#black psychiatrists of america

[reasoningdaily]

Watch "Dr. Frances Cress Welsing (2010)" the Cress Welsing Color Confrontation Theory"

this is the full lecture of Dr Cress Welsing explaining the theory of color confrontation.

if you've never seen this video it will probably change your view of racism and give you a lot more clarity on choices people make when they feel privileged

let's just say it'll take the wool out of your eyes

[a-small-safe-place]

His Haven Pt. 2

Homelander x Psychiatrist!Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

As the weeks passed, Homelander continued to integrate himself into your life, blurring the lines between patient and "friend." One evening, after a particularly intense session, Homelander broached the subject of spending more time together outside of the therapy room. "I was thinking," he began, his blue eyes searching yours, "maybe we could grab a bite sometime. You know, outside of this place." Your heart sank, torn between the genuine connection you felt with Homelander and the professional boundaries you knew you needed to maintain. With all your other patients, you had discussed boundaries, but not with the members of The Seven. The Deep, A-Train, and Queen Maeve viewed these sessions as a waste of time. Starlight and Black Noir had kept a very professional relationship. You weren't totally sure why Black Noir still came to the sessions since his sessions were spent in silence, usually with him drawing pictures of Buster Beaver and his little buddies. Starlight was the only one that used the sessions for what they were meant for.

You had not thought you needed to set boundaries with them, and that, since these were America's greatest heroes, the boundaries were obvious and unspoken. Oh, how that had bitten you in the ass now, having to turn down the offer. You let those boundaries slip by allowing Homelander to come to your house, but in that situation, there was not a lot you could do to stop him.

"I appreciate the offer, Homelander, but it's important to keep our relationship within the confines of our sessions," you replied carefully, trying to hide the conflict in your eyes, unaware that he could hear your heartbeat and smell your nervousness. Homelander's expression shifted from hopeful anticipation to a subtle disappointment that cut through you. "Right, professional boundaries," he said, a forced smile tugging at his lips. It is the kind of smile that does not reach his eyes. "I get it." You could not let his dangerous expression get to you.

The following sessions became strained. Homelander seemed distant, his usually confident demeanor replaced by an air of vulnerability and irritation. You should be thanking him that he is interested in you. He attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were stilted. It was clear that your rejection had affected him more than either of you anticipated. Homelander was not willing to give up. You just needed a chance to come around.

One day, after a difficult session, Homelander lingered in your office. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked, his tone a mixture of frustration and hurt. Homelander knew you did not have a partner in your life. He had stopped by to do a thorough search of your home while you were out, and there was no evidence of you dating someone, not even the smell of a casual hookup still lingering on your skin. You sighed, maintaining the professionalism that defined your role. "It's not that I don't value our sessions, Homelander. But crossing the boundaries of a therapeutic relationship can be detrimental for both of us," you explained, your words hanging heavily in the air. "I want what's best for you, and sometimes that means maintaining a professional distance."

Homelander's jaw tensed, and he stood abruptly. "So, I'm just another patient to you, is that it?" His eyes bore into yours, searching for a hint of vulnerability that matched his own. "No, Homelander, you're not just another patient," you replied softly, your heart aching at the pain evident in his eyes. "But I have a responsibility to ensure that our interactions remain focused on your well-being." He stormed out of your office without another word, leaving you with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Homelander is a dangerous and unpredictable man. The once-promising therapeutic alliance had crumbled, replaced by an unspoken tension that hung in the air during each subsequent session.

Days turned into weeks, and the divide between you and Homelander deepened. He attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were strained and unproductive. Of course, for Homelander, he still had his time with you even if you were oblivious to it. Though, he would much rather be in your arms than jacking off on the building next to yours while you participated in a similar activity in the warmth of your bed. 

One evening, after a silent session, Homelander was particularly grumpy in this session. He had expressed that he had a bad day. Homelander lingered at the door. "You should be fucking thanking me,” He pauses. “I am giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, and you're fucking throwing it away. Do you know how many people would leave their whole families just for one glance from me?”

The weight of his words settled heavily on your shoulders as he walked away, leaving you alone in the empty office. It made you wonder how dangerous Homelander really was and how desperate he would become if you continued to deny him. The once-promising connection had fractured irreparably, and the professional boundaries you fought so hard to maintain had come at the cost of a genuine connection with Homelander.

The weeks passed with a lingering tension between you and Homelander. The once-promising therapeutic alliance had crumbled, leaving behind an unspoken rift that seemed insurmountable. Homelander attended sessions less frequently, and when he did, the conversations were strained, devoid of the genuine connection that had defined your earlier interactions. It became evident that your rejection had affected him more deeply than either of you anticipated. Homelander, usually the embodiment of confidence, now wore an air of vulnerability and loneliness that tugged at your conscience. The sessions were marked by long pauses, resentful glances, and a palpable discomfort that neither of you could ignore. You couldn't shake the feeling of regret that lingered each time you saw him. The haunting realization that you had sacrificed something meaningful for the sake of professional decorum weighed heavily on your conscience. Late one evening, a knock echoed through your home. Homelander stood at the doorway, his usual confidence replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored the man you had glimpsed in the early days of your sessions. "I need someone to talk to," he admitted, his voice a whisper.

[hanihazeljade]

Therapy

Tim has been seeing a therapist, and he decided to listen. Finally.

Disclaimer: I am not a psychiatrist and I just heard on Tiktok about the therapy part of this drabble. The tiktok account was from Dr. Julie.

(Warning: swear words)

Tim knows he is a messed up human being. Being a child crime fighter and then being an orphan is really cool, and depressing at the same time.

Tim has witnessed a lot of stuff that will put people in a lot of trauma. He just quirky like that. But one therapy session definitely change a lot of his thoughts.

It started as a casual therapy of Timothy expected and when she pull out two fish tanks and a toy fish, he was impressed.

"Timothy, pretend that this fish is you." his therapist said as she crank the toy and dropped it in the water tank. "Imagine that this fish tank is your life. When you were born, it's clear and not a single dirty thing in it, but once you grow up, problems starts to create and it can be toxic to you." she explained as she dripped a bottle of brown liquid to the tank. "If the fish is living in a toxic environment, the fish will eventually get sick." she said as she pulled the fish out of the water.

"You pull out the fish of that toxic environment and put in a new clean environment," she said as she dropped the fish to the clear water, "...and it helps. It gets better. But once you return the fish to the dirty tank, it doesn't matter how clean the water in the other tank, it will eventually wear down the fish."

Timothy can see where this is going.

"The fish is you. You were neglected in your younger years and then everything got taken away from you. With everything got stacked up in your life, it gotten more and more toxic, you need to change your environment, Timothy. Take a break for a week, be selfish for a moment and see if it can help you." she said and they end the therapy there.

Timothy should not even thinking about getting a vacation, crime doesn't stop just because you are depressed. But her words echoed through his mind, "Be selfish for a moment." and he filed for a leave of absence and he doesn't wait for it to be approved as he took a flight to Melbourne. He is insane for taking a flight at the other side of Gotham, but he felt it, the electrifying sensation that he once felt running around the Gotham taking pictures of Batman.

He felt thrill and adrenaline in his veins and he found himself smiling at this feeling.

+++++

Melbourne is amazing, except for spiders and the fucking city was almost called Batmania, fucking hell.

That week was spent on sleeping and just sight-seeing and honestly, he wanted to take a break from now.

But just like what his therapist said, no matter how clear the water during his break, now that he is in the toxic tank, he was already tired.

The glare that he got from Bruce and Dick is a little degrading and Alfred's disappointed face was the last string that snap that made him finally realise that he doesn't need them to be happy. He doesn't need a 'family' that the reason of him to go to the therapy.

This is the muddy water for him. Not just the Wayne Manor but the whole Gotham.

He was still in the middle of a lecture of Bruce's when he whipped a white envelope with his resignation letter on it. He is resigning to everything that has connection to Gotham or even the America itself. He just smiled at Bruce and left the cave to go to the garage of the Manor where his Jaguar is.

He sort of black out what happen because the next thing he knew was that he was in a plane to Taiwan. He has no idea but he have a suitcase and himself. He smiled at himself and he is letting the fate be his navigator in this chapter of his life.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Let's Talk About That

Usually I keep it casual (2)

Psychiatrist!Avenger!fem!reader x Wanda Maximoff

Summary: The compound has been built, and training has begun. With the two of you living together now stolen moments are bound to happen.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: legal age gap r is 19 and w is 25, talks of depression, bit of angst, bit of fluff, talk of vo*it (once towards the end)

A/N: The moment between R and W is taken from the moment in WandaVision where they go through Wanda's memories so R is taking the place of Vision and says his lines in that moment.

June 21st 2015

The new Compound was finally built and all of the Avengers moved there to live and to train. You got a new office looking similar to your old one and before you could start moving your things in it was time to start training the new recruits.

Captain America and Black Widow prepare to train the new roster of Avengers, consisting of Falcon, Wanda, War Machine, and Vision.

You stand just off to the side of Cap and Tasha. "You ready to finally show off your powers?" Cap asks you as you smirk, cracking your neck to either side. 

"Oh Cap, you know I was born ready.” you tell him as your eyes glow purple. 

"Alright, line up!" You call out. The new recruits line up. "I have a simple task for you four, move me from this spot." You tell them and you hear Sam chuckle. 

"You deal with our emotions, how hard could it be to move you?" He asks. 

"Thank you for volunteering to be my first victim Sam!" You smile. "Please front and center. The other watch as Sam tries to move you in any way, but can't. Even using his wings he can't. Then Rhodey tries and still nothing, Vision attempts and you don't budge. You look at Wanda. "Well?" You ask, quirking an eyebrow up at her. She has this soft look in her eyes almost like a baby deer.

"I don't want to hurt you." Wanda says her being the only magic user besides you currently on the team. 

"Oh sweetie. You could never hurt me. Go on, hit me with your best shot." You tell her, her eyes and hands glow red as she unleashes attacks on you as you swipe your hand up, a purple force field looking much like Wanda's own magic comes to protect you. They all look at you in shock. 

"Oh did we forget to mention something?" You hear Natasha's condescending tone ring out behind you making you chuckle, catching the attention of the newest members. 

"I think we did Tasha." You say pulling the collar of your shirt down, showing off the glowing purple stone in your chest, looking similar to the mind stone in Vision's head. "I have the power stone in my chest. Really I'm the best of both worlds. Brains and brawns. The stone gives me psychic energy manipulation, force field generation, disintegration of objects I touch, energy absorption, magic empowerment, and of course superhuman strength and durability.

The new Avengers stood in awe as you revealed the Power Stone embedded in your chest, their expressions a mix of shock and admiration. You could feel the weight of their gaze on you, but you stood tall, unyielding, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Wow," Sam exclaimed, breaking the silence. "That's... impressive."

You chuckled, feeling a surge of pride at their reaction. "Thank you, Sam. But let's not get too distracted. We have work to do."

With that, you motioned for them to regroup, eager to put their newfound knowledge to the test. "Alright, let's try this again," you announced, positioning yourself in the center of the training area. "This time, I want you to work together to try and move me."

The recruits exchanged glances before nodding in determination. Sam and Rhodey took to the skies, while Vision and Wanda focused their powers, creating a coordinated assault.

As they unleashed their combined efforts, you could feel the energy swirling around you, pushing against the force field generated by the Power Stone. But despite their best efforts, you remained rooted to the spot, a testament to the strength of the stone's power.

"Keep going!" You encouraged them, a grin spreading across your face as you felt the thrill of the challenge. "You're doing great!"

For several minutes, they continued their assault, each attack more powerful than the last. But no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't overcome the barrier protecting you.

Finally, with a triumphant shout, they ceased their assault, panting and exhausted but exhilarated by the challenge. "I... I can't believe it," Sam gasped, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Believe it," you replied, your voice tinged with pride. "With teamwork and determination, there's nothing we can't overcome. You guys are new to being a team. I'm sure you'll be able to take me on properly soon."

As the others caught their breath, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement for the future. With this new team of Avengers and the power of the Stone at your disposal, there was no telling what this new team could accomplish together. And as you looked around at your teammates, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them head-on, united as one.

===========================================================

The Next Day June 22nd 2015

It's late evening after you had roused yourself to get a snack you notice Wanda's door cracked slightly as you forgo getting a snack and decide to knock on her door. "Open." She says similar to you when the two of you first met. You open the door fully and smile at her, but she doesn't have a smile to give you back. 

She has Malcom in the Middle playing as she is sat on her bed, a grey tank top, mostly covered by a black sweater hanging off her shoulder and tight black leggings. She's sitting with her legs crossed, a pillow in her lap that's she's leaning on. "If now isn't a good time I can..." you trail off. She pats the bed next to her, still no smile, but you can read her well enough that she wants company, she just doesn't always know how to ask for it. 

She looks away, pulling her sleeves over her hands and even though they're covered she still keeps tugging at them with anxiety. You sit next to her mimicking her posture as you grab one of her pillows from behind us and crossing your legs. She finally attempts a smile at you for half a second once you've settled. Then turns her attention back to the TV where Hal gets hurt and you chuckle. 

"I only watched Malcom in the Middle when it was on TV, but I tended to find Full House, Fresh Prince, and The Nanny playing when I'd go looking for late night TV." You tell her. 

"You like sitcoms?" She asks and you look at her with a warm smile. 

"Yeah I do. Never got the chance to tell you though." A smile creeps onto her lips without her knowledge. You unconsciously lick your lips as you stare at hers. She always somehow managed to look perfect and maybe it's the repressed emo girl that you used to be, but her in all black, and her black nail polish she just so happened to be your type. 

"Y/N?" You're pulled back to reality by her voice.

"Hmm?" You ask. 

"I asked what's your favorite sitcom?" She repeats and you think a moment, you end up letting yourself fall back against her bed, staring at her ceiling.

"That's honestly hard for me to answer. I'm not good with picking favorites." You look over at her. "I always feel bad when I pick a favorite anything as if the others aren't good enough or something." You confess to Wanda. 

"What about like top 3 or top 5?"

"Hmmm…” You think for a few moments, going through the list of sitcoms you've grown up with, contemplating about each for no more than a moment. “Full House, That 70s Show, Seinfeld, Friends, Golden Girls, and The Office is probably my newest obsession." She smiles before letting a laugh pass her lips. You smile, biting your bottom lip as you do so because she's just so, "Beautiful." I end up saying out loud. She stops and you can see her face redden. You scramble up off her bed. "Shit sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry I'll leave!" You ramble and as you turn to run you feel her grip on your wrist. You look back at her, eyes glowing. 

"If we're being honest with each other Doctor I'd like to let you know I think you're quiet beautiful yourself." She admits to you and something about her calling you doctor sends your brain into a frenzy and you can tell she's hearing every thought going through your head and you can't find yourself to even be mad about it right now as you step back to her, grabbing her face and kissing her.

The moment your lips met, it was as if time stood still. All the worries, the doubts, the fears melted away, leaving only the warmth of her touch and the sweet taste of her lips against yours. In that fleeting moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, lost in the intensity of the connection we shared.

As the kiss deepened, you felt a surge of emotions coursing through you, a mixture of desire, longing, and something deeper, something you couldn't quite put into words. It was as if your souls were reaching out to each other, seeking solace and understanding in the midst of chaos.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, you found yourself gazing into Wanda's eyes, searching for any sign of regret or hesitation. But all you saw was warmth and affection, mirrored in her gaze.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have—"

But before you could finish your sentence, Wanda silenced you with a gentle touch of her finger against your lips. "Don't apologize," she said softly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. "That was... unexpected, but not unwelcome."

You felt a rush of relief flood through you at her words, a weight lifted from your shoulders. For the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for something more between the two of you.

As we sat there in silence, the glow of the TV casting flickering shadows across the room, you realized that this was just the beginning of your journey together. There would be challenges ahead, obstacles to overcome, but as long as you faced them together, you knew the two of you could conquer anything.

With a smile, you reached out and took Wanda's hand in yours, intertwining your fingers as if to seal the unspoken promise between the two of you. As the two of you sat there, bathed in the soft light of the TV, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together, side by side, as partners, as friends, and perhaps, if we were lucky, as something more.

Wanda pulls you onto her lap after moving the pillow away. She pulls you into a tight hug and whispers, "I've been so tired recently. It's just...it's like this wave washing over me again and again. It knocks me down and when I try to stand up it just comes for me again and I can't-" you hear her voice cracking, her emotion shifting along with her aura as you rub her back. "It's just going to drown me." She confesses.

"No...no it's not..." you tell her.

"Yeah..." She lets out a dry chuckle and you pull back, letting your hands find her cheeks again. You stare into those deep green eyes full of sorrow and hope there comes a point where you can see them full of joy. You’ve only gotten small glimpses of happiness from Wanda and all you wanted was for those glimpses to last longer until there was no sorrow left. 

"No it won't, I won't let it. Not now. Not ever. Do you hear me Wanda?" You're searching her tear filled eyes to see if on any level she believes you because you could only hope that your words offered some solace to her feelings. All you wanted to do was take some of it away, even just a little so she wasn’t drowning anymore.

"How do you know?" Her voice is cracking and soft, it breaks you to hear her like this.

"Well it can't all be sorrow, can it?" She's searching your Y/E/C eyes now, your thoughts even. "Tell me. What is grief if not love persevering?" You ask, a small tilt to your head. Her dam finally breaks as she cries and you shush her, helping her through it. "I've got you Wanda. Always. I'll hold you above the waves. I'd let myself drown before I let it take you." You tell her softly. “I can help take some of it away, would you like that?” You ask her, her tear filled eyes looking up at you and nods ever so slightly, but still asks,

“Will it hurt?” Her voice cracks as you rub her cheeks with your thumbs, wiping the tears away.

“No darling it won’t it’ll make you feel lighter. I don’t do it often. Bad emotions are disgusting. I have to take them out of you and eat them which I’m sure sounds weird and I guess in a way it is, but for you I’ll do it.” She nods once again, clinging to you as you move your hand to her back, rubbing a gentle circle. You can feel the physical manifestation of the emotions pulling them apart from one another, only taking out the pain and grief, not all just enough. 

A black oobleck is pulled out threatening to slip through your fingers as Wanda pulls back to look. You use both your hands to keep it contained as you bring it to your mouth. You open your mouth as wide as you can, tongue sticking out as you let the gooey orb fall into your mouth and swallow. Your face contorts and a shiver goes through your body like when you take medicine you can’t stand. It tastes like vomit in the worst way possible and the main reason you tended not to do this. 

You feel Wanda cup your cheeks and murmur, “You’re okay.” and “Thank you.” As much as you hated it, you knew you’d do it as much as she needed. You lean in, placing your forehead against her own, nuzzling your faces together as you feel your cheeks dampen from her tears. 

“No more tears darling.” You whisper, feeling her smile against you. 

The two of you eventually make it up her bed, laying against her pillows, small soft kisses are peppered in between things. There are no more tears from Wanda through the night as the show continues playing as she falls asleep on your chest. 

As Wanda rested against you, her breathing steady and her grip on you relaxed, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you. Despite the turmoil and uncertainty that surrounded you two, in this moment, all that mattered was the warmth of her body pressed against yours, the rhythm of her breaths lulling you into a state of calm.

You gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face, marveling at the serenity that seemed to radiate from her even in sleep. She had been through so much, faced unimaginable challenges and losses, yet here she was, still fighting, still clinging to hope.

And in that moment, you made a silent vow to yourself, to always be there for her, to be her anchor in the storm, to hold her above the waves no matter how fierce they may rage. Because Wanda was more than just a teammate or a friend—she was someone you cared deeply for, someone you would do anything to protect.

As the soft glow of the TV bathed the room in a gentle light, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, knowing that no matter what tomorrow may bring, the two of you would face it together, united in our strength and our love. And as you held Wanda in your arms, you knew that as long as the two of you had each other, you could weather any storm that came your way.

[transmutationisms]

i think you do a really impressive job balancing comprehensive/concise while referencing a lot of complex frameworks(contexts? schools of thought? lol idk what to call that. big brain ideas) but if you have any readings specifically on the institution of psychiatry topic that you would recommend/think are relevant, I'd be interested. it's absolutely not a conversation that's being had enough and I want to be able to articulate myself around it

yes i have readings >:)

first of all, the anti-psychiatry bibliography and resource guide is a great place to start getting oriented in this literature. it's split by sub-topic, and there are paragraphs interspersed throughout that give summaries of major thinkers' positions and short intros to key texts.

it's from 1979, though, so here are some recs from the last 4 decades:

overview critiques

mind fixers: psychiatry's troubled search for the biology of mental illness, by anne harrington

psychiatric hegemony: a marxist theory of mental illness, by bruce m z cohen

desperate remedies: psychiatry's turbulent quest to cure mental illness, by andrew scull

psychiatry and its discontents, by andrew scull

madness is civilization: when the diagnosis was social, 1948–1980, by michael e staub

contesting psychiatry: social movements in mental health, by nick crossley

the dsm & pharmacy

dsm: a history of psychiatry's bible, by allan v horwitz

the dsm-5 in perspective: philosophical reflections on the psychiatric babel, by steeves demazeux & patrick singy

pharmageddon, by david healy

pillaged: psychiatric medications and suicide risk, by ronald w maris

the making of dsm-iii: a diagnostic manual's conquest of american psychiatry, by hannah s decker

the myth of the chemical cure: a critique of psychiatric drug treatment, by joanna moncrieff

the book of woe: the dsm and the unmaking of psychiatry, by gary greenberg

prozac on the couch: prescribing gender in the era of wonder drugs, by jonathan metzl

the creation of psychopharmacology, by david healy

the bitterest pills: the troubling story of antipsychotic drugs, by joanna moncrieff

psychiatry & race

the protest psychosis: how schizophrenia became a black disease, by jonathan metzl

administrations of lunacy: racism and the haunting of american psychiatry at the milledgeville asylum, by mab segrest

the peculiar institution and the making of modern psychiatry, 1840–1880, by wendy gonaver

what's wrong with the poor? psychiatry, race, and the war on poverty, by mical raz

national and cross-national contexts

mad by the millions: mental disorders and the early years of the world health organization, by harry yi-jui wu

psychiatry and empire, by sloan mahone & megan vaughan

ʿaṣfūriyyeh: a history of madness, modernity, and war in the middle east, by joelle m abi-rached

surfacing up: psychiatry and social order in colonial zimbabwe, 1908–1968, by lynette jackson

the british anti-psychiatrists: from institutional psychiatry to the counter-culture, 1960–1971, by oisín wall

crime, madness, and politics in modern france: the medical concept of national decline, by robert a nye

reasoning against madness: psychiatry and the state in rio de janeiro, 1830–1944, by manuella meyer

colonial madness: psychiatry in french north africa, by richard keller

madhouse: psychiatry and politics in cuban history, by jennifer lynn lambe

depression in japan: psychiatric cures for a society in distress, by junko kitanaka

inheriting madness: professionalization and psychiatric knowledge in 19th century france, by ian r dowbiggin

mad in america: bad science, bad medicine, and the enduring mistreatment of the mentally ill, by robert whitaker

[angstydevil]

The map is not the territory. In regards to geopolitics, this means a map of the world is a representation, not reality itself. Borders change. Landmasses change. The words used to label depictions of certain regions reflect temporal motivations. The landmasses labeled North America and South America are named after an Italian mapmaker and have not been named as such for many millennia. The names on the globe reflect historical ideological movements.

The concept of a world map entirely covered in nationstates with well-defined borders is relatively new. This reflects a particular ideology in which states are things that occupy landmasses and contain people, rather than material realities constructed by social agreements between individuals.

Even satellite maps are photographs: they are representations of reality, and they are distinct from the real world in various ways. If satellite maps are presented as the most cutting edge and accurate way of depicting Earth as it really is, that too reflects a bias toward seeing what the world “really is” in a particular way.

The map is not the territory. In regards to psychiatry, this means that a catalogue of behaviours maligned as syndromes written by clubs of predominantly white western cisgender men is not a holy almanac of extant neurological deviations from some universal standard of reason.

Psychiatry is a violent institution at its roots. The concepts of sanity and madness are inextricable from racism and colonialism. American psychiatry emerged from the practice of allowing slaveholders the “right” to have captive people they held in involuntary servitude declared “mentally unfit” or “insane”.

Psychiatry remains a violent institution. It is an extension of western fetishization of “rationalism”; it rationalizes unpersoning. It holds that madpeople are without “reason”, a notion that for many intents and purposes is a sanitized synonym of soul, and therefore madpeople must be caged. It offers a “scientific” and “rational” dogma of “degeneracy”.

Psychiatry is interlinked with the prison industrial complex and is one of the principal institutions to which the term “institutional racism” applies. American psychiatry diagnoses black bodied people with oppositional defiant disorder, antisocial personality disorder, schizophrenia, and cognitive disabilities at higher rates than white bodied people, simultaneously villainizing and constructing blackness as a social and material reality, villainizing and constructing particular categories of disability as categories to be marginalized and medically neglected, and perpetuating racialist ideologies while frequently aligning with eugenicist initiatives. Psychiatry is a part of a system that determines who is free and who is unfree, and that system serves and protects inequalities as its foundational purpose.

Psychiatry creates an idea of mental illness that's very attractive as a pejorative among liberals and conservatives, e.g., Conservativism/liberalism should be considered a mental illness (and therefore conservatives/liberals should be unfree). This kind of thinking also appears on the auth-left, e.g., I think money should be considered a delusion (and therefore capitalists should be unfree). Psychiatry constructs, enforces, and regulates categories of “undesirables”.

No one derives rights and validity from the DSM. American queer people did not feel protected by homosexuality's status as a diagnosis in the DSM, and they rioted and organized until it was removed as a diagnosis in 1974. Trans people deserve freedom and rights because everyone deserves freedom and rights, not because the American Psychiatric Association recognizes gender dysphoria as a diagnosis.

Psychiatry does not champion the rights of people it diagnoses. In the words of Frantz Fanon, “Psychiatry is an auxiliary of the police.” Psychiatrists police communities, and they do so with the same violent racist, sexist, cisheteronormative prejudices endogenous to police departments.

Psychiatrists, like police officers, have the right to arbitrarily detain people. Psychiatrists are gatekeepers between people and inalienable rights to medicine and drugs. Psychiatrists participate in the othering and erasure of people who experience trauma, especially generational and societal trauma. Psychiatrists actively construct a colonial narrative in which there exists an ideal (white, sane, able bodied) rational human standard from which there is (“degenerate”) deviation. Psychiatrists kidnap and imprison people. Psychiatrists swear oaths to kidnap and imprison people. Psychiatrists rarely face charges or even lose their licenses to practice when their abuses are well documented - and, in general, most abuses are not well documented.

Psychiatry’s existence as an institution opposes absolute rights to bodily autonomy. Psychiatry prohibits poor, sick, and disabled people people from accessing lifesaving medicine. Psychiatry disproportionately denies people of color access to treatments entirely by applying “untreatable” diagnoses.

Medicalist gatekeepers are bullies shilling for a cruel establishment. They routinely accuse their harassment targets of faking disorders, being delusional, and having personality disorders, and they routinely invalidate people using a variety of slurs originally directed at people diagnosed with psychosis, autism, cognitive impairment, and paraphilias as pejoratives.

All these pejoratives are associated with diagnoses in the DSM. Medicalist gatekeepers use them to invalidate and harass others because they’ve integrated the beliefs that psychiatric propagandists peddle: that belonging to those diagnostic criteria makes you ontologically worth less and less “rational” than a sane, abled being; deserving of unfreedom; “degenerate”—without “reason”.

At the crux of their arguments, they say, you’re not like me, you’re like those bad madpeople – or, even more insidiously, I don’t believe what you say about yourself as much as I believe what psychiatry says about you.

If you find yourself thinking, “well of course we have to have an objective viewpoint to really understand this phenomenon - people like that aren’t fully rational!” then you believe unpersoning propaganda.

[sbrown82]

THE FULL HISTORY OF THE MICK JAGGER & MARSHA HUNT (A.K.A. “BROWN SUGAR”) RELATIONSHIP!!! (PART 1)

First, some background on the model, singer, actress, novelist, playwright, activist, icon, 60s goddess, and the woman who inspired one of The Rolling Stones’ greatest hits, “Brown Sugar”, Marsha Hunt. She is often described as London’s own Josephine Baker and is celebrating her 77th birthday today!:

Marsha A. Hunt was born on April 15, 1946 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and is the youngest of 3 children. Her mother, Inez “Ikey” Hunt, worked in an airplane factory during World War II, and her father, Blair Hunt Jr. graduated from Harvard and became one of America's first Black psychiatrists.

Marsha was raised in a middle-class neighborhood mostly by her mother, aunt, and grandmother who had roots in the deep south (Mississippi delta) and who she’s described as an “extremely aggressive and ass-kicking independent woman.” Her father committed suicide when Marsha was 9 years old (but she never found out how or why).

After moving out west to California with her family, she graduated high school at the top of her class and later attended UC, Berkeley in the mid-’60s where she wanted to study psychological anthropology.

While at Berkeley, she became friends with a slew of interesting people like activist Mario Savio and Huey P. Newton, who later became one of the founders of the Black Panther Party.

[TOP LEFT: Marsha’s mother Inez Hunt; TOP RIGHT: Marsha’s father, Blair Hunt Jr.; BOTTOM LEFT: Marsha at her home in Philly with her father & siblings, Pamala & Dennis; BOTTOM RIGHT: Marsha’s high school graduation photo in 1964.]

Even though she thrived academically and was very involved in student activities, she became bored with college life and wanted to experience life outside of the country and pursue her real passion – music. In early 1966, she sold her car and some books, and trailed off to London with only $1.83 in her pocket.

Around that time, London was THE city to be in, and was even dubbed “Swinging London” for being the epicenter of art, culture, fashion and of course music, especially due to the popularity of famous acts like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

When Marsha first arrived, she slept on the floors of mutual friends, took odd jobs (including one as an au pair), and even appeared as an extra in Michelangelo Antonioni's box office hit film, “Blow-Up,” which also featured the British rock band, The Yardbirds.

SHOCKINGLY, in that same year she actually saw The Rolling Stones in concert for the first time during their UK tour at the Royal Albert Hall in London because she wanted to see Ike & Tina who were the supporting act on the bill. Girls were going crazy over the Stones, but of course, she was more impressed by Tina’s show-stopping performance! (Purrrrr 💅🏿)

[LEFT: Marsha in 1966; RIGHT: The Rolling Stones performing at the Royal Albert Hall in London with Marsha in attendance.]

After roaming the city, making new friends, and trying to find steady work, Marsha ended up auditioning for a blues band fronted by British blues musician, Alexis Korner, who was looking for backup singers. Coincidentally, he was the exact same guy who gave The Rolling Stones their start back in 1962. Later on, she was offered another backing gig for Long John Baldry’s band, Bluesology. John is also a longtime friend of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

Though she loved music and worked really hard at it, Marsha always claimed that she was never a good singer. People in England just assumed she was because they thought all Black Americans had talent.

She then lived with English blues singer, John Mayall, who actually wrote a few songs about her including, “Marsha’s Mood” and another song coincidentally called “Brown Sugar”. Around this time, she became good friends with the founding members of Fleetwood Mac, famed British artist Kaffe Fassett, and keyboard player for Bluesology, Reg Dwight (a.k.a Elton John).

[LEFT: 19 year old Marsha sporting a wig in London; RIGHT: Marsha with a young Elton John].

Around the time Marsha broke things off with John, he was also putting a new band together, which included a young guitarist named Mick Taylor, who showed up at the audition without a guitar. He later became another good friend of Marsha’s.

In late 1966, Marsha met musician Mike Ratledge from the British rock band, Soft Machine. At the time, she was having trouble getting a visa extension to stay in England, so the two got married on her 21st birthday. She later claimed it was a marriage in name only as they were not romantically involved and “never held hands and never kissed".

[LEFT: Guitarist Mick Taylor & John Mayall in the mid-60s; RIGHT: Marsha’s “husband” Mike Ratledge of Soft Machine.]

That same year, Marsha’s hair started to fall out from using chemical relaxers, and after wearing wigs for a while, she finally cut it all off and vowed to never straighten it again. Hence, why she started sporting her iconic afro hairstyle which made her quite a showstopper in London.

In 1968, she found luck when she was cast in a buzzy new rock musical with an ensemble cast called “Hair.” The musical became an instant hit in London’s famed West End. And even though her character “Dionne” only had two lines, she suddenly became the face (or the hair) of “Hair”. The show was a huge success, and also became quite a sensation and a social landmark because it highlighted controversial subjects like drugs, casual sex, profanity, nudity, and anti-war rhetoric. While there, she met another close friend, actor Tim Curry.

[BOTTOM: A poster of the hit musical “Hair” that debuted in the Shaftesbury Theatre in the West End, 1968.]

Her life completely changed overnight and she instantly became a PHENOMENON, attracting wide media attention. In fact, after the musical’s opening night, the editor of British Vogue sent her a huge bouquet of flowers and wanted her to pose for a photo session, which ended up being a 4-page spread with a written profile. Marsha was also the first Black woman to appear on the cover of Queen magazine as well.

[LEFT: Marsha pictured as the first Black woman on the cover of Queen magazine; RIGHT: Marsha photographed for British Vogue in 1969.]

She immediately became a sex symbol, celebrity, and the face of the “Black is Beautiful” movement, which was already taking over America in the mid-60s. This helped her snag lots of modeling gigs and everyone wanted to photograph her. (I mean, sis was booked & busy!!!)

[BOTTOM: More of Marsha’s most iconic shots. *The melanin was melanating, 4C afro was on deck, eyelashes poppin’, lips bussin’...she was a *bad bitch*!!!]

In March 1969, she signed a contract with Track Records, the same independent label that also repped the British rock band, The Who and Jimi Hendrix, as she later said, “There was one luxury that London celebrity afforded me: the freedom to be myself without a single apology for my gap, my freaked-out hair, my brown skin, my slave-class ancestors or my radical views.” 

Around this time, she also had a short-lived love affair with Marc Bolan, the singer and founder of the English rock band, T-Rex (even though he was much shorter than her 😂.)

She scored a few minor hits during her underrated music career with singles like a cover of T-Rex’s “Desdemona” and her debut single, a cover of “Walk on Gilded Splinters”. 

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing the T-Rex cover “Desdemona” live.]

The record soon went to the charts, and that spring, she was asked to perform on various shows, including a popular British TV program called, “Top of the Pops”. During her live performance on the show, the tight bolero suede top she wore nearly came undone and partially exposed her breasts, a wardrobe malfunction that gave her the reputation of a “bad girl.”

NOW…Here’s the part y’all have been waiting for. Get your popcorn. Y’all got it? Ready? Good!!! 🍿

After her performance aired, Marsha soon received a phone call out of the blue from Jo Bergman, the then secretary for The Rolling Stones on behalf of the band’s frontman Mick Jagger who was actually watching the show live, asking her to pose semi–nude for a publicity photoshoot to promote the band’s new single, “Honky Tonk Women”. She said, “The picture was going to be of a girl dressed like a sleaze bag standing in a bar with the Stones and they wanted me to be the girl.”

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing "Walk on Gilded Splinters” on ‘Top of the Pops’ in May 1969. This was also the exact moment Mick Jagger first laid eyes on her!]

Marsha, who was not a Stones fan, was already established and didn’t really need the extra exposure. She later declined because she had her reputation to think about and said she “didn't want to look like [she'd] just been had by all The Rolling Stones.” She also claimed, “The last thing [Black women] needed was for me to denigrate us by dressing up like a whore” among a band of white men.

ENTER MICK JAGGER:

When she tried to get in touch with Mick to say, “thank you, but no thank you”, he later returned her call in an attempt to change her mind and even suggested he come over as he was very intrigued that a girl would turn him down.

Mick then showed up at her apartment around midnight as she claims, “He was framed by the doorway as he stood grinning with a dark coat ... He drew one hand out of his pocket and pointed it at me like a pistol. His silly 'Bang' was precisely the icebreaker we needed to get over my ungracious hesitation before I invited him in, not sure how to salute a notorious rogue who rings me just before midnight and suggests he pop round on a pretext of loneliness.”

They talked for HOURS, well until the sun came up about any and everything from music to social issues and politics, and according to her, Mick “made me squeal whenever he used Melanigian slang (aka Black vernacular/AAVE).” 🙄🤦🏾‍♀️

Marsha didn’t really find Mick physically attractive at first, stating, “He wasn't beautiful or even striking” however, he was boyish, open, direct, yet seemed quite awkward and shy. She found it a relief that he was nothing like other musicians she’d known or the image the media had portrayed him. He was incredibly charming, intelligent, funny, radical, and straddled the racial line, much like she did. She also quickly noticed that he had a penchant for Black women, as he claimed “They [Black women] just do something to me”.

The two of them had a lot in common and just clicked right off the bat. And things eventually turned hot as they ended up having sex. From there, they embarked on a passionate, but very private, deep romance and year-long affair, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t widely accepted yet.

Marsha didn’t expect to hear from him again, as he had a wide selection of women to choose from, but surprisingly, Mick wanted to see her and talk all the time, mostly because she was great to look at and he could count on her. Marsha said, “He knew that I adored him and that he could depend on me…he realized I respected him as I respected myself.”

Mick’s friend and interior designer Christopher Gibbs once said often when he dined with Mick, women who had slept with him would come up to the table and “he’d have absolutely no idea who they were.”

[LEFT: Mick photographed at the ​​Shaftesbury Theatre in London to see the new musical “Hair” for the first time; RIGHT: Marsha performing in the show.]

1969 was a very rough year for Mick. He was having trouble with his band The Rolling Stones (which he was practically running by himself) because the founder and guitarist, Brian Jones, was becoming increasingly unreliable and spiraling out of control due to his deep drug addiction and legal troubles that led to him having difficulty getting a US work visa to go on an upcoming tour. Mick’s personal life was also a mess because his long-term girlfriend at the time, pop singer Marianne Faithfull, was also a very serious (and sloppy) drug addict, who often embarrassed him and became more dependent and difficult to be around. Things had gotten so bad between them, their relationship grew to be strictly platonic by this time.

Mick and Marianne were quite destructive together and often found themselves in legal troubles due to drugs. Marianne was also quite messy as she previously slept with Mick’s bandmates Brian Jones, Keith Richards, and even left her husband, John Dunbar, for Mick who was dating Black soul singer and former Ikette, Pat “P.P.” Arnold, when they first met.

P.P. also later claimed in her autobiography “Soul Survivor” that the three of them would often engage in drug-fueled threesomes much to Mick’s delight. 

[BELOW: Soul singer & former Ikette, P.P. Arnold, who dated Mick from 1966-1967.]

While in London, Mick was still messing with P.P. who later became pregnant with his baby in 1967, but they both agreed to have an abortion, partly due to his growing relationship with Marianne.

[BELOW: Mick arriving at a courthouse with his then girlfriend, singer Marianne Faithfull in 1969.]

Marsha on the other hand, was stone-cold sober and didn’t do any drugs (NOT ONE), which was like a breath of fresh air for Mick, though he dabbled with hashish, LSD, and marijuana among other drugs himself. But unlike those around him, he was able to control his habit.

Even though their relationship quickly turned sexual, they were really, really close friends. Mick often retreated to her home to relax, he told her all his secrets, his troubles – he just trusted her. He was completely enamored of Marsha, who many describe as warm, intelligent, sensitive, funny, and very easy to talk to. He liked that she didn’t go gooey-eyed and weak-kneed in his presence like most (white) women/female fans did. Instead she had a crisply forthright manner and was almost quite “butch”. The Rolling Stones then manager was even quoted as saying that Mick was “obsessed” with Marsha as she was very exotic, and he even gave her the nickname “Miss Fuzzy” due to her afro hairstyle.

Ironically, Marsha enjoyed their well-kept relationship and is one of the only people who often calls him Michael instead of Mick, to distinguish him from his Rolling Stones rockstar persona.

Since Marsha was a fellow recording artist, they were able to be seen together in public without any arousing suspicion—in any case, London still had almost no paparazzi. They would often go to the same parties or events, even with Mick’s girlfriend there, and no one questioned it.

Mick would often pop into some of Marsha’s studio sessions with her band White Trash, and everyone around would be in awe of him.

Later, after officially firing Brian Jones from the band, Mick and the rest of the Stones were in desperate need of a new guitarist. Marsha promptly suggested her good friend, Mick Taylor (Yes, Stones fans – thank Marsha Hunt for that one!), as a replacement for Brian just days before he was mysteriously found dead (he sadly drowned in a swimming pool at his home) on July 3, 1969.

Additionally, when Mick sought a replacement for Jo Bergman, the secretary who handled all The Rolling Stones affairs, Marsha also suggested her friend and tour manager, Peter Rudge - (The same guy responsible for getting the Stones all those huge tours in massive stadiums. Again, thank Marsha!)

Two days after Brian’s death, the Stones played a free concert before a crowd of over 250,000 people in Hyde Park, London, which was previously planned to debut their new guitarist, but turned into a memorial/funeral for Brian. Mick invited both Marianne (who looked a hot ass mess and was in withdrawal from heroin at the time), and Marsha (who showed up looking sexy af with her titties bustin’ out of her buckskin suit) to the concert, and rudely and distastefully opened the show with a song called, “I’m Yours and I’m Hers.”

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha at The Rolling Stones tribute concert to Brian Jones in Hyde Park, London on July 5, 1969.]

Marianne who sat on the other end of the stage with her 4-year old son Nicholas and the other Stones wives/girlfriends, actually saw Marsha that day as she was placed right above the stage in the scaffold VIP section at the request of Mick so that he could look at her while he performed. She later said, “I saw her [Marsha] you know. And she was stunning…If I’d been Mick in that situation, I might have done exactly the same thing.”

Mick arrived at the concert with Marianne that afternoon, but left with Marsha and spent the night at her place where they made love.

A day after the concert, Mick kissed Marsha goodbye, and flew with Marianne to Australia to shoot a biographical film they were both cast in called “Ned Kelly,” based on the infamous bushranger. However, Marianne who was reeling from the recent death of Brian Jones and a horrible miscarriage just a few months earlier, overdosed on 150 Tuinal barbiturates while traveling with Mick, and fell into a coma in their hotel room.

[LEFT & RIGHT: Mick & Marianne arriving in Australia to film “Ned Kelly.” Marianne slipped into a coma just hours later from an attempted suicide.]

At the last minute, Mick was forced to film the movie without her, but phoned and wrote to Marsha, who was extremely frantic and worried about his mental health and emotional well-being, almost everyday. She was scared that he didn’t have the stamina to deal with yet another crisis. He sent Marsha over 10 handwritten letters (some even written on the same headed stationery paper of Chevron Hotel where his girlfriend just tried to kill herself) about his deep feelings for her, his experience filming on set, being in the Australian outback, his new interests, the historic day of the moon landing of 1969, future career plans, his regret at missing her performance at the famous Isle of Wight Festival, and other aspects of pop culture (including “John & Yoko boring everybody…”). The letters also reference the recent death of his former bandmate Brian Jones, Mick’s increasingly difficult relationship with Marianne, and another letter even had the full original lyrics for The Rolling Stones song “Monkey Man”, which was later rewritten.

Mick’s letters also went on to mention the foul Australian winter weather and an unpleasant virus that swept through the film unit, a fire that destroyed most of the film’s costumes, along with various other accidents – including a prop gun that backfired in his right hand. He was just having a real shitty time. So, he found solace writing to Marsha.

His letters to Marsha showed how pensive and romantic he was. He said things like,“I feel with you something so unsung there is no need to sing it...” and “If I sailed with you around the world, all my sails would be unfurled.” He also thanked her for being “so nice to an evil old man like me”. And in another steamy note, Mick promises Marsha: "I will kiss you softly. And bite your mouth too."

[RIGHT & LEFT: Mick’s private letters sent to Marsha while filming “Ned Kelly” in Australia during the late summer of 1969.]

Mick also celebrated his 26th birthday while filming in Australia and Marsha sent him a huge package of books (which he loves) and albums, including her friend John Mayall’s record “Brown Sugar.” Along with his gifts was a note stating how she missed him desperately.

While still trying to rehabilitate his hand from the prop accident, Mick toyed with a new guitar he had and started work on a song he had in his head, which was partly inspired by Marsha and that he initially titled “Black Pussy.” He decided that name was a little too direct and changed it instead to “Brown Sugar” with the lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields  Sold in the market down in New Orleans  Scarred old slaver knows he's doing alright  Hear him whip the women just around midnight 

[Chorus] 

Brown sugar, how come you taste so good?  Uh huh Brown sugar, just like a young girl should

[BOTTOM: Recording of “Brown Sugar” by The Rolling Stones later released on their Sticky Fingers album in 1971.]

Mick later confirmed in a 1995 Rolling Stone magazine interview that the song is a double-entendre: “brown sugar” being the street name for unrefined heroin and of course also meaning his seemingly equal addiction to having sex with Black women. The song was a huge commercial success and ended up becoming a huge #1 hit around the world, making it one of the Rolling Stones’ best-selling records to date.

[TOP: A movie poster of “Ned Kelly” which was released in June 1970; BOTTOM: Mick with his guitar composing “Brown Sugar” during filming.]

While Mick was still filming overseas, Marsha was booked to perform at the iconic 3-day outdoor concert, the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969. At the time, it was the biggest open-air concert in music history and she was the only woman billed to perform. She was there alongside acts like The Who, Joe Cocker, and even Bob Dylan who hadn’t been onstage in three years.

Mick told her in a letter that he was so proud of her and promised her that he was “there in my head and in my heart.” Keith Richards, Charlie Watts and his wife Shirley, and Jo Bergman were also in the audience watching Marsha perform.

Marsha also made headline news as she wore custom-made leather shorts to which the press ran with and by the next fashion season, short shorts were featured in every fashion magazine. She was the first person to popularize “hot pants”.

[BELOW: Marsha performing with her band White Trash at the Isle of Wight Festival in 1969 with members of The Rolling Stones looking on in the audience.]

After Mick came back from Australia, Marsha was offered a part in a film called “Welcome to the Club” which is a comedy about three Black USO performers sent to Hiroshima in the 1940s to entertain the troops on an all-white base. The film was being directed by Walter Shenson, who had produced The Beatles' films “A Hard Day's Night” and “Help” and shot it entirely in Copenhagen, Denmark.

She was also asked to fly back to London to shoot another cover for American Vogue which was shot by photographer Patrick Litchfield. (They‘d never had a Black woman on the cover before.)

Mick began touring in America again, his first since 1966, and with the number of girls he had access to, she knew he was keeping himself busy on and off stage.

[LEFT: Mick on stage at Madison Square Garden during the Stones’ 1969 tour; RIGHT: Marsha filming “Welcome to the Club”.]

He even started a short-lived relationship with yet another Black singer and Ikette Claudia Lennear, as well sparking up a fling with Devon Wilson, a notorious rock & roll groupie and the girlfriend of Jimi Hendrix who famously wrote the song “Dolly Dagger” about their affair.

[LEFT: Mick arriving at Madison Square Garden in November 1969 with Devon Wilson; RIGHT: Mick backstage at the same event with singer Claudia Lennear.]

But on December 6, 1969 - everything changed dramatically when an 18-year old concertgoer was stabbed and killed during the Stones’ free concert at the Altamont Speedway in California by the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club, who was the band’s security. Members of the Hell’s Angels blamed Mick for the incident and subsequent to the concert, put a hit out on him and threatened to murder him. This marked the third major tragedy to happen since Mick and Marsha met each other.

[BELOW: A scared Mick looks on as 18-year old Meredith Hunter is stabbed to death by the Hell’s Angels in front of the stage while the Stones performed at Altamont Speedway.]

Marsha stayed with Mick after the chaos at Altamont, which the media dubbed “The Death of the ‘60s”. By this time, he had officially split up with Marianne and moved Marsha into his house on Cheyne Walk where she helped him to transition and readjust his life. It was then their relationship intensified!

This is around the time she got a chance to know some of Mick’s friends who lived on the same road, including Keith Richards and his girlfriend, actress Anita Pallenberg, who just had a son, but was hooked on heroin. She thought they were both nice, but they’d visit or show up unannounced to their home all the time. Their hard drug-taking also scared Marsha, so she kept her distance and didn’t voice her opinion. 

She also met Mick’s parents, Eva and Joe Jagger, along with his little brother Chris who was a bit of a hippie and had just returned from India with his American girlfriend. They both had no work, no money, and nowhere to stay, so Marsha kindly gave them a job, one included painting her new apartment.

That Christmas, Marsha got Mick a puppy and Mick, for the first time, told her that he loved her.

Marsha was in a good place. Opportunities were coming to her fast, she had a new apartment, and she was in love with Mick. She had newfound stability and independence. 

In January 1970, they were having dinner at the celebrity hotspot restaurant Mr. Chow’s when Mick said that she’d be a good mother and that they should have a baby together. Prior to this Marsha thought she was just another girl he fancied, as he was a notorious womanizer. But the talk of having a baby made her feel special to him. Her feelings for him were so deep that she also claimed, “I would have died for him.”

She knew Marianne miscarried around the same time Keith Richards’ son Marlon was born. Mick also missed family life with Marianne’s son Nicholas, so wanted to give having a baby a second try.

This fool literally made Marsha take out her birth control and IUD coil, they proceeded to have sex like rabbits, and when she found out she was 3 weeks pregnant, she told Mick who was ecstatic.

Marsha literally said to him, “Listen, if you’re not ready and you changed your mind about this, it’s okay.” She was totally ready to get an abortion. But he assured her that it was what he wanted and he was happy.

They had their first argument when it came time to naming their baby. Mick wanted a boy who he could send to the prestigious Eton School (the all-boys school where Prince William & Prince Harry attended), and he proposed that they call the baby ‘Midnight Dream’. Marsha wasn’t having it and even said, “Imagine sticking your head out of a window to call your child home and yelling, 'Midnight. Midnight! Time for tea.’”

She'd known that he and the band were leaving England for tax reasons and moving to France in the coming year. The Stones were also gearing up for their upcoming European tour.

Even though she loved Mick, he was young and she claimed she was ���all for Mick doing his own thing”. They were supposed to be the sophisticated embodiment of an alternative social ideal — parent-hood shared between loving friends living separate lives.

This was around the time of the sexual revolution and people were exploring different types of relationships. Marsha didn’t find gratification in being “Mr. So and So’s” wife, plus Mick wasn’t the marriage type either. He was the type of guy to get up at 2pm to start his day - so marriage was sort of off the table. Though, unbeknownst to Marsha, Mick has thought of proposing, she claimed their relationship “thrived off her being supportive” and she loved to see him “run free”. And since she grew up in a matriarchy, the ideal of a man and woman living together seemed nice but unnecessary. They agreed that Mick would be a good absent father while he made his music and toured with The Rolling Stones, and Marsha could still have her own life and career. It was all very modern!

Marsha also feared that her association with Mick would crowd out her own identity. She didn’t like the limelight because it was a discomfort. She also never wanted to be known as Mick Jagger's girlfriend (can you blame her? So many of his girlfriends tried to commit suicide). Like him, she wanted her own independence.

By June 1969, Marsha told her band and the press that she was pregnant, but did not give up the name of her baby’s father. However, one little clever ass reporter actually found out it was Mick Jagger and threatened to print it. She thought of suing but asked the Stones PR team to link him to another girl. She managed to get through her pregnancy without a media frenzy or being linked to Mick even though they had stepped out together many times, and he was ready to have it reported. 

While Mick was away touring in Europe, his phone calls got less frequent. The tour was a bit crazy, and although Mick invited her to go to Paris, he knew she'd refuse – she didn’t want to get caught up. But he told her he was lonely and had met someone in Paris that he was taking to Italy. Her name was Bianca. She was Nicaraguan and spoke little English. Mick didn't mention her again, but after the tour, Marsha knew that she had moved to his house in England. 

His publicist sent her an invite to the premiere of his corny movie, “Ned Kelly,” but he didn’t show up. He also invited his parents to the event and it was there she realized that the bastard didn’t tell them that he had a baby on the way. Mick hardly lavished praise on his parents and even once told the press, “I owe them nothing. They are my parents, that is that…but there are no dues to be made by me to them!”

By her third trimester, having a baby became her whole reality and his passing fancy. He started to forget that the baby was HIS idea. 

Despite Marsha carrying his child, practically all references to her and the baby were quickly airbrushed out of his life. Chris O'Dell, Mick’s PA in the early ‘70s was even quoted as saying, “I never remember him talking about their child. In fact, I wasn’t aware of a baby being around at all. It was almost like [his first child] didn’t exist.”

Marsha was put in a difficult position because it was too late to go back and sometimes he’d phone her like nothing ever happened. She claimed his mood would change so quickly, he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She also said, “I've discovered that he can burn hot and suddenly cool to below zero.”

She started to worry that he didn’t care anymore, so, she tried to squeeze in any and every piece of work she possibly could to hold her up during and after her pregnancy (tv shows, photoshoots, etc.). She also volunteered at a local mental-care center in the autistic unit caring for a 12 year old boy to keep from feeling useless.

[BELOW: A heavily pregnant Marsha performing in late 1970.]

At the same time, Mick also did a lot of peculiar interviews, either stating he wasn’t interested in having children or flat out dissing Marsha. During a 1970 interview with London’s Daily Mail newspaper he even said, “For me, life has always got to be on the move and exciting. I love kids, I really do…but it’s not something I’m thinking about.” He of course failed to mention that Marsha was expecting their first child.

[BELOW: Mick during an interview referencing Marsha & his unborn child in 1970.]

Once it was time for her to give birth, a hard-up Marsha was ashamed and reluctant to ask him for any contribution because he never once offered. Mick ultimately gave her a measly £200 to get by, which came with a note saying “I know I haven’t done right by you” and he also “loaned” her a ring he always wore.

She had initially planned a natural home delivery to keep the press at bay and because it was the “it” thing to do at the time, but was told by her OB-GYN that her baby was in danger and that she had to go to the hospital the next day. 

On November 3rd, she dragged her own luggage and hailed a taxi to the hospital only to be told there weren’t enough beds. Panicked and scared, she went back home quite sure she was going to die from an unassisted childbirth.

When she went back to the hospital the next day for an induced labor, she checked in with her married name “Ratledge” to protect herself (and Mick). On November 4, 1970 after hours of labor, she gave birth to a girl she named Karis and phoned Mick first and then her mother. That day was the first time Mick actually told his now girlfriend, Bianca, that Marsha and his baby existed.

While waiting in the maternity ward, the nurses also forgot to feed Marsha who was so hungry. But being on The National Health, she didn’t complain.  

When she checked out of the hospital, Mick sent a bouquet of red roses,  a miniature muse figurine for the baby, a silver spoon, and some cheap Indian earrings for Marsha. He “dropped by” two days later to see his baby but was in a hurry to be somewhere else.

10 days later, he paid another rushed visit, but she eventually took him to the side because she wasn’t in the mood to entertain his detachment.  And she was kinda like, “Hey! What’s up with you? Why don’t you call or come around more often for the baby” trying to get some genuine reaction out of him instead of keeping her at bay with the polite chitchat bullshit, in which he snapped and yelled at her, “I never loved you” and told her that she was “mad to think that he had”. Of course Marsha, hormonal, stitches still in, burning and all, did not expect for him to stab back and immediately started to cry, which only made him more angry. The piece of shit even had the audacity to threaten to take her newborn baby away from her if he chose. She stopped and in a stern voice said, “Try it! I’d blow your brains out!!”

In that moment, the loyalty she had for him was gone. She had no choice but to push forward and tried to find as much work as she could to support herself and her baby.

[BELOW: Marsha & Mick after the birth of their first child Karis Hunt in late 1970.]

READ ‘PART 2’ HERE!!! ☕️☕️☕️

[beardedmrbean]

Megyn Kelly thinks MSNBC will dump Joy Reid after the latter said President-elect Donald Trump plans to deport minorities who have legal status in the country.

“She wants a race riot. That’s really what you take away listening to Joy Reid,” Kelly said on her SiriusXM podcast “The Megyn Kelly Show” on Monday.

“She actually does want some sort of rioting in the streets, some sort of race revolt.”

Kelly reacted to a clip of Reid from Friday evening, when she appeared on her nightly MSNBC show and predicted that Americans who are legally in the country could be deported after Trump takes office.

She also criticized Reid for saying on her TikTok channel that liberal white women should not bother inviting black women to protest marches against Trump because they’re “not coming” and instead prefer prioritizing their own communities rather than any effort to “save America.”

The Comcast-owned cable network “is allowing her to spew this racist hate on their channel,” Kelly said of Reid.

“It’s a tick-tock situation until her ass is fired,” Kelly said of Reid.

The Post has sought comment from MSNBC.

Reid on Friday said Trump would take the “meat ax approach” and initiate a process of “de-naturalization” — stripping Americans of their citizenship.

“Don’t think because you have a green card and came through the ‘right way’ — if you’re brown, you may not stick around,” Reid said on her Friday broadcast.

“I don’t think they care whether you have a green card or not. They’re pulling people out and taking people out of this country whether you like it or not.”

Reid stirred controversy on Thursday when she said that Latino men who voted for Trump would “own” his administration’s immigration policies.

Trump has pledged to deport millions of illegal immigrants during his second term in office, which he won in last Tuesday’s blowout election victory over Vice President Kamala Harris.

The victory was made possible by a large number of minority voters who switched their allegiance from the Democrats to the Republicans during this election cycle.

Exit polls showed a majority of Latino men back Trump.

During Thursday’s broadcast of Reid’s show, the MSNBC host also interviewed a Yale-affiliated psychiatrist who encouraged LGBTQ+ people whose family members voted for Trump to cut ties and shun their relatives over the upcoming holidays.

[luckyshouse]

your post about did helped me a lot i may or may not be a system but i have some people show up in my head sometimes and ones been around for a while so it means a lot to me and validating as im still very confused about it so thank you

of course! im more than happy that it helped. i speak from experience, i've been diagnosed with severe ptsd since i was twelve, and psychiatrists/therapists have brought up DID in the past, but for years i rejected the idea because i simply just don't line up with the typical presentations of DID. ive never felt like i had more than one person in my body, i've never had obvious or noticable switches, and everything i've ever done, i've always held a "oh yeah that sounds like me i did that" mentality, even if i didn't remember directly doing it. a lot of my DID symptoms are more internal than external, but even when it is internal, my alters do not come to me in the figures of people or even "Characters" most of the time. Just a large rotating wheel of concepts and aesthetics and occasionally kins, but even the kinning part is less about the character and more about the metaconcepts of the character and the tropes.

we live in a society in america that encourages people to bisect their identity even without DID, and i think that has contributed a lot to peoples experiences as well. even if you get all the help you can for PTSD, or feel like your trauma isn't that bad, the way society is set up to encourage you to splinter your identity and keep them seperate. that mixed with trauma is absolutely how you end up developing DID, and i think it's something thats left out of DID conversations all the time. another thing i think isn't spoken about enough is that DID is never the same as someone elses, and is primarily based on your preferred forms of escapism while you were a developing child. i believe the idea of DID having multiple people in one body may actually come from the older sorts of systems that existed before the internet, and before larger forms of escapism became common. with the internet, i feel like that's broadened the way people could develop DID as well, since it's easier than ever to get into rp spaces, or make ocs, or pretend to be different people, or distance yourself from your body. i know people whos alters genuinely do not come to them as characters, they embody themselves as a large processing machine and their "alters" are different apps they run on the computer for different tasks. when i was told about their experience, it sort of clicked for me, that this isn't a disorder about having "more people" in your brain, but an organizational system for your trauma and reactions/beliefs. it will always and forever be based off of how you existed as a child, and it never will fall under the rules of what people will try to tell you.

i think a lot of "syscourse" on tumblr has lead to a really terrible awful idea of what DID is and how someone can experience it, and has convinced people that they need to seek out "fake" systems. but even if a system WAS faking, they are still undeniably a person with PTSD and identity issues, and i don't see why assuming they are fake would help anyone in that situation. they still need help, they still need to cope, and they'd likely still benefit from plurality spaces. people see it as a very black and white issue, when in reality its like no system will ever be the same as the other, none of them will communicate the same, none of them will ever experience the same exact things, and this is because dissociative systems literally are based off of the persons family and life dynamics. no one lives the same life twice. there for no system exists the same twice.

i hope you have a good day! and i hope the ppl that show up in your head have a good one too

[aya-fay]

At gunpoint part II

Author: Aya-Fay

Fandom: Captain America

Pairing: Mobster!Sebastian Stan x fem!Reader; platonic Chris Evans x fem!Reader

Summary:  Each of us has our own problems in lives and demons in souls. Some of us cope on our own, some of us need a little help from friends, and some of us go to a psychologist. Every problem has its own salvation, except for one – how to suppress the strongest desire to fuck your psychologist?

Warnings: smut; not protected sex. Sebastian is not really working as a psychologist. He has just taken over his Empire and needed a cover for some time. 

Status: In-progress

My Sebastian Stan's masterlist and My Main Masterlist

Part I of this series may be found here: At gunpoint part I

Five years ago.

Dr. Stan's office was a long room, all the illumination of which consisted of two windows that overlooked the courtyard of the neighboring building, which blocked all the sun's rays, preventing them from entering the office even on the clearest days, leaving the doctor's office immersed in pleasant darkness. Opposite the front door was a small marble fireplace. It was flanked by a bookcase, made of solid black oak, with large panels, decorated with intricately carved mirrors, which occupied the entire space of the walls between the front door and the table. This magnificent bookcase contained a collection of rare and valuable books, luxuriously bound in red morocco, with coats of arms on covers and spines... A collection of German classics, Latin authors, and just a few scattered volumes of the most famous contemporary psychiatrists.

Opposite the bookcase, in the wall between the windows, rose a large bookcase for papers, also of carved black oak, and there were folders of red morocco with gold letters on it. That was the exact place where a plaster figurine, about half a meter high, depicting Jung stood on the highest shelf.

On the fireplace, adorned with a medium-sized mirror, were a brushed bronze alarm clock and two brown porcelain vases. The furniture of this dark and secluded room was completed by a large Voltaire armchair upholstered in natural leather, a massive writing desk, and four high-backed low chairs of black oak, upholstered in brown cloth with long silk fringe of the same color.

The whole office is immersed in twilight; long black shadows rise from dark corners to the ceiling; it seems that someone is hiding there and looking at a bright spot above a large table. Without thinking twice, Y/N climbed with her feet into a large leather chair and, pressing her chin to her knees, carefully studied the situation, trying neither breathe nor move.

Dr. Stan who entered the office had not yet noticed her, and therefore she had a chance to examine him better: the man looked to be no more than 35, styled short dark hair and dark eyes were intensely looking for something among the shelves with books. Unbeknownst to Y/N, Sebastian was aware of her presence as well as she was of his, the moment he entered the office. Everyone had their sins.

Smirking, Y/N turned away from the doctor and stared at the magazine, continuing to watch the motionless man from under her eyelashes.

“I always wanted to know if this work with nymphomaniacs too?” Sebastian asked in a low voice, suddenly being in front of the girl, leaning towards her. The tone was partly friendly and trusting, partly tempting. In general, the usual tone of a man interested in a woman. The only difference was that you came here to fight addiction, not surrender to it.

Y/N made an effort to pull herself out of her thoughts and understand what Dr. Stan was talking about.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Sebastian nodded at the magazine in girl's hands, open on an unexpectedly revealing lingerie advertisement. All this time, immersed in her thoughts, she looked at the page, not realizing what was depicted there. And so now, having glanced over the page, she thought that she would not actually mind at all being in the place of the young model, who was tilted to the table, whose legs were spread to the side. The man in his thirties who was holding the model by her neck in place was strangely reminding her psychologist. Male model’s crouch was tightly pressed into female model’s back. The poses were a bit odd so it was probably heavily edited with Photoshop. The meaning of Sebastian's question still eluded her.

“Sir, I still don't really understand what you're talking about.” The girl mumbled noticing how man’s posture changed at the word Sir. Interesting reaction.

“You've been staring at this advertisement for almost five minutes. This indicates a certain interest. Name’s Sebastian” Sebastian smirked fully aware of his sudden non-professional interest in this girl. “Why do you think you are here?” He asked the girl finally sitting in front of her.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders and smiled. “Well, my friend considers me to be a pervert, because I am interested in…” She looked straight into man’s storming blue eyes liking her lips “older man. Daddy issues, you know. What even kind of disease is that? ”

Sebastian chuckled, clearly understanding that if her friend knew about his desires and interests she would sue him not gave her friend for him to cure.

“I think you're right, there is no such disease, and it's quite normal, unless you like old man with bald heads.” His response took her by surprise; apparently she was waiting for a completely different turn of events.

“Would you like some tea?” He asked watching her face closely. She definitely didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want for her to leave either.

She bit her lip derisively, stood up and put her elbows on the armrests of his chair, bending closer to the man, trapping him in her presence.

The man was clenching and unclenching his fists, and the jaws on his cheekbones were trembling, and she almost laughed in his face at how comical and stupid he looked trying to conceal his desire. Suddenly he roughly squeezed her hands, pulled her closer to him so that their noses almost touched. Y/N exhaled raggedly and ran her eyes over Sebastian’s face.

“Listen, if you were not my patient and we were not restricted by ethic I would fuck you right here on the table.” He whispered through gritted teeth.

She freed one of her hands, raised it to her face and playfully bit the tip of her finger, watching with pleasure how his beautiful face was distorted with poorly controlled lust.  “How is that a problem? Sir, I am no teenager anymore and I would definitely jump your bones with pleasure.”

Furrowing his eyebrows and staring at young girl incomprehensibly, Sebastian exhaled in confusion, abruptly moved away and dug his fingers into the dark strands, pulling them away from the roots. She raised her fist to her mouth and chuckled softly at his sight, wanting to prolong this moment when such man really looks absent-minded. The only thing she didn’t take into account was the complete silence which let Sebastian hear her laughter clearly. She has already sat on the table resting her hands on it.

“So you are not worried at all?” he asks briefly turning around to face Y/N, loosening his tie, and then taking it off completely. It was much easier to control and cure others than to get hold of his own demons and emotions. With each word she said to him he could feel how impulses run through the whole body, anger that started to peak its head due to her outright impudence finally turned into complete lust and he found himself wanting to fuck this girl in the dirtiest positions.

“I just give in to this game unlike you” she seductively smiles at him, but all her bravado and playfulness disappear instantly the moment she felt a hot hand closing on her neck, and a man's knee pushing her legs apart and a heavy body literally leaning on her now. Looking up, she sees how wildly Sebastian was looking at her and she quickly came to one right conclusion that it would be better for her to keep quiet now.

Swallowing thick saliva hard, she felt his free hand squeezing her waist, pulling her closer and the only thing she could feel is how her legs are trembling in excitement.

“What a fucking tease you are, Y/N,” Sebastian leans down to her and hisses in her face. The fingers on her neck squeeze harder and pull forward, so she automatically leans in to meet the embittered face. “Unbearable, arrogant, deliciously smelling and sexy beautiful tease.”

Normal, mentally stable person would choke on such vulgar words addressed to her and would definitely feel insulted, but Y/N was not such woman. She felt desire flared up inside her as her red underwear became godlessly wet, and she frantically tried to bring her thighs together, ignoring the fact that a man was standing between them.

She only has time to notice a predatory grin on a man’s face with a blurred gaze and before she could even squeak or process what was happening, Sebastian abruptly lowered her onto the table completely while she brought her legs together on his lower back.

“So you are indeed in my game. Did you close the door?” she hoarse with not her own voice when male fingers found their way to girl’s hips and furiously tore expensive nylon tights. She put her hands on his chest, trying to push the man a bit to see the answer to her question. He nodded unable to speak and squeezed her neck harder to shift the focus to himself.

Sebastian lifts up the hem of a light dress to the waist and quickly takes off her soaked underwear. She probably should have been ashamed of such a reaction of her body, but male fingers slide between the labia, and then burst into her body, instantly picking up a frantic pace.

“Did you really think that I would endure your arrogance in front of my nose?” His hoarse voice intoxicated and clouded her mind better than any expensive alcohol, and she rolled her eyes, enjoying it. “Rejoice, Y/N, because I have taken care of the confidentiality of our rendezvous, and I will fuck you properly so the only word would be left in that pretty head of yours. Sir.”

She could feel that she was beginning to choke on her own moans, which, due to the pressure on her throat, could not escape from her mouth, and she frantically tried to inhale at least some air into her lungs, but Sebastian, apparently, decided to ignore her need to breathe.

When his rough lips covered hers with a rough kiss, while his fingers continued forward movements from the inside, pushing the walls apart and pressing on the right points, she surrendered to his hot body. She slid her hips closer to the edge of the table and hooked her hands on the man's neck, responding to Sebastian's kiss with full passion.

Drowning in the animal lust that her psychologist gave her, she did not think about the consequences of their rash sex. Yes, she definitely wanted Sebastian it was pointless to deny, but now she was coming to the conclusion that she would prefer to have him in a more romantic setting, and not when he laid her out on the table the way he wanted himself, and his long aesthetic fingers were fucking her so well that, she was going to surrender to her Sir for a long time. She knew why she was here, but she could feel unknown prick of conscience that she was here by someone’s command.   

Breaking their kiss, he moved his hand from girl’s neck to chest and squeezed it hard, pulling out a loud moan from her swollen lips. Y/N threw hr head back and completely surrendered to the sensations of fullness when Sebastian added a third finger while pressing another one on her clitoris rubbing circles. She felt the blood running through the veins, and all the nerve endings and tension that had accumulated during the whole time that she had no sex gathered in one point.

Desperately whimpering, she begged Sebastian to speed up, although it seemed that it was no longer possible to move faster, and when she felt the first weak impulse of orgasm, the feeling of the man’s fingers in her abruptly stopped, leaving a painful emptiness.

In a hurry, she opened her eyes and saw how Sebastian was taking off his pants along with boxers, taking out his cock, pumping it. Putting his member to her entrance, he ran his fingers along the labia, collecting lubricant.

“Lustful little girl, now you will carefully watch right in my eyes the whole time as I will fuck you into this table and I do not advise you to look away or roll your eyes. You will not like the punishment.”   Sebastian whispered and entered her, starting to quickly knock her into the table.

Feelings of bliss went beyond her body and soul, and the sight of how a muscular body was driven deep into her, lifted Y/N somewhere higher than heaven, and his tense hand, which squeezed her neck, did not give her any doubt that the man, towering over me, finally took off the mask he was wearing outside of this room.

Biting her lip painfully and clutching the edge of the table with her nails, she inhaled and exhaled convulsively, because Sebastian was fucking her rough, forgetting about teasing all at once. She was swallowed in such unbridled pleasure, when it seemed that she was about to be torn apart by conflicting emotions, starting with a slight pain from the touch of the bodies, ending with a sweet bliss that ran through the veins like a current, with every push of the male body into her as she surrenders to his power.

With another rough push, a quiet moan escaped her lips as she felt how her body, with every movement of the member inside, went into the bliss, and the limbs trembled. She blinked rapidly as she felt the knot in her lower abdomen rip apart, and she moaned loudly, looking into Sebastian’s eyes., finally finding her bliss. He was close as his pace was quickly speeding up. For a moment she saw admiration and satisfaction flash in his eyes, but all this quickly disappeared behind a veil of lust and desire. The moment he threw his head back and growled loudly as he came, was probably one of the most beautiful signs in her life.

“Thank you, Sir” She said in mere whisper not fully knowing what exactly to say.

 “Such a good girl I got here.” He smiled, gently and quite unexpectedly stroking her cheek and swollen lips. "So obedient."

With a satisfied grunt, he quickly pulled on his trousers and fastened his belt under her studying gaze, picked up his shirt from the floor and, looking at Y/N with satisfied eyes, quickly buttoned it.

“Get up off the floor, Y/N, and put yourself in order,” he said, sinking into his chair, taking his eyes off her stunned face. “We'll meet soon. I’ll make sure of that.”

Tagging: @thequeenofmythandmonsters

[rockislandadultreads]

Nonfiction Thursday: LGBTQIA+ History Month

The LGBTQ+ History Book by DK Publishing

Exploring and explaining the most important ideas and events in LGBTQ+ history and culture, this book showcases the breadth of the LGBTQ+ experience. This diverse, global account explores the most important moments, movements, and phenomena, from the first known lesbian love poetry of Sappho to the Kinseys' modern sexuality studies, and features biographies of key figures from Anne Lister to Allen Ginsberg.

The LGBTQ+ History Book celebrates the victories and untold triumphs of LGBTQ+ people throughout history, such as the Stonewall Riots and first transgender surgeries, as well as commemorating moments of tragedy and persecution, from the Renaissance Italian “Night Police” to the 20th century “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell” policy. The book also includes major cultural cornerstones - the secret language of polari, Black and Latinx ballroom culture, and the many flags of the community - and the history of LGBTQ+ spaces, from 18th-century “molly houses” to modern “gayborhoods.”

The Gay Revolution by Lillian Faderman

The fight for gay and lesbian civil rights - the years of outrageous injustice, the early battles, the heart-breaking defeats, and the victories beyond the dreams of the gay rights pioneers - is the most important civil rights issue of the present day. In “the most comprehensive history to date of America’s gay-rights movement” (The Economist), Lillian Faderman tells this unfinished story through the dramatic accounts of passionate struggles with sweep, depth, and feeling.

The Gay Revolution begins in the 1950s, when gays and lesbians were criminals, psychiatrists saw them as mentally ill, churches saw them as sinners, and society victimized them with hatred. Against this dark backdrop, a few brave people began to fight back, paving the way for the revolutionary changes of the 1960s and beyond. Faderman discusses the protests in the 1960s; the counter reaction of the 1970s and early eighties; the decimated but united community during the AIDS epidemic; and the current hurdles for the right to marriage equality.

Queer: A Graphic History by Meg-John Barker & Jules Scheele

Activist-academic Meg John Barker and cartoonist Julia Scheele illuminate the histories of queer thought and LGBTQ+ action in this groundbreaking non-fiction graphic novel. A kaleidoscope of characters from the diverse worlds of pop-culture, film, activism and academia guide us on a journey through the ideas, people and events that have shaped 'queer theory'.

From identity politics and gender roles to privilege and exclusion, Queer explores how we came to view sex, gender and sexuality in the ways that we do; how these ideas get tangled up with our culture and our understanding of biology, psychology and sexology; and how these views have been disputed and challenged.

Along the way we look at key landmarks which shift our perspective of what's 'normal', such as Alfred Kinsey's view of sexuality as a spectrum between heterosexuality and homosexuality; Judith Butler's view of gendered behavior as a performance; the play Wicked, which reinterprets characters from The Wonderful Wizard of Oz; or moments in Casino Royale when we're invited to view James Bond with the kind of desiring gaze usually directed at female bodies in mainstream media.

Fire Island by Jack Parlett

Fire Island, a thin strip of beach off the Long Island coast, has long been a vital space in the queer history of America. Both utopian and exclusionary, healing and destructive, the island is a locus of contradictions, all of which coalesce against a stunning ocean backdrop.

Now, poet and scholar Jack Parlett tells the story of this iconic destination - its history, its meaning and its cultural significance - told through the lens of the artists and creators who sought refuge on its shores. Together, figures as divergent as Walt Whitman, Oscar Wilde, James Baldwin, Carson McCullers, Frank O'Hara, Patricia Highsmith and Jeremy O. Harris tell the story of a queer space in constant evolution.

Transporting, impeccably researched and gorgeously written, Fire Island is the definitive book on an iconic American destination and an essential contribution to queer history.

[vague-humanoid]

@startorrent02

Coming down with Covid-19 on March 22, 2020 completely altered filmmaker Chimére Sweeney’s life. A Black middle school English teacher in Baltimore, Maryland at the time, Sweeney was shocked to find herself disregarded by doctor after doctor as she pushed to find answers when she was still sick weeks, months, and then years after infection. Even more disturbing was connecting with other Black women with Long Covid experiencing similar mistreatment.

Long Covid forced Sweeney into an early retirement and forged her into an activist. Now based in Poughkeepsie, New York, Sweeney is in the early stages of creating Black and (Un)Believed: Finding #LongCovid Care Through Ancestral Care, a film about the experiences of Black Americans with Long Covid, and the challenges of being chronically ill, disabled, and ignored by the health care system. She has crowdfunded nearly $16,000 out of a goal of $500,000, is working to secure grants and more community support to complete the film’s budget, and casting participants and hiring crew members. 

Journalist Lygia Navarro spoke with Sweeney about her vision for the film, racism and anti-Blackness in advocacy spaces, and connections between surviving trauma and Long Covid. This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for clarity.

Lygia Navarro: What do you want to achieve with the documentary?

Chimére Sweeney: Black people have an overwhelming amount of fear advocating [for their health]. It’s also resignation: “I know how the medical system looks at us.” I want to change the narrative of fear.

My goal is to remind us that, even while enslaved people in America, [African-Americans] had already been striving to achieve agency with our bodies. In my research, I’m learning about [enslaved] women who found creative ways to protect their children, ways to protect each other. Even as enslaved – and then as freed – people, we were creating hospitals, creating medical procedures, creating vaccinations. Things that showed our advocacy. 

LN: Why is it necessary to make this film?

CS: I want people to meet real Black people navigating Long Covid and/or ME/CFS [Myalgic Encephalomyelitis, also called chronic fatigue syndrome] – they’re mothers, they’re wives, they’re part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Black men have been largely forgotten in this conversation. They’re [all] trying to figure out how to get the best health care.

My goal is to teach Black people how to engage in advocacy, and to define Long Covid for those in the Black community who may not know what it is. It’s imperative, for us to get the care we need and deserve.

LN: The word unbelieved – I’ve heard in reporting that Black folks and Latines do not necessarily realize that they have Long Covid. Doctors may have discounted them. Their communities say, “Oh, you’re just getting older. You’re just tired.” How serious do you think that problem is, of folks not believing themselves that they have Long Covid?

CS: That’s a pervasive problem… I have seen people develop these weird symptoms that I know so well. Before this, y’all were pretty healthy. I have to do a dance to say, “Hey, maybe think about going to the doctor and discussing Long Covid.”

When we continue to perpetuate anti-Blackness, it devoids us of the ability to educate people about what’s really going on. There’s not a lot of knowledge about Long Covid. People pretend they don’t have the money to educate. That’s why I wrote that letter to [Senator Bernie] Sanders  [urging him to include a focus on Black people with Long Covid in the Long Covid Moonshot bill]. 

LN: Could you talk about your experiences with being unbelieved?

CS: Today, I was going to make a call to my psychiatrist and my therapist to talk about the feelings that come up each time I write my film’s title out. For about two years, I have been fighting the PTSD, sadness, hurt, embarrassment, humiliation of all I experienced. I get chills – I cannot believe some of the things I experienced. 

Four years ago, I was at Johns Hopkins emergency room. [Beforehand], I had to crawl to the bathroom, try to stand up, take a shower, dress myself as best I could. Even though the brain fog was so heavy, I had to remember my name, my social [security number], the type of health insurance I had. I will never forget the meticulous steps I had to take to prove how sick I was. Only to have all of that dismissed. More than once. More than twice. More than five times. More than 10 times.

Every day in the dark, I was on my phone, writing down every symptom. Lights burned my eyes. Sound burned my ears. My brain felt like it was on fire. I was able to show medical professionals my symptoms, and they would say “Go home and rest.” That is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

That broke my spirit. Changed how I saw humanity. That was also my first real experience with racism and discrimination and with being unbelieved, with being humiliated on that level. I had been living at a level of privilege: I had insurance. I was a teacher. I’m educated. And you’re like, “Oh, I got all these things working for me.” Only to be sent home, left to die. 

That’s why now, even four years later, I still experience nightmares. Flashbacks. I can’t even show my husband pictures of 2020 without having a complete meltdown. 

I’ve definitely read a lot about trauma. I [grew up in] an abusive home, too. When I feel triggered, I don’t believe in pushing things inside. 

LN: Can you tell me about some of the folks who are going to be in your film?

CS: My friend Brooke [Keaton], she was fighting for her disability insurance. This is somebody who’s worked, paid into a system, had to stop working because she got sick. Our political system sets us up to be disbelieved. I cannot believe that any agency will look at Brooke, or me, or whoever else and think to themselves, “We don’t believe you.”

I’m hearing all kinds of stories. My friend Myiesha, she just had to drive a long distance to get care. And these [doctors] are people who are like, “Oh, no, it’s not that bad. Just live with it.”

Roma-Jerome Jackson, I really want to interview him – I want them to be a part of it. He’s a teacher in [Los Angeles,] California. Right now, they’re fighting schools to acknowledge that Long Covid is causing students to become disabled.

I want to include some members of Margot [Gage Witvliet]‘s [BIPOC women’s support] group. She’s done an incredible job of keeping Black women and BIPOC women talking for the last three years.

I’ve met an incredible amount of people who I just find brilliant, and I figured, what better way to kind of get those people all together and hear their thoughts than to make a movie and include them on my team? In my documentary, I staff what I see in the world. My goal is to employ disabled people, members of other communities. 

LN: In hearing you talk, I’ve been reminded of what folks say: at work, people of color have to be twice as excellent [as white people] to be seen as average. You’ve had to be twice as dedicated to getting yourself listened to, just to be able to get kind of listened to. 

CS: I think about that all the time. It never gets easier to process. Sadly, we live in a society that’s poised to silently perpetuate anti-Blackness.

I think it’s still hard for white people sometimes to really understand the greatness outside of them [within people of color]. I’ve had so many people thank me for my advocacy, or tell me, “You speak great!”

LN: –groans-

CS: Or, “You tell a great story!” Or, “You write so well.” As if that isn’t me. I’m like, “I’ve always been her.” Let’s never get that confused. 

LN: Data clearly show that Black folks and Latines – especially women – have the highest rates of Long Covid nationally. But if you look at who gets attention in the Long Covid advocacy landscape, it’s mostly white folks. What’s it like to experience this discrepancy in representation versus the reality of who is living with Long Covid?

CS: The first two years, I was getting caught up in ego: “Oh my God, all these white people like me. People are in my inbox. People are asking me to be a part of this, and I’m coming to these events, virtually. And I’m the only Black person.” Then around the end of 2022 going into 2023, I started to [notice]: There are no Black decision-makers. No Black person in leadership of finances. These campaigns are still super white.

[When I was involved with advocacy organizations, there were] times I wanted to talk about race. I wanted to have sections of their websites directed and focused on people of color. “Not right now. We don’t have time.” Or, “We don’t have enough money.” These are legacy organizations that by way of government funders, private donors, they are getting money – and still perpetuating anti-Blackness.

LN: Did I understand correctly from your press release on anti-Blackness in Long Covid advocacy that you have pulled back from being part of a lot of organizations because of this? 

CS: Absolutely. And that’s a risk financially because, as a consultant, I was making pretty good money. But who was representing me at the top? You get millions of dollars for you to talk to the same white people you’ve talked to for 30 years.

Any company I work with from now on, [I first ask] how much money are you using to promote, or to investigate, and to really add on with Black and Latin representation? And, if you’re not: start there.

LN: I was following what was going on with you and the virtual Long Covid and ME conference Unite to Fightin your posts, when you critiqued them for lack of Black and BIPOC representation. Can you give readers a quick summary? 

CS: I was on Twitter [X] one day and saw this Unite to Fight Tweet looking for moderators for the conference. I reached out to one of the organizers without doing a lot of research. And then I looked on the website. And I was flabbergasted at what I saw: a beautiful website, but ain’t a Black person on here that’s going to be featured as a speaker.

So I wrote them again and I said, “What’s your plan on including more Black representation?”

The response was, Oh, it’s so hard to find people, and we are still scheduling people, and we can’t tell you who else is coming. That was three weeks before the conference.

So I got on Twitter and I was like well, let me [critique the lack of representation] publicly. And then all the vitriol came. So many other people came in and tried to convince me why wanting Black representation just didn’t make sense. Telling me I did not contribute to their calls for contribution. Me asking you what your Black representation looks like is a contribution.

LN: Didn’t they also threaten legal action [– for libel for saying that they had raised a lot of funds and weren’t including Black people in the conference]?

CS: Yes. They tried to scare me. And they almost did for a second. I was like, “I’m not going to let y’all off the hook for this.” 

I hope that was a learning experience for them, and for American Long Covid and ME/CFS advocates and nonprofits.

LN: What responsibilities do white people with Long Covid have in this? 

CS: I really felt like, damn, why aren’t more white people talking about this? People who champion me, the minute I said anti-Blackness, it was like, “Oh, I can’t.” 

I had cried to my husband. Then I decided to leave it alone. I made my point. I went to bed one night and woke up to a whole slew of people supporting me – retweet after retweet. I wasn’t expecting it. It was amazing.

To support Black and (Un)Believed, you can donate funds via PayPal or Venmo.

Lygia Navarro is an award-winning disabled journalist working in narrative audio and print. She has reported from across Latin America, North America and Europe, and is an editor with palabra, the multimedia outlet of the National Association of Hispanic Journalists.

[mifhortunach]

Emily St. James' Sopranos Reviews for the AV Club

Season One The Sopranos 46 Long & Anger, Denial, Acceptance Meadowlands & College Pax Soprana & Down Neck The Legend of Tennesse Moltisanti & Boca A Hit is a Hit & Nobody Knows Anything Isabella & I Dream of Jeannie Cusamano

Season Two Guy Walks Into a Psychiatrist's Office... & Do Not Resuscitate Toodle-Fucking-Oo & Commendatori Big Girls Don't Cry & The Happy Wanderer D-Girl & Full Leather Jacket From Where to Eternity & Bust Out House Arrest & The Knight in White Satin Armour Funhouse

Continues under the cut :)

Season Three Mr. Ruggerio's Neighborhood Proshai, Livushka Fortunate Son Employee of the Month Another Toothpick University Second Opinion He is Risen The Telltale Moozadell ... To Save Us All From Satan's Power... Pine Barrens Amour Fou The Army of One Season Four For All Debts Public and Private No Show Christopher The Weight Pie-O-My Everybody Hurts Watching Too Much Television Mergers and Acquisitions Whoever Did This The Strong, Silent Type Calling All Cars Eloise Whitecaps

Season Five Two Tonys Rat Pack Where's Johnny? All Happy Families... Irregular Around the Margins Sentimental Education In Camelot Marco Polo Unidentified Black Males Cold Cuts The Test Dream Long Term Parking All Due Respect

Season Six Members Only Join the Club Mayham The Fleshy Part of the Thigh Mr. & Mrs. John Sacrimoni Request... Live Free or Die Luxury Lounge Johnny Cakes The Ride Moe n' Joe Cold Stones Kaisha

Season Six Pt. 2 / Season Seven Soprano Home Movies Stage 5 Remember When Chasing It Walk Like a Man Kennedy and Heidi The Second Coming The Blue Comet Made in America

[stingslikeabee]

Melissa's birthday.

Hannibal was aware of the trinkets scattered about her household. The gems she wore around her neck, which highlighted the money she held, also showcased the finer features of her wrists, fingers, and ankles. There was no need for him to purchase her more, not with the heirlooms that held centuries of history within them.

Hannibal's appreciation, his love language, had always been in the form of nourishment and protection. A banquet was to be held, inviting her to be the guest of honor. It held invites with his calligraphy penmanship to many of their inner circle (the ones he considered polite when it came to her.) He was protective and knew the tongues that waggled their contempt towards her.

They were not invited to his dinner table.

His image of her had always been that of a swan. Graceful, dignified, and strong-willed, the swan was also the highlight of the meal spread. Feathers of black and white nestled swan eggs within the centerpiece. Both split and whole, pomegranates peered from the stems of the flower Lily of the Valley and Dahlia Black Narcissus; bells and urchins.

The meal was of three courses, all designed entirely by his hand. Before the first dish was served by the servants of her own house (hired in this case), he raised his glass in a toast. Not only did Hannibal's guests come to his dinner table to see a show unlike any other, but they also immensely relished the rare wines he freely poured.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests, I kindly ask for your attention as we gather this delightful evening to honor a truly remarkable individual—my dear friend, Melissa. It is both a privilege and a pleasure to host this dinner in celebration of another year in their extraordinary life. Your unwavering compassion, wisdom, and integrity have inspired those fortunate enough to know you, and your laughter has brought joy to even the most ordinary of days." Of his mundane days. He pauses only momentarily to ensure everyone still carries their glasses high.

"Let us raise our glasses in a toast, observing your accomplishments and the journey that lies ahead. May this coming year bring you happiness, prosperity, and the fulfillment of your aspirations. It is my sincere hope that you continue to inspire those around with your grace and tenacity."

A nod was given for them to rest.

"I invite you all to enjoy the exquisite dishes prepared this evening and to share in the laughter and stories that remind us of the many reasons we cherish Melissa. Bon appétit." Hannibal kept his glass up longer than the others, his eyes squarely invested in the countess. With a wink to her, he finally brought it down to rest on the table.

unscripted asks - birthday edition! . always accepting

When Hannibal told Melissa that he would be honored to organize a birthday celebration for her (a change of pace for someone who was always the hostess, but rarely the guest), the countess gave her blessing with no hesitation and a considerable amount of curiosity. The woman knew that she had somewhat captured that position after arriving in America - if the whispers that reached her were evidence enough, Hannibal used to foster more of these gatherings at his place before Melissa took over as an event planner.

But the doctor had assured the newcomer that he was happy to share the duties - besides, they were not exactly comparable. The psychiatrist favored smaller reunions with unmatched banquets, often with his own signature in the menu, preparation of the meals or both; Melissa was invested in a different type of entertainment, focusing on other senses going beyond the palate. There was an overlap for certain guests, but it was not a competition.

As the occasion drew nearer, Melissa herself received one of the distinctive invitations - prepared as one would at the beginning of the past century, with remarkable care and by hand. Even after he requested the help of her staff (something she was only happy to oblige him with), the woman refrained from asking too many questions apart from the expected dress code - she wanted to be surprised, Melissa said; and the brunette knew the doctor was capable of doing it.

For the evening in question, the guest of honor had dressed in a way that was almost turning into tradition - white, of course. Although there was hardly anything bridal about her attire, her apparent favoritism in terms of color ended up matching the theme of that grandiose evening. The gown that Melissa selected evoked more of a marble sculpture by an Italian master than the titular swan of the table decorations - the crepe was draped to a cascading one-shoulder sleeve, fitted to the waist and creating a fit-and-flare silhouette which included an asymmetric side-slit skirt. Most of the jewelry was carved out from diamonds, but there were selected, crimson-colored gemstones among them, giving a splash of color over the otherwise pristine canvas.

Upon arrival (and a moment earlier than the other guests), the countess was evidently pleased with the meticulous organization of that gathering. From the choice of background music (with Hannibal going as far as picking some of the quartets and operettas from the romantic composers Melissa preferred) to the presentation of the table, there was nothing the woman would have done differently. It was tasteful, elegant and so lovingly tailored to her as a person and individual that the countess found it impossible to remove the smile from ruby-colored lips.

The toast, however - alongside the carefully created menu for the night, it had decidedly been a remarkable moment of their evening together. Melissa was used to empty flattery of those hoping to win her favor once her position had been established - but Hannibal Lecter did not need her for anything; every single detail of that night had been thought well in advance and orchestrated simply because he had wanted to.

And his care and dedication in gifting the countess with a priceless night was indeed the best present he could have offered. Both of them had ample financial resources and access to anything money could buy - but those moments that carried no price tag and solidified human bonds were the ones made it all worth it. Hannibal's words were magnetic - it was through his approval and praise for the woman that Melissa was eventually accepted by the Baltimore society (at least to a degree - there were those who would never mingle with the (in)famous countess, but it bothered her not).

Hannibal Lecter did, and that was all she could really ask for.

A special smile was reserved to the doctor when his toast was final - and she sipped the wine that tasted nothing short of sinful thanks to his particular suppliers (perhaps a vintage acquired through auctions - that Montepulciano was a notch above the usual, and the reference to their beloved Tuscany did not go unnoticed). By the time that dinner was over and guests started to leave with loud exclamations about their approval of the feast, Melissa was by far the happiest among them all - not just because the dinner served had been memorable, but because of the underlying meaning found in the preparations for everything.

As expected, the countess remained behind - not that the staff needed supervision to finish cleaning, drying and storing everything before leaving Hannibal's home to a very well-deserved day off (a tradition following her birthday parties from below the move across the Atlantic). The doctor found Melissa in his bedroom, removing the precious glittery adornments off her person and leaving them over a table. Tossing the long, dark hair over a shoulder, the woman came to stand in front of Hannibal but with her body turned away from his face, a wordless plea for assistance with the zipper of the dress.

The fact that Melissa apparently made no plans to return to her own estate was not a surprise - the doctor jested that she seemed to enjoy his home more than hers, despite the allure of the many rooms housing so much art. Once the pesky little zipper was dealt with, the woman did not immediately remove the gown - instead, she turned to face Hannibal at long last, looking into his eyes for a while before placing each of her hands atop a shoulder and bringing him for a kiss.

It was a slow one - meant to savor and enjoy each second of that union, drawing not only the remnants of the flavors from dinner but that one that was fundamentally Hannibal. It was meant to also convey her heartfelt gratitude - very few birthday celebrations (if any) could hope to compare to what he had done. It could seem simple if not for the refinement of the meal, but nothing could be further from the truth in her eyes.

Hannibal Lecter had offered Melissa his own time, talents, protection and affection. For one who had looked at men in the past as those seeking to chain or simply domesticate her inner self, the psychiatrist had insisted on holding the doors to any cages fully open.

Upon separation, Melissa's honeyed eyes were warmer than the candlelight in the room - a pair of digits cupped his face gently whereas another hand moved to slip something into his shirt's front pocket: a golden key, carved out of the precious metal with exquisite drawings. It was the type that opened antique vaults and doors to special places in the past, with a pair of numbers visible alongside the designed patterns.

"It seemed a good day to give you that, carissimo," the woman smiled enigmatically, but with distinctive affection. Patting the pocket lightly, Melissa offered further context. "You have made a home for me across the ocean - I wish to offer the same kindness to you. The numbers engraved in the key are your password to my alarm systems. I picked the date we first met - one cannot fault a birthday girl for being emotional after such a beautiful party, I imagine."

The key was mostly decorative, of course - the countess' state was now protected by a very expensive and professional security system after an incident that resulted in a home invasion and a bloody corpse in her bedroom. Hannibal had sorted that out for the lady - and now was being rewarded with yet another privilege, at least from the perspective of those who knew Melissa.

And very few knew her so well (including the sides that were not typically presented to the general public) than Hannibal Lecter.

"Thank you for everything tonight - truly," the brunette sighed softly, enlacing the man again around the neck and pressing another kiss to the edge of his mouth, inhaling the scent of his after-shave. It was interesting - despite being served one of the best wines she had ever sampled before, Hannibal's own scent and presence were more intoxicating than his fine Italian selection.

"I look forward to this new year at your side, mylimasis."

[9800sblog]

Hi! I really like how informative San’s future Spouse reading is. I was wondering if you could do the same kind of reading for Joshua from Seventeen’s future spouse reading? I’ve alway wanted if he would marry a regular foreigner, another Kpop idol, or foreigner celebrity or a regular Korean person. And i wonder what the marriage will be like and how he will be like as a husband? Thank you in advance if you do this request - 🧜🏽‍♀️

Joshua Hong tarot reading - who is his future spouse?

-> member of K-POP group Seventeen. through tarot, he told me the characteristics of his future spouse, this is how I interpreted those messages.

-> do I have his energy permission to do and share this reading? page of swords

personality

a hopeless romantic, sweet and kind, loves to daydream and play with animals. i think they have gone through difficult mental health period and now they use their experiences to help those who need and have big confidence boost. they love animals, may specially like cats or really big dogs. this person may feel like a soulmate for joshua! they may be both dreaming of having someone like the other, even if they haven't met yet, love at first sight, I think. they're probably cute and sweet in public and only sexy if they're in privacy. may be into vintage vibe or lifestyle (mostly 50-70s) and mostly listens to rock music, I think? may look more intimidating than they actually are, maybe dark eye makeup, chains and teased hair (that is trendy in korea currently, doesn't surprise me). they're probably skinny but physically active, like someone that exercises to maintain their weight and body type.

career and fame

i think he doesn't wanna marry a celebrity and, with the king of swords, he probably wants to be the main provider in the relationship.

his person probably helps those with emotional needs, helps people learn and accept reality; they're likely to be a lawyer or a judge and, less likely but still possible, a psychiatrist.

foreigner?

the chariot, justice, 4 of pentacles reversed, queen of swords reversed

they might be legally and ethnically a Korean, born to korean parents, but moved elsewhere for their career or school. probably somewhere with hot sun, mostly tanned and/or black people, I'm getting a sense of South America or deserted places in Africa, mostly the first tho because I think they currently have opposite timezones, because I am getting messages of sun and moon in the cards.

if they already know each other, they likely don't talk as much - this might be someone he knows from school and they lost contact because of life, but will end up crossing paths again because they're just perfect for each other. alternatively, they were in a relationship and broke up because of distance, but miss each other, idk.

joshua as a husband

he glows as a husband! that's a big dream of his probably and he definitely wants children, at least 2. he is a jealous partner, because he thinks his environment has too many good looking and nice dudes, so he wants to protect his person from possible different opportunities. he looks like a gentleman, treating this person like they're his entire world, he would flirt and treat them even after a long time, he would never fall out of love and just never let things fall in routine. he'd be playful and make them feel like they're 2 children living inside a mattress fortress they built. he'd do anything for them, make their dreams come true no matter how difficult they may look. like I said, he probably wants to be the main provider and gift giving seems to be an important love language of his, he'd give them all this expensive stuff just because he thinks they'd look nice and they deserve the best, I guess it's about quality over quantity for him, but he definitely wants quantity too. at the point they get married, he'd rather stay home with his family than going out to party and he'd love to do just that, laugh his future spouse and his future children seems like one of his biggest dreams.

>n< very cute

[brynnterpretations]

Like Air That Stops From Breathing

“Chicken or the egg — that's what Ms. Keane calls it."

🔗 Read on AO3

⌗ fate ⌗ alcohol abuse/alcoholism ⌗ character study ⌗ religious guilt ⌗ present tense ⌗ title from "sisyphus" by have a nice life

Imagine this: you do something you can never, ever come back from. Riley’s face is illuminated by red, white, and blue under Chicago police lights, like some twisted version of patriotism—America, land of the free, home of the drunks. There is a girl in front of him, and even as his body drunkenly tries to fight against reality, Riley knows she’s dead.

A lot of the time, Riley isn’t sure what it is or where it started. In prison, he thinks about it obsessively, doesn’t realize his breath stutters when he does: was it when I first stole that bottle of Hankey Bannister’s? Was it when I started drinking alone in my bedroom? Was it when I started using it to black-out? Was it when I punched that guy in the face and woke up without remembering it? 

The thoughts prove to be useless, because they always come back to him being born, that sort of self-hatred that does nothing but make him question fate and agency and everything else that lurked in-between bible verses and the damp corners of Crockett Island. In one of his mandatory A.A. meetings in prison, a quacky psychiatrist with big eyes and frizzy hair had earnestly tells him and the other fuck-ups about addictive personalities: sometimes, there’s just this inherent need, urge…

Afterward, Riley sulks in his room, covering himself in blankets as if it will meld him into the bed and turn him into a sheet of fabric. He isn't sure if it's supposed to be something that absolves him, or if it is just supposed to inform him that well, Riley, you were just born fucked up, and there was nothing you could’ve done, no track you could’ve chosen, that would’ve prevented you from killing a seventeen-year-old girl. 

Chicken or the egg — that's what Ms. Keane calls it. When he’s out of prison and on Crockett Island, she looks the same, always having that sort of face that kids have when they smell bad cheese, only hers was darker, meaner, more freckled. 

Riley feels frighteningly sober, always. There’s something worse to him about having the choice to drink, yet not drinking, anyway—how, at any time, he could drink, but doesn’t.

Around the time that he starts to believe that he hates God — hates Him, hates His path, hates the puppetry and the wine and the salt pillars and everything — he’s corralled into A.A. with Father Paul, a charmingly awkward man who seems older than his face conveys. Riley, former altar boy, has had everything shoved into his face to try to explain away the shit he leaves behind: genetics, Buddhism, effective altruism, little gods with pointy hats and raised hands, stoicism, clean living, environmental factors, human nature, contractualism, spirits hidden away in crystals, original sin, praying to God, finding God, loving God, seeing God.

Riley taps his foot. Waits. The rec room still smells of mildew and Bev Keane’s perfume, cold and cloying. Suddenly, he feels twelve-years-old again with Marlboro's wedged in his pockets, trying to find a way past Monsignor Pruitt without the man being able to smell the smoke on him. 

Things get bad, then they get worse, and then they get more than worse. In the life of Riley Flynn, a being that exists only to burn out the light of others, there is no better. There wasn’t when his father’s hand was cut on the glass of the bottle Riley threw at him, or when he had punched his friend so hard he could feel his nose shatter under his hand, or when his mother, daughter of all alcoholics, collapsed to the ground upon his sentencing. Or when he killed that girl. Lacrosse. Boyfriend. UChicago scholarship. 

When Riley wakes into a new addiction, feeling a hunger for something other than a burn on his tongue, Riley realizes there was an answer all along. The warmth fades into something else.