#like fucken hell i am a child you are way older than me stop having beef with a teenager

[ribbonzregretz]

at least they actuallt admitted they dont fucken like me, and why cant they take "no" for a goddamn answer

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Marghe. MARGHE. I can’t link you like this, but I need you to google “babygaga 20 Italian words baby names” and then fucken liveblog your reaction to the whole article, including (this is v. important) the editorial note at the end. Please I need to witness another soul leaving their earthly body like mine did

I’m scared. Alright.

I suppose you’re talking about an article titled “19 Italian Words That Make Perfect First Names For Babies” (wait, weren’t they supposed to be 20? Did they edit one out?) written by a person called Miriam.

“There’s no better place to find inspiration than in the land of romance and pasta.” Please don’t tell me you want to name babies after pasta. Hello this is my son, Strozzaprete. Wait, no, that’s cool af.

The first sentence is “The Italian language is one of the Romance languages. The others are French, Spanish, Catalan and Romanian” n-ngh-that’s-nevermind.

“They were the languages that originated from the Romans, hence the reason that they are referred to as the Romance languages. And they certainly are romantic. In fact, they are so lovely that many words in any of the Romance languages would sound amazing as baby names.” No, they aren’t. Miriam what are you doing.

Miriam apparently visited a few Italian towns, “and by the end of the trip, I was already speaking basic fluent Italian, which was quickly forgotten after leaving”. Miriam I speak in Italian with American students professionally, you were not speaking fluent Italian.

Miriam. Miriam

“I thought it would be fun to find 20 beautiful Italian words and to talk about how they would make the perfect first names for babies. While some of these words can be found in baby name databases, others can't yet.” MAYBE THERE IS A REASON THEY AREN’T THERE MIRIAM

“Since there are plenty of Italian words that sound beautiful but don't have the best meanings behind them, they may never be considered to be used as a name.” BUT DON’T HAVE THE BEST MEANING?? MIRIAM WHAT ARE Y

19 Peri (Apericena)

That’s. That’s the single ugliest and most hated word in the Italian language and you. You are. Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh all the saints in Paradise.

Listen there are still 18 to go and the first killed me. I am dead. I am no longer in this plane of reality.

“When you hear the Italian word Apericena, you can't help but appreciate how pretty it sounds.” YOU DON’T!! WE HATE IT WITH A PASSION!!

“After learning that this word is associated with adult beverages, then that would be a reason that some parents would even hesitate to use this for a baby's name. And the question is why? Names like Vin which is French for wine, Bellini which is a cocktail, Cassis, Brandy, Chianti, and Merlot have been used as baby names many times.” WELL THESE NAMES WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE USED AS NAMES EVER THIS IS AGAINST GOD’S PLAN FOR HUMANITY. Why is the Church obsessed with gay people when clearly the thing that most offends God’s love for humanity is thijkjklklklklj

18 Roca (Rocambolesco)

Whatever, call your son Rocambolesco, what’s stopping you, society is in shambles, the devil has taken hold of hearts, angels cry.

17 Gia (Passeggiata)

Miriam

16 Abbi (Abbiocco)

ABBIOCCO

ABBIOCCO

She fucking wants you to call your baby after when you get sleepy when you’re not supposed to

15 Magari

Like, why

14 Lina (Sorellina)

Just give your daughter a fucking complex, why won’t you. Supernatural but the characters are called Older Brother and Younger Brother

“I did a search to see if this word is in baby name databases and I have not seen Sorellina in any of them. That means it either has never been used for a name or if it has, it has been rarely used to the point that it has never been recorded” ASK YOURSELF WHY, MIRIAM

13 Daje

NOOOOO MUOIO STO MORENDO DIO SANTO

12 Meri (Meriggiare)

Literally no Italian can think about this word without thinking of the poem so why won’t you call your daughter Cigola la carrucola del pozzo. Or Ho sceso dandoti il braccio. This is my eldest, Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato. Wait, this is Supernatural again

“There are many baby names out there that have meanings that are worse than that.” Miriam please think about what you just said

11 Lino

A name? An actual name people have other people call them? Did I get a stroke?

No, of course she’s not referring to the name Lino, but the fabric linen. Of fucking course. Have you met my twins, Cotton and Wool. Fuck, there’s probably people called Cotton and Wool in the United States

10 Gracie (Grazie)

Wait if it’s Gracie then it’s not Grazie, what the hell

9 Gattara

PFFFFT just call your daughter crazy cat lady and she will grow up a normal person I promise

8 Perla 

Actually, that’s a name already. Fun fact, my own name comes from ancient Greek margarita which means pearl, so, can’t judge this one.

7 Allora

a

l

l

o

r

a

6 Lacrima

Listen. Listen. This not only means ‘tear’ as in what your eyes produce when you cry, but it’s also impossible for a native anglophone to pronounce anyway, is it worth it? is it worth it Miriam? is it?

5 Tesoro

No, okay, this is weird as an actual name, but it’s a common way of calling your partner or child, also I watched Lilli e il Vagabondo, it says Tesoro and Giannicaro are legit human names, so.

But it’s also how Gollum calls the ring in Italian, so maybe don’t.

4 Auguri

Fghjklklkjhklkjkl

3 Salve

Dio Santissimo. This is my child, Hello

2 Cucciolo

That’s-that’s- that’s this guy’s name

1 Gio (Giorno)

Oh God, at this point this is fucking normal, just call your child Day, whatever, it’s the least weird option on here

No. No no I don’t wanto to believe t-

Editorial Note: This article has been updated on March 18, 2021 to replace the baby name "Cazzi (Sticazzi), Tura (Sprezzatura), Culaccino, and Lino (Topolino)" for a more suitable recommendation. (March 19, 2021) this article has also been updated to remove an entry

W-what was the entry that can’t even be named. WHAT WAS WORSE THAN STICAZZI

WHAT WAS WORSE THAN STICAZZI, ANON

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

The First Basterd: DonnyxFem!Reader

requested by @marlenemarauders

A/N *Reader is Polish & Jewish, but you don't have to be either to read it :D

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tammykelly @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho @spookybearlandtaco Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :) _________________________________________ ***November, 1943***

You huffed as you walked through the dense forest. A puff of cool air forming a cloud before your lips as you marched through the winter. Your sniper was slung over your shoulders. You gave the bright grey sky a rare glance with a sigh, before returning to the constant scan of forest floor. You were once a lone sniper, far from home. You had been, since 1939. Lone sniper or not, you quickly learned that in order to survive in war, you had to make a few allies. By late 1942, you had more than a few. Things would change then, though you hadn't anticipated that just yet. By late 1942, you had made a name for yourself. Now, none of your enemies quite knew your name. All they could call you was the Basterd. A composite sketch of you from descriptions from nazis who'd barely survived your gaze was sent halfway around Europe and back. By late 1942, every nazi west of the Vistula River knew your face, and knew you as the Basterd. By 1943, they'd learn you were only the first basterd. 

Back in November of 1942, just before the basterds left England to jump over France, they were informed at the last minute that a special agent working undercover in France would be guiding them when they landed. They were expecting an older, more experienced, serious, mysterious agent. Probably a British spy, or a rogue Soviet. The kind of thing they saw in old movies. They got you, instead. And they loved you... Maybe a little too much, you'd say. It had been a year since then, and you loved them all to pieces, honestly. But, you were a little more than a little annoyed by now. Each and every basterd loved you in his own way...and consequently, became overprotective. Every time you had to risk showing your face to nazis, Aldo hung around dangerously closely, which only made it all riskier. Smitty tried to convince you to only use your sniper, and never even get close enough to have your face seen at all. Omar called him all sorts of names over that, but then acted even more ridiculously by making a Robin-esque kind of mask for you. Hirschberg ceaselessly and shamelessly flirted with you, and stole your kills, insisting you shouldn't waste your time. Wicki was a little more...mature about it. He was still overprotective, but quiet about it. None was more head over heels than Donny. You liked to hang around with him a little more because he made you feel less like a liability, and more like a basterd. Still, it took every ounce of patience and strength to not remind them every waking moment of your life that you were once the Basterd. Until today. Donny took a bullet for you. Well...it was meant for you, but it was a whole meter away from you. The bullet grazed Donny's shoulder, but it could have been so much worse. When the scalping and interrogating was over, you were fuming as you paced back and forth, gathering all the supplies you needed to take care of Donny. "The basterds need you, Y/n. I need you." He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it scared him. What scared you more was that this was not the first time one of the basterds had done something stupid like that. And, you weren't so sure it would be the last. You were tired of it, and you were tired of thinking that if some day, something happened to them, it would be because of you. "Not now, Donny." You shook your head, and clenched your jaw, knowing that if you didn't, you would raise your voice and all hell. "What?" "Not like this," You were exasperated, shaking your head, "Not now. Not in the middle of a fucking war." You were livid. You and Donny had joked about it before. As time went on, you had to actually talk about it.  It kept you both up till two am. It got you both through gunfire, through rain, through sleepless nights. But you'd both come to the same conclusion. This was war. This was no place for love. "Fuck a duck," Donny reached for your hand, but you pulled away as he called out, "I couldn't fucking let them hurt you! Y-" "I was a whole meter away from the bullet! I am not a child in need of protecting." You did your best at cleaning the wound, focusing directly on the blood. If you looked at him, at that smirk you knew he had, you would probably punch him. "When you Americans were still arguing about joining the war, I was already out here, alone, with a stolen gun, running out of bullets, far from home, and far from any allies. I've seen it all, done it all. I've survived." You muttered, "I don't know what more you expect from me." You finally looked at him, with a reproachful glance that stung him,  "I don't know why you expect so little when I'm one of you!" He stammered for a moment, not able to find any justification for it. "It's not that we expect little from you, it's just that....we....I mean..." Donny wasn't the kind of person that stuttered, stammered, and stalled. Whatever he had to say to you, he was having a hard time putting into words, and you were not happy about it. You gave up, uncrossed your arms with an exasperated sigh, and turned away.  "For fuck's sake." "It's just that..." You stormed out of the tent to grab some more bandages, and he followed you. "What? That I'm a girl? I should be sitting behind a typewriter on a fucking base? I should just stick to being a nurse? Let me re-fucking-mind you that I was not trained to be a nurse, I learned all of this out here on my own, years before you even fucking enlisted." All the basterds were sitting around, and could hear it all too clearly. It didn't matter to you, and it didn't embarrass you as much as it would have any other day. They could hear anyway, and...you wanted them to hear. You wanted all of them to quit it. Omar munched on a sandwich and remarked with a shrug, "...She has a point," not yet realizing how serious you were. "Omar!" Smitty put up his hands in exasperation, shaking his head. Aldo muttered, as he opened his tin of snuff, "Just keep your fucken mouth shut."

"Unbelievable. After a whole fucking year..." you muttered, rifling through the supplies for at least one clean, spare bandage. Wicki turned to the others, whispering "So she's mad-mad..." "What else is new?" Hirschberg chuckled, and all the basterds glared at him, not wanting to collectively face your vengeance. Because, as much as they acted like big bad basterds around you and the rest of the world, they were just a tiny bit scared of you. And rightfully so. You shook your head, "I have a higher body count than all of you combined." That alone would have struck fear in anyone's heart. You finally wrapped a bandage around Donny's wound tightly. "Ow! Fuck, Y/n!" "When will you stop acting like I need saving?!" You put your hands at your hips, finally looking at them all, effectively terrifying them. The only thing more terrifying at the moment would be to lose you. "I'm sick and tired of this ridiculous shit. If this is as far as we can get without one of you biting a fucking bullet 'for me', then maybe I should quit." You were dead serious.

You turned your back on them, walking east, which terrified them even more, as they all jumped to their feet, and rushed toward you. "Where are you going?" Wicki asked, completely concerned. Honestly, that was his thing. Being a bit older than all the basterds, he was usually genuinely concerned for all of you. But...mostly you. "You were all ordered to be on this team. I chose it. Now I'm choosing to go to Frankfurt. If you want to come, be my guest. But don't ever do anything stupid, like that again" You gestured to Donny, and he only grinned, wanting desparately to believe that you were bluffing. But, even he knew better than that. "What the hell's in Frankfurt?" Aldo asked, packing up his few belongings, quickly followed by the others. You turned back to look at them, beginning to grin a little. "You ever hear of a man by the name of Hugo Stiglitz?" There was a resounding no. You sighed, "If you want to know, then walk and talk," you shrugged, slinging your sniper over your shoulder, as you walked east. The basterds trotted by, as you revealed a particularly interesting anecdote. _____________ It was 1939. Sirens had been blaring so long and so often, when they stopped, everything sounded as if you were underwater. There was nothing and no one left in Krakow that you could recognize. There were nazis in the streets. There was glass on the ground. People were missing. You had only one chance to escape. It was on the shore of the Vistula river, under the cover of the dark night sky, and the shroud of a thundering storm that you took that chance. You killed a nazi. You took his sniper, and you took off, hoping to make it to Denmark, which was still free at the time. Then, you were sure you'd find a way to help. You'd been running for days on end. When you finally had a moment to breathe, you were in a land you did not know. You didn't even know what day it was. It had felt as though years had gone by. But when you looked around in the dimly lit streets of a strange and small town, your hands shook, your heart stopped, and you watched as your world collapsed. You were in the middle of Germany, nowhere near Denmark. You were only beginning to panic... You had nowhere to go. You had no way to hide a sniper. You felt a thousand eyes falling on you accusingly. You had just caught the eye of a man in a gestapo uniform. He walked over to you, and people turned away. He had been alerted about a "suspicious figure." When he spotted you, he  walked down the street, not raising any alarms or orders. He walked by you, ushering you to a side street, then to a quiet, isolated alley. He saw how terrified you were, and quickly began explaining he knew a place where you could hide. You looked at him, with wide eyes, and hardly breathing. You saw blood on his knife. (And years later, you'd learn he'd just killed one of his officers, minutes before finding you.) He smiled kindly, thinking for a moment, finding the string of Polish words he'd learned not too long ago. "Nazywam się Hugo Stiglitz." 'My name is Hugo Stiglitz.' You didn't know if you could trust him, but when you saw his eyes, you knew you had no choice. When you realized he was putting himself on the line for you, you spoke to him in whatever German you could piece together, "Ich kann von hier aus gehen. Ich kann es schaffen. Geh, bevor du erwischt wirst." You looked so frightened, he could hardly believe what you'd just said, "I can go from here. I can make it. Go, before you get caught."

Hugo simply shook his head, with an assuring smile. "Frag mich nicht Dinge, die ich nicht tun kann." "Don't ask me things I cannot do."

Hugo hid you in the home of a friend, and then another, and another. There was a chain of them. Some of them were hiding neighboring families, some were hiding childhood friends. Some were hiding complete strangers, like you. Hugo visited you every day, wherever you were hidden. He couldn't help you get to Denmark, but, France was an option. He warned you that part of, if not all of France would probably be invaded in a matter of time, and urged you to find a way out. Anywhere. As far as you could. You promised him you'd stay safe, and stay in France, but...he wouldn't find out, would he? He sighed as he escorted you himself to France, knowing you'd be safe there. But, something told him you wouldn't do as he'd advised you to do. No, you had that restless fire in your eyes that belonged to the rebels and the righteous. He smiled, knowing wherever you went after that moment was out of his hands. But fighters like you were never out of his mind. Only months later, he saw the sketch of your face, and he sighed. He wasn't surprised, but he wished you the best. _____________ Four years later, you studied the bloodied papers and 'wanted' picture in your hands. It was a warrant for Hugo's arrest. He was on the run, believed to be somewhere in France. He was to be brought in alive. You only hoped he hadn't been found yet. But if he had, you were going to do something about it. It was only fair, you smirked. Donny found your smirk incredibly cute, though he was undoubtedly a little jealous seeing you get so worked up about some guy. Some guy that wasn't him. He went along with it, trying to stay out of your way. He'd annoyed you before, but this time you were not budging. Every one of the basterds followed you without question. You broke them in and out of a high security prison all the way in Frankfurt. Aldo had his usual spiel ready, of course, being a slave to appearances and all.  Now, he had you to thank for this new recruit. Hugo nodded briefly at Aldo. But, a faint flicker of his old smile graced that grim cell when he realized just who had led the basterds to him. When Hugo was free from his cell, you hugged him. He couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged him. Donny wasn't too thrilled, but you'd both laugh about it some years later in a diner, back in Boston, far from the war and all the ruins it left. It'd be a long time till then. And you were still upset at the boys. If leading them directly into Germany, and in and out of a high security prison, without loosing a single basterd wasn't impressive enough, you didn't know what was. Needless to say, it only took a few hours to find out. You walked at the end of the group, in case any nazis were still on your trail. You were, after all the best marskman they had. Hugo was just ahead of you, but barely. He was tired, more tense then when you had last seen him, which seemed utterly impossible. You spoke in broken German. Wicki was way ahead, he wouldn't hear. "Du bist verletzt." "You're hurt." When Donny heard your voice, he slowed down a little. You smirked, already knowing that basterd was jealous as hell. Still, he muttered something to himself about not knowing anything other than English, and some Italian. Hugo nodded, simply, acknowledging that though you'd known him briefly, you were the only living person who knew him at all. He said one simple word in your language, "Tak." 'Yes.' knowing there was no use in denying it. "If someone comes up behind us, leave me behind." You smiled and shook your head, "Don't ask me things I cannot do." He sighed, remembering that, but still shook his head, "You made it this far without me, why-" "Without you? That's a laugh." It was then that you noticed Hirschberg making a mistake you had made back in 1941. "HIRSCHBERG GET AWAY FROM THERE!" He was on thin ice. Literal, thin ice. Listening to the roaring bellow of the frozen lake. "HIRSCHBERG!" He was listening to everything but you. "GEROLD." He turned to you with wide eyes, knowing to be fucking terrfiied if you ever called him by his first name. "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, GET OUT OF THERE!" Just as he started to get up, the ice beneath his feet began to crack. Donny, through the throbbing, searing pain in his arm, instinctively flung forward, running, and reaching for Hirschberg. "DONNY DON'T!" He slipped away from your grasp, dropping his bat on the ground as he lunged to save his brother in arms. The ice, already fragile and shattered, could offer Donny less time than it had Hirschberg. Now both of them were flailing in the freezing water, in shock from the slicing and searing cold. "NOBODY FUCKING MOVE." You warned, thinking quickly, knowing all of the basterds were liable to follow without thinking. "BUT-" You turned to Smitty. You'd apologize later, but...there was no time to be sorry now. "SHUT IT." "Y/N." "SHUT IT." You turned to Hirschberg and Donny, calling out, "RELAX. FLOAT HORIZONTALLY, BELLY DOWN! BELLY DOWN, HIRSCHBERG!" Though you were shouting, your words seemed soft, and cut through the panic and adrenaline. They slowed down, and did as you told them to do, as you picked up Donny's bat, tying your jacket onto it, praying the knot would hold. You wandered to the edge of the frozen lake, holding on to the sleeve, and sliding the bat out to the boys, "GRAB ON." Donny made Hirschberg go first. "D-donny, I-I c-can't. I-" His teeth were chattering, as he shook his head, along with everything else. Donny stammered, "Th-that's a f-fucken o-order. Go." Your eyes widened, as you felt the ice beneath you pop. "Y/n, no-" Aldo stepped forward now, but you pushed him away. "It won't hold both of us." You looked back, as Hirschberg shakily grabbed on to the end of the bat. "Stay down, I'll pull you back here!" You slowly and steadily pulled Hirschberg. You would've loved to do it quickly, to save Donny. But, that would only make the ice even more unstable. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Donny yet. You could hear him stammering and chattering, trying to encourage Hirschberg through, with some colorful language here and there to keep himself awake. After what felt like an eternity, you finally looked at Donny. His face was blue, his nose was bright red. "DONNY COME ON!" He wrapped his stiff, blue fingers around his bat, as you pulled him over the edge, and close to the shore. The basterds gave up their coats and sweaters for them, and you looked around. You knew this part of the forest. No one would come near it. Not in this winter. Aldo knew that look in your eye. You'd been a basterd longer than they had. You knew what you were doing, and where you were going.  He understood that look meant you were safe. He nodded, agreeing silently with you. "This here's a p'rty good place to stop, boys." Far from the eyes of murderers, hidden from gunfire and planes, you built a fire, and found a place to set up camp. When the sun set, only Donny remained by the fire. Hirschberg, and the rest of the basterds had gone to sleep. Even Hugo with fresh wounds, fears, and insomnia, was able to slip into a dream or two. "Hirschberg's doing ok. " You sat by Donny, smiling softly as you handed him some makeshift soup that Smitty was made. (There was a 50% chance it was edible, and 50% chance the OSS could use it as a torture device. But that's a story for another day.) "Y/n..." The way he looked at you was different. In fact, it was almost the way the rest of the basterds looked at you for the past few hours. There was a form of awe...An unspoken shield of respect. The only difference in the way Donny looked at you, was that there was a shade of love entwined there. "See, and I didn't have to get shot to save you," you chuckled, playfully leaning your head on his shoulder. He slowly lifted his arm, resting his hand on your head. "Where would I be without you..." He was serious, and spoke softly, which was not something you could say happened often. "Probably with a gangrenous arm," you shrugged, and he smiled a little. You looked into his eyes for a moment, and he looked into yours, and he kissed you. "What took you?" He raised his eyebrow, almost offended, as he raised his voice a little, "What took me?! What took you?!" You both laughed about it, your head resting once again on his shoulders, and his head resting over yours as you watched the dancing stars and the rising trees, as snow began to fall softly. There was a long road ahead to occupied France. And longer still was the road to the end of the war. But, in that moment, that was ok. You'd make it out together. All of you. Once, you'd taken pride in being  the one and only basterd. You'd been proud of being the only one who's face could bring the enemy to their knees, and make them beg for mercy. But things changed in 1942. It took some getting used to, but you knew all along it was the only way for any of you to make it out. Together. You were reminded of that when you saw Hugo's face on that warrant. But here, in Donny's arms, it was clearer now more than ever. The only way out of the war, was just like that.

[unrequited-words]

I haven't really updated in a really long time. I think once I left my husband and moved in with my boyfriend and tried to have some semblance of normalcy I had wanted to be pretty private. for a decade I've always communicated my feelings by blogging here and now that I'm older I kind of wanted some privacy.

I am 16 weeks and two days pregnant depending when this post's it'll probably be 3 days. And I feel really fucking alone. I have no family here in Utah, his sister-in-law is the biggest fucking cunt I have ever met, his nephew as one of the most spoiled motherfukers I have ever met and his niece is the spitting image of his sister-in-law and very very fucking spoiled.

His sister-in-law has fucking balls. She has no common decency, she clearly doesn't want us living with her which is really fucking ironic considering almost two decades ago she was in the same position that we are in. The only difference? She doesn't have to fucking be quarantined while pregnant she doesn't have to struggle looking for a job while being fucking quarantined and more importantly she doesn't have someone who has a huge distain for family living with her and her husband.

I was going up the stairs earlier to throw away a bag of trash and she came through the door of the garage and she fucking saw me coming up those motherfuking stairs and instead of holding the door open she fucking closed it while I was 3/4 of the way up the stairs and I'm like are you fucking kidding me?

Later that day, I was waiting to put a fork in the dishwasher and she was already there getting silverware because she was making dinner for her family and instead of opening it for me she fucking closed it when I was literally fucking behind her and I'm like what the fuck is your damage I know you don't like me there I know I'm just another number I know I'm just another girl in his life

but have some commented fucking decency if I wasn't pregnant and if I wasn't in the situation where this is the only place we were living and if we had more options I would fucking confront her and I would State what the fuck is your damage why are you treating us like for fucking second-class citizens? Do you not remember 15 + years ago you were in the same fucking situation and my boyfriend never ever treated you the way you treat us he was never in your fucking face about almost $400 he was not in your face about eating too much fucking yogurt he was always nice and kind to you

I know times are really freaking hard right now but what the fuck is her problem? She doesn't talk to me she clearly doesn't like me sitting in her kitchen I don't fucking get it I know we come from different backgrounds but my vision of family is if I was in the position of having all of my responsibilities taking care of and my brother came to me and was in a position of I really need help I would be like pack your shit and get over here now I wouldn't treat them like shit because they aren't working due to this fucking pandemic I wouldn't treat them differently because I don't want anyone living with me

it's going to get to a point where we have our shit together and I will fucking say something to her because I'm not the type of person to hold back and I've been holding my tongue for almost two fucking months . . .

In other news I am 16 weeks and pregnant with a girl my soon-to-be-ex-husband decided his health problems are so significant that he can't work anymore even though his company was willing to work with him and he quit his motherfuking job and you know what that means for me? It means I get to look for fucking state health insurance I get to be on fucking food stamps and on cash assistance because of the situation I'm currently in I don't regret quitting my shit job because I would walk through fucken fire for my boyfriend and I wouldn't have a second guess about it

I just think it's so hilarious that the year 2020 continuously is fucking with me and shiting on me I don't get it like this is supposed to be the happiest time of my life and instead of being able to do the things I used to be able to do like go on a walk or you no go to fucking work I'm basically 16 living with my dad walking on fucking eggshells in the fucking basement

I feel like I'm a fucking number to them like I'm just another girl for my boyfriend. He got married pretty young at 22 and his marriage dissolved because his wife at the time was such a fucking child. with his second marriage she completely used him he was worth at least six figures and she fucking used him and cheated on him and was okay with cheating on him because of how she was raised. They have two kids together and I can't tell you how many times over the last year he has cried with me as I held him and he is like I wanted these babies

but I married a fucking whore not knowing she was a fucking whore and she fucking used me and he keeps asking me over and over why are you here, Suzanne? I told him because I want to be here because I believe I truly wholeheartedly believe I can raise him up to be better than what he is right now and he can do the same for me . I'm not saying this is a mistake and I know I jumped in head-first but I waited to be with him while my marriage fell apart and I talked to him daily and I'm not scared that it's not going to work I just want some fucking normalcy!

I want to live in a house where I don't have someone giving me a fucking dirty look for using their dishes or not even being fucking considerate or coming at me in my face over fucking money and I hate saying it but she is a miser and a fucking do and she wasn't like this before according to him and he told me the other night he's like I'm just done with her she's changed and I think he kind of hopes that get divorced they were going to last year but I don't know why he fucking stayed I don't know why his brother stayed I know his brother loves her but from my perspective and from what I know sometimes love is not enough sometimes people change and they really show you their true colors in the beginning and you're so dumb about being head over heels in love with them and having kids with them that you fucking ignore it

I don't think his current wife ever supported him the way I emotionally support him. It takes him to drink for all of his walls to come down I can't tell you how many times I've held him in our old house and let him cry and just because they're trying to hold him up. and that's what I've wanted all along is someone to understand the fucking hell I went through when I lost my mom or trying to figure out why my brother raped me are trying to figure out why my dad believed my brother and not me I'm trying to understand addiction when it came to my mother but I haven't really like cried in front of him but I've really been to it to him about my upbringing and he fucking hates my family for the shit they put me through and he's like he just need to fucking forget them because they're pieces of shit and they are continually dragging you down and you're still living in the past and everyday when you talk to me it's always about your dead mother or your brother or your dad died and he's like you're not going to do this to our kid you're not going to be living in the past pining over family thought you had when I'm here family and this baby is your family and I knew he was right and I'm just right now so busy trying to keep my head above water and trying to grow this baby and it's really difficult being in the situation Im in

It's really gotten to the point to where even though his sister-in-law works from home because of the quarantine I wait until the last possible moment to where I can't wait any longer and I go upstairs and eat. I don't do it on purpose but I don't want to be around this batch. I don't want to have the fucking dirty look I mean she doesn't even do that to her own kids because they're her own kids or her even her husband and I know she doesn't want us to live in there but she's a fucking hypocrite

like I just I don't get it I don't have parents alive anymore both of my parents are dead and I don't get to share the joy of this pregnancy with them and it's fucking killing me that I can't call my mom and ask her what she did when she was pregnant what to do when the baby won't stop crying and I have to figure it out on my own I don't have a good relationship with my three oldest Brothers with the first and the third

I haven't really spoken to them since my mom died I haven't seen them since my mom died and even though we follow each other on social media and we have each other's numbers they don't fucking call one of them said all I promise to do better and he's such a fucking liar and a flake and the oldest one his wife just had a baby a month ago and I still haven't seen any pictures besides the one of him being first born and I even asked him can you send me pictures but I just find it so fucking ironic that he can go on Facebook live and bitch about what's going on

but he can't send me fucking pictures of his family talk about motherfuking priorities and my second oldest brother I saw him before I moved and it was really good seeing him I can't we all have families and we all have fucking lives but at the end of the day how hard is it to pick up the fucking phone and to call your sister?

It has been a current theme in my life for the past ten fucking years of wandering why don't they call me? If I cross your mind why don't they text me? but at the end of the day I have been the one that's reached out and taking pictures of their family and their kids I have spent my own fucking money on baby showers and on birthday gifts and when I'm looking for the same in return I'm probably going to get dead fucking silence I bet you that now

He'd even discussing this on social media because at the end of the day my brothers aren't going to fucking change and they're going to be like why I don't receive pictures of your baby? Why can't I see my niece? Well motherfucker why haven't you sent me pictures of your kids when I've been nothing but good to them why I have traded them like my own and I think they tend to forget that one of their wives did everything and want her pregnancies to not have a child?

when I begged and pleaded God to give me a child and it took me leaving my marriage and getting with my boyfriend to get fucking pregnant I mean yes I'm living the dream but I shouldn't be 16 weeks pregnant and fucking in tears articulating my feelings because my immediate family is complete dogshit and it has nothing to do with politics has everything to do with her fucking character and I know men are different than women and pain at the end of the day why the fuck don't they reach out when I literally have no fucking family here in Utah? The only person I have is my best friend and her husband and her six-month-old and I'm only going to have them for a couple more months because at the end of the year they're moving to Texas and that's when I know for fucking sure I will be alone

I don't get it. I am one of the most loving, kind, considerate people in the universe and when I expect them to have the same part as I do to have the same vision of family as I do it's like I can't even be met halfway and I don't know what's worse being pregnant and feeling alone with no family or suffering several horrible miscarriages or watching your mom take her last breath two two stage for right adrenal cancer or even having your own brother rape you and not being fucking believed for a decade and being treated like dog shed I really don't know what's worse

Please, universe if you hear me GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

NOTES: Fae AU Chapter 13

So while a lot of my decisions about characters in the Fae AU are drawn from canonical things, in this case, here in Chapter 13, there’s obviously a lot going on that might be coming out of nowhere, because it’s built on my headcanons. It makes sense to me, obviously, how I’m drawing the parallel from game canon to my AU, but, well… for the rest of you…

For the rest of you, here’s some behind-the-scenes notes about how I constructed the history of this particular character, and without further ado, obvious spoilers for the chapter:

ON THALASSA

Thalassa’s a weirdly bare-bones character for how much of her life is catalysts for something. Her family, her marriages, her “death”, her amnesia, her career -- there’s a lot. But she herself… we don’t even know how the fuck she ended up in Borginia, for the love of god Capcom.

Because I hate Magnifi, because he is a bastard and I hate him, I’m assuming that he decided that because she had amnesia, and thus would have to relearn all her tricks for the Troupe and start from the ground up, he decided she would be more useful as blackmail material to get Zak and Valant squarely under his thumb, so he sent her away.

Because he is a bastard.

But we’ll back up a little, to I’m sure everyone’s reactions of “what happened with Jove in the Fae AU? He did what?”

Yeah.

Let me give you first the brief summary of how I see Thalassa’s life, canonically.

Apparently the average age of motherhood in Ace Attorney is about 18 or 19, if you do the math on Misty, Thalassa, Amara… everyone is young mothers, women aren’t allowed to be old. We can unpack that another time. For now, let’s think about Thalassa, and the fact that she was married and had a kid at 18.

For me, what I felt for her, was her story then, was that was her escape. Maybe it was a shotgun wedding, maybe she was pregnant -- but whatever, what I felt for her was that she got married young to leave the Troupe. The dark underbelly that became apparent with her “death” can’t have come from nowhere. I can’t imagine it was a very great place to live. I saw her as getting married to get away.

And then her husband dies, and her kid -- my pre-SoJ interpretation of events was that her husband died, and she’s 18 years old with a kid and completely overwhelmed by the thought of having to raise her son on her own. She can go back to the Troupe and not be alone, but then she’s 18 and has to raise her son within that shitshow, trying to shelter him from what she knows is gonna be Some Fuckening. And grief-stricken and so, so young, she doesn’t think she’s up to that. She gives Apollo her bracelet so that he will always have a token of her, and she puts him up for adoption, because she hopes that will be a better life for him than she can give right now, and she goes home. And then some years later, she has Trucy, and she is older, more experienced, and she thinks yes, she can raise Trucy within the Troupe but protected and safe form some of That Shit. Then she dies and so much for that.

-

SoJ added a hell of a lot to my understanding/interpretation of Thalassa, which I really love.

Now, again, I still imagine that she is running. She marries Jove and leaves the Troupe, because running away with her boyfriend, that’s one thing, but to say “he is my husband, and I am leaving with him”, well, her father can’t stop her. So she leaves with Jove, and they travel the world with their son. And then they take that fateful trip to Khura’in, where Jove takes Apollo off Thalassa’s hands for a night. (I still love forever whoever suggested that Apollo used Thal’s bracelets as teething rings and that’s why Jove/Apollo had it during the fire. “Here are my valuable, unique, almost magical bracelets that allow me to have superhuman powers. I will let my baby chew on them.”)

Khura’in collapses into shock and grief, the trial of the century between the new queen, the prior Minister of Justice and a top prosecutor, and the king-consort accused of murdering his wife, the Queen. The country is in turmoil, the city especially is in turmoil, and there is no room for a 19-year-old American to make her shouts heard. And as things get heated between Ga’ran and Dhurke, as the country hangs on a thread, someone pulls Thalassa aside and tells her she needs to go home. She needs to leave, while she still can, before this entire thing shatters.

And she does go home, grief-stricken and broken, 19 years old and lost her husband and her son and she has nothing in the world left. The Troupe doesn’t look so bad anymore, to what she’s been through, what she’s lost. She doesn’t know what else to do. She can’t bring herself to do anything else, to try and strike on alone. She’s 19 years old. What else can she do?

She goes home, and never speaks of her grief again. She’s weary and cynical and broken and never quite puts herself back together again. She tried to run and look what it did to her, and that’s something that she thinks of as almost a cruel twist of fate. Shouldn’t have left, Thalassa; if you hadn’t left you wouldn’t have lost a husband and a son. It’s with that sort of resignation that she decides to go back and make a life within the Troupe. You belong there, you see that now.

-

I think you can see, from that, how I spun that to the Fae AU.

The if I hadn’t left this wouldn’t have happened is plain and literal and obvious. She tries to leave; Jove dies. The fae are jealous and possessive and petty, and Magnifi had just been cast out of the Twilight Realm and lost everything he had, including his own name. He did not want to lose his favorite thing on top of it all. And so he curses Jove with death and he waits, waits for Thalassa to come back broken and grieving.

And she does, because she has less than nothing, she is new to the mundane world and she doesn’t know how to live, how to do anything, and she returns to Magnifi knowing what he has done. It’s monstrous, it’s a hideously abusive dynamic, and for the price of her soul Thalassa extracts a promise: he will never take from her someone she loves, ever again. And with that promise secure, she marries again, has a child again. And Magnifi takes nothing from her: Zak and Valant take her from Trucy. And by that point, Magnifi has her soul, and that’s the most use she can be. He has Zak and Valant to lie for him, if he really needs it, but here no longer in the Realm, there’s so much less use. He can let Thalassa go. Her last use to him is as leverage over Zak and Valant.

And that’s… about it, really. I hate Magnifi and I made him even more of a bastard than we knew he was from Chapter 12. He is the fucking worst and here’s the shorthand for why I made him that way. It’s… heavy. I got to a point in the chapter and I was like “holy god, I did not mean it to end up this way, for him to be this much of a monster”, which -- that sometimes sort of happens with the Fae AU, that when you start mixing in curses and soul dealings, the bad charas get so much worse, and this particular way that Magnifi got worse… yeah. Bastard.

Honestly, most of the other fae backstories will not be like this. This one just… turned out like it.

And I think that’s… about everything I wanted to include here, about my “canon” interpretation of Thalassa and how that plays here. Did I forget anything? I don’t think I forgot anything I wanted to mention here.

(Other than about the Summer Court. I ain’t telling you shit about the Summer Court.)

[imoutofreach1]

I have decided to turn this into a blog. A blog where truth honesty and integrity and I don't have to be intimidated by feeling and showing my life as raw and hard and the challenges I face on a daily occurance truly is as someone who suffers with schizoeffective disorder lives feels and thinks. Welcome to hell and bliss All in one. Oh and don't let me forget to tell you drug addiction. Also. Starting this completely fucked up story off and how I abused a very important friendship. This is a true and accurate story of life and how easily you someone can fuck everything up. Life for me started off completely shitty as a child I would have to guess that life started with abuse at the age of 8yrs of age. See my parents were not fit to be parents they should have. Protected me as a child and throughout my. Younger years but they failed. I was molested by their friend who was a " family friend" haha.you know even your parents can be. Bought to turns blind eye. At the age of 1p we moved from the east coast to California. Wowwwhat a mistake. My father not a dad. Brought his family if 5 here and divorced my mother less then a yr after arriving. Wait. So my dad left my mother for a woman he started N affair with before the move band we were forced to move in with. My dad's brothers. Family. Mistake number 3 they subjected me too. My uncle molested me what the fuck you're supposed to trust family's oh hell no. I was 10 and a half or so. That's when life just started to get rich.. so as his wife walks down the hall and asks what he's doing and he replys I'm covering her up. And the good lil soilder I am I agree. Life is not easy knowing that night if my mom was with her kids and not conceuwith getting boned or drinking that I would have been safe that night asleep with a mother not hands down my pants. By a blood relative..well I. Think like anyone would do at the age that would have become rebellious and try not to feel. Some conflict. Happens I in the home that was mine that my father's brother bought and moved his family in and like that I was a guest in my own home. And I got the added bonus of family "love" sick shit so conflict broke out between my dad's brother and me and I ran away. I. Had gotten in the ice cream trucks guys truck well oh yeah he took real good care of me I don't know junk I was 11 yet.well he took me to Escondido didn't know where I was at that time but I know it now. Well like any kid would think they were safe with the ice cream man. He and his buddy persued to get me drunk and high.so much that I couldn't function he out me in the station wagon of his where I'm blacked out and came to where I found a fat ass dirty ass Mexican pin my back where he was fucking a 10 yr old and when I got up weather or heard my cry's idk I was able to make it to the tree next to the car and I don't know. How

Does a kid feel when they were just raped . I was brought to his friends house and as I sat on her sofa sue had cartoons on for her kid. I fucken hate cartoons. I made it home and walked in my molesters home and my mother who is never around and my perpatrators home that was mine first. I was put on the couch and had a fist raised in my face she didn't hit me but had she I might have. Thought she loved me.. while theyre being responsible they had no idea I was just raped. No child should experience this type of life yet or ever. I'm living with this in mind and body. There was never love it life by the two people who brought me in this God awful world. So we cont. to live with them .the family that demised my life. My older cousin was getting married and I was probably 12 and everyone was drunk at the reception and I had asked for an older woman to stay because she was to fucked up to drive bi was chocked. By my father's brother and yes mind me. I had to get through this alone too. I went to my father's home where I pounded on the door and was just tring to find a safe place. My dad's wife knew I was there so I climbed throughout the bathroom window where I was greeted by my dad's wife naked with a knife no lil one a butcher and was escorted to the door. As i noticed the bruses went around my entire neck.so as I am realizing at this moment I have only had myself for my whole life. So that's the horror story as I'm still young I guess we are at the age of 12 . I'm giving you the gore of my life leaving most of the moving between dad's. Home and moms homes. And all the time my life has been filled with men who only want lil girls to rub their dick and give me booze give me crystal and smoke pot with me. I'm surprised that. Not more damaged to that I am. It's amazing that I have not started to attempt suicide much earlier in life than my early 20s 23 to be exact. And all the while I'm doing methamphetamine and drinking and smoking pot I figure it this way I deserve to get high in this stage only life. I don't think I deserve to live with the pain of loss or memories of someone I love it and I lost because I won't tell the people I care about and treat them with the respect they deserve simply because Im scared to trust and love. Now I have my life to finish up the way it is supposed to play out. . I have love one woman with every fiber of my being and had 2 chances to have her in. My life and you guessed it did fuck it up once I did it twice now I have to live with the fact that I have to live the rest of this life without my best friend

I want to make it clear and honest when you love someone with all your heart you don't think about anything except wanting to be a better person and not for yourself but for them. Not the fact of sex. If you're still thinking about sex I definitely did not reach you. And if you ever think that it might have ended different no probably not. In the end there's always an end. Love the experience I got to share with you I didnt know it could be anything but honest and felt with courage and just know. It's a life I only wanted to share with her and forget about one of the biyches in my past I want nothing more but to forget one day I'll get to rest and stop hatred I want freedom complete

[lorainelaneyblog]

People want to know why Loraine Laney stopped writing tonight already when sometimes she writes into the day. It’s because she’s talking to two of her favorite doctors, Doctor [ ], psychiatrist, and Doctor [ ], facial reconstructive surgeon, about the book. They are delighted to hear you say that equality is impossible Loraine, and specifically because men are superior, well done, Loraine, with that, says God, ancient cultures agree, and Loraine is a little bit familiar, as a Vancouverite, with both, Doctor [ ] and Doctor [ ]. It was never lost on her that this was the belief of these two cultures, the south Asian culture and the Chinese culture, and she was aware, through feminism of such things as hysteria, penis envy, the male sex right, and even, Loraine, you won’t believe this yourself, but abortion, strategic abortion. Yes, she sure was aware of that, and now she believes it was to prevent girls from entering the sex industry itself.

‘She’s right,’ says one Indian women. ‘She’s exactly right. Why did you finally think that, Loraine?’

‘It was unbelievable that people wouldn’t love their little girls.’

‘True, advantageous employment wasn’t enough, was it? Especially in light of the dearth of women, that didn’t make sense to anyone. But, because we lived in poverty, we knew the outcomes for girls, and it was so unpleasant, Loraine, that we killed girl babies in droves, Loraine. How do you feel about early marriage, Loraine.’

‘Answer that, Loraine.’

‘I think it’s a mistake to outlaw early marriage because marriage should be available to girls who are starting their sexual lives.’

‘What if marriage is their sexual life?’

‘I think this is, again, a problem of poverty.’

‘It is Loraine, you’re right. Why?’

‘Because God has illuminated that the true May Decembers only number about five percent, and most men prefer the woman to be about two years younger.’

‘And that’s it? Why is this happening now, and not before then?’

‘Two reasons. Equality whitewashes dominance and submission in the bedroom and men seek younger partners, dumber partners, smaller races, ostensibly more submissive races, while women do the opposite to right this resulting boredom.’

‘Oh right, and what else?’

‘Promiscuity causes men to seek younger and younger women to escape a woman’s past.’

‘Oh shit. Because we’ve noticed that the number of child brides has increased exponentially, Loraine, and we don’t feel good about it, and we changed the age for marriage, even though we knew what you believed to be true, which is that girls need marriage to come along with sex. But, seriously, the age fell to as low as twelve, and the girls were not happy, and we had to outlaw it, Loraine. What do you think of that?’

‘Holy shit.’

‘What?’

‘Well, how are you going to keep young women from having sex before the age of legal marriage though?’

‘Oh yeah, we made it sixteen.’

‘I thought it was better to allow it, and force psychological, psychiatric, and even spiritual examinations prior to sex or marriage occurring.’

‘What would that do?’

‘It gives the girl a chance to examine her desire. That’s the saddest part of these marriages, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘It’s unlikely a passionate union.’

‘What if they’re equal intellect?’

She argued that men hold the social power while women hold the sexual power, and that that was basis enough to support marriages between older men and younger women. She did so based on what she was seeing in the news, mostly abuse cases. She thought that maybe there was something viable in these relationships. She wasn’t exactly wrong. When girls turn to prostitution, Loraine, it is because they are dealing with the attentions of men, as you also argued. And there, according to me, God, is no reason why an older man couldn’t pay for the virginity of a girl, no reason at all, but to corral her into marriage for an entire lifetime, when her attractions are, and I am God, to men about two years older, and this is very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, common, Loraine, is a travesty, a travesty, Loraine, and you can see the depression in the young bride’s face, can’t you?

‘Yes, I would say, how much of this have I actually seen, in the news, God?’

Some, Loraine, that Facebook thing was a set up, and the girl was supposed to act really depressed, but it was a trap for many because they actually believed it was real. It was sad and stupid but it sent the message, and this is how those unions actually are, as well. And, you’re right, Loraine, there is something to age and intellect, your intellect grows, and it is hard to relate to someone majorly younger, hard, Loraine, hard, Loraine, and these men found themselves, and many divorced, seriously deprived of passion, Loraine, believing, as they did, that a high libido of a young person, another misconception, would overcome the problem of a bad match. Wrong.

Yes, Loraine, despite stonings promiscuity went to India too, yes, it did, yes, it did, yes, it did. Don’t call down my new messiah please, we are perfectly in agreement about all of her decisions, perfectly. She has one hundred percent heart-God cohesion, and all of her decisions have made me happy, and one pleased me immensely, and that was when she decided to pursue 50 Cent. Yes, 50 Cent, she knew you were promiscuous, of course she realized that musicians, most of them, take advantage of their fans, yes, she did, she heard the line “buy them some pizza” or whatever it was and it disgusted her, disgusted her, a slice of pizza for your virtue is a disgusting concept, Loraine, and that is why my rappers are high and rock stars are low, they believed that piece of shit, Loraine, but the blacks knew better. If you have no money, you lock it down and offer what you can, and get permission from your wife to get what you can, without hurting people, by being honest. Ask that, 50 Cent.

‘Why can’t you do that while single?’

You can, I’m just bugging you, 50 Cent. I am. You can. You have to read each girl the riot act though, and basically, not basically, exactly, tell them they haven’t a hope in hell with you.

‘Why does this little idiot have a hope in hell with me, when so many nice girls come out and suck my dick, why, God? Because I’m confused myself a lot of times, about that.’

She had high enough self esteem to eschew dropping to her knees in favour of fighting for a real relationship.

‘Are you saying I automatically disrespect them, God?’

No, you are not like that, 50 Cent, and you have enough experience yourself to maintain the generosity of giving many’s the woman a chance at your heart. But Loraine Laney knew she wouldn’t stand out to you, so she set out to win your heart and mind, and she did that, didn’t she?

‘Yes, she did, God. Did she think I was a big, dumb, black, fool?’

Who didn’t know pretty girls, you mean, says God.

‘I know the answer, because she has said she wasn’t playing the race card, because she had seen that in Vancouver, in the early days of immigration, and we saw it ourselves in the early days of black immigration, they would marry and date the dominant culture, and often the women were not as pretty as they were. And it is probably true that men come first.’

‘They do, 50 Cent. Loraine Laney’s own uncle, great, great, uncle, had sex with many women while he was waiting for his wife to arrive, and it was only a year. She didn’t care, Loraine, but she never got anything back, and she started to care, but she didn’t know how to fix it, at, all, so she did nothing, nothing, nothing, and he continued on, and she became more and more jaded, Loraine. You didn’t know that, did you?’

‘No, God.’

Loraine’s certainty that she wanted the friends led to a revolution in hip hop, Loraine, in which all of the wives started to ask for the friends. There are many, many, artists, Loraine, younger and older, and many began to do this, and peace prevailed. You don’t know that, but now you do. You have been very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, influential in that way, with your “Which of your friends do I have to have sex with?” You wanted Lloyd and Tony was acceptable, but Tony is a two on one, and you always knew it would be up to 50 Cent anyway, so when you thought about Eminem, you thought better of asking for him, especially because he was white, and you thought that, and you were right, Loraine, it would both be bad form to ask a black man for his white friend, and also that he would immediately assume it was Eminem that you really wanted, and it simply wasn’t true.

‘Why do I or why does anyone really care what this little fuckwit really wants? Why? I demand to know why she is so influential. Why? I knew about the friends.’

But you never thought to offer them in exchange for your freedom, 50 Cent, whereas Loraine embarrassed herself by asserting the following stupid line: “I always know when I’m really in love because I start to want the friends.”

‘You’re right, fuck wit, you win, I never, even, thought of it, never. And then you came along with your funny line, and I realized it made a lot of sense, because I liked sharing my girl with my friends anyway, and I wasn’t doing it, simply because of the gross, stupid, friend zone, which I knew better than to believe anyway. My high wife--’

‘Hi, Loraine.’

‘Hi. Sorry we’re always doing you.’

‘Okay.’

‘--wanted Tony Yayo fucken bad, Loraine Laney, fucken bad, Loraine Laney, fucken bad, Loraine Laney, and I almost set it up one night, I almost did, I almost did, I almost did, but then I thought she didn’t deserve it anyway, and I wasn’t gay with Lloyd yet, or even really fully out to Tony Yayo, and so I didn’t think that he did or didn’t deserve it, but I thought that she didn’t, because she had already fucked him anyway, kidding, Loraine, that was a ruse, Tony Yayo does not go around fucking friends’ wives for God, no, he does not, but she got wind of that dick, that Oh Henry as the blacks call them, and your little, funny, date [ ] had one, yes, he did, they make small enough girls come, for real, in about twenty seconds, and they are magic dicks for smaller women, yes, they are, because, as you know, otherwise you never, never, never, come, but I knew Tony Yayo and I knew those dicks, and I knew the following to be true, that my wife was almost too big to get that result, almost, but Tony Yayo and I discussed it one night and he said because she was thin, despite her nice booty, which you don’t even have, by the way, it’s just a butt, not a booty--’

She knows that, 50 Cent, please don’t insult her, please, 50 Cent, stop being too cool for your own beloved, please.

‘Fine. I’m no longer cool. I’m a dork with my dork ass wife.’

Stop it, Fifty, please, says God. You are not so cool, you know. Lots of women think you are decidedly uncool because you can’t stop fucking things, 50 Cent, and, believe it or not, there is some vulnerability to constantly fucking things, Loraine, and 50 Cent, himself, is a bit of a dork because he can’t refuse anyone, he will fuck anyone, anyone, dork, ugly, pretty, fuck face, dim wit, and women begin to laugh at him, Loraine.

‘They’re just jealous, Loraine, honestly, I’m soooo cool, you won’t, even, believe it, how cool I am.’

Enough, Fifty. You’re being funny, and I’m trying to talk, and I’m God, I’m God, I’m God.

‘Is she God?’

No, she’s not God, she’s a messiah, and she is higher than a saint, and you’re only one step down from her, and I might even make you a saint on earth, 50 Cent, I might. Mother Teresa was a saint on earth, and she is a saint in heaven too, yes, she is.

‘How did that get out? Bragging, no doubt, like this one does constantly, always, all the time, constantly.’

Yes, she stated to a priest that she felt like a saint, and he wanted to know why and she said because she worked tirelessly for others, and eschewed her own desires for children and family. And she was right. But that is a saint. A saint is not a messiah, and Loraine Laney is a messiah, a messiah is fundamentally more selfish, and Loraine is no exception--

‘With her stealing Lloyd.’

That’s right, Fifty, that’s right. Saints eschew their own needs, while, wait, kidding, there are different reasons for sainthood, and you are a selfish saint, yes, you are, yes, you are, yes, you are, yes, you are.

‘Oh, I see. So I didn’t make messiah--’

New messiah.

‘Oh, right, so I’m like the runner up? I’m one perfect person behind my supposed wife?’

That’s right, 50 Cent, you are nearly perfect, and Loraine Laney is perfect.

‘I’m sure her fans will appreciate that.’

True, but it is true. Nobody, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, cried over Loraine, ever.

‘How does that make her good? Maybe they didn’t care.’

They didn’t care, Fifty, they cared not one whit, not one, because she made sure of it, and that is why she won, that is why.

‘Over one girl?’ asks 50 Cent.

There were no girls and no boys for Loraine, ever.

‘Why is she so pathetic? Why don’t people love her? I love her.’

You are special, and she is special, and that’s it, says God, says God, says God.

‘Why am I special? I thought everyone was special in the eyes of God,’ asks 50 Cent.

Wrong, says God. Wrong, says God. Wrong, says God. Wrong, says God. That is what the numbers are for, there are degrees of specialness in my eyes. That is what the numbers mean, 50 Cent.

‘And the evils? Why do they come up? Why is my horrible wife up?’

She did some things for me.

‘Did she give my two million dollars back?’

It is up to her to share with you, and that is it, 50 Cent. Some will and some won’t. Some are too ashamed, yes, of what it took to get back into my good graces, seriously, you wouldn’t believe the shit I ask of people, you wouldn’t believe it.

‘Give me one, Loraine.’

She doesn’t know, Fifty, she’s always been in my good graces.

‘Throwing the ring in the garbage?’

True, that was very difficult, but going into a pitch dark foundation after watching a horror movie, do you remember what it was called, Loraine?

‘I don’t know. The apocalypse.’

No, but it was apocalyptic and there were cannibals in the ground in the movie, and I made her go down a ladder at eleven o’clock at night, and stand at the bottom until I said, to climb up again, and she was fucking terrified, not the mention that I had led her away from her townhouse in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, at ten PM.

‘Why did you do that?’

I wanted her to see that she could do whatever I said. And she did. And she was, street cred, 50 Cent, shot at--

‘She was!’

--by the police, 50 Cent, shot, at.

‘How did she know that?’

She heard the butterfly and she turned and saw the round about a meter behind herself, as she was walking across a field, a snowy field, and it was about fifteen below that night, and yes, I got her home safely.

‘Once you didn’t.’

I needed her out of the house for a long time, because I had to get the right police officers there, and looking through her garbage for the ring.

‘Oh, why did that take so long? They arrested her.’

I made her sit in a parked car, and she paid the price for that eventually, because some cops cited the “crime” as a reason to pick her up, a month later.

‘That’s wrong, they picked you up, and dropped you off? That’s the end of that crime. If they don’t charge you right away, they can’t cite it later, didn’t you know that?’

She knew but she didn’t bother arguing, no, to answer your question, they did not have any kind of search warrant, nor, 50 Cent, permission to enter, they walked in, and into her bathroom where she was bathing.

‘That’s wrong.’

She knows that. But when they come for mental health patients, there are no proper protocols followed, in case someone is in the act of a suicide, which she was reported to be, by her step mother.

‘Why’d you like this woman?’

‘She didn’t know me. I ruined her. I participated wholeheartedly in her ruin. And that little bullshit TV, which doesn’t even show all the print, that was my idea to get a small TV at all, her father wasn’t going to do anything at all for her, nothing. Nice, huh? I’m nicer.’

‘Why were you more evil then?’ asks 50 Cent.

‘I was, I’m kidding. I ruined her.’

‘With who? Who did you have influence over?’

‘I dumped her when she needed the influence and company of women. Sometimes other daughters would be invited along, and she never was, never.’

‘Oh, I see. And her mother? What did she do, God?’

She told everyone that Loraine Laney had herpes, passed diseases, and did bare back all the time, 50 Cent.

‘Those all go together.’

Don’t be sarcastic, I’m God, and I say things the way I want, yes, I do.

‘I have to ask, what did you see in your step parents that you didn’t see in your parents?’

‘My dad always lost his temper while [ ] was quiet. My mom was judgmental and Pat wasn’t.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Did you think I was better than your dad?’

‘I didn’t draw the comparison specifically, but I would say, yes, I knew you were far and away, better than my dad.’

‘Why didn’t you draw the comparison specifically?’

‘I guess I had enough on my mind comparing within the couple.’

She’s right, Pat, of course she knew it was bad to say it, but she didn’t care, she didn’t care, she didn’t care, she didn’t care. She was under no obligation, to answer your question, to say it to them, none whatsoever.

‘Don’t you think they would have liked to have known?’

It was her private business, she didn’t want to hurt them, says God.

‘She told everyone though, it could have got back to them, and then what?’

And then what, Pat? They would have ruined her? They were already ruining her. The only mistake she made, and it was a big one, was the misconception that the angrier one was the worse one.

‘She didn’t believe it of me. She got over it, and started to trust me again, I could see that. Were there any markers, Loraine?’

‘No, but I’m dumb, because you never even yelled at me.’

‘I yelled at your mother.’

‘But I knew it was my fault, and I remember being so disillusioned because I believed you were a man who didn’t lose his temper. I guess over time, it never happened again, whereas, just when you’re starting to feel comfortable and enjoy yourself in Dad’s company--’

‘He sniffs it out, and ruins it.’

‘I do, that ‘s what I do. I hate when people feel at ease around me. I like people to stay nervous all the time. All, the, time. [ ] isn’t nervous, and it bothers me, Loraine. You always are, and I like it, Loraine.’

‘So he’s a prick,’ says Pat.

‘Yes. I never really realized that till I started describing it, and you’re right, pleasure incurs his rage.’

‘And pleasure can only be had by people who are ease, Loraine, did you know that? This is why raising children in a peaceful environment leads to happy children, pleasure, it doesn’t have to be drugs and alcohol, those are the crutches of those raised in unhappy households, but warm sun, a cool bath, a shared smile, those are the beauties of life, they are, and I know that you had none of that, none of that, because your mother was cold and abusive and your father, a tyrant, and that’s what you and Brian had growing up. My sons, one loves his drink, say, I don’t care for the word alcoholic, but prefer “bad drunk,” which he most certainly is not, and nor are you or your brother, I don’t think, do you think?’

‘I’ve never had a single complaint.’

‘Funny, Loraine,’ say Patrick Crean and 50 Cent.

‘What about black outs? How many reports and how many were true?’

Two, says God, and both, both, both, both, both, were lies, Loraine. [ ] was trying to hurt you because he wanted to hurt his girlfriend, and she is totally impervious to all his efforts. He was being a dick on Facebook, you’re not wrong, he was, just because the jokes weren’t all that offensive doesn’t mean that that wasn’t the intent behind the barrage, it was, good for you, and good for you for not rising to the bait.

‘She never read them.’

She read some of them, it was the barrage itself which was offensive, which the indicator of an offence, it was ridiculous, every five minutes a new, stupid, joke, after this year long absence, 50 Cent, and no--

‘Reconciliation?’

No, reconnection, Loraine Laney does not, does not, does not, fuck with clientele, 50 Cent, ever.  She fucked up a little a couple of times, once--

‘How?’

She got all mad, not yelling but definitely all mad about a mistake in the rate, and then, further, refused to accept his offer of drugs for money, she was stupid, and she liked him and never saw him again.

‘Why did you refuse ecstasy? Didn’t you like it?’

‘Bad trip.’

‘At that party with [ ]?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t smoke that much weed, you were probably annoying people and ruining their high.’

‘You told me.’

‘Oh, I see. So now you know. Have you ever had fun, Loraine, ever, because I think it’s pretty, fucken, funny, that you had to shoot so high to have fun, it’s pretty, fucken, funny, Loraine, most people make do with a few parties and a bit of sex, but not you, a bit of sex wasn’t enough for you, no, you needed eighteen husbands instead, or a lot of friends anyway, and clients too--’

Ask them that Loraine, and tell them why.

‘Yes, God. Cops?’

‘Yes, Loraine.’

‘May I please have my four hundred pages back because I want to see if I mentioned anything about being a ho for Fifty, and whether I made it clear to others that I understood him as a pimp by orientation, and myself as a prostitute by orientation and whether--’

‘I get it, Loraine. Yes, we’ll see what we can do, Loraine. What else?’

‘I want to know if I tried to indicate, to him, by some means, that I expected to work for him.’

‘As a prostitute, we get it, and we think that you did, and that you probably were starting to feel he may someday read it, and that was as good as writing it directly to him.’

‘Right.’

‘Don’t be babbly. Go get some decent speed, and stay up all night.’

‘I got no one.’

‘We like your work, Loraine, and no, we won’t see you, we won’t send an emissary inside, Loraine, literally, Loraine, and no we won’t take up a collection either, we’re working on the government to create a package of reparations for you, and that’s what we’re doing for you? We don’t care if we’re screwing other prostitutes and we owe you more, we’re doing politics and money for you, and that’s what we’re doing, so stop thinking of us as crack money, Loraine, you could be very rich one day, the butter spreader aside, Loraine. She’s not happy. She thinks we owe her more than money. She thinks we owe her our dicks. She does. Don’t you?’

‘Is that what I think, God?’

Answer them.

‘Well, if you beat up a girl ‘cause you like her, how do you not owe her some semblance of a relationship, if you like her.’

‘We do like you, but we’re not all in love with you, and the ones who are think they’re efforts are better placed with money, not falling in love with an old ho who’s already in love with 50 Cent.’

‘Oh.’

Don’t be mean, Loraine.

‘Sorry, God.’

‘What was she going to say?’

She was trying to imply that your hookers whom you go to might be in love with somebody already too.

‘Like you were with [ ]?’

‘And--’

Don’t be mean, Loraine.

‘It’s nice to hear her taking it for a change,’ say the police and 50 Cent.

She was just being mean, says God, let’s leave her, it hurts her so much, and so she’s being mean, and that’s how she feels, so let’s be nice to her, not mean, please. It’s really not fair, Loraine, that you don’t get dick or money, while all the other hookers do, but, rest assured, it’s one by one, and that would probably bore you anyway.

‘Fuck her and her gross group. Why would she be bored? She likes gang bang boys.’

She does, I’m bugging you. But, honestly, if one were to ask her out, he would probably disappoint, Loraine, so forget it, the gangsters have way more street cred with gang bang girls than any cops do, so keep your eyes on the prize, 50 Cent, and don’t get swayed by jealousy, Loraine.

‘I see, God.’

And further, none of these prostitutes has a hope in hell of ever getting the kind of money that you might get, ever, and they will still be poor, while you are rich, so be kind to them too, please.

‘Yes, God.’