#And then got MONTHS of death threats and hate mail on my personal account

[amorevolousfaith]

Chapter 5: Sister, Brother

Paring: Marcus Moreno X Reader

Rating: +18 (NO MINORS)

Word Count: 1.3K

Warning: adult language, consumption of alcohol, minor character deaths, hella angst, lots of self-doubt, strangulation, smut, betrayal, death threats.

Summary: Being a single mom is hard, being a single mom to your sister’s kid is hard, being a single mom to your sister’s super powered kid is harder, and being a single mom to your sister’s super powered kid while working as a villain is hardest. It doesn’t help that your kids want to be a superhero, it also doesn’t help that all those super heroes really hate your guts. But, you're making it work.

Note: I really took this kid’s show out of proportion guys...

I lean against the tree behind me, the bottle of tequila almost half gone as I stare at the two graves in front of me. Today started out good, woke up like I slept two lifetimes and didn’t feel like a zombie, Got Meira up early so I could make her a good breakfast that didn’t burn, I actually got to walk Meira to the front door of her school today, but it’s only after I got home did everything got to hell.

I picked up the mail on the way up to the apartment only to see the unmistakable stack of checks given to us every year on the anniversary of my sister and brother-in-law’s death. The life insurance policy they set up would give Meria checks every year until she’s eighteen. Both of them had one in place which doubled the checks, a smart move on their part, but the third one was sent from the employer they were both under. A sweet old man who just wants to do anything he can to help the family of his longtime friends. Popularly known as grampa Hue.

I don’t remember feeling much after that, I deposited the checks in Meria's secret bank account like I've done every year since her parents died, then I went to the liquor store where I wandered around for an hour and half trying to convince myself I shouldn’t buy a bottle. I ended up buying two bottles of tequila, finished the first bottle an hour before I had to go pick up Meira. So I did what any other reasonable grown up would do, I called in a favor. Grampa Hue offered to keep her for the night if I needed it, and I let him. Which is how I now find myself sitting in a graveyard in the middle of the night with a half finished bottle of Tequila.

I brought the bottle to my lips and took another hard swig, the burning sensation scorching my throat before leaving a bitter after taste. “Well dearest sister,” I mumble to the gravestone in front of me, “It seems another year has passed and I’ve come to the same conclusion from last year, you were a better mother in fourteen months than I am in twelve years.” I grunt bringing the bottle back to my lips.

“Our— your sunshine, is best kid in the world. Smart, stunning, and talented, just like you.” I hum leaning my head back letting the bark of the tree knot into my hair. “And you brother-in-law, are just as silent and brooding as ever.” I snort over the gravestone to the right. “If you two are looking down at me wondering the fuck I’m doing, I hate to tell you I have no fucking idea.” I laugh bitterly before bringing the bottle back up to my lips. Another hard swig because the sting in my chest is back and I’d rather feel a sting in my throat.

“The heroes hate me, they hate me so much.” I laugh on the verge of tears, “But they don’t know shit.” I hiss. “I know I’m not a good person, I know I'm terrible, but never once have I loved half-heartedly. Never once have abandoned those I love, because I’ve made it perfectly clear I will do horrible things for the people I love.” I hiccup, bringing the bottle back up, using the burning liquid to clear my throat. “I’m tired sister, brother.” I whisper weakly, “I’m tired of people making me feel like there’s a hole in my chest where my heart should be.” I croak out.

“Miss (y/l/n),” a voice calls, I turn my head, digging the bark of the tree further into my scalp. There, not too far down the path is Marcus Moreno, “Ah, look who it is.” I laugh bitterly, “Sister, broody brother, meet Mr—uh…fuck.” I hiss when his name slips my mind, too foggy to register a face to a name. “Marcus.” The man supplies walking closer, “Right! Sister, broody brother, meet Mr. Marcus. Meria’s instructor.” I babble waving my hand between Marcus and the gravestones.

“Sister and broody brother.” Marcus greets nodding his head to the headstone, “Are you an idiot? They can’t actually understand you. They’re just gravestones.” I snort bringing the bottle back up. “Then—” He grunts as he gently leans forward to take the bottle, “Why are you talking to them?” He hums pulling the bottle away from me. “Because I need to retain what sanity I have left by talking out my feelings, I’d do it to actual people but in case you haven’t noticed I don’t have friends. Only a niece I don’t want to burden more than I already have.” I scoff rolling my eyes gesturing to the empty graveyard around me, “Can you believe this guy?” I muse over to the headstones.

I hear Marcus hums tilting the bottle over, “HEY! If you're gonna pour it out, do it on her grave. The woman deserves a drink after watching me fuck up the world from the clouds!” I hiss. Marcus pauses before moving over to the headstone and pours out the tequila over the grave, “There you go sister, sorry I don’t have a lime. But beggars can’t be choosers.” I shrug. “(y/n) what are you doing out here?” Marcus questions, “Why do you care?” I scoff closing my eyes. “Because your niece called me saying you might need help.” He huffs, “Why the fuck does my niece have your number?” I sneer snapping my eyes open to glare at him.

“Easy,” He soothes, holding his hands up in surrender, “I gave it to her in case she needed something. After all you're only safe when you're a civilian, you get caught on the job who’s gonna take care of Meria.” Marcus explains. “Bold words coming from one of the many who could never catch me.” I snort, “It was just a precaution.” He sighs. I hum and cross my arms, “I don’t know Marcus, you seem to take a liking to Meira. More so than my liking.” I snip with a glare. “She’s my favorite student, the only one who takes physical training seriously and not as a recess.” He shrugs. “Who would have thought?” I crackle throwing my arms out to the sky, “The niece of a villain ACTUALLY wanting to be a hero, even after the villain jumps through hoops like a circus act to make it happen!” I laugh sarcastically.

“Fuck you Marcus.” I hiss, “Fuck you and all your little narssistic, self centered, egotiscal, self righteous heroes.” I snarl. My blood fritzing and the sky above us darkening in color, “I know (y/n), I’m sorry.” He spoke softly. My eyes go wide before snapping over to actually look at him. The soft apologetic look on his face my heart aching, “Don’t look at me like that, don’t FUCKING look at me like that.” I seethe, but my heart still aches and without the help of the bottle I can’t ignore it. “It’s okay to feel sad (y/n),” Marcus soothes, I feel my throat tighten up, “Especially today. It’s okay if you want to cry or scream, but you can’t hold in.” He whispers, taking my hands in his.

That touch broke something in me, whether it was the warmth of his hands holding mine or the way he held them softly in a firm grasp, I don’t know. But something broke, something broke and I felt the tears sting at my eyes before falling, Marcus doesn’t hesitate to pull me close and engulf me in a hug. The warmth of his body consuming mine and making it feel as if I’ve gone boneless, the feeling only makes me sob onto his shoulder harder. My hands knot themselves on the opening of his jacket, grounding me so I didn’t accidentally spiral in the man’s arms. I hear the boom of lightning and thunder in the sky, as Marcus’s hand rubs along my back. “It’s all going to be okay, you're gonna be alright.” He mumbles, and for some reason or another, I believe him.

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#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #marcus moreno x y/n #marcus moreno fanfic #marcus moreno fanfiction #we can be heros #WCBH

[heliosthegriffin]

Class of One - Chapter Eight Rough Draft and Summary

“Well, that could have gone worse.” Jaune said to himself as he lay covered in ash, his new suit he bought for today in tattered pieces with smoke coming off his shoulders.

Then came a wind that blew against him, his suit crumpling into ash. “Damn, that cost 500 Lien.”

Leaving him the only person naked in court, full of surprisingly untouched other people, and several very nervous looking former councilmen and women.

“Nice cock, bro!” Someone on the jury shouted.

The judge nodded. “Indeed, very nice penis Mr. Arc, now please go get dressed.”

Jaune just wished this wasn’t being live streamed onto the CCT.

------

It had been a simple day in theory. Jaune was going to come to court, then he was going testify against corrupt councilmen that had been running that human trafficking ring he destroyed two months ago (With who knows how many other crimes too...), and then he could go home, train and get prepared for the school week, doing whatever Oobleck, Goodwitch, Port, or Peach need help with in class.

Then he checked his mail, and found he had gotten the entire box stuffed full of death threats.

And rape threats.

And raped to death threats.

And death then postmortem raped threats.

Some of them were incredibly detailed and disturbing, the rest where full of bad grammar and spelling, some were very bland, and last one was probably some mad person’s idea of a love letter.

He honestly became  desensitized to these type of threats, when he accidentally came across his hate club account on the Scrollnet.

That had been a painful afternoon and night, but nothing fighting hordes of low level Grimm hadn’t helped with.

He didn’t think about asking Ozpin, or the staff about it, it wasn’t that important. Jaune had other matters, like getting ready for court.

So, not knowing anything about fashion, he called up Saphron again and asked her help for going to court.

I mean, didn’t she have to go to court to get married or something?

An hour and 500 lien later, he had a suit that didn’t look too cheap, and started walking to court since he had the time.

Then he felt a bullet ping off his head.

“What the...” He pick up the flattened round, it was nearly as big as his pinky!

Then came another one and It sent him stumbling to the ground with his head ringing.

“Why would someone want to shoot me?” Jaune asked as his ears rang.

Then a black van pulled up, and what felt like a dozen aura signature jumped out, men dressed in combat gear and assault rifles.

And started shooting him.

As the spray of hot lead hit him, Jaune started getting angry.

They were going to ruin his suit if this kept up.

So, doing what came naturally to him, he went up to the closest person, grabbed their gun and tossed it away, then slapped him on his cheek.

His head exploded. “Oh my gods! I did not mean to do that!”

People started screaming, Jaune started screaming, and the guys started shooting him while screaming.

Fast-forward a couple minutes and Jaune was rocking himself back and forth in a puddle of gore, while a overturned van burned behind him.

While police sirens raced to him.

“It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault,” He chanted to himself.

Soon enough, it was ruled self-defense, Jaune had a safe blanket and hot chocolate, along with a police escort to the Vale’s Supreme Court.

“Mr. Arc, do you feel fair enough of mind to testify today?” A Officer with a grey mustache asked him.

Jaune drained his hot chocolate and nodded. “Yeah, just a little shocked, I just don’t know why anybody would want me dead?”

The officer gave him a blank look. “Really, you can’t think of a single reason anybody would want to kill you, on today of all days?”

“Nope, not at all.” Jaune said, nothing coming to mind.

The officer sighed. “Alright, lets just get you to court, alright?”

---

When he got into court, it was bit odd how surprised the former councilmen and women where to see him. He just  assumed that he was buffer now and cut a better figure.

The case was pretty cut and dry, just a couple questions and confirmations.

“Yes, your honor, she is the kid diddler! Councilwoman Jackson was lead member of the trafficking ring!” Jaune shouted at a councilwoman, who had been diddling kids.

“Yes, your honor, he is the slave trader! Councilman Dark is a member of the ring!” Jaune shouted as the crowd gasped.

So on and so forth, for about ten other council persons.

Then a guy ran into the room, wearing a Grimm mask straight at him, shouting “for the Glory of the Old Kingdom!” As bullets bounced off the man’s aura, then tried to tackled Jaune to the ground.

Danger flashed through his senses, as a premonition in his mind occurred, as he could feel through the man’s aura a immense quantity of explosives rigged to go.

More than enough to flatten the entire building.

Thinking quickly, in a act of insanity, Jaune forced his aura expand in creative desperation off of himself and to surround the masked man in a sphere in front of him, and strengthened his aura as much as he could, feeling his soul burn like fire as he did so.

Then masked man pulled a cord.

A flash of light so bright, he saw white and only white, sound so loud he that he felt his bones shake, and heat so hot... Actually it wasn’t as bad as being covered in napalm but it was still pretty bad.

When his sense finally returned, he was covered in ash and naked on the ground, the bomber a fine layer of dust on the floor.

-----

 Jaune was back in the infirmary.

Beacon’s medical staff announced, aside from some cuts and bruises, he’d be fine.

He wished he was dead though, as he kept seeing clips of his ass on the Scrollnet...

Even his haters admitted that ass was fine, and that somehow made the matter worse for him.

#Class of One AU #Jaune Arc

[keltonwrites]

How do I become courageous? How do I stop letting the anxiety over the uncertainty of future, or the fear of other people's judgement, dictate my life's narrative?

Ten years ago, my Zoloft prescription ran out the day I had a tumor sliced out of my neck. The surgery was on a Monday. I woke up with chest pain and nerve damage in my face. They kept me until Wednesday morning. I left the hospital with a drainage bag attached to my neck, pinned to the collar of my shirt. I couldn’t move the right side of my face. I emailed my boss.“The surgery was a little more intense than I anticipated. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in this week.”“Please be here on Friday.”I went to work on Friday. I couldn’t brush my hair because the pressure on my neck was too painful. The blood bag seeped occasionally on my shirt. I had the kind of sleep anyone has after their ear is partially sliced off to remove a tumor burrowing beneath it. Don’t worry — they sewed it back on. (The ear, not the tumor.)On Friday, because I didn’t understand how boundaries or rights worked, I walked across the National Institutes of Health campus toward my building looking more like a patient than an employee. My boss stared at me and then didn’t speak to me again. I wrote for four hours before I went into her office.“I need to go home.”“Have a nice weekend!” She beamed, actively looking everywhere that was not my blood bag.I smiled, sort of. The right side of my face was still temporarily paralyzed, so the left side of my mouth hoisted my cursory courtesy smile by itself.“Gonna work on my face,” I said pointing to my partially slack expression.“Sorry?”“Nerve damage. Gonna try to exercise it. Do some heavy lifting while I watch TV,” I said, my face contorting from the kind of stifled laughter usually reserved for broken ribs and strict teachers.“Ok!” She almost yelled, her own face contorting with discomfort.Over the next two weeks—tumor and medication free—I lost my mind. Stop me if you’ve heard this before. I gave away my percocet. I dyed my hair. I adopted a cat. I started a blog. And nine months later, I started a challenge called Bold Moves October. I started it because so much of my day-to-day life felt defined by inaction and complacency. Plus, the October prior is when the doctors had said, “we’re really not sure if it’s cancer or not.” Followed immediately by, “we can schedule you for surgery in three months.”It was a long three months. Death all of a sudden seemed like something that could happen. In my 23-year-old wisdom, this meant I should be more proactive. For better or worse, I primarily applied this proactivity to flirting.

We can’t all learn life’s great lessons on the first go.Anyway, that blog and that mini movement of boldness changed the trajectory of my life. One thing toppled into another. Over the next few years that blog and challenge would (directly and tangentially) get me a book deal, writing contracts, sport sponsorships, job offers, the friendship of my favorite author, the adoration of my husband, and a full-time job as an editor that would be the two best professional years of my life.The period I spent working on that blog was obviously good. It was also the most derided and insulted I would ever be. I lost friendships. I received hate mail and death threats (in 2011 no less, before every Twitter account with too many numbers in the screen name became an amateur fear monger.) I allowed people to send me anonymous messages because it was a way for people to share how they were struggling without revealing their identities. But that meant I couldn’t protect myself from anonymous and un-trackable threats. God only knows what my parents thought. (In this scenario, I am God. I know what they thought.)Courage often doesn’t feel good. The only courage that exists without anxiety is arrogance. There is not a life where you, a person who wrote anonymously to an all-but-dead Tumblr, live without the anxiety of others’ judgment. But there is also not a life where you, who—again—wrote asking for advice anonymously to an all-but-dead Tumblr, aren’t a person defined by desperate chances and hope. I apologize that you sent me that note months ago, but I assure you, it is because I too was flexing courage, letting it coarse through my veins and vanquish months of chronic nausea.Like you, I was fussing about in the woods of my life, looking for something that resembled a path. Not necessarily a path without sinkholes or poison leaves, but rather one worth them.Your path, the one it sounds like you’re trying to find, will be overgrown with the thorns of judgment and anxiety. But they’re just thorns. They’re on every path. They’re hurting you just as much on the wrong path as they will on the right one.Normally I give very ethereal advice that’s difficult to act on. It’s more like a song than an action item, but in this scenario, you don’t need to listen to someone else. You also don’t need to have a tumor spliced from your insides to remind you that at some point, our chances run out. All you need is to develop the skill of listening to yourself. For a couple of months, relax with the courage. Courage is just an instagram word for having a strong inner constitution. And that is something you can develop without framing it in the same terms we use to go to battle. 

To do the work, I recommend a few things. 

If you don’t already, move your body. I know how much people hate this advice. But if you can hike or run or cycle or even just briskly walk (without podcasts) for a minimum of 20 minutes a day, you should. Our gut, our intuition, our inner sense of self or whatever you want to call her, she’s not going to feel safe coming out when you’re in the mental thicket of other people’s narratives. Exercise is the closest humans have to Drano for the mind. 

Find a journaling exercise that feels like maybe it’s a little too much work. If it feels conquerable, it’s too easy. I go back to Susannah Conway’s Unravel Your Year. Doesn’t matter if it’s a new year. Time is a construct. 

Get the book Designing Your Life. You may not design an entirely new one, but it may help in making change feel conquerable, or just possible. If that book feels too “action item” oriented, try The Artist’s Way. It’s much more about knowing yourself than it is about art.

Make a list of the narratives that you feel other people are suffocating you with. Maybe dad wants you to be a doctor. Maybe girlfriend wants you to settle down a little. Maybe boss wants you to focus on the clerical side of your job. Maybe society wants you to buy an apartment you can’t afford. Whatever or whoever it is you feel is pressuring you, write it down. You need to know your demons to exercise them. You might even find, in time, that you even like some of these visions. They’re not the enemy. Pressure is. And pressure is only defeated by self. Isn’t that annoying?

Write to me again. Impress me. Give yourself a few challenges each week. Whether it’s applying for a class, trying something you’re bound to be bad at, getting up half an hour early to dance your heart out before work, I don’t care. Do some things that are for you. Not for others, not for profit, not for your future — just for you right now. And then use me for more than an anonymous submission on the internet. Use me as a deadline. Sometimes all it takes to get over the hurdle of pressure is a little validation. I’m here for that whenever you need me.  

I’m recommending these things because I just did them.

I gave myself a deadline to change my life. Not that it was bad, it just felt… well it felt exactly how it did ten years ago: full of inaction and complacency. I was on cruise control, taking few chances, taking really nothing at all. So the next thing I took was an exit. I wanted to see what life looked like when things weren’t all concrete and white lines. I quit my job. I camped around the west. I picked up a few new hobbies. I journaled more than I did all of 7th grade. My year-long bout of nausea went away. I started to dance again. I wrote songs again. I wrote in general again. And I dug around in my psyche for the truth about what I always liked doing, what the through-lines in all my good jobs have been. Very simply, the strongest through-line was the encouragement and empowerment of others.

Most of the writing I’m doing right now will be private until it isn’t. I’m writing a horror film and still working on my first novel. But I need a weekly way to interact with people via writing lest I lose my lonely mind, so I’m bringing back the one thing got me into writing in the first place: answering people’s questions.

After writing Anonymous Asked, I was too embarrassed to promote the book. I’ve never re-read it. I fell into the spiral of what other people thought: of me, of the work, of my ideas. But I’d rather be fulfilled and insulted than bored out of my mind and forgotten.

So to encourage your courage, I am flexing a little bit of my own. My newsletter (of which this essay is a part) is now called “A Little Bit Better” and the whole point is that it helps you feel a little bit better. You can subscribe to it here. It will include essays like this and other bits of things that made that week a little bit better. I hope you enjoy it. I know I will. See you there.I wrote this while listening to:It’s a Storm - Young & SickSwing - Mahmut Orhan Remix by Soki Tukker and Mahmut OrhanKissing Other People - Lennon StellaScared to Death - Jax AndersonSound of Your Voice - Griff

#advice #newsletters #courage #courageous #griff #jax anderson #young & sick #soki tukker #lennon stella #a little bit better

[dfpbetrayed-blog]

Modeling And The Tragedy Of Karen Mulder

The news that '90s supermodel Karen Mulder was arrested in Paris for making death threats to her plastic surgeon could be written off as, at worst, a punchline, or at best, the latest expression of an unbalanced woman's erratic behavior.

Karen Mulder was a blonde 5'10" Dutch teenager who shot to fame after a friend sent in pictures of her to the Elite agency's famous Elite Model Look competition. Within two years, Mulder had given up high school to work full-time for clients like Valentino, Giorgio Armani, Calvin Klein, Yves Saint Laurent, and Versace. She made the covers of British Vogue, Italian Vogue, and various international editions of Elle, among many other magazines. At 21, she bagged a multimillion-dollar multiyear contract with Guess? She was picked as one of Peter Lindbergh's iconic gaggle of leather-clad biker supermodels in American Vogue in 1991, when DUMBO was still thought of as a little dangerous.

That's Mulder second from the right, between Stephanie Seymour and Naomi Campbell. Her career, still managed by Elite, flourished through the 1990s. Mulder capitalized on her wholesome look with commercial gigs, like her two appearances in Sports Illustrated's Swimsuit Edition, and she became a Victoria's Secret model. There was a Karen Mulder doll, made by Hasbro. Mulder dated a racecar driver, she dated Prince Albert II of Monaco, she dated a real-estate developer named Jean-Yves Le Fur. They broke up, but it was still Le Fur who picked her up off the floor of her Paris apartment and called the ambulance in the winter of 2002, after Mulder attempted suicide by overdosing on pain pills.

The suicide attempt and the coma she would lie in for two days following it came after Mulder had told the press, "From the beginning, I hated being photographed. For me, it was just an assumed role, and in the end, I didn't know who I really was as a person. Everybody was saying to me, 'Hi, you're fantastic.' But inside, I felt worse from day to day." It came after she laid a formal rape complaint in France against Prince Albert. It came after she said, "My job distracted me from my worries. It enabled me not to be myself, to pretend I was someone else." It came after a notorious appearance on French television where her various claims — that men at Elite had raped her, that she had been coerced into having sex to garner better contracts, that Elite had used her and other models as sex slaves in a ring that extended through the top echelons of French society, implicating politicians, members of the police, and other top officials, that her own father had raped her, that she had been sexually abused by a family friend from the age of 2, that she had been hypnotized and raped, kidnapped and raped, and raped some more — were regarded as so potentially libelous that France 2 not only never aired the segment, but destroyed the master tape. No matter: In a series of more-or-less coherent magazine interviews, Mulder repeated most of her accusations, and added that her agency had encouraged her to use cocaine and heroin. She told the Daily Mail, "They tried to turn me into a prostitute because they thought it would be so easy. I was raped by two bookers. I reported them and they were fired. Another time I was shut in the office of [a high-profile man from the modeling world] for a whole day. All these people who betrayed me I used to love very much. Then I realized how big the conspiracy was. It brought in the government and police, who both used Elite girls. People have tried to kidnap and poison me." 

Her suicide attempt came after she was packed off to Montsouris hospital and heavily sedated for five months of treatment for depression and anxiety. (Gerald Marie, the head of Elite Paris and one of the men Mulder had accused of raping her, paid.) It came after Marie was filmed on hidden camera by the BBC trying to give a 15-year-old model £300 for sex, and bragging of how many entrants to the Elite Model Look competition — average age 15 — he was going to sleep with that year. It came after Mulder's attempt at a crossover music career resulted in the release of a cover of "I Am What I Am", which peaked at number 13 on the French pop charts in the summer of 2002. It was after recanting all her rape accusations, and explaining that she was in fact dealing with the aftermath of childhood sexual abuse and had "gone overboard," that the former supermodel tried to kill herself. Since emerging from hospital, and until her arrest yesterday, Mulder has kept a low profile. 

How a woman like Mulder, one of those people who journalists are always quick to say "has it all," could fall so far, so fast is not really the question that commands interest here. We all know this story: it's got drugs in it, and predatory older men, and very young women, and the abject self-consciousness of the individual whose worth is in her pictures. It's always more or less the same story, even if Mulder, with her recantations and paranoid stories of kidnapping and poison at the hands of a shadowy "they," isn't always its most credible narrator. It's the story of Wallis Franken, of Ruslana Korshunova, of Katoucha Niane.

It's the story presented in a 60 Minutes segment from 1988 that reported, according to author Ian Halperin, "about the many models who had been drugged, raped, and sexually harassed by the world's top agency owners." (Halperin characterized the segment as "shocking.") It's the story of the BBC's undercover documentary of Elite executives offering to pimp out their models for drugs. (This was seen as "alarming" and "surprising.") It's the story models like Sena Cech are telling when they talk about being coerced into sex by photographers and clients at castings and on the job. (These accounts, and model Sara Ziff's documentary that provides one vehicle for them, were described in the Observer by writer Louise France as both "shocking" and "surprising.")

What amazes even more than how little the story actually differs from telling to telling, how fundamentally the same its elements remain, is our capacity for disbelief. It takes a certain dedication to one's own credulity to insist on being "surprised," "alarmed" and "shocked" by a situation that has been the subject of interest from such under-the-radar media venues as 60 Minutes going back a generation. As a culture, we have so far managed, through every news story and blog post and exposé, to maintain an innocence of the realities of the modeling industry that is almost touching. Or nearly culpable.

Our persistent willingness to be taken aback by the notion that wealthy, powerful, older men, when left in charge of a younger, poorer, female workforce, might generally act as something less than gentlemen, is testament to the power the multibillion-dollar fashion industry wields as an expert creator of narratives. It's this attitude of disbelief that allows agency directors to claim they had no idea some of their models were using cocaine and that some of their bookers were dealing it to them, or that some photographers like to sleep with models and some bookers encourage models to go along with it. Our endless capacity for shock is what gets Karen Mulder sedated and lets Gerald Marie retain, to this day, his position as head of Elite Paris.

 The longer we keep up our charade of disbelief, the less the industry will change. One of the most chilling scenes in Sara Ziff's documentary, Picture Me, didn't make the final cut. A model was talking about a photo shoot that took place she was 16, with what Ziff has described as "a very, very famous photographer, probably one of the world's top names." When the girl left the studio to go to the bathroom between shots, the photographer cornered her in the hall. Then he started touching her dress. "But you're used to this," Ziff reported he said. "People touch you all the time. Your collar, or your breasts.

 It's not strange to be handled like that." Then the world-famous photographer put his hand to her crotch and forced his fingers into her vagina. The teenager, who had never even kissed anyone before, just froze and waited for the man to walk away. They finished the shoot, and she never told anyone. The day before the New York premiere, she begged for the scene to be cut.

 But more and more models are speaking out. (I have.) If only we can dispense with our "shock" at what they have to say, perhaps this is an industry where some realistic chance for improvement remains.

[anislandintime]

I think to quit and exit is the only way left, the only way out.

Life has let me down again and each time when I have told myself it cant be worse than this, life has taken it up as a challenge and proven me wrong. Things have been just getting worse and worse. It feels like life is just laughing at me. I feel ridiculed by life.

When GF came to meet SB, it felt so nice. She had taken a bus during the pandemic travelling for 15-16 hrs just to meet him. They were meeting for the first time. Her plan was to stay for a week but ended up staying for three weeks. They had a good time. When she arrived SB told her that he decided to give their relationship a chance only after I suggested him to give it a chance and let his guards down. Both thanked me greatly. Well, while I am happy for them, I dont understand why things had to just go wrong for me in the relationship I pursued in a similar fashion?

UB came to stay with us for a night when K’s roommate’s parents were in town. That night over a long conversation he mentioned of how J’s toxic friendship had affected him deeply and its impact was seen in eroded ability to trust and connect with people. All of this, he said, changed only when K came into his life.

Life, please tell me why do you give solution and liberation to all except me? I am unable to tell how the narcissistic abuse of ND has crippled me from within. I neither get a healing touch nor do I find a shoulder to cry on. Worse, I dont even find words to explain what is happening to me. I continue to suffer in silence with absolutely no hope of recovering ever.

UB also got the job, that I too had applied for. I was instrumental in him finally getting into this stream. Now he has gotten the job I am desperately in need of. He too was aiming for it. But given his cultural capital he could have opted for another job and he had the luxury to stretch his hand and leg in those directions, which I clearly dont have. But he wants a life of comfort. Hence he is seeking this one. It is isnt crime to seek comfort. But what is a life of comfort and ease for him is my hope for a sustainable life for I do not have the cultural capital to reach out to anything else. I think I am going to be bankrupt soon, with no job in hand and no projects coming my way.

SG texted saying she and ID are getting married next month. When I saw the text, I literally jumped off my seat and gave a punch in the air. I can never forget how SG had wept uncontrollably by the sea one evening recollecting how her extended family had beaten her, her parents and her sisters when they found out that her eldest sister was dating a Christian. The memories of it haunted her every time she thought of telling her parents about ID. But now, she says her parents and sister are fully supportive of her and she doesnt care what the extended family thinks. She sounded very happy and I am happy for her.

Such news make me unbelievably happy. But at night when I finally switch off all the lights and try going to sleep... There is only one question which comes down like a lightening and strikes me hard. WHY DOESNT ANYTHING GOOD HAPPEN TO ME EVER? WHY LOVE IS SO ELUSIVE? WHY PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS OR SUCCESS IN RELATIONSHIP PERPETUALLY ABSENT IN MY LIFE?

Mother is unwell. Father is unwell. The times when Mother was hospitalized drained me out completely. I dont know how will I manage all this, with no support- physically and even emotionally- and also with no income. To add to these, my own mental health is collapsing. The severe damage caused by ND’s narcissistic abuse has made me perpetually nervous, anxious and also feel perpetually threatened. By what, from whom- no clarity. But I constantly feel I am under threat and I am about to be attacked. I feel severely insecure and unsafe. The abuse has left me in a state where I am unable to trust anyone and I feel disconnect from everything and everyone. All of these has made it difficult for me to even speak of what I am going through, to friends or even to strangers. I cant trust anyone anymore. I feel uneasy throughout. Is this what they call as PTSD? I dont know. What did I do to deserve all these? All I did was love this girl and see only goodness in her. And it turns out that she only abused me, manipulated me, exploited me and even without me realizing it, fractured my soul and destroyed me. She even had the audacity to repeatedly text me asking how my mother is doing. Wonder where she got to know about it from. I wouldnt be surprised if AN was the source of news for her. That idiot of a friend who took pleasure in turning my pain, my suffering into a spectacle- something to derive entertainment from! How foolish of me to have trusted him for so long as a friend! Was it him or was it AG? I dont know. I dont know who to trust anymore. Why did ND repeatedly text me? Even call me! She also sent a mail. I did not bother replying to the texts or even the mail. Did not answer the calls. I did not want to have any form of communication with her, especially after that accusatory mail she sent when I shared with her a paper, which I thought would be useful to her. She made it sound like I was being intrusive and pushy and also unwelcome. Later she doesnt mind repeatedly texting me, calling me. Had I called or even texted her, she would have brought down the sky screaming and shouting and unleashing violence on me. But when she does it, it is to be perceived as an act of kindness and concern. Even if it is done just so that she can convince herself that she is kind and concerned and not because she actually has any concern. What a performative life she leads; where she lies to herself and believes in her own lies! She is more interested in coming across as  a good human than becoming a good human. When I did not reply to her texts or mails and when I did not answer her calls, she made AS- her friend- call me, text me. When his father was unwell earlier in the year, I used to check up on his father’s health condition often and also extend my moral support to him. And he chooses to become a ‘flying monkey’ to a narcissist? Or may be he doesnt know of the ways in which his friend caused hurt and wound to me and the core of my being. I abruptly ended the conversation when he called me from an unknown number. I did not return the call as I promised. He texted me later on. I replied to it after a day or two. He doesnt bother replying to that. But then ND calls me. I dont know why after some days I felt I was holding grudge like ND does and in order to be not like ND, I decided to reply to her mail and I did. She doesnt bother to reply to that. Probably she was satisfied knowing that the person who she wronged and damaged, doesnt mind replying to her; which helps her showcase the world and make herself believe that she isnt a bad person and more importantly she has control over the people she has abused also. So no reply. She persistently called and texted to make herself believe that she is not ignored, not neglected. Once she gets to know that the other person, though wronged and hurt by her, still writes back to her, she is more than happy; her ego is boosted and she goes back to her silence, her way of showing her power and her control. She constantly says how abusive her father is. I dont know him but from whatever I know of him through her, I must say that if at all he endorses his way of being, then he must be super proud of her daughter for she has outsmarted him in becoming abusive, toxic, exploitative and harmful. If at all ND rejects her father’s ways of being, then she must also be disgusted by herself and must not forgive herself ever because she has been no less to her father in being abusive, toxic and exploitative. I replied to her mail not because I wanted to strike a conversation but because I did not want to become like her. So, I also wrote her a mail after few days when TV news spoke of floods in her ancestral town.  Immediately she texted me on WhatsApp, in an extremely friendly tone. I replied to that in a cold tone because I did not know how she would react. When I replied in a friendly manner to her query about my mother’s health, she went silent. When I had earlier replied elaborately to her mail spelling out how SN had plagiarized her thoughts, my long mail expressing solidarity and offering understanding was responded to with silence and later an accusatory mail! Even when in July she called wanting to clear things and sort things, when I spelled out what hurt me, she not just swung sword of words at me but also made it sound like I was the one causing hurt and told me that her therapist had advised her to stay away from me, as if I was the one hurting her! Any way, after telling me that she wants to disconnect from me, she texted me within an hour asking if she can check on me once in a while. When I responded to that in a friendly manner, saying we should probably together meet a therapist as suggested by her, she replied in an extremely hurtful way and arrogant way saying her ONLY problem in life was me! After that she blocked me on WhatsApp. Every time I have tried to be friendly with her she only attacks and accuses. Her constant flips and backflips are mindfucking and toxic. I dont know how to deal with her, nor do I know how to heal from the aftereffects of the trauma she caused... and also, I dont know how to deal with the love and compassion I still have for her somewhere deep inside of me. I hate myself for this.

Life, please be kind to me and end your relation with me this very night. I do not wish to wake up tomorrow morning. Please leave me. I wont hold you accountable at the door of death. But I beg you, please let me die and leave me. I am done. I am tired. All I sought in my entire life was some genuine love and some real deep connections. Even that was not made available to me, even if in a small percentage. I certainly deserved a better life. But it is okay, I wont complain. Now, I want to take the exit door and leave. I am tired. This pain, this loneliness, this suffering... all are just unbearable now. Death, please do not be like life. Please embrace me. Hold me in your arms and take me with you. Tonight.

[cannabis4oregon-blog]

Google & Gay Blogs

While I am in the “appeal” process with Google, my hopes are not high that I will get access to my old account.  In doing some research I found that Google is picking on Gay Bloggers.  The issue appears to be nudity.  When I opened my 2nd blog that did have nudity and men in sexual acts I kind of suspected that I would risk being shutdown.  I thought about opening it as a separate blog and now wish that I would have.  Then I think I would have a better idea as to what happened.

Google disables access but you will NEVER know why it happened.  Much of this activity I am to understand is done by Robots and not humans.  In fact I found a phone number for Google and called it.  I tried to talk with a human but was told that they do not offer live customer support at this time.  Instead I was redirected to a web page.  You can easily wind up chasing your tail going through web pages, forms and forums.

My understanding is that you complete the form that Google provides when your disabled and want to appeal.  You then should post in the Google Help Forum telling people you got shutdown and ask for help.  A middle man will then relay your request to a Google Employee.  Then the middle man gets back to you after they hear back from the Google Employee and you either get or do not get your access back.  They don’t elaborate as to why things happened it is just that way.  There isn’t such a thing as a 2nd or 3rd appeal but people have tried.

In short there is a ton of road blocks in place and no one is in any hurry to get you a response.  So to guard against this make sure that you have your Blogger theme & content backed up on a regular basis.  Better yet if your really paranoid don’t post nude photos at all.

While I understand Google is a free service and that said service is “at will” meaning they can terminate your account with or without notice, they are also trying to take over the world, much like a Microsoft.  They give you free e-mail, free cloud storage, programs like Google Docs, They branched into social networking with Google +.  They want you to use their service BUT if you offend them or do something they don’t like they just pull the plug.  Now how in the world do they expect people to trust them?  To my knowledge this hasn’t made it to main stream media and I honestly doubt it will.  I mean it is just something that affects the gays and it’s porn so why put it in the lime light.

I understand some of Google’s point but at the same time, under the Constitution I am entitled to Free Speech.  I should be able to say what I want and post photos of what I want.  I agree with warning people ahead of time that they are about to enter an Adult site.  However, if you click past the warning then you shouldn’t be offended at what you see.  I mean especially when the words homo and sex are in the title and URL of the blog.

Since I had a gut feeling things would go south I checked on what Google’s policy is regarding Nudity.  Here’s what I found.

Adult Content: We do allow adult content on Blogger, including images or videos that contain nudity or sexual activity. But, please mark your blog as 'adult' in your Blogger settings. Otherwise, we may put it behind a 'mature content' interstitial.

There are some exceptions to our adult content policy:

   Do not use Blogger as a way to make money on adult content. For example, don't create blogs where a significant percentage of the content is ads or links to commercial porn sites.    No incest or bestiality content: We do not allow image, video or text content that depicts or encourages incest or bestiality.

Child safety: We have a zero tolerance policy towards content that exploits children. Some examples of this include:

   Child pornography: We will terminate the accounts of any user we find publishing or distributing child pornography. We will also report that user to law enforcement.    Pedophilia: We do not allow content that encourages or promotes sexual attraction towards children. For example, do not create blogs with galleries of images of children where the collection of images or text accompanying the images is sexually suggestive.

Hate Speech: We want you to use Blogger to express your opinions, even very controversial ones. But, don't cross the line by publishing hate speech. By this, we mean content that promotes hate or violence towards groups based on race, ethnicity, religion, disability, gender, age, veteran status, or sexual orientation/gender identity. For example, don't write a blog saying that members of Race X are criminals or advocating violence against followers of Religion Y.

Crude Content: Don't post content just to be shocking or graphic. For example, collections of close-up images of gunshot wounds or accident scenes without additional context or commentary would violate this policy.

Violence: Don't threaten other people on your blog. For example, don't post death threats against another person or group of people and don't post content encouraging your readers to take violent action against another person or group of people.

Now on my 2nd blog, I did have a content warning up.  I figured that since they permit nudity it wouldn’t be a problem.  I’m no pedophile and totally support protecting children.  I mean your only a kid once.  You will be an adult for a very long time.

Realize that all of this is supposition on my part.  It would be great if Google or their robots would communicate as to why they are disabling or taking away access from people.

I found the Counter of Shame and a list of Gay Blogs that have been closed.  A link to the page and the counter appear below.

http://googlebloggerclosesgayblogs.blogspot.com/

As well the Counter of Shame appears in my sidebar.  If I do regain access to my old sites, I am tempted to just put in an entry directing folks here.  Let me know what you would like to see happen if I get my access back.

Thanks for stopping by.  Talk with you peeps later. Posted by Jeremy Ryan at 9:28 PM No comments: Links to this post Labels: F U Blogger, Old Blog, Please Comment Fresh Start

New or Old reader ….Greetings and welcome!  For unknown reason Blogger decided to delete my old blogs.  I have been going through the appeal process to get them back, but with so many horror stories on the net I decided to cut my losses and start over.  Hopefully, this blog will be safe (crosses fingers) and be able to stay on-line for many years.  If you remember me you will recall that I had two blogs.  My main blog was on-line for around 7 years, so loosing all of those posts really hurt.  Not to mention the hours I spent designing this new site.  Time really passes quickly when your engrossed in a project.  The hard part for me was doing the tweaking and making sure everything was just perfect before I forged forward.

For the new folks, read my profile to learn about me.  Just in case you can’t tell by the name of the blog I am gay (shocker, I know).  I have a partner and we have been together for many, many years.  Our children are our cats, we have 7 of them.  1 Momma cat and her 4 kids.  The other two are strays that we took in.  Actually the one stray TAZ had been coming around for years and once we brought him in he brought along a friend.  His friend is male and has not been neutered yet, so he howls to go outside because he wants a female.  He sprays the house to mark his territory and TAZ is really his only friend in the cat world.  We love them all but they don’t all love each other and always get along.  Cat fights or disagreements are a little too frequent.  Someone is always hissing, which drives me absolutely crazy.

I am in the Technology field and have been unemployed for 16 months.  I have had plenty of interviews but no offers.  I suspect but can’t prove that the reason why it’s taken me so long is because one of the people I used as a reference was actually giving out bad information.  I only say I suspect that because last year and again this year I had to places interested in me.  Suddenly after they talked to this person they decided to hire someone else.  So I am now using a different reference in place of that person.  The problem right now is getting interviews.  Last year was great but this year not so much.  Funny thing is when all of this happened I thought it would be a couple months.  Boy was I wrong!

Given the fact that I have been living on unemployment and didn’t know any better, I tapped into my 401k.  That hurt me on taxes as well as wiping out a good portion of my retirement.  Fortunately I am young enough that if I get back to work soon, I will be able to save some of that back.  I am in the process of filing Bankruptcy.  It’s not like I wanted to but I am backed into a corner and really have no choice.  Turns out I didn’t need to touch my retirement after all because it’s protected and exempt from creditors.  Damn!  If I had only known that sooner I would be in less debt and have more savings.  When you know better, you do better.  So now I’m telling folks about it so they too are educated and if they are in my shoes they don’t touch what they have worked so hard to save for.

What can I expect to see here?  There will be some photos of guys on occasion.  I will be talking a lot about my life and what I am going through at the present time.  You will hear all about my partner, cats and what ever is on my mind.  I enjoy music a lot so you will see music videos.  Some advice and commentary on current events.  That is pretty much it in a nut shell.

I welcome your comments, feedback and suggestions.  Feel free to share anything.  Comment moderation is enabled so if you post something that you don’t want me to share with the rest of the world be sure to type in ***DO NOT POST***.  Otherwise, I will publish what you write.

If your gay and just coming to terms with that or have questions about gay people, I am more than happy to help out with any advice.  I know it is not easy being gay, it can be a difficult thing for you to come to terms with, let alone dealing with how other people react when you tell them the news.  Younger guys hang in there when you grow up things are much better.  The important thing is that if your having any kind of problem be it sexual identity, bullying or whatever TALK to someone, DO NOT hold in your feelings.  That only makes things worse.  The hard part might be finding someone trustworthy.  If you want that person can be me.  Otherwise, seek out a parent, close friend or counselor.

Well the hour is growing late and I need to prepare to turn in.  Thanks again for stopping by.  I hope to hear from you and see you here again real soon.  Take care!

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