.

[maggotmouth]

         hello, its nora again ( she/her, gmt ) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck).  ive never used anya taylor joy as her fc before but anya has a smile that looks like she knows something u dont and thats completely alma’s vibe so we’re gonna try it out. she was raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget or get shy tho so pls message me x

application template.

ANYA TAYLOR - JOY   ,   CIS-FEMALE   ,   SHE/HER         →         according   to   the   school   records   ,   ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM   has   been   attending   sacred   heart   for   the   past   three   years   .   i   last   saw   them   hanging   around  the  sacred   heart   cathedral   ;   i   think   they   were   studying   the   stations   of   the   cross   with   a   smile   like   a   well - kept   secret.   at   twenty   -   one   years   old   ,   alma   has   been   studying   classics   and   get   this   ,   i   heard   that   she   has   made   a   fortune   on   the   black   market   by   forging   renaissance   art   to   sell   to   collectors   —   figure   it’s   true   ?   everyone   around   here   always   associates   them   with    neck   scarves   tied   around   your   throat   the   way   they   do   in   french   new   wave   films , running   barefoot   through   the   woods   drunk   on  red  wine   and  untapped   power , a  smile  like  a   locked   door   that   speaks   only  in   riddles  .   in   the   time   since   these   strange   happenings   ,   they   have   have   encountered   any   unexplained   occurrences   .         (   written   by   nora   ,   24   ,   she/her   ,   gmt   )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form. (still long af tbh)

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into sacred heart and the board really liked her in her interview. i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or st

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

—  an incredibly talented dancer. she was accepted to juliard to study ballet, but after an injury to her foot she had to refuse her place, something that she’s incredibly bitter about. she went to princeton instead to study classics for a semester, before being expelled. 

— alma comes from a family of high-end art dealers. while her parents paid her way into the school, that was mostly due to previous expulsions, not low intelligence. she’s incredibly intelligent but will only put in effort when she deems the cause worthy. she’s frustrating to teach, because she requires evidence, truth, in order to accept something as worthwhile. she plays devil’s advocate, but academically she’s brilliant. 

—  she can recognise any renaissance artist just by their brush strokes. her aunt and uncle deal antiques and art, and from an internship with them after her expulsion from princeton, she learned how to market and sell art, how to recognise originals in contrast to fakes. from this, alma began to produce counterfeit art and sell it off as the original work to the contacts she had made in her internship. it’s disloyal, but it’s powerful.

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

a secret society !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners or alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

        the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

        if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

        at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

        your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

        language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

        fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

        the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to sacred heart. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

[xadoheandterra]

Title: Bitter Night Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI Characters: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Ardyn Izunia | Ardyn Lucis Caelum, Somnus Lucis Caelum Tags: Time Travel, Fix-It Of Sorts, Angst, Hurt, Comfort Eventually, Ardyn and Noctis are both Assholes, Fuck the Gods, Violence, Blood, Referenced Torture, Misunderstandings Summary: He hadn’t known what he was doing. All he knew was that he felt bitter in this endless night–bitter that the story needed to end like this. It felt like the Bad Ending and–well, Noctis hated getting Bad Endings in his games. He refused to.

So Noctis refused.

The bowl in Somnus’ lap had completely passed Ardyn by until Celestia Ulric pushed the throne into the room and Somnus settled the offering of food onto the counter table. Ardyn had eyes only for his brother and not the lady that moved him into the room, so he barely noted her presence aside from Somnus’ soft and stilted words of thanks.

“I will gather up the sweetwater and return,” the woman said, and Ardyn spared her half a glance from the floor when he saw the faint flush to Somnus’ cheeks even as he sat straight and stiff in his throne. She looked to him, a kind smile that wrinkled at the edges of her face, and then turned and shut the door to the room with a silent motion.

Ardyn looked back to Somnus and his hip throbbed hard enough to force him to grimace as he took in the sight of his brother almost greedily. How long had it been since he’d seen his little brother? Ardyn couldn’t recall the last time Somnus deigned him a visit in his prison, although his arrogance seemed to have grown in the intervening years given the wheeled throne his brother seated himself in. His hair was grayer, too—older, maybe, Ardyn thought given the haggard appearance and the scraggily facial hair. The Somnus in his memories had been meticulously clean shaven if only because every attempt at a beard was a patchwork of embarrassment.

The silence deafened the room, suffocated it—neither brother wanted to speak and Ardyn couldn’t fathom why Somnus kept his silence—why he stared at him with wide eyes and his skin so pale. This must simply be another form of torture, like the chains and the darkness that had been Ardyn’s companion for so long. Only Ardyn couldn’t understand the motivation here. Should he not have been left to rot? Had that not been Somnus’ intention when he’d bound him upon the prison island, guarded by the Gods and their fickle whims?

Somnus looked away first—as he should, Ardyn felt a little vindictive at that even as he shifted to get his weight off of his hip and more into a seated position on the ground. Being lower than his brother grated, but Ardyn didn’t trust his legs to hold him just yet and he refused to show a sign of further weakness to the man who cut him down so callously once before. Ardyn watched how Somnus busied himself with silverware and napkins with an almost nervous sort of tick to his movements.

“The soup is mostly broth,” Somnus said, voice softer and quieter than the Somnus that haunted Ardyn’s nightmares. He seemed almost timid—afraid.

Ardyn fought back a sneer. “To poison me with?”

The sharp glance Somnus gave him in response was full of anger and gritted teeth. Somnus’ blue-grey eyes flashed almost purple and it took all of Ardyn’s meagre self-control to bite back the seething burst of Scourge beneath his skin.

“I got you out of there, I’m not trying to damn well kill you,” Somnus ground out.

“Out of my prison from whence you had me chained?” Ardyn laughed, a bitter cloying thing in his throat. “To come and gloat now, have you? With food and kindness while you sit upon a wheeled throne? Yes, brother, I know you don’t aim to kill me—you’ve already tried after all.”

The muscle in Somnus’ cheek twitched and his hands clenched into fists in his lap. With a sharp hiss of breath Ardyn watched as Somnus moved his hands to grasp at the wheels, white knuckled. His arms shook as he shoved the throne away from the counter and back, forced it to move by the clunky design of the wheels on either side. They weren’t positioned for someone to grasp easily—thin and small structures that they were. Ardyn watched this, and watched how Somnus remained stiff backed in the chair—it reminded Ardyn of when they were children before Ardyn could understand his gift to take well enough to help—and he detested the worry that gnawed in his gut.

“It’s a wheelchair,” Somnus said eventually. “Not a fucking throne.” He scrubbed his hand over his face and the stiffness eased bit by bit until Somnus slumped slightly. Ardyn watched the way Somnus forced himself to breath, to relax from the stiffness that took him the moment he saw Ardyn from that doorway. A grimace burst across his face—a tightening of his jaw that gentled, a narrowing of his eyes that softened with work and breath that could’ve been pained. Ardyn watched the emotions raced across Somnus’ face—pride, fear, resentment, desolation and so many more he couldn’t name, far too out of practice of reading Somnus these years apart.

Ardyn looked away and over to the soup; bitterness churned within him and he swallowed the faintest taste of bile as he said from the floor, “I do not hunger anymore.”

Somnus snorted out a bright, “Bullshit,” and Ardyn glanced to him with narrowed eyes full of gold and a fevered tinge of sickness around the edges. It wasn’t a lie exactly—Ardyn had gone long enough without food to not feel the pangs of hunger anymore, although he felt the slightest bit faint and like his head were stuffed full of cotton and he knew those feelings from a life of Before—

—not enough food for rotten Solheimr rats; sneers and jeers and spits of disgust aplenty but food not so much. Not for two, not for young’uns, and definitely not for those who bore Solheimr so plain across their faces with dark hair and pale-as-ice eyes and magic that sparks at fingertips and makes the world bleed in royal purples. Enough for one, though yes, and so he goes without because the slighter of them needs more and needs must after all. He knows the bite of hunger, but he refuses to let the little dreamer know it too—

“I do not need to eat, nor do I desire food, Somnus,” Ardyn sneered but the glance Somnus gave him—stern, distant, but something edged in the corners that wanted to steal Ardyn’s breath with how utterly repentant it was—and Ardyn glanced down at his lap almost chastised as Somnus called upon his bluff.

“You can’t get to your feet,” Somnus said, voice back to soft although there was a bit of steel in it, something like regret, “and while you probably don’t feel hungry I can bet you feel dizzy and weak.”

“Been reading, have we?” Ardyn said, slightly petulant, but then he froze at the way Somnus looked away with his lips turned down and his gaze off to the side to some distance that Ardyn couldn’t name.

Eventually Somnus shook his head and muttered, “I know what it feels like, is all,” and a part of Ardyn went cold at the thought.

Who dared—the Scourge raged and given the sucked in sharp breath from Somnus it figured that Ardyn wore the darkness plain upon his face. He struggled with it—the plain fear in his brother’s face was a heady sort of thing that almost felt like addiction except it also made Somnus look so horribly young while being so horribly old that Ardyn had to close his eyes.

He sucked in breath after breath, held it, released it, only to repeat until the chittering of fury bit at the edges and not at the forefront of his mind. This was Somnus after all—no one starved him, Ardyn could be certain of that, which meant for some twisted reason Somnus perhaps starved himself once or more and what could’ve caused that Ardyn didn’t know. At any rate he calmed himself and when he looked up it was to see Somnus off in that middle-distance again, entirely elsewhere, except his hands gave away the fear that still threatened him in the manner in which they shook.

Ardyn didn’t apologize; Somnus didn’t apologize. They were both horrible bastards like that as they snipped at one another and dug into old wounds with bitterness and rage. Ardyn sighed.

“Is it too much to ask you to help me up?” Ardyn said bitterly, even as he grasped his fingers around the small table and worked to pull himself to his feet and off of the floor. Somnus shrugged.

“Won’t be much use,” the younger mumbled, words half under his breath. His hands clenched into his pants until the knuckles were white and they trembled less from fear and more from the strain—and maybe rage. “I can’t exactly get out of this chair.”

Ardyn jerked his head around to Somnus with wide eyes, already on his feet even if he wanted to topple back over as vertigo rushed to make him feel like standing up was actually standing down and swimming through molasses. It took him a moment longer to regain his sense of balance, but once he had Ardyn stumbled forward with an almost drunken gait as he tried to work limbs that hadn’t been used in so long—eventually they gave back out underneath him but that was fine because when he did topple to his knees it was at Somnus’ feet with his hands grasped around Somnus’ legs in a way that should hurt. His fingers bore down and grasped, but Somnus said nothing aside from a scowl across his lips so familiar that it hurt Ardyn to see.

“You can’t walk,” Ardyn said, voice a whisper, and he watched how Somnus grit his teeth and ground his jaw together.

“Neither can you, asshole,” Somnus grumbled. “Unless you call that flailing walking.”

Ardyn snorted but squeezed his hands tighter and watched how Somnus stared down at their grasp upon his legs with something inscrutable in his gaze. “You can’t even feel me hurting you, can you.”

Somnus reached out and hesitantly touched Ardyn’s hands, dug his fingers between Ardyn’s palms and his legs, but he didn’t pry them off. He merely touched, light and hesitant, even as he said, “No.”

“How—”

Somnus huffed. “I defied the Gods. How else?”

Ardyn couldn’t stop the burst of rage at that—the words so casually said, as if they didn’t matter at all. Defied the Gods, by the Six what had Somnus done without Ardyn there to reign him in and remind him to always—always—be deferent to the Astrals. One did not push and pry and question the whims of beings that could strike them from this very Star on a mere chance but then—but then Somnus had always been foolhardy and Ardyn—but this, this was like being spit in the face by the Six to whom still held his loyalty despite it all, despite the pain and desperation that suffused his darkened soul. Ardyn still had hope that one day they would see fit to let him die, even if for now they saw fit to punish him because he didn’t do it right nevermind that Ardyn doubted he could’ve, in the end.

Yet still they stole Somnus’ legs from him, and Ardyn felt fury. Had not Ardyn sacrificed enough between the two of them so that Somnus should not? Or did the Six still feel that punishment was deserved upon them both—one for their piety and one for their lack? Ardyn had thought—but perhaps Ardyn had thought wrong and that in the intervening years the Six would deign his interference as faulty, especially if Somnus truly did decide to tell the Gods to go and fuck right off with their grand and meddling plans like he so threatened as a child more than once.

“What use are Gods that care not for us insignificant creatures upon this Star?” Somnus hissed in his ear. “We are but ants to them, toys to their bidding. Why do I owe them my allegiance—they who know nothing of the world of mortal men?” His breath ghosted Ardyn’s neck and Ardyn stiffened as he struggled—

“Ardyn?” Somnus said, voice hesitant and quiet in the way of a child and Ardyn breathed even as it felt like his vision darkened and spots danced at his eyes. He choked on his breath and pressed his face into Somnus’ knees and keened faintly. “Hey, uh,” Somnus fumbled over his words, awkward and unsure of himself—and it felt like Ardyn was dealing with his little brother again, fifteen and fumbling around with his first crush. “It’s—it’s okay?”

Ardyn trembled.

“Fuck. Right. It’s not okay but…but I knew it was gonna happen,” Somnus mumbled, sucked in a breath between his teeth. “Not like I was gonna be able to walk forever.”

“You should have been,” Ardyn said into his knees, words muffled. “If I had been—”

“What?” Somnus jerked in his seat and Ardyn could feel the hesitant fingers at the edge of his hair. “What? No, Ardyn I—it was my fault. It wasn’t—fuck.” Somnus’ hands shook. “You didn’t send a Miralith after me, you fucking shithead,” Somnus eventually concluded, voice distant, and just the slightest bit unsure even as Ardyn jerked back and stared up at Somnus with wide and surprised eyes.

“I—no!” Ardyn said, voice raising as he leaned forward until he practically climbed himself into Somnus’ lap so that their nose touched as he hissed and spit and snarled. “Do you really think I had any of that—that they would have—I was not tainted then, Somnus!”

Somnus jerked, surprise shifted across his face, and then he looked away with a half-mumbled, “Right.” He breathed in and relaxed slightly, still stiff and wary but less so and Ardyn frowned in confusion—“Right. I—forgot.”

“You forgot,” Ardyn said dryly, and Somnus ducked his head.

Neither said anything to one another for a long while until Somnus grasped at the wheels and pulled backward. Ardyn let him, confused and wrung out from the entire conversation wherein nothing was said at all.

“Eat your soup,” Somnus mumbled. “It’s probably gotten cold,” and he forcefully wheeled himself to the door. He fumbled for it, hands trembling and shaking and a part of Ardyn wanted to get up and tug Somnus out of the throne—the chair—and bundle his brother up and away and whisper apologies to him and beg for forgiveness. A part of him longed to rip out Somnus’ throat as visions of Aera’s broken and bleeding form crossed his mind. Ardyn stayed still while Somnus struggled with the door, and then watched as Somnus wheeled from the room.

It felt strange; Somnus defied the Gods and was burned by it. Ardyn was not in his prison. His brother brought him food. Perhaps in the end he was still dreaming, Ardyn thought, but then his hip throbbed and the smell of the soup reached his nose and his gut churned in a terrible way and Ardyn merely stared down at his hands in contemplative thought.

Noctis left the room a little struck by the thought that yes, Ardyn really was calling him Somnus, and no, Ardyn did not blame him for not killing him permanently like was Prophesied because Ardyn didn't remember even if for half of the conversation it felt like it. Because instead yeah Noctis had to suffer an injury as a child that nearly killed him, that fucking Somnus had at one point also suffered as a child unless he read that whole bit completely ass backward. He might've. Noctis could never quite tell with Ardyn because truth and lies were subjective and messy and Ardyn breathed both like they were the complete opposite thing.

[tonystarktogo]

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. Tony, Rhodey

Rhodey is the first. It’s not a secret. Nor is it something anyone ever really comments on. Most don’t even acknowledge it, barely comprehend that there is something to acknowledge, so used have they become to this. It’s a simple, fundamental truth, nobody in their right mind would waste their time fighting.

When it comes to Tony Stark, Rhodey is the first. Always has been.

He’s the one the hospital calls, when they first fly him in from Siberia–never mind that Rhodey can barely get up from a chair on his good days, never mind that Tony’s and Pepper’s separation still isn’t public knowledge–just like they did when Tony was nineteen and had a shard of glass bigger than his palm embedded in his left foot, and Rhodey reaches the hospital long before they finish the surgery because that is what he does. There’s no family only bullshit from the doctors here either, because that’s what Rhodey is, Tony’s made sure of that. And so did Rhodey, that one time they refused to let him through to Tony, who had a lot of lawsuits to pay off once the anaesthesia wore off.

He doesn’t leave Tony’s side, not even when a squad of over-eager military guys show up to arrest Iron Man. And Rhodey may not be Tony, may not have billions of mega watt smiles and sheer audacity to carry him through, but he’s served in the army for decades. He knows how to work the system, knows which buttons to push and which laws to circumvent.

So that’s what he does. He calls in favours and gets in contact with old friends, dials the numbers of journalists JARVIS had cleared back when he’d still been around. He talks with the right people, gets the right story out there–the story of a betrayed hero in a coma, put their by his former team mates and friends. Adds a sprinkle of tearful, honourably discharged best friend. FRIDAY and Pepper help as much as they can, but it’s Rhodey who drives them, Rhodey who fights this battle with the same bullheaded stubbornness he’s fought every other one.

Because Rhodey is a soldier, and with his best friend recovering from excessive trauma and Ross throwing a tantrum, he’s in just the right state of mind to fight dirty.

That he gets to drag Captain America’s through the mud is really just an added bonus. One Rhodey takes a vindictive pleasure in, even though the tactician in him recognises a disadvantageous move when he sees it. Knows they might be in need of the runaway super-humans one day soon. 

He publicly tears them down all the same.

*

Later, looking back at those chaotic first weeks filled with accusations and nightmares, the thing that will most stand out to Rhodey isn’t Ross’ face when he first realised the guy in the wheelchair would push back, isn’t even the gracious moment Tony regained consciousness for the first time, confused and scared and barely aware, but recovering–healing–all the same. No, it’s the unsurprised acceptance people greet him with, the way not once any of them ask him ‘why’.

Granted, it’s not a question he’s asked himself either. Not in a long time. But it’s only now that he realises that the one thing nobody fights him on is his right to stand up for Tony. To speak for Tony, while he isn’t in a position to do it himself.

Rhodey has been there before the Avengers. He’s been there before Pepper. He’s always been the first. He just hasn’t considered until now that the public might know it too.

The first time he runs into T’Challa–after–serves as a bit of a wake-up call.

They’re in a private medical floor at Stark Tower–and damn hadn’t Rhodey taken a sick satisfaction in tearing that cursed Avengers’ sign down. T’Challa has brought some documents from yet another UN meeting in the aftermath of the wayward superhumans’ disappearance. It’s a front, and an obvious one at that. The king of a country doesn’t usually run around, handing people paperwork.

Which is precisely the reason Rhodey has ordered FRIDAY to bar the entry to Tony’s room. The enforced steel door may be a bit over the top, but the last time he turned his back on the guy, he came back in a thoroughly trashed suit with more internal damage than Rhodey cares to remember, so he doesn’t care.

“Ltd. Rhodes,” T’Challa greets him, and Rhodey appreciates the way the man’s eyes don’t linger on the wheelchair. “I hope you are doing well?”

It’s a bit disconcerting, really, to try and reconcile this calm, polite man with his cultured voice and proud but unobtrusive stance with the rage driven fury Rhodey had come to associate with the prince in his father’s death. Well, king now.

“As well as can be expected,” he replies, and though the words are polite there is no hiding the steely undertone. “A pleasure to meet you again, King T’Challa.” He bows his head in respect, but only a little. Respect has been hard to come by, these days.

“That is good to hear,” T’Challa smiles. It looks sincere enough, but then so had Rogers. Rhodey can’t bring himself to smile back. “These,” he pulls a very official looking stack of paper out of a very professional looking briefcase, “are copies of the transcript of Zemo’s interrogation, confession and trial. I believe you will find the jury’s verdict acceptable.”

Considering how at peace T’Challa looks, talking about the murderer of his beloved father, Rhodey has no doubt he will. Part of him wishes that would be enough, wishes the knowledge that justice has been served will fix–all of this. But it won’t. It will help, certainly, but it won’t mend what has been broken.

Not this time. Maybe not ever.

“Thank you,” he says instead and takes the file. “I’ll make sure that Tony will receive it once he’s feeling better.”

It’s a half-lie. Tony, in true Tony-fashion, is doing pretty damn good already. Very much to the displeasure of the medical staff who, Rhodey’s pretty sure, preferred him unconscious. If not from the start than certainly after he woke up for the third time and promptly pulled the IV out. The nurse had not been impressed. Just because Tony is convinced he’s perfectly fine though, doesn’t mean Rhodey wants anyone not vetted by him, FRIDAY and possibly an old friend in the FBI near him.

He’s seen the tremble in Tony’s hands–the one that refuses to die down for hours and comes back time and time again when someone mentions the Avengers–and he never wants to see it again.

To his credit, T’Challa seems neither surprised nor taken-aback by the unsaid but strongly implied warning to back off. If anything he looks like he’s expected nothing less, and that, that eases some of the tension Rhodey has been holding on to for weeks.  

They part on better terms than Rhodey has with anyone else since Tony made it back from Siberia.

*

Rhodey is the first. He has always known that. And slowly but surely the rest of the world is beginning to catch on as well.

[bloomvroom]

vent poetry

anger issue stuff/vindictive fantasies due to cptsd regarding abuser

trigger warning for violence & gore I guess _ Youve been hanging around for a while now, its been some years since you raped me Its been some years since you begged me not to leave you since you asked me “Do you really want to throw all we are away over this?” right in the same day that you raped me

And I hoped id never see your face again after I cut you out of my life and I tried to heal but you wouldnt leave me alone Dragged you inside my mind to school cuz you stalked me outside my house always in presence, moved on my fucking street and you dont like letting go of me And you tore into my family, but yknow they already hated me cuz they didnt wanna believe my dad sexually abused me they already desperately wanted to call me a liar for sure, all to keep their blissfull facade of things being all fine, they just couldnt bring it over themselves to call a 13 year old little girl a liar right back when I cut my dad out of my life too cuz he tried to fucking rape me that one weekend in his new flat after mom left him Yeah youve been the chance they waited for, if it happened more than once, surely the girl is fucking lying right? You gave them the push they needed so they finally could set themselves free from pretending like they give a damn, so they called 16 year old me a liar, oh and you told them you raped me on accident, oh but like theyd have prefered it if you had that left part out but they made do with what you gave, I did some sorta roleplays with you, so you couldnt differniate, right? Doesnt matter that they never asked for my version of the events, or that you raped me out of nowhere, no sexual activity prior to it at all, no roleplay, nothing at all, they took it from there and came up with more excuses to explain away how obviously traumatized I am, my aunts husband said my mom didnt stop me from watching violent manga porn in my childhood and thats why im so fucked up now, I have no fucking clue where he got that from, for sure, but its quite of concerning that he knew I saw that sort of media in my childhood, but for real, my dad was the one actively telling me to go look up this sort of porn, after hes been showing me lolicon anime cuz he tried to groom me with it, after he instructed me to masturbate to hentai cuz he liked watching me, ah but whatever, they dont care abt that, do they?

Cuz they only care about the way youve came into their life and gave them the blessing of finally getting to call me a liar out loud, oh youve given them what they wanted, youre so buddy buddy now, and they never wanted to question how fucking creepy it is for a guy to actively befriend the family of a girl that has claimed shes been raped by the guy, how fucking weird it is that this girl went to a lawyer to get help cuz the guys been stalking her, and how they might be part of that stalking too, oh but why would ever question anything? anyhow? why would they?

They even let you move in with them, yeah why would the guy that shes accused of having raped her and stalking her wanna move in with her family after shes refused any sort of contact with him no matter how much he pushed for it? What kind of guy would do this knowing its gonna hurt her? its gonna devastate her? Yeah, what sort of powerhungry guy would - hey what again is rape most of the time motivated by? A hunger for power? A thirst for control? Mh, I wonder - I wonder how long you can hold your breath wasting your life creeping on me, over your inability to get over that I had the audacity to leave your ass after you raped me, thinking that id just move on and not leave u for it, oh for someone that obsessed about me for such a long time its like you barely even knew me,

And I know I should feel like crying when I think of it but all I feel is the shivering in my arms and legs from the adrenaline, and the waves of rage and violent urges that wash over me when I remember what the world let you get away with, when I remember my pathetic family and their farce when I remember how much of a dissapointment youve turned out to be, You should have really known so much fucking better than that, your own mother liked to get to close to you for comfort in your own childhood, you know what it feels like to be preyed on, yet you continued the cycle of abuse its pathetic, cuz I trusted you so much, trusted you in a world where barely anybody understands what its like if a parent sexually abuses you as a child, and you knew what its like, cuz it happened to you too, I trusted you to want to be better than that, I trusted that you wanted to heal and recover just like me, but boy was I wrong

You acted out on me, got triggered for sure, but you cant heal from what you refuse to see yourself as victimized of, you never liked accepting that what your mom did to you is really that bad, you held me so tightly and told me youd never let me go now that you know that I wont judge you for what youve been through, you cried in my arms that day, when we still were a couple, and you said somewhere you know what your mom did really counted as sexual abuse but you just cant let go of the illusion that she loves you, cant let go of the illusion that it wasnt even that bad, that it didnt count cuz only women can get victimized but that it feels so good to finally get to feel vulnerable, and youd never let go of me, and you do everything to make sure what happened to me never repeats

few months later you raped me’ and now youre crying out loud for gods sake just leave me the fuck alone, I cant cope with the amount of urges to murder you I get, but sadly enough I know thats sorta what youre getting at here, I know deep inside you just hope I snap and kill you cuz you cant get what you did out of you, cant get what she did to you out of you and now youre turning it around on me, and you hate me so vehemently hate me for leaving you, hate me for having been kind to you before, yeah, hate me cuz you cant have me, hate me cause you hate yourself, hate me cause youd like to end your miserable life cuz you know you cant take back what you did, well ive no sympathy for you You can beg, and you can threaten and all I do is fantasize about gutting you like a fish, I wanna cut the skin on your back open and unfold it so you can be the angel youve always wanted to be, I wanna stitch that lying mouth of yours shut, I wanna break all your fingers so you regret having ever touched me with them in those ways, I want to step on your body as its bleeding out, I wanna crush your bones with heavy shoes, I wanna hear you break like you tried to break me that day, I wanna stuff your throat full of white feathers so you can know what it felt like to be called “purity in person” too, try coughing up how you really feel, Id like to see you try, put you on a pedastal like you put me with a noose round your neck so you can know how graceful this fall is’

Purity isnt something you can steal, you shouldnt have tried to from me, Purity is something thats not as real as people pretend it is, the childhood innocence you miss, you should admit to why you feel that way, but im out of patience to give advice, youll only obsess over, like you used to, Im saying it now, the only fantasies ive got with you anymore are those in which I torture and kill you for every day you overstayed, for every day you sabotaged me and my life, when you came into my life, and when you left me bruised and more broken than ive ever been before, sabotaged the way I tried to go to school and graduate, stalking me like you did, I tried my best to succeed in life even as you kept trying to drag me down, I kept going anyway, and I did good in my own way, I kept going slower, slower, slower, but I still went my way you could slow me down, but you could never get me to stop never get me to give up, This is one hell of a sick game youve been playing with me, why cant you just accept it? You raped me and theres no second chance after that, You can deny it, try to act like you didnt, but I know you hate yourself for it, dont make it my issue, it makes me so sick when you think I could ever feel anything more for you at this point, more than the urge to grab a knife and slice your throat just to finally put an end to this, an end to this you and me havent been a thing since we’ve been sixteen, but you feel me with such violent shine when my mind goes dark cuz youve been trying to trap me in my own room full of fear cuz you keep reminding me of the way you raped me, oh and I feel like a tiger in a cage, like a tiger in a cage and im about to rip you open with my teeth, But theyd never understand the amount of damage youve dealt to me, would they? Id be the “bad one” So why dont you do me a favour and just kill yourself? You keep clinging to a possible future you had envisioned with me, but I never agreed to that, I always told you if you do something that hurts me, ill leave ya’ and you didnt even think id really do it, I promised you to stay with you for life unless you do something thatll hurt me real bad, you promised you never would, looks like you broke our promise and yet your the one crying out loud feeling the need to make me feel just how angry you are cuz I had the audacity not to stay in an relationship with my rapist

[penumbra-rp]

Congratulations Honey, you have been accepted for the role of Alecto Carrow!

‘You and Amycus will start this coming week’, her father adds, and it’s a stark reminder that she will always be Amycus’ sister before she is Alecto to her parents. Still, it only kindles the spark of determination within her; she refuses to be a simple footnote in her brother’s rise to power—no matter what it takes.

Admin Ash: One half of our beloved Carrows and I do hope you get your Amycus soon, Honey, because I do love a good sibling dynamic. Where the resentment of her parents could easily boil over onto her brother – the heir that she is made to feel like mere spare to – Alecto holds no ill-will for him, and clutches onto the fact that Amycus is the only one that has ever been there for her, and that is the strength that reinforces their close bond. But I love that she’s begun to come out of his shadow, that she’s come into realizing her self-worth and wants the world to see it, wants her parents to see it, even if it comes at the great cost of her soul. I loved the little tease of humanity in Alecto (via her connection to Marlene), I loved that she was forced to pry it out and crush it beneath her heel – goodness is sooner punished than praised within the Death Eaters.

Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.

01. Out of Character

NAME: Honey AGE: 23 YOUR BIRTHDAY: 02/02 PRONOUNS: She / Her TIMEZONE: GMT +8

02. In Character

CHARACTER: Alecto Carrow CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: She / Her FACECLAIM: Melissa Barrera CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: 06/06 PERSONALITY: + Meticulous, + Efficient, + Perceptive - Vindictive , - Cynical, - Apathetic

BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO:

• Alecto Carrow comes into the world an afterthought. Imogen Carrow spends fifteen hours in the delivery ward before her first child—her precious baby boy—enters the world with an ear-shattering cry. Amycus Carrow is barely been placed in Imogen’s arms when her body seizes with a sharp pain. At first, they think she might be haemorrhaging, but then within minutes the Carrows have two children instead of just the one son; the girl is much smaller than her brother, hardly cries despite almost being blue from the lack of oxygen, and it is only their complete focus on their firstborn son that spares the girl from further scrutiny. • Resentment carves a home between her ribs, burrowing deeper every time her parents’ gaze flits over her only to land on her brother instead, but it’s hard to hate the only person who’s ever given her the time of the day. We’re in this together, Amycus would whisper, it’s always going to be you and me. • As she grows older, she finds that sometimes it is better not to be seen. She learns to live in her brother’s shadow, turns her parents’ indifference into her own personal freedom. It’s not that difficult to get her hands on a fake ID, and discreetly passing handfuls of £50 bills from one hand to another becomes a practiced move. She is not Amycus though—her nights are much tamer in comparison, but no less destructive. • She sees the way men look at her—revels in the way their gazes linger—and it makes her feel like she is worth something. Alecto is fifteen when she loses her virginity to a university teaching assistant in the back alley of a pub; she’s not naive enough to believe he sees her as anything more than a quick fuck, but for a blissful ten minutes she is the only thing he sees and she is drunk on the feeling, on the realisation of the absolute power she has over these men. • This is all her life will ever amount to—spreading her legs for any guy who looks at her for longer than two seconds—and she makes her peace with it. But then she meets Marlene McKinnon and everything changes. Alecto has never met a girl like Marlene before, someone who wants more from life than was given to her and is willing to fight tooth and nail for it, someone who talks about the future with a surety that Alecto has never been able to muster about anything in her life. • Marlene goes on endlessly about opening her own pub, already has about ten million ideas for it despite not even having any funds to even buy a pub in the first place. Maybe Alecto should find her laughable, foolish even, but the truth is that she’s enamoured—she’s inspired. She makes an appointment with Alistair Carrow the same weekend she meets Marlene, delivering a speech on why she should be offered an internship at Carrie Energy Ltd with a quiet, but unshakeable, conviction. He’s quiet for a long moment after she finishes, father and daughter engaged in a battle of wills—until he laughs, says, maybe you’re not good for nothing after all. • After nearly two decades of convincing herself that she doesn’t need her parents’ approval, this one little sliver of validation is enough to undo all her hard work, unravel every lie she’s ever told herself about not caring. You and Amycus will start this coming week, her father adds, and it’s a stark reminder that she will always be Amycus’ sister before she is Alecto to her parents. Still, it only kindles the spark of determination within her; she refuses to be a simple footnote in her brother’s rise to power—no matter what it takes. • Alecto had never been innocent—no, she had made sure of that by taking herself apart and letting strange men put her back together—but working for her father forces her to pry herself open, dig out whatever little humanity she has, only to crush it beneath her heel. There’s a difference between knowing your parents aren’t good people and seeing the extent of it with your own eyes. The twinge of guilt she feels for what the company is doing is distant, and easily forgotten when her father places a hand on her shoulder—when was the last time he’d ever touched her?—with a quiet good job. • She steadily climbs her way up the corporate ladder, but advancement always comes at a cost. There is no room for sentimentality when making deals with the devil, and Alecto’s biggest weakness takes the form of one Marlene McKinnon. Investing in Marlene’s pub is the last good thing she allows herself to do before she turns her back on the light for good—it’s ironic, she thinks, that after so many years of resenting the too-large shadow her brother cast over her, she would return to it so willingly one day. In order to run with the wolves, Alecto Carrow eats her own heart. • The first time she kills someone, it is an accident. She’s just closed a deal when her new business partner puts a hand on her thigh, insistent fingers sliding under the hemline of her skirt. The thing is, though—Alecto is done sleeping with men who don’t see her as anything more than a piece of meat, and she shoves him off. It’s not her fault his head hits the corner of her desk at just the right angle to split it open, and suddenly she finds herself standing over a dead body, although she’s perhaps a touch more bothered by the brains on her carpet. • She calls Amycus—we’re in this together, he’d told her once, a lifetime ago—who has something like pride in his eyes when his gaze sweeps over the bloody tableau in her office.Don’t worry, he assures her, I know a guy who can help. She meets Tom Riddle for the first time, but the help he offers comes at a price—her loyalty. If she had thought she’d sold her soul to work at Carrow Energy, it’s nothing compared to working for the Death Eaters. Still, she’s given up far too much to stop now, and soon enough, she finds that even killing becomes easy after a while.

INTERVIEW:

i. How do you feel about your current occupation?

“It’s a man’s world,” she says, the statement accompanied by an almost flippant roll of her eyes, the action dissonant from the image of a put-together businesswoman she so often presents to the world. “I deal with so many clients who think they know better than me simply because I’m a woman—sometimes it gets to a point where I start seriously considering murder.” A grin stretches across cherry wine lips, flashing the barest hint of teeth before her expression is schooled into a neutral—if perhaps privately amused—expression. “Of course, that would be an absolute PR nightmare.” Alecto crosses one leg over the other, waits until she has the interviewer’s full attention before continuing, “In all seriousness, this is more than just a job to me; Carrow Energy has always been a leading force in the industry, and I’m committed to seeing the company to even greater heights.” A pause, and then— “At any cost.”

ii. What song would you say describes yourself?

“A song.” She leans forward, elbows braced against the desk as she raises a single, perfectly threaded eyebrow; her judgement of the question clear in her gaze. Eventually, she sighs, leans back against her chair with the air of someone who’s decided to play along—just this once. “Running with the Wolves by AURORA.”

iii. Does reputation matter to you?

“My personal reputation? No.” She thinks of leaving it at that, but the truth is that her reputation is also the company’s reputation, and she’s worked too hard to jeopardise it because she didn’t feel like making nice with an overeager interviewer. “I’m more conscious of my professional reputation, though. As co-chairwoman of Carrow Energy, I represent the company—as well as my family—and there is a certain image that needs to be upheld.”

iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?

Ah, she walked right into that one. It takes conscious effort not to let the disdain she feels towards her parents show on her face—she’s come far enough that she doesn’t need their validation any longer, but the sting of a childhood and adolescence defined by a constant yearning for approval remains. “It’s alright,” she responds, “Nothing particularly special about it.” Maybe a better daughter would have photos of her parents on her desk, but it’s really nothing personal—sentimentality had been one of the first victims in her rise to power.

v. What languages can you speak?

“English,” she starts, “Spanish, French, German, some Mandarin.” A little bit of Japanese too, collected in whispers during her college years, back when Alecto still had a heart and Marlene McKinnon existed in the centre of it. She hasn’t spoken a word of it since, but she remembers them in her sleep—half-dreams, half-memories.

vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?

“I spend more time in the office than at home.” There’s nothing waiting for her at home besides an empty apartment—it’s not as if her office has any more traces of her personality, but it’s easier to pretend to be a person when she’s not on her own. “Everything in my apartment is replaceable, I’d probably just save whatever’s closest to me at the time.”

vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?

“Take a wild guess, why don’t you?” The professional mask she’s usually so diligent about keeping in place slips slightly, but in her defence, it’s a rather stupid question to begin with. “Considering the fact that I’m running a multi-billion dollar company—you should hope I have a business degree from the Slytherin School.”

vix. What is your social media username?

“I don’t have one.” That’s only a half-truth; although it seems like a lifetime ago, Alecto had been a regular girl once—as regular as the unwanted daughter of an empire can be—and her social media account had been a carelessly curated collection of her nights of rebellion. “My life’s not interesting enough to warrant a social media following, although I do feature on my brother’s account every now and then.”

[rosiep66]

"POLDARK" Series One (1975): Episodes Nine to Twelve

"POLDARK" SERIES ONE (1975): EPISODES NINE TO TWELVE It has been a while since I had last viewed "POLDARK", the BBC's 1975-77 adaptation of Winston Graham's literary series about the post-war life of a British Army officer American Revolutionary War veteran named Ross Poldark. Real life and several movies releases distracted my attention from the series. Eventually, I found the time to watch Series One's adaptation of Graham's 1950 novel, "Jeremy Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, 1790-1791". Episode Eight had ended on a grim note. Ross' new smelting company ended in failure after his cousin Francis Poldark revealed the shareholders' names to the former's rival, George Warleggan. Ross now finds himself in financial straights. Francis was stricken with Putrid's Throat and Ross' wife, Demelza Carne Poldark, helped Francis' wife, Elizabeth Chynoweth Poldark, nurse the stricken man back to health. Unfortunately, both Demelza and young daughter Julia were stricken with the same illness. Demelza recovered. Julia did not. Following Julia's death, one of the Warleggans' ships were wrecked off the coast of Poldark land. Despite Ross' efforts to conduct a rescue of the survivors (in this version, at least), many of the locals salvaged the goods from the ship and caused a riot on the ship. The episode ended with Ross being arrested for instigating the riot. Episode Nine began with Ross' return to his estate, Nampara, after spending a short period in jail. While he prepares to find a barrister (attorney) to represent him in court, Demelza tries to recruit help from the local gentry to have the charges dropped against Ross or ensure a not guilty verdict. Much against Ross' wishes, who stubbornly wants to guarantee his freedom on his own. Ross' friend, Dr. Dwight Enrys, meets the spoiled heiress Caroline Peneven, when she mistakes him for a veterinarian for her pug. Francis, who continues to feels guilty over his betrayal of the Carnmore Copper Company, sinks to a new low before sets out to make amends with Ross. And George and Nicholas Warleggan, who had arranged Ross' arrest in the first place, tries to guarantee a guilty verdict for Ross by bribing the latter's former servant, Jud Paynter, to testify against him. Following the trial in which Ross is exonerated, the Poldarks at both Nampara and Trenwith are forced to deal with their low financial straits. Ross and Francis reconcile and make plans to re-open Wheal Grace and dig for copper. To finance re-opening the mine, Ross allows local smugglers led by a man named Mr. Trencom to use the cove on Nampara land for a smuggling operation. Demelza is against the idea, but Ross refuses to listen to her. Meanwhile, Demelza discovers that she is pregnant with their second child. Due to their financial straits and the trauma of baby Julia's death, she fears that Ross will be unhappy by the news of her pregnancy. Demelza also resorts to solo fishing trips behind her husband's back to provide food for Nampara's inhabitants, while Ross' finances suffer. In fact, Episode Twelve ends with a very pregnant Demelza struggling to row back to the shore, while she goes into labor. What can I say about the 1975 adaptation of "Jeremy Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, 1790-1791"? I have mixed feelings about it. Perhaps my feelings for this adaptation is due to the source material. "Jeremy Poldark" is probably the shortest novel in Graham's twelve-book series. A novel's lenghth should not determine one's opinion of it. But if I must be brutally honest, I do not have a high regard for "Jeremy Poldark". It seemed more like a filler episode of a television series with a long-term narrative structure. The most interesting aspects of the novel were the emotional estrangement between Ross and Demelza, following their daughter's death and his deal with smugglers; Francis' attempt to reconcile with Ross; and of course, Ross' trial for the riot that had occurred near the end of "Demelza - A Novel of Cornwall, 1788-1790". Episode Nine mainly focused on Ross' preparations for the trial, Demelza's attempts to seek help for him, and the Warleggans' preparations to ensure that Ross will be convicted. That included recruiting Jud Paynter to testify against Ross. It was a pretty interesting episode. Somewhat. I thought the episode featured a colorful quality once the setting shifted to Bodmin for both the trial and upcoming local elections. It also featured a colorful assembly ball where Demelza, wearing the same gown she had worn at the Warleggans' ball in Episode Six, tries to recruit support and help for Ross. The episode ended with a cliffhanger, as Francis Poldark, who was also at the ball and in Bodmin to support Ross, contemplates committing suicide with a pistol in his hand. Episode Eleven mainly focused on Ross and Demelza's separate efforts to maintain their survival and rejuvenate their fortunes. And for the first time, the series delved into the strains that their their problems and Julia's death had placed upon their marriage. For Ross and Demelza, the honeymoon is finally over and I could not be any more happier. There is nothing that will bore me quicker than an idealized romance. Finally, the saga settles down to forcing the couple to work at making their marriage work. And I have to give credit to both Robin Ellis and Angharad Rees for their skillful portrayal of Ross and Demelza's struggles to make their marriage work. This was especially apparent in one scene that featured a quarrel between the couple following a supper party they had attended at Trenwith. Sometime during the evening, Ross and his former love, Elizabeth Chynoweth Poldark, had the opportunity for a private conversation that ended with Ross complimenting her appearance. Unfortunately, Demelza appeared and was able to overhear his compliment. Which would explained the Ross and Demelza's quarrel. Ever since the current adaptation of "POLDARK" had first aired, I have encountered complaints about how actor Kyle Soller had portrayed Francis Poldark as an ill-tempered loser during the show's first season. To be honest, Clive Francis had did the same in the 1975 adaptations of "Ross Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, 1783-1787" and "Demelza". I noticed that once Francis had put his friendship with the manipulative George Warleggan behind him and reconciled with Ross, he finally became that wry and witty man that so many had commented about. And the actor gave a very charming and subtle performance. I also enjoyed the portrayal of the burgeoning romance between Dr. Dwight Enys and heiress Caroline Penvenen, thanks to Richard Morant and Judy Geeson's sparkling performances. The beginning of their relationship reminded me of the numerous Hollywood comedies between the late 1950s and mid 1960s. This was especially highlighted by Caroline's mistaken assumption that Dwight was more of a veterinarian and the latter's subtle contempt toward her privileged behavior. In a way, I find their relationship a bit more realistic than the one between Ross and Demelza. Dwight and Caroline's relationship strike me as good example of how class differences can effect a potential romance between two people of such disparate backgrounds. But the one episode that I truly enjoyed was Episode Ten. It featured the assizes in Bodmin and especially Ross' trial. If I must be brutally honest, Episode Ten did not feature one of Robin Ellis' best performances as Ross Poldark. He spent most of the episode looking rather stoic and occasionally, disapproving. It seemed as if the world of 18th century Cornwall had merely revolved around him. And a colorful world it turned out to be. The excitement actually began in the second half of Episode Nine, which featured the local elections, a local ball and the preparations for Ross' trial. But it was the assizes itself, which included Ross' trial that made Episode Ten fascinated for me. Not only did it feature Ross' trial, filled with attempts by the corrupt prosecutor to circumvent the law; but also another in which a woman was convicted for a minor crime and punished with a public whipping. At least three performances made Episode Ten very interesting. One of those performances came from Paul Curran, who portrayed Ross' former servant (at the time), Jud Paynter. Curran's Jud spent most of the episode getting drunk in order to shore up his courage to testify against Ross. It almost seemed as if Curran had to sustain the image of a drunken Jud throughout the entire episode. He also had to constantly irritate George Warleggan, portrayed by Ralph Bates. And the latter is the second performance that really caught my interest. I really enjoyed Bates in this episode. His George Warleggan was a man irritated not only by Jud's drunkeness, but also by the tight-fisted Nicholas Warleggan. Bates did an excellent job in basically portraying a straight man to a pair of comic performances. That second comic performance belonged to Nicholas Selby, who gave a rather subtle, yet funny performance as the venal, yet penny-pinching Nicholas. Poor George. His father is vindictive enough to demand that Ross suffers for the looting of his shipwrecked ship, but cheap enough to demand that George pay a small amount to arrange for Ross' conviction. Talk about a man between a rock and a hard place. Despite these narrative and character virtues, I still remained somewhat unimpressed by Episodes Nine to Twelve. I was not impressed by how screenwriters Peter Draper and Paul Wheeler, along with director Kenneth Ives; structured the narrative for these episodes. One, their use of cliffhangers seemed a bit off kilter to me. In two episodes - Episodes Nine and Ten - the screenwriters and the director used cliffhangers to tell the audience what happened and not show. Episode Nine ended with a despondent Francis Poldark pressing a pistol to his head, as he prepared to commit suicide. Yet, there was no gunshot or anything to hint what happened. Audiences did not learn that the suicide attempt had failed due to the pistol's misfire in a conversation between Francis and Dwight Enys. I found this handling of Francis' suicide attempt extremely annoying. Apparently, it was easier for Draper and Ives to tell the audience what happened via Francis' revelation than show it. As for Episode Ten, it ended with the judge about to announce the verdict at the end of Ross' trial. But audiences did not learn about the verdict, until George Warleggan had informed his father . . . at the beginning of Episode Eleven. It seemed ridiculously unnecessary to end Episode Ten in this manner. Worse, it was another example of the writer and director telling what happened, instead of showing. Speaking of "episodic interruptus", Episode Twelve, which is the last one that served as an adaptation of "Jeremy Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, 1790-1791", ended with a pregnant Demelza rowing back to shore as she goes into labor. One, this is not how the novel ended. It ended with a conciliation between Ross and Francis during the newborn Jeremy Poldark's christening; along with Ross and Demelza at home, as they contemplated on keeping their family and household. I see now that the screenwriter had allowed Ross and Francis to reconcile before Jeremy's birth, so that they could end the episode on this cliffhanger with Demelza struggling to reach the shore. I found this a waste of time. This was simply another example of telling the audience what happened, instead of showing. Episode Thirteen, which began the adaptation of "Warleggan: A Novel of Cornwall, 1792-1793", began with Demelza reaching the shore and later, Ross announcing the presence of his newborn son. Frustrating! And unnecessary. Although I had earlier complimented Paul Curran's comic performance of the drunken Jud Paynter, I must admit there is so much of Jud that I can take. He almost became something of a fly on the ointment to me during my favorite episode, Episode Ten. But Episode Twelve truly became something of a chore for me, due to the whole "Jud is dead" story arc. After double-crossing the Warleggans by failing to testify against Ross and keeping the fifteen shillings they had given him, Jud is assaulted by some of George Warleggan's men at the end of Episode Eleven. A great deal of Episode Twelve focused on Jud's funeral and wake, while Ross and Demelza attended another supper party at Trenwith. A great deal. To make matters worse, it turned out that Jud was never dead . . . just unconscious. No one had bothered to verify whether he was dead or not. Instead, they had mistaken his unconscious body as a corpse. Not only was I irritated that Jud was not dead, I believe that Winston Graham had committed something of a cheat with this story line. Worse, I had to endure thirty to forty minutes of Jud's wake, which seemed more than I was able to bear. I really wish he had remained dead. I have one last quibble and it involved at least two missing characters. What happened to Jinny Carter? You know . . . Jinny? Ross and Demelza's kitchen maid? The widow of one Jim Carter? What happened to her? Actress Gillian Bailey, who had portrayed Ginny in the adaptation of "Ross Poldark" and "Demelza", seemed to be missing during these four episodes. Worse, no mention was made about her lack of presence. I find this ironic, considering that Jinny's father, Zacky Martin, was not missing. Forbes Collins, who had portrayed Zacky, had a strong presence in these four episodes - including the sequence involving Jud's funeral. So why was Jinny missing? And I also noticed that after twelve episodes and adaptations of three novels, Aunt Agatha Poldark remained missing. I realize that she plays an important role in "Warleggan: A Novel of Cornwall, 1792-1793" and "The Black Moon: A Novel of Cornwall, 1794-1795". But why has she been missing for so long in this adaptation of Winston Graham's saga? How did producers Morris Barry and Anthony Coburn explain her appearance in future episodes, beginning with the adaptation of "Warleggan"? There were some highlights from Barry and Coburn's adaptation of "Jeremy Poldark: A Novel of Cornwall, 1790-1791". These highlights include Ross Poldark's trial in Episode Ten; the burgeoning romance between Dr. Dwight Enys and Caroline Penvenen; and the performances of three cast members - Paul Curran, Nicholas Selby and especially Ralph Bates. But overall, I was not that impressed by Episodes Nine to Twelve. I found the narrative structure of these episodes rather troubling, especially with how cliffhangers were used. And the handling of the Jud Paynter character struck me as well, somewhat overbearing. Oh well. Onward to Episode Thirteen.