#My interest originally dropped because of nobody tagging things that they knew triggered people

[themostrelatableside]

This blog is officially abandoned. I am currently unsure if I will delete it or just it let it stay here. My interest has been low for a while now but recent events in the fandom have completely killed it off. I had multiple fics that were 80% done but now they'll never be finished. Goodbye.

[dreamcatcherfication]

The Queens of London Part 6 - What Am I To Do With My Life?

Man, I wrote this at like... 1 AM and it shows, it really shows.

Hello everyone, welcome back! I know it’s been a while (2 weeks!) since I’ve posted another chapter for this fic, but I got really busy with a bunch of other stuff, so it kept getting pushed back. I know you guys are used to getting pampered with new fics coming out everyday, but I still have a lot of stuff to balance, and sometimes my longer fics get put on hold as I get things back on track. But not to worry, we’re here now, and I’m not abandoning this fic! I didn’t get to edit this chapter, so I’m going to post it unedited and I’ll go back through and edit it later today when I have time. I hope you enjoy this part and that it suffices for a 1 AM keyboard smash. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, my body is on fire and yes that can be interpreted figuratively or literally.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas. If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

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Trigger Warnings: Depression, feelings of worthlessness, self destructive thoughts

Kat was sitting on her couch, legs curled up to her chest and a cup of hot chocolate in her hand. She was in her pajamas and her hair was a complete mess. Kat’s guitar was leaning against the wall, it’s chords unused and forgotten. After her failure with the queens, it had been impossible for Kat to find it in herself to get up and street perform during the day. She couldn’t go out and watch Jane walk by. She couldn’t perform knowing that she had let down the people who had been depending so heavily on her.

It should’ve been obvious to her this whole time. Kat knew from the start she wasn’t a queen, nor was she a lady. She was in way over her head, that much had always been clear. But after the party at Henry’s house, it was practically spelled out in glittering letters for Kat. She didn’t belong. Never had, never would. Plain and simple. So why should she try?

The depressive haze had taken over Kat’s body as she sat in a ball on the couch, her eyes blankly staring at the wall. She didn’t have a television, so all she could look at was the moldy walls that housed her. It was disgusting to her, the life she lived, but it was all she had. To believe, even for a second, that she could trade it for fancy suits and lavish parties… 

Kat was naive to think anything would change. She knew better now. She knew that she couldn’t keep this charade up, and she certainly wasn’t cut out to be a queen. Not now, not ever. 

The knock on the door wasn’t enough to shake Kat out of her blank staring. She didn’t answer it, choosing to stay silent and still. There was rustling on the other side of the door before the lock clicked and it opened up.

Walking into the room with a small bag, Anne frowned at Kat’s appearance. “Kat, why are you in your pajamas, we got a meeting tonight?”

Shrugging, Kat barely reacted to Anne’s question. She hummed something noncommittal and squeezed herself tighter into a ball. “Kat, come on,” Anne set the bag down and moved over to her cousin. “You can’t just wallow here for eternity.”

“Yes I can,” Kat mumbled before groaning and unfurling herself. “Just go away Anne.”

Sitting down on the couch, Anne flicked some lint off the crusty plush furtniture. “I’m not going to leave you here alone. Tell me what’s up?”

Dropping her eyes, Kat sighed. Without looking in Anne’s eyes, she answered, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Not believing it for a second, Anne moved closer to the teen. “Come on, I can tell that something’s up. You can tell me.” “Why?” Kat glared at her own hands defensively. “So you can make fun of me?”

“I won’t make fun of you,” Anne argued, almost putting her hand on Kat’s back but thinking better of it. “Promise. Cross my heart.”

Kat didn’t trust Anne’s words, but she spilled anyway. “I’m a failure. I let you and the others down. I haven’t belonged here since day one and I’ve only made things worse and harder for you all. I shouldn’t be here.”

Letting the words bounce off her, Anne huffed. “Come on now, that’s not true. We knew from the start it would be hard, none of this is your fault. And I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Anne paused dramatically before continuing, “None of us belong. None of us are really friends - except Cathy and Aragon, and each of our ladies. We’re all struggling Kat, not just you.”

Anne’s confession made Kat feel slightly better, but it was still overshadowed by her fear and doubt. “But at least you all have a reason, a motivation. Something important that you contribute. I’m nobody.”

“And yet you’re perfect,” Anne assured her. “When you watch a spy movie, does the government pick that famous billionaire or the naive looking ‘newbie’ to go undercover.”

Kat shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’ve ever been able to see a spy movie.”

“Okay -” Anne reiterated, “What I’m trying to say is being ‘nobody’ is exactly what we need. You’re practically invincible if you can’t be tracked down. You’re special Kat, far more special than any of us.”

The words sunk into Kat’s skin, even though she tried to keep them out. Kat wanted to say that she was worthless, because it was easier to hate herself than to look into Anne’s eyes and believe her promises. “I’m going to quit.” The forcefulness of her statement surprised Kat herself, but she held firm. Even when Anne gave her a pleading face, Kat didn’t budge. “I’m going to tell them the truth and I’m going to quit.”

Scrambling for a reply, Anne stood up. “At least come to tonight's meeting. Sit through the meeting and make your decision by the end. If you still want to back out, then I won’t stop you. But please, at least think about staying?”

Kat nodded, although internally she had already made up her mind. There was no way she was going to let the queens convince her to stay. Standing up to go change out of her pajamas, Kat froze a few steps away from Anne. “What’s in the bag you brought?”

“Hmm?” Anne turned her head to the bag. “Oh, nothing much. Just some food I bought from Tescos for you.”

Biting her lip, Kat went into her room and grabbed a change of clothes. She muttered lowly enough that Anne couldn’t hear, “I don’t need your pity,” as she got ready.

The familiar table sent shivers up Kat’s spine as Aragon went over the recap of the failed party. Kat was drowning out the woman’s voice, her shoulders hunched in as she waited for it to end. It felt like all the women were staring at her, blaming her for what had happened. It was all too much, but Kat wouldn’t let herself break down in front of them. She would keep her Katherine Brandon facade for one more night, and then it would end.

“We’ve got some news,” Joan spoke up when Aragon was done. “Maria’s been spending some time creating a code, and she’s finally ready to share.”

Maria made her way to the head of the table and set her hands down. “Yesterday we only had a single earpiece for Cathy, but Maggie’s been making sure we get them for each and every one of you. It took some time, but I’ve figured out the best way we can interact with each other using these. It’s going to seem quite simple, but it’s actually extraordinary. You see, each of you are assigned a number, and with those numbers, we and your fellow queens can contact you.”

“Interesting,” Anna stuck out her bottom lip in appreciation.

Leaning forward, Jane asked, “So what are our numbers?”

“Very basic,” Maria explained, “Aragon is one.” The CEO nodded. “Anne is two.”

Blanching, Anne rocked in her seat. “Really, I’m second to Aragon?”

Narrowing her eyes, Maria shook her head. “It’s not a contest of who’s better. The numbers are a timeline. You’re all arranged in the order in which you met Henry.”

Freezing, Kat set her eyes on the table. She was being put in this pattern that didn’t even apply to her. She was going to mess it up in a matter of minutes when she revealed herself. Anne shot Kat a glance across the table, but the girl missed it. “Three, Jane Seymour.” There was no reaction on Jane’s face, but behind her eyes there was a flash of pain. Maria continued, “Four, Anna.” The German woman tipped an imaginary hat. “Five, Kat.”

Acting like she had expected it in the first place, Kat nodded not particularly caring about her number. She would be five for five minutes, and then it wouldn’t matter. “And Cathy, number six. Whenever we address you in code, it will be using these numbers,” Maria finished.

“Sounds good to me,” Cathy affirmed. “I think that’s the last thing we had planned for tonight. If anyone has anything else to share, please do.”

Nervously, Anne watched Kat. The teen was psyching herself up, preparing for her admittal. Opening her mouth, Kat’s opening words were drowned out by Anna’s much stronger voice. “Actually, I do.”

“Anna,” Bessie warned as if she knew what was about to happen.

Shutting her mouth, Kat let the other woman talk first. “I was delivering a suit to Henry this morning, checking up on him after the party. He had a terrible hangover and straight up told Bessie and me that he’s going to be stuck at his office from tomorrow night through the morning.”

Standing up as well, Aragon scratched her nails on the table. “Did he seem suspicious of you at all?”

“Not one bit,” Anna spoke proudly. “We’re safe, for now. It didn’t even seem like he remembered anything from last night, so Kat’s still in the perfect position to sneak in and get the evidence we need. We aren’t finished.”

Breath hitching, Kat watched her hands. Her cover wasn’t blown? She could still… she could still do her job? If there was any way she could make up for what she ruined… “I’m in,” Kat shot up out of her chair, making a split second decision.

Anne’s mouth opened in shock when she saw Kat’s determination return to her eyes. Kat wasn’t done yet. “That’s good, because we’ll need you now more than ever,” Anna addressed Kat.

“What exactly are you saying Anna?” Jane questioned.

Smirking, Anna cracked her knuckles. “I’m saying it’s time for some good old fashioned breaking and entering.”

--------------------------------------------

Tag List:

@radcowboyalmondtree @boleynhowards @annabanana2401 @babeebobo @dont-lose-your-queerhead @everything-insanity @mindless-pidgeon @i-wanna-dance-and-sing-six @thedemidisaster @its-totes-gods-will @thatbolxyngirl @thenameisnoone @sixqueendom

[seblaine-rph]

Calling out an M/s rp

Now for my callout posts against @devilskeyhq, warning others of their problematic behavior and educating the admin team so that they can learn to be better admins to their players. Remember while reading this that I have spoken with almost a dozen people about this at this point and they all say the same things, with screenshot evidence to prove it:

First things first, the tea. For those that don't want to read this whole thing, I'll summarize. DevilsKeyHQ is an M/s rp that allows non consensual activity in character and refuses to add a warning that people can see before they apply that lets them know. They were told that they were triggering their players that expected to be in a safe, sane, and consensual group but were subjected to mass rape and their response was to publicly humiliate everyone that had complained and allow their other players to rant about how wrong it was to complain and how upset everyone was to have to alter the group in order to keep everyone safe. 

They bully people with autism both ic and ooc by treating their inquiries and commentary as stupid and using microaggressions to humiliate them and make them feel invalid. 

They're stalking @thedaltonsanctuary because it's a real D/s roleplay that two of their previous players have had since 2017 and there's a real concerning level of paranoia being thrown out in order to slander them; the moment that TDS started to take off, they decided there wasn't room in the tags for two groups and they kicked them out of DK without warning or anything happening other than TDS getting a bunch of apps, and started trying to bully the group and the players completely out of the roleplay community. There are still players in DK that are too afraid to leave right away because they don't want to be stalked, harassed, and bullied because of the fact that they were made to feel uncomfortable and unsafe. Some of them plan on leaving roleplay entirely as soon as it’s safe to leave DK without being noticed or being obvious about not agreeing with the admins. 

My opinion on the matter is that two people very unfortunately chose to "give themselves a break" from admining their own groups and got to know people in a group that is headed by very toxic admins and a couple of toxic players as well. They were kind enough to try to take care of other people, even though they didn't have to and knew that they were probably going to get kicked out for telling the admins that people weren't comfortable. They were warned by the friends that had been in the group that they were almost definitely going to be either bullied out or immediately removed. The admins didn't like that there was someone else that was more knowledgeable on D/s and they didn't like that there was someone who was looking out for the safety of the whole group instead of putting the admins and their friends first. And the real tipping point was watching another roleplay flourish-- by the same people that had already proven themselves to be more knowledgeable and better at being admins. Now they're trying to slander this group in an attempt to become the only smut group in the tags and it's honestly so very middle school and everything I'm about to go through disgusts me to my core.

Before I begin, I’d like to remind everyone that none of this would have happened if people weren’t triggered by M/s content dominating what was supposed to be a D/s rp without any warning about the content. I’d also like to remind everyone that when this problem was brought to the admin team, it was as easy as accepting that they may have done something wrong and deciding to either end all M/s activity (which some people seemed to not want) or label their main with a warning so that nobody else was triggered by that surprised. If you’re looking for a TLDR on how this should have been handled, that’s it right there. There is no reason at all for any of what I’m about to say to have happened. 

I'll start with the easiest thing to explain; the bullying of people with autism. I'll explain quickly here that people that are neurotypical do not think in the same ways that people who aren't. This causes an uncomfortable rift in communication that when not addressed properly, can become bullying. @disabilityrph is going to be posting a guide very soon on how to spot and avoid bullying people because of their autism, as has definitely happened in this case. So I won’t go into too much detail, but I will give you an example.

EXAMPLE: If you as an admin write out an event post explaining what it going on in the roleplay, there is never an example in which it is okay to passive aggressively dictate the thought that any question given is a stupid question.

HOW THAT WORKS: If someone asks, "Will this be involved?" the proper reply is never going to be, "Why would that be involved? It doesn't make sense that it would be." Just because you find the answer to the question obvious, does not mean that everyone does, especially someone with autism. The proper reply is a simple answer; yes or no, and if you feel like it might be necessary you can add why that is the answer. As an admin, you never want to make any one feel humiliated for asking a question in order to fully understand your group. There is never a stupid question. All questions are valid. You have to remember that not everyone thinks in the same way that you do, some people will have questions that you didn’t consider. Some people will read what you wrote and have questions that you think the answers to are obvious, but clearly they’re not if someone is asking! Nobody should ever get a sarcastic or passive aggressive answer from an admin. 

After speaking with multiple autistic players within the grpc, as well as players within DevilsKey itself, I have been told that this happens a lot. They will ask questions ooc and people will reply as if they are stupid for asking. When they bring up thoughts in character that other people don't agree with, they get treated like they're stupid again. I've been shown screenshots of this happening to people in DevilsKeyHQ with my own eyes. This is a damned shame.

The next topic is the fact that their roleplay is obviously a Master/slave roleplay because of the fact that a large group of people were raped by the NPCs that the admins have created. I saw that there was ooc warning that a punishment was coming, but the simple fact is that nobody would ever expect rape to be involved in a D/s punishment. Nobody would expect anything that left lasting damage, because punishments are not meant to be traumatic in D/s. A punishment is meant to better a person, they should walk away feeling as though they have learned a lesson and worked through anything that they had to feel bad for. If there is any power play that is being used to traumatize people or make them do literally anything at all that is against their will, that is M/s and not D/s. The distinction is important because people use D/s as a means of therapy, to get over their trauma. Someone who was raped, for example, might become a submissive so that they can work through their trauma under the guidance of a Dominant and if that Dominant chose to rape them as a punishment because they weren't fitting their role well enough? That would be abuse, that is not D/s. BDSM holds RACK and the concept of safe, sane, and consensual above all else.

Asking for that distinction to be made clearly is completely within a person's rights here on Tumblr. It's a smart thing to do, and any admin that cared at all about creating a safe space for their group would never do anything like that. They would take their problematic behavior into account and properly label the main Tumblr blog for their roleplay. I read through it, it does not at all sound like the roleplay that I have screenshots of in my inbox. You do not rape someone anally for hours and hours against their will in a roleplay where the words "safe, sane, and consensual" are written on the main. That's just common sense and decency.

The players that were kicked out are not the only ones that I have spoken with and they are not the only ones that were uncomfortable. They're also not the only people that will be leaving the group because of this. 

The sequence of events for how this roleplay came to my attention are as follows:

Two roleplayers were writing with multiple members of DevilsKey and chose to join the group at the request of their friends. They created characters that had family connections to their friends, and wrote their bios with their friends, and their friends had all been in the group for months at that point. This was not a calculated plan, this was an attempt to roleplay in the roleplay community. They joined the ooc discord server before their apps were accepted in order to get a better understanding of the roleplay, but all of the roleplay was hidden and nothing that was shown gave them any indication that it was an M/s rp. These two players brought in original characters and immediately made various connections with other players within the roleplay. They were more active than the admin's own characters, if you ask for my opinion on it. That proves that they were interested in making connections with DevilsKey, they put the effort in to make them.

Then the punishment was warned. I read this warning. Nowhere did it say anything that would in any way warn about the content of the punishments. It is specifically stated that they are focusing on D/s so it should be a normal D/s punishment. Instead, when the plot dropped, a large group of characters were stripped and dragged to cells where they were denied food and tortured for an entire week. These characters were raped and humiliated, abused and broken in ways that defy every covenant of the D/s and BDSM handbook.

From day one, people were triggered. I have screenshots of DMs that go back that far. But the player that was being complained to was also told not to go to the admins for the first few days, because the people who were upset were afraid that the admins would bully them and kick them out for "complaining." Days were spent with these people being triggered by the rape that was being forced in front of their eyes. They stayed in the group for the same reason that anyone stays in an abusive relationship; you can't let go of the "good things." They had spent months in this group, getting to know these players ooc and developing their muses ic. They were attached, especially considering the lack of groups in the tags and the lack of involvement in the grpc.

But enough became enough eventually. When people started to realize that they were triggered and that they were not feeling any better, they weren't sleeping, they didn't want to eat, and the punishment was coming to a close but they were beginning to realize that even though the plot was about to be over, it wasn't over. Their characters all had lasting damage, some just mental but most physical as well. The damage was done. Even if they managed to drag their characters out of the depressing hole they were in, they had to fear this happening again. They didn't sign up for an M/s rp. They didn't sign up for rape. They didn't sign up for trauma. So they hadn't expected it. And nobody gets to decide that a person’s feelings aren’t valid because it took them time to be comfortable having them relayed. 

The player that is suddenly being accused of being "far too close to his Dominant character" went to the admin as a fellow admin. He explained that he had previous admin experience, so he understood their position. He explained that he had real world experience in the D/s community, so he understood what he was talking about based on his own experience and that of the community he spends time in every day, and had a serious concern for the wellbeing of the writers in the group. He told them that he didn't want to start trouble, that he wanted everyone to remain calm and that he didn't want anyone to be anxious. When he got busy and had to table the conversation for real life, he even told the admin that he wasn't silent because of them. He was very gentle. He explained the difference between M/s and D/s and he explained why it is important to properly label groups. He was asked a series of questions that made it look like his concern was being taken seriously, and then it was completely not taken seriously in the group chat.

The reason players had asked one person to go to the admins was because they were too afraid to, they were intimidated and they did not want to deal with any negative blowback they'd get for being upset. The admins proved their concern to be founded when they not only posted about everything that had been said in the ooc, they allowed other players to basically humiliate the people who complained by saying they didn't agree, so nobody could be upset, and in fact they were the ones who were greatly upset and the people who complained should feel guilty about it because now it changes the whole entire plot of the entire group for them and they don't get to finish adding more traumatic plots to the event. One of the admins even joined in to talk about how mad they were that people weren't comfortable enough with them to talk to them? And explained that they had admin issues in the past too, but despite how anyone might be feeling or what makes them most comfortable... it's a slight against the admins and they've been hurt.  

I don't think I need to explain why that is wrong. No admin should allow their players to speak like that in the ooc chat. No admin should air that much dirt in public either; it would have sufficed to say, "After further consideration, we have decided that there might be a few issues with this plot drop and we are here to let you know that it's being dropped. The past still happened, but no further punishments will be doled out and we are considering a new way of dealing with punishment plots in the further." As an admin, it is your job to keep your players safe, and you really dropped the ball there. Not only did you let your players publicly humiliate people, leaving more than one of your players going to bed crying and thinking that they were going to wake up to the entire group hating them and/or their role being removed, but one of the admins added to it themselves and made people feel like now they really couldn't go to the admins. Who would go to someone who does not keep them safe? Who airs their complaints so everyone can boo at them on a public forum? Who shames and guilts them for being anxious? Especially when their concerns weren't really addressed and they were told they were wrong? The plot was ended, but it was made clear that it wasn't because the admins wanted to continue in a way that was safe for all of their players or to find a way to stay in D/s territory and out of M/s non con.

Both players that were removed stepped in the ooc chat to say that it would be better to be mindful of everyone's feelings, and that it wasn't really kind to invalidate all of the people that had complained. It was explained that if things had been properly labeled, this wouldn't have been an issue, because anyone who doesn't want to associate with non consensual activity would avoid it. Many players chimed in to agree with both sentiments.

That situation was taken care of in a poor way, but it was handled and it was ended. The players that were removed were not triggered or affected by M/s material. One of them was upset about the fact that their character was only punished once, in fact, while all of the admin's own characters had been punished three or four times and kept being pulled up to either get hurt or hurt other people. By force. In a D/s rp, let me remind you. But the fact that the players weren't kicked out then proves that this had nothing to do with their removal. It would be pretty shitty if it did, because for an admin to kick someone out for telling them that they had players triggered for days and feeling upset and then turn around and scream and wonder why nobody wants to bring any of their concerns to them is a level of denial I'm not ready to accept myself. Both players continued to plot ooc and they continued to write with multiple people. They were still talking to everyone that had been triggered, keeping tabs on them, making sure they felt alright. The admins were not doing anything to make sure their players were alright, despite knowing that they weren't.

Before they joined DevilsKeyHQ, both players had been talking to several other roleplayers about their previous Tumblr roleplays. They started a sfw au roleplay group a few months ago and had been talking to friends about previous group plots and new ideas to see if they wanted to work together to either bring an old group back to life or start a new one. TheDaltonSanctuary was open years ago and has not changed since it was originally opened, aside from the addition of a second admin. Multiple people from DevilsKeyHQ had been in TDS previously, when it opened the first time. That particular admin has at least 30 groups between discord and Tumblr. The one that their friends chose-- and I have screenshots of this too-- to encourage them to open was TDS. They opened for acceptances on the 18th. They joined DevilsKeyHQ on the 24th. The fact that the admins of DK want to try to say that TDS is in any way a copy of them or a threat to them when they are two entirely different roleplays and TDS was made years and years ago is all the proof that I need that the admins of DK are just petty, immature, and can’t handle not feeling as though they are the only and best option; but of course, there’s plenty of proof of that, in my opinion.

There have been allegations that they stole NPS from DevilsKey, but a quick look at the main proves that to be false. There are no OC NPC characters in TDS. It was also stated in the ooc discord server after they were removed from DK that the admins were upset and angry because one of the players had brought their OC Sterling twin to their own rp. Anyone is allowed to birth a muse and then decide that they like them so much that they want to see them in an au setting. The character that the other player brought to DK was an OC from his own group and he said so multiple times and nobody accused him of stealing from his own group? But the admins believe they own an OC because it was born in their group. 

Their official announcement for why these two were removed stated that they had:

taken an OC from DK to TDS and therefore they needed to be removed in order to "keep DK's plot safe" (but DK is completely unusable for an actual D/s rp)

clearly only joined DK to try to poach players for TDS (though they never once said a word about their rps to anyone, and wouldn't even say which plots were still active, which were groups, or which were 1x1s when talking ooc about what they've written before)

and finally for their "little outburst in the ooc group chat" in which they said that it wasn't kind to invalidate people who had been courageous enough to finally (after days of being unable to) asked for the admins to be informed that they were triggered

It's already been stated that TheDaltonSanctuary and DevilsKeyHQ have two entirely different plots. TDS is a safe environment where there is BDSM info in the ooc server and characters are placed in a sort of rehab and recreational environment that is geared towards mental health, education, and finding and maintaining a healthy claim. DevilsKeyHQ is one of those sex island groups, there have been thousands in the tags where the plot is always the same; people are taken to a sex island and have to live by M/s rules or they'll be punished with penetrative rape via multiple orifices.

With no reason to get rid of the players that knew more than they did, looked out better for their players, and now were thriving in a real D/s group... the admins kicked them out and made stuff up. If they were being removed for asking that the admins consider the safety of their players, it would have happened when it happened. If they were being removed for stealing from DK to put things in TDS, they would have kicked them out back then too-- because it was known that they had TDS for a long time before. They were only kicked out of the group when TDS started to gain traction and one of the admins brought their OC in and one of the players that had applied to TDS before the admins joined DK brought an OC from DK too. So it's clear that jealousy has fueled this entire debacle and it was so easy to solve.

[nakediconoclast]

Bracken: Professor Raoul X    Posted on January 14, 2011

Western Rifle Shooters Association

It was late June and I was sitting in a café seven hundred miles from home, doing a little web surfing. There was plenty of room at mid-morning, so I could sit at the end of the coffee bar with my laptop. I was scanning the breaking news about the new mass-shooting. Like most people I was morbidly fascinated with the deranged young man who was the killer. That is, the trigger puller. But I was looking over his shoulder for something else: signs of a guiding hand.

Why? Because I know something about the subject.

You see, being a guiding hand is my life’s avocation. My secret avocation, that is. Outwardly I’m a tenured professor of sociology at a Mid-western university. A life-long bachelor, so my summers are my own. Ostensibly for writing, research, quiet reflection, bungee jumping or what have you. My summer hobby is traveling and meeting interesting people. Everything I do on these road trips can be explained under the rubric of field research, but even so I pay with cash and move like a ghost. I’m old school. It’s a harmless quirk. Nobody cares.

I suppose if you polled my students, they’d declare me to be left wing, but not a rhetorical bomb-thrower. Am I closer to Karl Marx than to Ayn Rand? Well, naturally. Progressive politics were part of my upbringing and education. And of course that is also the best way to get along in academia, and I do like to get along.

No question my academic career has been lackluster. That does not concern me. I have no wife or significant other to be concerned with my apparent lack of greater ambition or wealth. Seeking publication for papers that a few academic gnomes might eventually peruse does not interest me in the least. Writing some groundbreaking tome that will be reviewed in the New York Times and read by millions is not a realistic aspiration. I am no Jared Diamond in the rough. I won academic tenure, and that was enough. I have a house and a ten-year-old Beamer. I enjoy my little comforts. A small circle of friends, none close. I’d be the first to admit it’s been a mediocre life—outwardly.

But my secret life has been anything but mediocre. I have engineered extraordinary events, but truth be told, there is little joy in secret celebration. So I am creating this document, properly encoded and hidden, to save for posterity. When my unsurpassed run is finally over, due either to my natural demise or other more precipitous causes, my secret history will conjure itself from millions of computer screens unfiltered, unspun and uncut. The truth will be known. This is my story, and no one can take it from me. My name will ring down through the ages, when my complete story is told!

But not yet. There is more secret work to be done.

I did not drive seven hundred miles to ponder my life’s ledger and tap on a keyboard. What interested me was the creature standing on the other side of the white coffee shop counter. The gaunt, long-haired young man by the espresso machine could have been taken for a college student in a college town. Really not too bad looking in person. Pushing six feet, skinny. Gray-blue eyes, a little too closely set. Decent complexion for his age. Maybe a few days since his mouse-colored hair had been washed or properly brushed, but overall he was quite presentable. Duncan it said on his plastic name tag. I already knew that his last name was McClaren. I wasn’t in this picturesque college town by accident. I was here to meet him, but he didn’t know this.

Duncan McClaren was one of the most promising prospects I’d run down in years. My own students unknowingly provide me with many of my leads. We have free-ranging discussions, in and out of the classroom setting. From practice I know how to guide them toward a discussion of the weirdest people they’ve ever known. Duncan went to high school with one of my female students. His first name was mentioned casually by the student, tossed off her lips and promptly forgotten. Duncan sometimes heard voices, she said. Talked to himself. And he could not stop talking about whatever obsessed him at the moment. He cut right into conversations among people he hardly knew, and went off onto bizzaro-world tangents. And what really set him off was the country’s most famous talk radio host.

Following that disclosure I did my own internet research. There was only one Duncan listed in her year at her high school. As a professor, I stay on the cutting edge of internet trickery. A critical part of my secret avocation involves doing internet research without leaving digital fingerprints. My students constantly come up with what they believe to be new ways to cheat or plagiarize without detection, so I’ve become somewhat of an expert at internet security. I do not take risks. I’m a very careful person. Typing this secret history and hiding it inside my computer is perhaps the biggest risk I’ve taken.

In the course of my background investigation I learned that he had been expelled or otherwise ejected from high school numerous times. He’d been arrested and he’d been to juvenile boot camp. There were a number of sealed records and denied files, both medical and legal. But reading between the lines of what I could access, it was a safe guess that there had been serious drug use and there had been family violence. Rumors of arson at a very young age. His family had money and pull, and he was accepted for admission to an out-of-state institution of higher learning. His brief transcript was telling. His GPA for three completed semesters was made up equally of As and Fs. He had not finished his second year. No reason was given.

Since dropping out of college Duncan had been adrift for a year, hitchhiking around the country, supporting himself mostly as a dish washer or at other menial short-term jobs involving limited social interaction. On his own walkabout journey of self-discovery, to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was for the moment a barista in this New England college town, and I arranged for our paths to cross.

It’s always an intense moment, my first close look at a subject I’ve known only as an internet phantom. Duncan came over to take my order: regular coffee, with cream and sugar. When he filled my cup I laid a few dollars on the counter.

Duncan tapped the bills and said matter-of-factly, “So, somebody still believes in paper money.”

I looked directly at him and replied, “For some things, yes. Like paying for coffee.”

He returned my gaze, his eyes narrowed to slits and he said, “Smart. Fly under the radar. Render unto Caesar—while you can. But it’s all just a matter of time. Just a matter of time.” He slowly nodded his head, as if agreeing with himself.

To release his floodgates all I had to ask him was, “What do you mean?” Then I listened attentively to a five minute diatribe covering many tediously familiar theories and a few original ones. A thirtyish female with a severe hairstyle, whom I guessed was the café’s manager, edged over and tried to redirect my waiter. “Dunc,” she said breezily, “You’re not bothering this man, are you? No more talking about that bank stuff, right?”

Holding the full pot of hot coffee he slowly turned his entire body and fixed an icy glare upon her, but said nothing. He held his stare, boring into her with flat eyes. His arm seemed tensed to hurl the burning-hot brew at her. Her smile wilted, she turned and walked away. “She doesn’t understand,” said Duncan when she was gone. “Her mind is closed to the reality around her.”

“Does that bother you?” I asked him.

“I’m used to it. Ninety percent of humanity is closed off to reality.”

I laughed and said, “I think you’re giving humanity too much credit.”

He smiled in a peculiar way. One side of his mouth went up markedly while the other side remained nearly flat. “Yeah. Probably. Look, I have to serve some other humanity or I’m going to get canned. I’m on thin ice around here.”

Twenty-year-old Duncan, who had a post-graduate’s demeanor and a startlingly high IQ, had never held a job for longer than a month. He could operate independently in society as a functioning adult in most situations. He could shop for himself and drive a car. He’d briefly kept an apartment in college. But he could not hold a conversation without promptly veering into the Bush-family CIA dynasty, the truth about 9-11, the Jewish bankers, right-wing talk radio and God help me, the Queen of England.

Duncan was a bug. A raving lunatic. Yet in his outward appearance and mannerisms, he was as normal as you and I. But what does one’s outward appearance signify? The faces we show to the world are mere avatars, are they not? Who truly knows our inner hearts, our souls if you will? No one. Certainly not a God who doesn’t exist. So am I normal? Define normal. A sophomoric tautology. Yes, outwardly I can easily pass as normal, and I have for most of my forty-seven years. But inside? Honestly, what a question. Who wants to be no more than a random semi-conscious insect in a hive of billions?

Not me. No, I’m not normal, and have no desire to be.

Normal means average, and let me assure you, I’m way above average. Average people don’t make it their life’s work to ferret out certain types of borderline personalities and convert them into useful tools. As far as I know, I’m the only human toolmaker of my kind. No semi-sentient insect brain resides within my skull, making me a slave to laws, traditions or norms of so-called acceptable behavior. I operate outside of the rules of the hive, and I enjoy a freedom mere insects can never know. So what, you say? I’ll say what. By my actions I have personally changed the course of history, and I will do so again.

Can you say the same thing? What “normal” hive insect can claim to have done that?

Have there been others like me? I tend to think so, but it’s an area of pure conjecture. A familiar example. Most Americans dismissed the story of James Earl Ray’s mysterious helper, known only to him as “Raoul,” as a self-serving fantasy. I always thought that Raoul was more flesh than fantasy. James Earl Ray’s actions and travels before and after Memphis make me believe that he had assistance of the kind that I have given to some very special people.

If you take a ‘Parallax View’ of history, you might allow the possibility that rogue government agencies or other cliques could also be grooming likely candidates, but I tend not to believe in elaborate conspiracies. Could it happen? I suppose. But in my experience, no conspiracy involving a large cast of characters can remain a secret for many years.

On the other hand, the temporary private relationship between a mentor and a singular student, that relationship can indeed be kept a secret. My writing this secret history in freedom instead of in captivity proves that this is so. And even if one of my human tools is someday arrested alive, his mad barkings will be disregarded. His minor side-story of a mysterious helper, if heard at all, will be disregarded as just another in his cornucopia of delusions.

Converting a certain type of lunatic into a useful tool is not too difficult when you understand the dynamics that are in play. Practice makes perfect, and I’ve had a lot of practice. Good candidates for a direct action mission are often quite intelligent, at least as measured on certain scales. They can navigate by themselves between cities, and arrive at a place and time without causing alarm to the general population.

But in my experience the best candidates for a guiding hand are not true “loners.” They often seek friendship and employment, and they may even succeed for a while. But the men who interest me invariably sabotage their social relationships by compulsively discussing their paranoid obsessions. Each human rejection adds heat to their simmering rage. Yet still they crave human companionship, and simple affirmation of their delusional belief systems. This makes them soft putty at my touch. These men, deftly guided, become my arrows. To the world, these arrows seem to plunge at random from the clear blue sky. Sometimes they do, but not always!

It’s not hard to convert a lump of inchoate anger into an arrow. At first all I do is offer them a receptive ear, and confirmation that they are not alone in their beliefs. Our dialogues lead me toward the best approach to take. I adapt my temporary cover story to fit my current subject’s preexisting delusional views. In the past I’ve pretended to be a liaison from the CIA, from Mossad, from Al Qaeda. I’ve posed as a former leading member of the Trilateral Commission, now working against their globalist designs. Sometimes I’ve convinced them that their medications are part of a conspiracy to chemically lobotomize them, robbing them of their most brilliant insights.

After a few private conversations I eventually steer the subject to “doing something really important.” Hypothetically, of course. At least at first. Then we play a conversational game of, “If I could, I would.” A good prospect will soon be describing the precise medieval tortures, punishments and execution methods merited by his worst enemies. Once I have tapped into his personal fantasy realm of gory revenge, it’s “game on,” as they say in the vernacular.

At that point it really doesn’t matter to me who or what is the focus of the subject’s hate, or what group he blames for his own shortcomings or for the ills of the world. Left, right, capitalism, socialism, religion, nationalism…in truth I stopped caring very much about them long ago. When an action will advance the cause of social justice that’s great, but generalized mayhem is also a worthy end in itself. “The worse, the better,” in Lenin’s words. Create the pre-revolutionary conditions. Some days I still half believe the old dogma. But at least I’m not just another insect in the hive.

I slid my empty cup away, and awaited the return of my barista. In a minute I’d be commiserating with him, discovering that we were practically soulmates, rare men of true vision. Posing as an out-of-town business visitor, I’d ask him the best place in the area to eat. It would turn out that he and I shared similar culinary and beverage tastes, fancy that! And I’d gladly spring for lunch or dinner if he’d agree to be my local guide. Then we’d discuss further his hatred for the Jewish bankers who run the world, and the right-wing talk radio hosts who are their willing accomplices and mouthpieces. At least, in the world according to Duncan McClaren.

Right-wing talk radio was very much on my mind, because one of the icons of that loathsome industry was going to be passing through the region two weeks hence. Ben Rafferty wasn’t the king of right-wing hate radio, but he was one of the rising princes, nearly up there with the big three. Currently he was on a national book tour, promoting his latest toxic spill of racist hate-speech. Oh happy day, his entire schedule, with bookstore locations, dates and times, was available online.

I’d discovered some other useful information in an interview Rafferty had given to a pro-gun blog. The talk host traveled without an armed bodyguard, due to the vagaries of conflicting state gun laws. This was particularly a problem when flying into New York or New Jersey. It was just too damn hard to stay in compliance with a thousand local gun laws that could cause you to be imprisoned over a technical firearms violation. So instead of an armed bodyguard, he had some kind of karate guy for protection. An ex-soldier who had been wounded in one of America’s wars of imperialism. Poor Ben Rafferty, who never saw an assault rifle he didn’t want to French kiss, couldn’t have a gun during his East Coast book tour. Beautiful.

The imminent proximity of Duncan McClaren and Ben Rafferty had brought me seven hundred miles to this coffee shop. With a little stroking and massaging of Duncan’s twisted and deformed ego, I hoped to convince him that his empty life could at long last have genuine meaning. He could make a real difference! He could change the world! He could accomplish something important, and be remembered forever. I already had an untraceable pistol to provide him, if he proved receptive to my guiding hand. Oh, the mayhem potential, when one of the leading right-wing haters is finally knocked off! Mayhem-fest, indeed. Mayhem squared. Mayhem cubed!

Radio talker Ben Rafferty meant nothing to me, but he had millions of rabid right-wing followers who clung to his every screech and scream for three hours a day. After Duncan McClaren approached the book-signing table, pulled out his pistol and gave his miserable life meaning, Rafferty’s fans would rise en masse in blind rage. And a few of his most rabid fans, feeding their own dark fantasies, would predictably strike out in violent reprisal against progressive leaders. Secondary explosions, if you will. A chain reaction, possibly my greatest work ever.

Duncan returned to my end of the bar when he saw my empty cup. While he poured my refill I quietly said, “You know, you’re right about those Jewish bankers and how they control talk radio. They’re all in New York, right? I mean, most people have no idea what’s going on around them.”

His eyes widened and a half-smile formed on his lips. He set the coffee pot down and leaned on the counter until his nose was a foot from mine. One eyebrow raised in expectation above the high side of his demented grin. He glanced back down the counter to see who was in earshot and then said, “You know about the Illuminati, right?”

Did I ever.

I smiled.

This plan might actually work. I’d know better after a long conversation with Duncan McClaren in a dark restaurant. Duncan might be my masterpiece, the one to light the fuse of Civil War Two. And if he does, eventually I want the world to know who handed him the matches, the gun and Ben Rafferty’s book-signing schedule.

But for now just call me Professor Raoul X, a guiding hand of history.

*************************************

Fiction by Matthew Bracken, author of the Enemies Foreign And Domestic trilogy and the upcoming Castigo Cay.