#17 year old girl syndrome

[femme444all]

[wizardnuke]

tell me whyyyy I had to repeatedly assure these 13 and 11 yr olds that they were allowed to do whatever they wanted with my nails. any designs they've been wanting to try. "what if they look bad" it's paint!! on my fingernails!! I don't care!! it's fun!! "..can I use glitter" hell yes you can. "no one has wanted glitter" well I do!! let those kids be messy.. let em Have Fun with art. and self expression. my sister was like "are you sure? they're not gonna look good" In Front Of Them and I was like okay and so what!! these two r Thrilled at the idea of being given blanket permission to Do Whatever. they're 13 and 11 years old. let those kids be silly. anyway i love what they did they're so mismatched and messy and glitter bombed and they rock. I love those kids so much. let them have fun..

[starryschoolgirl]

I'm in love with your au Baby Love!! I assume since it's an au it won't be an issue if I ask if kids are ever on the docket for Elvis and Cosette? And if they do have kids, how many would they have? Or how many have you got planned at the moment? Again, love it all so much and I'm very excited for the next installment!!

Oh what a lovely question! I will take this ask as an opportunity to make the introductions for the Baby Love au children!

Baby Love Family Tree

Cosette & Elvis' 5 children, & how they came to be

First a small clarification! The children, their attitudes, their behavior, and their views on life are heavily influenced by the old-money Chevalier side of the family. This is because for the majority of their childhood Elvis was quite busy with work, so Cosette was almost entirely raising them on her own views which are heavily influenced by her family's views.

Vacations and getaways from 1969 to 1980 were often with the Chevalier side and Elvis' side was too busy caught up in show business. So if you read their profiles and wonder why their attitudes/aesthetics stray from their father's so much, it's due to that lack of connection in childhood despite all the love that Elvis could and would give.

//mention of SIDS (sudden infant death syndrome)

Now, onto the little darlings!

Out of all the Presley children, Manon is most like her father personality-wise, which has led to a bit of clashing with her father. She is the first born, right before the spring of 1969. She's named after her mysterious aunt, her mother's sister who is rarely ever spoken about. She's also been dubbed her paternal grandmother's middle name.

Manon was only 12 or 13 when the Yuppie culture of the early 80s began to skyrocket, being the modern girl she is, she of course wanted to take part in that culture. To be a yuppie was to be educated with a solid job, to achieve that she remained on top of her studies, and when it finally came time she graduated overall salutatorian of her class, just one rank below her boyfriend whom she would unfortunately have to end things with.

After graduation, she followed in the footsteps of her uncles and went to Yale, staying with some Chevalier cousins in Connecticut where most of her maternal family is. During her time at Yale she would attend numerous parties as she's a girl with connections, and through those parties she would meet her future husband, Sergey Petroff, 4 years older than her and a new stockbroker. The two of course hit it off as she herself is studying finance.

She's definitely a mommy's girl, but that's just because her and her father are so alike that there are times that the two can't stand each other, but that's not to say she doesn't absolutely adore her father.

The twins. The spoiled rotten princesses of the Presley family. Born just 32 minutes apart on a cold winter day at the very start of 1970.

The two, out of all the children, had shown the most interest in their daddy's career. While Celine was more interested in the business side of it, as a little girl even listening in on her daddy's meetings, Delphine was more interested in the flashy bits.

And she always got her way. All Delphine had to do was point her little finger at something and moments later it would be paid for and in her hands.

With both their interests in show business, or rather just the high life in general having been obvious since birth, they were allowed to start their own adventure, in modeling at the age of 17. After begging since the age of 13, Cosette and Elvis finally gave in, and only allowed them to start modelling with longtime trusted family friend, Jerry Schilling as their manager.

Delphine absolutely loves the life of modeling and loves doing it with her sister. But Celine has always felt a slight emptiness from it all, she'd much rather be one of the people behind the scenes, making up the contracts and making the money.

Julie Jesse Presley, the first born son. He was born in early 1971 after a long and hard pregnancy.

His daddy had teased his mommy for giving him such an effeminate name, but she loved it, and said it suited him, he had this angelic beauty about him. He was also of course named after a dear angel in the family, Elvis' stillborn brother, so there were no qualms about it.

Unfortunately he passed away from SIDS only 23 days after his birth.

He is missed terribly and always remembered. There was a point in time however that little confused Manon hated him, as his death was a turning point for the family, and shed light on underlying issues in Cosette and Elvis' marriage, which would eventually give way for divorce.

The youngest Presley child, Memphis Michael Presley. Born in '74, amidst the divorce of his parents no less. But his birth is sort of the saving grace of the Presley-Chevalier union.

After learning of her pregnancy, and of course needing to tell the court, the court would not approve the famed divorce dispute to be finalized until after the birth of the son.

Had the divorce not been drawn out those extra months, the Presley-Chevalier union would've ended in those rainy, windy months

Despite the fact that he was supposed to be the glue to the family, he grew to have a rather stressed relationship with his father.

Memphis followed in the footsteps of his older sister and maternal side of the family by attending Yale on a football scholarship. The sport is one of the few things that could bring Elvis and Memphis together.

The tension in the relationship stemmed from Elvis' fame. Hearing stories about how his father had treated his mother for a point in time of course filled Memphis with a little bit of frustration when he went from being a little boy who looked up to his daddy, to being a man who felt the need to look after his mama.

Memphis often felt that if his father wasn't famous the two of them would be closer. Fame took his father's time away from him growing up, and now his father's fame overshadowed him as no one took his interest in being involved in politics seriously. All because people were too busy staring at the shadow of his father that staggered over him.

It's also to be noted that out of all the children, he took after the ideals and attitudes of the Chevalier side the most, which at times clashed with his father's own ideals and attitudes.

And that my dear friends, are the Presley-Chevalier children. What do you think? I personally am enamored with all of them, lovely little ones.

I'm very happy to get this out, so now people will have context when I post later installments of the Baby Love au!! I had so much fun making all their little profiles and backstories, I'm so excited to explore them more!

[gendiebrainrotreceipts]

This acc pisses me off for so many reasons “There is no indication that she’s male.” Other than the very obvious fact that he has a dsd condition that only affects males? Or the fact that he paralyzed a 17 year old girl (who is still paralyzed to this day)? Or the fact that the boxe federation said he couldn’t partecipate for the risks ???? Or the fact that nobody forces him to wear hijab???????? Us gnc women are NOT MEN. Fuck OFF

Isn’t swyer syndrome a female intersex condition? And Khelif didn’t paralyse anyone, that was a TIM mentioned in the same article, not actually her. Not to mention Khelif was raised female from birth, and has openly spoken about the misogyny she has faced.

[a-shade-of-blue]

New Gaza fundraiser asks I've received (14-15 September)

15 September

Ahmed Almeshal (@abutamim92): Ahmed has two children. He lost his child Tamim due a lack of medical resources in Gaza. He has been separated from his wife and his remaining daughter Najah who are in North Gaza right now. Najah was born just before the war and requires intensive care which is currently unavailable. (https://gofund.me/2f9daabe) (promoted and vetted by @/gaza-evacuation-funds) (€421 raised of €20,000 target)

Eman (@emanfamily3): Eman is a science teacher and has 5 children: Nada (11), Rahaf (8), Sarah (5), Sham (3) and Zeina (8 months). Zeina was born in a tent. Their house has been destroyed and the children are suffering from skin diseases and malnutrition. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/77751696) (vetted by association. Eman is a sister of @eslamfamily3 (shared by @/90-ghost, #175 on the Bees and Watermelons spreadsheet)) ($175 USD raised of $20,000 goal)

Amany Ubeid (@amnyaburas): Amany has 3 children: Mohammed (16), Moath (14), and Habiba (9). Her husband suffers from a skin disease called psoriasis and needs constant treatment that is not available. His son needs surgery to save his eye to avoid becoming disabled. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/fab6b079) (vetted by the @/gazavetters team and is #17 on their vetted list, for more info on @/gazavetters click here.) ($1,354 CAD raised of $68,000 target)

Nadine Ismail Rajab (@nadeen-23, @nadoosha-sd): Nadine is a 21-year-old uni student studying English. She is from a family of 8, but has lost her infant brother Mohammed to hepatitis. She has a 3-year-old sister named Manal. They are trying to evacuate out of Gaza. (https://gofund.me/5492cf17) (shared by 90-ghost) ($797 USD raised of $25,000 target)

14 September

Mohammed (@mohamedabushaban06): Mohammad is an 18-year-old student from Gaza. He is fundraising to fund his education in a medical school in Qatar, and also to evacuate his family in Gaza to safety. (https://gofund.me/b3e62d1d) (vetted by @/victoriawhimsey who works with @/Pali.pals on Instagram, see post here for proof. On @/victoriawhimsey's credibility, she has contacts in Gaza who help her vet GFMs, see @/schoolhater and @/ibtisams' post here. Also see post here with @/dlxxv-vetted-donations' reblog for more info on her credibility)

Abdullah (@abdala1): Abdullah is a 24-year-old IT student. He also had a small business. He has elderly parents and he is fundraising to buy daily necessities and rebuild their home. (https://gofund.me/7774af76) (vetted by association. Abood is an uncle of @nesmamomen (vetted by el-shab-hussein, shared by nabulsi))

Ibrahim Hussein (@ibrahimhuss): Ibrahim and his wife Yasmina have a baby girl named Maryam (1.5). Ibrahim is the eldest and have 6 younger siblings (Muhammad, Hamza, Zakaria, Israa, Ghadeer and Hadeel). Ghadeer and her husband were killed in October, leaving behind their two and a half year old son, Waseem, who is now under Ibrahim’s care. Yasmina's family include her father, Abdullah, her mother, Yousra, her brother, Amir, and her sister Samar. Abdullah and Yousra both need medicine for heart conditions and high blood pressure. Samar has Down's syndrome. They are raising funds to buy daily necessities and to evacuate to Egypt. (https://gofund.me/47c0705c) (vetted by association. @ibrahimhuss is a friend of Mohi (@mohiyreesh, @mohiy-gaza, @mohiy-gaza2) (Mohi's campaign has been shared by 90-ghost))

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 13 - 25 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 26 -29 July.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 30 July - 1 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6 - 10 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 11 - 14 August.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 15 - 18 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 19 - 21 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundrasiers from 22 - 24 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 25 - 28 August

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 29 August - 1 September

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 2 - 5 September.

Click here for my Masterlist for fundraisers from 6-10 September.

How does vetting and verification work? See post here. (also read comments regarding 90-ghost and why we trust the campaigns he has shared)

Click here for my Google Doc with my complete masterlist of all the Palestinian gfm asks I've received, updated daily (along with other verified ways to send aid to Gaza).

See post here for other verified ways to send aid to Gaza.

Don't forget your Daily Clicks on Arab.org, it's free!!! and Every click made is registered in their system and generates donation from sponsors/advertisers.

[love-me-love-my-weirdness]

The difference with the disorders of ASPD, psychopathy and NPD versus the 150-something other disorders in the DSM is that they function completely differently because they are PERSONALITY disorders and not regular disorders.

Personality disorders cause dysfunction with opinions, feelings, observations, empathy, perceptions and relationships. The way they see every event, instance, and conversation is coming from a distorted perception. They can be aware of this distorted perception but one of the main symptoms of these disorders is a lack of self-awareness and always believing one is right and never wrong, which is very common with cluster b disorders. Self-awareness is also a spectrum, not black and white as many people get wrong. They're not just "different" with their opinions and perceptions (everybody has different feelings and opinions) but they're maladaptive and unhealthy.

ASPD and NPD major/common symptoms from research (not just taking from the DSM I've been researching them for a decade now): revenge-prone (often from distorted perceptions but can certainly be from a non-distorted perception), entitlement issues, lack of empathy toward others, manipulation, deception, exploitation/supply-seeking, victim-complex and can't see fault in ones own behaviors chronically so- meaning they see themselves as perfect and don't take accountability for any little mistakes or wrongs, love-bombing then devaluing cycles which causes Stockholm syndrome, projection, possessiveness in relationships, extreme jealousy and envy issues in relationships or with peers, poor and abusive relationships.

While something like ADHD has issues with attention, focus staying on one task that isn't scary or bad, just distressing for the disordered individual. Anxiety disorders have symptoms like overthinking, feeling jittery or on edge, feeling distressed about the future, etc. Other disorders have issues with normal things that only distress the individual suffering from said disorder, they're not dangerous.

However, people with ASPD and NPD have symptoms that make them dangerous to themselves AND others, causing distress to both themselves AND others.

Yes, people with ASPD and NPD are certainly distressed as well from the consequences of their actions and lack of ability to love another person, thus making relationships unfulfilling. But they bring distress to people around them as well and just as much if not worse.

ASPD, psychopathy and narcissists are vindictive as a PERSONALITY trait and if you do your research properly - revenge as a maladaptive personality trait is a hallmark of ASPD and psychopathy, not just a one time thing like a 17 year old girl getting revenge with her best friend on her cheating partner (teenagers are impulsive and dumb they'd be more prone to this behavior than adults). But with personality disorders it is a pattern of behavior. And their revenge-seeking is an epidemic in the world of psychological abuse survivors because that's often what psychological abuse survivors complain of is the cluster-b persons vindictive behavior towards them for unrighteous reasons, that the cluster b thinks is righteous but thats the distortions and delusions they have. And part of that maladaptive trait is along with the lack of emotional (sometimes cognitive) empathy they don't have that line in the sand they won't cross, meaning they don't have limits on how far they're willing to hurt people making them inherently wrong for their behaviors.

Neuroscientists psychopathy and ASPD:

Dr Keel

Dr. Raine

Dr. Robert Hare 

Dr Kevin Dutton

Books: 

Handbook of psychopathy

Hervey Cleckley's original 1940's checklist that Hare basically admitted the PCL-R is based off of.

Npd:

Dr kernberg

Dr. W. Keith Campbell

Dr. Kraig malkin 

Dr. James Masterson

Dr Steve reed

Dr Elinor Greenberg 

Dr. Marie-France Hirigoyen, a psychoanalyst

There is a lot of what you’ve said that I agree with. ASPD and NPD do indeed cause symptoms distressing to themselves and others. People with ASPD and NPD can act harmfully. Jealousy does play a large role in NPD (I’m not so sure in ASPD since this is a disorder largely based off apathy).

I have NPD and I’m acutely aware of the distortions in my world view. I know that that’s unusual. I’ve had years of therapy and several times of radical acceptance to get to this point. Egotypicals still perceive things in ways that surprise me from time to time but generally I have a lot of self awareness and I’m very interested in psychology and the concept of society.

I have very low emotional empathy (although my cognitive empathy works very well if I have the energy) and yet I disagree with you saying that cluster b’s “don’t have limits on how far they’re willing to hurt people making them inherently wrong for their behaviours”. There are so many things wrong with that statement.

The first is the not having “limits”. I have limits. Perhaps they’re implemented more by rational thought than emotional (like others) but they’re still there. I have a set of morals that I stick steadfast to and I’ve been told by many people that I am a person who holds my values and morals close and guards them tightly.

The second is “willing to hurt people”. This might come as a shock but that’s not a specific cluster b trait. Anyone and everyone are willing to hurt people. Neurotypicals do it all the time. Neurodivergents do it all the time. Everyone does it all the time. For example, you are willing to hurt a group of people with personality disorders by sending an ask that deliberately frames them in a negative way. A simpler example is asking what you would do for your loved ones. Would you steal, fight, manipulate, break the law? All of those classify as “willing to hurt people”.

My third issue is that you say cluster b’s are “inherently wrong for their behaviours”. What behaviours? Who’s wrong?

If I take that as I assume it was meant to be intended, what you meant was “cluster b folk are wrong and will always be wrong in their behaviours because of the previously mentioned reasons”. I just disproved the previously mentioned reasons so that point is moot. You’ve just taken a few traits of a disorder, spun a negative portrayal on them and decided that that means cluster b people as a whole are completely untrustworthy and unforgivable in every aspect.

If I was to take a different view on the statement, I could interpret the meaning as “people who willfully do harm are inherently irredeemable”. That’s a more solid point but one I would dispute anyway. That ends up tipping more into the moral quandary of questions such as “would you steal bread for your starving family”. I would say that no one is inherently irredeemable. Certain acts may be unforgivable but people themselves are not irredeemable.

People who willfully do harm with malicious intent over and over again (the ones “without limits”) are indeed not good people. However, assuming that the only people who do that or the only people capable of doing it are cluster b is not a good view nor a correct one.

Anyone can be a bad person. Anyone can do bad things.

Another thing you mentioned is vindictiveness. I wouldn’t phrase it like that. For all intents and purposes it’s very similar but it’s much easier to understand is describing it as the fight response. Cluster b folk are more inclined to the fight response. When they perceive threat, they lash out, which can cause harm to themselves and others. It’s something a lot of people do however cluster b’s take it to an extreme.

It’s not a petty grudge and it’s not a relentless pursuing of someone. It’s a matter of hurt and survival instincts.

There’s been a lot of focus on the damage disorders do to others and far less on the damage it causes the person themself. And for those who are trying to cope better and hurt less it’s much harder for them as it becomes easier for people around them.

At the end of the day, you have sent what’s effectively a list of “proof” that cluster b’s are inherently harmful and that’s that (although you completely failed to mention BPD and HPD).

I want to prove that you’re wrong. No one is inherently harmful. No one is beyond hope of at least trying for better. ASPD and NPD (and BPD and HPD) don’t cause people to be awful people. They make mistakes, they mess up and they try to heal just like everyone else.

I can acknowledge how my actions hurt people and work on them and be a good person. Anyone can. I can take accountability for hurting someone even if I don’t accept I was wrong.

Personality disorders are morally neutral and it might be harder for me but I can create healthy, caring relationships.

If you won’t accept the idea that we can then that’s not our problem. That’s something I sincerely hope you educate yourself on and get over.

[riversdarkblog]

Discription: Stonecrest was just like any other town back in the days. What changed throughout the years since 1950 is that it started to become a ghost town. People started going missing at any time of the day. They barricaded their windows and doors. Soon people had forgotten about the town that was in the middle of nowhere and stopped visiting it.

Y/N a 19 year old girl who had just started college and was in her first semester break with her girlfriend and their friends. They all decided to take a road trip in the short bus that they bought.

Pairings: Dark Serial Killer Leonora Lesso x Reader, Dark Serial Killer Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Dark Serial Killer Maria Hill x Reader, Dark Serial Killer Nemuri Kayama x Reader, Dark Serial Killer Yelena Belova x Reader & Dark Serial Killer Peggy Carter x Reader

Warnings ⚠️: DARK THEMES!, Guns, Knives, Blood, more Blood, Stabbing, Shooting, Fighting, Killing, Break Ups, Hallucinations, Drugging, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Gore, Jealousy, Manipulation, Scars, Cuts, Bruises, Broken Bones, Broken Glass, Stalking, Knife Marking, Sadism, Height Difference, Age Difference, Slight Size Difference, Blackmail, Possessiveness, Mentions of Kidnapping, Immortality, Breaking In, Fire, Other Weapons, Guts, Blood Drinking, Psychotic Behavior, Multiple Deaths, Needles, Torture, Poison, Vivisepulture (Buried Alive), Dismemberment, Cannibalism, Explosion, Nightmares, Getting Arrested, Car Accident, Mentions Of Cheating, Strangulation, Decapitation, Amnesia, Drowning, Skinning, Arson, Stockholm Syndrome, Creepy Phone Calls, Dirt Bike Crashes & Angst

A/N: If you don't like this kind of stuff please don't read it! Thank you!

𝔐𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰:

Y/N Y/L/N-

Leonora Lesso-

Natasha Romanoff-

Maria Hill-

Nemuri Kayama-

Yelena Belova-

Peggy Carter-

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰:

| Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |

| Leonora Lesso Backstory | Maria Hill Backstory | Natasha Romanoff Backstory | | Nemuri Kayama Backstory | Yelena Belova Backstory | Peggy Carter Backstory |

𝔒𝔫𝔢-𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔱𝔰:

~None Yet (TBD)

𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔰:

~None Yet (TBD)

ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔫𝔰:

~None Yet (TBD)

𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔟𝔬𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰:

Leonora Lesso

Natasha Romanoff

Maria Hill

Nemuri Kayama

Yelena Belova

Peggy Carter

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

"It’s more than sales – it inspired an entire generation of young girls to know they had a place in heavy music." Inside Fallen: the album that turned Evanescence into instant 21st century metal superstars

No rock band had an explosive a rise in the 2000s as Evanescence. This is the story of their classic debut album

Evanescence’s Amy Lee was at one of the many awards ceremonies she attended back in the first half of the 2000s when she was approached by a fan. This wasn’t unusual in itself, except this fan happened to be rapper and mogul P. Diddy.

“He said, ‘I love your album, I listen to it when I work out’,” Amy tells Hammer today. “And I was like ‘Really? That’s awesome!’ That was surprising to me. You know who I am? That’s weird.” Weird is right. Just a couple of years earlier, Amy had been a shy, aspiring singer and songwriter who had played no more than a handful of times with the band she’d co-founded as 13-year-old almost a decade earlier. And now here she was, getting star-spotted by hip hop A-listers at swanky awards ceremonies.

“What do they call that thing? Imposter syndrome!” she recalls today. “I definitely felt like I’d snuck in the back door and somehow got to go to the Grammys. Like, ‘I’m not supposed to be here and people do not know who we are and this is a prank.’ I think part of that is just it all happening so fast and being so young.”

The reason for the attention was down to the blockbusting success of Evanescence’s debut album, Fallen. Originally released in March 2003, and about to be reissued as a deluxe 20th anniversary edition, Fallen appeared at the tail-end of the nu metal boom. It offered a gothier, more dramatic take on that sound, which bridged nu metal and both the rising symphonic metal and emo scenes. It would go on to sell more than 10 million copies in the US alone, turning Amy Lee into an icon and role model for a generation of young, female fans.

Amy describes the young, pre-Evanescence version of herself as “a little bit shy”. Earlier this year, she told Hammer’s sister magazine, Classic Rock, that the death of her younger sister, Bonnie, when Amy was six, was a catalyst for “this soul, spirit- searching, expression mode”, which would eventually manifest itself in music. She wrote her first song aged 12, and others quickly followed. “I wrote plenty of songs that were crap,” she says with a laugh. “You just haven’t heard them.”

Things became more serious when she met future Evanescence guitarist Ben Moody in 1994 at a Christian Youth Camp in Little Rock, Arkansas, where her family had moved to a few years earlier. She was 13 and Ben a year older, though the two decided they could make music together. Amy describes their initial endeavours as “more like an electronic duo, like Massive Attack” than an actual band, though some of their early songs would end up on Fallen, including Imaginary, Whisper and My Immortal.

The nascent Evanescence didn’t play a gig for nearly six years, partly because of their youth, and partly because they wanted to concentrate on honing the songs they were writing. “The live part for me at that time just wasn’t my focus,” she shrugs. “I wanted to make stuff.”

Their first release was a self-titled debut EP that came out in 1998 via local label Bigwig, followed by another EP, Sound Asleep, the following year (both featured songs that appeared on Fallen). They’d played a few a low-key acoustic shows in their early days, but their first proper, plugged-in show was at a bar named Vinos in Little Rock on January 2, 1999, less than a month after Amy turned 17.

“It was difficult to be on stage at first,” she says. “I had to really work at being a good performer. I remember the first time we played a gig and four people knew the chorus to one of our dumb little songs,” she adds, self-effacingly trailing off.

It was an early version of My Immortal that caught the attention of Diana Meltzer, head of A&R at Wind-up Records, in 2001. Amy had just enrolled in college to study music theory composition when she got the message that Wind-up were interested in Evanescence - essentially herself and Ben.

“I still wanted to make music, but I was going to study so that maybe one day I could work on film scores as a backup plan,” she says. “We got signed three months in. I had one semester of school. I literally went from graduating high school to moving to LA and making our album in a year and a half.”

Producer Dave Fortman can remember the first time he heard Amy Lee sing Bring Me To Life in the studio. The guitarist in 1990s rockers Ugly Kid Joe pivoted to production after the 1997 break-up of that band, working with the likes of Superjoint Ritual and Crowbar before signing on to produce the debut album by an unknown band from Arkansas called Evanescence. After listening to their demo, he jumped at the chance to work with them. And then came the moment when Amy began singing in the studio.

“Amy was in the booth and this voice just came out,” Dave tells Hammer. “My engineer, who has worked with some of the biggest names in music bar none, turned to me with his jaw on the floor and said, 'Goddamn! This girl can sing.’ You just forgot where you were, you weren’t working anymore, you were just in awe of her. They were the most talented people in their age I’d ever been in contact with.”

The Evanescence that recorded Fallen was Amy and Ben, plus keyboard player/string arranger/co-songwriter David Hodges (who joined the band in 1999) and an array of session musicians, including future Guns N’ Roses/Foo Fighters drummer Josh Freese. Dave Fortman estimates the album cost around $250,000 to make – a sizeable sum now, but relatively modest at a time when seven-figure budgets weren’t uncommon (Korn’s 2002 album Untouchables reportedly cost $4 million). Some of that budget went on the real-life orchestra that Amy insisted on using for many of the songs – a bold move for a new band, when an electronic recreation would have been cheaper.

“None of us were ever going to back down on that,” says Dave Fortman. “It had to be that way or it wasn’t going to work. We recorded the orchestra in Seattle where they have no union, so it was cheaper. If we’d have known it was going to smash in the way it did, hell yeah, we would have just recorded them in LA!”

Evanescence didn’t get everything their way. Bring Me To Life, which addressed Amy’s feelings of numbness while in an abusive relationship,  was augmented by the inclusion of rapper Paul McCoy in an attempt to appeal to the nu metal market - a decision that went  against the band’s wishes. “I was so scared in the beginning that we were going forward with something  that wasn’t a perfectly honest picture of who we were,” Amy told Metal Hammer earlier this year. “But it didn’t last long. After a few songs, the mainstream was able to hear more than the one song and it was like, ‘OK, they at least sort of get what we are.’”

Advance expectations for Fallen were modest when it was released on March 4, 2003. “If it had gone gold [500,000 copies], we’d have A all been delighted with that,” says Dave Fortman. As it turned out, the album smashed it, selling more than 140,000 copies in its first week of release alone and reaching No.7 in the US Billboard charts. Bring Me To Life was a huge factor in that success. Like My Immortal, the song made its first appearance on the big- budget, Ben Affleck-starring Daredevil movie, which hit cinemas a few months before Fallen came out. 

When it was released as a single in its own right, accompanied by an expensive-looking urban-gothic video that saw a nightdress- clad Amy somnambulantly climbing the side of a tower block, like a cross between a character from an Anne Rice novel and a comic book superhero, Wind-up reps had to beg radio stations to play it (“A chick with piano on a rock station?” was a common response). Those that did air it soon found their phone lines jammed with people who wanted to know what it was that they’d just heard. It entered the US Top 10 and did even better in the UK, where it reached No.1.

Bring Me To Life and subsequent singles Going Under and My Immortal put wind in Fallen’s sails. Those 140,000 sales shot upwards at a vertiginous rate: within a month, it had sold more than a million copies in the US alone. By the middle of 2004, it had reached seven million (in 2022, Fallen was awarded a diamond certificate for US sales of more than 10 million). The speed of the ascent left Amy Lee dazed. “There was just so much going on,” she says, exhaling. “I don’t know if I got to focus on it that hard at the time.” 

The label wanted to get Evanescence out on the road to capitalise on that initial success. A touring band was assembled around Amy and Ben – guitarist John LeCompt, drummer Rocky Gray and bassist Will Boyd were recruited to back them. Their rise as a live band was equally dizzying. The day Fallen was released, Evanescence headlined the 200-capacity Engine Room in Houston, Texas. Three months later, they made their first UK appearance playing the Main Stage at the inaugural Download festival, sandwiched between Stone Sour and Mudvayne. Two weeks after that, they returned to the UK to headline a sold-out show at London’s prestigious Astoria.

Inevitably, given the scale and velocity of Evanescence’s success, it didn’t take long for the backlash to kick in. Amy was the focus of much of the criticism, with the barbs ranging from the petty (one magazine questioned her goth credentials) to the outright misogynistic (she was painted as a diva with absolutely nothing to back it up other than the fact she was a woman). Evanescence themselves were perceived by some of their detractors as nothing more than a cynical marketing experiment; the phrase “Linkin Park with a girl singer” appeared a depressing number of times back then, which diminished the decade or so Amy and Ben had invested in their band and music.

“I felt a lot like people wanted to see me fail, especially in the beginning,” Amy says. “I think it’s partially that they want to see if you’re the real thing, and when you shoot up so fast and you have a lot of success really quickly, I think there’s a little bit of a human nature thing that wants to poke a hole in that. I felt on the defence, I felt misunderstood – I’ve got a badass, bitchy look on my face on the album cover, so obviously I must be some kind of bitch.”

Amy was just 21 when Fallen was released, and the criticism took a toll on her. “It was hard as a young person to feel misunderstood,” she reflects today. Things became even more complicated when Ben left acrimoniously in October 2003, just six months after the release of Fallen, with creative differences cited at the time as the reason for the split (in 2010, he admitted to trying to force the singer out of the band they had founded together).

“I felt frustrated,” says Amy. “I wanted to hide a bit in that initial aftermath. People always wanted to attach me to drama, like Ben leaving the band. All of that was trying to be made to make me look bad, like it’s my fault or, ‘Well now it’s going to suck because she didn’t actually do any of the work, obviously all the men behind her did all the writing and the creation.’ It just made me angry a lot.”

The criticism and fractured personal relationships may have been difficult to deal with, but the impact Evanescence had was undeniable. Fallen landed at a transitional time for metal. By 2003, nu metal was on a downward trajectory creatively and commercially, with scene heavyweights Korn and Limp Bizkit both releasing dud albums in the shape of Take A Look In The Mirror and Results May Vary respectively. The New Wave Of American Heavy Metal was bubbling up, but it didn’t possess the same kind of mainstream crossover potential.

Fallen was different. Nu metal may have been in its DNA, but so was goth and electronic music. It was heavy enough for metal fans but it was also dramatic and heartfelt enough to draw in the emo crowd and pop fans alike. The soaring piano ballad My Immortal, with its narrative of a grieving relative haunted by the spirit of the family member they’re mourning, and Going Under, another song detailing the feelings of hopelessness that come from suffering in an abusive relationship, were unquestionably dark, but Evanescence wrapped them up in ear-worm hooks and gothic allure, while Amy’s presence imbued them with a distinctly feminine spirit that was a world away from nu metal’s over-testosteroned aggro.

The broad-church appeal of Fallen was reflected in the range of musicians who garlanded it with praise. Over the years, it’s been cited as an inspiration by everyone from Lzzy Hale and The Pretty Reckless’s Taylor Momsen to pop star Kelly Clarkson. Björk praised Evanescence and so, more surprisingly, did Lemmy, a man not known for his love of goth-tinged ballads.

“They’re fucking excellent,” said the late Motörhead frontman when asked for his view of the band. Even more significant – and noticeable – was the devotion Evanescence, and Amy in particular, almost instantly inspired among fans, especially female ones. The look she sported in music videos, magazine photo shoots and TV interviews – goth-style corsets, black and red eye make-up - was taken up by countless rock club kids up and down the country.

But arguably the most lasting impact Fallen has had is musical. It marked a changing of the guard: not just the end of nu metal, but the beginning of the rise of symphonic metal. Bands such as Nightwish and Within Temptation released albums before Fallen, making sizable waves in mainland Europe, but Evanescence put a distinctly American spin on it, turbocharging symphonic metal’s rise on the back of Fallen’s success. Even now, Amy’s too modest to acknowledge the influence that Fallen had.

“People are always asking me that question: ‘What is it about that album that resonated with people so much?’” she says. “I don’t know. Some of it’s just out of your control. At that age and that time in my life, I don’t think I would have given myself that credit.”

Dave Fortman is far more forthright on the subject. “Did I notice it?!” he says. “How could you not?! That’s what happens when you become, not just a big band, but an icon. She truly changed things. All those symphonic bands that came in their wake? They’re all Amy’s children.”

Fallen helped turn Evanescence into one of the biggest bands of the 21st century. They beat superstar rapper 50 Cent to the award for Best New Artist at the 2004 Grammy Awards (Bring Me To Life also took the trophy for Best Hard Rock Performance). To date, the record has sold more than 17 million copies worldwide – only Adele, Eminem, Norah Jones, Lady Gaga and Linkin Park released albums that have sold more during that time.

Dave calls Fallen “a life- changing album”. He explains: “It’s more than sales – it inspired an entire generation of young girls to know they had a place in heavy music. To show they didn’t have to ever compromise.” It’s a sentiment Amy shares as she looks back at the shy 21-year-old of 2003.

“It was crazy, it was awesome,” she says. “But there was a lot for me that was going on personally, turmoil and relationships within our band. It was just this wild time where so many things that felt huge were happening at the same time. Did it change the musical landscape? I don’t know. But it inspired somebody for something good, it made them walk back from the edge, feel their self-worth in some way. I think it’s truly a gift and a blessing in my life.”

Originally printed in Metal Hammer #381

[kar01an3-13wizz]

Just forgot to show that silly gal. YESS THERE'S ALL OF HER APPEARENCES HEHE IF YOU WANNA DO FANART FEEL FREE TO DO FANART. <3

Karolane's biography:

Name: Karolane

Full Name: Karolane June Lewis

Label: The Sweet and Chill Anime Girl

Nationality: French/British

Aliases: Karo, Karo-chan, Tori, Tori-chan

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 16-17

Height: 4'11 (150 cm)

Species: Human

Subspecies: Neko/Demon

Sexuality: Bisexual/Asexual

Appearence: Karolane has brown hair tied to a ponytail with a white ribbon, she has blue eyes, she has freckles on her face with a scar on her left eye, she wears a school uniform, a white sock with pink stripes on her right foot, and a rainbow sock shorter than the left sock, on the left foot. She also has black shoes.

In her demon form, she has the same outfit but she has light purple skin, with small black horns, with big bat wings, she also has a demon tail. She has claws, red glowing eyes and sharp teeths.

In Total Dramarama, Karolane's outfit is inspired by Hello Kitty, due to the small red ribbon.

In Total Drama Reunion, her outfit is inspired by Hatsune Miku. She has two long pigtails tied to blue ribbons, she has a small mic, she wears a sailor shirt with a blue bow, she has blue ribbons on her arms, she wears fishnet tights on her arms, she has a ring on her right middle finger, she also wears a black skirt witha blue belt, sha wears long blue striped socks, with black shoes and blue leggings.

In her swimsuit, she wears a rainbow patterned two-piece swimsuit, with pink and white laces, and with purple hearts on the top and on the bottom. Her swimsuit reveals her black-polished nails, and her three heart-shaped birthmarks on her thigh.

Mental disorders: She has ADHD, PTSD, arachnophobia, depression, athazagoraphobia, social anxiety, school phobia, obsessive love disorder, schizophrenia, autism, insomnia, dissociative syndrome, Peter Pan syndrome, hyperventilation, Balint syndrome and dementia.

Personnality: Karolane is a kind-hearted, sweet, kind of a cat personnality, tsundere, yandere girl. She's also very dumb and her brain never works.

Karolane's interests:

Likes: Animes, cats, drawing, videogames, eating, sleeping, cosplay, baby-doll style, Ezekiel, blood, horror movies, her adoptive dad aka Chef.

Dislikes: Her disorders, being forgotten

Trivia:

◾ Karolane's is Chef's adoptive daughter.

◾ Karolane's BFF is Euphoria (by @jovialeuphoria).

◾ When Karolane starts being insane, she's in her demon form, and red glitchy eyes.

◾ She's friends with everyone in the island, especially Scary Girl, Sadie and Katie.

◾ She doesn't know what's emotions.

◾ She naturally has a cat mouth.

◾ Her love interest is Ezekiel.

◾ The cat is her favorite animal.

◾ She has A LOT of cat plushies.

◾ She's a cosplayer.

◾ She's very popular due to her kindness and her cosplays.

◾ Karolane's bedroom only has Ezekiel images. There's a wall with Ezekiel's face, she has t-shirts of Ezekiel, she even has a BIG shrine of him. She also has his toothbrush, a photo of Ezekiel, an empty can of Ezekiel, and a lot more of him.

◾ Karolane's is 17 years old.

◾ In Total Drama Reunion, she's married to Ezekiel.

◾ She's homeschooled since more than 2 years, due to school phobia.

◾ Her birthday is the 4th of September.

◾ She's 4'11 tall.

◾ She's obssessed with Ezekiel.

◾ She's a tsundere and a yandere.

◾ She won all the TDi seasons.

◾ She has a lot of hallucinations.

◾ She can be really depressed a lot.

◾ When Ezekiel isn't here, she instantly cries.

◾ When Duncan makes jokes about Ezekiel "d3ad" or other jokes about Ezekiel, Karolane cries until and when Ezekiel come in, but sometimes, when Ezekiel is here, she's still crying.

◾ She can have horrible visions about Ezekiel, like seeing Ezekiel with another girl or other things like that.

◾ Her parents abandonned her when she was a baby, and she's now adopted by Chef.

◾ She's afraid of spiders.

◾ She's a sugar addict.

◾ Her favorite drink is bubble tea.

◾ She loves animes.

◾ She's not really human, she's a neko when in love or a demon when psycho or angry.

Powers/Abilities: Immortality, Telepathy, Flying, and more.

[einsteinsugly]

Betsy was supposed to be 21? No way. She was born in 1979 in season 7 so she should be 17. I know, I know the writers dgaf about continuity but she still didn't strike me as a 21 year old, more like 18-19. I mean wouldn't anyone show any concern or be at least slightly weirded out over a 17 year old dating a 21 year old? Especially since it's the girl that is older which is more unusual.

She legally ordered drinks, under a tab, whereas Nate wanted to order hot wings. So they definitely did that to make a point about her age. So she's probably 21, even though she's supposed to be 17. Instead, Jay is 17.

She, along with the gang, was SORASed (soap opera rapid aging syndrome). And yeah, they should be weirded out, but Casey (21) and Donna (17) had the same age gap, and no one was weirded out, either.

*****

Oh, and she's a Kelso, so immaturity is kinda their thing. *Shrugs*

[nanabrainrot]

To Bear a Cross

Summary: Lalo wants a sacrificial lamb and gets it.

Warnings! THIS WORK IS NSFW. Forced marriage, dubious consent, internalized purity culture, misogynistic ideals, unhealthy relationship dynamics, insinuated stockholm syndrome

Word Count: 3913

Eduardo “Lalo” Salamanca/F!Reader

Prologue to Homemaker, Companion Piece to Companion Dog

AO3 6 Chapter Version: To Bear a Cross

The influx of money made more sense when you saw him.

Money had always been sparse, a luxury not afforded to people who followed the law and worked hard. It was a given that the true and honest were rich in morals and not in money as the Salamancas were. His eyes were dark and cold like the early hours of the morning, hard to look into without fear. He was unpredictable, but just a boy. Your father once said that the difference between a man and a boy happened when he stepped up; age didn’t matter but maturity did. Morale did. Empathy did.

He was young then and as were you. You think he was 18 and so were you that day.

“I thought you wanted to send her to college, old man?” Ah, it makes sense now.

“ I do! More than anything.” A choked sob, a guttural moan more akin to a wailing baby than the grown man you look at: your father. Endless hours in the fields, skin tinted permanent bronze and littered with sunspots and freckles alike. Rays beaming on him like a tattoo needle etched wrinkles into his forehead that were not originally there in your youth. 18 is young, but old enough to walk away, not like a 17-year-old and not like the girl you were at 5 asking why you could not get an education. As time sways, you have come to realize something: womanhood would not allow you the fruits of manhood, not in this lifetime.

“Then take our gift! My tio is being generous. You get more exports to more towns, stores, people! And more money, money for your girl to go to college,” the boy breathed excitedly, dark eyes blown wide with excitement and persuasion. His childish demeanor indicated a sense of unpredictability that left your belly churning uncomfortably. His face falls as your father’s wet eyes are set on the floor, decrepit and creaky, and not the boy. From the corner you peek around, just out of his peripheral, his face indicated he was taking your father’s hesitance as disrespect, his reluctance as a spit in the face. He wanted out with one foot in the quicksand and the rest of him wrapped in vines. “If you want her to go anywhere in life but this shitty little farm, you will say yes old man,” he hissed, losing his patience, “or do you want your girl selling pussy the rest of her life? Marrying some old fart to have a cozy bed.” Another choked sob that only results in the boy sighing and pursing his lips.

“You must love your girl, huh? You know, old man, my papa loved me so much he made me the man I am today. Masculine, macho, I make enough money in this month than you’ve seen in your lifetime.   Does that make you sick? Working endlessly to never see your girl go to school? Old man…” the boy draws closer, “don’t let the stick up your ass stand in her way.”

“I want out.”

“You can have out but think of her.”

“I want…” A hard breath. “I want her to be safe. And happy. This… this cartel shit. It isn’t safe. If something wrong happens, it isn’t about me. It’s about her.” The boy’s brows knit together, annoyed at the insinuation that he was anything other than respectful in his persuasion to allow the man to walk away from the growing cartel. “If something wrong happens what do you think will happen to her?”

“You kill me. You break her kneecaps. You… you…” his eyes finally left the floor to look at the boy with a cold stare, dead eyes. A man with no choice and only fear.

“I what?” he dared the man to indicate what he thought he would say.

“You violate her.”

A scoff. The boy rolled his eyes, body lulling casually to lean on one foot a little more. “Who me? I’m a good guy. A great guy, even. My pals are less nice.” It sounds like a threat, one that makes your breath hitch in your throat. You had never truly been intensely religious, but, before their passing, all the women in your family emphasized keeping yourself pure, for better words. Your time was sparsely spent with men that weren’t your father, him typically asking you stay in your room studying while the Salamanca cartel men came around to stock his trucks full of produce with cash to transport or bricks of white.

“Listen old man. It’s a yes or no question: do you want your daughter to live a poor life forever or get her education? If you keep up your end of the bargain with no questions, your daughter lives a clean life that happened to be funded with,” his fingers raise in quotation marks, “dirty money.”

Your father presses his back to the back of the sofa, sighing. One tear falls, a last one for the road. “I want her to live a clean life. I want to keep her in the dark. Just…” he pauses, “if I screw up. Take it out on me. Not on her. Make it an accident. Something. Anything. Just don’t get her involved.”

The boy grins, clapping his hands together and grinning, “Perfect! My boys will come by tomorrow night to stock up your truck. Once it gets to my cousins, you’re in the game.”

The boy turns, his young face cold but warm with glee. “Wait.”

The boy pauses. “Hm?”

“What’s your name?”

His face doesn’t bother to turn back to him, casual and uncaring as boys are, as he reaches for the door knob and opens it. He says, “Eduardo. But you can call me Lalo.”

 *

 It doesn’t come as a surprise when your father was weeping when you walked in the living room, a pleading voice to soothe the men with a gun in their hand, and it wasn’t a surprise when he wept at the wedding.

Lalo, that boy, has his eyes glued to you, a dog watching food hung over its mouth, starving, when you walk in the room. Meek, timid, a voice not over the appropriate number of decibels to not be an indoor voice. The uncertainty is tantalizing; it meant you were scared. The one who saves your life is named Lalo, the hothead next to him is furious with you and makes a fast movement to point the gun at you but a tan hand presses it down. The other man glances over, unsure what to make of his higher-ups movement but upon looking back and forth between you and Lalo it comes together.

You had no chance at that moment. There was no other option.

  Your daughter will never worry about a dime again. At first it sounded fantastical, but whatever is too good to be true typically is. Your father was groveling, begging and crying in a way that strained your heart so much it ached to even beat. He met you then came toward you, grinning, smiling a beautiful smile unlike anything you had ever seen. At least you had an attraction, something you were grateful for later on.

“You’re his daughter!” he says in a whisper, in your ear. So close his breath fans your ear and your nose picks up a cigarette scent and some Modelo.

“I am.”

“I’ve never seen you before. I’ve been dealing with him for months, but have never seen you. Why is that?”

“I stay in my room.”

“Hm,” he chuckles, “like a princess in a tower?”

“Not like that…” you avert your gaze, suddenly feeling the crushing pressure of his piercing eyes. He was charming, charismatics, something that is never good.

“You look like one.”

“A what?”

“A princess.” The air is so heavy it may as well have been a boulder on your back.

A beat. “Oh.” He throws his head back, so jolly, to laugh at your flustered nature. The man behind him coughs, blinking at Lalo with a stern look. “Lalo, don’t forget what Bolsa told us to do about the man and the girl. He’s too much of a risk. Too soft. The girl too. Bolsa isn’t sure if they’ll talk or not-“

“They won’t, ol’ boy.”

“And how do you know that Lalo? Bolsa gave us an order out of insecurity in their loyalty to us and –“

“I know because my girlfriend would never rat on me.”

 Ah, the first impression is so important.

 *

 Your father did not walk you down the aisle some days later. A ring appeared on your dresser the next day, worth more than you wanted to know, and your bedroom door was always unlocked in the morning, something you never did. Ever since getting involved with the cartel, your bedroom door was always locked. In the mornings, it was slightly ajar and there were items in disarray. Not as though ransacking, but the opposite: your room kept being altered with fine items. Vases of flowers appeared, a beautiful rug, a new cozy chair replaced your rickety homemade stool, and perfumes kept appearing. You didn’t originally sleep this well before but Lalo had been coming nightly for dinners. He had already made an awful impression on your father but demanded his company. He would sit there silent and resigned as Lalo brought in meat to cook and loom at the gas stove, the heat fanning his face until he had cooked the meal. He kept returning, his demanding presence like a black cloud over the house. His commitment feels joking until he took you to the courthouse. It was spring fading into summer but it was hot, it was June 8th and the overcast was beautiful.

“I do.”

A cloud crosses the sky, prancing like a ballerina against a backdrop of sunsetting hues of purple, orange, red and the moon hanging over it. It’s a beautiful to Lalo but not as beautiful as you.

“I do.”

A cloud crosses the sky like a body dragging itself to safety, slowly and tortured. It almost breathed like it had been kicked. The sky was an array of the colors of a bruise, purple and red and orange but no veins of green split the sky. The moon was pale, big, and unchanging. A big white eye looks down at you; a full moon. The cloud is like a finger, pointing and laughing, long and wiry with gaps that are a color of purple you’ll hate forever after today. That sweet plum color used to be the color of your favorite dress; you wonder what to do with it now.

His moustache is ticklish and his face is scary, the swooping black hair skimming your forehead when he dips to kiss your lips passionately. Everything about him demands your attention and devotion. The word “no” was no longer a part of your vocabulary, something you realized only the night before your wedding, the day prior in the wooded cabin coated in darkness and nothing but Lalo. The trees were Lalo, the moon was Lalo, the floor creaks were Lalo, the sofa, the bed, rug, the coffee mugs, and every atom in the house was Lalo.

 *

 Lalo has not given you any reason to be scared, his threats are more focused on others rather than you. Your face not typically writ in concern but usually in confusion. It is surreal. It is a dreamscape. “It’s a pre-honeymoon!” he cackles, opening the door to a gorgeous villa in the middle of absolutely nowhere. The air is hot, humid, and a thick. The forest is dark. The birds are cawing. You are crying.

“Why are you crying, princess?” he coos sweetly, as if talking to a child. Maybe even an infant. You sniffle, the sinking feeling of reality creeping into you in goosebumps as you sit alone with a man from the cartel who has had a gun to your father’s head more than once. You had seen him in passing from your window when he would come and make sure every brick and every dime was accurate. His face was so warm, so smiley from the window; you wondered what he’d be like up close in some schoolgirl fantasy in the back of your head. It was so innocent to just wonder.

It was less innocent to let it transpire. To ask for it. To seek it out.

You wondered about men occasionally, pondered it in passing. You spent the vast majority of your youth studying in your room, your father desperate for you to at least score well on college entry exams if he was going to homeschool you since the city and towns neighboring were too far for you safely to get to and from. Your car was unreliable. “The cartel men,” he warned, “would do terrible things to you.”

But it isn’t so terrible. Being with a man. His hands are big, warm, thick, and stroke your thigh soothingly as if petting a cat. He is savoring the feeling of your tights, the fabric of the hosiery enchanting his senses.

“How can I soothe you?” A small sniffle.

“Just hold me,” you ask, reluctant but desperate to at least appease the man with you, “please?”

“Yeah,” he breathes a hot breath, pulling you in by the waist into his side. He put on his pajamas a bit ago, it is consisting of nothing but plaid pants, so your thin shirt was pressing into his hot skin. You want to pull away, in some respect. This is impure. No, no, it will lead to something impure. It is different; to keep going was to defy any bit of logic and slip into whatever foul impulse you let lead you on a leash into a sick man’s bed.

It isn’t a bed though, so does it count? This is a thought that crosses your mind as your back arches against the sofa.

“I need to check something.”

“Check what, Lalo?”

“Your hymen.”

 *

 It is impure and you aren’t sure what a hymen is until after he’s palming your sex. The hosiery ripped away at the groin to make way (you loved that houndstooth tights and wondered internally where you had purchased it to get another one) for his palm, rough and thick. “No man before me?”

“Nuh-uh.” It doesn’t sound like you. It sounds like a high-pitched whine, like you were having a fit for something. A craving, like an addict for a fix without ever having touched the stuff: a fuck. He chuckles, deep from his chest, into the nape of your slick neck thanks to his constant attention to it; a plummy hue beginning to bloom where he sucked the skin raw. “I’m your first, hah?” he huffs, bucking his hips into your leg through the fabric of his pants. His dark eyes flicker up momentarily, looking at your face that was twisted in a lewd expression: your eyes blown wide like you were surprised and watery with want as if you’d cry at any second, the front of your brows only a little tense, and mouth ajar but chin wet with your drool and his spit. This was impure.

Lalo has no intention to fuck you tonight, no. That is a special event for the wedding day, but today was a layout of taste testing of appetizers before a grand entrée. This was impure, debauched beyond words, the sight of your mussed hair against the arm of the sofa and your chest, slick with his spit from sucking and biting at your sensitive spots, rising and falling like you were done running a mile. Your sensitivity to his contact with beautiful, memorizing the moment in his brain to replay it until he died; this was his life now. Everything else he had ever done was white noise to you. Every bullet shot, gun loaded, piece of money in his hand, and every modelo meant jack shit to this.

He wanted to see one thing. You twitch at the contact, his mouth meeting your nipple, and yelping at the constant overstimulation to push and push and push you. You worried you were going to pee, a strange warmth in your core was making you hot with a want for something but you weren’t sure what. His fingers go deeper, the middle and index, and one thing: he curls it.

It’s like white. It’s like a dip in the pool on a hot summer. It’s like a warm hug in a time of need. It’s like Lalo isn’t a drug dealer, cartel boy who stole you away and altered you in just some days after meeting you. It’s something you can do forever. It’s your first orgasm, the want to ask him to skip the wedding and stay in bed after the hour or so of his attention only being you, with a side of you, and you as the dessert. “Ah!” a jolt, a twitch, and you’re batting his arm away but it only excites him further to go faster, sucking hard at your nipple as your eyes water more and mouth open more and, like a dam breaking, your eye lets one tear fall, your mouth a bit of drool, and your eyes white for a split second before your head goes back to arching on the sofa to not see Lalo but the ceiling or, more accurately, the back of your eye sockets from rolling back. Your back must have been a perfect U from the way you were arching it and Lalo thinks this sound might be better than hearing  “I do” tomorrow.

The trees, the walls, the rug, the coffee mugs, are the only witnesses to a dam breaking and a mind with it as you tremble like a leaf and sob a high-pitched sob unlike you and so debauched you want to die with embarrassment after the fact. You see the ceiling, body still shaking, no senses registering other than the aftermath of touch. His face appears, looming over you, and you feel the hard skin pressing through his pants against your belly as he crawls up to meet your face where your head hangs over the arm. Lalo is so smug.

“The first of many, no? It’s an engagement gift for our pre-honeymoon.”

The ring feels so heavy. It burns your skin.

 *

 In light of recent events, you could have handled this better. The temperament of your husband was particularly poor with others but he often made better calls in judgement when women were involved. Men, he argued once, are more capable creatures than women; they are like animals.

He uses that argument when you are no longer allowed to see anyone but the chaperones who won’t look you in the face. Their cold eyes looking through and passed you, but never in the eyes. He had buried some men whose gaze lingered on you through methods you had thought been left in medieval times. His machismo thinking stemming from years, centuries, of diluted values based on women being a weaker and less capable sex. It is some years later when you think he’s right.

Across from him, a man named Ignacio stares at you, who sits on an adjacent counter in a beautiful villa. Your eyes do not find him, but look past him. As a wife, you duty is to honor your husband with respect. To live by him and for him. The classic thinking prevailed time for a reason, why would it live on if not right? You wondered if natural selection applied to certain thought processes. The books on the shelf behind Nacho attract your attention, but not moreso than your husband, whom you glance at often Nacho noted. Your dress is a tight, thin cotton nightgown that hugs your body. The pattern is some pointelle dotting with a little letter embroidered on the chest. Sliding from the counter, you touch Lalo’s shoulder, which he immediately replies to by reaching to stroke the flesh of your hand. “I’m wanna go read. Is that okay with you, Lalito?” you ask in a voice barely over a whisper. Nacho ponders how Lalo could even hear you with the softness of your words. “Of course, baby,” he reassures, patting your ass as you stride past Nacho wordlessly and beeline for the arrangements of paperbacks of thick and thin. The embroidered letter was E. Nacho does not look back her, refusing to acknowledge the movement unless asked to specifically. Lalo rarely mentioned his wife, the only indication being a tattooed ring on his ring finger and the way he occasionally looked at a photo of her in his wallet in the car when he was driving. The energy of possession was rippling off him in waves. Nacho hears the flipping of some pages and the settling of weight on the sofa behind him; did you ever leave Lalo’s gaze? He doubted it. Lalo looks past Nacho, staring at you, while talking to him, “But that’s business for next time. I was just being nice, my little lady doesn’t get many guests and I trust you enough to not be stupid with her.”

“Huh? Stupid how?”

“You didn’t look at her, Ignacio,” he smiles a smile that don’t reach his eyes, “good.” A small chuckle leaves him as he goes to stand. “Thanks for stopping by. Let me walk you out, my friend.”

The footfalls don’t attract her attention to Nacho, but she is fixed on Lalo. Her cold eyes accentuated with thick lashes from an expensive makeup store no doubt and her lips shifted anxiously in their shiny gloss coating as she watched Lalo walk to the entryway from the sofa. He feels like he walked into something, like an animal’s enclosure that only connected with one zookeeper. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Lalo?” Nacho asks, looking back through at him as he passes the threshold.

His blood runs cold, staring at the silhouette of you standing stiff at the end of the dark entryway some paces back. Just the outline of your figure backed by the ambient lighting that was overhead on the high ceiling and the peripheral of the open concept kitchen showing a face that still didn’t see him: only Lalo.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, buddy,” he grins. The slam of a door, the wood, is heavy and harsh. The wind of Albuquerque is heavy and harsh, beating on his body as he opens his glossy car door and retreats into his car. A feeling of pity, hot and stomach-churning, warms his belly in a way he couldn’t explain. Your cold gaze fixed with tunnel vision on the monster in man’s skin and he has seen the markers of possession on you. A giant ring worth hundreds of thousands no doubt accented your thin finger and the embroidered E on your dress were the two thing that stood out to him but, in rightfully not looking any further at you he missed the tattoos, the acrylic nails that spelled “LALO” on the four fingers that were not your thumb, and the hickeys littering your neck.

The embroidery bothered him for a moment, as he got into bed. E. E. E. E. What was E again?

Oh.

E stands for Eduardo. You sleep in a plum nightgown, curled in his arms like a dog with her owner, and peace is all you know because all you know is Eduardo.

[xoxiu]

my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter nine table of contents masterlist

taglist

discord

summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline

taglist: @allamericanuniverse @llallaaa

Kiwo sat in the center of the bed staring down at the Nintendo Switch in her lap. It was one of the gifts from Yoongi, and one of the things she wanted the most. It felt weird, however, to get one under these circumstances. 

She had rules with it- no playing it without permission, no internet, and no more than two hours on it. Yoongi had gotten so many things to play with, and he didn’t want her to rot her brain on video games all day. They were all in a box under the bed- some yarn for Kiwo to crochet with, slime, board games, books, and other little things she had little to no interest in just yet. 

Yoongi had gone all out during his shopping trip. A large dog kennel sat in the corner of the bedroom close to the bed, with a large fluffy dog bed inside. There were pink blankets and stuffed animals in there as well, and fairy lights decorated the outside. Some of the bigger stuffed animals sat on top of the kennel. Kiwo looked away with disgust, only for her eyes to fall on the bedside table. 

There sat three pacifiers in pink, blue, and white. Kiwo wanted to be disgusted by them, but with her need for oral stimulation, she secretly wanted them. She would never give in, though, especially if it meant satisfaction for Yoongi.

Kiwo hissed as her headache throbbed harder, and laid down on the bed, Switch abandoned next to her body. She was now face-to-face with the pacifiers. The familiar flips in her stomach only broke her gaze, and she rushed for the en suite bathroom.

“For a research university, I expected Yonsei to have higher web security,” Hoseok remarked from the couch behind Yoongi. The office was currently inhabited by the hacker, Hoseok, and Taehyung. Yoongi ignored the younger’s voice and continued to view the files in front of him. 

As an international student, Kiwo had to send over various medical records to the university for insurance reasons. Since she was still deathly ill, Yoongi figured he could check her medical records to see if there were any pre-existing conditions. Hoseok and Taehyung, however, visited only in the hope of meeting Kiwo. 

A file marked ‘outpatient psychiatric services’ caught Yoongi’s eye, and he quickly downloaded the record.

”Kiwo Louise is a 17-year-old female with a history of Autism Spectrum Disorder, social anxiety, depression, and a panic disorder.” Yoongi’s eyes widened at the opening statement. He was completely unaware that Kiwo was autistic. He browsed the document for any other information.

”The patient was diagnosed with autism around the age of 6 or 7. She has a history of self-harm but currently shows no intent to harm herself. She has a history of sexually acting out.

“She has a history of social awkwardness, emotional outbursts, and infantile behaviors. Her emotional state appears to be delayed, placing her near a 7-year-old’s milestones for emotional intelligence.

”She has a slight speech delay with the /r/ sound in all forms, as well as consonant digraphs. Ms. Louise has attended speech therapy since Kindergarten.”

All Yoongi could do was stare at the screen. All this information was considered vital to Kiwo’s health and well-being, and Yoongi felt inadequate in his handling of it. 

“That’s quite the cocktail of drugs, hyung,” Taehyung said as he leaned against the back of Yoongi’s chair. He read the files over the elder’s shoulder much to Yoongi’s dismay.

”Probably sick from withdrawal, poor thing.” Hoseok got up from the chair to look at the files as well. The three silently stared at the computer screen until Taehyung finally spoke up. 

“I could easily get you the medications- it’s not like antidepressants are illegal.”

“Can I come with you?” Hoseok asked. Taehyung simply shook his head no, but Hoseok’s smile never faltered. 

“Hoseok,” Yoongi said, “Watch my email to see if anything work-related pops up. I’m going to check on Kiwo for a bit.” 

Yoongi stood up and left the two other men in the office. They stared at each other with concern over Yoongi in their eyes. 

“He’s been fidgety since Kiwo arrived,” Hoseok took a seat in the desk chair, and took one quick spin on it. “And I’m sure her getting sick suddenly isn’t helping.”

Taehyung agreed and politely dismissed himself to get what Yoongi needed of him. Hoseok whistled out of boredom at the computer desk, refreshing the email client every few minutes. 

He wished he could see Kiwo- Yoongi has been very secretive over her and rarely let any of them see her. From what Seokjin had said, she’s a shy but polite young girl, with a very cute round face. Hoseok wished he could go into Yoongi’s room to see for himself, but had no reason to do so. 

An email came through. It was a video conference reminder for Yoongi. Hoseok finally had his chance to see Kiwo. He quickly got up and headed for Yoongi's bedroom only to find Taehyung exiting the room. The younger man gave him a huge smile before speaking. 

"She's asleep right now, but you should see her. It's just the cutest sight."

Taehyung patted his back as he passed him. Hoseok stood in front of the door for a moment, reveling in his excitement before finally opening up the door slowly. The room was dark sans the light from a bedside lamp illuminating Yoongi's face. The elder sat with his back against the headboard, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. Kiwo was splayed across the bed horizontally, with her body all sorts of twisted up while her head lay on Yoongi's lap. Hoseok's smile widened at the cozy sight. His eyes eventually fell upon something blue sticking out of Kiwo's mouth. 

A pacifier.

Hoseok almost felt his heart leap out of his chest. The sight of her small face, flushed cheeks, and a pale blue pacifier was almost too much to take in at once. 

"What's up?" Yoongi asked, putting his phone on the bedside table next to him. 

"This cannot be the Kiwo you've been telling us about," Hoseok shook his head in disbelief, "she could never hit you upside the head with an encyclopedia."

Yoongi chuckled at the memory and gently moved Kiwo's head and arm from his thighs so he could get up. When he arose, he gave a big stretch before looking back over at Hoseok. The man finally came back to his senses to inform Yoongi of the upcoming meeting. The elder closed his eyes with an exhausted sigh before speaking up.

"Can you wait here in case Kiwo wakes up? Maybe try to give her the medication when she does?" Yoongi walked over to his closer and attempted to look nice and presentable by throwing on a blazer over his dress shirt. Hoseok nodded and sat on the chair in the corner of the bedroom.

He was so excited for Kiwo to wake up.

The sun was setting and Hoseok was growing tired, yawning and closing his eyes every few seconds. Kiwo had yet to wake up, and Hoseok doubted she would before Yoongi's meeting ended. 

Hoseok watched the pacifier fall out of Kiwo's pouted lips and gently land on the blanket next to her. She stirred slightly and slowly began opening her eyes when the bedroom door suddenly opened. 

"That was the most bullshit meeting ever," Yoongi stated, throwing his blazer to the side. "Did you know the company president was acquiring another hotel chain? We can't possibly afford that!"

Yoongi suddenly remembered that Kiwo was sleeping, and his raised voice most likely woke her up. He peered over towards the bed only to see half-opened eyes peeking out at him and puffy pouted lips. 

“Hi, sleepy girl. Did I wake you?” He asked walking over to the bed and running a hand through her tangled bed hair. There was no response other than Kiwo gently closing her eyes and sighing. 

“Have you said hi to Hoseok oppa yet?” 

Kiwo turned away with a whine, her perky butt now facing Yoongi. The blond sat on the bed and lightly tapped her bottom twice, just hard enough to get her attention. Kiwo once again let out a whine before saying a sharp ‘hi’. 

Yoongi clicked his tongue and shook his head.

”So disrespectful, you brat,” Yoongi said. “Need to teach you some respect and manners.” 

Hoseok let out a small laugh before talking to Kiwo in a baby voice, “Hi Kiwoie! Can Hobi oppa see your pretty face?” 

Small feet kicked out in response, but Kiwo did sit up. She hid her flushed face in her hands. 

“Can you be a big girl and take your meds for me?” Hoseok continued to talk to her as if she were a child, and it appeared to be working somewhat. 

“We got your medication for you to help you feel better,” Yoongi said as he picked up the bag full of bottles. “Just so you can trust us, you can take them yourself. There’s water on the table.”

Kiwo removed her hands from her face but kept her head down. She grabbed the bag from Yoongi’s hand and grabbed one of the bottles. It was, in fact, one of her psychiatric medications, so she felt no fear in taking them. 

It was even the name brand of them. 

“Taehyungie oppa brought them for you,” Hoseok said, doubting that Taehyung got to meet Kiwo. She most likely was still asleep then.

Feeling uncomfortable with the stranger near her, Kiwo just fiddled with the plastic bag anxiously. Finally, she felt somewhat comfortable with Yoongi- he wasn’t that bad of a guy, he didn’t hurt her and was very accommodating. This Hoseok, however, Kiwo felt unnerved by. He smiled and was a bit too cheerful, and it almost felt like he was hiding something malicious from Kiwo. 

Yoongi must have picked up on Kiwo’s nerves, and sent a look toward Hoseok. The younger man understood and stood up to take his leave. 

“I better get going now, have a good night Kiwo and Yoongi hyung!”

Kiwo looked up to watch Hoseok leave. Then she took her meds, one by one, with big drinks of water to wash them down. 

Yoongi smiled. He slowly was beginning to understand Kiwo better. Even though it may be different than he initially planned, he was determined to know Kiwo inside and out. 

[madsmilfelsen]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @thenookienostradamus, quyanaa!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 22 :)

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 237, 409, yeehaw!

3. What fandoms do you write for? Magic Mike (allegedly), Always Sunny (allegedly), Killer Joe, True Detective (season one, I get too weepy if I think about season four too long but someday!), Midnight Mass, Shadow & Bone, Tell Me Your Secrets, Loki, and I've got an original work snuck in there, too

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Typically! I have a habit of hoarding my favorites in my inbox so if I take a week or three months to answer you it's because I've been thinking about kissing you on the mouth. Comments really make my day so I do my best to show gratitude to those who take the time to make them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Maybe Sinhound? I don't set out to write angst.................. ever, but ending with Mildred's funeral wasn't what I was expecting either.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? All of them :) I'm a sucker for love and happy endings :)))))

8. Do you get hate on fics? no and that gets more and more shocking each time I post a new work lately as my ao3 becomes a pit of depravity while I work through everything I can't put in my novel manuscript.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? hell yeah fuck yeah. I like playing in varying degrees of consent, unhealthy or unbalanced dynamics, girls who come too fast and have weird relationships with sex, yada yada. I have a really supportive husband who I am disgustingly, deeply in love with so a lot of genuine warm and fuzzy feelings for one old man in particular generates a lot of material.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I simply don't have the mind processes for it and admire those who can mix media like that.

11. free space / no question here, send me an ask with one instead please :)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I know of! would be awfully neat though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Oh man, I had a fun star wars piece I was writing with my dear friend, Jess, when impostor syndrome struck too hard to finish-- I still have the embroidery she did of our title (the inverse must also be true) in my office hanging below my first rejection letter :)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? every goblin couple that make out nasty style, so uh, rust/sugar :( they're so special to me and pulled me out of a Hellacious writer's block

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My only wip is Sunday School Dropout because I sort of forgot where I was going with it, it'll come back with light voyeurism, blood drinking, virginity taking, the usual order

16. What are your writing strengths? I feel like this is question to really sell myself but honestly, hell if I know, creating place? mannerisms maybe? Beyond my general insecurities, some of the nicest compliments I've gotten are for things I did unintentionally so hard to say! I have crafted some fuckin nonlinear bangers I'll give myself that much.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I DON'T KNOW HOW TO MAINTAIN TENSE and I HAVE NO WORKING KNOWLEDGE OF SENTENCE STRUCTURES, which annoy me and are my father's biggest complaints so I can't take them seriously enough to consciously attempt to improve on them yet. Lately, I've been smoking weed and flipping vocabulary flashcards before bed because my diction feels stagnant, a bit repetitive across pieces like.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I can't even speak english well enough to write coherently I'm not going to fuck up further with google translate. I did some ballet au's a few years back that I know have some french in it but I think I did a firmly okay job with the sprinkles of dialogue-- I know damn well my terminology is correct.

19. First fandom you wrote for? technically game of thrones, I have a sansa/sandor reunion very angrily tapped out in my notes app when season eight skipped it. The first work I posted was Seduction of Odile after I saw a post here about the potential of a rey/kylo blackswan au, reached out and asked if I could give it a try and here I am 22 works and years later :)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? I'm going to be corny but I have a soft spot for every fic that connected me with other writers who are so talented and inspiring and force me to be better so I feel like I can talk to them lmao

tagging tagging tagging @the-heartlines @labyrinthphanlivingafacade @littleredwritingcat @abeadofpoison @teeth-ing @itstendereye @barbie-nightmare-house

[kittycomrad]

I don't think there has been a male in my life who has been interested in anything except my boobs and idk how to express that sentiment to my friend who thinks I'm unnecessarily villianizing random guys even the ones I deem as "not that ugly." Something in their stares (or even mere glances) that just screams "I'm imagining what it would be like to fuck/degrade this random girl". And ik general population will dismiss women as "narcissistic", "too into herself" and "girl with main character syndrome who needs to be HuMbLed."

Every post you see where comments from both women and men make fun of "delusional" girls who think "he wants to fk her just because he looked one time" irk me because i totally get them. If there's anyone who has superior knowledge of social cues and body language, it's women. We as women tiptoe around men and spend our time learning survival tactics. Men apparently can go around accusing women of having "fuck me eyes" but women can't warn each other of men giving them bad vibes and flirty looks?? It's even worse when these pickmeishas join in call these girls "jealous bf stealer." Like I'm so sorry boo, I just saw the "love of your life" eyeing down a 17 year old.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Colin Wright

Published: Feb 6, 2024

This morning, The Free Press published a testimony from yet another gender medicine whistleblower, Tamara Pietzke, who described the medical malpractice she witnessed firsthand at a MultiCare hospital in Washington state. Although observing the harsh realities and ethical concerns posed by gender ideology for the past five years has somewhat callused my emotions on this issue, reading Pietzke’s personal account was utterly shocking.

Pietzke shares stories of three patients that led her to question the ethics of “gender-affirming care” for minors expressing distress over their “gender.”

The first case involved a 13-year-old girl with a profoundly troubling history, described by Pietzke as “one of the most extreme and heartbreaking life stories I’ve ever heard.” The girl suffered from a history of severe abuse by her mother, multiple sexual assaults, and was diagnosed with “depression, PTSD, anxiety, intermittent explosive disorder, and autism.” During their initial meeting, the girl showed Pietzke “extremely sadistic and graphic pornographic videos on her phone.” She also explained her tendency to mentally “age regress” to that of a little girl and watch Teletubbies while “sucking on pacifiers.” She had also been expelled from school for threatening to blow it up. Despite all this, the girl’s guardian sought a recommendation letter from Pietzke for the girl to start testosterone treatment.

After expressing her serious concerns about the advisability of medically transitioning this mentally distressed girl, Pietzke’s program manager insisted that her traumatic history should not prevent her from beginning her hormonal transition. Subsequently, the girl was quickly transferred from Pietzke’s care to a new “gender-affirming” therapist.

Another case involved a troubled 16-year-old girl, recently identifying with “they/he” pronouns and seeking testosterone. Three years later, she claimed to have a “xenogender,” identifying as a “wounded male dog.” Pietzke’s colleagues suggested this wasn’t anything to be concerned about.

The last patient, a female who transitioned at 17, sought relief for her Tourette syndrome, depression, anxiety, and gender dysphoria. Despite now having facial hair and a permanently deepened voice, her mental health issues remain.

It is obvious to most of us what an abhorrent medical scandal all of this is. These children have severe mental issues likely resulting from extreme childhood traumas, yet because they have uttered the word “gender,” all of their problems are suddenly attributed to a singular cause—gender dysphoria. And the only proposed solution is to permanently alter their healthy bodies with hormones and surgeries.

While all of this is unequivocally insane, Pietzke recounts a moment that both resonated with and enraged me. After encountering “gender-affirming care” in practice, she grew concerned. Being the diligent healthcare worker that she is, Pietzke sought to expand her knowledge on the subject by researching gender-affirming care online. Like any honest truth-seeker on this topic, she was “horrified” by what she discovered.

She learned that puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones are not FDA-approved for treating gender dysphoria and learned about their numerous side effects. She learned about the absence of good evidence supporting the psychological benefits of hormone treatments. She learned of the link between gender dysphoria and factors such as autism, mental health issues, trauma, and abuse. She learned that gender dysphoria is influenced by social contagion. She also learned about European countries that have either banned or imposed restrictions on medical transitions for minors after conducting systematic reviews of the evidence.

Confronted with these startling findings, Pietzke decided to raise a question during a mandatory online training session on gender-affirming care.

When the leader of the training brought up hormone treatments, I shakily tapped the unmute button on Zoom and asked why 70 to 80 percent of female adolescents diagnosed with gender dysphoria have prior mental health diagnoses. She flashed a look of disgust as she warned me against spreading “misinformation on trans kids.” Soon the chat box started blowing up with comments directed at me. One colleague stated it was not “appropriate to bring politics into this” and another wrote that I was “demonstrating a hostility toward trans folks which is [a] direct violation of the Hippocratic Oath,” and recommended I “seek additional support and information so as not to harm trans clients.” As soon as I closed my laptop, I burst into tears. I care so deeply about my clients that even thinking about this now makes me cry. I couldn’t understand how my colleagues, who are supposed to be my teammates, could be so quick to villainize me. I also wondered if maybe my colleagues were right, and if I had gone insane. [my emphasis]

This resonated deeply with me because it mirrored the treatment I received from most of my former friends, colleagues, and acquaintances when I began to ask very calm and clear questions about the “sex spectrum” and other concepts related to gender ideology that made no sense to me. Before I ever wrote publicly on this topic, I privately tormented over it for nearly two years, very seriously questioning whether I had lost my mind.

I’ve known people who had episodes where they’d burst into fits of rage and shout venomous insults at friends and family. But the next day, when confronted about those outbursts, appear confused and deny any recollection of their actions. Was I now that person? Was I having similar psychotic outbursts followed by amnesia? I asked myself these questions earnestly, because only something like that seemed to have the power to explain the negative treatment I was suddenly receiving from those around me. I couldn’t rule out my own insanity, and Occam’s Razor seemed to suggest that it was much more likely that I was the sole crazy one instead of everyone else.

It took considerable time for me to convince myself I was totally sane, but I thankfully got there.

The most profoundly sinister aspect of this cult ideology, aside from the practice of “gender-affirming care” itself, is its ability to drive even the most rational and principled among us to the mental brink of questioning our own sanity. It will require more whistleblowers like Tamara Pietzke and Jamie Reed to jolt people’s consciences awake, but fortunately, once someone confronts the reality of gender ideology honestly, they cannot turn away.

That’s because we’re the sane ones.

[raymondshields]

*me not walking into a trap* Tell me about Hyacinthe and Iris! :) (genuinely though!)

So the actual chance tumblr would literally murder the quality of this is 50/50, but you should be able to view it in a new tab at proper resolution?? If that's not the case I'll rebagel with them broken-up so tumblr doesn't resize it.

Left to right we've got Iris, Hyacinthe, Katsuhito, and Yumiko! Iris obviously not an OC, the other three are. All of them are shown at roughly nine or ten years of age, although not at once: Iris is about twelve years older than Katsu, and about fourteen-fifteen older than Yumiko.

Under the cut, so I may ramble a bit!

Iris is Klint's daughter, born June 17, 1889. Hyacinthe is Barok's daughter, born February 6 1890. They're not twins, but they'll let you believe they are, because they act like it. They're sisters in every way that matters, and they refer to each other as such, and referring to them as anything else gets you shot.

They didn't meet until Iris was seven and Hyacinthe was six. Iris was living with Fionn, aware that he wasn't her father but not of anything about her blood family. Until one day, she went to look in her bedroom mirror, only to see a girl that wasn't her staring back at her, trees on the other side, as though the girl was looking through a pool of water to Iris.

Hyacinthe van Zieks died July 15 1891, a year and a few months' after her birth. She suffered from Magical Energy Waning Syndrome, the same condition that would have killed her Uncle Moriarty if the van Zieks forest hadn't killed him first. She died in her sleep, peacefully, resting against Barok's chest. Klint took her spirit away, and raised her in his brother's place, refusing to change into human form but doing what he could to be there for her anyway.

Two years and one day after Hyacinthe's death, Barok's life would be shattered again by the death of the woman who he called sister himself: Angharad Gingerson, Beatrice's eldest daughter. But theirs is another story. For now, Iris is seven years old, and the girl who is her dead sister is looking back at her through her mirror.

Hyacinthe knows how to talk: she learned from Beatrice and Osian and Ariadne, the latter of which who will tolerate her but makes no effort to conceal the fact she hates Hyacinthe's guts. She can talk well enough that the two can introduce themselves, and Hyacinthe can explain that they're sisters without disclosing who their family actually is.

The truth is, Hyacinthe doesn't know who her other parent is: she is the daughter of Barok van Zieks the Chainbreaker, for all they call him now the Reaper of the Bailey. She has been raised by a great white wolf of a ghost, who swears to her that she is family, that she will not be alone. She is the sister of Iris Wilson, and she wants to be friends.

They have tea together every day that they can. They talk about their days and brush their hair, they puzzle through inventions and magical theory together. Iris is not the resurrectionist her uncle is, not yet. She can't call the animals of the forest back to life by singing to them. She can't step through the mirror and hold her sister tight.

But she's an inventor, and she'll find a way. Hyacinthe likes reading theory, likes studying, wants to be a part of the hot, fast world her sister lives in. There's no mirrors in the van Zieks estate to watch Barok from, she doesn't know how he's coping with her death. She wants to take her sister's hand and meet him, hold onto the man who must be parent to them both.

They are determined, and they know better than to tell any adult of their relationship to each other, they know better than to admit what sort of magics they're willing to study if it means neither of them ever has to be lonely ever again.

By the time Barok is accused of murdering Inspector Gregson, they've managed it. Iris can pass through the mirror, sit in the ghostly forest of the twilight with her sister and have a tea party. It takes much more work, and much more power, to bring Hyacinthe into the daylight. They manage it anyway, just in time for Barok to be arrested, just in time for a homecoming a decade in the making to be sidelined by tragedy.

Hyacinthe runs in the daylight in the form of a wolf puppy, ribbons tied to the fur by her ears, Iris running beside her. They do not want to split up, but someone needs to tell the Queen, and someone needs to stay by Barok's side.

Iris goes. Hyacinthe stays. Barok recognizes his daughter, as he would in any form she took, and does not let go of her even as he watches the two men he loves more than he knows how to deal with argue over whether or not he will join his daughter in death. At this point, he might have said he no longer cared. At this point, he can see Klint's eyes in his daughter and in Iris and in the great white, ghostly wolf that flanks Kazuma even as Barok watches him fall apart. At this point, he is no longer thinking of what mercy the world could even still grant him, but what he can save before he goes.

After the trial, Susato and Gina are held up at the Old Bailey, being interrogated for their roles in the aftermath. The boys are holding fast to each other, Ryunosuke suggesting a nice pub to get blackout drunk at so that maybe come morning they'll remember how to hold to each other. Yuujin and Fionn are handling the fallout that they can, but they won't be home until late, either.

Klint van Zieks, the great white wolf that has raised Hyacinthe in his brother's stead, who allowed through no choice of his own for someone else to raise his eldest daughter, takes the two girls home, and explains to Iris who he is, and who, thus, she must also be.

It takes the two girls six months to build a life-sized balljoint doll for Hyacinthe to haunt, so she may be as close to alive as a dead girl may get. Mary Shelley's methods are, alas, some years' away from being viable.

Decades later, they can be found in Greece as tenured professors at Saint Shion's University, one as a pioneer of necromagy and artificing, and the other a magical theoretician who studies whatever catches her fancy. They'll argue with everyone and each other, send letters to their younger siblings and occasionally be cajoled into telling the story of Ryunosuke Naruhodo and the Time He Blew Up Iris' Invention Of An Electric Toaster.

They cannot, tragically, be cajoled into playing themselves when The Adventure of Ryunosuke Naruhodo, directed by Katsuhito Naruhodo, hits theatres in late 2000. But they do show up on set a few times for pictures and autographs, despite being over a hundred years old and looking like they're in their early seventies at best.

Hyacinthe, however, can still be cajoled into doing her best impression of Barok, and can pitch a chalice accurately at thirty yards behind her without looking. Because she's Hyacinthe van Zieks and she can do that.