#women won’t be safe until ALL rapists are gone

[theamazingannie]

I’m sick of Zionists (plus transphobes and racists who do this too) pretending to care about women to suit their agenda. If you REALLY care about women being raped, where are you when 1 in 6 women are estimated to experience sexual assault at least once in their lifetime? Where are you when most rapes aren’t even reported because no one believes women? Where are you when most reported rapes are dismissed because of a “lack of evidence”? Where are you when most rape cases that go to trial fail to get a conviction? Where are you when the ones that DO get a conviction only lead to a jail time of a few months? Where are you when the cis white men in your own country rape women and make jokes about raping women and beating women and treating women like shit? Imagine if all the people who use the rape of women to suit their agendas used that energy to care about ALL rapes. Imagine how quickly rape culture would end. But you don’t actually care about women. You just know that the people who side against you care about women, so you use that to appeal to them. PROVE you care about women other than when it’s useful to you. Attack the rapists in your own communities instead of ignoring those ones and only attacking rapists outside your communities

#Im just SICK of the hypocrisy and tunnel vision #clean your own damn communities before attacking others #you are not better than them #be fucking consistent or not a damn person is gonna take you seriously #we SHOULD care about trans women rapists and black rapists and Muslim rapists #they need to be called out too #but do not only call them out and ignore the cis white men around you who barely get a slap on the wrist for raping women in your community #women won’t be safe until ALL rapists are gone #not just the ones you don’t like

[killianglyndon]

Someone You Care ch2

A/N: This one explains their first meet from Rafael’s point of view. And I forgot to say this last chapter, this series’ timeline began from late S16. This chapter is somewhat based on 16x23 “Surrendering Noah.” But Nick didn’t get shot in this. ( I'm sorry i just don’t want to send him away.) And if the link isn’t working, or you want to be on the taglist, please let me know.

Warnings: rape mentioned, some gunshots mentioned, blood (nothing too graphic)

Series masterlist

Next chapter

(A few months ago)

When you and Intelligence walked into the squad room, you caught Rafael’s eye. From your navy blazer, to your black footwear. He could tell you more value the practicality than fancy, and of course, the badge hanged on your neck.

He watched you as you pointed the pictures on the whiteboard, explaining your findings on the case. The moment his emerald green eyes caught yours, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of heat creeping into his cheeks. His heartbeat definitely sped up. Thankfully, no one had any attention on Rafael, he could save himself from the embarrassment of being caught staring at you.

After Yates’ trial, SVU and Intelligence went out for drinks. To celebrate that the serial rapist, Yates, had been put behind the bars, and mourned for your friend, Nadia. Everyone had grabbed their drinks and toasted to their dear friend, Nadia.

About an hour or two later, almost everyone had gone home or hotel to rest, except you. Rafael saw you drinking your beer alone at the corner table, so he walked toward you. “Detective?” He said, and you turned your gaze from your drinks to him. “You okay?” He asked. “Maybe...” “Mind if I sit?” He asked carefully, and you shook your head. He sat down beside you and put his scotch on the table. “You know...? Nadia had taken the police exam, she was finally getting back on the track...” you murmured sadly, tears around your eyes. “She been through this much, and...and...Why is everyone leaving me?” You finally broken down, you had kept your emotions deep inside you for all this time, and Rafael pulled you into his arms to let you cry into his chest. “I’m here...you’re not alone...shh..” He traced small patterns with his hands on your back, holding you in his arms. Until you finally got yourself together, you slowly pulled away from his embrace. “I...uh...sorry.” You whispered, “ Don’t be, I know it’s hard when cases like this happened...” He averted his gaze to meet yours. “Thank you, but I...I should probably get going. Good night, counselor.” You hastily grabbed your things and walked out of the bar.

—————-

(Now)

It was been weeks since you joined SVU, you were surely got more acquainted with everyone, and more specifically, Rafael Barba. You two had been texting from time to time, talking about work, life, or even telling some jokes. He even brought you coffee sometimes when he came to the precinct. Every time he did that, certainly made the Staten Island detective ask you questions or give weird facial expressions. Sure, you and Rafael flirted a lot, and you definitely not the only one enjoyed it.

While you mindlessly recalling some encounters with Rafael, he walked into the squad room with two drinks in his hands. You haven’t realized that he walked in until he put a cup of coffee on your desk, and gave you a squeeze on your shoulder before walking into Liv’s office. Your cheeks heated and redden up a little, he did this gesture so many times, but your heart rates undoubtedly sped up every time. “I really can’t figure out how Barba can be like that.” Carisi commented, his face turned into confusion. “Like what?” You asked. “This all-loving-and-caring thing.” “He just being nice, that’s all.” “Nah, he definitely has feelings for you.” You felt your cheeks reddened up more, “I uh...” “You should ask him out, ya know?” That was when Rafael standing behind your seat. “Who?” Rafael asked. “What? uh...no one!” You said as calmly as you could. Rafael shot Carisi a confused glare, and Carisi just shrugged. “See you soon, detectives.” Rafael said and looked at two of you before leaving.

Rafael thought you had good times with him, but maybe you didn’t? Sure, two of you hadn’t labeled anything yet. But maybe all this time, you just being polite? Or there was someone else for you? Rafael just questioned himself more. His past relationships certainly made him a little insecure. Rafael didn’t have any sleep that night, just tossing and turning in his bed wondering if you liked him back or not.

—————

Another case came in, a sex-trafficking group was busted. SVU had successfully found the missing girl, Ariel. She was held hostage when the police trying to take out Johnny D. Luckily, Liv was successfully convinced him to let Ariel go, but that son of bitch asked for a lawyer immediately.

During the process, it turned out that Noah’s father was Johnny D. Rafael had been telling Liv that she didn’t have to put his name on Noah’s adoption information, but Liv didn’t want her life with Noah built on the lies.

Rafael had asked SVU’s detectives to make sure every girl feel safe so that they wouldn’t back out in the last minute. But when the first witness, Pilar, testified, she said all she did was cleaning Johnny D’s apartment, and he didn’t rape her. This surely gave a blow to this case.

This angered Ariel and other witnesses, who later testified that Johnny D brutally beaten them up, drugged them, and raped them repeatedly. But when Ariel testifying, some women, including Pilar jumped out and saying she was a liar. This went down quickly, as you and Nick trying to make them sit down. Johnny D took advantage of this situation. He flipped the table, and grabbed one of the court officers’ guns, and held one as a hostage. You and Nick saw this, so both of you drew out your guns and pointed at Johnny D. “Drop the gun!” Nick shouted. “Drop it now!” You added and slowly approaching him. Before you could respond, he shot you in the shoulder and took the hostage rushing out the door. “You okay?” Nick asked, “I fine. Go!” You said weakly.After hearing you Nick chased after him, Your shoulder aches so much, and the blood kept coming out, then you fell to the ground. Rafael rushed over to you, and shrugged off his jacket adding pressure on your wound. “(y/n), hey, stay with me!” He shouted. You could feel your consciousness was drifting away, you tried to use your other hand to grasp his forearm. “I...I like you a lot, Rafael...” You said weakly. Rafael felt his tears trying to roll down, “ I like you too, (y/n). Don’t you dare die on me! Help is on the way.” Your visions started getting blurry. Before you could answer, everything went black.

——————

You were rushed into surgery as soon as you were sent to the hospital, Rafael rode in the ambulance with you. Rafael was worried sick, he was just wondering if you had feelings for him or not. It turned out you did, but right now he was regretting that he didn’t tell you earlier. All he could do now is pray for you, hoping you would be alright.

Liv saw Rafael sitting in the chair with some blood on his shirt. Rafael was miserable. Liv walked over to him, “How long have you two been dating?” Liv asked. “We not dating... she just told me that she likes me a lot be..before she passed out...” Rafael murmured, his hand rubbing his face. “Oh...that’s...she will be alright, Rafael.” Liv put her hand on Rafael’s shoulder, giving his a squeeze. Rafael just nodded but didn’t say anything. “When she wakes up, ask her out.” Liv giving Rafael a knowing look. “I will...definitely.”

After a few hours, the doctor went out of the O.R, Rafael and the squad immediately rushed to him. “How is she?” Rafael asked. “She’s stable for now, we managed to remove the bullet, she should make a full recovery. But we still need to keep her for observation for 48 hours to make sure the wound won’t get any infection. You may go see her if you want, she should be awake at any minute.” The doctor replied. “Go, she must want to see you first.” Liv encouraged. Rafael nodded and slowly walked into your room.

You were lying there, looking pale, it was like the blood drained out of your face. Rafael couldn’t be more heartbroken than this, seeing you lying there, with some IV stuck in your forearm. Rafael walked to your bed, and sit in the chair beside you. Your eyes slowly opened, you spotted Rafael sitting next to you. “Hey...” You murmured. “Hey” Rafael put his hands on your left hand, tracing small patterns on it. “How’s everyone?” You asked weakly, your voice sounded hoarse. “A court officer got shot in the head...and Amaro shot Johnny D, he died on the scene.” You nodded. “You feeling okay?” Rafael asked worriedly. “ I’m okay, really...” You gave him a small smile. “God, I was so scared...I should have told you sooner...” He sniffed. “Hey, you’re not getting away from me that easily.” You joked and intertwined his fingers with yours. “Would you like to go on a date with me? I mean after you recover, obviously.” He smiled. “I would love to.” You grinned.

Liv, Carisi, and other people in the squad came into the room, “How are you feeling, (y/n)?” Liv asked first. “I’m fine, Sarge. Really.” You replied. “I called Voight... I figure he might want to know.” Liv said. “Thank you.” You replied. “By the way, you’re having desk duty until you fully recover. And please, take a few weeks off before getting back to work, okay?” Liv said. “Okay.” Liv specifically told you to rest up before leaving. And Carisi was blabbering that he would make you some Italian dishes from his mother’s recipe.

You were appreciated that there were so many people who cared about you. Guess you did found another family.

After a while, most people went home, except Rafael, of course. “You know you don’t have to stay here with me, right?” You said. “I know, but I want to.” He smiled. “What about work?” You asked. “It’s taken care of, I gave some to other A.D.A. I also take tomorrow off...” “I...Thank you...for being here.” You looked into his bright green eyes, and your gaze turned to his lips for a second. Rafael must felt the tension between you two, he leaned in and kiss on your lips. One of his hands traveled to your face and caressed it. Your left hand sneaked to his back of the neck, pulling his hair a little. Your lips melted into each other’s, it was even better than you had imagined. You pulled back until you two were breathless. “Wow...” You gasped, “Yeah...” He chuckled a little. “It was amazing.” You blushed. Rafael now sat back down in the chair. “After you recover, I’ll take you out on so many dates that we can’t even count.” He smirked. “Can’t wait.” You smiled.

Taglist: @ritajammer21

#law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #ada rafael barba #raul esparza #law and order svu imagine #Rafael Barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba drabble #rafael barba x reader #someone you care

[ladyoflosgar]

GOT showverse AU, Sansa marries Domeric instead of Ramsay

Some wordvomit on how using Domeric would smoothly integrate the North and Vale plotlines and wouldn’t stray as far from book!Sansa’s (and also Littlefinger’s) character after the cut. Warning that as Domeric is a Harry stand-in who was dead in the original anyway, he was doomed from the start.

I didn’t watch season 6 or season 7 because I ragequit at the Sansa/Ramsay wedding episode, I just know memes like “battle of the bastards” and “poisoned by his enemies”. Also I know nothing about what happened to the southern storylines until Dany showed up at Winterfell in S8. I’m a book gal. 

Marrying Sansa to Domeric instead of Ramsay makes Littlefinger less stupid. This could go along similar lines as the Harry the Heir plot: instead of raising the Vale against the Boltons now that Tywin Lannister is dead and the Crown is weakened, Littlefinger could come to a deal with Roose to get him friends in the Vale instead of enemies. Littlefinger would then exploit the chaos of battle with Stannis/the existing tensions between Roose, Ramsay and Domeric to off each of them in some order, after Sansa has safely borne a child, after which he would become the power behind the North. Domeric is also a cultured nobleman with a good reputation as a tourney knight instead of a bastard serial rapist so it wouldn’t come across as a critical research failure on Littlefinger’s part.

How would we incorporate Domeric into the Game of Thrones story up to S4/5? You would need to introduce him in S1 at the Eyrie when Cat and Tyrion show up. Maybe before, during the Tourney of the Hand. When Cat is about to leave, give him a scene where he says “my lady, I would fight for you, I am a Stark man through and through” and Cat tells him, “ser, you would be of better service to House Stark here in the Vale, speaking for our cause”. In S2-S3 have Cat read dispatches from him about how Lysa isn’t being helpful, the knights of the Vale won’t march without her leave, etc. This would build up trust in the Boltons and kind of justify why Robb gives so much control over to Roose, and amplify the gut wrenching horror of the Red Wedding.

Begin the Sansa Bolton arc. By S4 when Littlefinger shows up with Sansa at the Eyrie we could have a scene with Domeric and Lord Royce (because they cut Lord Redfort) where Domeric says something like “what a family I have, my father the kingslayer, and my brother a would-be kinslayer”. Give him an angstbro moment where he is dejected because his father undid all the work he put in, give him the need to go on a redemption quest for something he wasn’t involved in. After Lysa dies when Lord Royce goes up to the Eyrie, give him a fluffy moment with “Alayne Stone” where he’s playing the harp alone and she sings along or something. Then at a feast, Lord Royce says his name, and Alayne flinches back, he mutters ‘even the novices at the motherhouse curse the name of Bolton’. Then he watches her and figures out that she’s Sansa Stark. He talks to Lord Royce about it, Lord Royce doesn’t believe him, and then the conversation with Sansa and Lady Waynwood happens where she outs herself. Then Littlefinger, Lord Royce, and Roose go into talks. Have Littlefinger recycle the “bewitch him” line he used in the TWOW sample chapter.

Preserve intrigue/suspense at Winterfell by pushing forward the Ramsay & Domeric Cain and Abel plot and make Domeric a player in the Northern conspiracy. Have Sansa use her observation skills to figure out what he’s doing. Have Domeric not involve Sansa in the GNC because 1) he saw her kissing Littlefinger and discuss their plan and 2) it’s about bringing back Rickon and he doesn’t want Littlefinger to know. Turn him into a paranoiac - ‘everyone at Winterfell is trying to kill me except for my dad, who I hate’. Have his opinion of Sansa sour while her opinion of him grows. Domeric’s suspicion of Sansa would also seed the Northern lords’ reluctance to follow her: they believe she is Littlefinger’s creature. Bonus: Sansa’s latent warging ability manifests in Ramsay’s hounds and she learns more about the intrigue at Winterfell.

Leadup to the Battle of Ice. Conflict swirls between the pro-Roose (+Ramsay) and pro-Domeric (Manderly/Stannis) camps at Winterfell. Too many men and mouths to feed, Roose needs to get them out to deal with Stannis. Sansa and Theon flee into the night, to Stannis. Jon receives the pink letter at the wall (but to add mystery, it’s probably not Domeric who wrote it). Mel and Selyse don’t believe it, they burn Shireen to grant Stannis victory, instead they resurrect Jon into wight!Jon. Confusion in the battle because Stannis has Sansa. Maybe Ramsay does something gloriously stupid like kill Stannis in a parley (let’s keep Brienne on the Arya plot) and now the Northmen just have to crush Team Dragonstone. Or, the conlfrontation ends without resolution, Stannis nopes back to the Wall, finds Shireen dead and his wife a depressed husk, and an heroes. Huge blow to the GNC, they all ride back to Winterfell in shame.

Ousting Littlefinger, the fall of the House of Bolton, Sansa vs Jon conflict. Knowing that the lords of the North still want the Boltons gone but won’t include her because of Littlefinger, Sansa’s attention needs to be on disentangling herself. She also has a personal motivation to be rid of him because he is a creep who keeps forcekissing her, and he killed Lysa. In the end I think Harry will grow on Alayne/Sansa at least a little bit, so Domeric has to grow on Sansa too. This is just a wordvomit so I don’t know all of the logical steps but Sansa needs to get rid of Littlefinger by herself without making herself look too bad by outing him to the Lords of the Vale and help Domeric get rid of Ramsay while Ramsay’s about to arrange a hunting accident, perhaps by warging into a dog. Domeric’s arc would be about Roose so he’d need to be the one to play the poisoned by his enemies card. Now that Sansa and Domeric are working as a team, enter Jon, stage right, dark!Wight with a wildling army to rescue his sister. Noone can find Rickon (shaggy dog story). Half the Lords of the North still want a son of Ned Stark, and like Lyanna Mormont said, “Lady Sansa’s a Bolton now” and Domeric is a kinslayer. Stark Bowl, get hype, it’s a Northern civil war. The Knights of the Vale come in to bail Domeric out but it’s too late. The Northmen make Jon KITN because that’s what happens in the show and also he killed Domeric, and they are still reluctant for a ruling Lady Stark without a husband. It was a real tragedy because this is Westeros. Now it’s time for the White Walkers and Daenerys plot.

Impact on Sansa’s character. At the end of the day I don’t think show!Sansa and book!Sansa are the same. IMO steered in a different direction from the girl who led the women in the Queen’s Ballroom signing hymns to the Mother, who asked for a maester for Lancel, and sang the Mother’s hymn to Sandor during the Battle of the Blackwater. The sass queen who goes “uncle, sit” to Edmure Tully is not the same person who helpfully finishes stuttery Wallace Waynwood’s sentences and spares him further embarrassment. This might be naive but I hope GRRM is going to have her retain her kindness, her mercy, her goodness while having her do things that are genuinely grey (her role in whatever happens to Sweetrobin for example). She would express regret, just as she expresses regret for outing Ned to Cersei. If her endgame fate is to end up alone, and not with someone brave and gentle and strong who loves her for her and fulfills a beauty and the beast metaphor, then I think the role Harry (Domeric here) would have played in her narrative is to have made her come to regret using someone as a piece on the board rather than treating them as a person valuable in and of themselves, with their own hopes and dreams and flaws and virtues. It happened to me, I did it to someone else, I am sorry, etc.

Thanks for reading my badfic outline. 

#ladyoflosgar original content #sansa x domeric #domeric x sansa

[revisionaryhistory]

It’s All Art ~ 98

Charlotte trusted Oscar more than any other person. If he said her friends and family wouldn't be angry with her he really believed. She only wished she did. The rationale part of her brain believed everything he'd said. She was young. She was blindsided. They had taken advantage of both. And she had done the best she could at the time. She believed all of it. However, being afraid wasn't happening in the rationale part of her brain. It was happening in the "what will I do without them" part of her brain. She wasn't at a place where she believed, but the more they'd talk the more hope she had that he was right. Hope was a good thing.

When Oscar left the room she pulled a pillow in front of her and hugged it tight. She kept the phone volume where she could hear, but they couldn't. As sick as it sounded, her heart jumped when Oscar said Kelsey was crying. She chewed on the cuticle of her thumb as she listened to Oscar tell her story. From what she could hear Matt was worried. He'd always asked questions when he was worried. His voice wasn't giving away anything. Kelsey, on the other hand, was full of emotions. She could picture Kelsey making faces and waving her hands. Charlotte almost laughed a few times and that made her hope rise. Charlotte didn't know Adam well enough to read him, but his few words made her feel like he was angry.

Adam's voice was definitely angry when he asked where she was, but she knew the anger wasn't directed at her. His imposing form came through the door and what she felt was... safe. Protected. Similar to how she felt with Oscar. He didn't say a word as he sat beside her on the bed and put his arm around her. When he heard the voices coming from the phone he laughed, "No one is going to be mad at you for something that happened to you. You didn't do anything wrong. Something wrong happened to you. Twice."

Charlotte laid her head on his shoulder, "Thank you." His words sank in differently an Oscar's. Adam was more objective, not emotionally involved. He saw things differently than Oscar could. She leaned her head back to look at him. "You watched the CCTV with Oscar. At the end, was he going to...." Her words trailed off. She couldn't say them.

Adam pushed her head back to his shoulder and laid his on, "Yes, but they got to you. And we won't let that fucker get to you again."

Both were laughing when Kelsey flung the bedroom door open. Kelsey looked at them, "Why are you laughing?"

Charlotte sat up away from Adam, "You called me a stupid cow!"

Kelsey put both hands on her hips and glared playfully at her friend, "You are a stupid cow." She walked quickly to the bed, sitting down facing Charlotte, and taking her hands, "But you're my stupid cow and I love you."

"I love you too, Kels." Charlotte let go of Kelsey's hands and hugged her. "I'm sorry I lied to you all this time."

"Stop being a stupid cow." The pair laughed and held on for several seconds before sitting back. "Your Oscar did a wonderful job explaining and we will discuss it some time. You lied because you were scared and thought it was the best choice. I'm sad I couldn't be there for you." She looked up and left with her lips pursed, "I am a bit angry I didn't get details about the affair with a teacher before he became an almost rapist. It seems wildly inappropriate to ask now." Kelsey rolled her eyes and huffed out an exasperated breath.

Adam waited until the two women burst out laughing and hugged before he laughed. Nothing like a best friend to turn a bad situation into something to laugh at.

The women had tears running down their cheeks when they separated. Kelsey looked over her shoulder, "Let's go see what the boys are up to."

Charlotte nodded and let Kelsey help her out of the bed.

Adam held his hands up, "What am I?"

Kelsey held her hand out to him, "Oh, You're all man."

Adam smiled, "I'll take that. About the picture you two sent Oscar."

"We wouldn't want to limit your imagination with reality."

Matt was hanging up the phone when the other three walked in. He hastily shoved the phone in his pocket as he almost ran to get to his sister. He hugged her tight, "Lottie, I'm sorry all this happened."

"Ribs, Matt." She was wincing until he loosened his hold. "And stop calling me Lottie in front of people."

"These aren't people. They're family."

Charlotte sat between her brother and best friend, both held one of her hands. Kelsey had the broken arm and held her fingers. Oscar and Adam sat in chairs nearby. The two men exchanged looks and words while the three on the couch talked. Oscar kept a close watch on her tone. The fear was gone and she talked easily, answering questions and filling in holes. Occasionally she'd look over to him, smile, and then return her attention to Kelsey and Matt. While they asked questions they stayed away from whys. He knew that one would come, but he was thankful for not tonight. It had been a long emotional day. Them knowing the story and what she was willing to say needed to be enough.

Over an hour later the conversation waned. Charlotte looked exhausted. Kelsey noticed, "We're leaving. Tomorrow's going to be long too."

Matt agreed, "Mom and dad's flight gets in at ten."

Charlotte had missed the phone call, "You called them?"

"Of course I did. They need to hear this from you."

Oscar added, "And you need them here."

She looked at him and nodded.

Matt stood up, "Yell at me and smile at him. I see where I rate."

"Right where a brother should." Charlotte hugged him." Thank you and I love you." She let go and hugged Kelsey, "Love you too. Will you be there when I tell the others?"

"Why don't you let me tell them? You've enough to be getting on with. Telling your parents, the police, and friends. Let me tell our friends. We'll get together and do this bit again."

Charlotte only had to think for a second, "That would be wonderful. Thank you." The girls hugged again before she went to Adam. "Thank you for being here. Not for just me, but him. I know it's not been easy for him."

Adam hugged, "He wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad I could help. Both of you."

After their friends left the couple fell on the couch. Oscar took her hand, lacing their fingers. Charlotte's head laid on the back of the couch. Her eyes were closed as she spoke. "Go ahead. Say I told you so."

"Never." He turned his head to look at her. "I knew they'd react something like this, but I respect that you were afraid. Emotion trumps logic every time."

Charlotte sat up and lifted her leg, moving to swing it over Oscar's lap. The twisting of her body hurt her ribs. She winced and put her leg down. Her plan changed and she stood up, carefully turning, placing a knee on either side of his thighs.

Oscar smiled, putting his hands on her waist to guide and support her.

Charlotte settled in his lap, her arms hanging by her sides. "I'd planned that to be more impactful and sexy."

Oscar smirked, "You are plenty sexy." He kissed her, "And impactful."

"Thank you." Her fingers laced into his hair and held his focus on her. "You've been nothing, but wonderful. I appreciate everything the last week, today, and tomorrow. I love you. I know its been all about me and these are your days off."

He barked out a laugh, "Forget the last one. Just the way it works. Wait until the press for this circus starts. You'll pay me back tenfold." Oscar pressed his lips to hers, "I'll accept being appreciated for my wonderfulness."

She slanted her mouth over his, opening to let their tongues play. "The moment my ribs don't hurt we're having some bone jarring hard sex."

"Ok." He said with a smirk.

"Not complaining, mind you."

He shook his head, "No, I'm all in for a serious slam fest."

Charlotte kissed him again before laying her head on his shoulder, "I love you."

"I love you, too." He put his arms around her and ran her fingers over her back.

Charlotte relaxed against him, "You have exactly all night to quit tickling my back."

Significantly less time than all night and she was asleep. Oscar could tell when she drifted off by the sound of her breathing. He buried his nose in her hair, taking her in. What mattered most in the world was in his lap. While he wished none of this would have happened he was happy with how they had handled things. Together. Both had shown capable of supporting and pushing the other. He couldn't want anything more than what they were. He adored her and he loved who he was with her.

*****

"I didn't have a nightmare."

Oscar rolled onto his back, "I noticed."

"I thought for sure, after yesterday, last night would be bad. Odd."

"Possibly the combination of knowing what happened and letting go of long held secrets chased away the nightmares." He rolled to his side and leaned over to kiss her. "I'll miss my middle of the night booty calls."

"I'll set an alarm." She put her hand on his face and kissed him. "Beep beep beep."

By the time Matt and Abby arrived they'd showered and had breakfast. Matt had told Abby everything. She told Charlotte she wished she'd been there for her, like Kelsey, but understood why she kept the secret.

Charlotte's parents called when they arrived at the hotel. Matt and Abby left to stay with the littles in the family apartment, passing Alexis and Micah in the elevator.

Oscar could tell Charlotte was anxious. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. "You got this and I got you."

Her smile was interrupted by the knock on the door. She grimaced, "They're here."

Alexis gasped, "On my god. Charlotte." She stepped into the room and put her hands on her daughter's face, "Are you a'right?" She ran her fingers to the side of the injuries.

"Much better than a few days ago." She hugged her mom, "I'm glad you're here." Charlotte moved to her dad, "Hey, daddy."

Alexis hugged Oscar as Micah held Charlotte. "You look tired."

Oscar smiled, "Been a long week."

Micah led Charlotte to the couch and sat. Alexis sat on the table in front of her daughter, leaving the spot on the other side to Oscar. He sat and laid a hand on her leg. Her parents had her hands. "We've been worried since Matt called. Tell us what's happened."

They listened without interuption as Charlotte started at the beginning. Telling them wasn't as bad as she'd feared, but no one wants to tell their parents about an affair with their married teacher. Oscar couldn't see Micah, but Alexis' face didn't change. He trusted Micah's hadn't either. That wasn't the case when she told of what the school did and the attack. Oscar could feel the anger rolling off Micah and watched the tears rolling down Alexis' cheek.

"Did you think we wouldn't believe you?"

Charlotte turned her attention to her father, "No, daddy. It wasn't that. I was ashamed I'd been sleeping with a married man. I didn't want anyone to know. I stupidly believed they'd ruin me and create havoc for the business."

Micah nodded, "I understand, but I wish you'd told us."

Alexis frowned and nudged Micah with her foot, "That's a protective dad response. You want to have fixed it all."

"Of course I do. I want to file some sort of lawsuit for what the school did."

Oscar was smirking too. He understood the urge to sue or give an interview. Alexis ignored both of them. "Charlotte, I'm so proud of you. You turned a horribly unfair situation into an amazing life. I hate this happened, but it made you who you are now. I wouldn't change that."

Charlotte wiped at her face, "Thank you, momma. It made me grow up. Not the best way, however I'm not sure I would be where I am otherwise." She put a hand over Oscar's, "Where I am now is pretty amazing."

Alexis leaned forward and kissed her daughter, "Yes, it is." She sat back and looked at her watch, read a text. "Your siblings are very anxious to see you." Charlotte smiled, "I miss them too."

Alexis looked up at her then glanced at Oscar, "Him."  She looked back to her daughter. "Sorry, love."

Charlotte rolled her eyes, "He's like a new toy. Have Matt bring them up. We can visit until the police come. Keep my mind off."

Micah put his arm around Charlotte, "You'Il identify him. They'll go get him. Oscar and I will hire someone to do the same to him." He looked to Oscar for confirmation.

Oscar nodded in agreement, "Only no one will be there to stop our guys."

"I like how you think, son."

#oscar isaac #itsallart #fanfic

[clevernewdimension]

Polaris Part Eleven

Parts: Preview, Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve (Coming soon!)

Genre: Action, drama, romance, sci-fi, etc.

Paring: Jongin x Character

Word count: 7.3

A/N: A rare update it feels like. I’m sorry guys, my IRL life is just shit at the moment, but I’ll update when I can!

It felt as if everything was moving around me a hundred times faster than normal. The royal guards mostly emotionless, spears in their hands ready for a fight at any moment. Glorified attack dogs, basically, since it’s rare for royalty to even be in a room with someone without a mark. No need for them if you can command them to stop. Rhys’s personal body guard in the room with him as he, Minseok and Krims were speaking. He was probably twenty when I first met him. His head shaved with golden metal parts on him. He was cyberneticly enhanced, something that happens for the personal guards of the royal family. Can happen everywhere but looked down upon. His eyes yellow, looking around like a hawk to make sure nothing happens. A passing glance would make anyone think he was an honorable man.

The memories of him tying me to a bed for the prince’s pleasure and sedating me so I couldn’t move said otherwise. Worse that with the mark, that shit wasn’t actually needed at all. Fucked up asshole and his heartless sidekick.

The door opens, Krims angrily shaking his head. “The fact of the matter is, any Tribian in the Syndicate legally absolves themselves of their citizenship in order to join.” He turns, glaring at Rhys’s face, “No amount of a royal hissy fit will change that, your highness,” He says, practically spitting the words.

The mask was up. He looked unbothered to most people, but you could see the small movements if you knew where to look. “And If they chose to leave,” He asks, following. He was angry. The sliver of his eyes looking even crueler the angrier he got.

Minseok follows behind, “If they choose to leave the Syndicate, they will be stripped of their ranks and allowed to go anywhere they wish. They wouldn’t not automatically have to go back to Tribil.”

Theo smirks, the crown on his head still perfectly in place. The perfect picture of royalty. “Something tells me they will want to come back home.”

My blood runs cold, knowing what he means. The command. He expects to command us back, and those who are not myself or Yixing will have to follow them. It took everything I had not to let the bile rose up my throat and out of my mouth with just the thought. A small gasp leaves my lips, as a few glance to me. King Theo Rhys looks over, eyes meeting me. A smirk rises on his face.

“Like you,” He says smiling. The clothes he wore proper black and gold, the cape with LED micro particles that makes it shimmer and look like glitter. His eyes on me as he walks up. “Come back home,” He says, looking me over. “Tribil will gladly have a hero like you. We could use more hands working on our new technology and jobs at the mines always, sadly, open up.”

Memories flash in front of me, making my eyes water. I felt so fucking weak as he just stared at me. His laugh echoing in my ears as I blink and I see Yixing stepping in front of me. I could feel his burning hatred without having to look at him.

“We’ll pass,” He says, smirking. “We know the Syndicate is good now that the disease has been cut out. It would be a shame to work so hard just to throw it all away after all.” Yixing stands up tall, not bowing likes you should. Yixing almost looked arrogant, as he stood up to Rhys.  “So we’re declining, your highness,” He says, the biting tone of sarcasm was sharp, and definitely would be noticed by all those who heard.

There was a moment where Rhys’s face was complete emotionless. A trained response to rejection. No signs of weakness, and if there was, I think it would be confusion of how we are able to not be commanded. “Then I suppose we should speak about our continued relationship with the Syndicate,” He says, as if he’s clenching his teeth together.

The door bursts open and I see Jongin, Sehun and a few other pilots walk in. He looked angry, and when he looked at Yixing and I in front of Rhys, it just got worse.

The way he walked had an air of anger. The bodyguard stepped in front of him, ready as Jongin looked truly pissed. Jongin looked past him, towards Rhys.

“Why the fuck are we not allowed to fly,” He asks, glaring at him.

King Rhys turned, looking at Jongin. “With all the commotion and infighting going on, my security personnel though it best to have all spaceships grounded until further notice. For all I know traitors will use them an attack my the small fleet we have waiting just outside the atmosphere.”

“We need to go and survey the surrounding area to make sure it’s safe,” Jongin says, daring to stand up to a monarchy that would destroy him if he wished.

“My security detail is taking care of it,” the King says, looking past him and at Sehun. The trained calm face dropped instantly. He glares, “You’re awfully brave to show up here, King killer. Should I be worried? Will you kill me too?”

“Your father liked to fuck children and hurt them,” Sehun says, face blank of emotion other than his eyes. They were a burning inferno. “I’d say that the only reason you’ve have to feel unsafe is if you are also a pedophile and a rapist. If not, you have nothing to fear.”

The anger making his silver eyes glow, “I could have you killed for telling such lies about my father.”

The guard moves his spear, pulling it to Sehun’s throat. The Etheron doesn’t move, just stares boredly at him. “It’s not a lie. And you’re also complacent if you knew about it and did nothing.”

Theo pushes the guards arm, trying to make the blade slice into Sehun. Jongin’s hand reaches out and grabs the spear, holding in in place. For the first time, I’ve noticed Jongin really tap into his Etherion strength to snap the end of the metal spear off. Most of the time, it’s held back. After all, no need to snap a steering stick in half when flying.

Jongin glares, dropping the end of the spear to the ground. The sound of the metal clanging against the floor was almost too much as the two were silent, staring at one another intently. Jongin just shakes his head, “I suppose I’d be worried if I was you, too. Since you’ve known about what’s been going on in the Syndicate after all.”

King Rhys’s eyes widen slightly. Weakness. Perhaps fear. Too quick to tell before it was gone again, but it was there.

Minseok shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter right now anyways. Effective immediately no one can leave this planet’s atmosphere any longer. We are holding elections for the new heads of departments soon. No one leaves, royalty or not,” He says, looking over at Rhys. “You are to remain here. No leaving this island as we can not promise you protection from assassins or what have you anywhere else. As of now, the head of this base is in jail and has relinquished the need for the head manor. You and the people you brought can stay the the head’s manor as it’s one the best guarded place in the entire planet.”

Theo looked back to Sehun, eyes showing nothing up hate. Face blank besides that, before he speaks. “Thank you for your consideration,” He says, his eyes not leaving Sehun.

“After, we’ll have the executions,” Minseok says. He looks over at Jongin. “You can fly your ships. Krims has people already watching over this galaxy to make sure nothing happens. However, unless another attack is coming, you are to remain within the atmosphere.”

“And what will be done of the Krytons,” Rhys asks, eyes still burning in anger.

“That will be sorted out after we get our Heads of the Syndicate elected.” Minseok speaks eloquently.

King Rhys nods, moving past Sehun and Jongin with ease. “Should you need me, I’ll be in my quarters.” The door shuts behind him and his group. I see Minseok let his shoulders fall as he just leans against the wall. The stress has to be getting to him.

I feel a hand on my shoulder as I see Jongin looking at me with worry. “Did he do anything to you?”

I shake my head, “No. Bu now he knows our marks don’t work.”

“You and Yixing are the only Tribians in the Syndicate on this planet,” Minseok says, rubbing his head from what I could assume was a headache. “The rest that are in the Syndicate are currently having the nanotech removed.”

“That’s covered it, then,” Yixing says, “No one escapes Tribil unless they join the Syndicate. Everyone else who tries to leave get the mark and are told to stay.” He shakes his head, “If you’re joining the Syndicate, an officer oversees you leaving and they can’t tell you to stay. It would look too suspicious if there are some so adamant to leave and then they suddenly change their minds.”

“Speaking of,” Minseok says, “Effective immediately, Yixing and Lyra are not allowed to be alone. Since pilots can’t fly, I’m ordering Sehun and Jongin to watch over them” He looks at us, “Besides, with everything going on, who knows if we have all the traitors caught. I have to choose people I trust for this, and I know the two of you care more about them than anyone.” Minseok looks at Yixing and I, “Not that you both need it, but something tells me he isn’t happy seeing you both without a mark.”

“Have either of you come into contact with him personally before today,” Krims asks, knowing the full situation over on Tribil now.

Yixing shakes his head, “I’ve heard talk from others who worked at the hotel. Seems like he’s only into women. Though the things I’ve heard don’t paint a pretty picture. They said he was sadistic, loved hurting people.”

Krims looks towards me.

I just nod silently, not knowing what else to say. Thankfully, the head of the Judicial branch understood that it was a sensitive topic. “I may wish to speak with you about that. In private. I won’t record it if it would make you feel better.”

“If it helps to bring him down you can record it,” I was fidgeting with the end of my shirt, looking away. “Just tell me when.”

Minseok looks at Jongin, who was looking at me with worry. “You make sure he doesn’t get near her. Both of you are being moved to the private officer section. He has access to the manor but not unlimited access to the base. There you will be safer. Last room on the left.” He pauses, before looking at Jongin again. “I may have to send you to be a liaison to the UN. Switzerland. I’ll probably send Lyra with you just to be safe. You can take your fighter or you can take a actual plane.”

The pilot pouts, “Really?”

Minseok nods, “They want to talk about to the hero that brought down the bomber. Also, get her away from him for a while, which will be good.”

Jongin just nods, “Tell me when.”

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I look up and see Yixing.

“Do you want to talk about it,” He asks in Tribian. The language was harsh, sounding sharp. A direct opposite to Etherons smooth and silky sounds.

“You heard other women talk about it,” I say back in Tribian. The language sounding harsh to the ears after such a long time. “That’s about how it always went. Sometimes it would get worse when he was particularly angry, or if he wanted to celebrate.”

“I’m going to watch them, make sure they aren’t doing anything suspicious,” He says, nodding.

I just nod. “You do that, spy. Funny how Minseok didn’t have to tell you to room up, hm?”

I see everyone around us looking, very curious about our conversation. No one really hears this language unless they’re on Tribil, after all. So the use of it is strange, and not many know it as the knowledge of how to speak it rarely leaves the planet.

Yixing’s face turns a shade of pink. He just shakes his head, “At least I’ve let my feelings be known. Have you even tried?”

I shove him, “Not that simple, you know that.”

“But it could be,” Yixing says, putting a small hand on me and giving me a pat on the arm. “Tell me if you want help with that. Jongin can be a bit of an idiot, after all.”

I just roll my eyes, “Yeah, whatever. Now let me go, I finally have a day off and I have some shit I have to do.”

Yixing laughs, before patting my shoulder once again. This time, he speaks in English, “If there’s anything you know that could help me on my spying, let me know.”

“Sure whatever,” I say, before watching him and Sehun leave. I smile, watching them lace their fingers together.

“You have anything you have to do today,” I ask, looking at Jongin.

He shrugs, “Dinner with my Mom later. I was scheduled to do a scouting mission but looks like that’s not happening.”

“Well, I have a few errands to run,” I say, “Got to go into the city and get some clothes. A lot of mine are getting ruined in these battles and pretty soon I’ll only have a uniform to wear. Besides, if we’re going to Switzerland during the fall, I didn’t exactly pack for that.”

“Well Sehun has told me I’m very honest when he drags me along to get clothes with him.”

“Unlike Sehun I couldn’t give a fuck if other people like it,” I say with a smile, “I’m just… sorry you have to get dragged along. I’m sure it’s going to be boring.”

“Not as boring as talking to the UN,” He mumbles, rolling his eyes. “They’re worried we’re in over our heads. I’m mostly going just to tell them it’s all fine, explain that we’ve gotten everyone involved and that we’re stabilizing our authority with new elections.”

“Sounds like fun,” I say, laughing at the miserable look on his face.

Fight as we leave the building, Jongin smiles. He blocks his eyes from the sun, letting them get adjusted for a moment. The walk to the base exit was quick, people at the beach having fun. The sound of the waves was pleasant, nice and soothing. Didn’t help me from keeping my head on a swivel, though. I could see some of the guards that came with Theo walking around, taking in the life here.

First stop was clothes. After that was to the on base bank where I could, finally, pay off loans. I had a lot of debt from Tribil (Which they give to everyone who leaves as an added fuck you) that, with this last payment, would finally be paid off. Between that and saving for a vacation, I was left with nothing most of the time.

I walk into a store, just grabbing things as quick as possible. Most of my wardrobe was shorts, so if I was going to a place where it’s cold, I need pants. Three pairs of jeans, two black one dark blue. After that a few shirts. Sleeveless ones, because I’m a bit more muscular than women my size and it it just more comfortable. Two sweaters, one black and one dark purple and a jacket that seemed like it would be warm. I put them on the counter, telling the woman I would be adding more. She just nodded, reading the latest on whatever app he was focusing on.

The whole time Jongin followed, sometimes looking at something that caught his eye. I feel my face flush, looking at him. “Um… Can you-”

“Those jackets are suddenly calling my name,” He says with a small smile, walking away.

I quickly pick up a few pairs of new bras and underwear. Since it seems like we’re not leaving any time soon, I get a couple of sports bras as I only brought one with me. Finally I grab a pack of socks and I was done. I get to the check out to find the woman rang up the rest of my things, getting the last few rang up.

“If you let us scan your Syndicate I.D., we’ll have them dropped off at your base and taken to your shipping room,” She says with a smile. “We do that for pretty much all Syndicate members.”

I smile, “That would be great!” I say. I let it scan my thumb print, as most places have that to track your money and see it take out of my account. I sign my name, confirming it’s me. I see Jongin put a jacket down on the  counter. Black leather, shiny and new. The inside lining was a dark blue, and it looked like one you’d see in the movies from the 1980s or from old shit with motorcycle gangs.

“Going to be cold,” He says, before quickly paying for his.

“Well,” She says, smiling. She leans over just a bit so you could see a bit more of her cleavage, lips in a small smirk. “I think this is going to make you look even more handsome. Would you like me to have it sent to your room?”

Jongin nods, ignoring her flirting. “Thank you.”

I roll my eyes, turning towards the door. Before Jongin could speak, I say “Got to get to the bank.”

“What for,” He asks, falling into step with me. The streets are emptier than normal as kids and teens are at school. The flashing hologram adverts are still bright an annoying, though, trying to get your attention.

“Tribil gives you a massive debt if you leave,” I say, stopping at the crosswalk. Cars and bikes hovering over the ground a few inches speed by as I wait. “Just for shits and giggles I guess. More money to fuel their gluttony while they starve people. Either way, if you don’t actively try to pay them off, they will declare you a felon. That happens and your ass is getting shipped back no matter that the Syndicate wants.”

“The more I’m hearing about these assholes, the less I like them,” He says, shaking his head.

“Well, plus side is this is the last payment and that threat no longer looms over me,” I say, a small smile coming to my lips. “Which means that unless I assault any of them while they’re here, there is nothing they can do that can make me come back to them.”

“If you would have told me that I would have paid it off,” He says just as the crosswalk turns. The glowing lights on the ground go from green to red, meaning they are not allowed to be driven over, but walked on.

“It was a lot of debt. Would have been weird to take that from you.”

“If you say so,” He says, “But I think it would have been worth it if that means you never had to go back.”

“You’re getting soft, Kim,” I say, smiling.

He laughs, “Truth is, I’ve always been pretty soft… well, once I was away from him. All of us Kim’s you know are, actually. Though Jongdae would deny it until he’s blue in the face.”

Once we get to the bank, it was almost jaw droppingly huge. A building with no signs other than the name. Syndicate Credit Union. The building all white, except the dome was massive and made of what looks like gold. Jongin opens the door, letting me in ad we see a pristine room. I get to the table at the front, seeing a woman sitting there. Her eyes orange and hair the same as she smiles. “Hello what can I help you with?”

“I’m here to pay of a debt,” I say, smiling.

She gestures towards the right, “Area one is what you are looking for. Are you with her, sir?”

“Actually, I’m like to transfer some money to someone else,” He says, looking around.

“That is area two, to the left. Thank you for banking with us today.”

We nod walking away from one another. Thankfully the process went by quickly as I explain what I wanted to do. The person there smiled, “Congratulations on being debt free,” He says, nodding.

“Thanks,” I say, nodding. When I turn, I see Jongin waiting at the door for me, his eyes looking around, always ready for danger.

“All done,” I say, as we walk out. It was probably noon as I glanced around. The streets busier as people are going for their lunch breaks. I see a few kids from the high school at a fast food place, probably allowed to leave for lunch if they want. Hover boards in their hands as they wait in line.

“I didn’t know Tribil had its own language,” Jongin says, mind clearly back when we were at the headquarters.

I nod, “It does but it’s not like others. It’s very… harsh. Most royalty no longer knows it, so it’s become a commoners tongue. There are no words in it for things like ‘love’ and ‘friendship’. Instead we have to just substitute those words with English.” I glance over, seeing him looking at me, paying full attention to what I was saying. “The highest compliment you can get in Tribian is roughly translated to ‘I wish you well and your battles won’.”

“Sounds like the exact opposite of Etherion,” He says, with a sad smile. “A very flowery language.”

I know, remembering how he said those words to me yesterday. How musical they sounded just being spoken. Etherion is, like it’s people, very lovely and exceptionally beautiful. I smile, looking around before I see a person being us. They were making a very bad attempt to follow us without being seen.

“I saw,” He mutters, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Just act like everything it fine. We can go back to base and lose them where they don’t have access.”

“Didn’t take him long,” I mutter, frowning.

“Nothing will happen, Lyra, remember? Iz wha tri monsil, tri kree tu mo,” He mutters, arm moving from around my shoulders. His fingers lace with mine, holding tightly as a reassuring gesture.

“Is the workshop open to them,” I ask, watching as a pair of them pass by the two of us.

“Only with permission,” Jongin says even quieter. “We can go there, exit out the back and go behind the buildings there and enter our housing building from the back North side entrance.”

I nod, following him as we both, with our badges, let ourselves into the base. I could smell the grease and oil and hear the sound of welding from here. It was as comforting as it should be with someone following us. We walked in, closing the door behind us. I was glad that the large bay door was shut right now as we walked around. I see Chanyeol there, looking over a bomber. He glances over, a smile on his face before I hold up my finger to my lips.

He just nods. I’m not even sure if he knows the situation or not, but I’ll be sure to tell him later if he isn’t aware. We quickly slip out the door just as we hear knocking at the door we came in at.

Here Jongin picks up the pace, the both of us jogging as quietly as possible. A quick turn and a few more yards, he scans his hand and the door opens. I quickly go in, watching him close the door behind us.

“Fuck,” He mutters, shaking his head. “They really want you and Yixing back.”

“The fact that our marks don’t work is a threat to their way of life,” I say, nodding. “Think about it, they probably assume we haven’t said anything since no one is arresting them.”

“So eliminate the two of you and there is no problem according to them.”

“They would rather remark us,” I mutter quietly. “They keep records of our… work. They would know that we could be useful. Last resort would be killing us. And the Rhys’s… they don’t like losing anything. The only reason why I was allowed to leave at all was because someone from the Syndicate oversees the process and not someone from Tribil.”

Jongin goes quiet. I could see him tense as he just starts to move to our door. When he opens the door, I walk in and see it looks like a standard apartment. A kitchen, a living space, a small dining table.

“I thought my father was bad to us,” Jongin says, letting go of my hand and going to the small couch.

“From what I know, he was bad to you all,” I say, looking at him confused. “Abuse is abuse. Using your power to corrupt is still corruption. Just because one place is evil doesn’t erase the evil of another person.”

Jongin was silent, crossing his arms and putting his feet to rest on the table. I could see a conflict in him as I just move, sitting down next to him. I place my hand on his shoulder, my heart hurting to see him look like this. He looked over to the window, voice a lot harder than before. “My father trained all of us to be his tools in specific things. Minseok in politics. Junmyeon in manipulation and intel gathering. Jongdae in corruption of justice. Minjung was the one who was taught to be analytical. For most of them, they were taught by manipulation. Emotional and mental abuse. I was… different,” He says, his voice sounding a bit higher. I could tell emotions were overflowing right now.

“I was the weapon. The killer. The one who would brandish the knife and get the secrets out if need be. If he wanted an assassin who was discrete and silent or if he wanted a warrior who was brutal and bloodthirsty, that’s what he taught me. And you… you don’t teach your weapon by mental and emotional abuse only.”

I hold onto his shoulder tighter, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“I trust you with this. Besides, you’re life story is everyone's knowledge now. Might as well even it up,” He says, looking back to me. “The first thing they ever taught me was how to throw a knife. Any knife. Anytime I didn’t hit the bullseye I got a cut.” His eyes were a bit misty, unfocused staring. Memories undoubtedly coming back to him. “But I wanted to make everyone proud. Then I was taught a gun. I use to have amazing aim all the time. Now it only shows up in life or death situations. When the shots really count.”

Jongin laughed, though it was dark. Sarcastically. “The worst lesson was when they left me in a room for three days. Pitch black with no sounds. No food. One of those rooms where it’s so quiet it’s actually in negative decibels. I went insane. All I could hear was the sound of my heart beating. After a while, part of me thought if I killed myself the sound would stop.” He smiles, “After, I got to rest for a day, then back to work. I was fragile. Perfect for manipulation. I wasn’t allowed to see my brothers or sister. After, I was dragged into a room where they played me a video of my father saying all I should do is strive to do his wishes. Over and over.” He laughs, “And thus, the brainwashing was essentially complete.”

“That’s so fucked up,” I say, frowning. I place a hand on his, giving it a squeeze and lacing my fingers with his. Trying to give him some sort of comfort.

Jongin just laughed, “Yeah… yeah it is. After that, I was his mindless puppet for a few years. Then, the last time I ever saw my Mother, she… she told me to break away from trying to make him proud. That I wasn’t meant to be a mindless and heartless weapon. She told me I was meant to fly.” He smiles, “I was always fascinated by ships and flying. Be in in space or on a planet. When I was a child, before my father got his hands on me, I would look out the windows of the station and spend hours watching cargo ships come and go. Her telling me I was meant to fly… that she loved me and she wanted me to do what I wanted broke that. It’s funny how absolute and strong being under someone’s control feels like… when it could be broken by just a few words.”

“I wish that was the case for us,” I say, frowning.

“I can’t imagine how that is,” He says, looking at me, “Being trapped in your own brain like that. You are fully aware, but you can’t stop if you wanted. I was just… unfeeling. Unaware.”

“Well, I’m glad that the sick fucks who did that to you are going to face justice.”

“Yours will too,” He mumbles, looking up. He smiles, “I’ll make sure of it.” He nods, “Now, this room only has one bedroom, but it has two bed. So… do you want the one by the door or by the window?”

“Window,” I say, nodding with a small smile. “And thank you. I’m sorry you have to babysit me.”

“If it means you’re safe, then there is no question,” He says, smiling. “After all, you saved my life. I owe you one.”

“You forgave me for almost killing you, so we’re even.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Jongin just says, rolling his eyes. Something about him now makes me smile. He doesn’t hold on to people’s mistakes like that forever. He forgives anyone if they’re a good person. I literally tried to stab him in the stomach and here he is, just acting like that was no big deal at all.

“Whatever you say,” I mutter, trying to ignore the butterflies I feel in my stomach. I let go of his hand, shaking my head with a smile. “I think I want to take a nap. I’m oddly exhausted.”

“Emotional distress is very exhausting,” He says, “Or, at least that’s what my therapist told me.”

“You saw a therapist?”

“My brothers and I did… still do sometimes. Not as often, though,” He says, “I needed it. To be reprogrammed… or unprogrammed, I guess is a better way to put it.” Jongin smiles, “Don’t worry, I’m here. Sleep well. I’ll wake you for dinner, if you want.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For this.” Before he could speak, I move into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

Jongin frowns, reading news around the galaxies. A lot of people distrust the Syndicate now, which makes sense. Seeing the riots and the protects make him sad, though. It’s not like all the people who joined wanting to protect everyone knew about any of this. He just wanted to keep people safe.

But, being the son of the man who was doing all of this didn’t look good. Now people were questioning. Seems like most of that is passing, however.

A knock at his door makes him jump. He moves, grabbing the laser pistol from his belt. His fingers on the door surface, turning to the side. A small one way window showed up, allowing him to look out. He sighs, tension falling away as he sees Yixing.

The door opens and Yixing moves inside. He stops Jongin, pushing a vial into his chest. “This is it. You want to know how she feels, give her this. Tell her, though. Don’t be a creep about it. I’m sure she’ll agree to use it since you seem to be such an idiot.”

“A truth elixir, really,” Jongin asks, frowning. “I don’t want to drug her.”

“Did you miss the whole ‘tell her’ part of my statement or are you just ignoring me?”

Jongin shakes his head. “You both seemed very chatty earlier.”

The spy smiles, “You’re jealous.”

Jongin knows there’s no reason to deny it. Yixing is almost always right about things like this. He looks away, pretty much admitting it to the eagle eyed spy.

Yixing takes his face in his hand, moving it to look at him. The Tribian smiles, “Fear not, Jongin. She’s all yours... if you’d ever make a move.”

“She seems to trust you more,” Jongin mutters.

“We both feel shame for what we’ve been though. Telling more people makes you feel… disgusting,” Yixing says, frowning. “It doesn’t matter what anyone says, you still feel it. It’s one thing if you CHOOSE to sell your body. It’s a noble profession and the oldest one there is. If it’s consented to then why not. But we were tricked,” He says, “We never wanted this. She talks to me about it because I wouldn’t judge her because I’ve been though it too. She’s probably scared of what you’ll think about it.”

Jongin  looks down. There’s nothing she could tell him that would change how he sees her. “I guess that makes sense…”

“Besides,” Yixing says with a smirk, “I’m to busy fucking your best friend and being madly in love with him to steal your girl.” He says with a laugh, “However, both of us are down to do a threesome if you’re into that.”

“I’ll remember that, “Jongin says, his face flushing. “I feel like an idiot."

Yixing smiles, “Just tell her. I promise you it’ll be fine. And hell, that threesome could become a foursome.”

“Goodbye Yixing,” Jongin says, pushing him towards the door. “Where’s Sehun, anyways? Aren’t you both suppose to be with one another?”

Yixing sighs, “He’s with Krims. They’re going to strip his father of his awards and honors. He’s dead, obviously, but it will tarnish his legacy, which I think Sehun really wants. After all, people from Etherion still think him to be a good man. There’s no place safer for him to be right now than there.”

“I think he’s safer with you,” Jongin says, “At the very least, he feels he is.”

The softness and affection in Yixing’s eyes when he said that made Jongin smile. “Get back to him.”

The spy didn’t need to be told twice. Jongin shakes his head, taking the vial and putting it in his pocket. The liquid was thicker than water but not by much with a golden hue. It was cold to the touch, naturally cold. Jongin didn’t know if he even wanted to know the truth. Perhaps it would stop him from pining senselessly, but he knows the truth. He’s only ever romantically loved one person and he thinks it will probably be only one person for the rest of his life.

A few days and I was already pretty sick of being watched. Not because I didn’t like Jongin around, but because I feel like this massive burden. I’ve seen Rhys a few times. Thankfully we haven’t been close to one another. I sigh, feeling exhausted as stretch, seeing Jongin looking over his Fighter. Beside him was his mother. Her eyes bright with love as she listen to Jongin who was explaining about how things worked.

I look at myself, seeing a pilot jumpsuit on over my uniform. Today we’re leaving for Switzerland. He already loaded our bags into a small pocket of space used for things. Usually it’s guns that are taken in there, so that you could land and hand them out. In my hand was a helmet, oxygen hose fairly long and almost touching the ground.

“It’ll just be a few days,” Sehun says beside me.

“Of dressing like an absolute fucking doll,” I mutter, pouting. “I can’t believe I have to wear a damn dress tonight.”

“You’re going to dinner with the people who oversee this galaxies trade and traffic security. Kind of important,” He says, shaking his head. “You’re just lucky we have Mrs. Kim here to pick one out for you.”

“You would have done me proud and picked a suit, though,” I whine.

Sehun chuckles, “I would have picked the same thing she did. Though, for different intentions.”

“Something tells me I don’t want to know.”

“I would have picked it because I know that Jongin will have trouble keeping his hands off you,” Sehun mutters quietly in my ear.

“I fucking hate you.”

“You’d thank me when you’re finally getting di-”

“Ready,” Jongin calls over, looking back at me. He had climbed onto the wing of the fighter, his helmet already inside. I just looked at him for a moment, seeing him smiling, standing up on his new pride and joy. The light wind making his hair even more messy as he leans down. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

“Alright,” I say, looking at everyone who’s gathered. Mrs Kim was smiling, walking towards Yixing as Sehun moved towards them too. Out of the take off zone. Jongdae was there, next to his mother, smiling as she hugged him tightly.

I walked over, handing him my helmet. He took it, tossing it it gently into my seat. He leaned down, arm outstretched as I jumped, grabbing it and the wing. He pulled me up as I got my foot up there, careful not to damage anything.

“After you,” He says, letting me get into the more cramped smaller seat. I hooked my oxygen tube up just in case, putting the helmet on. The radio on as I see him get into his seat, quickly doing the same as if it was second nature to him.

“ATC, this is Captain Kim reporting. We are taking a scheduled trip to Switzerland,” Jongin says, and I could hear him clearly in my ear thanks to the radio.

“Officer numbers,” I hear a male voice.

“0307KJI88,” Jongin says clearly.

“0307LLI36,” I say.

“Matches our scheduled flights. Fly safe and good luck,” He says calmly.

“Preparing for takeoff,” Jongin says, “We’ll be there in ten minutes, Lyra.”

“Ok,” I say, looking out the window and waving at everyone.

I never will get use to the force a fighter gives when taking off. In a blink we are sailing into the air. This wasn’t even as fast as it could go. I decided against talking, letting Jongin concentrate on what he was doing. He probably misses flying, anyways. Most pilots talk about it like an addiction, how it gives them a rush. How much they crave to be in the air or among the stars.

The time blew past, and Jongin announces we are landing.

“Captain Kim,” A voice says in heavily accented English, “This is air traffic control of the Payerne Air Base. The Syndicate informed us of your take off and said to expect you. The runway is at the south east side of the base. Land there, and fly your fighter into the hanger labeled seven.”

“Will do,” Jongin says, “Thank you for clear instructions, over.”

We land quickly, doing as instructed. My legs feel a little like jelly once we hop down from the ship, I see a man standing there in a uniform. “If you follow me, we have a portal directly outside Geneva. There you will be staying in The Ritz-Carlton. Today you have nothing to do until the dinner tonight.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jongin says, nodding.

We quickly get our bags and are led inside. A few people looking at us as we walked. He opens a door. The portal is made of metal, looking like a clear pool. The other side had a bustling city, the hotel we’re staying at on the other side.

“Just show them your Syndicate ids and you’ll be taken immediately to your rooms,” He says, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” I say, nodding. One step and we were in Geneva. It was afternoon. We had a few hours before dinner as we walk forward. I let Jongin do the talking to the front desk as I smile, out the doors. This city was a mixture of pretty old architecture and new tech. Holograms for building signs, robots cleaning any mess in the city, and hover cars that run on no fuel at all. For some reason I wasn’t expecting this of Earth.

I feel a tap the the shoulder as I look, seeing Jongin glancing at me. He hands me a small tablet. “Scan your hand. That’s what we use to open the door.”

I do so quickly at the woman at the front desk smiles. “Pleasure having you, if you need anything, feel free to send us a message or call us using the communicator in the room.”

“Will do,” I say, nodding at her.

“Thank you,” Jongin says, as we take our bags with us and head to the room.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” She says, as I turn back. “The dress and suit! They were bought and will arrive to your room at seventeen hundred hours on the dot.”

“Thank you,” I say again, before turning.

When we entered into the elevator, a prompt came up on a screen to the side. ‘Hello Jongin and Lyra, where would you like to go?’ And under it listed the gym area, the restaurants and our room. I reach over, touching room and the elevator moves. It was swift, moving quick that all it took was a blink and the doors were opening.

“That was easy,” I say, before stepping out the door. “Which room is it?”

Jongin just shakes his head, a small smile on his face. “Come on,” He says, turning and walking. I follow, only for him to open the second room we pass.

“There’s one bed… so I’ll sleep on the couch,” Jongin says, looking around. “We have a view of the lake.”

“I can take the couch,” I say, “I’m smaller, so I’ll probably fit better.”

Jongin sticks his head out from a door he went into, eyes narrowed.

I roll my eyes, “Whatever. If you want a back ache, be my guest.”

“Seems like My mother and Sehun had other things brought to the room,” He calls. “To help you get ready for dinner tonight.”

“Let me guess,” I say, moving there. I see the large bathroom, with a door that leads out into a small balcony, “Makeup and hair shit?” I look, seeing the tub with a smile, “I’m wearing heels tonight, so I’m taking a bath.”

Jongin just nods, looking out the door to the view of the lake. “We should both shower before we go,” He says, looking over at me. “We smell like fuel and grease.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll smell like that forever, honestly,” I say, “You go first.”

“What are you going to do,” He asks, with a small smile.

“Watch some hair style tutorials since all I know is how to braid our put it up in a bun,” I mumble, moving out the bathroom. The bedroom is nice, with another larger balcony. I set my bag on the desk, before getting my reader out of it. The videos say it’s simple but they look difficult to me. I frown, before finding one of a simple elegant bun with some small, lightly curled strands hanging down.

Just as I was about to set my reader down, I see a message from Sehun pop up.

‘Bra-less for the dress. It has the support you need.’

I frown, letting out a small groan of frustration. It didn’t take long before Jongin was walking into the room, hair damp as we wore some pants and a towel over his shoulders. He chuckles as he looks at me. “I think I still smell like fuel.”

I just smile, before looking at the clock. “I suppose I should start getting ready.”

“Good luck,” He says, “I’m going to have to come in and do my hair in a bit. I’ll knock.”

“Alright,” I say, before grabbing my bag of small toiletries. The shower was fast. Making sure to shave and scrubbing really well to try to make sure I don’t smell like fuel. A quick towel off, I put on one of the robes. After brushing my teeth and putting on deodorant, I look at myself. With a sigh, I try to give myself encouragement as I grab the hair dryer.

I’ll have to thank Mrs. Kim and Sehun for getting pretty much everything I would need. With my hair dry, I put it up in a bun and pinned the hair into place easily. The curling iron I lightly curled the strands that hung down in my face.

I hear a knock on the door as I sprayed hairspray all over, covering my face with my hand. I pause, “You can come in,” I says, before giving it one last spray. I see Jongin in the mirror, as he smiles, quickly grabbing the hair dryer. I pout, seeing how quickly his hair was drying compared to mine. He just laughs.

I look at the makeup, seeing not a lot of a choice for a look. Probably something Sehun did on purpose. I get it, quickly looking at it. Thankfully it just seemed like eyes and lips. I quickly do my eyebrows, remembering Sehun practically sitting on me and forcing me to do this once before. After they were done, I get the eye shadow and do the basic brown smokey eye. Thankfully it didn’t look tragic, as I look over, seeing Jongin running something through his hair, styling it back and up.

I pout, grabbing the eyeliner. It was a simple wing, something that Sehun told me I was actually good at, shockingly. I quickly get the red lipstick liner, quickly lining my lips before getting the liquid lipstick. It was matte, a darkish red. I nod, before looking over and seeing Jongin gone. I grab the jewelry that was left, getting the silver earrings. They were chains, with a diamond at the stud part, one in the middle and one at the end. They were about three inches long, and hand a necklace and bracelet to go with. The necklace I got on easily, the bracelet was a bit tough by myself but still managed.

I look at a bag handing on a hook, before walking to it. I sigh, ready to see the fate that they chose for me. I pull the zipper, seeing the dark blue fabric. It was so dark it looked almost black. “So far good start,” I say, taking off the robe. I see a pair of blue underwear in there, that I quickly slip on. They fit perfectly but as I look at myself in the mirror, I see how it showed a lot of… well, cheek. I roll my eyes, knowing that was probably a Sehun addition. There was a box of shoes on the ground that I open. Silver heels. Very tall. Great. I slip them on, suddenly getting four inches taller. “This is just going to be fucking fun,” I growl under my breath. I take the dress out, stepping into it and pulling it up. I frown, seeing the lack of straps. I reach, trying to get the zipper before muttering curses.

I hold the front part to my chest, before moving towards the closed bathroom door. I open it shuffling out the door. I see Jongin adjusting a tie. I let out a small cough. He looks up, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“Um… I can’t zip it up,” I mutter, feeling my face getting red.

He blinks, a blush on his face as he moved, “Um… let me.”

I turn as he walks around the bed. One of his hands takes the two sides, holding them together as his other hand moves the zipper up. The second the zipper goes up, I see small twinkling start from the dress. “Oh,” I say, looking down. “I guess it’s one of those fancy LED dresses,” I say, looking at myself in the mirror. It looked like I was wearing the night sky, as I look up my self. “I guess I don’t clean up too bad.”

“You look just… w-wow,” Jongin says, looking at me with wides eyes. He looks at me, and I could see his blush darken before turning away. His suit was black, his tie the same color as my dress. He pulls on his  suit coat, adjusting it all before buttoning it up. He looks at me, smiling. “I guess we can clean up well.”

“I never thought I’d ever look like this,” I say, looking at myself again. “I look… sophisticated. Like I’ve never touched a wrench in my life.”

“You look beautiful,” Jongin says, nodding. “Though… I think you look better when you’re actually happy and comfortable.”

“Just make sure that if I fall I don’t drag you down with me,” I say.

“I’ll fall too, that way you’re not the only one,” He says, laughing. “Better the both of us.”

I shake my head, “So who are we dining with, exactly?”

“Arham and Celieste Winters,” Jongin says. “Both of them work together. They rose to be heads of Traffic and Security respectively. Worked together and ended up getting married.” He glances over, “They are, apparently, nice people.”

“Are we meeting them there?”

He nods, offering me his arm. I slip mine in it, before taking a deep breath.

“Ready,” I mutter, nodding.

Jongin nods, as we walk, opening the door and ready to face whatever this could possibly

#exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #kai fanfiction #kai fanfic #jongin fanfiction #jongin fanfic #kim jongin fanfic #kim jongin fanfiction

[theadorablespderman]

Please excuse the long post. But I want to write something for women about what I’ve learned, being a 21 year old women, about safety and the shit things women feel we need to do so we’re not attacked by shithead on a daily basis:

Two girls my age have been murdered 30 miles from where I live. The girl who was killed just recently was found and the suspect is in prison, he kidnapped her, killed her, and burned her body. And a girl 6 months ago was killed by a guy she dated for 2 weeks. It’s so scary being a woman and I live in a pretty safe area and it’s just heartbreaking. I’ve had some serious anxiety issues from this and I’m just scared to even meet any men or date or do anything because like this is what can happen. And these girls were smart, strong women and they’re just gone now and that’s terrifying.

Anyways guys I just haven’t been active on tumblr because this has been weighing heavy on my mind. Please women, practice safe dating, be aware of your surroundings, meet in public places, and don’t trust anyone alone until you’re sure you know them. It’s not our fault if we are murdered, it’s the killer, but unfortunately we have to try and minimize the dangers that come with being the sex we are (men get murdered too, I know this, but being a woman you’re raised in constant fear of what some men can and will do to you) I’m just saying women are born into this culture of being the weaker sex, the targeted sex, and dear lord my fellow women I wish we weren’t, so let’s fight back, let’s be safe, and that might not always work but know that I’m being you and so are millions of others. It’s so important to understand that we don’t need to seek protection. We can protect ourselves and police, neighbors, or family may not hear or heed our cries for help, for protection, for understanding but that is their wrong doing.

Idk guys.....I’m just feeling a lot of things and I want any young girl reading this...even if you’re not a girl, but I want to specifically let young women know:

1. You will never owe anyone anything you feel uncomfortable giving, or feel obligated to provide because the other party made you feel guilty, or lesser for not providing it (this includes your time, sex, conversation, money, or a smile)

2. Unfortunately, what we wear will be considered by some low life’s out there as invitations to take what you aren’t willing to give. You dress how you want to dress, but always be prepared to defend yourself. There are dangers to wearing certain clothing (but guess what, I still wear those items of clothing) but it is nieve to think that in the age we live in men (or possibly other women) will not in their fucked up brains think that’s still some fucked up invatation. Be prepared to slap those assholes, but don’t think they no longer exist because light has been shed of rape culture. Always always be prepared. No matter what your wearing, always know that someone is going to think you owe them something because of how you look (how much makeup you wear, what close you have one, damn it, what kind of music you listen to). They are awful people, but they exist so please be aware of that and do everything in your power to be vigilant of that. (I’m not wanting to victim blame any survivors. If you’ve been raped and have or haven’t done these things it is not your fault, you should never be blamed. It’s the asshole who violate you and no one else, but if there are ways we as a society can try and flush the assholes out before they can hurt anyone else, I want to try and make women aware of this. So please I love and support any survivors and would never dream of making you feel bad or lessor if you’ve been raped or abused. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT)

3. That leads me to three. Like I said. If you are abused, attacked, raped, beaten, etc. IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT. People will ask “why didn’t you do this?” Or “you should’ve done this” and that’s what’s already going through your head to some degree. It’s no ones bussiness to know why you made the choices you did. No is fucking no and fighting or letting whatever happen happen it’s no different. You are a survivor, you are still worthy of everything the worth has to offer ( that is good) and you are not at fault. People who point the finger at you are victim blamers and not worth your time.

4. You should always be aware of your surroundings as women. I’m in college and while walking to your car or anywhere really, my college campus has made sure to post flyers around the school about safety practices. I’ve also read online some things convicted rapists look for in their prey. Often they will look for a women who seems to be alone, most likely who seems distracted, either by taking on the phone, with headphones in, or looking down at something while walking. what I did during my night classes I would keep one headphone in while walking the long walk out to my car in the dark, I’d keep my headphone in, stay on the sidewalk with street lamps and away from any bushes and I’d call my mom because she’s the person I trust most in the world and lives close by that may be a different person for you. Anyways I would have her on the phone and because my headphone was in it didn’t look like I was talking to anyone. It made me feel safer and I still was able to stay aware of my surroundings) I would either but a hood over my head if I had my hair in a bun which is basically every day, but that is something rapists look for. Buns. It’s easy to grab.

Additional safe practices while walking anywhere even during the day in sketchy areas or just when your alone and someone could attack you, I always walk with my keys between my knuckles so I could punch and injure or impale any attackers. I will always text or call my parents (may be someone else for you) to let them know I’m leaving and I’ll let them know once I’m in my car. I also carry pepper spray and I keep my head constantly on a swivel. Looking behind me, side to side, and if I’m going through any parking lots I stay away from large vans or trucks...basically any car I can’t clearly see into from a distance. If I have to go between cars to get into my own I will often do a quick look over the car, under the cars, and check to see if anyone is around. I then will put my phone in hand ready to press the emergency button and I’ll unlock my car because it’s old as hell and I don’t have a remote. I hop in the car and immediately lock it again.

Do not accept someone’s request for your help if it has to do with putting anything in their car or lurering you away from a public place. If you do wish to help, find a local security guard, campus police, or even just a group of friends to come with you. But law inforcement is better. If it’s a legitiment request for help the person should not begrudge you for being extra hands or requesting a security guard help them. Additionally if you feel uncomfortable and someone disabled requests your help getting into a car or anything call 911 or your local police station that a disable individual require help getting into their vehicle and you feel that the police would be more qualified.

Often attackers bank on peoples good nature and disguise their plans in a veil of trying to get you to help them with odd tasks. Should you stop helping and being a good person? No! But be safe and aware while you do it!

5. Get an if I go missing file together. This is something off of Crime Junkies Podcast (amazing go listen if you haven’t already). If I go missing folder may seem grusom and errie but I promise it’s will help. You put all your passwords, account info, for you bank, phone, social media, everything in the folder. Make sure to keep it up to date and file anything away that might come in handy if you go missing. Tell one or two trusted family members or friends about it and it’s location (any access codes or other info on how to get to it) and only tell the people you know you could trust. This way if god forbid something does happen to you. Instead of having to wait for warrants and all that jazz, family members and friends can look into your recent history to see if you have in fact dropped off the grid, if there has been any unusual activity etc, and then they can provide this info to the police who will be days ahead of the investiagtion without having to serve warents to phone, bank, and other companies who other wise would not be able to provide account details unless they have your password and information. Doing a If I Go Missing folder could possibly lead the police to your kidnapped, killer, or if you’re alive, even you. It’s so so so so smart to have!

6. If someone attack’s you, leave as much evidence behind as you possibly can. Spit everywhere, throw up, pee, poop, scratch their bodies, get their dna allother you and get your all over them. If your being raped and can pee or poop or vomit on the attacker that is a very good way to try and stop them, it’s unexpected and they won’t want to be covered in your waste or vomit. Another self defense tactic my dad had told me from the time I was a child (sad he had to tell a child this) but if you can play as though your into the whole sexual getting raped thing long enough to get your hands free, and if your in a position where you can see the attackers penis, reach down like youre gonna touch and participate and then my dads exact words “grab his dick and squeeze tight, yank that thing and don’t stop till your arms are over your head” they might throw up from the pain but you can then hopefully make an excapr and if you were able to really injure them the police should find the guy with the torn scrotum in a hospital or at the crime scene. There are things you can insert into your vagina, it looks like a weird condom almost and I’m sure there are multiple kinds but it’s an anti rape device that when inserted if you are raped the insert will act as though it’s a condom when they insert their penis into the vagina, the insert will allow the penis to enter, but when it’s pulled out the man will find his penis now has a barbed condom basically stuck to his penis that basically will shred it if he tries to take it off. Here’s a picture:

There are other amazing things out there but don’t let someon threaten you into leaving an area, or threaten you into having sex or anything. You always have a choice and even with a gun to your head it’s better to scream, not always, but most of the time this will scare the attacker and they will then start running. You could be killed still, but people will know what happened, there is most likely be witnesses, and there won’t be a search for the body.

Sorry I know this is so not my normal blog post and it’s not even fandom but I want everyone to feel like this is a place we can talk about how to be safe as a women. If anyone has ideas or things they do to help their safety pleas reblogg or just comment or just share with some one somewhere about our rights as women. I want to know what my fellow sisters do to stay safe, or if there are any questions.

I don’t pretend to know what it’s like as a victim. I was jumped by a man on a date when I thought he seemed like a nice guy, and I let him drive me over to my car in the dark. He put my seat down and was all over me in a second. Hands on my breasts and butt. I said no after unfreezing and I felt so so sick like I was nothing. But he did stop when I said no and I got out of the car and cried and sobbed. My dad held me for an hour when I got home because I knew I was a lucky one. So I’m not a victim, I was lucky because he could’ve easily raped me and he didn’t. So I don’t pretend to know what it’s like, but that pure gut wrenching, sickening terror I felt in that car for five minutes gave me a look what it must be like and I just want the women out there to know we can be safe and then even if we are or aren’t safe you never ask to be raped or killed or attacked. We all have awful stories but it’s important to voice “no” and to fight back. It’s important we she we are not to be trifled with.

Anyways. I’m sorry again for that taking long and thank you for letting me ramble. I feel my anxety has dropped a level. Stay safe out there!

#true crime #crime junkie #crime #protecting women #women #feminist #women feminist #sorry for thr long post

[bpdmisadventuresandme-blog]

Prison....That caught your attention now, didn't it !?

PART ONE of TWO:

I consider myself to be a empathetic person with values and morals that are considerably higher than most ...and I ended up in prison.

In 2018 I suffered from one of the worst mental health breakdowns in memory, but it happened in such a way that I didn't get the ‘normal’ psych inpatient intervention which may or may not have stopped what happened next. I was admitted for two weeks when it really should have been two months tbf.

I think its safe to say I had many issues that combined to make my health shatter. I had an random attack happen on my doorstep, Members of my family lied to me and caused me significant distress, I lost regular access to my children through no fault of my own, I was recovering from a rape and I had been using drugs to minimise the pain , ie , making me actually feel worse :( 

I was seeing the local CMHT and was on near daily visits from my CPN. Id just managed to open up about the rape and to share with her how id gone to the local assault centre for texts and evidence gathering but was not coping with the flashbacks and triggering nature of this event and my past.  So there I was disclosing my deepest fears and this was the point when she decided to tell me I was no longer going to be under her care due to team shifts. Now I'm a severe BPD sufferer at the best of times, so I take rejection and things such as this hard , let alone when I'm in a fragile state and unloading huge personal feelings on to the only person id trusted in a long time. 

Its fair to say it wasn't a therapeutic way to change over my care. Time wise and the nature in which it was carried out.

Soooooo , that's the brief background to where I was as an individual when I did something bad.

As I've mentioned the rape happened at a point where I had reached my limit, it also was the straw that broke the metaphorical camels back. I remember saying to the solicitor assigned to me after the event that all my past roared up to meet me and thundered between my ears making it hard to think, see or acknowledge a reasonable amount of self awareness within myself. 

I attempted to hurt the person responsible for my rape. 

I handed myself into the local police station within mins of my criminal actions.

I cooperated at every stage.

I was kept overnight in my local police cells and took to court the following day. I was actually given bail with conditions of not contacting the witness (ironically also the perpetrator) until my court date and as such made my way home. When I was arrested my phone was taken to use as evidence and it was 3 days later when I was given my mobile back from the police as they had done what they needed to do with it. Its safe to say I prob would never have ended up in prison if the next part hadn't happened. Upon receipt of my phone and turning it on I received up to 5 text messages in quick succession from the perpetrator of the rape against me, the texts consisted of items such as “I'm sorry for what happened, please come see me” or “We need to talk, please come to mine “ . I lost it and replied with lines along “How dare you message me , I won't come near you again, you know what you did to me for me to attempt to hurt you” etc etc. Guess what I played right into his hands. Within 24 hrs I was back at the police station for breaking my bail conditions. 

Yep. Shitty. But technically I had done just that by replying. Another three nights in the cells on suicide watch as id informed them id rather die than be locked up for replying to antagonising texts from my rapist. Suicide watch and anti ligature clothing meant I made it through the night and back into court on the Monday. This time the judge said he had no choice but to send me to jail for breaking my bail. He took into account the circumstances but stated “court orders and bail conditions can't be broken and a punishment must be given”.

The numbness was a blessing as I was kept in the holding room under the court with a cup of something that resembled coffee.... or piss . Could have been either tbf. 

The trip down the motorway to the nearest women jail was long and bumpy. The ‘cells’ are all enclosed and with plastic slippery seating so I ended up on the floor once or twice. Always wondered since, how ironic it is that prison vans don't have seatbelts. Arrived at 6.35pm after being in court at 11am , registration begins and amounts other things this involves collaboration of information with a prison officer regarding scars and tattoos on my body. Fifteen tattoos and hundrends of scars later, a mental health checklist is shoved under my nose and its no surprise that I tick all of the “current issues” such as self harm, suicidal ideation, suicide attempts, ligature use, depression, anxiety and so on and so forth. This meant I was put on a ACCT, which was equivalent to an outside ‘care in the community plan’. This would eventually mean I had a case manager, Psychosocial team (SMPT) mental health team and a OMU (offender management unit team member) to ‘ensure’ I had the right level of support whilst in prison. I was allowed one call and I tried to reach my best friend (now my partner but that's another blog post!) but I couldn't which I didn't realise would mean id have to wait nearly 10 days before his number would be put on the prison calling system. I was fed. Microvawable meal which if I had known what prison food was like actually at mealtimes id have gobbled it all up but as it was stress and anxiety had made it hard to stomach.

Then I was taken to the “Newbies” wing , which consisted of two floors, the upper for prisoners suffering with drug withdrawals etc and the lower for prisoners without drug and alcohol issues. 

To be continued in Part2.... underestimated how much id have to say . Now that's a rare occurrence !!!!!

#prison #mental heath support #mental #mental health #bpd #bpdmisadventures #custody #arrest #trauma #trigger #thinline #whatisacriminal criminality

[vizhi0n]

Sawney - Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

YAAAY THE ANGST IS OVER

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lol NOPE. Anywho, this chapter isn’t actually too tragic so I hope you enjoy. Just warnings for some mentions of suicide and other shit, and Negan’s potty mouth. If you want to be tagged or untagged, lemme know!

@castielwinchester22 @i-am-negan-trash @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @genevievedarcygrangerwriting @kijilinn @ladylorelitanyfanfiction @lucifers-trash-stash @superprincesspea @doyouhaveavacancy @hannibalssweaters @heartfulloffandoms @strangersangel9 @mypapawinchester @my-achilles--heel @crzcorgi @jasoncrouse @gremlinfuck @moonypetyr @embracetheapocalypsewithme @lovingzombiechaos @backseat-negan @mcnegan @melodicdolls @jeffreydeanneganstrash @darkangel66a @imjustmakingsuffupagain @itstotalyblue @vinylmadwoman @kellyn1604

“She’ll live,” Carson said. “I’m not sure how that’ll go once she wakes up.”

“Well that’s fucking optimistic, Doc.” 

“I’m just being realistic. Simon mentioned her behavior at this ‘Estate.’” Carson stopped, and Negan felt the sudden urge to punch the thin-faced man as hard as he could. He didn’t. “That isn’t the behavior of someone mentally sound. You’ll need to monitor her closely.” 

He’s right.

He glanced down at her. Like Negan, she’d escaped the Estate in tatters, bruised and bloodied. Carson brushed past him, but he didn’t move, watching Desa’s chest rise and fall with each steady breath. 

He heard the door open, and then close. Simon approached slowly and quietly, stopping by Negan’s side. Without hesitation, he spoke.

“That is one messed up lady.”

“We’re all fucking messed up, Simon.”

“No, I really mean…she’s crazy. She was crazy when she stabbed and bit Gavin. She was even crazier when she took a machine gun and mowed down all those lobotomized people living in her basement. Including her brother. Oh, and Lucille is in your bedroom…cleaned, practically good as new, courtesy of yours truly.” 

Negan said nothing. Desa’s eyelashes fluttered and she gave a small moan, but did not awaken. 

“Negan,” Simon said genuinely. “Look, I know…it’s been hard. This is just me looking at things as an outsider. I legitimately thing you might have some sort of...reverse Stockholm Syndrome going on with this girl. She hurt you—”

“She never once laid a hand on me. The one that fucking did — well, one of the ones that did — is in a fucking cell. But I don’t fucking want to do shit to her until Desa wakes up.”

“We let the other one  — Father — get away. I know you wanted him alive, too.”

“Yeah, I fucking did. And if I find him, I sure as shit know what I’m going to do to him. I have that shit all planned out, written the fuck down…one is better than none, though.”

“Do you think he’ll come for her?”

“For his wife? No. He doesn’t give a flying fuck about her. That asshole is in it for himself. Always has been.”

Simon nodded, shoving his hands into his pocket. “I’ll go prep the prisoner. Get her comfortable.”

“Good. I’ll be there in a few.”

Negan didn’t turn away from Desa. Simon left, the sound of the shutting door causing Desa’s eyelashes to flutter once more. This time, however, Negan found himself staring into her open orbs.

“Hey.”

“Fuckin’ hey,” Negan replied. He grabbed a chair, taking a seat. Desa very slowly turned her head, analyzing Negan as if she didn’t recognize him. He sucked in a breath, murmuring, “You’re okay. You’re at the Sanctuary. You’re safe.”

“Jack?”

“He’s not here.”

“No,” Desa let out a pitiful sigh. “No. I killed him. I killed all of them.”

Negan remained motionless, silent as Desa confessed. He knew about the cellar — Simon had told him. Everything must have gone to shit after his escape. 

“Fucking kill everyone but Mother and Father. They’re both fucking mine.”

Negan couldn’t have been any more clear. He’d intended on stringing them both up on the fence, putting them on display in case any of their people decided to seek vengeance. He’d only gotten half — Mother, beaten and bloodied, was waiting for him in a cell. Father had escaped. 

“It’s over. What’s done is fucking done, Desa. You’re not going back to that place. It’s gone.” 

“Why did you come back for me?”

“Because we had the numbers. Because I was fucking selfish and wanted Mother and Father delivered to me on a silver fucking platter, so I could make the rest of their lives even more of a living hell than it already was,” Negan said honestly. “And I needed to return the fucking favor. You got me the fuck out, I got you the fuck out.”

“You didn’t let me die. I was weak, I’m a monster — why didn’t you just let me die?”

“It would have been a fucking waste. You’re not a monster and you sure as fuck ain’t weak,” Negan scoffed. “I’m not a fucking wasteful man.”

“You should be. Some things aren��t worth it,” Desa croaked. She made a move to sit up, but stopped, flopping back onto onto the mattress. “I couldn’t let Jack live. I couldn’t let any of them live, even though they weren’t…they weren’t there. They were just as good as the biters. We treated them like cattle, Negan. During the winter we…we were short on food. We were running out. Father and Mason and the others went down there, slaughtered some,” Desa bit her bottom lip, trembling. Her eyes were red-rimmed, brimming with tears. “They brought them up, started a fire…passed out the flesh and we all ate it. We had to. They’d kill us if we refused. That was when I took Jack upstairs and I put a gun against his head because I’d rather him and I be dead—”

“You couldn’t fucking do it.” 

“I was weak, Negan. I should have pulled the trigger then. Let him go to Heaven with Mom and Dad and our sister. I would have stayed as punishment. Hell is too lenient of a sentence for me. I am a monster.”

“You are not. I don’t want to hear this shit anymore,” Negan shot up, and Desa flinched. Gentler, he said, “I’m giving you another chance to do it fucking right. What you were back there? It’s over. I have Mother in a cell right fucking now, and we’re going to end it.”

“You brought Mother here?”

“Yeah. And I’m going to have a long, long fucking talk with her.”

Desa swung her legs over the side of the cot, wincing. Negan steadied her, his own wounds straining from the excess movement. Carson had berated him about overtaxing his body, but Negan had ignored him. There was too much shit to do. Too much to get ready. A team was on it’s way to the remnants of the Estate to pick up anything of interest — Negan hoped his jacket would be amongst the finds. And Father’s corpse, though Negan knew that was unlikely. 

“I’ll leave when I recover. I don’t want to be a bother—”

“Really? Where the fuck will you go?” Negan raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t fucking bring you back here just to let you walk away. No. I don’t care what shit you did in the past. You have a home here.”

“I didn’t know you enjoyed my company much,” Desa gave a cheeky grin, and Negan ran fingers across his stubble, hiding his smile.

“Don’t get too full of your fucking self.”

“I’m incapable,” Desa said. “I have such a low opinion of me already. But I appreciate your concern.”

Desa dipped his head. God this girl…he rolled his shoulders, stepping closer. He’d etched the feel of her lips into his mind. Soft, full and supple. None of his wives had come close to comparing. 

When he reached for her, however, she flinched. It was a reflex he’d noticed before, and for he proceeded, he said, “It’s okay. Can I touch you?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“I’m fine,” Negan lied. “It’s…it’s fucking different than that. I won’t ever be able to do the shit that I did before if he’s out there. But this is a fucking start, you know?”

“You can touch me.”

Negan let out a breath, once again kissing her. It was quicker, more reserved. Kissing her here felt different than doing it outside, in some unknown building. It didn’t feel any less right, but it felt…risky. Dangerous. Confusing. 

You just want pussy. You haven’t even talked to any of your wives since you got back. Haven’t even fucked them, touched them…

You know why, dipshit.

“You haven’t introduced me to everyone,” Desa’s eyes fluttered, and she smiled.

“Most of them pretty much know you. You made a strong fucking first impression the first time you were here,” Negan shrugged. Desa gave a groan of embarrassment, covering her face with her hands. “At least you didn’t fucking kill anybody.”

“That’s becoming my signature, isn’t it? Killing people. Some days I think it’s the only thing I know how to do.”

“You have a chance now to prove otherwise. When you recover, I’m fucking putting you on lookout duty.”

“No scavenging? What, scared I’m going to run off?”

“No. You fucking like me to much to run the fuck off,” Negan gave his most charming smile, trying to hide what he knew was probably bullshit. Her opinion of him would, he knew, once she got a feel for how he ran things. And it made him a bit sad. “You’re a fucking outsider to everyone else but me. You’ll have to ease your way into things.”

“I can do that. Guard duty doesn’t sound to hard. I’d still like to get a feel of the place, though. Can I have a tour, so I don’t end up stumbling somewhere I’m not welcome?”

Negan gulped, scratching the back of his neck. A tour meant that she’d see where he lived — in the parlor. With his wives.

The thought hadn’t even crossed Negan’s mind. He’d been so preoccupied with his own sickly sated desire for lust — courtesy of that serial fucking rapist, Father — that he hadn’t considered just how Desa would react to seeing his harem of women. Almost instinctually, he’d begun to consider asking Desa to marry him. The sensible part of him thought better of it. Despite his obvious attraction to her, he’d never lay a hand on Desa. 

Another part of him knew that there was no way he’d be able to hide his polyamorous relationship from her. She was smart, curious, and it would only take a simple word from Dwight or some worker for his cover to be blown. 

“Absolutely.”

“And I want it to be you. I don’t want Simon or Dwight to show me around. I just…want you.”

“None of them will fucking hurt you—”

“I know, but they’re not you. I’ll learn how to do things on my own…I just…I need some time.”

“Fine. Fine,” Negan sighed, ducking his head. Lowering his voice, he decided that telling her about his not-so-traditional marriage couldn’t wait. He wanted her to be prepared. The last thing he wanted was for her to somehow thing of…him. “There are some things I need to fucking tell you.”

#vizhi0nw #negans thirst squad

[awolfhowled]

yooooo! hello, tags! this is a blog i’ve created to be able to share this fic thing majingy that i’ve just started pumping out. i don’t have much to say on it cause all the details are below, but what i can say is that i’m stoked and hope y’all will get something fun (by fun i mean an emotional rollercoaster) to keep you busy during this lengthy hiatus.

A TOUCH FOR SILENCE

Series: Part 1 of To Freeze or To Thaw Rating: M Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

CH. 01: A BLUE FLOWER IN A CHINK OF ICE

Summary: Daenerys lost everything the day Euron Greyjoy blew that accursed horn, enslaving her children and banishing her from Meereen. She traveled for months to get to the one place where she could find the shelter to develop her plans: the Wall. Now, she stands before the Lord Commander, a young man by the name of Jon Snow, a plea on her tongue and fascination in her eyes. With one single choice of his, their lives will change forever.

Word Count: 2,293

READ ON AO3 | READ ON FF.NET | READ BELOW

NOTE: how's it going, fellas? i present this story both nervously and excitedly because it means a lot to me and i can only hope it will bring you all as much joy as it does to me.

first things first, this started out as some sort of a project between myself a friend of mine. dany's povs are largely her doing while jon's (and several others') are mine. like the tags say, this is a particularly ambitious slow burn, but trust me when i say that the payoff will totally be worth it. we started working on it during the hiatus before season 7 and it's still ongoing, so plenty of material awaits.another thing: we've mixed book and show elements. we kept the stuff in the show that we liked more (like davos and daario or jon looking like kit hair and eye color wise) and kept plenty of things from the books (val, satin, dany's and melisandre's appearance, etc.)

anyway, i won't keep babbling on for much longer. this story is my baby and i'm really excited to share it, so if you would like to experience the wonders of jonerys in different circumstances, grab your popcorn and enjoy the ride!

DAENERYS I

As a child, Daenerys had heard tales of the harsh winds of the North. Her brother had spoken about savages, giants, and a giant wall of ice that would stretch from west to east, as tall as the horizons and grazing the clouds. With all the things she had heard, it was clearly a contrast to her own life in Essos, where the sun always burned, where the sand dunes could quickly erase all tracks and paths in the desert. The sun was the enemy on the other side of the sea, it was life and death. She had seen what the sun could do to people, how delirious thirsty people were and how sick it could make children, horrors of peeling, scorched skin haunting her dreams. She had never thought she would miss its intense warmth, but traveling through the North and with barely a single ray of sunshine breaking through the thick layers of clouds, she found herself longing for its blazes, no matter how much damage they were capable of causing.

The North certainly had its own beauty. At first, it was rough, and wild, and green. There were endlessly rolling hills, mountains, and great grass plains with nothing but plants and stones. The beauty truly captivated her when she saw the ground was covered in white. At one point, she promptly got off her white horse, much to the dismay of her company. A hand gingerly craned out as she crouched by the side of the road, a curved, pebbled path through the woods, away from the curious eyes lurking on the kingsroad. Her fingertips pressed into the winter blanket, the cold bolting through her veins, leaving her skin numb. With eyes wide in fascination, she scooped some of the snow into her palm, ignoring the uncanny burning senzation that developed in her flesh. With one reluctant close of her fist, she started feeling it melt, gradually warm up against the heat of her skin.

The moment hastily ended, for she had to resume her journey to the far end of the North. She had to reach the Wall before her enemies learned of her destination. Standing back straight, she whirred around, taking a moment to observe the same gleams of fascination etched through the faces of her loyal followers – Unsullied, six in total, as much as she could get away with during the chaos of her escape. At the Wall, no one could touch her as soon as the gate closed behind her. She would be safe at Castle Black if only she could convince the Lord Commander that she was worth protecting. She had been told that no women resided there, she had been warned of rapists and thieves, but even criminals were better than falling into the hands of Euron Greyjoy and ending up the victim of his crazy ambitions.

Thinking back on that abhorrent moment was not easy for Daenerys. Euron Crow-Eye had shown up on her doorstep during a great moment of need, when Meereen had been spiraling out of control, when all she had been able to dream of was how blessed it would be to find new allies, a bigger army, and, most importantly, ships. The latter was what the Greyjoys specialized in, his brother, Victarion, had proudly proclaimed. Euron had arrived with an armada at his back, forces of the ironborn, and promises of his unwavering loyalty, for all he sought was independence for his kingdom.

Of course, that had not lasted very long. Somewhere in between this newly forged alliance and that dark day, Dany had crossed paths with Tyrion Lannister. When allowed to spill his wisdom, one of his first pieces of advice had been to sever ties with Euron and Victarion. The Greyjoys knew nothing of promises and honor and she ought to expect a great price for his help some day. And when she had dared confront Euron about what his intentions truly were, that was when hell had unleashed.

He had stepped out into the balcony of the Great Pyramid, unsheathed a strange horn tied at his hip, and blown it once. Daenerys had heard a screech, the flutter of dragon wings, and everything after had been a blur. When Drogon had started raining fire down on the stationed Unsullied, her own horror had left her paralyzed. It had been Grey Worm and the other five that were currently with her now that had escorted her outside, despite how hard she had clawed, and fought, and screamed out of fear for her children, who no longer listened to her.

At the exit, she had only been given a fleeting moment with Tyrion and Varys, both of them who had brief and quick directions to give. “Sail to Westeros,” Tyrion had said, the pained screeches of dragons booming in her ears. “Varys will find you allies in Westeros. Go to the Wall. It’s the only place that knows no allegiance, that knows no king.”

She had barely made it away and to the docks, where a ship that allegedly transported fish between Meereen and Pentos awaited. It turned out the crew had been paid generously by the Spider to safely get her across the Narrow Sea. She had sailed through the waters of Slaver’s Bay again, picking up whispers of the chaos tearing apart Astapor and Yunkai. They had gone through the Gulf of Grief, forced to make a detour past the ruins of Valyria; the captain had been too afraid to sail on the waters of the Smoking Sea. They had made stops at Volantis, at Lys, and at Tyrosh, constantly on the run, knowing Euron had sent his acolytes to trace her steps.

And then they had finally reached the Narrow Sea, voyaging past Estermont, and Tarth, and Dragonstone, which her heart had ached for even though it had been nothing but a distant blotch on the horizon. When they had passed the Fingers, leaving the Narrow Sea behind for the Shivering Sea, that had been the moment when the cold started to creep through her bones. The ship had turned left past the Three Sisters, docking after months of travels at White Harbor, as far as this particular ship had been allowed to travel. From then on, Daenerys had been forced to make the journey on foot, crossing almost the entirety of the North through deserted roads hidden among tall and scrawny trees.  

After another night of freezing in a tent left to the mercy of the cold and the harsh winds, she could finally see the Wall in the distance. Even from a great distance, the border and defense between the North and the frozen lands beyond it looked awe-inspiring and impossibly great, unjustly described by her brother seemingly eons before. She retold the story of Bran the Builder as she remembered it to her companions. She only recalled fragments of the hero of House Stark, but it was enough to entertain her loyal guards, who had been quite literally thrown into a whole new world.

As they got closer, Daenerys felt herself actually feeling nervous. She had no right to stay at the Wall and, worst of all, she could do nothing if she was going to be sent away. She had no trust in the great houses, the Greyjoys had betrayed her and so could the others. Why would anyone follow her without her dragons? She had nothing to offer, no promise of protection or aid could be given to anyone, not until her children returned to her. Her fate was left to chance, she depended on others to show her the mercy that she had provided her own people once. Much to her dismay, she had to rely on the empathy and pity of a man that she knew nothing of.

All of these thoughts were abandoned when the small party reached the gates. Her hood shielded her identity from the guards standing above and her eyes were fixed on the white mane of her horse. “We seek refuge from the cold,” she called out, trying to keep her voice composed against the frigid thrills of the cold. “We come with provisions.”

Dany could not decipher what words were being exchanged between the guards next. She stood rooted in place in silence as they descended from their posts, opening the gates to greet her and her party outside of Castle Black’s walls. “What kind of provisions?” asked one gruff man, his chest puffed and shoulders high, clearly trying to make an impression.

“Meat and wine,” Grey Worm interfered, fortunately. She was grateful to see the attention of the three guards adverted toward her companion. Even though her silver-gold hair was safely tucked underneath a hood, the lilac bloomed in her eyes could easily betray her identity. And if she were to be turned away, she refused for it to be at the hand of anyone but the Lord Commander.

Grey Worm and the three chatted for a while and then, finally, one of the black-donned men strolled toward the gates, pushing them open some more. “Go on inside then.”

Dany heaved a small breath of relief, quickly transmuted into a cloud against the harsh cold. She had been told the promise of a great meal and a cup of wine might soften the hardened men of the Night’s Watch, but moons on that godforsaken ship had left her disheartened toward the smallest of things.

When the gates were properly opened, she rode in before her guards had the chance to. She might have to hide her true identity at first, but she would leave no doubt of who was the leader. She could feel eyes on her as she rode through the courtyard. They will all stare at you. They are not staring at the Dragon Queen, all they see is a woman, she recalled the warning she had been given by the crew on the ship. The men of the Night’s Watch were not used to women, they were isolated in the dark castle with only each other for company.

A whirlwind of whispers was unleashed all around her. Some were subtle, some were not.

“I dreamed of her last night,” Dany heard, accidentally listening in to the conversation closest to her.

“Fuck off,” grunted another man. “You’d be lucky to get on with her horse, Rast.”

The rest of the exchange was lost to her as the steps of her mare led her further into the courtyard. But something told her she did not wish to know how it ended regardless.

She dismounted her horse when one of the men in dark cloaks took a hold of the reins. She avoided eye contact with the man as he led her mare away to the stables. “She is not used to the cold, I would be grateful if you give her extra hay for warmth.” The words were soft but commanding, she only hoped that the boy would take orders from a woman. As the men gathered around to watch the party, she could feel her guards getting into position behind her, ready to defend her if need be.

“I wish to speak with the Lord Commander,” Dany said to anyone that might be listening. She held her head higher as the words left her mouth. Her voice was slightly trembling but not with fear, the cold was still harsh even in the courtyard. Dany was frozen to her bones, she had hoped the fire in her blood would have kept her warm, but it stood no chance against the icy winds of the North. She caught the gaze of a young man when she noticed no one was moving to fetch their leader. She opened her mouth to bark out another order, but she soon heard a slight commotion on the stairs above her.

She raised her gaze slightly and her eyes quickly landed on a figure dressed all in black like all of the men around her, but she could tell by the way that the others stepped aside that he was their leader. Her own people had shown her that respect once. She kept her eyes on him as he neared her, not wanting to appear weak or frightened. Her blue cloak whipped around her dark dress, but the hood with the white fur lining withstood the wind and kept her identity hidden. Her name had only ever inspired two reactions – either her Targaryen name demanded loyalty or it awoke hate and anger, there had been no in between yet. This was neutral ground but she was unsure of where she stood, no one had ever looked at her with neutrality, everyone always had an opinion of her before even meeting her.

The man got closer, allowing Dany to distinguish his image better, catching side of a tangled mass of dark curls and equally dark eyes. She tucked her hood closer around her, able to only hope this man would not judge her before knowing her. The Targaryens were not loved in the North, but all she would ask for was a chance to prove why she and her men were worth protecting. She just needed a chance to speak with him. Daenerys tried to prevent herself from shaking under the cloak, but the ride had been long and hard, it had drained both her warmth and energy.

When he halted, she took it as her cue to speak, “Lord Commander?” Her tone was hesitant and trying. After all, she was still unsure of who she was actually addressing. If this truly were the Lord Commander, the man was younger than she had expected. Could he truly be the one to determine her fate?

NOTES: whew! here we go! this was more of a prologue of sorts rather than a proper chapter, but the dany and jon interaction starts next time, so do not fret. lots of exciting things are coming, so tune in for future chapters and let's get engaged in this feel fest together, ya-ya?

this fic will be updated weekly once every 4-5 days.

#jonerys #jon x daenerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fanfiction #tfott #atfs: 01

[megsblackfirewrites]

My Golden Obsession: Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Jesse and Jack sat side by side in the audience. Gabriel was wearing the standard jumpsuit orange, his head shaved completely bald to make him look more like the intimidating Reaper that everyone was expecting. Jack had heard rumors for months that they had caught the wrong man, that there was no way that someone as sweet as Gabriel could possibly be something as horrible as the Reaper.

But Jack knew better. He’d seen what Gabriel was capable of. The bodies buried under all of the property that Gabriel owned on the outskirts of the city showed that. They were even more brutally tortured than the victims that had been put on display. It brought his body count up to unprecedented numbers; he was an incredibly talented and prolific serial killer. He needed to be brought to justice; Jack just wished that he had been caught sooner, before he killed Ana Amari. Before Jack had fallen in love. Before Gabriel’s actions could affect Jesse for the rest of his life.

The judge walked into the room and took her place at the podium. She knocked her gavel against the podium and started reading the charges out.

“Gabriel Reyes, you are charged with innumerable counts of kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, assault with intent to do harm, first-degree murder, manslaughter, and desecration of human remains. How do you plea?”

Gabriel rose to his feet, ignoring the hissing from his lawyer. “Guilty, your honour,” he said.

Gasps rang throughout the courtroom as everyone that had come to support him was shocked into silence. Gabriel turned his head slightly and regarded the terrified faces. He lifted an eyebrow before he looked back at the judge.

“I am guilty of all charges, your honour,” he said. “I am The Reaper. I have hunted the streets of Los Angeles and left altered human bodies for the police to find. I accept all responsibility and only ask that I be allowed to tell all those listening why I have done this. Perhaps it will help the victim’s loved ones find some closure.”

The judge looked at him for a long time before she motioned to the witness stand. “Allowed.”

Gabriel bowed his head before he walked towards the witness stand. His lawyer looked ready to murder him, clearly expecting to be able to argue for Gabriel’s innocence. Jack was proud of Gabriel for not trying to worm his way out of his punishment, but he seemed arrogant and proud of what he had done. It was so strange to see him like that, so self-assured in his righteousness, like no one would ever doubt him for doing what he had done. It wasn’t the Gabriel he was used to and it worried him; was this the real Gabriel?

Gabriel settled down in the witness stand and the mic was adjusted in front of him so that he didn’t have to yell. Gabriel looked his audience over before he looked straight ahead over all of their heads. Like a kid giving a speech in class; focus on something other than the audience.

“My first victim was my wife, Catherine Reyes,” he said. “We were married at twenty-two, both young and stupid, but happy. Our first house was purchased by my parents and presented to us as a wedding gift; it was more than we could have expected and a little out of our meager price range, but we made it a home. When we were twenty-five, we adopted a child from Santa Fe, determined to give him a happy life away from the monsters that plagued his family.

“Jesse was my pride and joy. He was scared of us at first; not surprising, all things considered. It took a while to earn his trust, but the first time he called me ‘Papi’, I knew I would do anything to keep him safe. I did everything to help him adjust to his new surroundings and he became my little man.

“I thought everything was fine; my family was happy, my job was taking off, and Jesse was excited for everything in life. It wasn’t until he was almost ten that I realized that the happy little life I thought I had was nothing but a veneer. A badly applied one at that.

“One night, I found Jesse’s door left open just a small fraction of an inch. He was crying in his room, whimpering softly. I went in to see what was wrong, but he just sobbed harder when I asked what was wrong. I managed to calm him down, thinking it was just a nightmare or a bully at school. But he said something that chilled my soul.

“‘Momma keeps making me sick’, he said. ‘She won’t stop touching me’.”

Silence fell in the courtroom and Gabriel took a breath. Jesse was shaking in his seat, but he lifted his jaw stubbornly, refusing to cry. Hanzo held onto his hand tightly, his eyes hard as Jack held Jesse’s other hand between his hands. They were there for him as the secret Gabriel and Jesse had kept from the world was told. He needed to be reassured that it wasn’t his fault. No matter what Gabriel said in his defence, Jesse was not the reason Gabriel started killing.

“I hoped that Jesse was just misremembering things. No one wants to think that their spouse is doing that to their children, but Jesse had never lied about something of that magnitude before. I had no reason to disbelieve him, but I wanted to be sure. So, I set up a camera and reassured Jesse that if anything happened that I would come running.

“I regret not hiding in the room the next night. What I saw through that camera still fills me with uncontrollable rage. Catherine crept into his room late at night and…. And she molested him. Jesse came to us as a four-year-old. Catherine had been molesting him for four years, almost nightly since he was six.

“My first thought was divorce to get Jesse away from her, but then I was terrified that he would be awarded to her simply because she was his mother. Then I was terrified that she would come after me for everything, leaving me with nothing to support my son if I’d managed to convince the courts to let me have sole custody. There were so many terrifying scenarios that I came up with that I resolved to do one thing. Kill her.

“And I did. I made her pay for four years of hurting my baby. After her, I got a taste for killing, but did my best to resist the desire. Until an older woman started hitting on my ten year old. And then again a few months later, someone else hit on Jesse. Again and again, elder women went after my son, each of them trying to seduce him while I was standing there watching, listening to them be disgusting wastes of flesh. Each one of them met their end at my hand and some of them were put on display for the world to see.

“Most of my victims had come after Jesse in some manner, but others I found in other ways. I took justice into my own hands and went after those that hunted on the weak and innocent, those unable to protect themselves. Rapists, human traffickers, abusers of all kinds; I made them pay for what they did. And I made sure the world never forgot them.

“Jesse came of age and left to pursue his dreams. I didn’t need to follow him; I knew he would be safe. He was a big boy now and had someone to watch his back. I wasn’t worried. So the Reaper went away, but the itch was always there. Always desiring to have another person under the blade to pay for what they had done in this world. And my answer came in the form of a beautiful cop that captured my heart and soul completely. I had someone else to protect and care for, but my obsession turned me from doing the best for society by removing undesirables to...to fulfilling my own twisted desires. I wanted to see flesh part and blood to flow out of wounds and to watch someone die; that’s what it turned into.

“That is why I admit to what I did. I cannot continue to walk the streets. I am a threat to everyone, including the ones I love. Especially the ones I love.”

Gabriel locked eyes with Jack and Jack closed his eyes. Tears gathered on his lashes, but he nodded sharply, approving of Gabriel’s decision. He wasn’t so far gone as to think that he could still safely walk the streets. He knew he was a threat. Good. Good.

“Gabriel Reyes, you are sentenced to three lifetime sentences of twenty-five years,” the judge said, “with no opportunity for parole. Case dismissed.”

The courtroom was silent as Gabriel got to his feet. No one cheered. No one booed. They just watched as Gabriel calmly followed the police out of the courtroom and to the truck waiting to take him back to prison. Jack swallowed heavily and tipped his head back, letting his tears fall down his face.

Gabriel sat down on his cot and glanced around at the bare walls. Solitary confinement; they always said it was worse than torture. He knew he’d go mad soon enough; maybe he’d be one of those people that the newspaper talked about killing the guards as they tried to escape.

He laughed at the idea, not caring if he did look mad. How arrogant he was to think that he could get out of here on his own. He was in solitary confinement for a reason. He would be kept under lock and key forever. No one would ever let him out.

He may as well get used to seeing white. White walls, white beds, white…well, everything. He sprawled out on the cot, staring up at the white ceiling. This was already torture and it had barely been a few minutes. Hell, his tortures were less cruel than this. At least his victims didn’t….

Wow, he really was fucked in the head. He laughed again, rolling onto his side and closing his eyes. Jack and Jesse were so much better off without him. They wouldn’t have someone ruining their lives from the shadows. They wouldn’t be forced to feel connected to someone like him. Yes, it was better this way; he was safely behind bars, Jack and Jesse were safe and capable of looking after themselves, and they had each other.

He let out a long sigh before he buried his face in the pillow. He knew he wouldn’t be here long; he’d get a knife in the gut from one of the prison guards within the month, he was sure. How many of them had been directly affected by his murders? They would take justice into their own hands, just like he did, and rid the world of one more monster.

He laughed as he fell asleep. Now, wasn’t that just poetic justice?

#reaper76 #serial killer AU #tw: child molestation #mentions of child molestation #you have been warned

[lotornomiko]

The Sacrificial Maiden Overhauled Edition Chapter One (Slightly not safe for work due to implied acts of violence.)

Rufus Alicia pairing. Her name is Alana, and just as she thought she was about to die, he appeared to save her. He says that he loves her and calls her by a different name, holding her prisoner in his home, waiting for the day that she will remember her past life with him.

A complete reworking of an old RuAli fic of mine, rating will go up eventually...Years have passed since Alicia's sacrifice, and though he has tried his best to stay away, other forces are at work, reuniting Rufus with the reincarnation of his lost love...

  Her breath matched pace with her steps, every exaggerated rasp for air a reminder of just how out of shape she was. Her legs, while long and limber, had never had such need before, the young woman running as though the hounds of Hel were after her. With that forward momentum, with the rough forest outskirts abrading the tender flesh of her bare feet, Alana could only squeeze out a whimper, trying to ignore the way her entire body hurt. It screamed with that pain, forced its demands to stop upon her, and still she kept running.

She wasn’t the only one. In the pandemonium that had beset her quiet little community, there was screams and there was howls, a panicked people scurrying. Seeking a safety that wasn’t there, the village Coriander far removed from their neighbors, from the cities with their heavy guard, nothing but farmland and forest for miles to see. This once peaceful landscape made for easy pickings to the group who had besieged the townsfolk, food, drink and women aplenty for the voracious hungers of the men on the prowl.

There wasn’t much else to be had. Coriander wasn’t a rich village in the traditional sense. They and Alana had all lived a modest but happy life, the community one of farmers, merchants, and herbalists. They lived off the land, reap the blessings of a fertile earth, and were rich not in money but in friendship and family. A close knit group, the people were the type who smiled first, and offered help immediately after, no problem too big for them to solve together. Until THEY came, that small but sizable army of marauders, men on horseback and on foot, with steel blade and ice in their veins.

Robbers, killers and rapists, they should have been a rag tag bunch. Gathered together as they were, lawless and driven by their own selfish desires, somehow they had organized as a united front, unleashing chaos and devastation upon the village. Already some men had been killed, the upheaval such that Alana didn’t know if any of her family had yet been spared that fate. She prayed for them all the same, for her father and her brothers, but also for that of her neighbors. For their safety and their souls, the young woman not sure which was needed more.

She might have even spared a moment to pray for herself, Alana low on a long list of priorities. The young woman kept on running, kept on remembering other people that needed a blessing more than her. Completely selfless in the moment, with the very breath burning in her lungs, with it escaping out in wheezing pants that actually HURT, Alana ran and prayed for a salvation that wasn’t coming. With the ground itself against her, twigs and branches lacerating open her foot, Alana cried out as she fell to her knees.

“GO!” She cried out, to the young girl who had stopped besides her. “Save yourself!”

The indecision played out on the girl’s face, the fright alive in her sky blue colored eyes, but there was slivers of concern mixed into her expression, sweet soul that she was stubbornly shaking her head no. “I won’t leave you, Alana!”

Frustration boiled inside her, but there was also a relief, selfish though that was, Alana not wanting to face their pursuers alone. It was because chief among all her emotions, was that of fear, the young woman frightened, scared witless at the thought of the fate that would surely befall her. The terror in her blood, she still tried to make the other girl leave, Alana not about to let the sister of one of her dearest friends be raped or worse.

“Go!” She shouted, trying to give a much needed push. “I will catch up with you soon enough!” The lie was desperate, Alana knowing that lame as she now was, there would be little walking, let alone running, in her near future. Not with her foot bleeding, the ankle possible twisted, Alana at that last of her pained reserves. Her chest heaved with her panting breaths, a chill upon her skin from the night’s cold air mixing with the sweat of her exertions. She wasn’t dressed to be outside, none of them were, the marauders having arrived in the dead of the night.

With shouts and with that wickedly cruel laughter, they had descended on Coriander. They hadn’t even tried to be subtle or quiet, kicking in doors, grabbing at women, slicing up any and all who tried to interfere. Alana’s house would have suffered the same if not for the fact it had been deep enough in the village, for her entire family to rouse at the screams from the outskirts. Those shrill sounds and abrasive howls, had set them on alert, they and some of their neighbors rushing out of their homes straight into the worst kind of nightmare.

Women carried off, men slain, houses burning, Alana had done as her father had ordered, taking off for the woods. Fast as she and those that accompanied her tried to be, their bare feet were no match for the riders on horseback. Even now they were baring down on them, Alana again giving her friend’s sister a much needed push. “GO!”

The young girl whimpered with that awful indecision, and then the dog—a wolf from the looks of it, tackled her to the ground. There was a scream from both Alana and the child, the wolf holding the girl down, teeth bared and growling. Alana didn’t know what to do, what to say, a helpless sound escaping her, and then another wolf was on top of her. She couldn’t even gasp, couldn’t even cry out, her eyes going impossibly large. The yellow gleam of the wolf’s eyes stared into hers, the animal baring it’s teeth with a growl. It left Alana holding absolutely still, the wolf settling its full weight atop her. Past her ran men, and horses, and even more wolves, no one stopping to check on the pinned females.

“Alana...” Came the whispered whimper. “I’m...”

“It’s all right, Sybilline...Just stay still and it won’t hurt you...” Alana tried to be reassuring, hearing the way the young girl broke out into sobs. She wanted to cry herself, so scared and so frightened, so hurting and above all so tired. She’d outright faint from exhaustion, if not for the fear pumping adrenaline through her, Alana keeping a helpless eye on the wolf who growled each time she so much as dared THINK about moving.

Alana and Sybilline would lay there, pinned by those fierce beasts for hours on end. Until at last the dark midnight sky started to give way to the first rosy hue hints of morning. Those wolves never lost their resolve, keeping a watchful eye on their quarry. The tension in those creatures’ bodies wouldn’t leave until a whistle sounded, the wolf’s ears pricking upward at hearing it. The change that came over them was almost immediate, a kind of relaxed energy to them as they slowly sauntered free of their prey. It was not an end to the nightmare, not by any bit, hands then grabbing at the two girls. Sybilline shrieked wildly, and Alana was ashamed to admit she didn’t do much better, struggling as best she could, while crying out for help of any kind.

There was a slap to the face in answer to that. Alana stunned and seeing stars. She was practically dead weight, as she was hauled up off the forested ground, the young woman screaming again in protest as the pain flared up from her foot. She couldn’t stand, she could barely even walk, Alana slumping over to the sound of a man’s cursing. The vile words made her ears ring, her pale skin turning a mottled red as she was suddenly uprooted and hung upside down across the man’s back. From that dizzying vantage, she could see another, that of the man dragging young Sybilline by the arm. The girl was openly weeping, terrified and that much closer to hyperventilating. Alana tried, she really did, to think of something comforting to say, something that would calm the worst of the child’s fears but at the first strangled word, a hand slapped hard against her body’s bottom. Such a stinging attack, stole the words from her, an indignant squeak all Alana was capable of.

Fight literally slapped out of her, Alana could only hang there and listen. These men didn’t say much, to her or to each other, but there were other sounds to be heard. That of the village burning, the flames crackling, the shouts and the jeers, and above all the women sobbing. Such was their predicament, that Alana wasn’t so sure it was a mercy to still be alive in this situation. She felt terrible for that thought, but the young woman was so afraid, nearly all her bravado gone to the fear of whatever nightmarish fate awaited her, awaited them all.

Drowning in her fear, Alana was unceremoniously dumped, young Sybilline being thrown down as well. Immediate was the touch, the two huddling together, but there was other touches on them, gentle and soothing, that of the other captured women from Coriander. There was the miller’s daughter, and the twins Evelyn and Serena, Jacob’s wife, and elderly Mr. Plum’s niece. Syblline was the youngest, while the oldest of this group wasn’t past thirty. They were all young women, some more ripe than others, but all fresh face and golden haired. Alana realized that last with a start, seeing that only the blue eyed, blondes of her village had been gathered here.

The why was on her tongue, the sight of all those different shades of gold stirring an unrest inside her. An uneasy feeling that only grew worse by the minute, Alana looking from face to face, spying the downtrodden look in their blue eyes.

“What is the meaning of this…?” She finally whispered. Helpless shrugs and fitful shakes of their heads no, was the only response Alana got. Either they had no answers, or the truth was too horrible to speak out loud. They were oppressed by it all the same, the innate fear that was instilled in all women born of all men alive. The threat, the violence, and it crackled in the air, on everyone’s mind, both captive and captor alike. The men leered at them but from a distance, lewd jeering erupting as another woman was brought forth, the last of Coriander’s young blondes.

She was crying, great big, ugly tears, hiccuping, practically choking on her sobs as she welcomed into the fold of the terrified group. Sybilynne crawled onto her lap, and wrapped thin arms around her voluptuous sister’s neck. Her nightgown was torn in places, once comely fleshed covered with bruises and cuts. She had no words, none of them did, the village women only able to cling to each other for the only comfort offered them. That was how they passed the time, the excruciating long minutes elapsing into an hour, when at last a man rode up to the make shift encampment.

Off of his horse, he was even more impressive, one of the largest of all the men that Alana had thus far seen. His long black hair was streaked with silver, his cruel eyes a reddish brown color that was as unusual as it was unnatural, hinting at a less than human creature. He had sharp cheekbones that left his face almost gaunt looking, and a thin hook of a nose. Unlike so many of this rag tag group of marauders, this invader wore a full suit of cobalt shaded armor. His blood soaked and tattered cape flared out behind him, and where the man walked, the crowd parted, until at last he stood before the group of terrified women.

“Get up! Get up!” A shrill voice urged, and again hands were on her, pulling her free of the group. She wasn’t the only one, each captured Coriander held by a man, their foul breath and perversions pressed against them, as the man, the leader, began walking along the row. He’d stop and consider each of the ladies offered before him, sometimes going so far as to catch them by the chin, and force them to look this way and that way, and Alana knew enough to know this monster of a man was looking for something specific. Something that went beyond the blonde hair and blue eyes, a sinister need there that went beyond rape, to something just as chilling.

She began to shiver, to shake and tremble long before the long haired man stood before her. Alana stared at him, and couldn’t even make a show at defiance, cowering as his hand reached out for her chin. Her bottom lip quivered, the wet sheen of tears in her eyes. She was so afraid of being picked, and yet equally terrified of NOT, the women that had proven a disappointment tossed aside to his men. The sounds that followed, the sexual frenzy that fell upon those women, not something she could block out, the screams and the lustful grunts, the sobbing and the moans.

Near sick from the sounds, from the reality of what was continuing to happen, Alana stared at the monster before her, and thought his eyes went full crimson. Whatever the color, they stared at her, not just at the physical surface, but to what was beneath, unwrapping the many layers of her heart and her soul, until at last, weak kneed and half swooning, she saw him give a grim nod.

Little more than a rag doll at this point, Alana found herself thrown over and tied to the back of the horse’s saddle. She bounced and was jostled for every galloping step the great war steed took, made sick from the motion, and the cold air that caressed her, this journey she was forced on a long one. Through the forest, and past the mountain, to deep down in the valley, where the old remains of a once glorious temple still lingered, Alana was treated as nothing more than a mere after thought, and rendered half dead from the experience.

Out of the shadows of the rocky remains, came other crimson eyed figures. She was too far gone to truly recoil, dizzy and sick, and wondering if she hadn’t gone mad in the process, undead beings all around her. Touching her, pulling on her hair, staring into the blue of her eyes, each one wanting their own confirmation. Each one getting it, a cheer erupting from the crowd, Alana pulled off the horse, and  quite literally dragged into the forgotten temple.

She could barely take in the details, the one time grandeur of this place lost to the weathered time of nature and neglect. Grass and limbs broke through the marbled floor, trees extending their branches to cover over the once ornate murals made of hundreds of once brightly colored tiles. There was a musky smell here, animals and their droppings, their kills and their leavings, the creatures padding about as curious witnesses to the twisted procession.

Ever deeper into the bowels of this ramshackle temple, Alana could hear the steady trickle of water growing louder, until they stood before a veritable flood of it. Not even that stopped her tormentors, the  young woman dragged through that freezing liquid. It soaked her clothes, and left her shaken to the bone, Alana sputtering and gasping, till at last she was laid out on an altar.

She must have faded in and out of conscience. Each time that she opened her eyes, something more horrific stood before her. Whispering words in a foreign and strangely accented tongue. Painting her exposed skin with blood and oils, and always watching her with those crimson colored eyes. There was a keen anticipation in the air, a lust for something beyond her flesh, Alana sensing the rising need for violence. Hands seem to morph, the tips of fingers becoming wickedly sharp claws, an eager excitement overtaking the group.

Their whispers became outright chanting, growing louder and louder until the deafening roar broke to the advent of claws around her throat. Alana had a moment to realize that this was how she was going to die, her throat crushed by that monster’s paws, her last sight not of anything human, but instead that of the undead who had laid waste to her village. She couldn’t even muster up the strength needed for a true hysteria, the young woman already so tired and defeated. Long having given up, those blue eyes that had helped mark her as special, began to close, Alana’s one real regret that of not knowing if any of her friends and her family had somehow survived.

To Be Continued….

And so begins a massive revamping of my “The Sacrificial Maiden” story. A lot of things happen over the years, some unpleasantness from overeager fans of the RuAli pairing, that I don’t want to get into except to say it killed off my desire to work on this fic for YEARS. That unpleasantness has me nervous about dipping my toes back into the RuAli waters, but...I’ve always wanted to work on this story again.

But as you may or may not know from my other recent works, I’m really unhappy with my older writings. Not necessarily the ideas, so much as the execution. I like to hope and think I got better as a writer since what was the original fic done in...I don’t even remember, but at least a decade has probably gone by!

So I have been looking over the original..and some things stood out to me...I changed the opening of just who/what was trying to sacrifice Alana/Alicia, and how she was chosen. This veers into some spoilers, but basically I am imagining the demonic forces of Nifleheim want to lure the Lord God Creator to a realm where they can capture, possibly even kill him. So they came looking for Alicia’s reincarnation, to use as bait for their trap. This attempt is clearly not going to work out in their favor! XD

There’s more I decide to revise revamp, but some of it is major spoilers I don’t want to give up just yet. I will say one of the big changes is to the nature of the deal Rufus and Alana/Alicia strike, and how it will affect the end game of the story.

I am in the middle of moving, and soon won’t have the internet until November...trying to get some chapters done for this and other fics in the meantime.

Later!

---Michelle

#valkyrie profile #fanfic #fanfiction #rufus #alicia #The Sacrificial Maiden

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews... Orange is the New Black (S05E13) Storm-y Weather Airdate: June 9, 2017 @oitnb Ratings: @netflix original Score: 8/10 **********SPOILERS BELOW********** What now? Watching an OITNB finale is a bit like the next day after a great roll... You had a great time, and emotionally you're drained, there's a bit of magic still floating around in the air, you wonder will happen next... But in a way, you're kind of sad that it's all over. And of course, you're too stunned to do much of anything except furrow your brow like James Franco attempting to show any simple range of emotion beyond 'stoned'. Until next time, right? The best thing about the end of OITNB5 is the fact that we know it's going to come back for a 6th & 7th season, but with the massively radical shakeup we saw happen here in S5... There's never been a time in the series' history that we have been in such a place where we don't even have a slight inkling of an idea as to what is coming next. Over the course of 4 years and 5 seasons, we've seen characters come, go, pass, come back again, disappear into MAX, and some that have more of a final ending. It's safe to say that as tragic as the S5 ending was, as we saw best friends, lovers, and feelings as safe & simple as familiarity being separated and hauled off into different vans, going god knows where, at least we don't have to deal with another loss like the magnitude we dealt with at the end of S4. It took hours of sobbing and patting my back just to come back to reality and stop crying after that one. We have praised S5 for featuring new characters, as well old characters in a different way... As well as experimentation with new types of storytelling and even head-first dives into different genres just to give the series a fresh beat. It's hard to believe that all this happened in just a 3-Day timespan... Technically we've spent years with some of these women, but never has the series reached such heights in tension as it did here. One again, I feel it pertinent to mention that I'm just glad they decided to not put me in a situation where I could possibly cry like a baby for hours on end. I always knew that this riot would never end well for any of the women, and by E12 when everyone was having their personal revelations and epiphanies as to where they stood in life and with each other, I immediately sensed that they'd all be ripped apart from one another. No way things could be this harmonious with such an ugly consequences hanging above like dark pulpy rain clouds just waiting to burst over all of their heads. I'm not going to lie, there was a part of me that thought someone was going to die (as there usually is a major death in every season), but I was relieved when we were delivered the death of Piscatella instead of a beloved inmate. With Piscatella dead and Angie (Julie Lake) & Leanne (Emma Myles) redeeming their 'bad girl' ways... A majority of which was spent reeking havoc throughout Litchfield, torturing Pensatucky (Taryn Manning), putting on 'Litchfield's Got Talent', and raping CO Stratman (Evan Hall), all by wiping everyone's slate clean in a fire burning everyone's records... It looks like maybe Maria's (Jessica Pimentel) attempt at stealing all the hard work Gloria (Selenis Leyva) put in to moving the guards from 'Spanish Harlem' to 'Poo', by way of cutting a hole in the fence, actually payed off. The additional time Piscatella recommended will most likely never be added on to her sentence and she actually got to hold her baby. As mad as I was at Ruiz in that moment, I couldn't help but shed a tear or two. She made a snap decision, did what she had to do, and actually achieved something from it... Whether this will be only for a short term prize or even as something as big as a sentence reduction, we'll have to wait and see... But even though MCC isn't exactly the keepers of words or showers of good faith, Nita (Gita Reddy) did show that she was appreciate of Maria's sacrifice. That little hint of empathy that Nita let us all see had to count for something, at least I hope for Maria's sake that it does. Just as Pensatucky was once a fearless leader of many and fell to the 'Litchfield Pariah', Maria's decisions will land her in a similar path. I have absolutely zero doubts about that. And now... 'The 10 Count' and other wild inconsistencies of the 5th season of OITNB... Because as great as OITNB can be, it's never without its faults. There were powerul performances throughout this season... Uzo Adbua, Danielle Brooks, Selenis Leyva, Adrienne C Moore, Beth Dover, Miriam Morales, Rosal Colon, Dale Soules, Vicky Jeudy, Julie Lake & Emmy Myles... And some breakout performances by Francesca Curran, Daniella De Jesus, Asia Kate Dillon, and Kelly Karbacz... While Kimiko Glenn, Laura Gomez, Amanda Stephen, Kate Mulgrew, Natasha Lyonne, Lea DeLaria, Diane Guerrero and Jackie Cruz felt wildly under utilized and other extremely talented women were either lost in the shuffle or given small or subplots that won't see greatness born from them until further into the series. Alas, at least the seeds were planted. Even the incredibly talented Taryn Manning went massively underused, but it feels like that they are setting her up for a proper story arc in S6, so at least she'll have her moment soon. Ending her arc in S5 in the Guard House with Coates, snuggled up with her rapist under a blanket, makes for endless possibilities to spiral a psychologist's wet dream of a character study. Obviously the cast of OITNB is massive and not everyone can have large chunks of time devoted to complete character arcs that tie in heavily to the main narrative, but then again women like Uzo Aduba & Beth Dover were still able to take the time and scenes they were given and steal the spotlight, making the most of a short amount of time. It's up to these women, as character actresses, to really take it all the way... But it's also up the writers to give them something worthwhile to chew on and hang onto. And while there is plenty to discuss at the end of S5, not all of it is good. Like many other writers, bloggers, reviewers, and fans... We did the math and we are a bit confused on the '10 count' of missing ladies the men who violently and haphazardly stormed the women's prison turned temporary castle shouted out when attempting to tell Caputo and MCC the progress of the raid. Even with Linda being accounted for, we're not sure where that number came from... Just a small example of short-sighted missteps we occasionally see from an otherwise talented writing team. Also, as a Drug & Harm Reduction activist, I'm not sure why Cindy giving Suzanne a few Lithium pills (which I was under the impression she was prescribed anyway) would ever result in a coma like state needing as something as extreme as an EpiPen. It was just a short stick that wasn't thought through that was inserted into the finale for some additional drama and to get Taystee, Cindy and Suzanne in Frieda's abandoned pool turned bunker. It was sloppy and we at Spotlight Saga condemn any storylines that promote ignorance or false information about chemicals and drugs. Simply put, OITNB is better than that. However, it's hard to deny how beautiful that end result was... Seeing these women who once were so stuck in a pattern of self-segregation stand together, holding each other's hands with grace and dignity brings tears to my eyes as I merely picture the scene writing about it. That picture was worth far more than a thousand words, carried a beautiful message, but could have been achieved without compromising any artistic or factual integrity. I don't aim to cheapen the moment, it was beautiful, and I anxiously await the outcome with a heavy heart. Unfortunately I must steer the conversation back to inconsistencies because I truly believe that OITNB is also better than to not have MCC know that Linda from Purchasing was there at the time of the riots or had at least gone missing around the starting time of these riots. This is the type of woman who'd show up for work, even on the weekends. Maybe this was to give characters and fans satisfaction at the end when they all claimed to work for MCC to make Linda look crazy... But honestly, even though I understand their feelings of betrayal, you would think at least Boo would buy what she was selling. I did. Maybe I'm wrong, but I feel like Linda grew copious amounts during the short time that S5 took place and actually meant what she said when she promised she would do her part to incite change amongst the prison system. If they treated her right at the end, they could have had a great ally. Now... I'm thinking not so much. If I was Linda, I wouldn't be too pleased with any of those women. I feel like another potential beautiful moment, future or otherwise, was compromised for comedy and unnecessary comeuppance. If it's any consolation, Beth Dover, you were absolutely amazing this season and we have our eye on you and Danielle Brooks for any end of the year awards, such as one we've already locked in favor of Uzo Aduba's incredibly nuance performance throughout the entirety of S5. Regardless of any short sighted plot stick, surely the events of S5 will bring about change to more than just where inmates are shipped after the riot. While OITNB is fictional, New York law states that 'Riot in the First Degree' is a Class E Felony, which doesn't carry much weight, but will still ensure that most of these women, especially those that were public symbols during the riot, will have a few years tacked on to their sentence. I'm actually hoping the plan is to clear the prison, clean it, and then ship most of the important women and characters back to Litchfield to carry on their storylines in a similar fashion under new circumstances. Whatever happens, things are going to be different... But as the series ended on the women left inside Litchfield in the pool as the rest of the prison had been swept and cleared, fading to orange, leaving their fates hanging in the air... I think the main thing we are left hoping for is that none of our favorite women that remain in that lineup are hurt or killed and taken away from us forever. Overall, S5 was a mostly successful season of OITNB... But baby, this doesn't have anything on S4 and the epic rise and fall of one of the greatest characters of Litchfield Women's Prison... The woman whose demise started this whole thing... Poussey Washington. We miss you, Samira Wiley. You were so incredible, so inspirational, your unjust and untimely exit caused a series to be turned upside down on its head. Until S6, guys. You know we'll be there!

#orange is the new black #OITNB #oitnb meme #oitnb season 5 #OITNB5 #OITNB 5x13 #storm y weather #OITNB review #oitnb finale #Taylor Schilling #laura prepon #Danielle Brooks #Uzo Aduba #Beth Dover #adrienne c. moore #natasha lyonne #Jackie Cruz #selenis levya #lea delaria #Taryn Manning #Pensatucky #women's prison #Litchfield #dascha polanco #Jessica Pimentel #Laura Gomez #Kate Mulgrew #yael stone #Matt Peters #Dale Soules

[oneweekoneband]

THE BEST THING IN TOWN: Welcome to Green Day Week!

Hello everyone! My name’s Jacqui, and I can’t remember a time when I didn’t know and love Green Day. This is probably due to a combination of things including, primarily, the year I was born, the place I grew up, and the kind of person I grew up as.

I’m from a city called Victoria, which is on an island off the coast of British Columbia, and has a reputation as being the Bay Area of Canada; the same combination of rich older folks, leftover hippies, granola-hemp moms, an ignored poorer population, “eco-conscious” yuppies, and a large and visible LGBTQ community that the Bay is known for populate my hometown. There’s also one of the largest homeless populations per capita in Canada there, by simple virtue of the fact that it’s one of the few cities in Canada that they won’t freeze to death in the winter. The drug and associated issues that decimate homeless populations had been holding steady and even sometimes declining for years, thanks to some groundbreaking (and heroic) efforts that span the island and the lower mainland, but right now there’s a severe fentanyl crisis across all of BC. It’s a progressive place, except for when it isn’t.

It’s a fairly boring place for a teenager, just like every place is boring for most teenagers. It’s a pretty good place to grow up when you’re not straight, as much as any place is in a world like ours. It’s an even better place to grow up if you’re the type of person who’s drawn to subcultures and resistance movements, especially white ones. I had an abstract idea, before I left Victoria, that coastal BC is more progressive in a specific way than most of Canada, for instance, but I didn’t realize until I moved away that not everywhere had as many hippies and punks as we did (not all places have special lights in their public washrooms that make it hard to see your veins and thus prevent shooting up, either, but some surprises are good ones).

There’s the word I’ve been circling around: punk. There are a lot of punks in Victoria, or at least there were before the city started a wholescale downtown gentrification project. They might not all be there anymore - I haven’t been back properly in years - but I can’t imagine they’re all gone. There’s a stronghold of punk or at least alternative culture in downtown Victoria that includes tattoo shops, cookbook authors, boutiques the literal size of a medium closet, coffee shops, the poetry slams held in those coffee shops, and several glorious independent record stores. This is the city I grew up in, and these are the places I explored with wholehearted eagerness as a teenager, that I was fascinated by, that I retreated to when I had no idea who I was and trying desperately to figure it out. It’s not always so easy for young people to access the subcultures we’re interested in or feel pulled to - as we’ll see later today, actually - but I was able to find older men and women in my hometown who recommended bands and albums and zines to me (who taught me what a zine was as well), who were good people and looked out for the teens like me just getting into these communities*.

Anyways: Green Day. I don’t remember the first time I heard them because, like I said, I don’t remember ever not knowing them. This isn’t a case of a band or an album or a song coming to you like a lightning bolt out of the dark, saving your life or even just distracting you from it for a while. This is something much more obvious and constant, almost like breathing. Or maybe, to be more or less melodramatic, a soundtrack.

Green Day were already present before I started consciously shaping my own identity and the music I listened to, when I was just a quiet, shy kid who spent more time with my books than anyone else. They exploded with Dookie two months before my fifth birthday, and I’ve probably heard at least one of their songs almost every day since then. They have been and are again ubiquitous on radio, a band so huge they cross standard genre lines.

Green Day were there when I started junior high, and made a group of friends for the first time in my life - a bunch of weirdos and loners who maybe wouldn’t have had any friends if we hadn’t been thrown together in the special program we were all enrolled in. They were there when I and my friends decided we were punks, wearing safety pins in our ears and second-hand combat boots, lending a cred we felt went above the Simple Plan and Sum 41 we started from**. They were there when I bought a Dookie shirt from one of those downtown shops and the guy at the register didn’t scoff at me (although other older people did, later) but just said “nice choice”. They were there, again, with a bang, in senior high, when American Idiot basically reshaped the landscape of pop culture. They were there when I started to figure out why I was so fucking angry all the time, started reading more and more zines, and Bitch Magazine, and Margaret Cho and Inga Muscio’s Cunt.

Then they receded a little bit, but not too far, never out of reach, as I moved abroad and started learning even more, that feminism and politics were a lot more complicated than I’d first thought, that class and race and gender identity were all things that mattered and contributed, too, that those subcultural communities I’d sought out as a teenager probably felt safe to me for a reason, because they’d been borne out of resistance, shaped out of nothing by people who had nowhere else to go.

Green Day were also there when my world shattered around me in grief and pain and I was left trying to figure out where the pieces even were, never mind how to put them back together. I listened to them a lot as I bore out the resulting severe nervous breakdown, because they were simultaneously abrasive and familiar enough to fit my fragile headspace. I listened to them, too, as I crawled my bloody-handed way back out of that hole, stopping every few feet to tell the world and my brain and every single hurt and unfairness I could think of to go fuck itself.

They were there when I finally decided to go to college, and moved away from home a second time to attend the university I’d promised myself I’d attend when I was 13, over a decade later, and I got here and felt out of my depth and unliked and alone and in over my head and like people were expecting me to fail, and I grit my teeth and told myself I’d prove everyone, including me, wrong. They were there as I did, and they’re here now, as I sit in a cafe with newly-pink hair, a newly-minted honours graduate heading into an MA in the fall, as angry about injustice and mistrustful of big narratives as ever, but with an idea about what I can do about it now.

Green Day have been there for me my entire life, and looking back I can see that they’ve had an influence over the paths I’ve taken and the person I’ve become. Maybe they have for you, too. I know a lot of people who feel the way I do. This week, we’re going to celebrate that, and them, and their music.

- Jacqui // @sandovers 

​​                                                          ---

*Not everyone in any scene is a good person, of course. Some people take advantage of the reputation a scene has for safety or progressiveness and use it as a cover for them to indulge in shitty and even predatory behaviour. We’ve had a strong reminder of that recently, but I’d like to reiterate it, especially to younger people still figuring out where and who they belong with: find people who you can trust, and believe them when they warn you away from others, and always - always - trust your gut about people, regardless of what anyone else says. A Dead Kennedys shirt doesn’t magically make someone not a racist or a rapist or even just a toxic, hateful fuck.

**We’ll go deeper into the issue of “punk cred” later this week but for now: it doesn’t actually exist, the entire idea is stupid, and anyone who tries to gate-keep access to punk or any other subculture is exactly the same kind of person who stops a woman in a Mario World tee-shirt to list all the ways in which she can’t possibly be a real gamer.

#green day

[elrhiarhodan]

I am astonished these days by the bold-faced ballsiness of the Republican hypocrisy.

My jaw is perpetually on the floor. It’s not even attached anymore. It’s just a jawbone resting at my feet, as my tongue flops and flips around my rent-open face in moist gesticulations that fail to properly explain the sheer what-the-fuckery I’m forever feeling.

It’s probably always been there, this hypocrisy. Maybe it was better hidden, once upon a time. And certainly no political entity is without its duplicities and insincerities — but what we’re seeing now, what is paraded before us daily by both the administration and by Congress, is like satire written by an angry eight-year-old. It’s so clumsy, so on-the-nose, that no one would ever let the story air because it feels like a chimpanzee’s attempt at parody. Irony is dead. It’s six-feet-deep. Political humor is harder now than ever, because how do you make fun of a clown?

Every time I turn on on the news or even glimpse at Twitter, I see more and newer hypocrisies whipping fast past my eyes, scrolling like the list of side effects you’d get on a commercial for dick pills. It’s dizzying: an ever-growing display of towering horseshit so vertiginous that to attempt to climb it would be positively fucking Sisyphean. You’d never make it to the top. You’d forever be sliding back down as another shovel-load whaps you in the face.

They say they care about families, but then they rip them apart and deny them aid. They call women “hosts,” removing their personage, their choice, their access to care. They love unborn kids but somehow hate the women that give birth to them. Eat shit, Moms. They only want what’s in those uteruses, not the uteruses themselves. And once you’re born, ha ha, double fuck you, kid. Fuck your education. Fuck your health. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, they say only after they’ve bought up all the bootstraps for themselves and closed the bootstrap factories and what the fuck is a bootstrap, anyway?

They speak about individual responsibility, but can’t even show up for their own fucking town halls. They won’t be accountable to anything or anyone, but you, you have to be accountable for everything — even for them. When they say individual responsibility, they mean fuck you, do it yourself. Fuck the safety net. Fuck the general health and well-being of the nation. They got theirs, man. They mean that they won’t help you. The government’s very job is one of communal responsibility, but they have absolved themselves of that role and given it only to you. And how far down does that rabbit hole go? Will we be our kids’ only teachers? Are we our own doctors? Is the road outside my house mine and mine alone to build and to fix? They want to hold only their enemies accountable. They’ll investigate Hillary for decades after she’s dead, but they won’t cast one suspiciously-slitted eye toward Trump, toward Russia, toward every pay-for-play drip of corruption that erodes the bedrock of our government’s ability to self-regulate.

They talk about freedom, but the freedom they want isn’t for you. The freedom you want is the freedom to be able to drink clean water, to breathe clean air, to buy products that won’t kill you, to buy insurance that won’t bankrupt you, to invest in a future that helps you instead of hurts you. The freedom they want is for themselves. The freedom they champion isn’t yours, it belongs to big business. They want businesses to have the freedom to poison your air and your water, to lie to you, to tie you up with loopholes like nooses, to savage your investments and your future earnings. They want the freedom to take advantage of you, and they’ll sell that as your freedom, too. Don’t you want the choice to be lied to, to be cheated, to be ruined? What freedom! What choice! Ah, yes, just as our Founding Fathers wanted: the liberty of empowering others to fuck you from every angle. Isn’t that in the Bill of Rights? Can we get it in there somewhere?

They talk about being fiscally conservative, but then they spend money like they can just print more. (And our president thinks we can just print more.) It’ll cost more for our Comrade-in-Chief to go golfing than for the entire National Endowment for the Arts budget. The president has the fiscal discipline of a drunken gambling addict.

They talk about being stewards of the land, then take a flamethrower to the EPA, try to sell off the national parks, refuse to acknowledge climate change, and eradicate environmental protections — including streams. Because fuck streams, right? Streams have had it too good for too long.

They want you to pay your taxes, even though our president is proud of having never paid his.

They bark about voter fraud, then gerrymander the shit out of everything, rigging the game with a hundred thumbs holding down their side of the scale.

They climb to their seat of power on a ladder whose rungs are fashioned from fake news, and then once they’re up there, they look down at you and say, you’re the fake news. Everything you want, fake. Everything you are, fake. You don’t even exist if you disagree. Did you protest? You were paid. Did you show up at a town hall? You’re not a constituent. You’re a unicorn. A snowflake in need of a safe space.

And yet, they call us snowflakes, but melt under the tiniest light of scrutiny, under the smallest agitation. The moment anyone disagrees, they retreat to their own safe spaces, close and lock the doors, turn off all the lights, lower all the blinds so they can peer out until we’re gone.

The evil circus peanut who sits in the highest chair in the land decries liberal Hollywood elites while being himself a liberal Hollywood elite. We must do more with less, the man says as he goes to one of his like, seven fucking White Houses to hold a rally for an election in four years that doesn’t even have an opponent.

They talk about making America great, as if Americans weren’t already great.

They vilify illegal immigrants, as if we weren’t all illegal immigrants — as if this isn’t a country built first on native land that wasn’t ours, then second on the backs of black slaves who we stole and enslaved and tried to treat more like livestock than as human beings. They try to demonstrate how great this America is, but then those who come here to share in its greatness are cast aside, are sent away, are rounded up and torn from their families and told they don’t belong here. They claim to serve an America for all Americans, but it’s not — it’s for a very narrow slice, for the richest and whitest and straightest, for the healthiest, for the abled, for the men, for the companies, for themselves. Even the white working class gets fucked even as they’re told they’re not, because they still have to drink the water and breathe the air. They vote for the right to poison the water, you drink the water, you get cancer, but fuck your health, and fuck your kids if they’re born with a defect, that’s America, now, buddy. The freedom they want is to get what’s theirs from your pocket and pay no price for it even as you wither and weep at their feet. The freedom they want is to rob you blind then point to The Other and say, they did it, over there, it wasn’t us. We look just like you. You could be rich someday. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’s them over there. The welfare queens. The foreigners. The terrorists and the rapists. Not us. Never us.

They make hats and shirts that say AMERICA but whose tags say CHINA.

All the while, that word America in their mouths like a Bible verse on the tongue of the Devil. God Bless America, they say as they pick up their axes and chop at the roots of this tree. We’re good Christians, they say, as they do yet another un-Christian thing, because I’m sure it was Jesus who said fuck you, I got mine. Piss on compassion. To hell with empathy. These hypocrites cut away at the foundation of all the things we need to be a smart, healthy, successful country. They attack science. They hack at education. They want to chop your healthcare to splinters. They destroy debate. They slit the throat of every fact they don’t want you to know. They call the media the opposition, the enemy. They claim that truth is fake. The truth that we are at greater danger from white nationalist terror than from radical Muslim terror? Fake. The truth that we have nothing to fear from refugees, and that they are already extremely vetted? Fake. The truth that transgender individuals are not the harassers but in fact, the harassed? Fakeity-fake-fake, they say. The sky is red, ham is a fruit, pray for the family of Shazaam Berenstein, a survivor of the Bowling Green Massacre who then went on to die in the Swedish Event.

Their hypocrisy only grows — swelling like a tumor, diverting blood-flow away from healthy organs and to itself, because that’s how a cancer grows. A cancer is your body in rebellion. A cancer is rogue cells bypassing the checks and balances of your biology. This is that. Their hypocrisy is a symptom, though. And like with all symptoms, we must not ignore it.

We must treat the disease. Inoculate against the bullshit.

They will not hold themselves accountable.

So we must.

We must demand they do better.

We must demand our media be the watchdog.

We must resist their duplicity and their lies.

Courage in this strange time, folks. Stay frosty. Remain vigilant. Hang together.

Comments closed because, really, c’mon.

[whatthehelloh]

I am astonished these days by the bold-faced ballsiness of the Republican hypocrisy.

My jaw is perpetually on the floor. It’s not even attached anymore. It’s just a jawbone resting at my feet, as my tongue flops and flips around my rent-open face in moist gesticulations that fail to properly explain the sheer what-the-fuckery I’m forever feeling.

It’s probably always been there, this hypocrisy. Maybe it was better hidden, once upon a time. And certainly no political entity is without its duplicities and insincerities — but what we’re seeing now, what is paraded before us daily by both the administration and by Congress, is like satire written by an angry eight-year-old. It’s so clumsy, so on-the-nose, that no one would ever let the story air because it feels like a chimpanzee’s attempt at parody. Irony is dead. It’s six-feet-deep. Political humor is harder now than ever, because how do you make fun of a clown?

Every time I turn on on the news or even glimpse at Twitter, I see more and newer hypocrisies whipping fast past my eyes, scrolling like the list of side effects you’d get on a commercial for dick pills. It’s dizzying: an ever-growing display of towering horseshit so vertiginous that to attempt to climb it would be positively fucking Sisyphean. You’d never make it to the top. You’d forever be sliding back down as another shovel-load whaps you in the face.

They say they care about families, but then they rip them apart and deny them aid. They call women “hosts,” removing their personage, their choice, their access to care. They love unborn kids but somehow hate the women that give birth to them. Eat shit, Moms. They only want what’s in those uteruses, not the uteruses themselves. And once you’re born, ha ha, double fuck you, kid. Fuck your education. Fuck your health. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps, they say only after they’ve bought up all the bootstraps for themselves and closed the bootstrap factories and what the fuck is a bootstrap, anyway?

They speak about individual responsibility, but can’t even show up for their own fucking town halls. They won’t be accountable to anything or anyone, but you, you have to be accountable for everything — even for them. When they say individual responsibility, they mean fuck you, do it yourself. Fuck the safety net. Fuck the general health and well-being of the nation. They got theirs, man. They mean that they won’t help you. The government’s very job is one of communal responsibility, but they have absolved themselves of that role and given it only to you. And how far down does that rabbit hole go? Will we be our kids’ only teachers? Are we our own doctors? Is the road outside my house mine and mine alone to build and to fix? They want to hold only their enemies accountable. They’ll investigate Hillary for decades after she’s dead, but they won’t cast one suspiciously-slitted eye toward Trump, toward Russia, toward every pay-for-play drip of corruption that erodes the bedrock of our government’s ability to self-regulate.

They talk about freedom, but they freedom they want isn’t for you. The freedom you want is the freedom to be able to drink clean water, to breathe clean air, to buy products that won’t kill you, to buy insurance that won’t bankrupt you, to invest in a future that helps you instead of hurts you. The freedom they want is for themselves. The freedom they champion isn’t yours, it belongs to big business. They want businesses to have the freedom to poison your air and your water, to lie to you, to tie you up with loopholes like nooses, to savage your investments and your future earnings. They want the freedom to take advantage of you, and they’ll sell that as your freedom, too. Don’t you want the choice to be lied to, to be cheated, to be ruined? What freedom! What choice! Ah, yes, just as our Founding Fathers wanted: the liberty of empowering others to fuck you from every angle. Isn’t that in the Bill of Rights? Can we get it in there somewhere?

They talk about being fiscally conservative, but then they spend money like they can just print more. (And our president thinks we can just print more.) It’ll cost more for our Comrade-in-Chief to go golfing than for the entire National Endowment for the Arts budget. The president has the fiscal discipline of a drunken gambling addict.

They talk about being stewards of the land, then take a flamethrower to the EPA, try to sell off the national parks, refuse to acknowledge climate change, and eradicate environmental protections — including streams. Because fuck streams, right? Streams have had it too good for too long.

They want you to pay your taxes, even though our president is proud of having never paid his.

They bark about voter fraud, then gerrymander the shit out of everything, rigging the game with a hundred thumbs holding down their side of the scale.

They climb to their seat of power on a ladder whose rungs are fashioned from fake news, and then once they’re up there, they look down at you and say, you’re the fake news. Everything you want, fake. Everything you are, fake. You don’t even exist if you disagree. Did you protest? You were paid. Did you show up at a town hall? You’re not a constituent. You’re a unicorn. A snowflake in need of a safe space.

And yet, they call us snowflakes, but melt under the tiniest light of scrutiny, under the smallest agitation. The moment anyone disagrees, they retreat to their own safe spaces, close and lock the doors, turn off all the lights, lower all the blinds so they can peer out until we’re gone.

The evil circus peanut who sits in the highest chair in the land decries liberal Hollywood elites while being himself a liberal Hollywood elite. We must do more with less, the man says as he goes to one of his like, seven fucking White Houses to hold a rally for an election in four years that doesn’t even have an opponent.

They talk about making America great, as if Americans weren’t already great.

They vilify illegal immigrants, as if we weren’t all illegal immigrants — as if this isn’t a country built first on native land that wasn’t ours, then second on the backs of black slaves who we stole and enslaved and tried to treat more like livestock than as human beings. They try to demonstrate how great this America is, but then those who come here to share in its greatness are cast aside, are sent away, are rounded up and torn from their families and told they don’t belong here. They claim to serve an America for all Americans, but it’s not — it’s for a very narrow slice, for the richest and whitest and straightest, for the healthiest, for the abled, for the men, for the companies, for themselves. Even the white working class gets fucked even as they’re told they’re not, because they still have to drink the water and breathe the air. They vote for the right to poison the water, you drink the water, you get cancer, but fuck your health, and fuck your kids if they’re born with a defect, that’s America, now, buddy. The freedom they want is to get what’s theirs from your pocket and pay no price for it even as you wither and weep at their feet. The freedom they want is to rob you blind then point to The Other and say, they did it, over there, it wasn’t us. We look just like you. You could be rich someday. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’s them over there. The welfare queens. The foreigners. The terrorists and the rapists. Not us. Never us.

They make hats and shirts that say AMERICA but whose tags say CHINA.

All the while, that word America in their mouths like a Bible verse on the tongue of the Devil. God Bless America, they say as they pick up their axes and chop at the roots of this tree. We’re good Christians, they say, as they do yet another un-Christian thing, because I’m sure it was Jesus who said fuck you, I got mine. Piss on compassion. To hell with empathy. These hypocrites cut away at the foundation of all the things we need to be a smart, healthy, successful country. They attack science. They hack at education. They want to chop your healthcare to splinters. They destroy debate. They slit the throat of every fact they don’t want you to know. They call the media the opposition, the enemy. They claim that truth is fake. The truth that we are at greater danger from white nationalist terror than from radical Muslim terror? Fake. The truth that we have nothing to fear from refugees, and that they are already extremely vetted? Fake. The truth that transgender individuals are not the harassers but in fact, the harassed? Fakeity-fake-fake, they say. The sky is red, ham is a fruit, pray for the family of Shazaam Berenstein, a survivor of the Bowling Green Massacre who then went on to die in the Swedish Event.

Their hypocrisy only grows — swelling like a tumor, diverting blood-flow away from healthy organs and to itself, because that’s how a cancer grows. A cancer is your body in rebellion. A cancer is rogue cells bypassing the checks and balances of your biology. This is that. Their hypocrisy is a symptom, though. And like with all symptoms, we must not ignore it.

We must treat the disease. Inoculate against the bullshit.

They will not hold themselves accountable.

So we must.

We must demand they do better.

We must demand our media be the watchdog.

We must resist their duplicity and their lies.

Courage in this strange time, folks. Stay frosty. Remain vigilant. Hang together.

Comments closed because, really, c’mon.

#chuck wendig #republicans #hypocrisy #insist #resist #demand #fight

[attredd]

Forty years later, suspect Joseph DeAngelo is expected to take a deal that would see him sentenced to life in prisonJennifer Carole sleeps with a small baseball bat nearby, keeps bells on her door and has taken multiple self-defense classes.Gay Hardwick never feels safe alone, and can’t sleep with an open window.Both women’s lives were forever changed by the Golden State Killer, a rapist and murderer who haunted the state for more than 40 years. He murdered Carole’s father and stepmother in bed in their southern California home and sexually assaulted and terrorized Hardwick when she was 24.In 2018, California authorities said they had identified Joseph DeAngelo, a former police officer, as the suspect in at least 13 murders and more than 50 rapes attributed to the Golden State Killer between 1974 and 1986.Authorities have told some of the survivors that the 74-year-old DeAngelo will plead guilty on Monday – a deal that would see him sentenced to life in prison and would spare the state a costly trial. The Sacramento county district attorney’s office would confirm only that a hearing is scheduled.DeAngelo was arrested in 2018 after law enforcement compared DNA from the crimes committed in the 1970s and 80s to that of users on the open-source genealogy website GEDMatch.Law enforcement had spent decades trying to solve the crimes, which spanned 11 counties, but the case gained renewed attention in 2016 when the Sacramento DA announced the creation of a task force to identify the killer, who has also been called the East Area Rapist and the Original Night Stalker, and the FBI put up a reward of $50,000 for information leading to his capture.The scope of the crimes, and long unidentified perpetrator, drew particular interest from the true crime community and spawned dedicated discussion boards. I’ll Be Gone in the Dark, a bestselling book about the true crime writer Michelle McNamara’s search for the Golden State Killer, brought wide attention to the case when it was released months before DeAngelo’s arrest.DeAngelo is a US navy veteran of the Vietnam war and father of three and had worked as a police officer in communities near where the crimes took place. He was fired from his job at the Auburn police department in 1979 after being arrested for allegedly shoplifting dog repellant and a hammer from a Pay ’n Save store. DeAngelo worked at a Save Mart distribution center from 1989 until 2017, the Sacramento Bee reported, and in 2018 was reportedly living with his daughter and grandchild on a quiet street in a suburb of Sacramento.It was there he was arrested, in one of the communities the Golden State Killer had terrorized years earlier.For many survivors, DeAngelo’s plea comes with mixed emotions as well as a fear that he could opt out of the agreement at the last moment.“It’s a difficult place to be in, to know that at any time he could change his mind and that he is highly manipulative. I won’t believe anything until it is written in ink and approved,” Hardwick said.Hardwick was 24 in 1978 when a man broke into the home she shared with her now husband, woke the couple up at gunpoint and sexually assaulted her. They survived and did their best to move forward, selling the home they felt unable to live in. But Hardwick suffered for years from undiagnosed post-traumatic stress disorder and the attack had long-lasting impacts on her career and emotional state and took decades to work through.“I’m hoping and praying it is going to be finally over for all of us. Once and for all [I’ll] know that he is in a place where he is never going to leave.”The statute of limitations for rape convictions expired three years after the attack on the Hardwicks, but she said she considers the plea an opportunity for justice.Carole wanted DeAngelo “to have to face a courtroom and the evidence”, but she thinks the plea deal is the right thing to do as it will save the state millions of dollars and spare his daughters from further pain. That DeAngelo is pleading guilty as US police face a reckoning over systemic racism and violence is particularly salient for Carole.“We’ve got a dirty cop that had skills he acquired as a police officer and used to terrorize, rape and murder,” Carole said.Carole’s father, Lyman Smith, and his wife, Charlene, were bludgeoned to death in their Ventura home in 1980 when Carole was just 18. Her 12-year-old brother discovered the bodies. The family didn’t learn the crime was the work of a serial killer for 20 years, and it was only after DeAngelo’s capture that Carole realized the extent to which the murders had affected her life.“I’m going to be really happy to have this be done. I’m tired of him having any real estate in my head,” Carole said. But, she added, “you can’t get your people back. You can’t get your sense of safety back. He stole something from everyone in California that endured his terrorism.”As Monday’s hearing approaches, Kris Pedretti goes back and forth about attending. Pedretti became the Golden State Killer’s 10th victim when she was sexually assaulted in her home at the age of 15.“This is my one opportunity to hear this person who attacked me admit guilt,” she said.Pedretti’s attacker crept into her home days before Christmas in 1976, sneaking up on her as she played piano and threatening her with a knife before sexually assaulting her. It left Pedretti with post-traumatic stress, but in recent years she has found comfort through therapy and a Facebook group she created where sexual assault survivors can share their stories. Born out of a horrific crime she suffered at the hands of someone who sought to terrorize her community, Pedretti said the group has been healing.“We share our stories. We share what books have been helping us. I am finally at a place in this journey where I can see some sunlight because I can use what I learned.”

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/2YERig7

#'I pray it will finally be over': Golden State Killer survivors hope guilty plea brings justice