#Violent men are not only in women’s prisons they are sharing cells with women

[coochiequeens]

These are a lot of examples of something that "never happens".

By Anna Slatz March 28, 2024

A female inmate at the Women’s Correctional Center in Washington has come forward to reveal that she was sexually assaulted by a violent transgender sex offender who was transferred into the women’s prison in 2021.

For the purposes of this article, the female inmate will be referred to as “Mary” in order to protect her privacy and prevent her from experiencing institutional repercussions.

Reduxx was provided Mary’s testimony through letters she passed on to an internal source, who then relayed the information out of the institution on her behalf.

Mary explains that the incident occurred in April of 2022 after a transgender inmate named Christopher Williams asked to be moved into her cell. Williams had previously been serving his sentence at a male facility, and has a criminal history including sex offenses and violent assault.

“Christopher asked if he could move into my room because he said his current roommate was bullying him … I had no issues with him being a transgender. But then he would make weird comments like ‘it hurts when it fills up with blood,’ like he wanted me to know when he was having an erection.”

Mary says that she became increasingly uncomfortable with Williams’ behavior towards her, which had a near-constant sexual undertone. At one point, Williams appeared to become frustrated with Mary’s lack of interest in him, and started issuing disturbing threats of sexual violence.

“He said to me, ‘I don’t know why you don’t want [my dick]. Everyone else does.’ Then he started to follow me into the bathroom. And one time he told me, ‘Just so you know, I can get you wherever I want.'”

Mary says she was voicing her concerns to staff, but was “pretty much being ignored.”

By Genevieve Gluck March 27, 2024

A trans-identified male who sexually assaulted three female employees at a disability support organization, of which he was a representative, has been sentenced to six years in prison for his crimes. Kazumi Watanabe, 57, who claims to “have a woman’s heart,” was sentenced March 27 at the Osaka District Court’s Sakai branch.

Watanabe was first arrested on February 7, 2023, after he was accused of sexual assault by multiple female staff members. At the time of his arrest, Watanabe was the owner and head of Aoi Sodanshitsu, a public company that provided services for disabled or otherwise disadvantaged individuals and their families. The company had an agreement with the municipal government of Takaishi, Osaka Prefecture, which referred people with vulnerabilities to Aoi Sodanshitsu for assistance when needed. Watanabe and his staff would then provide supportive consultations and referrals to relevant welfare services.

According to the indictment, Watanabe sexually assaulted multiple female employees and patrons of the business in 2021, luring them into a vulnerable position under the guise of giving them a “massage.” In order to make his victims comfortable enough to trust him, he’d claim he was not sexually attracted to women and had the “heart of a woman.” After they allowed him to touch their bodies, he would sexually assault them. In at least one of the cases, Watanabe raped a victim by forcible penetration.

One woman, in her forties, was a client of the disabilities counseling project. As Watanabe began to massage her, groping her breasts and genitals, he made comments about touching her “pubic bone,” and suggested he could make her breasts bigger, and made her walk around in her underwear.

In its decision, the District Court stated: “The method of committing the crime under the pretense of a offering a massage by lying about his gender identity was cunning, and the fact that he repeated it clearly showed that he had sexual distortions. He also took advantage of his position. This is a strong condemnation.”

By Anna Slatz March 26, 2024

A trans activist drag queen is standing trial for 2019 charges related to the sexual abuse of a teen boy he met through gay hookup app Grindr. Dwight Evan Chisholm, also known as “Sno Wight,” was already a lifetime entrant of the sex offender registry when he began grooming the boy.

As previously reported by Reduxx, Chisolm was initially convicted in 2011 on charges of sexually assaulting a child and sentenced to three years in prison in Brown County.

Upon his release in 2015, Chisolm was listed in official records as homeless and was therefore ordered to report his whereabouts to authorities on a weekly basis. But two years later, the Wisconsin Department of Corrections lost contact with Chisolm, who had stopped making the mandatory weekly declarations of his location. For the following year and a half, authorities were unable to locate him. 

In December of 2018, the state’s District Attorney’s office charged Chisolm with failure to provide information as a sex offender and a judge signed a warrant for his arrest.

That's a lot of sexual violence from mem who claim to be women

[vibrantbirdy]

No Survivors: Kylo Ren x Female Reader Fic

Title: No Survivors Fandom: Star Wars: Skywalker Saga Genres: Sci-Fi; Action/Adventure; Enemies to (almost) Allies; Hurt/Comfort; Romance if you squint Setting: Pre The Force Awakens Characters: Kylo Ren x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: 3k Warnings: Detailed (probably inaccurate) descriptions of injury/aftermath of injury (non-fatal impalement); descriptions of (probably inaccurate) emergency/makeshift medical treatment; mild descriptions of death from a crashed ship; mild sexuality; mild/canon typical swearing

Summary: You are Resistance fighter who has been captured. You are in transit aboard a First Order transport destined for an Imperial prison on the swamp moon of Delka 6. When a violent electromagnetic storm brings down the ship, you appear to be the only survivor. That is until you come across Supreme Leader Snoke's primary warlord, Kylo Ren, amid the wreckage. The volatile Ren is injured and you have to decide whether you can put your reservations aside to help him in the aftermath of the crash.

You open your eyes and your vison is blurry. Your head pounds. As the world languishes into focus, you realise that you are staring up at the clear night's sky.

But something is wrong. The constellations look strange tonight. Where is Sheyn's bow? And why does Terrin's saber have several stars missing from its hilt?

Slowly, you realise you are not lying on the soft grass in the meadow by your family's farm. Your sister is not here beside you. You are not laughing as you star gaze together and make up silly names for your own constellations.

Pekka's left knee. Channa's wonky nose.

You are not at home on Bakura at all.

Instead, you are wet through and frozen to your bones. You are lying in a marshy puddle, and sharp, thick reeds are stabbing uncomfortably into your flesh. Your saturated clothes are plastered unpleasantly to your cold skin. With each inhale, the damp smell of rot and sodden earth fills your nostrils. A cloud of tiny insects swarm around your face and bite at your skin, feasting on your blood. Then, you notice that your ankle is throbbing dully. You sit up to examine it, cringing and shivering as filthy bog water drips from the tangled mess of your soaking wet hair and down your back.

Not broken. Good.

The fuzzy outline of your memories start to take shape. This must be Delka 6, your destination. You remember the storm already raging as the prison transport juddered through orbit and into the moon's atmosphere. The sky alight with white fire flashing violently through the slit of a window in your cell. You hear the shouts and cries of others, the unholy metal screeching cacophony of the ship as rips itself apart around you spiral down helplessly into the black abyss.

You must have been thrown clear of the wreckage.

The transport had been moderately sized, equipped for long journeys with living quarters and communal areas for the Troopers and cells for twenty prisoners. Only six of these were filled by the time you reached Delka 6.

You didn't know any of them, at least not to begin with. But stuck with nothing else to do in a miserable cell for days on end, you'd joined in sharing tales through the bars with the rest of them. Stories of your family and friends and life before the First Order when you thought you might one day complete your medical training and become a doctor.

Your heart breaks for the lives lost. God speed rebels. Brave men and women of the Resistance, fighting the good fight, just like you.

That is until a botched recon job on a backwater world in the Outer Rim lead the First Order right to you...

You spot a flash of brilliant white a few meters in front of you, shocking against the grim landscape. You realise it's the helmet of a Stormtrooper, broken and smashed and sullied by the thick mud. You're surprised to feel a twang of of unexpected sympathy for the Trooper and his fallen comrades.

As you stagger to your feet, you wander aimlessly for a time, feet sinking and sticking in the marsh. Amongst the debris you come across the bodies of more Stormtroopers and fellow prisoners alike.

Here and there, fuel fires still burn ferociously, eerie little funeral pyres in the dark water.

Suddenly, a drawn out howl of pain and rage echoes across the marsh. You spin around, trying to pinpoint the location of the cry and spot a torn-off section of the transport.

You wade through the bog. It's unpleasant, especially with your aching ankle which complains as you have to rip it free of cloying, stinking mud with every step.

As you reach the remnant of the the vessel, you have to duck and weave under sparking wires and clamber over and under pieces of jagged metal. When you finally make it inside, the interior is surprisingly intact - an officer's personal quarters - and it's an odd and surreal juxtaposition to the hellish wasteland outside.

A tall young man, about your own age is half sitting, half lying on his bed. He is barefoot, clothed in simple sleeping attire of three-quarter length black pants and a loose long sleeved shirt.

He has a full head of thick, shaggy raven hair which falls in waves around his long, interesting face. His prominent, aquiline nose sits well with his other features - deep set eyes, full lips and a sharp well-defined jawline.

Under normal circumstances you would have considered him to be handsome, but you recognise him immediately even without his fearsome mask.

Kylo Ren.

You've heard the stories. Ren is Supreme Leader Snoke's formidable dark apprentice. Powerful with the Force, an elemental warrior driven by a mixture of blistering internal rage and radical First Order doctrine.

It all makes sense now. The strange, tense atmosphere between the Stormtroopers on the ship. They'd been so uptight, hardly deigning even to making a passing jest at the expense of their prisoners. All because Ren had been on the transport. Kriff knows why he needed to visit a backwater swamp like Delka 6.

Ren is propped up at an uncomfortable angle as if he has been interrupted while rising from the bed. Oddly, he is framed by a variety of metal spikes, as if the bed has been designed to resemble some dark, otherworldly throne.

After a moment, you realise that these spikes are actually durasteel rods from the ship's internal frame work. They must have slammed through the wall of Ren's sleeping quarters on crash impact.

With a jolt of horror, you suddenly understand that one rod is jutting upwards through his back and out through his left shoulder.

Ren is panting with exertion, breathing hard through his teeth. His brow is ridged in a deep furrow of pain. Sweat is dripping from tendrils of black hair into wild, anguished eyes and down his neck.

Sensing your presence, he looks up at you. His face is unguarded and softened by distress. In this moment, he appears disarmingly like any other young man.

"Please," he says quietly.

His tone is low and firm, but it is filled with a humility you don't expect. Still, you hesitate in the doorway, saying nothing. Your resolve solidifies and you stare coldly at him, wondering at the Universe's poetic sense of justice.

Ren's face hardens. Any hint of vulnerability present in his expression vanishes in an instant. His eyes darken like storm clouds as he comprehends that you are not going to help him out of his well deserved predicament.

He turns his attention back to the rod embedded in his shoulder . He puffs out his cheeks and gives a long, juddering exhale through his lips before wrapping two large, shaking hands around the pole and wrenching upwards.

It budges, but marginally, the slight movement serving only to send a new wave of agony tearing through his body. Ren snarls in pain and slams his head back against the wall in frustration, eyes squeezed shut.

After a moment, he plants both palms flat against the mattress and draws his knees up towards his body, positioning his feet flat on the bed below his bottom.

Your stomach lurches as you realise that in his desperation, he is going to try and push his body up and off the rod.

Kriff knows what he'll do to himself if he tries that and gets it wrong.

"Don't!" You shout out before you can help yourself, moving towards him instinctively, palms outstretched.

Ren looks up, narrowing his eyes and squinting at you, clearly startled to realise that you're still there.

You curse your medical training for kicking in automatically, but you know you can't leave him like this. As much as you'd like to. As much as it would be a fitting punishment for Snoke's war dog.

But you've made your decision. You stride over to him and put a hand on his heaving chest.

"Stop moving."

You are surprised as he immediately does as he is told. You look down into his pain clouded eyes and are surprised to find that they are not the black, emotionless pits you'd expected. There is a golden, amber light behind them and you realise that he really is just a man.

Climbing up on to the bed, you straddle Ren as if you are lovers. You rest a knee either side of his hips, sinking into the soft mattress and bringing yourself to rest gently on his lower abdomen. You are careful, but you feel his whole body vibrating with pain beneath you.

He looks surprised, but you ignore it. With how Ren is positioned and the need to avoid the other sharp pieces of metal jutting out dangerously from the wall, this really is the best and easiest way to assess the damage. You have a direct view of the exit wound in front of you, and you can appraise the entry wound in his back by leaning over his shoulder, all with a low chance of impaling yourself in the process.

Still, you can't help but feel a flash of satisfaction as his uncertain face flushes when you move around on top of him.

The placement of the wound is not the problem. There will be no permanent damage and Ren is extremely lucky that the metal didn't pierce a lung, or his heart.

If he has a heart, you think sourly.

The real issue, you realise, is that the pole is stuck fast through the back of the durasteel wall, gripped tightly in molten, twisted metal. No wonder he couldn't move it. You'll have to cut it and he'll have to pull it out in quick succession.

Now you know what you're working with, you grab the front of Ren's shirt and tear it open, revealing a chiselled torso. You can't stop the heat that creeps up into your cheeks and despite the pain he must be in, the most irritating ghost of a smirk flickers across Ren's face.

Now it's your turn to feel uncomfortable.

You strip him to the waist, carefully working the fabric away from the areas where the foreign element is impaled in his body.

"Where's your laser sword?" you ask.

"What?"

Ren speaks the word so quietly, but there is a sinister, cold edge to it. Suddenly the energy in the room feels heavy and oppressive.

"We need to cut this or you're not getting out," your words tumble from your mouth and you are furious that you've allowed this sudden change in his demeanour to ruffle you.

You clear your throat and the next time you speak, you've regained some composure.

"I haven't come across any actual medical equipment in this hell hole, so your lightsaber will have to do."

His expression is full of suspicion, but you hold his gaze defiantly. After a moment, he appears to acquiesce that he has no real choice.

"By the door."

He lifts his chin in the direction of the twisted sheet of metal that had once been the door to his quarters, and you see the weapon hanging from a belt on a hook on the wall.

Carefully, you extract yourself from Ren, trying not to hurt him further. It's difficult as the soft mattress bends and shifts under you. He places a big hand on the curve of your waist to help guide you and you try to ignore the glance that passes between you.

You walk across the room and unclasp the weapon from it's belt. You examine it, fascinated. The black hilt is an odd shape, roughly made, with its wiring exposed. It is far from the elegant thing you've heard described in the old tales of the Jedi Order.

But then, Kylo Ren is no Jedi.

You take up some of Ren's torn shirt, rip a length off and coil it into a something for him to bite down on. He looks at you, weary and resigned, before he takes it and positions it into his mouth, pliantly.

You make sure he understands that when he comes to pull the metal out, he must do it all in one go and make sure he follows the exact angle of the rod's path through his body.

You get him to sit up slightly. A growl, low and long resonates in his throat as he gingerly props himself up. The gap he has manged to make between his upper back and the wall is small, but you should be able to cut through the pole quickly without catching him with the blade.

Ren grips the base of the rod as close to the exit wound as he can. He takes a couple of deep, heaving breaths, clenches his jaw, then nods.

You flick the activation switch on the lightsaber's emitter and the laser roars into life, crackling and sputtering. You are suddenly overcome with an ugly feeling of power as you wield this deadly weapon. And you suddenly understand how vulnerable Ren is right now. Paralysed and defenceless before you. You could end his life in a second right here and no one would be any the wiser.

You'd be a hero of the Resistance... And a murderer and a coward for striking down an unarmed, wounded man.

So you don't.

Instead, you use the spluttering, fiery blade to quickly cut through the durasteel pole which impales Ren to the wall. The metal gives way like butter under a knife.

Ren doesn't hesitate. In one swift movement, he rips the pole from his shoulder as soon as you sever it. He gives a roar of anguish which hitches in his throat somewhere, and throws it across the room where it lands in a corner with a metallic clang.

Finally free, he leaps up from the bed as if distance from the place of his injury might help quiet the white hot pain flaring through his body. He staggers wildly and you step back out of the way, realising for the first time the enormity of his height. He collapses in a heap on the ground with a thud then rolls onto all fours, spitting the cloth out of his mouth.

Ren lets his forehead come to rest against the cool metal of the durasteel floor. He is gasping in deep, shuddering lungfuls of air, nostrils flaring with each ragged breath. You get the distinct impression he's trying not to throw up. His dark hair cascades about his face. One hand is pressed flush against the wound in his shoulder, the other, supporting his body weight, is clenching open and shut against the floor, fingers clawing at the metal tiles.

"Thank you," he utters, finally.

He doesn't move, he doesn't even look at you, but you are taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. He means it.

"Don't thank me yet," you snip coolly, "that's bound to get infected. Bacta spray?"

Ren shakes his head, although in his exhaustion, he doesn't bother to lift it from its resting place against the floor. The tip of his long nose graces the metal tiles with the movement. Ren is bleeding freely down his back and rivulets of crimson are seeping through his fingers where he is pressing against his shoulder. Bright red drops spatter on the metal floor.

You need to do something soon.

The hilt of Ren's lightsaber is still in your hand and you reignite it. Ren's head snaps up and you realise you've made a dangerous mistake by arming the blade without consulting him first.

You've heard stories about how he can hurt people, throw them about like ragdolls with just with his mind.

"We need to cauterize the wound," you explain quickly, "I can't see another option right now."

You think you see a shadow of panic cross his face, but he quickly composes himself and he nods once in reluctant ascent. With great effort, he pushes himself up to his knees and sits back on his heels. With resigned, laboured movements, he reaches out and picks up the throng of twisted fabric, placing it back between his teeth.

You move behind him. His shoulders rise and fall rapidly as his heart rate quickens and adrenaline surges through his body. Just a touch should do it, you don't want to cause more damage.

Grimacing with concentration, lightsaber feeling clumsy and unwieldy in your hand, you press the searing blade lightly against the entry wound in his back.

Ren throws his head backwards, muscles tensing down his long neck. A muffled scream escapes through the material in his mouth, but he doesn't move. He is gripping his knees tightly and you notice his knuckles are white.

You crouch down in front of him and prepare to cauterize the exit wound. He locks his gaze on you, the unstable red beam of his weapon dancing like fire in his golden eyes. He reaches out grasps the emitter, large hands coming to rest upon yours, enveloping them. His touch is almost gentle.

It's a silent plea for a moment to brace himself. It's back again, you realise, that sliver of humanity in his expression.

He inhales deeply, readying himself, then lets go of you. Without wasting time, you press the blistering blade against his shoulder once more.

This time he makes little sound, save for a low keening in his throat as he grits his teeth against the twisted length of fabric in his mouth. He keeps his penetrating gaze fixed on your eyes. You don't look away.

After it's done, you give him a small nod of approval and allow the trace of a smile to form on your lips. He did well.

You both sit down on the bed again and you set to work, using the rest of his tattered shirt to fashion a sub-par bandage which wraps around his wounded shoulder and across his muscled back.

"You're a medic."

It's not really a question, but a statement.

"I was," you say sharply, "before the First Order turned the hospital I was training at into ashes."

Silence.

You finish your work on his injury.

"There, try not to move it too much."

Once you've finished, he rises and you notice in alarm the way he towers above you. He looks down with an odd, appraising look on his face, as if he is trying to make a decision.

"Come with me."

You don't see how you can argue. You both clamber outside and you recoil as the stench of rotting vegetation from the swamp hits your nostrils. Still, you welcome the cool air on your face after the heat of your exertions and the metallic smell of Ren's blood.

"A rescue vessel will arrive soon," Ren states.

You say nothing. Some rescue.

"There is a settlement ten klicks west of here," he muses, almost casually.

"I came to look in to reports of a Resistance faction operating on this moon," he continues, "But having had the opportunity to thoroughly investigate, I will be able to report back to the Supreme Leader that this is no more than mere rumour. For now."

Ren turns to you. There is a smirk on his face and a spark of humour in his eyes. It makes his expression boyish and almost charming.

There it is again, you think. That light in the darkness.

You can't bring yourself to thank him. The words refuse to leave your mouth. But you do allow yourself to give him a reluctant half-smile of your own in return and an inclination of gratitude with a bob of your head.

With that, you set off across the bog and into the unknowns of Delka 6.

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

Kylo Ren watches as you limp westwards across the marsh. You disappeared into a cover of stunted trees and out of his sight.

Behind him, a Lambda shuttle descends. He holds the emitter of his lightsaber in one hand and his mask in the other, both salvaged from the wreckage.

Boarding the ship, Ren ignores the almost imperceptible turn of heads from the Stormtroopers who line the durasteel ramp as he traipses slowly up it bloody, filthy, shirtless and barefoot.

As he passes the Captain at the top of the ramp he utters two words in a flat, level monotone.

"No survivors."

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"The RCMP tried to place plants among the internees, false prisoners whose mission was to spy on the other internees. Patrick Lenihan reports that it happened twice, although this author has uncovered only one occasion. This involved a man who arrived from Montreal in March, 1942 named Paul-Henri Robert. Some of the French-Canadian internees knew Robert. Jean Bourget and Joseph Duchesne had known him in a Montreal group that defended the unemployed called Ouvriers Unis. His behaviour with this organization, always calling for violent demonstrations and confrontations with the police, led some of the internees to believe that he was an agent provocateur, working for the authorities. If Robert was sent to spy, he was not very effective for he even admitted that he had once been an RCMP officer, who had been mistakenly sent to Hull rather than Petawawa. Robert shared a cell with Jacques Villeneuve and described to his cell-mate the circumstances of his most recent arrest which led him to Hull. Robert claimed he had been arrested for making anti-British remarks while in a tavern. The story sounded strange, at least in the opinion of Bourget, Duchesne, Villeneuve, Rodolphe Majeau, and Roméo Duval, who wrote to Major Green on March 25, 1942, demanding that Green get rid of Robert since they believed he was a stool-pigeon, a spy, a plant. Green refused to acquiesce to the demands, maintaining that he had no idea who Robert was. The internees made life miserable for Robert, isolating him, and threatening to beat him. Was this an instance of the Hull internees being paranoid about someone they did not like from the outside world? Possibly, but when Major Green [camp commandant who liaised with the RCMP to report on internee conduct] was transferred to the POW camp for German soldiers at Bowmanville, near Oshawa, Ontario, on April 15, 1942, the very same day, Robert was transferred to Petawawa. The whole incident is unclear but shows, nevertheless, that the internees, at the very least, were concerned about spies among their ranks.

...

A phenomenon readily detectable was the censorship to which the internees were subjected. Letters from family were intercepted and delivered. Mention of news from the outside world, including actions being taken by lawyers on behalf of internees, was removed from letters. The internees were not allowed to use terms such as ‘anti-fascist’ to describe themselves, nor were they allowed to refer to Hull as a ‘concentration camp’. 

Censorship was a regular part of military life during the war. Soldiers were required to be circumspect in describing their whereabouts or activities, and their communications both to and from were subject to censorship. Applied to the internees, however, censorship was just one more limitation of their civil rights, which provided dubious military benefits, at best. Sometimes, correspondents of internees were objects of investigation; this was especially the case for soldiers who were sons of the internees.

According to a Cabinet order of May, 1940, the federal government was responsible for social assistance provided by municipalities to the families of internees, but this did not mean much if municipalities refused to provide this assistance, or if the amounts were too little. The trust companies working for the Trustee of Enemy Properties froze assets of the internees and their families. The internees were not permitted visits by their families, always an object of contestation by the internees. Nonetheless, Jenny Freed did lead a delegation of wives, who hitchhiked from Montreal to the Hull prison, and caused quite a commotion when the men were able to talk to the women, who were standing outside the prison walls. 

In October, 1941, the authorities began permitting conjugal visits to Hull. John McNeil’s  wife from Winnipeg was the first to visit her husband. In November, 1941, other visits followed, and they soon become typical, even if not too intimate since the visits were limited to thirty minutes in the presence of guards. Visits from others were also controlled, including even one official visit from the Premier of Quebec, Adélard Godbout.

Godbout was allowed to meet Colonel Sherwood, commandant of the Ottawa  region, and Major Green, during a visit in Hull in October, 1941. While Godbout was permitted to inspect the quarters of the guards, the Army did not allow Godbout, accompanied by local politicians from Hull, inside the prison to visit the internees’ quarters. His only contact with the internees that was permitted was listening to a few songs sung by a choral group of the internees."

- Michael Martin, The Red Patch: Political Imprisonment in Hull, Quebec during World War 2. Self-published, 2007. p 159-160

[straydog733]

Reading Resolution: "The Incredible Events in Women’s Cell Number 3" by Kira Yarmysh

9. A book written in Russia: The Incredible Events in Women’s Cell Number 3 by Kira Yarmysh

List Progress: 12/30

When we as a society hold someone captive in a prison, jail or detention center, what are we trying to achieve? The main character of Kira Yarmysh’s The Incredible Events in Women’s Cell Number 3 is sentenced to ten days in a detention center in Moscow after she participated in an anti-corruption rally. Is society safer without her in public life for ten days? No, because she was never violent. Will she learn a lesson from her time in prison? No, because she was protesting corruption in the first place, and exposure to the prison system certainly won’t change her mind. Will anyone’s lives be better because of her ten day imprisonment? No, and yet carceral systems all over the world are based around holding people for various lengths of time for no real purpose. The Incredible Events in Women’s Cell Number 3 is at its strongest when it is investigating this system and the assumptions built into it. Unfortunately, these messages get buried in a lot of lackluster character work and some underdeveloped attempts at magical realism, making the novel as a whole a bit of a jumble.

Kira Yarmysh is the press secretary and assistant of Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny, and The Incredible Events is her first novel. While it is a piece of fiction, Yarmysh shares a lot of backstory with Anya, and has spent time in detention centers after protests and political actions. The novel shines when it is just about Anya navigating the absurdity of the detention center. She is held in the titular Cell Number 3, the only women’s cell in an otherwise male facility, with five other women from various walks of life, each serving similarly short sentences for petty crimes. The inmates serve as a cross-section of contemporary Russian culture, from an older woman who has spent time in an actual prison camp and considers the center a cake-walk, to a young sugar baby who wants to get back to her life of thinly-veiled sex work with rich men. They are all tossed in together, but no one is around long enough to develop a real prison culture, so it is just an odd break from the rest of their lives. 

Unfortunately, Anya ends up being the least interesting of the inmates, and the novel spends long periods of time flashing back to formative parts of her life. It is notable that she is a queer woman in Russia, and she navigates some difficult situations throughout her life, but none that feel especially worthy of close study. She also starts seeing visions while in the detention center, the supposed incredible events, and it is unclear whether there are supernatural elements at play or if some latent mental illness is coming to the surface in the face of the stress of incarceration. But the book keeps with this ambiguity far too late into the run, making the final conclusion feel very abrupt and tacked on. Moving some of the revelations earlier and cutting some of Anya’s story would make for a tighter, more powerful book, rather than the slightly bloated final product.

Yarmysh has a good sense for atmosphere and dialogue, which will hopefully be honed in later works, but The Incredible Events in Women’s Cell Number 3 still needs a fair amount of tweaking in the plot and character departments. But the parts that are powerful still work, which all adds up to a bit of a shrug.

Would I Recommend It: Soft yes.

[tixythepixy]

A 2018 report from the Indiana University Maurer School of Law along with a subsequent report in the UCLA Journal of Gender and Law, found that it was common for trans women placed in men's prisons to be assigned to cells with aggressive cisgender male cellmates as both a reward and a means of placation for said cellmates, so as to maintain social control and to, as one inmate described it, "keep the violence rate down". Trans women used in this manner are often raped daily. This process is known as "V-coding", and has been described as so common that it is effectively "a central part of a trans woman's sentence". The report also found it common for correctional officers to publicly strip search trans women inmates, before putting their bodies on display for not only the other correctional officers, but for the other prisoners. Trans women in this situation are sometimes made to dance, present, or masturbate at the correctional officers' discretion. The prisoners serving as customers for these women are informally referred to as "husbands". A 2021 California study found that 69% of trans women prisoners reported being made to perform sexual acts they would have rather not, 58.5% reported being violently sexually assaulted, and 88% overall reported being made to take part in a "marriage-like relationship". Trans women who physically resist the customer's advances are often criminally charged with assault and placed in solitary confinement, the assault charge then being used to extend the woman's prison stay and deny her parole.

This not only happens in the USA, but happens globally and there has been documented cases of it happening in France and the UK as well.

Many people aware of it fear that it will drastically increase after Trump's Project 2025 as trans women are arrested and imprisoned for simply existing in public, this is a real possibility, and the influence can spread globally to cause other nations to do this too.

Best I can say is: SPREAD AWARENESS PEOPLE!

I saw this on reddit and it's really important to share so please share this especially if you have a lot of reach, this is absolutely horrifying and it needs to be stopped.

[oilgroove]

That is a very upbeat statement

On 20 January 2004, George Bush Jr. the President of the United States gave his last (?) State of the Union Address. In this article, I will point out 25 fallacies of the speech on the war on terror. Fallacy 1. "By bringing hope to the oppressed and delivering justice to the violent, [the American servicemen and women] are making America more secure." Apologists of the war on terror are quick to point out that there have not been any major attacks on the U.S. since September 11, 2001. But what of the numerous terror alerts? And how did the deadly toxin ricin recently find its way into the US Senate for the second time! Or did & PTFE Bushes Manufacturers 8216;Senator' Ricin, the ‘terrorist,' win a re-election into the upper house? Does that not show that the terrorists still present a clear and present danger? Clearly an early warning signal! Fallacy 2. "Each day, law enforcement personnel and intelligence officers are tracking terrorist threats; analysts are examining airline passenger lists; the men and women of our new Homeland Security Department are patrolling our coasts and borders. And their vigilance is protecting America." Americans and indeed the world should not live under the false hope of being protected by the intelligence officers. Because the terrorists themselves are becoming more creative. Who has ever heard of shoe bombers before? The U.S. House Democratic Leader Nancy Pelosi exposed this illusion in her speech: "One hundred percent of containers coming into our ports or airports must be inspected. Today, only 3 percent are inspected. One hundred percent of chemical and nuclear plants in the United States must have high levels of security. Today, the Bush Administration has tolerated a much lower standard. One hundred percent of the enriched uranium and other material for weapons of mass destruction must be secured. Today, the Administration has refused to commit the resources necessary to prevent it from falling into the hands of terrorists." In this case, is America protected? If the answer is no, what about other countries with less security measures and porous borders? Fallacy 3. "We have not come all this way, through tragedy, and trials, and war, only to falter and leave our work unfinished." The war on terror is an unfinished business. In fact, the battle has only begun. Commenting on this, the New York Times Magazine said that the war on terror "is the beginning of an epic battle." And to support this, La Repubblica newspaper said: "Today we get the feeling that we are living in the middle of a tornado, an unparalleled catastrophe." Those are not the right words to describe the end of a story. Fallacy 4. "And by our will and courage, this danger must be defeated." That is a very upbeat statement. On 24 July 2003, US Vice-President Dick Cheney also sounded oracular when he said: "One by one, in every corner of the world, we will hunt the terrorists down and destroy them." Al-Qaeda has now mutated into multifaceted anonymous groups. And this new phase is more dangerous than the former centralized visible organization. Take a warning: Do not go to some radical Muslim country to search for terrorists. Because that your prodigal son, or your estranged husband, or in fact, that distant relative of yours may be a terrorist. A roll call in the prison at Guantanamo Bay reveals that even some Americans and Britons—citizens of two nations in the forefront of the war on terror—have been "Talibanized." Besides, these groups are becoming more desperate. They have succeeded in their use of surface-to-air missiles (SAMS)—tumbling down military aircrafts at will in Iraq. And make no mistake about it: these cave dwellers may crack a dirty nuke somewhere someday, or unleash a deadly plague. In that case, how would the world respond? Detonate a nuclear bomb? So you can see that "we are perilously near a new international anarchy" according to the Washington Post. The war on terror, therefore, is not winnable. Fallacy 5. "And one of these essential tools is the Patriot Act, which allows Federal law enforcement to better share information, to track terrorists, to disrupt their cells, and to seize their assets." Terrorism can not be wiped out by legislation. After all, these are man-made laws and man himself is imperfect. There must be loopholes, and the terrorists exploit the weakness of the system. Now, what if they stop living in cells? Or what if they stop keeping their money in banks? Then they would be as elusive as the shadows. Fallacy 6. "We are tracking al-Qaida around the world and nearly two-thirds of their known leaders have now been captured or killed. Thousands of very skilled and determined military personnel are on the manhunt, going after the remaining killers who hide in cities and caves—and, # one by one, we will bring the terrorists to justice." It is true that most of the key terrorist suspects—including Saddam Hussein—have either been arrested or eliminated. But according to Time Magazine, "Lopping off the beast's head may not kill the body." If Saddam or Osama bin laden are hanged today, more Saddams and Osamas will rise tomorrow. Terrorists want attention. And that is why various groups are eager to claim credit for any attack—even though they are not responsible. In like manner there may be a lord of the flies waiting for Saddam and Osama to pass on before taking center stage and bringing his pursuers to ‘justice.' Fallacy 7. "The United States and our allies are determined. We refuse to live in the shadows of this ultimate danger." Right? Wrong! We must continue to live in the shadows of the terrorists. This is because terrorism is as old as the history of man on this planet—6,000 years. We have never left its shadows. Rather, terrorism continues to increase with the passing of the day. It is no wonder that Time Magazine remarks: "Determining whether the West is gaining in the fight against terrorism requires interpreting shadowy, shapeless data. Yet this much can be safely said: international terrorism existed long before 9/11 and will continue long after that." This is the message of my published book, CHASING SHADOWS!: A Dream. (A book that reveals the terrorists' master plan to finally set the world on fire! ) Terrorism starts from the heart and mind, and this is fueled by the hypocrisy and double standard in this world—two things that are not in a hurry to go away. In this regard, killings and destruction will exacerbate, rather than stop terrorism. When will the world address the issues that cause this evil, instead of chasing shadows? Fallacy 8. "The first to see our determination were the Taliban, who made Afganistan the primary training base of al-Qaida killers. As of this month, that free country has a new constitution, guaranteeing free election and full participation by women." Afganistan is not a free nation. Terrorist attacks and bombings are the order of the day—signifying that the Taliban and al-Qaeda are back. Warlords are also doing their thing. The only ‘free' place in Afganistan is the capital Kabul. Some Afgans even long for the return of the Taliban because of security concerns. Democracy itself is not an insurance against terrorism—some ‘democrats' are known to terrorize their subjects. Ask Zimbabweans. Fallacy 9. "Since we last met in this chamber, combat forces of the United States, Great Britain, Austrialia, Poland and other countries enforced the demands of the United Nations, ended the rule of Saddam Hussein—and the people of Iraq are free." The U.N. did not send any country to invade Iraq and change its regime. It was a unilateral action, a pre-emptive war, which itself is a weapon of mass destruction. Says Nancy Pelosi: "But even the most powerful nation in history must bring other nations to our side to meet common dangers. The President's policies do not reflect that. He has pursued a go-it-alone foreign policy that leaves us isolated abroad and that steals the resources we need for education and health care here at home." The Iraqi government was toppled on the excuse that it possessed dangerous weapons that could sink the world in 45 minutes. (Sorry, Lord Hutton has cleared British Prime Minister Tony Blair, for sexing up the report on Iraq. Let's blame the BBC.) But about a year after the invasion and the collateral damage of Iraq—and after a thorough search of the deserts and tunnels in that country, no such weapons have been found! Again in the words of Nancy Pelosi: "The President led us into the Iraqi war on the basis of unproven assertions without evidence; he embraced a radical doctrine of pre-emptive war unprecedented in our history; and he failed to build a true international coalition." Fallacy 10. "These killers, joined by foreign terrorists, are a serious, continuing danger. Yet we are making progress against them." This was in reference to the American war in Iraq. The President did not mention the over 500 American troops that have been killed and the thousands that are wounded. Nor did he mention the scores of daily attacks against American soldiers, or the crashing planes. Is it progress when servicemen and women are killed or maimed? This reminds me of the saying: winning the war is not winning the peace.

[trickstercaptain]

JACK, MASCULINITY & BISEXUALITY.

          so I’ve made absolutely no secret of the fact that one of the big things I love about Jack as a character ( among plenty, plenty of other things ) is how he challenges traditional ideas of masculinity, and I’m gonna use this meta opportunity to elaborate on that and hopefully connect it to Jack’s sexuality ( mostly within his canon verses, though a lot of this does also apply to his modern verse ). the long and the short of it is that Jack is simultaneously allowed to be a badass and admirable to the audience and display selfishness, cowardice, his own quirks and his desire to avoid violence wherever possible. the first two demonstrate the perks of being an anti-hero, but it’s the last one that I’m going to talk about first: Jack does not like violence. he will choose methods of solving a problem that avoid, where possible, the use of brute force, even when it puts him at a disadvantage. he chooses not to shoot Will in order to escape the smithy in CotBP despite that proving to be the easiest way out, and he is told by Barbossa in that same movie that it’s likely the mutiny would not have happened if he hadn’t been such a merciful captain. we are encouraged to like him as an audience because he uses his wits to get out of trouble, and we are encouraged to like him in spite of the fact that he is the worst swordsman of the franchise, relatively speaking, and that he in fact loses every single fight he is a part of ( unless he cheats, which he does frequently ). 

        second, he is also allowed to be quirky. a lot of this links in with the idea that Jack is an archetypal trickster: he is transgressive on purpose because that is what a trickster does. he breaks the rules because it’s fun, he manipulates others because it’s fun, he gets bored easily and uses trickery and deceit to get ahead of his opponents while casting himself as a fool. tricksters also tend to have a very fluid attitude towards gender because, once again, it is another way to transgress boundaries, and there’s certainly an undeniable sense of androgyny to Jack. I’m not here to label him as anything because a) in Jack’s canon any modern ideals just wouldn’t apply and b) he is still a man and, more importantly, still benefits consistently in his narrative from being a man, so this androgyny is purely in how he outwardly expresses himself rather than the result of any internal struggle. he is experimental and individualistic and this is one of many ways in which Jack’s character draws on the rock star tradition ---- particularly the rock star tradition of challenging masculinity with the way they dressed on stage ( think Bowie, Jagger and Hendrix ).

         but this sometimes effeminate expression of his sense of self does make it more difficult to be taken seriously by others, both within his own social strata of fellow pirates and outside of it: he wears kohl that, while practical, accentuates his pretty boy, fey image, he wears his hair long and braided ( which isn’t necessarily a sign of “femininity” in itself, though he combines this with tying trinkets and beads and jewellery into it ), he sways as he walks ( again, a practical response to being on a ship for long periods of time, but isn’t something that Jack ever seeks to correct in order to appear more intimidating ) and is fond of theatrical gesturing which, yes, feeds into a stereotype but means that in no way does he carry himself in a typically masculine way. for instance, the way Jack sits: while yes there are times when he deliberately kicks his feet up on the table to occupy extra space and piss people off, he doesn’t consistently sit down in a way that emphasises his physical power or dominance ---- in fact, in the last multiple Jacks scene in AWE, when Jack is talking to himself in the brig, we see one of the clones crossing his legs with his hands on his lap as he sits on the bench ---- something I would argue is rather reserved and not overly masculine in nature.

        now there’s an argument to be made that Jack uses his effeminacy to his advantage, in the same way that a trickster would bend any rule that benefitted him, and that this isn’t the true him, but I’d argue that, while there is of course an element of using that behaviour to encourage others to dismiss him as a fool of no consequence, it is too consistent for it to be an act, particularly as it causes him as many problems as it does solutions. it’s absolutely in his nature. another great example I want to draw on is in The Price of Freedom, where Jack uses his “sexuality” ( I use this word loosely as it’s really the only way to describe what he does lmao ) to unsettle one of Teague’s lieutenants and jailors and throw him off, both while he’s been searched airport security style and while he’s trying to conspire with Christophe to break him out of Shipwreck’s cells.

“Roger, old chum, unless you want to cause me embarrassment—and yourself a lifelong case of envy—by demanding that I actually produce the goods for your delectation…er…inspection, I’d suggest you desist.” He batted his eyes at Teague’s lieutenant.

[...] Without answering, Jack abruptly turned to confront Mortensen, who was looming behind him, scarcely a handbreadth away. “I don’t care if you’re present, Roger, but must you breathe down the back of me neck?” He rolled his eyes. “Or are you trying to work up the courage to grab me backside and give it a squeeze?” He’d spoken loudly, and his voice carried to all Christophe’s crewmen. The cell-bound pirates laughed, whistled, and jeered obscene suggestions at Mortensen.

        I love this scene because it shows how Jack switches effortlessly between typically masculine and typically feminine behaviour and uses both to achieve what he wants. the seductive act of flirting with Mortensen ( despite the fact that Jack is twenty in this scene and is very likely half the age of the jailor in question lmao ) to throw him off is a very femme fatale sort of solution ( and that is an archetype that Jack plays around with a lot ), but being a man adds an element of what I spoke of earlier too ---- that he’s more likely to be dismissed as an irritating little shit and not someone who is conspiring to break someone out of the cells. he also relies on the hyper-masculinity he is surrounded by when he speaks loudly enough for all of the pirates in the cells to hear and jeer Mortensen in response, further embarrassing him and diverting his attention long enough for Jack to make his intentions to Christophe clear.

        because this is the thing about pirates, friends. yes, they were largely accepting of and/or unbothered by homosexual behaviour, and had crews who operated in a far fairer way than many merchant or naval ships of the same period, but they are still male-dominated environments. female pirates are rare as far as historical records show purely because we only know for sure that a few were women. women would, for the most part, have to adopt masculine traits in order to exist in the same space, and many would and did disguise themselves as men in order to achieve this. Jack is therefore something of an anomaly in his challenge of male gender norms ---- he could act more like your typical brutish, violent male captain and have a far easier time of it because that’s ultimately the sort of behaviour that is rewarded in this hyper masculine space, but he doesn’t, and this is where he stands out and positions himself as an outsider even in the profession he had literally branded into his arm.

        Jack has also been directly hurt by this culture of hyper masculinity, too. it’s clear that his grandmother sees him as an easy target for her abuse because he both struggled to and didn’t want to conform, and he faces similar criticism from Teague because of his non-violent personality. in his attempt to not become like Teague, too, Jack internalises his own anger and aggression which makes him self-destructive as opposed to outwardly destructive to others. Christophe is the most similar pirate in the franchise to Jack in terms of the flamboyant way in which they both present themselves ( and Jack is no doubt influenced by Christophe in that respect, though that’s another meta entirely ), but Jack does not share his ruthless, amoral personality. and he is mutinied against by Barbossa because people are easier to search when they’re dead. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, but it speaks to the strength of Jack’s character that he remains a largely good-hearted individual when it ultimately comes down to it, and did not contort his sense of self in order to make his life easier.

        so linking all of this into his sexuality, while Jack is bisexual by modern definitions of the word and does not have any shame associated with it due to the openness of pirates to living outside of the established norm ( and the fact that Jack grew up among these pirates, so would likely have not realised the extent of the prejudice that existed until he joined the merchant service and entered into civilised society ---- and I mean, when he did he was called a molly at one point by Mercer ), he was never properly taught how to have a healthy relationship with another man, whether romantically/sexually or not. Jack doesn’t really have many positive close relationships with other men to draw on ( Robby and Gibbs are of course the exceptions, and they are both extremely important ) and all of the betrayals in his life until Elizabeth come from men. moreover, just because pirates were more accepting of homosexual relations between men, doesn’t necessarily mean that pirates should be held up as paragons of healthy behaviour lmao, both in general and in regards to male on male relationships. ships are male dominated microcosms in the same way that all-male prisons are. and this is why Jack does develop one toxic male trait: the inability to express his emotions in a constructive and open way.

        Jack therefore, for the most part, just doesn’t like men. he knows how to get along with them, he certainly has a brothers-in-arms approach to his crewmates and isn’t beyond liking the odd one or two, like Robby and Gibbs ---- and it is certainly a theme that Jack is drawn to those soft, non-threatening, nurturing sorts of men ( to fill a void of nurturing behaviour in his life, imo ). of course he has trashy taste too thanks to the lingering damage of his crush on Christophe and living and growing up in the sort of environment that rewards hyper-masculine behaviour, but his most successful relationships with men are those he doesn’t perceive as threatening, and those who are happy to compliment rather than challenge him in his position as captain.

       meanwhile, he loves women. absolutely fucking adores them, and I don’t mean this just in a sexual way, but in a genuinely appreciative way too. he craves their company and prefers their company to men ( he is honestly so much happier sat at a table with five other women than he is sat with five other men ), and I think this is because he’s more likely to find acceptance with them than he is men, and historically speaking in his life has found greater understanding and affection and care from women than he ever has from his own sex. and I think in turn, because he too is a very non-threatening sort of man, absolutely a woman’s man like my god, is why he is generally adored so much by the women in his life in spite of his flaws and lesser traits lmao. why do Giselle and Scarlett constantly let him back into their lives?? because yes he’s fun and  good in bed but, if Jack’s list of corrected lies to them at the end of AWE is any indication, he also spends a considerable amount of time just talking to them, spending time in their company and getting to know them.

[wokeastroke]

Oubliette

Tirian had never expected to own a dungeon. He never saw the need. When a man kills, when a man steals, he is either killed or beaten within an inch of his life. Why would he want to keep them? Why torment them further when a beheading was arguably cleaner, less expensive, easier?

But the beast had long since turned his mind into it’s stomping grounds. It’s violent and eternal brain set on very simple and easily accomplished goals. It recognized the enemies about it, the weak ones, the loyal ones. And it recognized itself. When Tirian’s black, dead end eyes met the shining, glittering ones of Riva Ban’dinoriel, there was kinship. The predator that had taken her was a cousin, a sister in murder that thrives on the more subtle methods of domination. In a way it felt weaker, it’s slithering, snake-like appearance easy to stomp underfoot. But never would the bull stomp upon the snake, for fear of the poison in its fangs.

“Oh Tirian, do not look at me with those dark eyes. I’m tired of feeling like you’re going to sling me upon my table and ravish me. Or kill me.”

Tirian scoffed at the doctor, sitting upon her much-to-big leather chair, writing in her leather bound notebook. He was, conversely, seated on a hard wooden stool. Of his own choosing, as before they ever descended into the bowels of Ghostlynn, he needed clarity. It appeared a hard wooden surface under his ass was helpful in that regard. “Never either, Riva. I adore you but I wouldn’t want to break you. And gods know we’re close as can be without blood in the mix.”

Riva made a noise of annoyance. She never enjoyed being told she could not handle something, even if it was a coupling she had no desire to enjoy. Sex was a tool, as much as any drug, and only one had ever enjoyed Riva’s attentions without ulterior motives driving the doctor’s movements. The very thought brought a sigh to her precious lips and a purring from within her, her own beast remembering and appeasing itself with that memory. The doctor scratched a few more things into her notebook, in a script that she’d developed for note taking of this caliber. The symbols were foreign, the entire book looking more like the scratching of a madwoman than the murderous, bloody examination of a gift she and the broad elf before her shared.

A gift, she called it. As it was. It was through the beast that she’d survived being locked underground with a beast of nightmares, it’s mouth vomiting viscous purple slime and it’s wails loud and haunting enough to drive most mad. She tittered to herself, drawing a flick of an ear from Tirian. Perhaps it HAD maddened her. What other than a madwoman would claw her way through half a mile of dirt, stone, and mud with nothing but her nails? She’d broken, that terrible day. And then she’d been remade. A darling, precious doctor turned into a... well.

Tirian cleared his throat, pulling her from her musings. As much as he enjoyed sitting still and watching her quill’s large and ridiculous feather bob and bounce, he did not come down here to watch it. He was here for another reason entirely, one that left his knee bouncing impatiently and his brows furrowing further with each minute he was made to wait.

Riva was the master of the Oubliette, a dark pit where the worst of the Blackrose Duchy found themselves. The worst that could not be turned towards something useful of course, or be caught and gifted to the more elegant dungeons of Vynlorin. Killers had their place, beneath Lord Felo’dorah. If they could not be tempered, would not submit to the king of murderers, they were no better than rabid dogs. They were worse, as even Primrose had been capable of controlling the hounds of the woods. No, this scum had no purpose other than one, one he and Riva had begun to take part in together. A strange sort of bonding, one part madness, another part hunger. Altogether, purely violent. Tirian had come to make good on this violence, to enjoy it to its fullest in a place where not even the guard could save their shared prey.

“You’re taking too long. Make your notes when we’re finished, but I’m hungry now and I know you are too. Get up, let’s go.”

Without waiting for her, Tirian rose to his feet. The room they were in was dark and cold, burrowed and constructed beneath the grounds of Ghostlynn by a thousand worker rats, all vehemently loyal to their god-queen. Tirian’s lip curled up, exposing his teeth in disgust as the vermin skittered about, on various tasks for her. They gave him a wide berth, respectful distance. They were loyal, yes, but not stupid. Even the lowliest rodents knew predators when they saw them, and he was more deranged than any they knew. Riva stood soon after, dusting her already pristine surgeon’s scrubs off. She gave another sigh of annoyance, but he could see it in her eyes as she gifted him a small key. Her shining, predatory eyes. She wanted this as badly as he did, perhaps more so. He could contain his hunger for a time, a week, two. But madness could not be contained. He knew for a fact that Riva fed her beast multiple times a week, sometimes twice daily she indulged her devilish delights. For a moment he wondered what it would be like, to be beneath her scalpel. He shuddered. There was sharp pain, the drag of nails or gnashing of teeth. And then there was the clinical precision of the Good Doctor’s blades. They were not alike.

He inserted the small key into a hole within the center of the wall. Twice to the left, once to the right, pull, once more to the right, push. A delicate system of gears and pulleys allowed even someone as small and thin as Riva to push the great slab of stone inwards. The wails began almost immediately. Men and women screamed and writhed in their cells, the light of even the small office unbearable after so long spent in the dark. Cells lined both sides of a long hall, rats still scampered about in the endless task of feeding, watering, and ventilating the shit-stink of the place. The last task, it seemed, was near impossible.

Their prisoners howled and cursed and gnashed their teeth. Knowing only the beast eyes of rats, their swarming caretaker, they had long forgotten the sensation of foreign bodies. However the malice was palpable. Neither the lord nor the doctor ever came here for good things. Tirian started down the hallway, head held high, as if to rise about the scents and sights of filth and mud. It wasn’t that he was disgusted, no, he was their lord. Even the prisoners of his lands would see him as he must be. Strong, tall, untouchable. They did not deserve his kindness, so none of it graced his face.

“Tirian, if you would, our subject for this morning is a man seen poisoning the crops of your furthest village. Crops that you know are already meager. Their output has been slowed by at least half, and will likely be so until Primrose is sent to usher new growth.” She spoke in a crisp and clipped tone, all pretenses lost as she had already given into the snake in her eyes. It cared for nothing but it’s venom and the venom’s effect.

“So close to war, all crops will already be taxed to feed our men, the alliance’s men. Do they not know that they will simply die second?”

“He speaks in gibberish, most days, yet appears to believe that a life served in undeath is payment enough for his services. Immortality, it seems, is too holy a grail to give up. Even if the means by which it is given are unholy.”

“He is mistaken if he believes his life will be anything other than cut short.”

They lapsed into silence as Tirian led them down the damp and dark hall. The wails of the damned had lessened now, returning to the pitiful mewling, the animals crouching low in their burrows in an attempt to escape the ire of the twin pair of beasts in their proximity. None had the mind left to hurl even insults. A result of the mixture of drugs and restorative that was mixed into their food by the very doctor that stalked them. Enough to ensure they died only when it was wished. At a short clearing of Riva’s throat, both stopped before the cell of a man dressed in ragged farmer’s wear.

It appeared he had not been given a change of clothing when he arrived. None the entered this hell were. His beard had grown unruly and matted, his hair hanging long and dirty and in his face. He did not react as the gate was unlocked and opened, a large and intricate lock falling to the ground with various metal noises. That alone seemed to startle the man. He rose from the ground, a mad dash for the entrance that only served to earn him a fist to his jaw. He fell backward, hitting the ground hard asTirian rubbed at him knuckles, growling slightly as the popped and cracked from the surprise usage.

From the ground, the farmer could only look up and blink in the darkness as the pair entered the cell and stood side by side, looking down on him. Riva spoke first.

“Hello, Mister Demps. I must admit you are looking worse for wear. It has only been a week since your internment, you know. What have you been doing to yourself?” She was sure to keep Tirian within fleeing distance. Proud as she might be, she knew her physical limitations well enough to know to avoid being within grabbing distance. Better to simply watch as Tirian worked, until he was prepared for her own brand of feeding.

And work Tirian did. He stepped forward as the good doctor spoke, taking the bruised and weakened farmer by the throat and twisting his arm behind his back. With this control over the mute fellow, the elf was able to shove him against a nearby wall, holding him steady with a steady application of pain.

“Quiet, isn’t he?” He observed as the man only gasped and murmured. A turn of the head and the night eyes given by the void clarified the reason behind this trait, however. “You took his tongue.”

Riva tittered as she worked behind him, her voice the only sound that told that he was not alone in the cell. “He shouted awful, hurtful things when he was placed within the cell. You must forgive me, but insults must be met with punishment. I believe he has long learned that screaming will not aid him. Tirian didn’t look convinced, even as the doctor arrived beside him, a silver syringe held between delicate, gloves fingers. The needle proceeded dreadfully slow to Demps’ bulging neck, likely for her own enjoyment. The bull didn’t at all kind, as the fear radiating from the farmer was enticing in its rawness. What did the doctor do to the fellow that could neuter him so? He found he did not want to ask.

Instead he breathed in, the antennae-like tendrils on his head weithin as they soaked up the raw terror from their meal. They always seemed more lively during feedings. Then, all at once, the needle found Demps’ carotid artery. Even to the lord, this seemed ill advised, but she was the expert here. The blue liquid pumped from the syringe and into their shared prey’s bloodstream, diffusing almost immediately, traveling to the brain, seeking the neurons that would activate-

Tirian groaned aloud as the concoction worked its magic. The sudden burst of vile and primal fear that coated the cell made his legs shake. The light gasp from behind him was evidence of Riva’s own reaction to the stench. The aroma he’d come to associate with energy, peace, sleep. Food. He stepped back, throwing the farmer to the ground and standing away. His shoulders heaved with his heavy breaths, his head growing light. Riva stepped beside him, grasping one of his strong arms as her own sort of feeding took it’s toll. It always did, for her. Her body was weak, as if her mind was the only muscle she sought to improve. Besides her ass, of course.

He found himself intoxicated as the human scrambled to the wall of the small cell, turning his face and closing his eyes as the wails and moans began to leave his throat unbidden. He looked down, noticing a tightening in his pants as his heartbeat quickened. He always got like this after feeding.

Riva fared no better. Her legs failed her, and only her grip on Tirian’s muscles arm was keeping her afloat in this sea of control. She didn’t care for fear, emotion, especially human emotion, was a waste unless utilized. But the sight of her control, her mastery of chemicals and minds, was orgasmic. Her tongue escaped her open mouth. Her tongues. She’d long ago split the muscle in two simply because she thought it would look good. Her smile was gone, replaced by a look that any would describe as hungry. Horny. But neither wanted sex. They wished to feed. And only when Riva finally patted his arm, signaling that she was fit to burst with the emotion of control, of subjugation, did Tirian raise a hand to the man against the wall.

Long ago, he had had to be close to his meal to devour them. His eyes and mouth had been the only point fear could flow into him, where sustenance could be gained. But he’d grown, since then. He was a bull, a lord, and he would not sully himself by coming closer during his feast of the senses. The power radiating from him coalesced in a simple point upon his palm. It flowed from his eyes, over his tongue and teeth. Cold and dark and sinful, it washed across the room at an unspoken command. Eventually, the energies that eddied and slithered across the ground met the prey, as it sat there and begged the gods for forgiveness with a tongue that could no longer speak. Tirian answered, instead.

“Do not beg the gods for release. In this moment, we are your gods. Tell whatever deity takes you who sent you to them.”

The draining process was swift, pulling the raw mass of terror from within his soul and sucking it across the cell. It was an ugly form of writhing screams and dripping piss and tears. The very essence of fear and anxiety rolled within the air until it was dragged back into the lord’s eyes. The sound was not unlike a predator breaking the bones of its catch to suck the sweet marrow away. It was was gone in an instant, and Tirian’s eyes and mouth were as ‘normal’ as a void elf’s could be an instant later. His hand dropped as he turned away, uncaring of the outcome of the broken, shell of a beast that sat within the cell.

Demps lay against the far wall, having curled into a ball to protect himself. When the attack was over, he merely sat up and stared at the pair. There was no life in his eyes, no pain, only the clear confusion that one feels when they know they must feel something else. He would never feel this anxiety again, damned as Tirian was to a life without fear. This proved a blessing, however, as Riva leveled a pistol to his chest.

The shot rang out, answered by the cries and screams of the forgotten, freshly reminds that beasts stalked their unwilling home. Their prison. The hole blown into the man’s chest cavity was ragged and wide, large enough for a rat to crawl within. It appeared this would not be far off, as Tirian could already hear the screeches of hunger and skittering paws.

“I’m leaving. See you again in two weeks, Riva.” He murmured before stalking off into the darkness. Riva called back a moment later, speaking in her regular, energetic, sing song voice.

“Oh do wait for me, Tirian! Who knows what sorts of monsters lay here, hiding in the dark?” Doctor Riva Ban’dinoriel tittered as she stepped lightly, neatly skipping from the Oubliette.

[intersex-ionality]

What follows is a continuation of this discussion with @korrasera .I’m unclear on whether korrasera wants to continue talking about the matter, and that thread is itself extremely long. So, I’m making a new post to explore the matter further and explain my reasoning.

Brooklyn 99 is a magnificent show that portrays black men as wholly rounded, sympathetic characters. That portrays Latina women as diverse and intelligent. That portrays the exhaustion of being a Jew in a Christian society with grace and humour. That portrays the complexities and hurdles of queer life, without turning queerness into a tragedy.

All of these things are true, and all of them are good.

And all of this goodness comes from police.

The show consistently, relentlessly, presents police as good people who sometimes get caught up in a bad or corrupt system.

In fact, these police are so good that they can single-handedly counter the entire history of police violence in the lives of the people around them.

Let’s begin with Captain Holt’s husband, Kevin.

When introduced, Kevin is cold, passive-aggressive, and generally unpleasant towards the police his husband works with. This is portrayed as a terrible character flaw which he must ultimately overcome.

It’s revealed that his distaste for Holt’s coworkers is because for the last 40 years, they have been destroying Holt’s life and their marriage, through sustained, relentless bigotry, both racism and homophobia. But, you see, those were the bad cops. Good cops like the show’s main characters would never do something so horrible.

Therefore, Kevin's perfectly justified, and frankly, correct discomfort around police is a flaw that he needs to fix, and that he is ultimately able to fix when the good cops prove to him that, actually, those other cops were just some bad apples and there are good apples too (and please don’t pay any attention to the fact that bad apples spread rot so quickly through an entire warehouse).

It is only once he gives up his completely justified distrust of people who have been destroying his family for decades, that he is seen as a compassionate and caring character. Only once he accepts that Not All Cops Are Like That does he become the empathetic and kind character we see in later seasons.

There are people who believe, wholeheartedly, that because B99 shows that there are bad cops in the world, it cannot be pro-police. But, most people in the world don’t think all cops are good people, just that most cops are, and that when police violate human rights, they do so for a justified reason. A reason like imprisoning murderers or removing other, corrupt cops from the force.

The reasons that the main characters of B99 also always have for their actions. In the narratives of B99, when police violate human rights, they are always justified in doing so.

When Captain Holt makes a deal to help a mob boss, rather than facing any meaningful consequences for this action, his whole precinct joins together to cover up the deal. They do so by “ensuring” that the mob boss can’t do any harm to anyone. But, they nonetheless engage in a department-wide cover-up of police corruption. This is portrayed positively, as a coming together for the team.

The fact that the department reveals and overcomes other forms of police corruption on sere to prove that when these cops, the good cops do it, it’s justified. It’s righteous. Because they are doing it for good reasons, not bad ones.

When Holt and Jake take recording and observation hardware from the precinct without permission (this is theft, this equipment is stolen), and use it to trick someone into making a confession on tape, then use this recording as a bartering chip to get the criminal to do what they want, this too is justified narrative. They don’t have another choice! Besides, undisclosed recording is legal in New York (though, blackmailing people with those recordings is still illegal, and so is stealing police grades observation equipment, but don’t pay that any mind).

And just in case that early-season blackmail story-line wasn’t enough, the latest season ends with almost beat for beat the same blackmail story-line, except this time the recording equipment isn’t stolen. Instead, a confidential cell phone is illegally cloned and used as evidence to blackmail the chief of police into stepping down. But it’s okay for the heroes to steal the private property of a public figure because he’s a bad guy and they’re doing it for the right reasons.

And, if you’re already inclined to think positively about police, then, when in the real world you see someone do the same thing, you might be just that little bit more willing to believe that their justifications make up for it. Because, again and again, even on exceptionally progressive, well-crafted shows like B99, when the “good cops” engage in flagrant violations of human rights, they’re doing it for the right reasons. They’re working outside the law, but it’s okay because we can trust them to ignore the safety protocols.

Any time the narrative discusses the rightful consequences the main characters should face for these absurd miscarriages of justice, they are proven to have been right all along. Jake goes to prison for being a “corrupt cop” because he is framed by a much worse policeman. But the things he’s framed for are all things he has actually done. Breaking the chain of evidence, taking restricted materiel out of lock-up, keeping confidential case records in his home instead of in the records rooms. He’s “framed” in that we, as the audience, know he did those things for “the right reasons.”

And that gives people a reasonable doubt, when a real-world corrupt cop does all the same things, except he actually is doing them for the sake of corruption. Because we have been primed to see those actions as “technically against the rules, but only if you’re a bad guy.” And the cops on B99 aren’t bad guys. They’re the good cops! The progressive ones! The compassionate ones!

The ones who lock sex workers up in & make fun of them for having STIs. But it’s fine when the good cops do it, again and again, as a recurring gag. Because, hey, they’re diverse!

When Jake Peralta keeps a man trapped in an interrogation room for almost a full 24 hours without sleep or food and screams loud, relentless music at him, lies to him about what they know, threatens a young black man with jail time to force a confession out of him?

Sleep deprivation, isolation, exposure to loud noises, threats, all of these are forms of torture. But Jake’s right. The man was a murderer. And technically, those tortures are legal, so it’s fine. Jake himself, in the episode, talks about how it’s actually really fucked up that he can do all of these things. And then he does them anyway and is rewarded for it.

Again and again, the show says, “police malpractice and violence is bad,” and again and again, it tacks on, “except when our protagonists do it because they're doing it for the right reasons.” The thesis of the show could easily be described as, “police malpractice is a horrible crime that must be overcome., and the only way to overcome it is with more police malpractice.”

And that feeds directly into people believing that when the cops in their home town do something horrible, they were probably justified too. Because the police in their town are “the good ones” too.

This isn’t like anti-shippers with their proclamations that fan-fiction is making people think raping children is totally a good thing. As a general rule, it’s accepted in our culture that raping children is fucking heinous. Fan-fiction isn’t going to stand up in the face of that. In fact, it’s so accepted that actual science doesn’t stand up in the face of it (what a great time to remind everyone that most rape of children is not perpetrated because of sexual attraction but because of violent power-seeking behaviour, the same as any other type of rape, and pretending otherwise makes it harder to combat this specific form of rape).

The general opinion of policing in the US, however, is positive. The consensus of most people is that “most cops are good, it’s just a few bad apples who need to be thrown out before they rot the rest of the barrel.” B99 espouses that exact same message. It completely matches the general perspective of police in the US. And for people who already hold those views because they’re the dominant ideological framework? Shows like B99 reinforce them. For people who are on the fence, shows like B99 make supporting police even when they’re miscarrying justice and abusing human rights, seem normal.

Pretending that this unfortunate truth is just “overly simplistic” and an attempt to silence discussion is wildly misrepresenting the facts of the show, the fandom, and the way propaganda works.

Propaganda is biased media that influences other people to share those same biases. And while most of B99’s biases are positive, and most of its goals are laudable, the fact of the matter is, it’s a show where cops are the heroes. Full stop. There are bad cops, too, but the heroes of the show are the police. And their heroic actions are justified, no matter how extrajudicial or immoral they are. Their ends always justify their means, because they’re the heroes.

B99 is magnificent as a piece of representative media. It strives to make the world a better place!

It also does so by portraying cops as the ones making the world a better place even when they’re behaving immorally.

Both of these things are true, and in fact, it is the excellence of the show as a whole that makes it such compelling police propaganda.

ETA: For whatever reason, korrasera is now claiming that I blocked her so that she would not have the chance to respond to this post. That’s incorrect. I have not blocked korrasera, and she is welcome to respond if she likes, just as you all are. I’m happy to continue this discussion if you all like.

I misunderstood that post, but nonetheless, I’m open to continuing this discussion.

[inserttemptitlehere]

An unasked for “moderate” take on TERFs v Trans rights

Nobody asked, I might get cancelled for this (probably by both sides), and honestly I don’t have much belief that this will even be read by many people. But it’s frustrating seeing people being condemned for reasonable fears and requests and I just feel the need to put my opinions out into the ether just to have them out there and so I can stop dwelling on them every time I see stuff like this happen again. 

Like, I just want to slap all the TERFs that purposefully misgender people and spout transphobic rhetoric. And I want to shake everyone who labels anything that complains about misogyny specific to cis women as TERF-y. God.

It seems like many “TERFs” are not actively malicious (although many definitely are), but are merely women who’ve been sexually assaulted or just been ground down by the patriarchy and are understandably (although not necessarily justifiably) scared/upset at the thought of any person with a male body coming into their safe spaces or into their fought for institutions. Whereas most trans people just want to live their lives and be accepted as the gender they identify as without wanting to cause any harm to anyone (although again, there are some they definitely do). 

I personally found much of JK Rowling’s recent essay to be fear mongering, but given that she suffered abuse from her husband I could understand and sympathize with why she had those fears even though I disagree with her conclusions about the actions society/government should take regarding them. I honestly just feel sad for her. I feel sad that the experiences she’s been through have made her so scared. I feel sad that despite the millions of dollars she’s donated to charity and work she’s done to make the world a better place she has now hurt so many people and this action will be what she’s remembered for. I feel sad that the extremely angry responses she’s gotten will most likely only solidify her fear and perpetuate her actions that will most likely cause more hurt for more people.

I’ll also say that her original tweet that sparked it all was valid! It is dehumanizing to reduce people to their genitals (ironically something people say TERFs do) and it erases the fact that almost all of these people are targeted because they are women. And it feels somewhat sexist as I’ve never seen an article refer to a certain group as “penis havers” or “semen producers”. I can, however, still see how it would be exclusive however to only refer to “people who menstruate” as “women”. A better wording would’ve been “women and trans men”. Because then no one would be left out. And don’t @ me about that somehow leaving out ‘trans women’, because guess what, there are cis women who don’t menstruate! If we can recognize that “Not all men” is a bad take, why on earth are we accepting “Not all women” as a correct one?

Look, not all cis women menstruate. Not all cis women can or do become pregnant. But we still label these as generic ‘women’s issues’ because they affect a large portion of women. But it should go both ways! I believe that makes the gross femininity trans women need to perform to qualify for hormones a ‘women’s issue’ and the difficulty of getting insurance to cover said hormones a ‘women’s issue’. Because they’re issues that affects a large portion of women. Heck, I know most Transmen find the fact that some TERFs include them in their feminism irritating, but I’m also fine with including specific issues affecting the ones that don’t feel that way as ‘feminist issues’.

I am 100% against misgendering people, am 100% supportive of including trans women’s specific issues as part of the overall fight to help women, and I will happily state “transwomen are women”. But, I do agree that there are a handful of cis women spaces/institutions that it becomes morally grey to accept transwomen into without any sort of provisions. Especially given the fact that if there were absolutely zero strings attached to legally identifying a certain way, then there are definitely cis people who would abuse the system. Personally, I don’t think we should completely structure our society based on these fears - although I can again understand the people who have not had as privileged of a life as I have feeling differently (even if I ultimately disagree with them).

Anyway my take on said spaces/institutions:

Bathrooms: Single parents of opposite sexed kids already use the opposite gendered bathroom to teach them how to use it (and should be allowed to). If a cis man wants to rape you in a bathroom that you’re alone in, I don’t think the societal norms are really going to stop him. And since trans people just want to use the bathroom in peace, let them. Maybe it’s because I’ve never felt comfortable peeing in public and thus never felt the bathroom to be a ‘safe space’, but I’ve never understood the argument against this.

Changing rooms: Go where you identify. If you start acting like a creep, then there should be some course of action to either get you banned or limit your access to said changing room. That policy should hold for cis or trans people.

Women’s support groups: Already made my opinion on this clear I hope. Although I will say that if talk about certain genitalia/bodily functions is triggering, it’s not right to shut down all discussion regarding those things for the other people there. Instead we should have, you know, trigger warnings so that everyone can either prepare themselves accordingly or leave the room and no one is triggered or feels like they are unable to talk about their issues.

Rape shelters: It is 100% valid for a cis woman that was a victim of rape to not want to share their space with someone with a working penis. If there is absolutely nothing that can be done to make said person feel safe, then it should be the right of the shelter to refuse long term stay to the person causing that issue (through no fault of their own) - although the shelter should do everything it can to make sure the trans woman has a place to stay/go. On the other hand, if a trans woman was already there before such a victim, it would not be right to toss out the trans woman to grant access to the cis woman who has the problem with them.

Sports: I personally don’t know enough of the science behind it, but it seems to me that bare minimum they shouldn’t be allowed to compete without doing hormone therapy. And even then the skeletal differences and remaining hormonal differences may still prevent things from being reasonably fair (although I wouldn’t know). It’s definitely not fair to let a trans person pre-hormones compete on the team their gender matches with. Honestly, in an ideal world we’d somehow have an objective way to sort sports into co-ed groups based on athletic ability similar to how weight classes work for wrestling.

Prisons: Non violent crime? Go where you identify. Violent crime? Sorry, gotta go based on your sex (unless you’ve had bottom surgery). It is immoral to lock a convicted rapist with a penis in a cell with women who have no way of getting away from them. I mean, maybe we could have ‘wings’ for trans people so they could go to the prison they identify as and they’d just have separate cells. But until that becomes the norm, the few violent trans criminals should not be allowed to go where they identify.

Kids: Not an institution, but definitely a hot topic. Personally, I think only puberty blockers until they hit adulthood and extensive therapy to make sure that they are in fact trans. Admittedly JK Rowling’s essay about this bit sounded a bit like, “The spooky trans cult is coming for your neurodivergent and gay children!” But it did have small feeling of truth to it as well. As a GNC, cis, autistic woman who had dysphoria as a teen I also worry that I might have been incorrectly diagnosed as trans if I’d been born later. But I don’t think it’s something we as a society need to be extremely worried about or use as an excuse to make things harder on trans kids and adults. We just need to make sure that kids get the therapy they need to sort out whether they’re trans or just having the common dysphoria you have as a teen and chafing against gender roles. We can rubber stamp adults if they want, it’s only kids that should have to go through some minor hoops.

Finally, on being “Gender Critical”. I have to say, the idea of smashing the concept of gender and everybody just living as they are with no societal expectations for them to be one way or another based loosely on their biological sex sounds wonderful. I’m just upset that so many who support this concept are so transphobic because technically in that future there would be no ‘trans’ people (except those that suffer dysphoria) and they feel this gives them the right to act horribly towards trans people. I did recently talk to some TRAs who explained to me that, unlike ‘Gender Critical’ proponents, their ‘gender’ model is split into multiple components. That you’ve got your biological sex (your parts), your gender identity (what you feel you are), your gender presentation (how you dress and act), and gender roles (how society expects you to act based on your gender). So it seems to me, that we can still reach a version of that wonderful future that doesn’t erase people. Smashing gender roles and the idea that there is a ‘correct’ way to present as a gender would achieve ‘female liberation’ while still allowing for people who still desire to identify a certain way. We shouldn’t completely do away with gender, just the things that society expects from it. 

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Mental Health Illness Does Not Exist in Prison.

Cells are freezing, food lacks nutrition, inmates are put to work for a wage slip of an average of $13 a month, sexual abuse is not uncommon, racism is a huge problem and the lack of medical care and mental health support is the most disturbing. Its 2020 and the United States prison system is currently experiencing a huge crisis despite its huge $7 billion budget in 2019 one of the largest in the world

43-year-old Ashoor Rasho has spent the past 27 years of his life as an inmate in solitary confinement or restrictive housing units meaning he has spent most of his life with very little social interaction. Originally arrested for Burglary and robbery Rasho’s sentence has been extended several times after violent outbursts as a result of triggers caused by untreated mental health disorders.

Rasho who has been medically diagnosed with numerous mental health illnesses including borderline personality disorder, severe depression, and schizophrenia, has been serving his time in an Illinois prison cell which is so small he can touch both sides of the cell at the same time. He shares that he spends between 22 and 24 hours a day in these conditions. I’m sure we can agree that is enough to make anyone feel crazy after just one day.

Dr Stuart Grassian, a psychiatrist who has studied the harmful effects of solitary confinement for 25 years at Harvard spoke out on the treatment of the mentally ill in prison and described them not as the ‘’ worst of the worst’’ but the ‘’sickest of the sick; the wretched of the Earth. Maybe they were not even that bad before they got in and they just got worse and worse…immoral to see that happen to people’’. Rasho explained that "Even if they would label us schizophrenic or bipolar, we would still be considered behavioural problems," Rasho says. "So, the only best thing for them to do was keep us isolated. Or they heavily medicate you."

The American prison system seems to have become the new version of psychiatric institutions since they closed down in the 1950s, rather than replacing them with a more suitable and appropriate approach of care. America has very little provisions in place to support those who break the law because of mental illness rather they get sent into solitary confinement which escalates the issue which is what happened to Rasho.

The inadequate treatment of mentally ill inmates led to Ashoor Rasho 12,000 others in similar situations suing the Illinois Department of Corrections in 2007 for supposedly punishing inmates with mental health disorders rather than treating them appropriately. In 2016 a settlement was made that agreed to improve the care and provide better treatment of these convicts.

Ashoor Rasho was not alone in his fight. Young African American Anthony Gay entered Illinois department of corrections in 1994 after he got into a scrap  with another young boy who told the police that Gay took his hat and one dollar, he was supposed to serve three and a half years. However, a fight with another inmate led to Gays first experience in solitary confinement  which led him into a downward spiral that landed him 22 years of isolation. As a result, shortly after he entered solitary his mental health took a turn for the worst, he started cutting himself and even multiple attempts of suicide. But why did he do this? Gay knew that every time he would harm himself by cutting his legs, neck, genitals etc that he would for at least  short period of time, have human contact with nurses who would rush to his aid and psychiatrist who would support him. Gay described these experiences by explaining that “It’s kind of like being locked in the basement, and then emerging from the basement and being put on the centre stage,” he said. “It made me feel alive.”

In 2016 the American Correctional Association issued new standards which limits restricted housing and bans prisoners with mental illness from solitary confinement for an extended period. Although these standards have been put into place a study by Yale Law school in 2018 found that in fact still more than 4000 mentally unwell prisoners are still being held under these conditions and are kept in isolation for up to 22 hours a day for 15 continuous days or more. The big issue here is why are the United States throwing its inmates into tiny cells and allowing them to be driven to a point of insanity and ignoring the provisions being put int place rather than providing support for rehabilitation to learn from their mistakes and do better next time?

The US holds just five percent of the world’s population but a quarter of the worlds prison population. What is concerning to see is the statistics of those suffering with mental health. At least half of US prisoners have mental health concerns while around 10% to 25% of US prisoners suffer with serious mental health disorders such as schizophrenia. Something that s also interesting to see is how mental health is affecting people by gender in prison 55 percent of male inmates in state prisons are mentally ill, but 73 percent of female inmates are. What is the reason for this? Is there harsher discipline longer time in isolation, more sexual abuse against women than men? Craig Hany, PhD, a professor of psychology at the University of California at Santa Cruz reports that it can be difficult to offer quality mental health treatment in correction facilities as ‘’prisoners are reluctant to open up in environments where they do not feel physically or psychologically safe’’.

                 Types of Mental Issues Among State and Federal Inmates

 But surely Hanley has answered the question of how to improve this situation. By creating a safer calmer prison environment America can reduce their cost of treatment for inmates such as Anthony Gay who go to such extremes just to have some human contact? Perhaps the issue also lies within the numbers of people who are in prison. The US court system should be considering what they are locking people up for. In the case of Anthony Gay is 22 years in prison in solitary confinement necessary for someone who took a hat and a one-dollar bill?

But how can we expect a change in the treatment of those suffering with mental health issues in prison when the stigma is still strong against the people who stay on the right side of the law? Maybe there needs to be changed on the outside before change can be made on the inside. Providing better mental health facilities for people before they get into disputes with the law could save the United States a lot of time and prevent many people from re-offending.

A change needs to be made and it needs to start now.

[solutionspotlight]

The Love She Waged from a Prison Cell

How environmental justice activist, Siwatu-Salama Ra, dug deep while incarcerated, and the community that lifted her up.

When Siwatu-Salama Ra arrived at the Huron Valley Correctional Facility last year to serve a two-year mandatory sentence, she was in shock, six months pregnant, and not sure how she would live through the ordeal. She spent her first days in an isolation cell staring at the wall. And yet, somehow, through the harrowing nine months that she was there, she advocated for Muslim incarcerated women, organized around birthing and parenting rights for herself and others in the pregnant and postpartum unit of the prison, and convened a poetry group where women inside wrote and shared their deepest selves. 

Now, after being released on bond since November 2018 with a GPS tether on her ankle for almost a year, Siwatu’s conviction was reversed on August 20, 2019, and the tether finally removed in late October. Her legal team is urging prosecutors to dismiss the case and not recharge her. Her next hearing is scheduled for November 15, 2019, and the tentative trial date is February 18th, 2020.

The environmental activist has spent much of her life as a community organizer. As a teen, she worked with other youth to tackle environmental concerns affecting their local communities and later became the co-director of the East Michigan Environmental Action Council, where her voice and ability to resonate with people was crucial. She was following the footsteps of her mother, Rhonda Anderson, who has been an environmental justice organizer for the Sierra Club for almost two decades. In her interviews, she expresses how being convicted of felonious assault and felony firearm was not like anything she’d ever experienced in her life or could have been prepared for. 

Michigan’s Stand Your Ground

The details of Siwatu’s case were reported by many including dream hampton in Essence, the New Yorker, and Democracy Now! as it became clear that pieces of the case weren’t adding up. 

In July 2016, Siwatu was visiting her mother at her Detroit home with her two-year-old daughter when a young girl came by to visit Siwatu’s niece, who also lived in the home. The family became concerned about the presence of the girl as the niece was recently jumped by her at school. They decided it was best she leave. The girl’s mother, Chanell Harvey, arrived to pick her up, infuriated that her child wasn’t welcome. 

Siwatu testified that she’d asked Harvey repeatedly to leave the premises. Harvey then drove her car and rammed into Siwatu's parked vehicle, where Siwatu’s two-year-old daughter was playing inside. Then she tried to hit Siwatu's mother—she’d forcefully brought the car within a hair of her. At that point, after taking her daughter inside, Siwatu reached into her car's glove compartment and brandished her licensed, unloaded gun to demand Harvey leave. 

Harvey took snapshots of Siwatu, took the pictures to the police, and filed a report that Siwatu had assaulted her and her daughter by pointing a gun at them. Siwatu dropped off her daughter and picked up her husband from work, and arrived hours later to report the incident as an attack on her family by Harvey. One day, after over a month with no response from police, Siwatu’s home was surrounded by police who arrested her because Harvey’s report, in which Siwatu had been named the aggressor, had been on file first.  

Of the many controversial details of Siwatu’s case, the most impactful one is the fact that Michigan is a self-defense "stand your ground" state, which gives a legally licensed, law-abiding gun owner the right to use deadly force if they believe it is necessary to prevent death or great harm to themselves or another person. 

Siwatu was a licensed gun owner with a concealed carry permit and her gun was unloaded. And Michigan law has consistently interpreted aiming an unloaded gun as non-deadly use of force, according to Wade Fink, one of Siwatu’s attorneys appealing the case. He also states that her case should have hinged on whether Siwatu used reasonable force to meet the threat posed by Harvey, rather than whether or not she feared for her life. 

Another issue, Fink points out, is that at the time of the event Harvey was on probation for assault; it was her third felony, and violating probation would have gotten her into trouble. Fink contends this could've been a valid motive for lying. But the defense wasn’t allowed to pursue this line of questioning. 

A YES! article that details the rise in Black gun ownership despite the racist origin of the second amendment, explores the perspective of Black gun groups who view the right to self-arm as basic for self-defense in a climate of constant violence. Yet, we also see where laws like Stand Your Ground don’t always work out positively for people of color, as we saw with Trayvon Martin and Marissa Alexander. 

As reported by Vox, the Urban Institute found that Stand Your Ground laws seem to worsen racial disparities. When the shooter is Black and the victim is white, only 3 percent of deaths are ruled as justifiable versus the 34 percent when the shooter is white and the victim is Black.  “Even when black shooters kill black people,” the article states, “those shootings are less likely to be deemed justifiable in a court of law than those involving white shooters who kill white people.” 

The dominant, false narrative that Black people are intrinsically violent obscures genuine issues of equity. It’s why we can have a criminal justice system that operates on implicit biases, even when all persons concerned are Black. 

Siwatu’s jury had to ultimately decide, based on Michigan self-defense law, whether Siwatu was truly afraid in that moment to warrant invoking self-defense. Despite the question as to why a woman whose daughter and mother are being endangered by a vehicle would not be afraid and feel a basic human need to protect, the jury ruled guilty because they didn’t believe Siwatu could be afraid, only angry. And the felony firearm charge, which means that a firearm was used in an assault, came with a two-year mandatory minimum. 

The power of a community

As she details in conversation with adrienne maree brown on The Practice of Freedom: A Conversation with Siwatu-Salama Ra and Rhonda Anderson on the How to Survive the End of the World podcast, when Siwatu learned that she was having charges brought against her for, essentially, acting within what she believed were her rights to defend her family, she couldn’t wrap her mind around how to continue. But then community showed up.

Siwatu was showered with love. Fellow activists, co-workers, and friends poured in. They showed up at her house asking what they could do to help. There were so many people coming to meetings that were organized on her behalf that they moved gatherings to the larger home of a friend.

At one point in The Practice of Freedom, Siwatu's mom remarks that what was truly notable was how many of the people that came to support were women with children. 

They formed the Siwatu Freedom Team and have not only accompanied Siwatu on her journey for full freedom and justice, but also collaborated with a broad coalition on several campaigns including: developing a set of bills to fight for the rights of incarcerated pregnant and postpartum mothers, parents, and caregivers in Michigan; working to end the felony firearm mandatory sentences that disproportionately criminalize Black people in Michigan; and continuing to support and work in solidarity with women Siwatu met inside prison as they return home. 

Finding a way through madness

From the moment that charges were brought against Siwatu—through her court case and eventual sentencing, right up to her release and the reversal of her conviction, and now as her legal team works to put this case to rest completely —countless people have poured enormous dedication towards supporting her, spreading the word about her case, raising legal funds, writing letters, and organizing meetings. In prison, however, she was alone, facing close walls and prison bars. The letters that poured in from community across the country were like beacons of light in the darkness. 

In the isolation of her experience, she stumbled across a book called Deep and Simple, by Bo Lozoff, who had co-founded the Prison-Ashram Project and worked for 20 years guiding people behind bars to reach their own inner peace. “He was able to steer men and women who were inside of a prison to that oneness,” Siwatu says in The Practice of Freedom. “My community, Bo, my mom, literally saved my life in prison.” 

“I remember reading this book and being just so blown away...it was answering the questions I had, the why me, the what do you want, what am I supposed to do?” Then one day she noticed a copy of Deep and Simple on her pregnancy counselor’s office desk; the counselor offered her all the Bo Lozoff books she had in her office. 

Siwatu reflects that in prison, a person is stripped of everything and anything that could offer them comfort. Reading Bo Lozoff helped her reach a place of peace inside herself despite the deep sadness all around her. “If anybody walks out of a prison...who is enlightened,” she says, “it is the work of themselves, and it is despite of the prison. Bo helped me take advantage of that hell.” 

She also witnessed the spirit of fellow inmates around her. They inspired her. She said in a recent interview with Earth First! “You normally see women on the frontlines fighting, and you saw the very same thing inside the prison: women fighting to hold on to some of their dignity and humanity to say, ‘This is not how we will live.’” 

She says there were women working on so many issues—from trying to get treatment for the yellow water coming out of prison pipes to making sure the food on their plates was sanitary.

When Siwatu learned that her challenge getting a hijab, a Quran, and the meals she required for the daily practice of her faith was not her challenge she faced alone, she led other Muslim women prisoners in organizing for religious rights that legally should have been accommodated by the facility. Her efforts attracted attention from the Council on American-Islamic Relations in Michigan, which filed civil rights complaints on a number of the prison’s practices regarding religious freedom.

Disheartened by the ways in which life behind bars was designed to cut down a person’s humanity, Siwatu also created a poetry group and fostered close bonds with the women around her as they co-created a space of beauty, where poetry offered gateways to emotional freedom.

Finally, her harrowing experiences of pregnancy and birth in prison led her to inform herself of her rights as a parent and mother, which she then shared with other prisoners. At the time of Siwatu’s delivery, the Michigan Department of Corrections did not allow loved ones to be present at labor or delivery although Siwatu’s family, community, and other activists and organizations made every effort to get the MDOC to humanely shift its position. 

In early October 2019, as a direct result of this organizing, the Michigan’s House Appropriations Subcommittee on Corrections added new language to the budget bill that states that anyone in prison due to give birth in prison can consent to one visitor being present during labor and delivery. The language states that person must be an “immediate family member, legal guardian, spouse, or domestic partner.” It’s a signal that change is happening. 

A more humane and discerning system of justice

For every person that is able to have a protest, or national news attention, or a community of devoted people call out that a wrong be brought to light, there are hundreds more sitting in a jail cell without any of these options. 

Siwatu, speaking to Earth First!, said that knowing she was innocent only made it easier for her to see how many more women were likely in prison unjustly. 

“...You have a large population of women who will be returning citizens who have literally been face to face with the very beast we’re fighting,” she said. “They are walking out of that prison cell, out of custody, with much knowledge, so resilient, and so beautiful. I encourage that everybody support women and men coming out of these prisons because they have seen so much. They know what it will take to win this.” 

When asked how being incarcerated changed her perspective on environmental issues, she explained how it strengthened her belief in looking at how different issues are connected.

“It took me to literally be taken away from my family and taken away from my children and placed in a prison cell to understand we have to step away from... self-identified work and dedicate our entire selves to a better world.”

“You have to look at everything,” she said, “and take everything into consideration of how all these injustices are interconnected and feeding off one another.”

And then what could justice look like? Life-valuing structures that value healing more than they value practices that dehumanize, and where deeper understandings of history and social problems are incorporated, so that there are sustainable options for actual accountability, wellness, and growth in communities. 

Showing up to speak, listen, learn, share, and organize wherever and whenever possible is essential for this shift to take place. We can learn from and build upon cases and experiences like Siwatu’s.

ACTIONS:

Support Siwatu’s legal fees as her hearing approaches on November 15, 2019, help sustain her family throughout this arduous process, or support continued organizing Siwatu’s freedom and policy changes, by donating here. 

Go to FreeSiwatu.org to learn more, stay posted, and find more ways to get involved.

Host a house party or community gathering to share Siwatu's story, have discussions, process the impact of this and similar stories, and brainstorm organizing ideas.

Get involved with local groups in your area fighting for prison abolition, environmental justice, and supporting people directly impacted by the prison and criminalization industrial complex who are working for liberation.

[dargeereads]

COMPLICATE is live! Deliver series is complete.

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The heart-pounding conclusion of the DELIVER series.

Cole Hartman is a mystery. He works alone, sleeps alone, and satisfies his aches…alone. He hasn't touched a woman in seven years. No one will ever compare to the one who broke his heart. Until he stares into the seductive eyes of his enemy. He finally meets his match in the redheaded Russian spy. But she's a dangerous risk. His obsession with her leaves him only one choice.

If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't kill you, hunt it down and take it.

This is Cole Hartman's story. But it's not his beginning. The twisted, heartwrenching story of Cole, Danni, and Trace starts in the TANGLED LIES trilogy.

You don't have to read TANGLED LIES, but if you want to read it, do so before reading this book.

RECOMMENDED READING ORDER

ONE IS A PROMISE (FREE) TWO IS A LIE THREE IS A WAR DELIVER (#1) (FREE) VANQUISH (#2) DISCLAIM (#3) DEVASTATE (#4) TAKE (#5) MANIPULATE (#6) UNSHACKLE (#7) DOMINATE (#8) COMPLICATE (#9)

Start Reading ONE IS A PROMISE for Free

Start Reading DELIVER for Free

Each book in the DELIVER series is a different couple (HEAs / no cliff-hangers), but they must be read in order.

📚 ebooks (all retailers worldwide): ONE IS A PROMISE | TWO IS A LIE | THREE IS A WAR DELIVER | VANQUISH | DISCLAIM | DEVASTATE | TAKE | MANIPULATE | UNSHACKLE| DOMINATE| COMPLICATE

🎧 Audio: ONE IS A PROMISE | TWO IS A LIE | THREE IS A WAR DELIVER | VANQUISH | DISCLAIM | DEVASTATE | TAKE | MANIPULATE | UNSHACKLE | DOMINATE COMPLICATE audio coming April 13

ONE IS A PROMISE - FREE

One promise. One forever.

One look and I knew Cole was mine. My dark rebel in leather. My powerhouse of passion, devastating smiles, and impulsiveness. When his job sends him overseas, he promises to return to me. A promise that's destroyed in the most irrevocable way.

Two years later, an arrogant suit invades my heartbroken loneliness.

Clean-cut and stern, Trace is everything Cole wasn't. At first, he's a job that will rescue my dance company. But as he intrudes on my life, our hostile relationship evolves. He knows I'm still in love with Cole, but his dedication is my undoing.

Then a catastrophic moment changes everything.

Promises resurface. Lies entangle. And an impossible choice shatters my world.

I love two men, and I can only have one.

TWO IS A LIE

Two lies. Two men who don’t share.

I never stopped loving Cole. Not when he left me. Not when he disappeared for three years. Not when he crashed back into my life in a violent explosion of testosterone and fury. His sudden reappearance questions everything I thought I knew, including how I came to love another man.

Trace is an intoxicating breeze of seduction over ice. My rock. My second chance at forever. And he’s committed to annihilating the competition.

The battle that ensues wrenches me back and forth between them. Fighting and f*cking. Resisting and submitting.

Together, they entangle me in a web of lies, rivalry, and desire that weaves as deeply as their devotion to me.

I love two men, and if I can only have one, I choose none.

THREE IS A WAR

Three means war. Three sides vying for forever.

Cole. My first love. The bad boy with the dangerous smile and passionate temper draws attention like a lit fuse on dynamite. But his dark molten eyes spark only for me.

Trace. My second chance. Over six feet of Norse god in a tailored suit, he calculates every move and seizes my hungry breaths with an iron fist.

Me. The free-spirited dancer, torn between two men with no resolution in sight. I tried leaving, staying, refusing, and surrendering. What options do I have left?

I love two men, and I do the only thing I can. I fight.

DELIVER, Book 1 - FREE

His name was Joshua Carter. Now it’s whatever she wants it to be.

She is a Deliverer.

She lures young men and delivers them to be sold. She delivers the strikes that enforce their obedience. She delivers the sexual training that determines their purchase price.

As long as she delivers, the arrangement that protects her family will hold.

Delivering is all she knows.

The one thing she can’t deliver is a captive from slavery.

Until him.

And her stubborn slave thinks he can deliver her…from herself.

VANQUISH, Book 2

Her life is like a prison cell. A self-made, to-hell-with-the-free-world existence that locks from the inside. Stop judging. Her agoraphobia doesn’t define her. It simply keeps her safe.

He belongs in a prison cell. The 6x8, make-me-your-bitch variety that locks from the outside. But he’s free. To hunt. To take. To break. And he just found a sexy new toy.

Capturing her is the easy part. Her fucked-up mind, however, makes him question everything he does next. But he’s a determined bastard. If all goes his way, this will hurt like hell.

DISCLAIM, Book 3

Camila was seventeen when Van Quiso kidnapped her. Ten years after her escape, the shackles refuse to release her. Not while there are still slave traders preying on her city. She will stop at nothing to end them. Even if that means becoming a slave again.

Returning to chains is her worst fear—and only option. They won’t know who she is or what she intends to do. She’s prepared for every complication. Except him. The one who decimated her sixteen-year-old heart.

Matias is charming, gorgeous, and dangerously seductive. He’s also untrustworthy and enshrouded in secrets. After years of no contact, he finds her—on her knees, wrists bound, in the clutches of her enemy. Will he sabotage her mission by needlessly saving her? Or will he keep her in chains and never let her go?

DEVASTATE, Book 4

“What is the price you’re willing to pay?” “Money isn’t an issue.” “I’m not talking about money.”

Tate is on the hunt to find his best friend’s sister. Eleven years ago, Lucia Dias was abducted. Presumed dead. He never met her, so why does he care? Some might call his efforts noble, but his motivation is more perverse, bordering on obsession.

When he follows a chilling lead to Venezuela’s Kidnap Alley, what he finds is neither a corpse nor a captive.

Amid poisonous lies and crippling depravity, the price of love is devastation. And he pays. With his body, his blood, and her life.

TAKE, Book 5

He’s a notorious crime lord, a kidnapper, and an artist. Scarification is his outlet, and he just captured a new canvas. Kate refuses to surrender beneath his blade or the cruelty in his beautiful eyes. But she’s drawn to the man inside the monster. A man who makes her ache with his touch. Who owns her with his kiss. A man who worships her as deeply as he hurts her. She can run, but there’s no escape from a bond carved in scars.

MANIPULATE, Book 6

Tula Gomez is in the most ruthless prison in Latin America.

She only drove to Mexico to help her sister. She did nothing wrong. But her quiet life changed in an instant.

To survive the violent, cartel-controlled prison where men blend with women, she pledges her loyalty to the notorious leader in exchange for the one thing she needs most. Protection.

When she agrees to seduce the suspicious new inmates, Martin Lockwood and Ricky Saldivar, she doesn’t expect to enjoy it. Sure, they’re gorgeous, irresistibly alpha, and insanely talented with their hands and mouths. But they’re the enemy. She can’t fall for them.

Torn between her cartel loyalties and two men who want her as deeply as they want each other, she questions who is manipulating whom. Her search for answers leads to a passionate ménage, a soul-crushing secret, and an impossible choice.

UNSHACKLE, Book 7

No woman can resist Luke Sanch’s chiseled features, honed physique, auburn hair, and intense green eyes. While deadly in combat, he’s an indomitable weapon in bed. He can coax an explosive release with only his mouth and annihilate with insidious, mind-blowing pleasure. When he infiltrates La Rocha Cartel, he must seduce Vera Gomez to determine whether to rescue her. Or kill her. Nothing can distract his icy, lethal focus. Except the cartel’s most feral captive. The nameless, raven-haired beauty is his key to dismantling Vera Gomez. But the ferocious little fighter challenges him at every turn and unknowingly battles her way into his heart. A battle that delivers him, physically and emotionally, into shackles.

DOMINATE, Book 8

There are many reasons to jump off a bridge, but Rylee Sutton only needs one. Her husband’s betrayal. Just before she leaps, she receives an email from a stranger. The boy’s message is meant for his dead girlfriend, but his anguish speaks to Rylee. It saves her life.

Over the next decade, Tomas Dine continues to email his dead girl. As he evolves from a teenager into a hardened, vicious criminal, Rylee is there, reading every intimate word. He doesn’t know she exists.

When she comes forward, he despises her, his cruelty unforgivable. But she doesn’t back down. In a carnal battle of punishment and passion, hatred dominates. Until he loses her. Amid looming danger and unsolved murders rises a devotion forged in strife. Love is lethal in his ruthless world. To survive it, they must fight for answers—and each other.

COMPLICATE, Book 9

The heart-pounding conclusion of the DELIVER series.

Cole Hartman is a mystery. He works alone, sleeps alone, and satisfies his aches...alone. He hasn't touched a woman in seven years. No one will ever compare to the one who broke his heart. Until he stares into the seductive eyes of his enemy. He finally meets his match in the redheaded Russian spy. But she's a dangerous risk. His obsession with her leaves him only one choice.

If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't kill you, hunt it down and take it.

AUDIOBOOKS

ONE IS A PROMISE: Audible | Narrated by Lisa Zimmerman TWO IS A LIE: Audible | Narrated by Lisa Zimmerman THREE IS A WAR: Audible | Narrated by Lisa Zimmerman DELIVER #1: Audible | Narrated by Teddy Hamilton and Abby Crayden VANQUISH #2: Audible | Narrated by Ryan West and Jo Raylan DISCLAIM  #3: Audible | Narrated by Christian Fox and Emma Wilder DEVASTATE #4: Audible | Narrated by J.F. Harding and Tracy Marks TAKE #5: Audible | Narrated by Soren Gray and Kate Genevieve MANIPULATE #6: Audible | Narrated by Christian Fox, Aiden Snow, and Lila Summers UNSHACKLE #7: Audible | Narrated by J. Tipstone and Lacy Laurel DOMINATE #8: Audible | Narrated by Matthew Holland and Samantha Summers COMPLICATE #9: Coming April 13 | Narrated by Joe Arden and Lisa Zimmerman

PAM GODWIN

New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author, Pam Godwin, lives in the Midwest with her husband, their two children, and a foulmouthed parrot. When she ran away, she traveled fourteen countries across five continents, attended three universities, and married the vocalist of her favorite rock band.

Java, tobacco, and dark romance novels are her favorite indulgences, and might be considered more unhealthy than her aversion to sleeping, eating meat, and dolls with blinking eyes.

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  BOOKS BY PAM GODWIN

Trails of Sin Series KNOTTED (#1) - FREE BUCKLED (#2) BOOTED (#3)

Tangled Lies Series ONE IS A PROMISE (#1) - FREE TWO IS A LIE (#2) THREE IS A WAR (#3)

Deliver Series DELIVER (#1) - FREE VANQUISH (#2) DISCLAIM (#3) DEVASTATE (#4) TAKE (#5) MANIPULATE (#6) UNSHACKLE (#7) DOMINATE (#8) COMPLICATE (#9)

Trilogy of Eve HEART OF EVE - FREE DEAD OF EVE (#1) BLOOD OF EVE (#2) DAWN OF EVE (#3)

Stand-alones DARK NOTES BENEATH THE BURN DIRTY TIES INCENTIVE SEA OF RUIN KING OF LIBERTINES - FREE

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

How L. Ron Hubbard and Robert Heinlein influenced the murderous cult of Manson.

Charles Manson’s Science Fiction Roots

New Republic       by JEET HEER           November 21, 2017

In 1963, while a prisoner at the federal penitentiary at McNeil Island in Washington state, Charles Manson heard other prisoners enthuse about two books: Robert Heinlein’s science fiction novel Stranger in a Strange Land (1961) and L. Ron Hubbard’s self-help guide Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health (1950). Heinlein’s novel told the story of a Mars-born messiah who preaches a doctrine of free love, leading to the creation of a religion whose followers are bound together by ritualistic water-sharing and intensive empathy (called “grokking”). Hubbard’s purportedly non-fiction book described a therapeutic technique for clearing away self-destructive mental habits. It would later serve as the basis of Hubbard’s religion, Scientology.

Manson probably didn’t delve too deeply into either of these texts. But he was gifted at absorbing information in conversation, and by talking to other prisoners he gleaned enough from both books to synthesize a new theology. His encounter with the writings of Heinlein and Hubbard was a pivotal event in his life. Until then, he had been a petty criminal and drifter who spent his life in and out of jail. But when Manson was released from McNeil Island in 1967, he was a new figure: a charismatic street preacher who gathered a flock of followers among the hippies of Haight-Ashbury in San Francisco.

Manson won them with a doctrine of communal bonding: They would be a family and share in all things, including love. Manson’s made-up religion was a cut-and-paste invention that borrowed from many sources. As The New York Times notes, Manson’s philosophy was “an idiosyncratic mix of Scientology, hippie anti-authoritarianism, Beatles lyrics, the Book of Revelation, and the writings of Hitler.” But the sci-fi component was pronounced. Stranger in a Strange Land provided the Manson family with its rituals (water-sharing ceremonies), terminology (“grokking”), and promise of transcendence (Manson’s followers hoped that, like the hero of Heinlein’s novel, they would gain mystical powers). The dream of mind triumphing over matter was also the sales pitch of Dianetics.

The Manson family, of course, had a twisted definition of love, which they wanted to keep for themselves. For the outside world, they wanted a violent race war, which would end with them ruling over the survivors. Towards that end, the Manson family went on a killing spree in August 1969 that left nine dead and earned them a notorious place in history. ...

Manson went to jail, and remained there until his death on Sunday at a hospital in California’s Kern County. Amidst an ongoing assessment of his historical relevance—the Manson family killings have been popularized, by Joan Didion and others, as the death knell of the 1960s—it is worth revisiting how two books, steeped in utopian ambitions, played a role in a country’s unraveling. It was hardly an accident that Manson borrowed heavily from both Heinlein and Hubbard. No two writers better illustrate the tendency of science fiction to generate cults.

Heinlein and Hubbard first met in 1939 and immediately hit it off. To his wife Leslyn, Heinlein described Hubbard as “our kind of people in every possible way.”  (The friendship between the two men is described in William Patterson’s two-volume biography of Heinlein). They were both prolific pulp writers, contributing heavily to Astounding Science-Fiction, which was revolutionizing the field under the editorship of John W. Campbell. Astounding’s major claim to fame was that it specialized in “hard science fiction,” which was rigorously based on extrapolations from actual science. This claim was a bit self-serving since Campbell always had a taste for pseudo-science, but it’s undeniable that Heinlein’s own work, grounded in his education as an engineer, brought a new level of plausibility to the genre.

Heinlein was in an open marriage with Leslyn, a poet and script editor. He had a habit of encouraging his close male buddies to take Leslyn as a lover. As Hubbard would later marvel, Heinlein “almost forced me to sleep with his wife.” Sharing his wife’s body was a form of male bonding for Heinlein, and it served as a precursor to the communal orgies that he imagined in Stranger in a Strange Land, which helped the members of his imaginary religion form group solidarity.

Hubbard and Heinlein also shared an interest in the supernatural. Together with their friend Jack Parson, a rocket scientist, they investigated the teachings of the occultist Aleister Crowley and tried their hand at black magic.

Hubbard may have suffered from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder following World War II. (He served in the Navy, and later made up stories of his wartime adventures; in reality, military records show that Hubbard’s wartime service was “substandard.”) His attempts to create a new science of the mind, culminating in the publication of Dianetics, can be understood as an attempt to self-medicate. The first article about Dianetics appeared in the March 1950 issue of Astounding Science-Fiction. Campbell was an early enthusiast, crediting Dianetics with helping him cure his chronic sinusitis. (The cure was psychosomatic and temporary.) Many science fiction writers in Campbell’s orbit, notably A.E. van Vogt, Katherine MacLean, and James Blish, got caught up in the Dianetics craze.

Campbell eventually became disillusioned with Dianetics, but moved on to becoming an advocate for other forms of pseudo-science...

Unlike Campbell, Heinlein kept clear of Dianetics. But Heinlein was nonetheless fascinated by the way his old friend Hubbard had created a pseudo-science that eventually became the religion of Scientology. This planted the seeds for an idea: What if someone created a religion like Scientology that actually worked—that did give people transcendent mental power, such as mind-reading and levitation? The result of this thought experiment was Stranger in a Strange Land, which remains Heinlein’s most famous novel. One of the heroes of the novel, Jubal Harshaw, a polymathic pulp writer who is very successful in seducing women, is clearly an idealized version of Hubbard.

Heinlein meant Stranger in a Stranger Land to be a jape, a satire on religion. While Hubbard had turned science fiction into a religion, Heinlein was trying to turn religion into science fiction. But many readers took it all too seriously. In March of 1969 at a film festival in Rio, Heinlein met a charming actress named Sharon Tate. A few months later, she was murdered by a cult that took inspiration from Heinlein’s novel.

No literary genre has been so fertile at generating religions as science fiction. Heinlein’s work was the springboard for many competing sects, and he called himself “a preacher with no church.” Rare among the many intellectual gurus whose fame mushroomed in the 1960s, Heinlein was a beacon for all kinds of people: hippies and hawks, libertarians and authoritarians....

Heinlein’s ability to excite cultic faith among all sorts of groups speaks to the power of science fiction as a literature of ideas, especially during utopian moments like the 1960s, when the future feels open. Heinlein’s book was not alone in gaining a cult following, it was joined by J.R.R. Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings, Herbert’s Dune, and Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand of Darkness. Each of these books spoke to a desire for an alternative reality, just as older social norms were breaking down.

As vile and sociopathic as he was, Charles Manson did have a gift for absorbing the zeitgeist, which is one reason he held such a powerful sway over the cultural imagination. Manson picked up Stranger in a Strange Land in the same spirit that he learned to strum a guitar and offer exegeses on Beatles lyrics. It was a way for him to ride the wave of cultural change. Manson remained infamous all these decades not just because he inspired mass murder, but also because he did so by manipulating some of our most powerful myths.

Jeet Heer is a senior editor at the New Republic.

https://newrepublic.com/article/145906/charles-mansons-science-fiction-roots

“In Korea, one even senses a fear, like one induced by the Mafia, among the opposition to the Unification Church, and … outspoken opponents speak of death threats.” Prof. Sontag, 1976

Tahk Myeong-hwan was murdered four weeks after Sun Myung Moon spoke about him as an opponent.

Tahk Myeong-hwan was attacked with car bomb

Tahk Myeong-hwan was offered a bribe of $450,000 to discontinue research into the Unification Church

UC members sent more than 200 text messages to Cho’s cell phone, saying, “We’ll kill you.”

Abducted and beaten up by the Unification Church in Korea

1. Freedom of the Press in Korea – Unification Church style

2. Freedom of the Press in Japan – Unification Church style

Prime Minister Kishi of Japan, organised crime and the Moon involvement in Japanese politics gained protection for the UC

The Mysterious Death of Robert Boettcher in 1984

Donald M. Fraser’s house was attacked by an arsonist just after his investigation into the Unification Church. It was only saved by good fortune.

Moon’s followers poured a pot of urine and feces on the head of a Seoul University Professor of Religion.

In 1975 Korean Unification Church members physically attacked many Christian pastors

[kiss-my-freckle]

S2 Blacklisters

Blacklisters: Season Two

Lord Baltimore, Nora Mills

No. 104 Apprehended

Red: People love to decry big brother, the NSA, the government listening in on their most private lives, yet they all willingly go online and hand over the most intimate details of those lives – to big data. Liz: Most people don’t care that Google knows their search history. Red: They know more than that. They know your habits, the banks you use, the pills you pop, the men or women you sleep with. Every piece of information is worth something to somebody. And in the hands of the wrong person, that could be deadly. Liz: You have a lead. Red: Lord Baltimore is in town. Liz: Lord Baltimore? Red: He’s a tracker by trade, but his methods are thoroughly modern. He’s made an art of combing through cyberspace, finding the status updates, financial records, and location blips that virtually everyone leaves behind in the modern age.

Monarch Douglas Bank

No. 112

Red: Monarch Douglas bank. Liz: What? Red: The preferred bank of international criminals, dictators, terrorists, hedge-fund managers. They’re headquartered here in the U.S., deposits insured by the FDIC, which places them firmly within your Agency’s jurisdictional bailiwick. They have branches in 63 countries, but their criminal operation is run out of an unassuming little branch in Warsaw. And it is the last place on earth that anyone would ever want to rob. Well, less than two hours ago, Monarch’s Warsaw branch was assaulted. Liz: What was stolen? Red: According to the official statement, nothing. Liz: And according to you? Red: Everything.

Dr. James Covington

No. 89 Apprehended

Red: What do you know about Paul Wyatt? Liz: Same as everyone else, I guess. He ran an investment firm but was being investigated by the S.E.C. for fraud. He was stealing life savings and pensions. Only to turn up with his heart ripped from his chest. Probably by one of his clients. Police say that whoever did it was trying to make a point. Red: Oh well, as much as I admire the police for their wonderful sense of irony, I’m afraid they’ve got this one wrong. The man who killed Paul Wyatt wasn’t trying to make a point. He was trying to make a sale. His name is Dr. James Covington. A few years ago, he was considered one of the top cardiothoracic surgeons in the country. Now he runs an illegal organ-transplant ring. His operation, if you’ll indulge the term, is one-stop shopping for anyone who needs a life-saving organ transplant but who can’t or doesn’t want to go through conventional channels... that includes criminals and wealthy clients who don’t happen to be first in line on the recipient list. Liz: He’s harvesting organs killing innocent people to sell off their parts? Red: Lizzy, some of the worst of the worst are still alive because Dr. Covington is saving them. Liz: And you know how to find him? Red: No.

Dr. Linus Creel

No. 82 Deceased

Red: Did you read about that housewife in Reston? She shot a bank manager. Violent crime in D.C. is at a 20-year low, and yet in the last four months, there have been seven random acts of violence by individuals with no prior criminal record. Lizzy, what do you know about social psychology? Liz: It’s the study of how our behavior is influenced by the world around us. Red: Not influenced, manipulated. In what little time I devote to the judgment your government has made about my character and how I treat my fellow man, I can’t help but think about how many of their own citizens they’ve treated like lab rats in the name of science. I believe this murder in Reston is part of an underground social-psychology experiment. Liz: Conducted by our government. Red: Strap on your tinfoil hat, Lizzy.

The Front, Maddox Beck & Pepper

No. 74 Deceased

Red: There was an incident this morning in Dupont Circle. A woman was struck by a taxi. Carrie Ann Beck. Liz: Maddox Beck’s wife? Red: Yes. The leaders of The Front. Liz: Well, how is that possible? They died trying to bomb BP’s London Office in response to the Gulf Oil Spill. Red: So the world believes. In truth, they took their work underground. Personally, I once admired Carrie Ann. However, since going underground, they’ve become too radical for my blood. Advocates for a level of destruction that I find chilling. Liz: So who killed her? Red: I believe her husband is responsible. Liz: I don’t understand. Weren’t they partners? Didn’t they found the Front together? Red: Yes, but their partnership was a tenuous one. She was always the more moderate voice, only interested in operations that related directly to the environment. Beck, on the other hand, views himself as a chosen one, a messianic figure who sees humanity as a virus that needs to be eradicated in order to save the planet. I fear he got rid of his wife because she was trying to stop him from implementing a plan to do just that.

The Mombasa Cartel, Geoff Perl aka Sean Salter aka Ace

No. 114 Deceased

Red: So nostalgic. The charming and yet tragic naïveté, as if these creatures will somehow flourish if Harlan and Jack can just manage to relocate a breeding female. Liz: The Mombasa Cartel? Poachers? Red: Not poachers, Lizzy – traffickers. The poor devils who do the killing are the smallest of cogs in a very large machine. And the Mombasa Cartel is the worst of the lot. They operate behind an impenetrable veil of secrecy, enforced by brute terror and a rat’s nest of corporate fronts. Subsidiaries of shells inside numbered accounts. Liz: This is going to take some convincing. The FBI’s job is to protect people. Red: Granted. Let’s forget about the animals for a moment The wholesale extinctions, the impact on the environment. Let’s just consider the human toll. The thorough corruption of local authorities, political assassinations, the massacres of entire villages and wildlife compounds. Eradicated for the most base of all possible motives: Profit. Hundreds of billions of dollars a year in blood money – human blood money. Liz: This is important to you. Red: Someday the creatures on that program will be akin to unicorns and griffins – A fairy-tale bestiary written in past tense, and no one is lifting a finger to stop it. Why not, Lizzy? Why not us?

The Scimitar, aka Walid Abu Sitta

No. 22 Deceased

Red: Ah... ladies, thank God you showed up. I took a left turn in the Rostropovich. I’ve ended up completely lost in the Chico Hamilton. This is an addiction. I just can’t decide between – Please pour some cold water on me, will you? Liz: Why did you want both of us here? Red: Both, you’re right. Thank you. Great idea. Anyway, funny story – stop me if you’ve heard it: Persian man walks into a bar, meets a beautiful woman, has a few drinks. Next thing you know, he’s falling from a 12-story balcony. Liz: I don’t get it. Red: I imagine Agent Navabi does. Samar: You’re referring to Kian Nouri, the Iranian businessman who committed suicide in Dubai. Red: I am, except he wasn’t a mere businessman. He was one of Iran’s top nuclear scientists in Dubai to supervise purchase of several borehole gamma something-or-others. And he didn’t commit suicide. He was assassinated in a joint C.I.A./Mossad venture to undermine Iran’s nuclear program, but then, you know this already. My understanding is, she took a little detour to Dubai for a rendezvous with Mr. Nouri so she could toss him off a building. Liz: You killed him? Samar: If you’re asking me to comment on a Mossad operation, you know I can’t do that. Red: I wasn’t asking. But I’m hardly one to judge. George Orwell wrote, “Those who abjure violence can do so only because others are committing violence on their behalf.” What a visionary, but Good Lord, his books are a downer. In any case, the bad news is, I was sharing a bowl of shisha with a Misiri minister, and they plan to retaliate. You kill their top scientist, they intend to kill yours, and they’ve dispatched a man known as “The Scimitar” to do it. Liz: The Scimitar? Red: This is not your average killer, Agent Keen. He’s one part hit man, two parts con man. Navabi: I’m familiar with his work. In 2009, his target was a Sunni tribal leader named Majeed Abd Bawi. The Scimitar gained access by joining his militia. Red: Oh, that’s right! Fought for the man for seven months until the day he got close enough to aerate Bawi’s carotid with a fork. He’s dedicated, resilient, cunning, responsible for the murder of dozens of high-value targets, and according to my sources, he’s already on U.S. soil.

The Decembrist, Alan Fitch

No. 12 Deceased

Red: I need to talk to you about a bombing in the Soviet union. Kursk, 1991. Brimley: Fella won’t talk! Red: Keep pushing him. Brimley: I’m telling you! He’s more scared of talking than he is of dying! Red: Keep pushing. Brimley: I’m gonna need lunch! Tuna on Rye! Coleslaw if they have it! Liz: What the hell is going on?! Red: We’re shaking a few trees. There’s been a development. It seems Berlin is merely a pawn who’s been tragically manipulated. Liz: Manipulated by who? Red: That’s what Brimley’s trying to ascertain. Liz: Berlin killed Meera, he put Tom in my life, and every time you have a chance to stop him, you let him go. Red: Berlin will be held accountable for his actions after I acquire the name of the man who set him against me, a man they call The Decembrist. If you want to find the one ultimately responsible for gutting Harold Cooper and killing Meera Malik, I suggest you help me find him.

Luther Braxton

No. 21 Deceased

Red: Within 12 hours, inmate Luther Todd Braxton will break out of his cell. When he does, he will steal a classified intelligence packet that contains secrets vital to your National Security. The means for his escape and his team are already in place. Warden: This story feels like a desperate last gasp from a dying man. Red: Could be. Regardless, if you don’t move quickly, the prison will be overrun and the dozens of innocent men and women who operate this facility will be subdued and executed, beginning with you. Warden: Luther Braxton is in solitary. Red: Not for long.

Ruslan Denisov

No. 67 Slated to be imprisoned

Red: I think you’ll find today’s most intriguing story on page 20, bottom-left corner. Liz: “According to Uzbek authorities, Father Aleksandr Nabiyev, a local priest in the Tashkent Region of Uzbekistan”– You’re intrigued because a priest was kidnapped? Red: No. I’m intrigued because the priest is not a priest. From what I hear, the good Father Nabiyev is an agent of the CIA. That’s a crime, Agent Keen. Going back to the Cold War, the CIA has a long and controversial history of using religious figures as spies in violation of executive orders, internal CIA policy, and promises made by every president since Ford. Liz: And you know who kidnapped this agent? Red: I do. Unfortunately, he’s an associate of mine. His name is Ruslan Denisov. He commands a nasty, little band of separatists known as SRU. Translated, they are the supreme republic of a free, righteous, and independent Uzbekistan. I told Ruslan it was a bit much, but he can be quite melodramatic, not to mention violent and entirely unreasonable. Politics are his passion, and to fund his separatist agenda, he’s become something of an abduction mogul, specializing in senior executives of foreign corporations working in or passing through the region. He holds them for ransom at prices far above market standard. Liz: And you do business with this man? Red: Don’t underestimate the usefulness of a nasty band of armed separatists. But lately, Ruslan’s been breaking promises. His temper has cost me and my partners considerably more than he’s worth. Liz: So everybody wins. You help us rescue the agent, we eliminate a thorn in your side. Red: Careful on this one, Lizzy. You have more than just a blacklister to worry about this time. The CIA will do whatever it takes to keep this quiet.

The Kenyon Family

No. 71 Deceased

Red: I presume you’ve heard of Justin Kenyon? Liz: The smiling public face of the militia movement. Who hasn’t? Red: Yes. The very voice of reason, the rebel darling of the fringe right – charming, rustic, camera-ready, the perfect spokesman to spin vile hatred and prejudice into treacly dross that passes for plainspoken common sense. Liz: Forget it. Red: Excuse me? Liz: Justice knows exactly who Justin Kenyon is. We know what he is. The Church of the Shield is a cesspool of polygamy, doomsday paranoia, ritualized elder and child abuse, but he also has four of the most prominent civil rights attorneys in the country on retainer – we can’t touch him. Red: How do you suppose he pays for those high-priced lawyers – charitable contributions? Liz: His church has been audited by the IRS every year for the past decade. His books are impeccable. Red: So are mine.

The Deer Hunter, Tracy Solobotkin

No. 93 Apprehended

Red: What if we made a deal? I help you find your serial killer, and you tell me about the fulcrum. Liz: You’re not even interested in serial killers. Red: True. I find them unimaginative and woefully predictable. But I am interested in the cases that you and the FBI have wrong. Liz: Wrong? Red: The most critical assumption you’re making about The Deer Hunter is wrong. Do we have a deal or not?

Red: This brute they call The Deer Hunter isn’t a buck at all, but instead a delicate doe. Ressler: A woman? Liz: I disagree with you. Red: Okay. But your killer attacks from a distance, indicating the predator’s smaller, perhaps unable to overpower their prey. Men tend to kill in close proximity – strangulation, blunt instrument, a knife. By contrast, women tend to favor weapons that can be used from further away – poison, a gun, a crossbow. Liz: Richard Kuklinski was 6’5?, 300 pounds, and one of his favorite weapons of choice was cyanide. Red: Yes, but male serial killers are predominantly, overwhelmingly sexually sadistic. In this case, there is not the slightest indication of a sexual motive. Liz: Aileen Wuornos was a prostitute who lured her victims in with the promise of sex. Red: The Deer Hunter has been active for over a decade, from the truck driver in Des Moines in 2003 to the doorman in Adams Morgan last night. That’s 12 years. The average length of a killing spree for a man is two, perhaps three. Yes, Agent Keen, for every rule there is an exception. Each factor, taken separately, is not conclusive, but put them together and it’s clear – you haven’t found your man because he’s a woman.

T. Earl King VI

No. 94 Deceased

Red: Madeline Pratt has been abducted. Liz: What do you care? She almost got us both killed. Red: Foreplay.  My relationship with Madeline is nuanced. Confounding, yet captivating, she’s a singular woman, and the world is far more interesting with her in it. What’s more, her abductors meet every requisite that defines inclusion on the Blacklist. The Kings. Liz: The kings? Of what? Red: Not “king” as in “king and castle.” Earl King and his two sons, Tyler and Francis, descendents of a Senescent Dynasty. Their forefathers built a fortune on the backs of British undesirables, forcing them into decades of indentured servitude– a tradition that has been passed from generation to generation that still continues today. Liz: So, what does this have to do with Madeline Pratt? Red: Madeline has made a number of well-heeled enemies over the years, many of whom would pay a handsome price for her head. If merely saving a woman’s life isn’t enough to warrant the Bureau’s interest, consider what taking down a dynasty like the King family would mean. Every transaction meticulously recorded for posterity in the family ledger. Sometimes, years pass between auctions. They’re never held in the same place twice. The guest lists are constantly changing. This is your chance to solve a century and a half’s worth of abductions and thefts from the Davidoff Morini Stradivarius to the disappearance of Raoul Wallenberg. This phone belonged to a boy in the port of Lisbon, where Madeline was abducted. Liz: Pictures of the kidnapping. Red: Find the jackals who took Madeline and they’ll inevitably lead you to the Kings.

The Major, Bill McCready aka Bud

No. 75 Deceased

Red: The Major. Ressler: Major? What major? Red: Not a what, Donald, a who – the next name on the Blacklist. Cooper: Have you not been paying attention to a word we’ve been saying? Agent Keen will be charged – Red: The Major runs a finishing school of sorts – The most reputable of its kind. He recruits wayward children, orphans, delinquents, outcasts, but only boys and girls of superior intelligence who exhibit very specific sociopathic tendencies. He then cultivates them into charming, well-educated, cultured, attractive adults who are capable of dangerous and horrible things. Cooper: All that matters is Agent Keen. Red: Which is why we must find the Major. He and I had a rather significant falling out, and I can’t locate him, which is why you need to put me in a room with the Malaysian Deputy Minister to the U.N. Ressler: You want the FBI to invite a U.N. diplomat – to meet with you? Red: Of course not. Inviting him for a chat with one of your most wanted criminals would be ludicrous. You’ll need to abduct him. Cooper: Okay, hold on. That’s not gonna happen. Why on earth – Red: Because he has secrets I can exploit. Listen, I’d snatch him myself, but time is short, so, I’m sorry, you’re going to have to do it for me. Cooper: You’re asking us to commit a felony. Red: Call it what you will, Harold. But if you want to prevent Agent Keen from going to prison, you need to abduct Deputy Minister Mamat Krishnan.

Red: “The Disenfranchised.” They may look like common street thugs, but don’t underestimate their authority. They’re racists masquerading as patriots. “Germany for Germans.” On the surface, they’re all about anti-immigration and preservation of the Aryan race, but look a little deeper, and you’ll find they care far less about white power than they do about white powder. Samar: They’re drug dealers? Red: Among the most ruthless in Europe. Somewhere along the line, they realized that keeping German neighborhoods white is more than politics. It’s economics. Aram: These guys are fighting a street war. Interpol estimates at least a dozen drug-related homicides in the last year alone.

Tom Keen aka Christopher Hargrave (With numerous aliases)

No. 7 Still At Large

Red: In what may be Agent Keen’s single greatest lapse in judgment, she saved the imposter pretending to be her devoted husband, opting, instead, to hold him captive in the rusty hull of an abandoned ship. Aram: Please tell me you made that up. Ressler: The harbormaster found Tom. He was gonna go to the police, so Tom killed him to keep Liz from going to prison. Samar: That is – Ressler: Insane? Samar: I was going to say “extremely romantic.” Ressler: If we can bring Tom back and get Denner to realize that Tom killed Eugene Ames, then maybe we can still stop Liz from being indicted.

The Longevity Initiative, Roger Hobbs & Dr. Powell

No. 97 Deceased

Red: My yogi tells me that time doesn’t exist. He fully intends to live forever, and tragically, he’s not the only one. Tell me, what do you know about the Longevity Initiative? Liz: I haven’t heard of it. Red: It’s a private company dedicated to extending human life indefinitely, funded by none other than Roger Hobbs. Liz: The tech billionaire? Red: Yes. He started years ago. I know because he offered me the opportunity to invest as a founding partner in the project. I passed. Liz: You know Roger Hobbs personally? Red: Roger is considerably smarter than the above-average bear, and now it appears he may also be as deadly. You’re aware of the New York state trooper who was gunned down last night in the line of duty? Liz: The suspect’s still missing, but they found mutilated bodies in the back of the truck. Red: Not mutilated. Experimented on. The Longevity Initiative has entered the human-trial phase. If they’ve made a breakthrough, they need to test it. Liz: On innocent victims. Red: With any luck, I’ll be dead-wrong. Perhaps you’ll have a better sense once you’ve spoken with Roger Hobbs.

Vanessa Cruz

No. 117 Still At Large

Liz: Toshiro Osaka – A Japanese entrepreneur indicted in 2009 and knifed to death by an aggrieved business partner. Miles Chapman – He was gunned down in Algiers while avoiding extradition for insider trading. Lester Charles Conway – His Ponzi scheme was so massive, he’s now serving up to 30 years. Ressler: Their crimes cost hundreds of people their life savings. Pensions gone, homes in foreclosure, families torn apart. Why would I feel bad for them? They’re criminals. Liz: According to Reddington, they’re innocent – Framed after months, sometimes years of planning by a woman with a deep-seated hatred for the 1%. She doesn’t just take their money, she takes their reputations, their freedom, sometimes their lives. Her latest mark was Declan Salinger, a flamboyant venture capitalist who specialized in biotech. He was found last night in a hotel bathtub, needle on the floor, dead from an apparent overdose. His personal laptop was taken into evidence. CSI uncovered corporate withdrawals in excess of $27 million.

Leonard Caul

No. 62 Still At Large

Red: You need– you need to find Leonard Caul. Liz: Caul? Red: Leonard Caul. T-t-talk to Dembe. You need to find him, Lizzy.

Quon Zhang

No. 87 Apprehended

Liz: Identification documents for Lien Mah. Fake birth certificate. Fake passport. Death certificate. Proof of embalming. Red: Everything necessary to convince the U.S. State Department that Lien Mah was a Chinese national who died while visiting the United States and to arrange for her body’s return to her homeland. Liz: Who would ship a fictitious Chinese corpse to China? Red: A rather clever smuggler, I imagine. Liz: So, if Lien Mah is fake, then whose body are they shipping overseas? “Marjorie Lin, 24, was laid to rest Monday afternoon. Not 10 hours later, her body was stolen in a brazen midnight grave robbery.” You think the smuggler is using Marjorie Lin’s body? Red: Compare the photo on Lien Mah’s false passport to the photo of Marjorie Lin in the paper. Liz: Same woman. But why this case? What’s your angle? Red: This smuggler also has business with the Cabal. Liz: The Cabal? Red: The Taiwan Festival Bombing in 2011. 32 dead, 9 injured. The I.E.D. that took out the convoy headed to the Chinese Consulate in Jakarta last year. Another 17 dead. Both were engineered by the Cabal. And this same smuggler was used to transport those explosives to their final destinations. Liz: You want to target one of their assets? I went to the Director, showed him the fulcrum, restored the détente. Red: The détente is over, Lizzy. What you know about the Fulcrum – What the Director now knows you know. By saving me, you revealed yourself to be a potent enemy, a target they will try to discredit or destroy. The smuggler. We need to find the smuggler.

Karakurt

No. 55 Apprehended

Red: I’ve received information from my sources confirming that Karakurt is in-country. Brimley: I’m gonna need a bag of dry ice and five feet of vinyl garden hose! Red: That poor fellow’s an aide at the Russian consulate and a loyal errand boy for the Cabal. I believe he’s the one who provided Karakurt with a go-bag upon his arrival in the States. Liz: There’s something I want to make clear with you. Red: Karakurt is known in the intelligence community as the left hand of the SVR. Liz: It’s not enough for you to tell me that my mother was KGB and that I was born in Russia. Red: In truth, he works for the Cabal. They smuggled him into America because they know if he commits an act of terror here, your government will blame Moscow. – Liz: My mother and my father, who they are, what happened in the fire– I’m gonna find out the truth. Red: I’m sure you will, Lizzy. But listen to me. The Cabal is orchestrati– Liz: I get it. The Cabal is trying to start another Cold War, and an act of terror committed here is step one in making that happen. I am listening to what you are saying, and I know that it’s important, but it is no more important than what I am telling you, and I need you to listen to that! Red: There will be an attack on an American defense installation within a matter of days. If I’m right, it’ll be the first of many acts of terror here and overseas designed by the Cabal to further their agenda. We have to stop this man, Lizzy.

Tom Connolly

No. 11 Deceased

Liz: I’m being framed. Red: Yes, and by the end of the day, they’ll identify you by name. Liz: Anyone could have infected Hawkins. He must have shaken dozens of hands at that memorial. Red: Within hours, they will all have tested negative for the virus. Liz: You can’t know that. This is insane. Red: Lizzy, you walked into The Director’s office and played him the fulcrum. You are the enemy. They’re crawling over every place you’ve ever lived and worked, every file and hard drive like fire ants on a grasshopper. Liz: They won’t find anything. Red: That’ll suit their purposes just fine. Anything they do find, they’ll erase so they can say you destroyed evidence to hide your involvement in the plot. And when they eventually restore what few pieces they do want to be found, they will not be kind to you. You need to get out. Liz: If I run, it’ll only make me look guilty. I’ll be playing right into their hands. Red: You’re already in their hands. The only thing they haven’t done is closed their fist. Go. Now. I’ll be there in three minutes. Liz: No. They can’t prove I did anything wrong. They can call me a criminal, but I’m not gonna act like one.

Cooper: I’ve been relieved of duty. Red: I’m not surprised. And Connolly’s minions are questioning Agent Keen. Cooper: The man has the weight of the entire DOJ behind him- if he wants to indict her. Red: There won’t be an indictment. They’ll rig the evidence against her, parade her in front of the cameras so America can see the face of the enemy, and then they’ll put her away someplace where she has no chance to mount a defense. Cooper: I have to go back. Red: You won’t be allowed in the building. Cooper: We can’t just leave her there. Red: Of course not. We’re gonna walk her right out the door. Cooper: You have someone on the inside? Red: Yes. Fortunately, I also have a man at the power company. The lines will be cut to both the main and emergency power supplies. Cooper: Battery boot protocol will recycle within 60 seconds. It will take another 30 seconds for the cameras to cycle. Red: That’s 90 seconds for Agent Keen to get out. With your guidance, Harold, that’s all the time she’ll need. Cooper: You want me to guide her out in the dark? Red: In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king.

[sherrybaby14]

Nobody Cares 2

Summary:  Jo’s first week at the Sanctuary

Warnings:  Violence 

A/N: Early this morning I changed my post to chapter 1 because I’m going to do this differently here.  This posting of Nobody Cares is going to be linear and a lot more focused on Negan.  

When Jo came to her head was throbbing. She went to put her hand on her forehead but couldn’t move it.  Then she lifted her head and her surroundings became clearer. She was sitting in a chair, her hands were tied behind her back and her ankles were each tied to a leg.  Her shirt had a large blood stain and her hair was falling out of the bun.  

                 The room was dark.  There was a single lightbulb hanging from a string. It looked like she was in some sort of basement.  

                 “Look who decided to wake up,” a voice came from the darkness. “I was giving you another five minutes before I splashed you with cold water. It’s a shame really, that would have been fun for me.”

                 Footsteps sounded and Negan came out from the shadows. He had a chair with him. He set it in front of her and spun it around so he could straddle the back.

                 “Let’s me and you have a little chat.” He grinned at her.

                 “Go to hell.” Jo was surprised she stood up to him.

                 He rolled his eyes and kept his comedic grin.

                 “I told you to kill me.” Jo stared at him with anger. “I won’t help you with anything.”

                 “Of course you will baby doll.” Negan ran his hand down her cheek. “Let me explain the situation to you.  Your friends work for me now. You are my insurance policy. It goes both ways. You want me to treat them nicely you treat me nicely. They want me to treat you nicely they treat me nicely.  After all, I am a nice guy. I think we can all be cordial with each other.”

                 “How do I even know they’re still alive?” Jo twisted her face away from him.

                 “You don’t.” Negan continued to rub her cheek. “As far as you’re concerned they’re all dead. Don’t ask questions about them, don’t have me check up on them, erase the name Rick from your vocabulary.”

                 She twitched at the name Rick. The image of him dead on the ground made her gasp and a sob broke lose.

                 “So you are the fearless leader’s lady?” Negan grabbed her by the chin. “I would appreciate it if you looked at me while I’m talking. Lack of eye contact is considered rude to some people.”

                 Jo took a deep breath to stop her sobs.  She stared at him with fire in her eyes. He released her chin and it ached where he grabbed it.

                 “I will throw you a bone and let you know your husband is still breathing, but how much you cooperate will depend on how long that stays true.”  He rested his chin on the top of his chair and gave her fake puppy dog eyes. “Answer me honestly and I will make things easy on your safe zone people.”

                 Jo didn’t understand why he didn’t kill her. She would be another mouth to feed. Alexandria couldn’t afford to lose half their supplies. People would starve. Rick would understand that and sacrifice her. She would expect him to.

                 “What’s your name?”

                 “Go to hell.” Jo repeated.

                 The smile didn’t drop from Negan’s face as he lifted his hand and with a fast movement backhanded her.  There was so much force the chair started to topple over, but he must have grabbed it and steadied her.  There were black spots in front of her eyes, but he grabbed her chin again and the pain re-centered there.

                 “If you pass out on me I will get to use that cold water. It’s not bedtime yet.” Negan smiled. “I hate violence. I am not a violent person. I especially hate violence against women. You’re making me angry because you’re making me hurt you.  Trust me, you do not want to make me angry.  Let’s try this one more time. What is your name?”

                 “Jo.” Her face stung.

 She hand a feeling this man would amputate all her limbs and send them to Alexandria before he let her die.

                 “Jo.” Negan repeated. “I imagine its short for something, but you can share that later.  Now what am I going to do with you Jo?”

                 She shook her head.

                 “I know you’re some sort of nurse, but how could I expect you to treat my men? Let’s be honest, there is zero trust between us.” Negan sat back up and started tapping his hands on his thighs. “You’re a smart girl. Take a guess?”

                 A look of terror washed over her face.  She knew what he was going to do and she wished there was some way, any way she could travel back in time and make love with Rick in the kitchen.  Negan responded to her horror with laughter.

                 “I told you baby doll, not a big fan of violence against women. Besides, I already have five wives. Why would I resort to force?” He rose his eyebrows repeatedly.  “Before I untie you and take you to your room I want to make sure you understand the rules. What are they?”

                 “Be nice to you and you will be nice to Alexandria and answer questions when asked.” Jo swallowed back her tears.

                 “How about behave like a proper guest too. That sums it up.  If you break them not only will I be not so nice to you, I will have to take it out on your friends.” He stood up from his chair and walked behind her. “That includes trying to run away, I will shoot you dead and then have to grab another person you care about to take your place.”

                 There was a quick release and her wrists were free. She rubbed them as her ankles were undone.  She thought about picking up the chair and trying to bash him with it, but she was too woozy from the multiple head injuries.  She felt his hand on the small of her back leading her out of a door.  They went into a hall with florescent lighting. Metal doors lined both sides of the hall.  She tried to guess what sort of building they were in, but it was too hard to tell. Maybe a hospital? Or a mental instiution? He stopped in front of one and opened it up, signaling for her to head inside.

                 She took a step in and saw nothing.  No bed, no blanket.  Only a bucket in the corner. She tried not to cringe at the knowledge of what that was for.

                 “Someone will bring you some food and water in a little bit.” Negan started to close the door.

                 “Wait, can I have a blanket?” Jo asked.

                 “You want a blanket? A pillow? What do you think this is a Hilton?” Negan laughed. “You want those things you have to earn them.”

                 “How?” Jo was confused.

                 “You’re a smart girl. I said I wouldn’t take things without permission.  I didn’t say I wouldn’t accept what was offered.” Negan laughed as he closed the door behind him.  

                 Jo wanted to scream and cry, life was not fair. But she was sure she had a concussion and even though all her medical training told her to stay awake she couldn’t keep her eyes open as she passed out on the cement floor under harsh fluorescent lighting.

~~~  

               Jo’s back hurt from sitting against the concrete. It was hard to guess the passage of time,  since the lights never went out and food and sleep were sporadic.  She assumed it had been a week, but there was no way to be certain.

 The only food they delivered was bland oatmeal, and sometimes if she were lucky it was delivered with a book.  She fiddled with the pages of the current one since she already read it three times, debating on ripping them out to make origami. Every title was more erotic than the last, all stared submissive females.

 If this treatment was supposed to break her it would last awhile.  She was used to being silent.  Besides, being in solitary with no blanket was a lot less scary than behaving like the women in the books she was reading.  

                  She had called out in boredom once and if there were any other prisoners they didn’t respond.  There was no round the clock guard either.  Judging by the metal lock on the door it would be next to impossible to pick so there was no need.

                 The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Her food came recently, so she knew this was different.  Jo braced herself against the wall and stood up.  She saw the lock click and wondered what was about to happen.  Negan entered the room with the scarf wrapped around his neck and same tight leather jacket and gloves.  He came straight to her cell wherever he was from.

                 “Jesus Christ you look like shit.”  His eyes scanned her up and down.

                 “Well I haven’t had a shower or a change of clothes in a week.” Jo was not about to waste the little water they were giving her on hygiene…at this point.

                 “Follow me.”  He turned on his heel and left the door open.

                 Jo went into the hall.  She debated on turning and running the other way, hiding until she could make her escape, but she had no idea where she was and the thought of Maggie or Rosita ending up in her place was too much.  Negan led her to an illuminated exit sign and climbed the stairs. The first thing Jo noticed were the windows. There weren’t many, but it was night time outside.  

                 To their backs was a main room filled with tables and people eating.  It didn’t look like it was meant to be a cafeteria.  She noticed they were not eating oatmeal.  

                 “Keep up baby doll.” Negan’s voice distracted her from her rumbling stomach.  

                 They came to a stairwell.  Jo noticed the people they passed on their way dropped to their knees.  It was off putting.  She tried to focus more on the architecture of the building.  She could not figure out what it would have been before the apocalypse.  It no longer looked like a hospital.  They continued to climb and she noticed the floors were mainly filled with rooms. After about six staircases they came to the top. Negan pushed open the storm door to reveal a giant apartment. The living space was huge.  There was a bar to the left with four stools, a massive bookcase, a fireplace, and three couches.  On the far wall were three shut doors.

                 “Wait right here.”  Negan did not turn around as he went to one of the closed doors.

                 Jo was afraid.  This was his personal space. She didn’t understand what he could have brought her up here for.  She followed all his rules. He reappeared with a towel in his hand. She noticed some soaps and a razor were on top.

                 “Now so far you have been a perfect guest. I thought I would reward that behavior.”  Negan placed the toiletries in her hand. “The middle door is a bathroom.”

                 “Thank you.” Jo accepted the items and pulled away when Negan gripped her wrist.

 “I am giving you a little bit of trust here.  Don’t do anything stupid.  Take a nice long hot shower and come out when you’re done.”

                 She kept her head down and practically ran to the bathroom. She noticed the door did not have a lock and felt a bit disappointed.  Then Jo caught a look at herself in the mirror.  She lost weight from her already small frame and her eyes were starting to look sunken in. There was a yellow mark from the healing bruise where Negan had smacked her. Her dark blonde hair was so greasy it looked another color. The only thing that didn’t seem effected were her eyes. They were as blue as ever.  

                 “I don’t hear the shower running,” Negan called from beyond the door.

                 Jo jumped, flung the shower door open, flipped the water on and stripped, wanting to take as quick a shower as possible. Negan might have been showing her a little bit of trust, but she did not trust him. Unfortunately for Jo the second the warm water hit her skin her resolve to be speedy dried up.  She swore the water looked brown as she shampooed her hair.

 Once she was satisfied her tresses were clean enough she started with the soap, scrubbing every inch of her body until it was red.  The pink disposable razor looked like a gift from the heavens and she removed every bit of body hair, unsure if she would see one again. She hadn’t meant to take the toothbrush and paste into the shower with her, but they were there and so she eagerly brushed away a week’s worth of buildup.

                 Once everything was done and clean Jo debated on doing the entire ritual a second time, but she was aware Negan saw this as a gift. One she hoped to get a repeat of. With some remorse she shut off the shower and walked back towards the sink.  She used the white towel to dry herself off and noticed some lotion on the back of the toilet.  Jo spread some on her legs and arms noticing her skin was pink from too much scrubbing.

                 Her hair was filled with excess water and Jo squeezed it out over the sink.  She ran a brush through it several times and repeated the process.  It was starting to dry in long waves and already looked lighter than it had pre shower.  Finally feeling as clean as possible Jo went to her clothes and noticed they were missing. A pit in her stomach grew.  There was a light tap on the door and Jo went for the knob, squeezing it in place, hoping the person on the other side wouldn’t turn it.

                 “I can hear how tense you are in there.” Negan continued tapping on the door. “Those clothes were filthy. I didn’t want you getting all clean just to get dirty again. Open the door and I’ll hand you a new pair.”

                 Jo tried to think about what her options were.  She didn’t believe him.  This was too good, too much of a change from her cell in the basement.  Something was about to happen.

                 “I’ve been good.” Jo yelled through the door. “I’ve done everything you asked. I..I…I was polite, I didn’t bother anyone.  I was nice to you tonight.”  

                 “You’ve been a model prisoner.” Negan grabbed ahold of the handle and started twisting from the other side. “But remember the other part of our arrangement.”

                 Jo struggled to grip the handle, but the humidity from the shower made it slip easily.  As soon as Negan loosened it enough he pushed his shoulder into the door, sending her flying backwards.  

                 “Alexandria is nice to me and I’ll be nice to you.” Negan grinned down at her with menace all over his face.  “Well Alexandria wasn’t so nice today.”