#and also they have the whole pimp/prostitute thing going on

[asthedeathoflight]

Maybe opinions have shifted in the fandom but i do think its very interesting that a lot of fanfic ive read assumes that Louis and Armand are living off of Armand's money. Assuming the apartment is in Armand's name, etc, when Armand actually seems to be perpetually broke. He has zero employable skills. When Lestat meets him he's living in squalor and hes only living a reasonably comfortable life when Louis meets him because Lestat has been his (and the covens) absentee sugar daddy for a hundred years. Now its possible that theyre living off of Lestat's fortune after his death but I can't imagine Lestat would have left Louis as inheritor of his estate after returning to Paris. I actually think the show is pretty clear that its LOUIS's money they're living off of. In 2x4 he talks about it: he became an art dealer. He has the eye. As a vampire with infinite patience he can sit on art until it becomes incredibly valuable. And we see them do it in the show! They sell the Francis Bacon paintings! The show really lavishes a LOT of attention on the sale of the paintings, and it makes sense if that's one of Louis and Armand's main occupations. Its Louis' keen business sense that has brought them into wealth (although im not sure why Louis was living in that shitty apartment in 1976). Anyways. I don't know where I'm going with this i just think it's interesting that people assume that Armand's power extends into the financial when he is like. The brokest man alive. Lmao.

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 02

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,4k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), Brock Rumlow

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: Bucky’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and his chest grew bigger as he took a deep breath through the nose. His mouth curved into a bitter smile. He stared at Brock for a while longer, then moved away, as if he intended to leave you two alone.

On your way to a meeting with Brock Rumlow and his father, you wondered what it would cost you to jump out of a moving car. Would something like that be worse than marrying Brock and becoming part of his Family? The Family, which was mainly in the business of prostitution and drugs? Actually, drugs were an issue that you tolerated. But the vision of a relationship – arranged or not – with a pimp made you nauseous.

And all you knew about Brock was that he was hot-tempered, impulsive and aggressive, but this wasn’t uncommon among gangsters. 

You also remembered what Bucky said.

Do you honestly believe Brock Rumlow will hold up his part of the deal? Did you forget his relationship with women or are you just going to overlook it?

“Try to keep an open mind.” You heard Michael. The sound of his voice managed to stop the chaos in your head. “James can be persuasive and thinks he knows everything. But remember he is not in your situation and never will be, so try not to turn against me. Focus on the welfare of the Family.”

You restrained yourself from snorting at his words. Focusing on the welfare of the Family and business had become one big headache for you – it was giving you sleepless nights, eating you alive, and Michael was asking you for more. You were already tired, stressed and sick to your stomach. 

The car stopped outside the pub that Rumlows had proposed for a meeting, and as soon as the engine was turned off, and you realised the seriousness of the situation and how close you were to it, you felt an overpowering sense of anxiety and panic. Your breathing became uneven, the inside of your hands damp with sweat. 

You jumped uneasily as the driver opened the door for you.

“I need a moment.” You were able to focus enough to make your voice sound normal, and the words left your mouth almost flawlessly. “I’ll just fix my makeup.” 

Being alone in the car was somehow helping, but you still couldn't bring yourself to exit the vehicle – that step led straight to a meeting with Brock Rumlow.

“What is going on?” You heard a muffled voice that belonged to neither Michael nor the driver, so you looked up at the side window. Bucky was standing just by the car door, he wasn't speaking to you but to Michael. 

“She wanted a few minutes for herself.” 

Frowning, Bucky looked inside the car through the window, and you could easily see the confusion in his eyes. For a moment, you just looked at each other – you with pure mess in your head, and he as if trying to read your mind from the expression on your face. He grabbed the handle, and a refreshing spring air burst inside the car.

“Hey,” Bucky spoke gently, leaning towards you. “You okay?”

“I-” you gasped. Closing your eyes, you took the biggest possible breath you could afford right now. “I'm not sure I want to go there.”

Bucky stared at you in silence, a pained concern spreading across his face. He clenched his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” you continued in a trembling voice. “I don't normally get all-... like that. I’m not a child,” you were babbling mindlessly, fearing that otherwise he would have thought you were a spoiled hysteric.

“I know,” Bucky said immediately, cutting off your train of thought. “Listen…” he began with a hesitation. He let out a quiet sigh and wetted his lips. “We go there and it'll all be over soon. You don’t have to make any decisions yet,” he stated. “I'll be there the whole time. And I won't let anyone hurt you. Alright?” His voice was soft, delicate, but firm and decisive at the same time. “We’ll get out of there anytime you want, huh?”

The longer you stared at Bucky's face, the less anxious you felt. You genuinely believed you would be safe with him. You didn't have the head to wonder why you trusted him implicitly at that moment, but one thought automatically came to you – you needed someone like him in that situation; someone who didn't pressure you. 

You nodded, and Bucky smiled. He seemed to relax a little, as if a wave of relief had spread through his body.

“I don’t want to be late.” You sounded weak, embarrassed by the scene from a moment ago. But it looked like Bucky was pretending not to see anything.

“They set the meeting in a pub,” he said with a disapproval that was not far from disgust. “Make them wait.” 

Brock greeted you with a smile that faded as soon as Bucky entered the building. Rumlow Senior did a much better job of hiding his displeasure, but still watched him with caution. Bucky, on the other hand, seemed to be completely calm. Bored even.

Brock invited you to a booth, where you and Michael took a seat. Brock and his father sat opposite, and Bucky grabbed a chair from another table and moved it a little closer.

“Seriously,” Brock finally spoke up, indicating impatience. “What's this clown doing here?”

“You don’t know what clowns do, Brock?” Bucky answered. “They make people smile.” He reached for the knife attached to his belt. “Wanna try? I can give you one.”

You watched Bucky and your mouth went dry. You thought it was inappropriate, to say the least – you were sitting in front of, presumably, your future husband, but it was someone else who made you need to wet your throat and collect your thoughts. You had an unclear sense of how Bucky was affecting you, but you told yourself that any handsome man would make a similar impression on you. And Bucky was just that. Beautiful with his blue, sad eyes, nose perfect in every way, and pink, plump lips. Well-built as far as your eyesight could reach. He smelled nice; not as strong and overwhelming as the men you usually came into contact with. And his hair must have been really soft to touch…

Shaking your head to get rid of these thoughts, you reached for the glass of ice water standing in front of you. You stuck your guilt-filled gaze into the table top and dipped your lips into the cold, refreshing liquid.

Michael cleared his throat. “We should get to business.”

The beginning of the conversation was similar to what you had already heard that night when Timothy Barnes turned up at your house. You all knew what the deal was supposed to be about, but Michael had been going over it from the start – he wanted to make sure that there were no misunderstandings, and that the Rumlow Family would not actually use the agreement against yours.

You wondered why Brock didn't interfere; why he didn't have questions, didn't ask for correction or clarification of any issue. And when you glanced at him you noticed that he was looking at you in a way that made you even more nauseous. You couldn't compare it to the situation when John Walker was watching you. Although he was doing it inappropriately, it wasn't harmful. Brock, on the other hand, had something so rejecting and disgusting in his look that you would rather have disappeared out of his sight.

We’ll get out of there anytime you want.

Having remembered Bucky's words, you turned your gaze to him. Yet Bucky wasn’t focusing on you. Running his fingertip over the blunt side of the knife, he stared at Brock.

“How much exactly is there to take over?” Rumlow Senior asked.

“Well…” Michael sighed heavily. “An art gallery, two casinos; one here, the other in Atlantic City, three real estates, shares in the stock market, arms dealing for Mr. Anthony Stark…” he listed for formality; most of the Mafia community knew about each of these things. Except for the location of the real estates Michael had mentioned. “The territory of all activities, the protection of businesses in that area. And political influence.” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief from his jacket. “As long as, of course, you take care of such friends,” he told Brock. “And I must admit that we would prefer to maintain good relationships with them.”

“Cross out the gallery,” you said. “It belongs to me only, and I decide what happens to it.” You seemed surprisingly assertive to everyone in the room, and when you noticed the perplexed looks on both Rumlows’ faces, you forced a falsely sweet smile. 

“If that's your only condition…” Brock replied.

“Not really,” Bucky interjected, casually scratching his back with the knife he had played with earlier. “Y/N will have a full view of what is happening with the things she owns. I'm talking about casinos and everything else,” he clarified blandly. “And one hundred percent decision-making in major changes.”

You glanced uneasily at Bucky. Since you had no idea about running your father's business, you didn't need all this. But you understood his strategy – Bucky wanted to secure you against Brock. 

Brock clenched his fists and took a deep breath. Looking at him, you thought involuntarily of a bull provoked by a red rag. “What's all this? A fucking prenup?”

Rumlow Senior put his hand on Brock’s shoulder. “Of course,” He smiled mysteriously, ignoring his son's anger. “Miss Y/N will have total control over her father's business. Provided that a male descendant is born within one year of the marriage.”

You were prepared to hear this. However, it seemed to you that Rumlow Senior had maliciously taken advantage of this condition because you and Bucky had got under his skin. 

“Write down your version of the agreement, we will do the same,” Michael broke the brief silence, his voice monotone. “We’ll compare both versions and reach the final one.”

Brock offered you something to drink, and hoping to still see something in him that would make the arrangement less painful, you agreed. Michael and Rumlow Senior stayed in the booth; it didn't bother you that they could have already started discussing points of the possible agreement. Bucky was sitting right next to them and you knew he would have intervened on your behalf. What you didn't know was why he was doing it. You didn't even have any grounds to guess, but you decided to go with the assumption that he wanted you in his debt.

You stood at the bar. Although the pub was closed, the bartender was behind the counter, ready to take your order.

“What are you drinking?” Brock asked. “To celebrate our new friendship?” He sized you up in a way that he probably thought was discreet. 

You didn't want to celebrate anything. You needed to numb yourself out.

“Tequila?” You smiled with pursed lips. 

Brock nodded at the bartender, and the man placed two small glasses and a full bottle on the counter, then poured the alcohol. You grabbed one of the glasses and consumed its content in one steady tilt. The fire burning your throat briefly distracted you from the situation you found yourself in. Grimacing, you slid the glass back to the bartender, who filled it without a word.

“That prenup, you know…” Brock started, taking a step closer to you. “You could've just asked nicely. And I would give you everything you want.” He shrugged. You didn't believe a word he said. But if he actually spoke sincerely, you guessed what he meant by ‘asking nicely’. “You didn't have to bring Barnes here to get it done for you. I'm even a bit discouraged now, to be honest.”

There was a sense of distaste in your mouth that you needed to wash away with another shot of tequila.

“You’re right. Sorry,” you said with insincere remorse, and only did so because it was some way of getting out of this confrontation alive. You believed that if you behaved submissively enough, Brock would leave you alone. But, actually, you felt like laughing. Yes, Brockie, you thought. You’re a genius; so smart, so perfect. And a fucking prick. 

“On second thought… You can still ask nicely. I will listen to you in private, what about that?” He moved even closer to you. One of Brock's hands found its way to your hip. Immediately the other followed, and before you knew what was actually happening, Brock was pressing you against his body.

“Take your hands off me, please.” There was no panic in your voice, just patience. 

“Why?” He didn't even pretend to be surprised by your request. “Don't you think we should get to know each other better? We don't have much time. I mean, only a year? Minus nine months or whatever,” he added, and it sounded much more disgusting than you could've imagined.

“Get your fucking hands off her, Rumlow, or I’ll break them.”

You didn't even notice when Bucky appeared nearby. The anger, although controlled, was still visible on his face. And it seemed entirely justified to you – Bucky had warned you and Michael about Brock from the very beginning.

Rumlow stepped back reluctantly. “What's the big deal? We are almost married!”

“Do you remember signing anything, Brock? Huh?” Bucky said with apparent calm. “Maybe you do because coke has fried your fucking brain.” 

Trying to intimidate him, Brock stood right in front of Bucky. But Bucky turned out to be unfazed by it. 

“It will happen. Sooner or later, ‘cause there’s no more profitable candidate on the market, and you know that,” Brock muttered. “And sooner rather than later I’m going to fuck her.” He nodded in your direction. “But don't worry, we'll name our first son James. Or maybe not, since that name seems to bring bad luck. I already know one James who put his daddy in a grave.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flared, and his chest grew bigger as he took a deep breath through the nose. His mouth curved into a bitter smile. He stared at Brock for a while longer, then moved away, as if he intended to leave you two alone.

“That’s right, Buck. Stay out of it.” Brock turned back to you. “Where were we?” He licked his lips. 

He didn't manage to get close to you again. Two hands landed on his shoulders and jerked with such force that Brock fell onto a nearby table. Before he had a chance to do something, Bucky came at him, taking a couple heavy steps. With one hand, he grabbed his shirt and held him in place; with the fist of the other, he punched him in the face hard enough to make Brock stagger again. This, however, enraged him enough to regain some control – Brock attacked Bucky, and he took that gladly.

They exchanged a few blows; Bucky aimed his nimbly and precisely, Brock seemed to strike blindly. And that's probably why he ended up on the floor, with Bucky's shoe print on his dark T-shirt.

Brock was catching his breath and Bucky observed his work, but he didn't finish it off. He stood more or less in the same place from which he had pushed Brock. 

You enjoyed it. A lot. It wasn't necessarily about Brock getting what he deserved, but the spectacle itself. Men punching each other – the kind of violence you loved in some twisted way, especially when there was alcohol running through your veins.

Michael and Rumlow Senior were also watching the whole scene. Neither of them intended to react, and both looked as if they were witnessing a fight between two teenagers too young to control their anger and raging hormones. 

“Hey…” You turned to the bartender. “Can I get a cloth and some ice?”

Rumlow whispered something to Michael, then helped his son up. “Let’s go, you-” he growled, his mouth set in a hard line. Michael left the pub behind them, presumably to smooth things over.

The bartender placed a clean cloth and a glass filled with ice cubes on the counter. You poured them onto the cloth and folded it, making a cold compress. 

When Bucky appeared at the bar, you glanced at him without saying a word. Although the redness stretching from his temple to his cheekbone was quite clear to see, you carefully studied his entire face, trying to find something else there. You weren't sure what exactly, but you were somehow satisfied to notice in his eyes traces of cooled anger slowly turning to consternation.

Again, Bucky was allowing you to come into wordless contact with him, so without any resistance you lowered your gaze to his right hand, resting loosely on the surface of the counter. His knuckles looked much worse than his face, but it didn't surprise you – he threw more punches than he took. 

As you looked up at his face, you caught his eyes. They were bored into you.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked, breaking the silence between you.

“If it was about me, I would say it wasn't the smartest thing you could have done,” you answered, reaching for the prepared compress. You enjoyed the show, but you were worried Bucky had gotten himself into trouble because of that, and it was your fault.

You lifted the compress to his face and pressed it to the side, and he didn't even blink. 

“Well, it was about you,” he threw out casually, without making the slightest effort to convince you that this was indeed the case. 

“Sure,” You pressed the compress harder, making Bucky wince slightly. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being snarky,” he sighed.

“It’s okay. You got every right to be angry,” you claimed. “Brock shouldn’t have brought up your dad like that.” 

“You’re right,” Bucky agreed, his voice bland once again. “I could have punched him earlier. Before he even started talking’.”

You smiled slightly and tilted your head, looking at him with the least believable disapproval there was.

“How's your pain?” you asked softly, nodding at his hand. 

Bucky looked at it too, then lifted it off the counter, bent and stretched his fingers. “It’s nothing,” he stated, although you could see that the bloody wounds were making him uncomfortable.

The door of the pub slammed, so you both instinctively looked in that direction. You've never seen Michael so annoyed before.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he scolded Bucky. “Do you have any idea what you just did? Now I have to somehow convince the Rumlows not to give up on us.”

“For what?” Bucky bit back. “To sell your protege to these fu-”

“Watch your tone.”

“Michael,” you began. You intended not only to express your opinion, but also to give Bucky some space; to take Michael off of his back. “You don’t have to convince the Rumlows to anything.”

Michael raised his eyebrows. “How come?”

“Well…” you hesitated, nibbling on your bottom lip. You were aware that he was trying to save your father's life's work, and you weren't making it any easier for him. But it was time to face the truth – Brock was the worst possible candidate. “I don’t think my marriage with Brock will work out. Rumlow Senior doesn’t want to cooperate, he just wants more power. And Brock couldn’t care less about business.” In reality, you had no idea if it was actually the truth. But some gut instinct told you to plant a seed of doubt in Michael. 

And you knew you had succeeded – Michael was silent, considering something.

“All right,” he said. “I will contact Rumlow Senior one last time. If they agree to our terms, we will meet with them again. If they demand more, no deal will be done.”

The situation wasn't ideal, but at least you had bought yourself some time.

“And one more thing,” Michael added. “This is the last meeting you attended.” He looked at Bucky. “Whether it's Brock or any other candidate, I don't want to see you. I will not accept you messing with Y/N's head. I want you to stay away from her. Is that clear?” 

At first glance, Bucky seemed unmoved. But there was something in his eyes – something strikingly similar to the way he looked at Brock before he came at him. 

“Is that clear, Mr. Barnes?”

“Yeah. I heard you the first time,” Bucky answered. He headed to the door, and without saying a word, or at least glimpsing at you, left the pub.

taglist:  @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446

[lorynna]

Andrew Tate, a huge hypocrite, is the perfect example of: create the disease, sell the cure." Now, let me explain.

Tate starts off with his webcam business. He openly admits on camera - filming and releasing the footage himself -, that not only is he purposefully manipulating girls, making them fall in love with him (he himself calls it and actively uses the term "lover boy method" as a descriptor) but then also convincing them to work for him as cam-girls, telling those women that they could get rich together if she would simply start instrumentalizing her body and sexuality. He continues to explain in great detail how exactly he emotionally abused those women, lied to them and used several manipulation tactics on them. But I'd rather not mention all that here, since that would open up a whole new conversation and take too long to fully dive into this.

He also admitted on camera that he robbed them of about half of the money those women made "working for him" and then states and I quote: They thought they were on 50% and I said that the despair of the money was because of taxes."

He continues to talk about men "falling in love" with the women he recruited for his Webcam business which were selling their houses, spending all of their life savings etc. in order to pay for the cam-girl services and he commented on those men's actions saying," give me all of it" admitting he didn't at all care for the lives or fates of those men. Tate built his whole empire on being a pimp, which he defines as and i quote again" being a positive, inspirational, motivating person", exploiting and extracting money from lonely, depressed, porn-addicted men.

Now something might start to click. But isn't he a known advocate for those exact men? Telling them that porn consumption is bad, to get their health and depression in check, recommending going to the gym and preaching about how much he hates prostitutes?

He's an advocate for men's suffering and problems? After he caused so much damage to them, making money off of them, taking advantage of them and furthered their misery? The irony.

First he scammed those men, taking their money with good conscience, now he is an advocate for them, making them hate the kind of women he himself manipulated into this, talking about how bad porn is, when he literally owned a webcam business. And don't dare to come at me with "but people change, maybe he learnt from his mistakes".

For now I just recounted why he's a huge hypocrite but now let's focus on why he is a huge mysognist. He has said many things I don't even want to recount, including but ofc not limited to him demonstrating how he'd hit a women in the face that would "misbehave" and not "listen to him" and I have also unfortunately personally seen the video footage that is going around of him beating up a woman with a belt.

One example out of his many many statements so I can further lead on with this text: He further talks about his webcam business, saying "the only girls i couldn't recruit, were girls who had rich parents. Because they're like: Oh, but I don't need that money, my parents are rich! Girls are gonna get their Luis Vuitton bag either way." Implying how all women are superficial and only rich parents prevent a girl from being a "hoe". He got his fame and money from the same women he continues to publicly shame now.

He damaged women and men at the same time, yet there's still people, mostly men, defending him saying "yeah, but he also sometimes tells things that are true!". I appreciate your intention to differentiate and trying to filter through the many bullshit things he's said just so you can cling on to a single true statement.

Even the worst person sometimes has valid points, but that doesn't mean that we can just overlook the things he did in the past and the overall harm he has caused and is STILL causing.

Aside from all of this stuff, Tate continued to deny many of his statements he himself posted online before, showing massive double standards. It seems like he just tries to profit off what's giving him the largest, most uncritical fan base and by targeting incels who love to follow and hear an "alpha male" talk about how "all women are bitches", fueling their anger due to being rejected by women, he seems to have found a goldmine.

He promotes harmful, misogynistic views on women, promoting toxic behavior towards them and is imprinting on the minds of young, impressionable, vulnerable men.

If after knowing all this, you're still a defender of Tate, you might be just as bad as Tate himself.

[haggishlyhagging]

When women make our internal states, our well-being, contingent upon men's behavior, behavior we can neither control nor change, we give up all chance for independence and freedom. Our freedom must depend exclusively on us; we are the only ones we can change and control.

We must understand and internalize the fact that men are totally irrelevant now as far as change is concerned. So we can take our eyes off them and look at ourselves to make a shining new reality right here, right now in the midst of the old putrescent, collapsing world of the fathers.

As long as we're focused on the men, we're never going to see that the door to our jail cell is open, that it's open not into patriarchy but into our own power. As long as we're concentrating on the men, doing everything with our pimps in mind, we're never going to break free. Our pimps are the men around us. They're the legislators, professors, ministers —none of you still has ministers or priests, I trust? Our pimps are our fathers, our husbands, our sons. To be everything in relation to them is slavery.

I learned this as a prostitute-in-training in Mormondom, in a Mormon home as well as the church. And in the Democratic Party. And in liberal and progressive and leftist groups. And in the National Organization for Women, which is modeled, also, on the patriarchal family. I learned these things in the same place you learned them. We have all learned them the hard way.

When I escaped from Mormonism, I looked out and saw that all churches were the Mormon church. I looked out further and saw that the whole world was the Mormon church. Over the years as I kept looking, I saw that Congress and the legislatures and the political parties and Mother Jones and National Public Radio were also all the Mormon church— you know, "Nothing New Considered," "The Same Old Stuff Considered." I saw that they were all the Old Boys' Club.

I decided I wasn't going to escape from one brothel just to get myself trapped in another; that something was basically wrong with thinking that any of these institutions was the New World. So it seemed to me that it was time for me to take my eyes off the guys, to get rid of the superstitious belief that if I didn't monitor every single thing they did, if I didn't clutch at them and beg them and plead with them and lobby them and kick and scream and stamp my foot and demand, they would go berserk and kill us all.

But this is nonsense, of course, because all evidence shows that men have gone berserk anyway. With our eyes fastened unblinkingly on their faces day and night for thousands of years, they have grown increasingly mad. With our attention riveted upon them they are killing us and the world around us daily. The evidence is that with our reactive, fearful, dependent behavior we have been facilitating patriarchy in all its manifestations throughout its history. We have been seasoned to do this, to keep our eyes on our patriarchs, our pimps, so we won't look at ourselves and see the stunning alternatives.

-Sonia Johnson, “Taking Our Eyes Off the Guys” in The Sexual Liberals and the Attack on Feminism

[liampaynemysteriousdeath]

theory, comments, announcement

Pertaining to liam in Basement and stumbling in hallways drunk article.(which came out before elevator).

Now that elevator video comes out, I'm wondering if nores was trying to get him in elevator, not to go up to his room, but down to basement while the robbers ransacked his room. But roger knew liam only had one brown bag suitcase... and according to a comment below only $18 to his name since roger took hold of finances and kate supposedly took his credit cards. But maybe robbers/pimp didn't know that and expected payment from liam directly. They didn't know nores was the one in charge of money.

And how it was nores that made himself look like good guy trying to pay for liams room service, liquor, and prostitutes, when really he was using kiams money the whole time to pay those things off.

Idk just thinking out loud. Idk if any of my theories are true.

Also the topic of conservatorship came up which made me wonder about life insurance possibly taken up on liam (by who or in what country idk). But also hotels have insurance and I believe only payout if it's an accident and not a suicide. I'm not an expert and there are different laws for each country. Wait, aren't conservatorships only meant to be handled by family in court of law? I don't think an unofficial ,imagery would gave jurisdiction in court of law to get to be a handler legally.

I assume that liams family could sue the hotel but it would have to be ruled something other than a suicide. I think hotel is trying to say he did it to himself, so 1) they can get business insurance payout possibly, as well as avoid being sued by liams family.

fyi in future I might go private which means only tumblr users following me will have access. And possibly turn off public asks and oublic searchability..., So screenshot everything just in case and/or follow me. Aa of now everything is public and I plan on keeping it that way, but we will see in future what happens, depending on who finds this blog, thanks for understanding.

[distopea]

Lore information drop

Difference between escorts vs prostitutes in my lore. Aka while I refer to one thing instead of another, it means there's INDEED a difference 👀

Bastet was the only "prostitute" ever. Her years of "service" occurred when she was under the reign of the Lenio Family. In that setting, there was no possibility for women sold to the Family to actually have a word for their body or the possibility to give their consent. 

The system was mostly groups of pimps with several girls under their command. The Lenio were declining over the years, so the safety around their prostitutes was truly limited, along with the hygiene conditions and the money earned. The Lenio didn't care much as long as they could earn money and influence, and girls were simply the victims of that system. 

When Bastet got out, Astra offered to continue with her activities. However, even if it would upgrade her to an escort status, she was traumatized enough to negotiate something else instead and revoke that title forever. 

Sybille is qualified as an escort and this is how the system works with the Cleaners. She offers time to her clients, and she gets money out of it. Time used can simply be for chatting, hanging out, going to parties, restaurants and dates. She doesn't have to sleep with her clients, but it's common knowledge among escorts. If you want to earn more, spreading your legs helps. However, you have the luxury of being picky with your clients, and saying no, but for that, it means creating your regular clientele. Usually, it's one client per night, and when she's attending someone, she will give them her whole attention for the night, or the hours they are willing to pay.

Sybille mostly operates within the Amazon Club, but also on applications (like Tinder) for new people. In exchange for a monthly salary (something small, just in case clients don't pay her enough), she attracts her big "fishes" to the club and she gives intel to the owners regarding rumors she hears in the neighborhood. Sybille doesn't have the big picture regarding the Cleaners, but she can tell that they are exchanging information to keep their influence in the red district. From them, she earns safety in her job (she's protected by the group) and the possibility to get new clients with possibly a bigger wallet and more money in her pocket. 

If she doesn't snoop too much into their business (which she doesn't), then she can safely operate and would be encouraged in that direction. 

Oliver is a bit of a strange mix between escort and prostitute. 

Due to his illness and his insensitivity to pain, Astra wanted to trap him right away for other purposes than just escorting clients, but still, though, those abuses don't happen on a daily basis. On one hand, if Oliver ever wants to repay his debts, he knows that he has to work. Astra gave him the permission to perform as an escort, but with the condition that he needed to limit his services to chatting and dancing. It wouldn't be any use for the Cleaners to have someone getting too attached to Oliver in the first place. Yet, more than once, Oliver has defied that order, and has ended up sleeping with clients he wanted to (though always in places far from the Red district). 

However, whenever Astra picks someone personally, Oliver knows that he doesn't have much choice regarding the performance delivered. The men sent his way are wicked and gross, and they have received information and instructions regarding Oliver's body. It's mostly physical and sexual torture, but a way for Astra to have a deeper grip on other parts of the Nebula that the regular escorts could never know about. 

Because of that, Oliver is truly trapped in the system. He has seen too much, he has heard too much. The intel he has earned from those special seances is way too sensitive for him to ever leave the Cleaners. If he ever tries to run away, he's the only escort that would be killed for that. 

[magnoliamyrrh]

like truly i find this americans generation insistance on this stupid idea that sex trafficking and talking about trafficking is conspiratorial propaganda so fucking gross and offensive and uncaring. bc its all satanist worshipping baby eating illuminati cults far right propaganda blah blah blah

neverminddd how this shit is offensive to hear as someone whose been through it, nevermind being from the balkans because the western europeans hold the exact same brainrot when it comes to us and our issues. american has a huge trafficking issue. absolutely huge. hell even our romanian women get trafficked to this place. california, south in particular, is one of the top states for trafficking if not the top, so idk what the fuck all these california ppl are running their mouth abt all these years (privilege)

and you know whose most impacted by sex trafficking in america, predictebly? women of colour. indigenous women and girls (high poverty rates in reservations, high rate of depression, alcholism, suicidality etc, racism, skrinking reservations etc. included in this issue the high rates of girls and women going missing and/or being killed on/near reservations), south america women and their children who may be trafficked at any point before they reach america, but also at the american border while they try to cross as some cayotes are sex traffickers (and bc of the poverty many immigrants and undocumented immigrants experience, as well as the lack of cultural knowledge making them even more vulnerable). Black women and girls from what i know are statistically hardest hit by the sex trafficking thing, some studies say at the same level as Indigenous women (40% of total both) because god knows this country hasn't dealt them enough hardship already; here all the same sort of factors are at play as in previous cases. The economically and racially disadvantaged, which live in a system which seeks to keep them down in a million ways and to exploit them continously, are hit hardest. Racial fetishization and degradion from johns and pimps also plays into this. All this is combined with the fact that bc its women and girls of colour, often police and media and society dont want to give a single shit - these cases and issues and this suffering goes unnoticed, unacknowledged, uncarwd for

Here's the thing. if this generation cared, theyd KNOW just how many trafficking cases come to light in california, in america. they would Know that every time they come out, many times many of the girls or women or both are of colour. They would Know that indigenous women are going missing at terrifying rates. they would know that most sex trafficking victims & (child) prostitutes are of colour. theyd know that most times when i see cases of american ex-prostitutes being assaulted or killed, theyre of colour. Many are white american girls as well, who also, big surprise, tend to come from the lower classes, the foster system, homelessness, abusive families, or other disadvantaged and vulnerable positions.

Except despite how damn woke this generation is and how everyone loves to pay lip service to "listen to marginalized women blah blah" "intersectionality blah blah blah" no one wants to give a shit about the whole damn sexual slavery issue this country has. and in fact they want to pretend it barely exists at all, the fabrication of republicans with their pizza gate. or they want to pretend it doesnt exist at all bc you see some well off onlyfans model said sex work is empowering and like most sex workers choose it so like you see like, its all good like, stop shaming sex workers like, stop, like, being so putitanical. jfccc

this. isnt feminism, its not intersectional feminism, its not any sort of feminism. its not any sort of woke or progressive or caring. this. its having the privilege of denying the uncomfortable reality which just so happens to hit societies most marginalized and vulnerable women and girls in one of the most horrifying ways. pretending like its conspirational propaganda is such a gross way to talk about this because outside of the general ignorance, it adds a layer of outright denying the severity of the pain and suffering at hand, on top of the sex work bullshit being pulled. wtf

[jc-lambert]

Nanaimo

BC?

British Columbia???

Trucker???

Woah...

In todays age, that would be the same thing as being a sodomous pimp caught dealing cocaine to the Kremlin or selling condoms & abortion procedures to the Pope. You get my respect for that.

If so...

You might want to report all corporations shipping into and through Kansas. Canadian based corporations in Kansas: are sort of to be deresourced or at bare minimum, watched closely by the authorities.

These days, there has come to be a trade restriction ban due to GMO law as well as the move the Star of Unalaska made into Vancouver. That monument/marker was the globally recognized boundary between the USA and Russia. Everything west is Russia, and everything east is the United States.

It was probably stolen as it was made of pure silver.

So, whomever moved it was either working with United Nations orders, or they where just terrorists who are probably going to be executed along with everyone else in the market place or anyone anywhere within 500 miles of Nanaimo. Like I shit you not, the whole city might get killed by joint efforts between the USA, USSR, and probably Canadian Authorities too.

By placing the boundary in Coal Harbour, everything in Canada is a United States Territory, and to be enforced with nuclear weapony, while the USA is at loss to Russia of the State of Alaska, as well as cities like Portland, Seattle, San Francisco, and areas such as Silicon Valley are to become disputed territory.

Moving that star there, is enough for military generals and whatever authority or politician is in office... It's enough for the United States to have doomsday missiles to be pointed at all Canadian Cities, and told to surrender both the star, as well as all accounts and property holdings, while insisting that all born Canadians strip nude: and march barefooted all the way to enemy compounds and slave encampments in Mexico, while allowing places such as the Brothels of Arizona and Nevada to purchase such persons as prostitutes. Too, as a nation we would also be most likely pandering to the cannibal markets of Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri & Oklahoma.

Like seriously, you might want to avoid the area of Vancouver for awhile. If I was in Canada, I would seriously high tail it as far north and as deep into the woods as possible.

[archinform]

Life is…Life

"A plate is a plate. A man is a man. Life is ... Life."

Reflecting on Jean-Luc Godard's Vivre sa vie

[I originally published this post on September 4, 2009, in my blog Running Into Myself, while living and teaching in China.]

"...I don't think there's any better way to fight off the chill of winter than a big bowl of carbohydrates swimming in melted butter." David Lebovitz, Wed., Dec 31, 2008 Imagine if all the tumult of the body were to quiet down, along with our busy thoughts. Imagine if all things that are perishable grew still. And imagine if that moment were to go on and on, leaving behind all other sights and sounds but this one vision which ravishes and absorbs and fixes the beholder in joy, so that the rest of eternal life were like that moment of illumination which leaves us breathless. Saint Augustine

Anna Karina in Vivre sa vie

Among my obsessions lately have been all things French; witness my continual references to David Lebovitz' blog about food and Paris.

I've also been watching a bunch of French films recently.  Is it my imagination, or am I understanding more of the dialogue, since the downloads and DVDs don't include English subtitles?  Jean-Luc Godard's Vivre sa vie (1962), which I watched again last night for the third or fourth time, is rapidly becoming one of my favorite movies. 

Nana in a cafe, opening scene of Vivre sa vie

I was mesmerized by the unusual, voyeuristic camera placement that often photographs conversations showing the backs of people’s heads; by the informal, everyday atmosphere of Paris in the early 60s; and, most of all, by the images of Anna Karina (then married to Godard).  The film, above all, seems to be a meditation on her face in its many expressions and moods.  It's a many-layered evocation of life, living, choices, and death, through masterful use of sound, silence, symbolism, dialogue, and camera work.

"The film was made by sort of a second presence," Godard said; "the camera is not just a recording device but a looking device, that by its movements makes us aware that it sees her, wonders about her, glances first here and then there, exploring the space she occupies, speculating."

Anna Karina

The streetwalker's endless beat begins

The story in brief: a young woman's loss of income leads her to become a prostitute; she hooks up with a pimp, eventually finds love, and finally, er, suffers a tragic and abrupt end. Can you even imagine an early 60s American film dealing matter-of-factly with prostitution? (Vivre sa vie includes a voice-over, clinical dissection of the facts and daily routine of a prostitute's life) Yes, I know Shirley MacLaine played a whole series of hookers-with-a-heart-of-gold, but the word was never used. Nor did money change hands. Nor did we ever get a great shot like this:

Some things are slightly less obvious, though:

Anna Karina as...Louise Brooks?

Louise Brooks, 1920s

Compare the expression on Karina's face above with with that of actress Ellen Andrée in Degas' painting of L' Absinthe below:

Edgar Degas, Dans un café (L'Absinthe), 1875 -1876, oil on canvas,H. 92,0 ; L. 68,5 cm. Musée d’Orsay

This has always been one of my favorite paintings, maybe because of the deep alienation and sadness in the woman's downcast eyes. She also reminds me of my mother, who had a lot of her own sadness.

Enough said. You'll just have to watch the film, or read an excellent interpretation here:

https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2000/cteq/vivre/

Oh, and don't let the conversation about the chicken confuse you:

 Nana's lover tells her about a homework assignment submitted by a little girl to his father the teacher. In this essay, the little girl writes: "The chicken has an inside and an outside. Remove the outside and you find the inside. Remove the inside and you find the soul."

Criterion trailer for Vivre sa vie

[mellowoafrascalmuffin]

You're half human/demon:

𝒥𝒶𝓀𝑒

Content disclaimer: Prostitution mentioned.

I open my eyes to a new scenery before me; yet similar. A bedroom made for two. Well-kept and covered with portraits of a husband and wife. Some with the lovers together, others separate. Before I could get a better understanding of my new surroundings, I’m pulled out of my curious gaze to spot a man kneeling before me. His eye wide and mouth covered with both hands as he gazed upon me.

“I… I did it.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Hello there, human. How can I be of assistants?”

He gives me a confused look in response to my question but quickly shakes it when I give him the same look.

“O-oh, I'm sorry that was rude of me. Pl-please, let me assign you to your room.”

A timid man, he seems. Can’t blame him really. Anyone would be nervous seeing a demon right in front of them. It must be a first time summoning, maybe. I watched him clumsily pick himself up before following him to my new room. Well… It’s not like I have a choice. I was told that when you are summoned, you are then bound by your summoner. Still, it feels so uncomfortable, and it’s uncanny watching your body not be in control of your mind.

“Please wait here for a moment, I’ll be back in a second, alright?”

I just nod my head. I hate this disconnection with my body, but this is my first time being summoned, so I must get used to this feeling, or I might just go crazy. He leaves the room, and I am given time to myself, the room, and my thoughts. This room is similar to the last room, just with a single bed. A guest room maybe? And the weirdest thing about it is that it reminds me of my room back at home. Ah, I’m already getting homesick. Why did I have to be born a hybrid? If I was just born fully as a human, I would have to go through this. Or, maybe fully a demon, as this might feel more natural. Before I could mellow in my brooding, I heard the door open as my new master entered. Ugh… I really hope I don’t have to call him that.

“Well, this is… unexpected.” he said with a concerned look on his face.

“What? What do you mean?”

“Well…” His eye began to dart around.

“I hope to not offend you but… I wasn’t expecting to summon a human, is all.”

I scowl at his comment, which causes him to back away slightly and apologize.

“S-sorry, that was insensitive of me.”

I give him a disapproved look but forgive him nonetheless. We stood there in silence. The air around us was quite tense after his remark.

“W-well, I’d better get going-”

“Wait…”

“Huh?” A cold sweat went down his face.

“Stay.”

“W-what?”

I hate to admit it but fear and homesickness is coming full swing.

“B-being pulled away from my home and into a new environment… I’ve never done this.” My face feels hot as I flush with embarrassment.

“I… Please, talk to me.”

The man looked shocked by my request, but then he softly smiled and nodded his head.

“Alright then. Glad I didn’t ruin your mood too much. My name's Jake by the way.”

“Y/N.” I said.

We ended up talking the whole day though. It turns out we have a lot in common and he’s quite shy but nice too. He even showed me more of his house to get a better comfortability with my surroundings. ……

Days passed and I’m still living with Jake. I’m still pretty homesick, but Jake makes every day here pleasant. He makes me feel… safe? Which is kinda ironic since he’s a human, and I’m a demon. Or… at least half, anyway. And that isn’t even the weirdest part. He’s… kinda my pimp… but also my boyfriend. Me and the other succubi that live in his house have a schedule that we follow that varies from classes and work. Work, as in looking for clients at the brothel, or at… what I assume is a love hotel. Though I am a succubus, doing “the deed” while being in a relationship makes me feel self-conscious. A disgusting freak; just like what the other succubi at the demon realm tell me. I don’t deserve Jake… ……

Jake is taking me to the park for a date today. He said he’s been noticing that I’m still uncomfortable here and wants to hear any troubles or complaints that I have. We sit beside each other on the park bench, away from any prying ears.

“So…” Jake started off.

“Well…”

I don’t know what to say. So much is going on in my head right now. I don’t want to dump my trauma on poor Jake. He’s also going through a lot as well. Oh, why did I agree to this? Maybe I can just switch up the conversation? Or, just lie to him. But, I can’t just lie to Jake like that. He’s my boyfriend after all. Ugh… I feel like I’m sweating. I just wish he-

Suddenly, I felt him place his hand on mine.

“It’s alright Y/N. If you don’t want to talk about it, we can talk about things. The good times or maybe dinner plans-”

He gently squeezes my hand.

“Or, just sit in silence and enjoy the scenery, if you want?” He smiled.

Damn, be still my beating heart. Jake really knows how to make someone flustered. I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts.

“J… Jake… Do you remember when you summoned me… and said “I wasn't expecting to summon a human?”’ I silently muttered out.

“O-oh, you're still thinking about that?” He eyes the floor, looking a little saddened.

“Look, i-if I didn't apologize back then-”

“It's not that.” I cut him off.

“It's just… you were somewhat right about that.” my face blushed red-hot with embarrassment as I said that.

“W-what?”

“You see… I'm a… half-breed. My mother was a succubus and my father was a human.”

“So- it's possible for humans and demons to…” Jake's face also gets hot with embarrassment as he can't bring himself to finish that question.

“I-i always thought such things were only possible through fiction stories by p… pervy writers.”

“So did I.”

We shared a giggle at the obscurity of our conversation.

“Any-who, how was growing up? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“Not at all, Jake. Growing up had its ups and down, but my mother was determined to make my life as comfortable and fulfilling as possible.”

I felt a tinge of nostalgia when I said that. Remembering the good old day with my mom when I was in the demon realm. I can’t help but smile.

“And what about your father?” Jake blurted out.

“Uh… I never really got to know my father.”

Jake covers his face with hands as he cringes for not thinking before he spoke.

“Ahhhhh- sorry, sorry. I did it again, didn’t I?”

I just laughed. “It’s fine, Jake. I’m just glad I have someone to finally share my troubles with.”

I gently take Jake’s hands into mine, our fingers intertwined. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the trees as I hear my heartbeat in my ears. I hope I’m not dreaming. This is the first time I’ve ever felt this way with anyone.

[syyskirjat]

Sueños de piedra (ch2)

Still not sure if I'll read this whole book but I decided already that I want to at least read this one because I'm curious about what Lynne's deal is (especially having confirmed that she is indeed the "damsel in distress" who is haunted by her past)

(Her past being murder, apparently)

I'm hoping the magician/wizard character Hasan shows up too, I'd like to find out about him while I'm at it

I didn't mention this in the last post, but the chapters have these little ornaments at the beginning before the name of the POV character (the chapters are otherwise unnamed, it's like ASOIAF). Arthmael's was a crown, similar to the crown on the book cover but just tilted on its side and with an organic pattern behind it. This one seems to be coins. Is it specifically three coins? Maybe!

I remember seeing the full dust jacket design of the book having coins on the back cover, maybe these are the same coins

Three coins here too, so maybe the number is significant

The other thing of note here are the two figures on the coins, who are they? To me it looks like two princes facing each other, one maybe older than the other? This seems too early for them to have had time to mint new coins showing both Jacques and Arthmael so idk if it can be them? But maybe? This chapter could take place at a later date or something, I have no idea.

Or it could be the king and Arthmael, that would make sense.

(Sorry, this is how I blog about books, I pay too much attention to the details sometimes)

Anyways, onto the actual chapter!

...

.....

....... Welp

Okay this is going under the cut immediately

(Do we need a content warning already? I think we might, but I don't know how to word that exactly. In any case NSFW)

ETA: Yes we doooooooo, we do need content warnings: human trafficking, forced sex work, both involving a minor, including a scene with the victim and her victimiser having sex, physical abuse, also just straight up sexual assault towards the end

Lord Kenan collapses onto my naked body with one last grunt of pleasure. I feel his sweat sticking to the skin of my back and his hands still grip my hips tightly. I can only stare at the sheets, waiting for the moment when he pulls back once and for all and lets me move again. Let me leave your side. Let me be free, this time forever. Tonight was my last night. This will be my last time. Or so I want to convince myself.

Okay reading ahead, it sounds like Lynne is a sex worker, so I guess that's the context of the coins? Oh boy...

Lord Kenan is apparently not the worst client but clearly not her favourite either.

... Oh but he does hit her sometimes if she doesn't show enough enthusiasm, okay

Alright then.

Fourteen years. At fourteen years old he brought me to this damned place. On nights like this, I wonder how I've lasted so long.

Oh it's getting worse, great

I'm no longer excited about this chapter xD

Also I guess Lord Kenan is not a client then but a pimp?

Kenan likes them weak, submissive and sweet. Full of attention for him. I stopped being sweet a long time ago, although perhaps I have never stopped being weak. Maybe that's why I haven't run away yet. Because I'm afraid that what's outside is worse than what's here. But that's over.

Okay okay, realistically this chapter is gonna be her escaping right? Is Lord Kenan the guy she kills or did she already kill someone else? Are we about to witness a murder? I would not be opposed to it

His serious look makes me tense in my seat as he gets ready. His blue eyes have always been icy, although he often tries to melt them with the false warmth with which he treats all of us prostitutes, to make us feel that we are in a good place even if we live in hell.

He tells her that she's their most precious jewel and hopes that she's not boring their customers and then kisses her possessively. She finally snaps and says she's going to leave.

She also randomly starts wondering how old she is, I kinda feel like I might have missed something there, why she's bringing that up right now. But the point is that she thinks she's somewhere between fifteen and twenty.

He seems to think she just meant leave the room to see other customers but she clarifies that she means leaving the brothel entirely, for good.

His hand grabs my face again before I can do anything to stop it. Only this time it's not abrupt. It's sweet, tender. And that's almost worse than the violence he often uses. When he does this, when he smiles, when he caresses me as if he really cared for me, the more dangerous he is.

btw I'm skipping a lot of the details here, I'd just rather not djkghglkj

What is the alternative for a girl like you out there? Without property, without family, without money… You will do the same, charging less adn in any alley. Besides, that would be so ungrateful, Lynne… Who took you out of need when you were a bony, lost child, a thief who couldn't even put more than a couple of crumbs a day in her mouth?

They've had this talk before and Lynne has always caved in the end out of fear and shame but this time she decides to stay strong

But I'm not going to let it scare me this time. No. I can do great things. If I try hard, I can be the owner of my life. I can start my own business, just like my father once did, before he died. Maybe not in Silfos, where women don't have options, and much less will I have them, having been a prostitute. But Marabilia is a large continent: I will look for them in other countries and, if I don't find them, I will travel to other continents if necessary. I have heard that beyond our seas a woman can be anything she wants to be.

Okay so there might be other continents in this world where women have more opportunities, enough so that the people in Marabilia are aware of this, noted.

lmao, I fully thought this was an island not a continent. I swear the map looked so small! I think it's the style, with the towers and trees and mountains drawn individually, but of course they don't actually have to be to scale, I realise

Anyway, I'm now wondering if the title of the book is metaphorical and refers to the aspirations of the main characters? Not sure what the stone would symbolise, but it would make sense, especially with the dedication as well. Dreams definitely seem to be a theme

Lord Kenan mocks her and thinks she wants to find a wealthy husband to save her, asks her doesn't she already know what all men are like, having seen them visit her, etc.

In her mind she basically agrees that all men are like that but she doesn't want a man or a family

I don't aspire for anyone to love me. I don't aspire to love anyone either. Maybe I couldn't do it even if I wanted to, because I forgot a long time ago what it was like to feel affection.

Well rip

— Oh, little flower! Have you learned so little? Have I taught you that badly? Do you really have hope for something like that? I'm afraid you've read too many stories from exotic countries across the ocean. Here women are not queens, nor do you have rights beyond giving birth to our children. You are worthless without a man to protect you. And who is going to protect you if I don't?

Okay we're clearly not gonna be very subtle

She insists that she's going to leave and goes to put on her clothes but he assaults her and rapes her again, but she reaches under the pillow and stabs him with a dagger.

— I told you I was leaving here, I whisper to him. I open the window. I don't even look at Kenan again. I don't even worry about how long he will agonize until he finally gives up and dies. Arming myself with courage, I take the leap towards my freedom.

End of chapter two.

Ooookay. To be honest that went pretty much exactly how I expected it to go after finding out that Kenan was her pimp and not just a client.

I wonder if he's actually a lord or is that just his nickname? The consequences of the murder would definitely depend on whether he's an actual nobleman or just a random pimp.

Buuut yeah, idk, didn't enjoy this chapter so much ngl xD I much preferred making fun on Arthmael. But I guess it's over now so... idk, maybe I'll read at least one more

I do kinda have a hunch that this book is not gonna be my thing, but to be fair it hasn't really started yet

[untitleddiarybetweenfriends]

Yesterday I finished Kurt Vonnegut's, Breakfast of Champions. I saved the lines in the book that I felt were important or resonated with me. I hope you enjoy and some resonate with you. I thought, "Maybe I should write something about this book", but I'd rather let the man himself speak. Not to say I won't feel inclined to write about it anytime soon but anyway. Here you are.

---

“His high school was named after a slave owner who was also one of the world's greatest theoreticians on the subject of human liberty.” (On Thomas Jefferson High School)

“These were country girls. They had grown up in the rural south of the nation, where their ancestors had been used as agricultural machinery. The white farmers down there weren't using machines made out of meat anymore, though, because machines made out of metal were cheaper and more reliable, and required simpler homes.”

“Kilgore Trout once wrote a story called This Means You. It was set in the Hawaiian Islands…The law of gravity required that they (Hawaiians) stick somewhere on the surface. Either that, or they could go out into the water and bob offshore.

But then the Federal Government came through with an emergency program. It gave a big balloon full of helium to every man, woman and child who didn't own property.

There was a cable with a harness on it dangling from each balloon. With the help of the balloons, Hawaiians could go on inhabiting the islands without always sticking to things other people owned.”

“The prostitutes worked for a pimp now. He was splendid and cruel. He was a god to them. He took their free will away from them, which was perfectly all right. They didn't want it anyway. It was as though they had surrendered themselves to Jesus, for instance, so they could live unselfishly and trustingly except that they had surrendered to a pimp instead.”

“‘He works in a factory that makes chemicals for killing plants and trees in Viet Nam.’ Viet Nam was a country where America was trying to make people stop being communists by dropping things on them from airplanes. The chemicals he mentioned were intended to kill all the foliage, so it would be harder for communists to hide from airplanes… ‘In the long run, he's committing suicide,’ said the driver. ‘Seems like the only kind of job an American can get these days is committing suicide in some way.’”

“‘I never saw a Rosewater,’ he said, ‘but Rosewater always won. I walked on Rosewater. I dug holes for Rosewater in Rosewater. I lived in Rosewater houses. I ate Rosewater food. I'd fight Rosewater, whatever Rosewater is, and Rosewater would beat me and leave me for dead. You ask people around here and they'll tell you: this whole world is Rosewater as far as they're concerned.’”

“This was in a country where everybody was expected to pay his own bills for everything, and one of the most expensive things a person could do was get sick.”

“The reindeer problem was essentially this: Nobody white had much use for black people anymore except for the gangsters who sold the black people used cars and dope and furni-ture. Still, the reindeer went on reproducing. There were these useless, big black animals everywhere, and a lot of them had very bad dispositions. They were given small amounts of money every month, so they wouldn't have to steal. There was talk of giving them very cheap dope, too to keep them listless and cheerful, and uninterested in reproduction.

The Midland City Police Department, and the Midland County Sheriff's Department, were composed mainly of white men. They had racks and racks of sub-machine guns and twelve-gauge automatic shotguns for an open season on reindeer, which was bound to come.”

“He knew of death by exposure because the papery voice of the little radio in his cell told of people's dying of exposure from time to time.

He missed that papery voice. He missed the clash of steel doors. He missed the bread and the stew and the pitchers of milk and coffee. He missed fucking other men in the mouth and the asshole, and being fucked in the mouth and the ass-hole, and jerking off and fucking cows in the prison dairy, all events in a normal sex life on the planet, as far as he knew.”

“And Dwayne was so open to new suggestions about the meaning of life that he was easily hypnotized. So, when he looked down into his martini, he was put into a trance by dancing myriads of winking eyes on the surface of his drink. The eyes were beads of lemon oil.” (This is a very nice sounding and attractive line to me._

“And then I had come suddenly to pity them, for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably, and with such abominable results: They were doing their best to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending short stories and books.

Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made-up tales.”

“It was Trout's fantasy that somebody would be outraged by the footprints. This would give him the opportunity to reply grandly, ‘What is it that offends you so? I am simply using man's first printing press. You are reading a bold and universal headline which says, ‘I am here, I am here, I am here.’ "

“‘You are an experiment by the Creator of the Universe. You are the only creature in the entire Universe who has free will. You are the only one who has to figure out what to do next and why. Everybody else is a robot, a machine. Some persons seem to like you, and others seem to hate you, and you must wonder why. They are simply liking machines and hating machines. You are pooped and demoralized,’ read Dwayne. ‘Why wouldn't you be? Of course it is exhausting, having to reason all the time in a universe which wasn't meant to be reasonable.��”

“Eddie Key had begun to store in his mind the names and adventures of ancestors on both his mother's and father's sides of his family when he was only six years old. As he sat in the front of the disaster vehicle, looking out through the windshield, he had the feeling that he himself was a vehicle, and that his eyes were windshields through which his progenitors could look, if they wished to.”

“We Americans require symbols which are richly colored and three-dimensional and juicy. Most of all, we hunger for symbols which have not been poisoned by great sins our nation has committed, such as slavery and genocide and criminal neglect, or by tinhorn commercial greed and cunning.”

---

I don't know how to feel about this book but I do know these lines are important.

[waitingformyfavoritesongs]

10 Fe bru ar y 2023 Friday 11:18 am pdt

kinyoubi? Britney Spears

dancing 💃 can be athletic? I heard football 🏈 players take ballet 🩰? Dancing with the stars & competitors make it look athletic. Britney Spears is a good dancer? Dancer 💃 11:23 am pdt I need to rewatch music videos (I like drive me crazy I also saw that movie 🎥 & the making of music video video). 11:25 am pdt

1:18 pmpdt burped after a big heart ♥️ pain. 😤🥵😤🥵😤🥵😖😭😞😫 felt detrimental. 1:20 pmpdt thank you, thank you 🙏 incubus 4 applying burning 🔥 acid to my brain 🧠 so I know that the whole my being your wife is a joke from a heartless guy. Maybe 🤔 it runs in the family “fall face” was in autocorrect I did fall on my face a lot t the only time I went snowboarding 🏂 I fell multiple times on my face on hard icy 🥶 snow ❄️ In an effort to stop 🛑 myself from colliding with other people. Multiple times. 1:24 pmpdt

1:25 pmpdt bye jerk! 1:26 pmpdt

1:52 pmpdt incubus has been making me bleeed blood 🩸 a lot today & probably yesterday but having difficulty remembering. He’s heating my back again. He did it all last year & forced me to stay down in bed 🛌 in an awkward position & I didn’t know Until after he’s did it for many months straight that he intentionally was making it into an “absurd” shape. He did it all year last year. 1:56 pmpdt I bleed a lot. Bloody 🩸 vag, bloody 🩸 ass, bloody 🩸 nose 👃, bloody 🩸 skin oozing body fluid. If I was a bathtub 🛁 I guess all my pipes would pour out blood instead of water 💦. 1:59 pmpdt

2pmpdt also incubus rammed my head into multiple hard things several times. Broken wrist. Broke all my bones 🦴. There was another hung I was going to type but forgot. Oh multiple bruises from being clumsy my knees elbows other parts into sharp wood 🪵 corners all my life. 2:02 pmpdt black eye 👁 from a softball 🥎. 2:03 pmpdt

2:06 pmpdt you got me blinded- Saint Lucia???? - baby 👶 hit me one more time 🎶🎼🎵🎤 2:08 pmpdt incubus keeps making me too hot 🥵 searing !!!! Hot 🥵 back digging into flesh & bone 🦴 in my back. I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ who is going to see. Sometimes when I go to the hospital 🏥 they don’t want to do specific things bcz probably the incubus telling them not to or to do which means incubus is doctors’ 🥼 god. Rapist murderer wife beater god is also doctors’ god. 2:12 pmpdt also rapist prostitution pimp god. He makes it happen bcz Nick is my tester. That’s how I know. 2:14 pmpdt

Tester = what I meant was he was testing me. Maybe 🤔 I didn’t use the correct word? “With wife” came up in autocorrect say hello 👋 to sumner for me then if incubus is with his wife now. My body is too hot 🥵 & absurd & damaged for me to think I ever had a loving husband. Mmm bye 👋 2:18 pmpdt

2:20 pmpdt I have a feeling incubus interferes with X-ray pictures so I don’t know 🤷🏻‍♀️ when I will know the truth. He also interfered w/ car batteries 🔋 & make many drain one after the other. 2:22 pmpdt he plans stuff out so he can interfere. 2:23 pmpdt

2:24 pmpdt feels like he is devouring my back muscles 💪 w/ heat & probably acid. 2:25 pmpdt w/o me would incubus look truly 100% 💯 incubus 2:26 pmpdt

2:27 pmpdt the whites of my eyeballs 👀 have started turning black weeks ago from all the abuse. 2:28 pmpdt incubus looks like he has a dirty d*ck. 2:29 pmpdt wives of incubus: Kelly, Jane page Herman, Candace Bailey, Anne Vyalitsna?, Behati Prinsloo, sumner stroh, mvrykv_, love looks like it’s being spread super thin 2:31 pmpdt kept playing live (love 2:44 pmpdt autocorrect keeps changing it. Autocorrect said “lord love” himself? 2:45 pmpdt) like it was a game pretending to feel the same turn around & leave again boo 👻 doo boo 👻 playa... 😱 player ... played = plaid? Platypus.... 2:33 pmpdt

2:37 pmpdt good luck finding a self sacrificing woman 👩🏻 who will fall to the earth 🌍 to kiss 💋 your feet 🦶 incubus 2:38 pmpdt buh bye 👋 2:38 pmpdt

2:49 pmpdt last year I recalled an article I read probably w/in last 5 years. Incubus is probably yelling “no!” Whatever he probably hurt all of my organs already. Whatever. 2:50 pmpdt incubus likes to deprive me of oxygen. I don’t really think I can believe in him at all. 2:51 pmpdt world with out end. Never ending story. Nothing matters. Bcz he makes it impossible. Why does rape murder wife beating exist today? Bcz incubus. 2:52 pmpdt they have no intentions of changing anything in to a peaceful world without pain like a lot of people anticipate from the Bible apocalypse. It’s a run around lie. 2:54 pmpdt

3:54 pmpdt the 4th guy I did it w/doesn’t believe in soulmates. He thinks that people imagine it/coincidence stuff probably. 3:55 pmpdt

3:55 pmpdt Scott had letters his parents wrote to each other as pen pals on his wall w/ a picture of each parent writing ✍️. He said he wanted “something like that.” No further elaboration. When we ran into each other at Santana row when I was going to have dinner 🍽 w/ my sister & her then boyfriend he said “I know you!” But I was unprepared to run into him & to respond at all. So I looked away & then looked back & I think I said hi maybe. & then he left w/ a big smile on his face. Later that night after dinner 🍽 & got home 🏠 I got heartburn for the first time & I think 🤔 it lasted a week???? My sister’s boyfriend said I’m supposed to wait it out & naturally let it go away but it didn’t. Then I went to the doctor 👩‍⚕️ & she prescribed me something. I tried asking her multiple times what’s the natural way to make it go away & she wouldn’t tell me but she growled at me. I think that maybe was 2006. Maybe it was karma for the tricycle thing. Even though I really don’t recall pedaling fast. Incubus is trying hard to completely change my memory & make me doubt myself & feel like I’m lying. I remember having thoughts 💭 interrupted after each time I pedaled, so if that happened how do I go very fast? Maybe it was a tiny bit fast ? I hit my hip bones 🦴 many times into 🚪 doorknobs & kitchen counter tops before 2006 & I jumped off the stairs & it hurt a lot & I think it shortened my legs 🦵. It took me a while to figure out, it was a few days ago I realized that the incubus toyed w/ my self esteem to make me jump off the stairs to shorten my legs 🦵 to make me doubt my memories of clumsily colliding my hip bones 🦴 into sharp porcelain? Kitchen counter tops? I barely remember that but it was so painful it really left it’s mark in my memory, & door 🚪 knobs that usually was I think painted a gold metallic color? Was it? It hurt a lot. It had to have been metal. I fear he’s going to destroy more brain cellls to rid my mind of the memory like he destroyed the memory recently of other pain. Bcz he doesn’t want to owe me anything. Like my cousin said b4 she left this apartment & hasn’t come back since. Even though she punched 🤛 me in the head & if I reported her she probably could have been sent to juvenile detention???? 4:12 pmpdt

J free- huh? What’s this? Accidentally typed 4:12 pmpdt trying to save. Bar Abbas yeshua???? 4:13 pmpdt

4:14 pmpdt my point in bringing up 🆙 “I know you!” From Scott ? I know you I’ve walked with you once upon a dream 😴 toying with me. 🧸 destiny? Fate? Sleeping beauty prince 🤴 Phillip , aurora briar rose 🥀. He has an older sister he probably watched it. 4:17 pmpdt spurts of blood 🩸 after changing a full load 😞 I think 2xs today. 4:18 pmpdt b4 he kissed 💋 me in 2007 he said he thought 💭 “the Bible is interesting” then he asked if he could kiss 💋 me than he stopped me from verbally responding which I was hoping to actually refuse him bcz my heart wasn’t in it . He said “I feel that you want to kiss me” then he went in for it. I think he might have even held up his hand 🤚 to stop 🛑 me from saying anything. In 2010 he told me he was hanging out with my sister’s friend’s family & getting into shoreline free???? I think 🤔 that is what he said. It wasn’t until last year (can’t breathe 🧘🏻‍♀️ exhaling 🥵 hot air been feeling a lot of hip bone 🦴 pain this week & today. I think he’s really going to take it away from me.) that I found something online that Cain? Kane? Cane? Not came.

4:24 pmpdt the thing keeps jumping done ✅ down not done ✅ don’t came up 🆙. I’m not allowed 🚫 to say it even though it is true? And a lot of people probably knew b4 me???!! Knew a million times over? How is it he got 1000 views in a day on his newest reel on YouTube? 4:26 pmpdt I think 🤔 he thinks pain left eyeball 👁 scrape 4:27 pmpdt it’s in the Bible land of nod. Makes me think that means nod = yes. Meaning I probably don’t have a choice. He’s special. He gets whatever he wants. So even though I didn’t know that back in 2007, he already probably knew it which is why he stopped me from saying anything verbally. His kissses were really good in 2007. And he told me I was a good kisser w/ surprise & enthusiasm. & it was hard to stop 🛑. My previous boyfriend told me I was a bad kisser. I figured out lips 👄 were a good fit. All the other lips 👄 I guess were different? 4:31 pmpdt I think I might have resumed kissing him in 2010, it might have been after he bit me. He seemed to have bit me after I tried to tell him I liked someone else & that I couldn’t see him anymore bcz of the overwhelming emotions I had. 4:32 pmpdt. But he didn’t want to hear it I guess so he bit me as soon as I said “I like josh.” 4:33 pmpdt stupidly while sitting on his lap. 4:33 pmpdt

4:34 pmpdt also I flew over the bicycle 🚴🏼 when I was ≈11/12/13/14 years old? Memory is getting bad. & I went down a hill in a park in San Francisco it was very steep & scary & I hurt my heel, hip, & butt that day in 2009, trying to break on a razor scooter 🛴. Karma got me back. I don’t remember giving anyone heart ♥️ burn 🔥 intentionally. 4:36 pmpdt 4:37 pmpdt reminder: incubus will make things hurt more w/ his magic 🪄 when it shouldn’t. For example a comb falling on your leg 🦵. Makes me think 🤔 that incubus maybe 🤔 hurt the kid more than I did when I was on the tricycle. I wonder 💭. If I were a rich man 👨 deedle deedle deedle dum autocorrect “dumb dumped” me? Ok 👌 4:40 pmpdt

cane’s children’s name enos? Enoch? 4:40 pmpdt you have been warned. Expect to give him everything he wants. 4:41 pmpdt

5:19 pmpdt 5:20 pmpdt also a thought 💭 that occurred to me days ago & now (pain right foot 🦶 left side clawing 5:21 pmpdt) the anatomy of a tricycle. Trying to recall what part might have hit him? Was it the handle bar ? Was it the pedal? Was it the front of the wheel???? 😞 pain also I went to I think Santa Cruz w/ Q & I followed every one to the bumper cars 🚗. My bumper car was defective & a little blonde 👱 haired boy had it out for me. I was an easy target 🎯. Never met him b4 that I could recall but he hit me repeatedly the whole time. Probably hurt. Jarring? Maybe? Why I cannot remember.. I don’t think I had a fond memory of it. I think I couldn’t wait for it to be over. 5:26 pmpdt karma again ? 5:26 pmpdt hanging out with Q is usually expensive. 5:27 pmpdt

I guess I will say it again, if I were a billionaire? Or had a lot of money 💰 I would give him some. But I never was a genius. I did well in algebra & geometry 📐 & I thought I did well in algebra 2 but I got a lower grade than I anticipated. The first half of algebra 2 though I was still talking to “Brendan.” 5:30 🕠 pmpdt I easily burned out after studying 📖 I guess. 5:31 pmpdt

5:32 pmpdt I tried Java class & it was probably the first run for my school offering it. The teacher who taught it didn’t fit my learning style. I think 🤔 I wonder if he didn’t think he was a good teacher? (My mom’s whole body is in pain. She’s really aching like me now it seems. 😞😖😭5:34 pmpdt) he gave me an “A” even though I wasn’t good at it. The only thing that came to me easy were applets = essentially “Paint” by coordinates? Something like rgb x,y ? I was too burned out feeling from other classes, head trauma, track. I think I took it junior year? Unfortunately Nick was in that class, too. I always felt too disabled in some way to read the books. 5:39 pmpdt all I remember was trying to make a pendulum, & the teacher sat down with me. & he told me most of the lines to add to complete the “internet devil sun” autocorrect.... Java problem/exercise. & then he said something like there don’t you feel better you did it ... & then I replied “I didn’t. You did it.” lol 😂 & I think 🤔 everyone heard me in the class. & Nick, & thrasher? & I think 🤔 was there a third guy? Came to sit next to me one by one to look 👀 at my computer. Computer 👩🏻‍💻 desktop 🖥. 5:44 pmpdt I was like yeah yeah whatever you can look. Awkward to say no? 5:44 pmpdt why do you do what you do to me baby shaking my confidence Driving me crazy. Krystle came in to take attendance sheets & then walked to Nick to flirt with him. I don’t think she knew about me... I wonder 💭 now though if she knew. 5:47 pmpdt can’t you just pretend to be nice? 😰 I sang that in that class .. Nick probably heard. Should’ve not sang. 5:49 pmpdt

5:55 pmpdt I looked at my transcript last year & noticed he gave me an A? I think 🤔 he forgot he gave me the answers which now I’m thinking 🤔 in retrospect that that’s weird. I probably should have got an F. I didn’t continue w/Java or any other computer languages in school 🏫. I tried Java (teeth pain 5:58 pmpdt) bcz my dad suggested computer engineering? & w/o much thought 💭 I was like “okay.” So I tried it sorta. If I excelled would I be a millionaire now? 6:01 pmpdt

6:47 pmpdt fine. I’m scumbag. I’m slime. I deserve to be destroyed. Happy? Btwn 6 & now felt acid pain in whole throat & more gurgling & searing destructive heat. I think I understand the system now. Bcz I’m a hypocrite, the none hypocrites? Get to do whatever they want w/o consequences & I get very big consequences b4 & after I do something. Hence the reflux & burning 🔥 me to death ☠️ bcz I’m going to do it in the future???????? 🤔😰 I don’t want to do that to anyone. I don’t want to desire it. Please don’t make me feel that way. 6:53 pmpdt

[millennial-midlife-crisis]

La Chupadora and Physiological Arousal Led to this Goddamned Mess

OK. Quick story. Well, maybe... I tend not to edit too much when I'm writing because I'm lazy, and this whole blogging on Beyonce’s internet is supposed to be fun, so it might not actually be very quick at all.

In 1982 my mother had been out of prison for about a year, and I was born. Now, to keep it concise, to the point, and as classy as the circumstances could actually be: My mother went to prison for being a part of a prostitution coven where she was the bottom bitch, and she turned state’s evidence against her small pimp to avoid a lengthier prison sentence for attempted robbery and murder. One positive thing I am willing to admit when it comes to my low-rent mother is that she is the prototypical example of a survivor. She has the ability to navigate situations in her favor, but only to the degree where she will wriggle free from them. I’ve not known her to come out on top, though. Notwithstanding the fact that she may not make an exit being any better for the experience, she has always managed to scheme and manipulate her way into some form of transient peace.

Anyway. After having been released from prison, my mother was 19 years old, and the Boomer generation had this idea about reproduction that is severely punitive. Essentially, one prevailing thought espoused that if a woman were to get pregnant and did not want the baby, she must go ahead and have the baby as a social form of self-flagellation and self-castigation. That is to say, if you make a mistake, you deal with the consequences of that mistake. Well, I'm that the consequences of the “mistake” my mother made. That mistake – presumably – being that she pussied down a married immigrant from South America who had a cute accent and a second-hand boat name “La Chupadora.” My mother was always accustomed to having associates of the hit-it-and-quit-it, drop-a-load-and-go faction. That lasted until she was about 45. Now, well, let’s say she has learned a different method by which to maneuver the finite obstacle we call life.

In 2017, I did genetic testing with 23andme. In 2018, I got a hit in the system and found my first cousin, and I immediately reached out via the messaging system on the website. A year later, I got a response and started to get to know my father’s side of the family. My mother was more like a member of the immediate family who would pull multiple-year disappearing acts throughout my childhood. She only unsuccessfully attempted to be my mother for about 5 of the 40 years I have been alive. Whenever she got bored, she would drop my sister and me off with a family member and peace out. My mother told me plenty of stories (an overly generous, Southern way of saying “straight-up lie”) about who my father was. Other family members – aunties and grandma – openly suspected that she simply did not know who the man that sired me might be.

I actually think that my mother always knew, and she just kept it in her back pocket for a point in time when she thought the information might be useful to her as a means to an end. She never got the opportunity to hold it over my head, thanks to scientific advances in DNA. She never told me who he was, though.

In any event, the man who sired me never knew I existed, his family didn’t know I existed, and I never got to meet him. By the time those scientific advances in DNA had become mainstream and accessible to the general public, he had been deceased for several years, having died of colon cancer.

Even though it was way past due, the stork dropped me in on this new blood kin of mine in a fly-by delivery at the ripe young age of 38.

23andme gifted me the assurance that I am not crazy. Meeting my new family has aggressively shown me that certain aspects of my personality are shared with my first cousins. Also, we look so much alike that we could pass for brothers, and that leaves a certain comforting impression on me because I've known anyone with whom I share physical or personality features. My mother's family is translucent when it comes to skin tone, and their hair has a rust-colored hue to them. There is no world, dimension, or plane of existence where anyone would look at us on a superficial level and confuse us as being or assume we were in any way related – my mother’s family, that is.

Here we are in 2022, and I have spent two holiday cycles with the new family already, and we're in the middle of the third. And while, in general, I do like them, and we have spent much time getting to know each other, having been able to connect on more than a surface level, I am increasingly happy and grateful that I have succeeded in staying single for most of my adult life. In the interest of continuing to negotiate my millennial midlife crisis, I have decided to write a list of things for which I'm unequivocally grateful – without trying to look or present myself as being more evolved than I factually am.

I am blissfully enraptured by the fact that I am not in a marriage with someone who doesn’t respect me and that I stay in out of fear of the unknown.

The older I get, the more I feel utterly gratified that I never tried to play it straight and that I accepted my unconcealable and irascible faggotry from a young age.

I am grateful that I do not have to go into an office and answer to an even-more-mediocre-than-I manager/boss in a corporate and/or professional setting.

I feel a sense of triumph that I know how to cook. I made onigiri, enchiladas, ciabatta bread, Olivier salad, yellow cake with chocolate frosting, and honey cookies last week. All from scratch and just how I like them.

My apartment is kind of shitty and needs more repairs than I care to go into at present, but I own that mother fucker, and I don’t have to worry about rent going up each time a lease term ends.

I am very happy that porn is quickly and readily available. I hope that Tumblr starts to see a renaissance of porn soon. It was my go-to for many years.

There is something to be said about being fabulously unconcerned with what people think of the clothes I wear. I am grateful I get to be comfortable wearing garb that has been carefully selected to fit my melted-candle-shaped body without entertaining the concerns of others or worrying about their perceptions of me.

My love affair with solitude is getting pretty hot and heavy. There is very little reason to leave my house, and when I do, I get to visit all the places I need to visit during off-peak hours.

I was going to try to go for 10 things but had I continued past the above 8, I would have been making them up or, indeed, digging for some subvert-the-dominant-paradigm bullshit aspect of my life that would be expressed for no other reason than to attempt to control the perception I think that people would have of me were I to share it.

As I am exploring this midlife crisis, I am consistently confronted by the fact that I have made some fundamental mistakes in how I look at myself and the world. Despite recognizing my misstep, I am not exactly sure what to do to change it. At times, when I consider solutions like changing my perspective or amending my behavior, doing so feels so counterintuitive and fear-inducing that I second guess myself, wondering if I am just simply going on a wild-goose chase. Is that self-sabotage?

I suppose that is how self-reflection and self-confrontation are supposed to look and feel, though. Not to mention, there are several times a week that I get so ass-itchingly and ball-chappingly annoyed with things that I contemplate what it would be like to disappear into the woods and live off of the land, knowing full well this is a feature of the millennial midlife crisis. Plus, I have done plenty of running in my life before. It probably won’t help me to run to the woods any more than it did to Asia, Europe, or Latin America.

Alas, I am grateful for some things. That has got to be enough for now. There has to be a point where enough is plenty, and I am able to bask in the abundance of enough.

*insert vaguely inspirational syllogism here to foster a sense of being above it all*

[holdmytesseract]

BLURRED LOVE (18+) ǁ CHAPTER NINE

Will Ransome x fem!Reader

Warnings for this Chapter: angst, mentions of prostitution

Please remember, that this story is rated 18+ and will contain suggestive smut/light smut in other chapters.

Word Count: 1,3k

a/n: Writing this chapter hurt a lot... 😓

TAGGING: @lokisgoodgirl @lovingchoices14 @youlightmeupfinn @jennyggggrrr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @lulubelle814 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @wolfsmom1 @michelleleewise @kats72 @sititran @chantsdemarins @d1a2n389 @vbecker10 @huntress-artemiss @javagirl328

If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know! :D

LINK TO SERIES MASTERLIST ǁ CHAPTER TEN

The door to the small house opened and shut quietly. Soft steps could be heard, causing the wood to ache. Will sat on the sofa, head in his hands. As soon as he heard the soft noises, he looked up immediately and saw Y/N standing in the door frame, eyes red and puffy. She had been crying. "Y/N!" Will jumped up, going straight towards her. His hands reached for her, but he held himself back from touching her. "Finally! I-I thought you-" "Matthew was right, Will..." She whispered, looking to the floor beneath her. "What?" He frowned. "Matthew was right. I can remember, Will. I remember everything."

"Y-You remember?" She nodded. "Yes." The reverend swallowed. "It's really true then?" Another nod. "I am so sorry. For everything. If I would've known, I would've never slept with you. I-" "Why did you leave?" Y/N stopped, looked at the man in front of her confused. "What?" "Why did you leave London? The brothel?" She swallowed. Of course, the woman remembered that, too. "Because of him... Because of Victor." "Victor?" "Yes. He... He owed the brothel. He was the pimp - and a monster. He treated us like objects. We were nothing more than toys for him to us. The only thing he cared about was money. If one of us stepped out of line, she got beaten up. Once you worked in that brothel, Victor made sure that you never leave it again. But not me. I had enough. I escaped. It took me everything, but I made it. A few of his disgusting friends. were following me, all the way down to the Blackwater. I had an accident, fell and hit my head. Apparently, they threw me into the water. I don't really know how I was able to survive this. I should've been dead…" Will's blue eyes reflected a lot of feelings... But mostly compassion. "I am sorry this happened to you, Y/N. Your life hadn't been easy... I want to apologise for screaming at you earlier, but I just..." He needed to take a deep breath, fiddled nervously with his fingers. "I am so torn... I feel so guilty. I am so mad at myself. I am a man of God and made a big mistake. I sinned - a lot and I am probably never going to find redemption and forgiveness for that, but I am also so troubled, because I truly enjoyed our time together. I can't deny that. You showed me a whole new side of passion and pleasure..." Will ran a hand through his hair, desperately trying to find the right words. "I don't want to hurt you, but... What we have, needs to stop. And I am honest, I don't know what to do... I want you to stay, but I also want you to leave..." "I understand that, Will. A man of God and a prostitute? This is doomed to fail. A match made in hell. You're right. This has to stop. But please..." Y/N felt how a single tear ran down her cheek. "Please don't send me away. I can't go back to this cursed place. Victor would most likely going to kill me." The young woman pleaded, almost desperately. The reverend looked away, couldn't stand to see the pain in her eyes any longer. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Please..." He wanted to send her away. He really did. But he couldn't. He didn't have the heart to do it. How could he send away the woman he loved? "You can stay, but we are going to go our separate ways." She nodded immediately. "Yes. Of course, sure. I'll do whatever you want me to do." Will gave her a nod, then turned on his heels to walk away. "Will?" He stopped, faced Y/N again. "Thank you." She whispered, earning another stern nod.

From that day on, Will and Y/N's relationship had been put back to zero. They barely talked, avoided each other strictly - despite the pain they both felt in their hearts. Will not even dared to look at her; too afraid to make the same mistake again. Of course, he knew that he was only hurting himself with that behaviour, but what choice did he have? If he wanted to be redeemed from his sins, he needed to show regret. Unbeknownst to him, felt Y/N the same. She knew she was hurting herself with keeping Will at distance, but what choice did she have? Leaving wasn't an option and staying wasn't one either, so she went for the painful middle way. Being close to the man she loved, but not close enough. Being far away from him to resist the temptation, but not far enough to stop the pain. Both of them suffered in silence, neither of them knew about the others feelings. Perhaps this was for the best?

Y/N listened to Will's prayers every night. His voice echoed from his study, down the hallway and to the bedroom, where she laid in the bed, sleepless. One time, she accidentally passed by the room, with the door being ajar, causing her to stop in her tracks. Y/N didn't mean to eavesdrop on him - especially not when he was in such a vulnerable situation, but she couldn't help herself. She peeked inside the dimly lit room. A few candles were lit - the only source of light. Will was on his knees, head hanging low. His silhouette flickered on the wall, as he clutched onto the bible in his hands, eyes squeezed shut. "Father, please hear my prayers. Once again, I stand before you in search of redemption and forgiveness. I acknowledge my sins. I know what I have done, father..." Will swallowed hard, a tear escaping his eye - something Y/N wasn't able to see. "And I regret it. I never should've given into the temptation." Those words drove a dagger straight through the young woman's heart. Is that what love truly was? A dagger? A weapon? No doubt love was beautiful, until it made you bleed – and Y/N's heart was bleeding a lot. But she couldn't blame Will. How could she? He was right, after all... "So please... Forgive me for I have sinned. Rescue me from the evil." Y/N swallowed and walked away quietly. She had heard enough.

In that night, she laid awake for hours, her mind spinning. This was all her fault. The trouble she caused Will. Her fault. His suffering. Her fault. Y/N needed to somehow help him, save him. She couldn't just longer stand by and watch how this all wrecked him more and more every day. So, the young woman made a decision. A decision that was probably going to cost her life - but she didn't care. As long as it meant the man she illicitly fell in love with would be saved. She would never be able to call him hers, so she decided to let him go.

It was still dark outside, as Y/N tiptoed into Will's study and sat down on his wooden desk, lighting a candle. Her hands reached for a piece of paper, the feather and ink. She took a deep breath, before she started to write a note in tears.

Not long after, she folded the paper with his name written on it, blew out the candle and tiptoed back into the bedroom; note clutched tightly in her hand. Heavy-heartedly, Y/N got dressed, took a last look at the peacefully sleeping Will on the sofa, placed the note on the small coffee table and sneaked out of the house she was never going to see again. In the dawn of the morning, the woman had left Aldwinter behind herself, was on her way back to London; back into her old life. She may have left the small village behind - but certainly not her feelings for the handsome vicar, living there.

[magnoliamyrrh]

hearing my professor say "sex workers" in class after and while literally and explicitely talking about nonwestern victims of sex trafficking using those terms like. im gonna eat my own tongue. im gonna scream so loudly and so silently it will burst my lungs. im going to become a black hole.

in general i find that term to be so fucking offensive bc it can only maybe apply to a very very small minority of well off economically privileged women who "choose" to do "sex work" (and even many of them talk abt feeling exploited - almost like prostitution is inherently expolitative wow) but. you know sometimes those "sex workers" are the only ones ppl rly picture, they dont picture street prostitution, hitckhiker hookers, sex trafficking, child sex trafficking, that the averege age of entering prostitution is 14, drug addiction, pimps, constant violence, etc

but. dear lord help me. in the context of literally taking explicitely about victims of "sex" trafficking in relation to poverty. to still have this postmodern god forsaken fucking nightmare so dug into your hear you say SeX WoRkErs;;; I ;;; I. Honestly im so offended. Its so fucking offensive. Like i almost wanna fucking cry. And she aint even white lmao shes indian like maam as a fellow immigrant please stop parroting the western bullshit i beg you. its so god damn fucking offensive and this bullshit is passed off as progressive and right and parroted by professors and taught as a given and preached and taught uncritically and then parroted by students and then. someone posts it online and some idiot reads it tells it to another idiot who tells it to another idiot. And then this insanity affects the whole westenrn "FeMinIsM" movement. And then, not only do I personally have to deal with a bunch of fucking idiots who have the gull to tell ME how the fuck I cant or can speak and how I should fucking feel when they dont got a single damn clue, BUT ALSO. this sort of cultural fucking idiocracy leads to real life impacts. Ala, western european states legalizing prostitution, thus the horrid rise of sex trafficking, child sex trafficking, child pornography, etc, of mainly balkan, roma, refugee, immigrant, poor, etc etc women. Ala, there was this article written by a Romanian prostitute in spain. She was complaining about how because of this sex work narrative now even more men come to prostitutes bc theyve bought this bullshit narrative of the "happy sex worker" so. now, they have to put all this extra fucking emotional effort into pretending like theyre enjoying what these men are doing to them and like they want it and all this shit. Which, let me tell you, its a whole lot easier to just dissociate when you get used to being regularly raped than it is to have to pretend like you fucking want it and enjoy it too. Something along the lines, these men want your soul not just your body, and this much worse...... And how, because of this, they also have to invest more in makeup and shit to look "well" which fuether just sinks them into the whole cycle which is quite hard to get out of. So. So.

As far as Im concerned. All the god forsaken postmodern nonsense that is propagated in western social sciences academica - has real life fucking effects. It has. The things written, the things discussed, the things professors say. Ive said before, that maybe postmodernism has some academic value (though we didnt need french people to be like, yo dude did you know multiple perspectives on life exist? inssne!). But. It doesnt fucking stay in academica. None of this bullshit stays in academica. And apart from this sort of bullshit not even being "feminism" and being inherently detrimental to the unity needed for social movements, inherently complacent, inherently antirevolutionary, inherently fucking REEKING of western individualism and selfishness up the fucking ass,,,,,,,,,it has real life fucking affects.

Westerners whove never fucking been through any of this shit sit in universities coming up with all these fucking theories but who pays the price. Who pays the god damn fucking price? Who? For their thought experiments? For these societal experiemnts? For these bullshit western ideas of freedom and progress and feminism? We do. My people do. We do. God fucking damn it