#your body being permanently changed in a way foreign to you that changes others perspective on you? never feeling complete?

[bee-turtle-kind]

watching FMA for the first time ever and man. Man. Why did no one tell me this has all my favorite tropes and horrors <3

[deathbydarkelves]

I decided to make playlists for Cathala and Tarinne plus explanations for why I chose each song because I entered one of those ADHD fugue states and if I didn't finish this task I would die

Anyway here are the two links (they're youtube playlists because I don't have spotify. I would obviously recommend using an adblocker if you're just gonna watch on youtube) and the explanations for each song are below the cut :) Each playlist is about an hour long.

For Tarinne’s:

1. Foggy Nights: I consider this her theme so putting it first as a sort of intro only makes sense.

2. Here’s a Health to the Company: I think this works as an example of her general disposition. She’s a people person, and always a fan of singing these sorts of songs in taverns, on ships, or what have you. It also kind of feels like a sendoff to soldiers, which I imagine symbolizes her joining the Sentinel Army and quickly thereafter fighting in the Third War.

3. Wartime Prayers: Somewhat self-explanatory, this is symbolizing her seeing war for the first time, but I also included it because the last line transitions SO WELL into the next song.

4. The Hollow: This song is an intro to an album I've never heard so I don't know the context, but I really love it because it sounds like someone praying to their deity and like I mean c'mon. Elune. Tarinne's praying to Elune to guide her through the war. Do I need to elabo-

5. Wave Walker: KILL DEATH MAIM AHAHAHAHA

6. Isil Elun’falo: Just a super rad fan-made night elf song that's basically "wow we sure do love Elune" said in twenty different ways for four and a half minutes. But it ROCKS and I LOVE it.

7. Chewing Cotton Wool: This song is about losing a loved one (I did have to check but yeah that's what it is) and I use it to symbolize Tarinne losing her mom during the war. The last line, which includes the song's title, I especially like. It's referring to how morticians (apparently) put cotton gauze in a corpse's throat and mouth to keep body fluids in and make the face look more natural. So there's a fun fact for you.

8. See U Soon (Song for Dad): Just a short lofi piece to rest a bit, and it was also chosen because the title's in reference to Tarinne growing closer to her dad after losing her mom. She still visits him at his leathers and furs shop in Stormwind fairly often, especially after dangerous adventures. She just wants to make sure he knows she's alright ;-;

9. No Lullaby: Right back into it with a song that I use to represent Tarinne's general feeling of not being able to go home because it's not there anymore. She's felt like this since the end of the Third War, but it's especially strong since the whole Teldrassil thing. But I like the ending, "who said you're on your own," because it contrasts the repeating of "alone" in the rest of the song. And it's kinda like "hey, listen, you're not the only one who feels like she can't go home." I mean that's probably how basically every single night elf feels right now skxnks

10. The Moss: This song juxtaposes classic fairy tales with scientific facts about the world and I love it to BITS. I'm using it here to represent both Tarinne's love for storytelling but also her sort of... part-time historian/archaeologist/conservator career.

11. Rasputin: I just associate this song with her for some reason and this was the best place to put it.

12. Electric Feel: Moving on to focus more on Tarinne's relationship with Cathala now. This is an extremely great and somewhat 😏 song that I also included because the electricity theme is appropriate because Cathala has lightning powers and y'know it's from Tarinne's perspective or whatever.

13. Bedroom Hymns: You know why this is here.

14. Movement: I can't talk about love songs without talking about Hozier, okay. This is just a nice, slower song to relax a bit with.

15. Never Let Me Go: I have an entire goddamn music video in my head with Cathala and Tarinne for this song and it’s very dramatic and emotional and I had to include this song or I’d die. Basically just listen to near the end of this song when she's repeating the title over and over, and imagine the two of them seeing each other at opposite ends of a battlefield after the dust settles and they rush towards each other and fall to their knees holding on as tightly as they can because they got separated early on and each thought the other was dead. Then you'll know how I feel when I listen to this song.

16. Nothing That Has Happened So Far Has Been Anything We Could Control: First of all I love the title, and second of all there's a big section in the middle (1:49 to 2:47) that I like to interpret as the two of them grappling with the fact that they're not really quite sure who or what they're fighting for anymore. Their people, yeah, but there's so many alliances and semi-permanent enemies and only-on-every-other-thursday-enemies all intertwined and the world is just so very confusing and they're trying to make the best of it. Elf school didn’t include international, interracial politics in its curriculum. It did however include how to properly plant trees, and AP calculus (this is a joke).

17. In Dreams: I like to imagine this song is something the two of them would say to each other, as a way of saying “even when everything we know is gone, even when the world ends, I will still be by your side. And if I’m not, don’t fear, for I will find you.” It makes a nice note to end on :)

For Cathala’s:

1. muse: Just a nice lofi intro to get us into things :) I don't see this song as her theme, like I do with Tarinne and the first song in her playlist, but I like it quite a bit. I don't actually really have a theme for Cathala yet, I'm currently going with a version of Way of the Monk from WoW's OST but I'm still looking for something better.

2. Frogs Singing: I included this because it's about just appreciating nature, which works because night elf and also mindfulness and meditation is a whole thing.

3. Tongues: This is a song about feeling distant from your peers which is like Cathala's whole existence! She's this weird mix of two cultures and ultimately she feels out of place regardless of where she is or who she's with. Also the theme with not understanding what people are saying works because the poor woman had to learn Pandaren from scratch and that shit ain't easy. I think blizz said somewhere probably that Common is just a language that EVERYONE knows inherently because Video Game but that's bullshit in my opinion. I'll allow spells that let you understand foreign languages to an extent (Comprehend Languages from D&D lets you understand the LITERAL meaning only, which I like), but every culture and species in the universe knowing Common is silly if you think about it for more than two seconds.

4. Kung Fu Fighting: I'm legally required to include this song. Also I prefer the Kung Fu Panda version, I'm sorry.

5. Harder Better Faster Stronger: I vicariously experience having a great work ethic through Cathala and that's why this song is here because she has 999 Determination and does Too Many push-ups every day or something idk. I was gonna say "every morning" but I have a headcanon that elves only need to sleep every couple of days (sort of a nod to "elves don't need to sleep at all" from D&D, and to explain why NIGHT elves are active at all hours of the day) so that doesn't work.

6. What's Up Danger: This song is Cathala's whole Vibe. Almost zero threat assessment skills in this woman's brain. If it can be punched, she will punch it.

7. Eye for an Eye: Fairly self-explanatory, it's a song about wanting revenge so... yeah. Checked that box. It was this or The Vengeful One by Disturbed but ultimately The Vengeful One's religious symbolism probably makes it fit better as a Tyrande theme lol ("I'm the hand of god, I'm the dark messiah." Did you mean: the Night Warrior)

8. Survivor: Cathala's survived a lot of shit and this could kinda be her making fun of herself for it because "Gods, man! Don't I deserve a break!"

9. Ashes: Really the reason I include this song is the last chunk (2:42 to the end) because holy shit. Listen, if I was gonna include a song with fire motifs, it was gonna be a somber one like this.

10. Into the West: This can kinda represent Cathala just trying to fucking breathe and recover from Teldrassil. Also works because I dunno it has stuff to do with the elves in LotR, I haven't seen those movies in a while. It sounds nice and is melancholy so I included it.

11. Like Real People Do: Cathala loves Tarinne a lot you guys have I ever menti-

12. Into the Wild: Tarinne changed Cathala's world for the better and she's super fucking grateful she has her by her side. Kinda goes without saying but you know.

13. Chasing the Moon: I have a vague music video in my head for this of them falling in love and it's very cute so there's that. Also it's in this specific spot because hey she may be deeply traumatized but she's still got a fair number of things/people in her life that make her happy so :)

14. Follow My Girl: I've got a theme going in my head that while Tarinne is fairly certain of her place in the world, Cathala is still trying to find hers. She outlived all her connections on Pandaria because Elf Lifespans(tm) and the only members of her family still alive are distant relatives she never knew very well.

15. Wish That You Were Here: This works both to represent Cathala on Pandaria feeling super homesick, and for more recently after Teldrassil. Either way, it's a message to her parents and sister.

16. Mr. Fear: She does her damnedest to hide it but she's absolutely terrified something like Teldrassil's gonna happen again! That fear drives her to do everything in her power to protect who and what she can. As long as they're not Forsaken, cause she's still got her biases, that compassion even extends across faction lines. She never really got the whole Alliance/Horde thing anyway. Innocent people shouldn't have to die, regardless of who or what they are.

17. Ordinary Day: Not to get super out there but I think this song works as symbolizing Cathala really trying to hold on to her faith in Elune, but ultimately feeling pretty abandoned. I mean she can clearly see Elune's influence everywhere. But Elune sure ain't doing Cathala any favors as far as she can tell! It also ends the whole playlist on maybe a bit of an uncertain/open-ended note, because this "losing faith" aspect is a new thing with her and will definitely be something she continues to struggle with for a while. On a related note, I should say Tarinne is still very much devout but she gets what Cathala's feeling and doesn't force anything on her, and vice versa. And Cathala wouldn't become atheist, the night elves aren't monotheistic and she still worships all the other deities, it's just specifically Elune she's a little :/ on.

[the-slasher-files]

DIFFERENT PREADTORS - chapter six

INCLUDES ANDREI KULOKOVA x XAVIERA LAH-MO

After the storm there is a calm, then a storm again, the a calm, that is just life with Andrei. This is a fun, wholesome chapter for the most part, just two people becoming closer before their separation... The end is coming and I am going to cry lol. I hope you guys are genuinely loving this story because I know I am. Make sure to read part one, two, three, four, and five.

Go read @horrorslashergirl​ oc Xaviera’s perspective linked HERE

MASTERLIST 

Andrei’s eyes were clear again, he had no coating of lust or blood desire or sick intentions, the wolf was at bay for tonight and he could relax again. Focusing his attention on the beautiful woman in front of him, he knew he should return her caring favor after what she had been through from him and the man from the truck.

“It feels so good.” she whispered, opening her eyes to meet his now calm blues.

“Good baby girl.” Andrei replied, looking over her bruises with a trained eye. Stripping of his bloody coat and black long sleeve, he groaned at the warm steam hitting his tense muscles, then put his still bloody hand in the warm water turning it slightly pink. He moved his hand scooping water and gently washing off Xaviera’s skin from any of her blood or the man’s blood that Andrei was caked in.

“You’re so beautiful” he commented running his hands along her now permanently marked skin. She was his. Forever.

“Thank you for saving me.” she whispered, leaning into his gentle touch, shivering when he touched the bitemarks. 

Running his fingers along the cut on her temple his rage burned quietly, the only time he had ever protected someone so strongly was with his sister, Amaria, but even then it was different. A rage he had never felt. Andrei would never let anyone touch her as long as he was around.

Grabbing the wash cloth he dapped her temple making sure all old blood was removed and no infection could start. It was a deep primal urge to help, protect and an unfamiliar feeling, to love her. Xaviera accepted him for the man and the beast, caring for him and letting herself submit, which was probably a tough feet for the feisty little kitten.

Leaning in he kissed her softly and slowly, he didn’t want to devour her for once, he just wanted a soft intimacy for the first time in his life. Pulling away he rested his forehead on hers “you’re mine… no one will ever hurt you when I’m around.”

Xaviera’s lips pulled into a genuine smile, for the first time in years feeling connected with a human being, although he could easily rip someone’s throat out like a wolf if he so desired.

“I know… And I am very grateful for it….” she whispered against his lips, enjoying the intimacy that was so high on a spiritual level. “I love you…” Xaviera spoke, her eyes widening at her own confession.

Andrei’s heart stopped at her words. No one had ever told him that before other than his mother but she had been gone for a long, long time. His breathing stopped and he found himself shocked for the first time in his life, then denial kicked it. No one could love him. He was a dangerous beast. Unlovable. She probably had a concussion, but he didn’t want her to feel embarrassed or hurt so Andrei just kissed her again rougher and leaving her breathless. His soul knew the truth and it spoke for its self in the kiss and the way his fingers moved along her skin. He loved her too but he could never say it.

Pulling away he stood up, removing the plug from the bath and grabbing both of her hands, pulling her up on wobbly legs he dried her with a fluffy towel, scooping her up again and placing her in bed.

“You need to rest kitten… I will grab you some water”

Going back into the bathroom he ran the cold water, splashing it on his face, cleaning the blood and trying to wake himself up from this. It must’ve been a dream. No one could love him. No one.

“Fuck” he whispered, slamming his fist on the counter. He knew he loved her too but it was too painful to admit it, plus he was leaving in a day anyway.

Inhaling deeply he filled her glass and walked into the bedroom again. “Here.. you had a long day” Andrei spoke gruffly, trying to hide any soft emotions from her.

Removing his boots and cargo pants something slipped from the pocket. It was his wolf tooth necklace. Andrei never wore it but he always kept it on him, his sister said it was for good luck and it would protect him. Leaning down he grabbed it and made his way over to his side of the bed, pulling Xaviera close to him instinctively.

“I- I want you to have this…” he showed her the necklace, running a thick thumb along it in comfort “they said it was for protection and good luck” placing it in her small hands he continued “.. I’m already the luckiest man and you need protection more than I do.. so.. here.” His cockiness couldn’t help but come through, it was just Andrei.

“Thank you, Wolfy.” she whispered, her hands cupping his cheeks and pressing her lips softly against his, her thumbs stroking his skin.

Her words lit him up in beastly ways and human ways. The first woman that could do both flawlessly. “Anytime baby girl.” He grinned taking in the sick memory of ripping the man’s spine out and leaving the body alone in the snow.

Her hands felt so right on him and his scars. The wolf was turning into her lap dog as he kissed her back strongly, pushing his tounge through her soft lips “Thank you for everything.” she murmured into the kiss, only for him to pull away.  

“Your such a sap.” He laughed trying to lighten the mood as he ways did.

Xaviera rolled her blue eyes at his words, a pink tint to her cheeks from his teasing.

“Ohhh bite me…Will you?” she sassed, looking into his eyes with playfulness.

He managed to unlock a feline-like playful side on her and he was the only one who will see this part of her. She pressed her lips on the tip of his nose, then gave him a cheeky smile.

“Don’t temp me again little one” He smiled but pressed his thumb gently on her permanent bite mark just to remind her that he would in fact do it again.

Softly his eyes changed looking at the black eye that was forming on her skin, running his thick thumb along it. Andrei wanted to apologize for someone even laying a hand on her but he stopped and just kissed he lips again. “You must rest.”

Xaviera huffed but rested her head on the pillow, yawning and moving closer to his hard body.  “Mhmm… I really need it… You kind of sucked the energy out of me.” she whispered, resting her forehead on Andrei’s chest.  

He gave a slightly laugh as he held her close, once again his hand found its way to her grizzly scars and rubbed them gently. Andrei knew he was a lot especially with his rough side sometimes, but she seemed to love it all and that he was grateful for.

“Goodnight Xaviera” Andrei whispered into her white hair, again she name was so sweet on his dangerous tounge. Closing his eyes and stroking her hair, he was at peace again, a miracle that it was the second night in a row.

Xaviera closed her eyes and basked into his gentle touches. “Goodnight, Andrei.” she whispered in a soft sleepy voice, His name on her lips was addicting, a foreign drug he needed time and time again. Xaviera rested one hand on his chest, where his heart was, just feeling his heartbeat as she fell asleep. Such a beautiful animalistic way of comfort, she appreciated him just for his beating heart and it made him grateful, Andrei closed his eyes allowing himself to relax.

“Mine…” she murmured in her sleep.

Opening his icy blue eyes he looked down, she was fast asleep within his arms. Andrei grinned at this, such a cute little primal thing he held carefully. Shifting himself a little he closed his eyes again “I lov-” the words caught in his throat like a knife and he just sighed. Maybe another time. Sleep consumed the beast once more, no haunting thoughts or feeling woke him up. He was at peace.

A night of tranquility.

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

The morning sun peaked through the pine trees and into the bedroom, the birds sang and trees swayed in the light breeze. Andrei opened his eyes softly, turning his head quickly to make sure Xaviera was still next to him, her skin glowed beautiful in the morning light and she clutched the wolf tooth necklace between her fingers.

A small smile crept on his lips and he watched her soft breathes, he didn’t want to leave her, she was perfect. Groaning he rolled over, getting up to grab some hot tea, a pleasant pleasure he loved to indulge in. One last look over the cottage he went upstairs, quietly placing her mug on her nightstand and making his way back into bed. Xaviera’s words from last still ringing in his head over and over he gently traced with his fingers then his lips over her bruises. His bruises.

She woke up with a small little yawn and stretch, meeting his gaze with her sleepy one. “Morning, Wolfy.” Xaviera murmured hugging her pillow to her body.

“Mornin’.” his voice was still rough and harsh from just waking up.

“Slept well?” she asked, looking up at him curiously, then moving to take the cup of tea from her nightstand, taking a sip and humming at the taste.

“Best sleep I’ve had in while” taking a sip himself his large free hand moved to her thigh “how about you myshka?”

She hummed at his question, taking another sip of tea. “I slept like a baby… Never felt so fresh.” she answered, setting her mug on the nightstand, then looked at the wolf tooth in her hand. “Will you?” she asked him, pulling her hair up for him, exposing her neck, covered in bite marks, for him to put the necklace on. 

Eyeing up her neck he grinned taking the necklace in hand, not in a million years would he think that the wolf would be caught dead clasping a silly necklace on a girl’s neck, but his heart filled with pride at her dawning his affection.

“Thank you… Now I have two necklaces. Both from you.” she spoke, motioning to her collar of bitemarks, one much bigger than the rest.

As he clasped the necklace Andrei kissed her neck as he closed it whispering against her bruises “y’know… I don't have to leave for the next day or so.. maybe we can have some fun together.”

“Mmmm…. Well, me neither. My job here is done and I don’t have anywhere pressing to be… What do you have in mind?” she asked, one of her small hands stroking his knuckles.

“Well… little one, I have some ideas.” the wolf growled, pulling her head back into a kiss as his hands went down her torso and teasingly getting closer to her heat. Xaviera kissed back, her tongue running over his, then she pulled away only for her teeth to gently tug on his bottom lip then sucking it innocently, finishing with a small kiss.

“Mind telling me? This kitten is very curious.” she cheekily whispered, her blue eyes shining mischievously.

She was starting to play with him as much as he did to her, but Andrei was much more experienced with toying. Dipping his fingers down in between her folds rubbing and circling, “breakfast” he smiled again her neck bringing his fingers up and tasting them, silently laughing at his own teasing and her reaction. Andrei got up, putting on his cargo pants leaving himself shirtless and walking down stairs.

“That’s just cruel!” she yelled after him, as he made it down the stairs. Andrei laughed, something that was rare for him but in the last 2 days he had been doing it often. She was feisty and he loved it. 

Looking in the fridge he pulled out some eggs and bacon and a pan he started to cook, his icy blues went to look at Xaviera when she was groaning and stretching. Something fueling him inside again. “Stiff baby girl?”

“A little bit. It’s been some full days… And I haven’t done any yoga in two weeks.” she replied. She sat down on her front, arching her back, getting into the cobra position, sighing as she felt her back pop, closing her eyes as the tension left her body little by little. Next, she supported herself on her forearms, letting the rest of her body go forward, doing an upward-facing two-foot staff pose.

“It helps relax and relieve a lot of tension.” she explained, bringing her feet closer until they were inches from her hands, her body forming an O form.

Andrei’s eyes went wide at her position, he couldn’t stop himself from turning completely around towards her, abandoning the cooking.

“That… that helps you relax?” He just started, his head running with sexual thoughts and shock “It looks like it fucking hurts..” he started to stalk towards he vulnerable position, admiring the way her body curved strong and delicately, running a finger along the curve of her body “I don't think I’ve stretched probably since I wa-” Andrei wanted to continue but smelt the burning bacon “Shit” he turned and ran back to the stove “motherfucker”

She couldn’t help but laugh at this, getting into the lotus position.

“Doesn’t hurt at all when you’ve done it for years… Felines are very flexible, Wolfy.” she answered his question with a wink, feeling herself be more confident, also very amused.

Turning off the stove and throwing out the breakfast gone to waste. His brow raised at the idea of so much flexibility being under his hands, he swallowed harshly controlling himself. “Well little kitty if you keep that up, you’re not going be able to even walk tomorrow.” He winked back then checked the fridge again, slamming it closed. “Welp, want some cereal?” He asked smirking.

She raised an eyebrow, an amused smile on her face. “How about you let me do the cooking. I don’t wanna see your hair on fire.” she said, ruffling his faux hawk hair. “How does pancakes sound? Or…. you want something specific?” she asked him.

Andrei pulled away slightly as she ruffled his light brown hair and looked down at her tugging at her hip he pulled her close and raised his brow “how about a feisty little American girl served on a plate?” He grinned licking one of his canines

Xaviera couldn’t help the laugh escaping her; a genuine one, amused by the Russian’s sexual humor. “You are such a horny dog.” she said with an amused smile. “Alright, so pancakes it is then…” she replied, starting to prepare the new breakfast.

Andrei moved his hands up in the air in a surrendered way, stepping back, only to smack her ass as she turned around and he walked around the kitchen island, putting space between them. The white-haired woman squeaked, almost dropping the batter for pancakes on the floor. She glared over her shoulder at him but decided to leave it at that if they actually wanted to eat something.

Xaviera started to cook, remembering how she missed her grandmother’s cooking. She learned to cook from her. After half an hour, she set the plates of pancakes on the table.

“Would you like any topping with them?” she asked the Russian.

“Let’s see” Getting up, Andrei went to the fridge finding some butter and strawberry jam, Xaviera just looked up at him and the ingredients in hand “let me show you something” moving to pancakes he took a knife cutting in down the middle “American pancakes are always too thick” he scoffed then took the thin pancake slicing it halfway down the middle and spreading the butter and jam on “this is Belini.. Russian traditional pancakes.. they are much thinner” he continued to show her as he folded it in half then half again “.. and now you can eat it with your hand” he grinned taking a bite

Xaviera had listened intently and did the same with her pancakes as Andrei did. “Like this?” she asked.

Andrei watched her carefully as she held the knife following his instructions, but she made a scary little flick upwards with the knife that made his eye focus hard “..Just- wait.” Coming beside her he skillfully grabbed the knife cutting the pancake for her “you were doing fine, just you’re not skilled with knives, I don't want you hurting yourself” Andrei grinned and let her finish. “Perfect myshka… now grab some vodka and you’re a true Russian” he joked take a bite of his food, memories coming back to him of his childhood

At that joke, she couldn’t help but chuckle. He was the only one who could make her laugh so easily.

“I think I had vodka one time… In college? I am not much of a drinker, to be honest… Maybe on certain occasions?” she told him with a shy smile.

Nodding he stared “Its not a liquor for everyone, its a strong one but it helps me relax when I’m home… shuts off my brain for a while.” Andrei told her then remembered some of his stupid drunken moments with his buddies but now it was just mostly him drinking alone just forcing his brain to turn off his active mind.

“I’m not very good at holding my alcohol… Plus I hate my drunken self… So yes. I stay sober.” she replied.

“What are you, an angry little drunk?” he asked with a soft laugh, taking another bite of his food.

Xaviera bites her lower lip, her face blushing furiously “I wish…” she whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Andrei stopped and squinted his eyes a little in thought “ok… let’s see” he got up and started to walk towards her, circling her like a predator ready to rip her throat out “so not an angry drunk and I don't think you’re a sad one just by what you’ve shown me so far… so maybe…” he was right behind her now, a towering figure “maybe with all your years of sexual frustration and that little blush i seemed to pull” Andrei leaned in, down to her neck for the kill “.. maybe you’re an overly sexual drunk” he smirked teasing his lips on her neck. 

She moaned lowly in her throat.

“W-What makes you….. S-So sure of it?” she asked, voice shuttering. The wolf moved his hands slowly to her thighs, moving upwards and underneath her shirt. 

“well baby girl.. ” He kissed her watching her come undone so easily at his touch “all those years of not getting any cant be good to hold in..” Andrei crept his large hands up, roaming her body as if it were new to him “and by the fact you took me like such a good little girl without any complaints,” he growled lowly next to her ear while one hand tweaked her nipple, pulling a soft mewl from her and he grinned wickedly “well.. that just tells me everything” Removing his hands quickly he walked back over to his chair watching her flustered appearance with sharp eyes “see.. look at ya”

She looked at him with a flustered red face, dumbfounded at what just happened. “You’re the most infuriating man I ever meet!” she snapped, Andrei broke into a full on laugh, something that was a rare sight, he hadn’t smiled and laughed this much in the last few days than any other time in his life. 

“I’ve heard that one before” sipping his tea he watched her turn away “.. you’re so cute when you’re flustered” getting up he made his way over to the fire place, putting some logs in and starting it up and also lighting his cigarette with the flames, and bringing himself to sit on the couch watching the snow start to gently fall. Turning his head to the woman still in the kitchen, washing the dishes, he spoke again “come here kitten”

Wiping her wet hands off, she walked over to him. “What’s the matter?” she asked with curiosity.

He just sat, watching the sway for her hips and swallowing his pride at the question “nothing… just want you” Andrei spoke motioning to his lap while taking a long drag of his cigarette. She was breaking him.

Slowly, she walked over until she was in front of him, standing there awkwardly for a few seconds, then she reluctantly put each of her knees on each side of him, getting onto his lap and looking at his naked broad chest.

She was so cute when she was unsure, so innocent and he was out to destroy her innocence one touch at a time. Hooking two fingers under you chin Andrei made her look up at him. Taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke in her face, something he thought was like affection. Capturing her in a kiss his one hand went down to support her hip while the other put the cigarette out in the ash tray and moved to her white soft hair, deepening the kiss. Andrei had never wanted someone so badly in his life, needed her for just affection, a foreign concept

Xaviera shivered as he touched her, he always managed to make her putty in his arms. She melted into the kiss, kissing back slowly, running her tongue over his bottom lip, while her hands played with his faux hawk, loving the feeling, like the fur of a wolf. “I love your hair.” she whispered against his lips.

Pulling away slightly he leaned his head back a little exposing the underside of his jaw casually and cocked a brow. It was a comment he had never received before. “You.. you like my hair?” He questioned ready to laugh, to him hair was just hair, it was nothing special.

Xaviera runs her fingers through his hair, humming at his question.  “Mhmm.. It’s wild like you…but also has a certain softness if you pay close attention.” she whispered as she leaves butterfly kisses down his throat, so gentle like he was made of glass.

Andrei’s eyes went icy and his smirk faded at the word “softness”. The wolf is not soft. Andrei is not soft. Sure he liked to care for some people here and there but soft is not a word he likes. His neck and jaw tensed and he knew she could feel it. With a swift motion his hand clamped around her jaw making her look up at his cold eyes in a warning. “And be reminded that I am wild myshka..” Andrei moves his face in close snarling “and I can take whatever I want from you, when I want it.” He growled and moved to her neck, hold her jaw upwards as he licked her bruises skillfully

Xaviera’s eyes widened at his words. She couldn’t help but mewl at his words, her eyes closing as he licked her bruised neck. “I-I’m sorry….” she whimpered.

“Good little girl” he growls, pulling away. Running his hands softly through her hair, pulling a few strands away. She was right. He was soft with her. Kissing her lips he moves along her jaw and towards her ear “I like yours too.” He smiles nibbling on her ear lobe. It made her sigh in pleasure, her hands running down his chest.

“A-Andrei….” she breathed out, feeling so vulnerable she tensed in the wolfs large arms. Andrei stopped for a moment, feeling her tense a little under his touch. His jokes were supposed to be funny not make her stiffen up, but he knew this was going to be a hard end for both of them. 

Instinctively he held her close for a moment then spoke. “I have an idea… what about a game?”

“A game? What kind of game?” she asked, a little confused.

“Well the other night when I was looking around the cottage they have some games on the shelf..” he kissed her forehead then lifted her off him as Andrei stood himself and walked towards the shelf “I figured everyone knows Jenga and in army I played it a lot when we were sitting around…” 

“I know the game.” her eyes lit up as she told him, getting comfortable on the couch.

Grabbing it down he placed it on the table “got any interesting bets?” He raised his scarred brow.

“Suuuuuure. What bet are you thinking about?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sitting on the armchair across from the couch eyeing up Xaviera like a feast “So.. you know me, I love a challenge so how about strip Jenga?” He gave his wolfish grin “and I’m shirtless and you’re pantsless so this can be fun”

The white-haired woman blushed at his proposition, “Seems fair I am on.” she told him, flashing a cheeky smile, making him chuckle.

Andrei gives a soft chuckle “alright… you know the rules… claim your block and if you pull it out without the tower falling you’re safe but if you can’t pull out the one you wanted then you lose something alright kitten?” Setting up the blocks he flashes his eyes glimmering with competition “ladies first”

“What a gentleman.” she mused, her eyes looking over the tower, inspecting it like a snake inspects a mouse, calculating in her head all the possibilities, until she settled for one in the middle of the tower, her tiny fingers clasping it and slowly pulling the block out.

“Your turn, Wolfy.” she says with amusement.

“If you didn’t know I’m a bit of a risk taker” he speaks with confidence eyeing up the bottom row like a jackass, pulling away the bottom left block and placing it at the top “be careful myshka”

Xaviera’s eyes were on him, the corner of her lip pulled up.

“I figured that one out from the first day I meet you, Wolfy.” she whispered, her gaze moving to the tower, choosing a piece from the top, being careful, her eyes switching from it to the bottom of the tower, making sure it wasn’t off-balance. She sighed as she managed to get this one too.

“You said something?” she asked with a little smug smile, trying to stop herself from giggling.

“Don’t be so smug yet darling… we are not done” his eyes are alive with the thrill of the game, losing himself a little he pulls the right block from the bottom row, hitching his breath as the tower swayed but it stood tall, he was safe. “Wanna give up?”

Xaviera bites her bottom lip. “Not one bit.” she said, her eyes scanning the tower, from left to the right, wondering what her next move should be. She chose one in the middle again, her teeth clamping on her bottom lip with every inch that she pulled out, the tower swaying a little. “Come on.” she whispered, managing to get the last inch out, a big smile on her face. “Don’t underestimate little ol’ me.” she said in an innocent voice, seeing him twitch in anticipation, eyes dark and competitive.

He needed to think of something else.. distraction.

“Alright, I see you…. ok I'm going for the 3rd row middle block” he claims knowing he wouldn't be able to pull it off. Andrei pulls and wiggles but its strong he can’t do it with out the tower falling “son of bitch… guess I have to remove something” He stands undoing his belt and pants leaving him just in his boxer briefs, dog tags and socks. “You’re turn baby girl” Andrei smirks catching her looking over him

Her eyes drift back to his face and she huffed, knowing she was blushing. “Aaaaalright, smart guy.” she mused, trying one from the upper row only not managing to get it out. She groaned.

“Fine…. One goes off from me too.” she said, getting her shirt off, not wearing a bra, her breasts were on display, the wolf tooth he gave her hanging between her breasts.

Fuck, she knew his weaknesses, she knew what the wolf wanted. He pulled his head down quickly not wanting to get too much of an eye full before losing himself. “Ugh ok…” he breathed slowly “here we go” he prayed on his skilled fingers to help him through Andrei went for the second top row pulling out the right block, watching the tower swayed a little, but he was safe, for now

Xaviera went for a middle top one, but it got stuck and when she tried to force it, she noticed the tower swaying, so she stopped. Her eyes moved up to him and she huffed. The last piece goes off. Her hands pulled on the waistband of her panties, his icy eyes followed all her movements, her teasingly slow pace was driving him mad, then throwing them in his face, it was over. 

The wolf growled throwing them back at her “Who knew you were such a dirty player” Andrei snarled, “but I’m still going to win” he said hopefully but he started to feel the burning desire in his core. He had to get this over quickly, Andrei never had the best self control.

His fingers twitching now he breathed slowly he went for the same exact block as Xaviera had just went for and he managed to pull it out slowly and carefully, holding his breath “FUCK yes!” Andrei yelled, losing himself in the game “what are you gonna do now baby girl?” making Xaviera chuckle at his enthusiasm.

She examined the tower, going for a top one, a little to the left, trying to balance the tower a little. She took her time, slowly pulling it out and she sighed, relieved. Looking up at him, she gave an innocent smile. “Your turn, all-mighty.” she said with a wink, her playful side coming out more and more.

His cockiness was getting the better of him and in a desperate stupid move Andrei pulled from the second row on the right a little too fast and his breath hitched as the tower wobbled and ended up tumbling down to the table “motherfucker!!” He yelled kicking the coffee table to have it loudly scrap against the hard wood.

“Looks like I am the big champion.” she said with a chuckle.

Andrei scoffed “of what? A stupid game?” He stood up putting his pants on and walking over to the kitchen, looking for some alcohol. He hated to lose anything, but also maybe it was his anger that they would part ways tomorrow bubbling up inside him.

Xaviera rolled her eyes at his childish attitude, getting herself dressed as well. “You cannot always win. Sometimes you lose.” she replied back, crossing her arms over her chest, only for Andrei to flip her off.

Turning around Andrei continues looking through the cupboards, finding a bottle of Himalayan whisky reserve. Not an alcohol he had tried before, cracking it open he takes a sip from the bottle with a hiss at the burn.

“Ugh, fuck… this is terrible.” But he pours himself a glass desperately trying to stop his active mind from the thoughts of leaving her tomorrow, but plays it cool and just walks to the couch swirling the unfamiliar liquid in the glass.

Xaviera raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head as he started to drink. “Drinking your defeat down?” she asked. 

Andrei harshly glared at her, the fur beginning to rise and claws sharpening, but he didn’t want to, it was his defense mechanism to be cold, the wolf kept him alive this long “You know you got a pretty smart mouth on ya.. if you don't stop I'm going end up putting it work” he spat. 

“Uhhhh…. I’m scared.” she said, and that’s all that was needed for the Russian to lose his patience. He sat his glass of alcohol on the table in front of the couch, then in a flash, his hand fisted her long snow-white hair, her knees meeting the hardwood floor, looking up at the wolf with wide eyes, in front of him between his legs.

“W-What are you doing?” the prey gasped as his free hand started to unbuckle the belt of his cargo pants, the sound of the zipper being tugged down followed. Flashing her a dark wicked smile with teeth bared the wolf pulled out his hard length. 

“Since you wanna act like a fucking brat, I’m gonna treat you like one.” he answered, hand wrapping around the veiny length, he tugged her head closer, as the preys hands were pushing against his muscular thighs. “None of that! Now…. Pucker up for Daddy.” the wolf growled, making her legs trembled as she meets his hard gaze, knowing there was no way out of this.

Gulping down, she puckered her lips, slowly inching closer until her lips meet the rosy tip, her eyes looking up at him all innocently from under her eyelashes. “Open up.” he ordered, but she kept her mouth shut, only to receive a slap to the cheek with his cock, making her blush furiously.

“Open up now, myshka…. Or I am gonna fuck your throat.” he warned her with harsh words, and prey did as she was told, opening her mouth, her tongue poking out and giving the tip a shy lick, only for him to growl again, making her squeak slightly. “Don’t fucking tease me.”

Gulping down, she wrapped her lips around the tip and going down, starting to suck, working her hot mouth more on the tip, while her other small hand was put around the base moving up and down.

“Aren’t you a fast learner, kitten?” he asked, chuckling as he pushed her further down his length, making her throat tense. Her tongue swirled around the tip, her free hand moving to grasp his balls gently, massaging them, making sure she pleased him, not creating discomfort. “My, my…. Myshka, you’re a natural.” the wolf praised, the tip of his fingers massaging her scalp.

The tip of her tongue moved over the little slit, pushing against it, making the wolf loudly growl in pleasure. Her eyes widen when both his hand’s fist into her white mane, in one quick move, pushing his whole length into her mouth and down her throat. Her hands quickly grasped his thighs, fingernails digging into his cargo pants as tears formed at the corner of her eyes, falling down her rosy cheeks. So beautiful.

“Now, that’s a good girl.” he growled, her throat constricting around his cock only for him to yank her off his cock, a string of saliva connecting his length and mouth. “Anything smart ya have to say, kitten?” he asked harshly, predatory eyes eating her alive.

Her swollen lips trembled, not able to even form a word. Not giving her any more time, he pushed back into her mouth and she tried to relax as much as possible, as he thrusts into her sweet little mouth. “That’s how you look the best…. with my cock down your throat, baby girl.” he growled, thrusting harshly inside her mouth, drool running down her chin.

“Here comes the prize, little slut.” he snarled, cumming inside her mouth, making her choke at the salty taste. the wolf pulled out quickly, making her squeak as he finished the rest on her face, rubbing the tip of his cock against her cum covered lips. A sick animalistic urge to see her covered in what she made him do. “Now, that’s a pretty face.” he commented, running his hand through her hair. The wolf had made yet another claim on the sweet prey, imprinting on her forever.

Xaviera gasped and swallowed harshly at what ever cum was on her tongue, as Andrei stroked her long locks, coming back to himself, he got up to the kitchen, grabbing a washcloth and dapping it warm water before coming back to his spot. 

“So beautiful, myshka.” he whispered, his hand stroking her cheek as he pressed a kiss to her forehead “Round two on Jenga?” Andrei asked with a smirk, his eyes glimmering with mischief. If he lost again maybe she would give it to him once more, he gave a soft smile as she nodded and giggled.

Their last day together was spent playing a few more rounds of jenga, laughing and learning more about each other, not just as predators but as people that got fucked over by the world. Their souls connecting even though Andrei stomped the table in two at the last round of the game. She accepting him and him accepting her as she came. The two ate dinner in silence, just enjoying each others company, drinking tea and exchanging stolen glances. 

Andrei had never felt more at home tonight than any other time in his life, Xaviera sitting on his lap with her back pressed against his naked chest, in front of the roaring fireplace, just breathing, touching, and being grateful for one another. Nothing else mattered in the world when she was around. The wolf felt free, but at the same time never so chained down in his life. He wanted, he needed to be around her, she was a soul that needed protection from the sick world, like an endangered species, Xaviera needed to be safe in his arms, no where else. 

She leaned her head back against the Andrei’s chest, feeling his chest move up and down with each breath, he looked down at her, studying her beautiful features in case they would never cross paths again. They just savored the quietness and peacefulness that like home. Different predators with lives people tried to steal were safe together tonight.

Andrei’s mind raced, not with terrible memories or haunting screams but just thoughts of her, the beautiful dangerous creature he held. As she fell asleep Andrei didn’t want to miss a thing, every scrunch of her nose to every little twitch. He was grateful for her and he didn’t want to let go, he knew no one else would accept him they way she did, and in his dangerous life Andrei learned to hold these special moments close and not waste them because there was always the potential that his time would be up tomorrow. 

Don’t let her go... Be grateful... Don’t let her go 

[prorevenge]

Sergeant DGAF 'Bout Your Emergency

So this started more than a decade ago, but I remember (most of) it like yesterday. It is my own story, and I tell this from my perspective. This is a long story, but I promise you will be staring at the screen, thinking “dafuq?” by midway through.

Background

Early 2000s. I was in the military, mid 20s, stationed somewhere in Europe. Rank E-4. It’s a bit different when you’re stationed overseas, and your squadron basically becomes your extended family. The Mission is always priority #1, but everyone tries to go the extra mile to make sure their people are taken care of. This was my second assignment, and my second overseas assignment.

I had just gotten married when I was on an extended leave back in the States, during my PCS (Permanent Change of Station; officially changing your assigned base) to this new location. I became an instant father overnight, now having a wife and a 3-year-old (step) daughter when I had none before. My wife became pregnant with our son about 5 months later.

My new supervisor was a Master Sergeant, who I will call Bastar(d) Sergeant [sic], or BS, for the rest of this. Bastar-Sergeant the Master Sergeant.

BS was a family man, married for a while (about ~15 years or so) and had two kids with his wife, as well as two kids of his own from a previous marriage, with his wife ALSO having two kids from a previous marriage. This is relevant because BS, being a family man with six kids ages 4 to 17, often would have stuff going on with his family and need to cut out early, miss morning briefings, and so on.

It was no big deal if we weren’t working on mission critical stuff. It’s rough when the nearest military hospital is 30-45 mins away at another military facility and you can only depend on your own immediate family and fellow military members. Just about everyone, BS especially with his larger family, had to cut in and out of work fairly frequently when we didn’t have big things going on. But hey, take care of your people, they’ll take care of the mission.

Now, BS and I got along really well at first. He and his wife were both quite the “socialites” and would constantly – damn near every weekend – have parties at their house and invite people over. It was fun at first, but it really grew tiresome. Being a new family man myself, and really just starting to figuring it all out (translated: how to keep your wife happy and not both be miserable, while still trying to be a functional adult in the military), and I just could NOT keep up with the party-every-weekend lifestyle.

BS and Mrs. BS drank a lot at those parties, too. You could tell it took a toll on their health. I guess that might be tempting with that many kids, and a 17-turning-18 daughter that had just gotten pregnant with her foreign boyfriend, but I digress…

Like I said, I just couldn’t keep up, not every weekend. I slowly fell out of favor with BS and his “Good ol’ Boys Club.” He wasn’t hostile per-se, but there were times he would just get mean, and with increasing frequency. He would call me into his office for tiny things, like thinking I had shown up to work late, when I could prove that I had been logged in on my terminal 10 minutes before start time – meaning I was at least 15-20 mins early due to walking times, putting my coat and stuff in lockers, etc. But my terminal’s clock, synched with the atomic clock, didn’t matter compared to his clock on the wall.

I was also called out for attending big medical appointments for my wife’s pregnancy, like being there when they determined my son was a boy – I was called out specifically when everyone else was doing the same thing.

The assignment was slowly turning into hell. Meanwhile, the members of the Good ol’ Boys Club would often be very late (without phoning), constantly going to appointments, and so on. There was definitely some favoritism going on. But in such a small unit, overseas, what can you do? The guy was even buddy-buddy with the First Sergeant, and they had been friends since bootcamp.

Anyway, enough background. Onward!

​

The Main Event

This is where things got crazy. My son had just been born, healthy and at a good weight, not even two weeks earlier. I came home from work after a very long day, about 13 hours on a normal 8 hour shift, due to some stuff breaking.

My wife was exhausted because she was still healing from the birth, and our son had gotten really, really cranky and irritable through the day. He was non-stop fussing and feeling slightly warmer, but not quite running a fever.

I let her go to sleep, and to give her peace, I tried to sleep in the chair downstairs with the kiddo bundled up on me. He got worse and worse through the night, and at about 0300 hrs, I noticed that his diaper smelt really strange (sorry to gross you out), with just pee. It was a sickly smell, not at all what anything from a human body should ever smell like. He seemed hot, so I went to take his temperature. He had risen to 103.5 F – VERY dangerous for an infant.

Fuck.

I immediately wake up my wife and rush him to the hospital. She stays behind at home with our daughter, since the ER is no place to keep a young kid and we didn’t know anyone that could watch her at that late of an hour.

Since it would have taken longer to wait on an ambulance out in the countryside, I sped to get him to the military hospital’s ER in about 20 mins. They immediately put him on fluids and call in the on-call pediatrician. They move him to the ICU, and after a few long hours, I get told that they believe he has a urinary tract and kidney infection, and while they had gotten his temperature down to a safer spot, we weren’t out of the woods yet.

While waiting, knowing that my regular work day was coming up, I tried calling everyone’s phone number I had, but nobody answered. At the gym probably. After leaving some voicemails, I gave up and decided to wait until people roll in at 0700 hrs. I kept trying to call the unit phone number, but no one answered until 0720. I get asked by one of the guys where I was, I let him know I’m at the hospital due to an emergency with my newborn, and he gets BS over to the phone.

​

BS: OP, where you at?

Me: I’m at the hospital. My son is in the ICU, had a fever of 104 and a serious infection. I’ve been up all night and haven’t slept.

BS: Well you should be at work. You missed PT, and you’re late.

Me: *pausing, because, WTF?* … I need to come into work? My son had to go to the ER, he’s in the ICU…

BS: I don’t want to hear it. You’ve already been late multiple times. [but not really, as I mention above] *angrily* Get your ass down here!

Me: … Uh, well I’m not in uniform. I will have to stop by my house. One parent is required to be here, so I need to see if one of my neighbors can give my wife a ride to the hospital, and our daughter has to be dropped off at school because children can’t be in the ICU.

BS: Just get here. *hangs up*

​

I was completely floored. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

At no point in my entire military career, before and since then, have I EVER heard of anyone being forced to come in to work when an immediate family member was in the hospital for an emergency. I was half confused, half outraged, and wholly beside myself.

My wife shows up, I take the car home after updating her and making plans to take care of our daughter while we rotate shifts at the hospital. I did a very quick SSS – shit, shower, shave – and drive over to the shop.

BS ignored me when I arrive, other than a sidelong disapproving look. I start my usual routine, but I am exhausted, worried sick, and pretty fucking angry all at once. Some of my coworkers heard what happen and are concerned, but BS the tyrant seems to be angry himself and no one wants to approach him.

​

Revenge, Part 1

A few hours went by, with me keeping in touch with my wife on the status of our son. I tried approaching BS a few times, but he was having none of it.

One of the other Master Sergeants in the squadron, part of a different unit, but whom I had worked with before, came by and noticed me probably looking distraught. We’ll call her Hero Sergeant, or HS. She pulls me aside to one of the quiet corners of the shop.

​

HS: OP, are you okay? You look terrible?! Is something wrong?

Me: [I tell her about my son being sick and in the ICU – I was barely able to hold my composure in at this point, I was so angry yet so worried and downtrodden about my son, and I’m fighting to keep it together through the exhaustion and lack of sleep.]

HS: WHAT?! Why the hell are you here?!

Me: I’m not sure. BS ordered me to come in when I tried to explain. He won’t talk to me.

HS: Fuck that. Hang tight.

HS then quickly walks off. Now, our unit is on the other side of the base from the main squadron: about 15 minutes later, just enough time to drive to the squadron and back, HS appears – along with our unit Captain, and the squadron’s Major (XO to our Lt. Colonel CO).

The Major storms toward the unit office section, pauses and looks right at me, and says in an obviously angry but soft voice…

Major: OP, get out of here. Your place of duty is the hospital until your son is discharged. Don’t step foot in one of these buildings until then, I don’t care how long it takes. Take care of your family. Are we clear?

Me: *as I start to scramble* Yes, sir.

Major: *yelling* BS, GET YOUR ASS IN THIS OFFICE RIGHT NOW!

​

I proceed to quickly gather my shit together, all while seeing BS head toward that same office door and he gives me a glowering look on his way in.

As I leave, there is no possible way to doubt that everyone in the area, probably the whole building, could hear BS get absolutely reamed and raked over the coals by the Major as I departed. The Major was always a quiet and fair man, I had never seen him anywhere even approaching angry, so it was absolutely terrifying to behold.

I have to admit, it felt good to know that he was getting some of what he deserved.

My son did clear up eventually and was discharged from the hospital 5 days later, healthy and no harm done, thank God!

I know this first part’s “revenge” isn’t quite revenge, but it was sweet, sweet karma to see that asshole put in his place. Still, as good as it was, it made things worse between BS and I much, much worse.

​

Fallout

Well after all that, BS hated my guts. Obviously, it would be career suicide to openly retaliate against me, so he found little ways to do so at every opportunity. That wasn’t to say I didn’t have my faults, I certainly did, and I made mistakes no doubt, but what he did was particularly underhanded.

You see, it wasn’t until he PCS’ed to his new assignment that I learned what he had done. My new Sergeant (NS) was awesome, highly relatable, and knew BS from previous deployments together - he indicated on more than a few occasions that he wasn’t exactly fond of BS.

In the meantime, I had gone to training to become a Sergeant myself and graduated at the top of my class with honors. I then went on to another deployment to the “sandbox” and came back with some major kudos from leadership there, working my butt off every day wanting to prove I was more than what BS tried to paint me as. It was after my return to home station that I learned what BS had been up to - completely behind the scenes.

Remember how even the First Sergeant was buddy-buddy with BS? Well the FS had also PCS’ed while I was deployed. Our new FS went through everyone’s Personnel Information Files (PIFs) and discovered that I had a massive - and I mean massive - stack of Letters of Counseling (basically, you got a “talking to,” and the LOC is documentation proving it) and even a Letter of Admonishment (LOA), a more serious version just under a Reprimand.

I found out from NS that when he and his boss were talking with FS, he was wondering how the hell I hadn’t been kicked out of the service with such a track record. But then he also noted how suspicious it was that every single one of the LOCs and the LOA lacked my signature - something that is required by regulations, acknowledging your reception of it (though not admitting guilt).

I had never been shown these, nor had any idea they existed. The majority of them were very minor infractions, almost none of which I had committed in any fashion. Even more strange, NS caught onto details that there were four of them dated for the same time I was in training (at a different base / different country), and one during a short deployment I had gone on earlier. It didn’t add up, and all three sergeants found it rather confusing and shady.

Thankfully, my performance once I was out of the shadow of BS was more than enough to convince all three sergeants that I was not the dirtbag that BS was trying to paint me as. I don’t know the details, but I do know that his pseudo-forgeries (he could just claim they were “incomplete” and not meant to be filed) caught up to him and he caught some flak for it. He retired not long later, and I hope that it was a black mark on his record.

​

Revenge, Part Two

So this is where it gets interesting again. Fast forward about four more years. I had gotten out of the service by then, finishing my second enlistment, and I moved back to the States to take advantage of the GI Bill.

It’s also worth mentioning that I’m an IT guy, and I’ve always got at least a dozen boxes of parts, tools, and hard drives. It’s also what I was in college for at the time.

I’m going through a stack of old ATA hard drives to see what I could salvage for a lab projects (we basically needed a bunch of “victim” machines to test against, and a few of us had old ATA motherboards hanging around). I’m checking them before I scramble/wipe the drives to make sure they’re working fine, and to make sure I’m not deleting wanted files/archives.

I’m flipping through this drive’s old files, nothing much beyond typical Windows folders, until I hit a buried directory with a bunch of images in it. I can tell they’re of the X-rated kind from thumbnails - not surprising, I’m a guy, and who didn’t have a sizeable porn stash in their single days, right?

But then I realized… these weren’t porn shots. These were homemade. It definitely wasn’t anything I had ever done. But I recognized something almost immediately - a unique lower back “tramp stamp” on the woman in the photos (faces were never shown). A tattoo I remember clearly: one of the wives of a guy in my old unit was showing it off after she had gotten it.

And the guy she’s on top of? Far, far too pasty of a skin tone to be her husband. It was then that I realized that this was one of the drives I had salvaged from a broken old PC that BS had given me for parts, back when we were still on good terms.

BS had been cheating on his wife with one of his subordinate's wife. Looking at the background of the photos, it was obvious that this was in the home of BS, too - if you remember, we had all been there many times.

Time to extract some revenge. I would like to tell you that I did some cool scene out of Mr. Computer or some crap like that, but really, simple efficiency won out here.

I knew BS, Mrs. BS, and the other couple were all on Facebook (they’d often come up as recommended friends-of-friends). I created an account that vaguely sounded like someone we could all know, and had military work history to match the assignment, in order to protect my own privacy/identity. I sent a few messages each to Mrs. BS and the husband of the tattooed wife. Once I got responses asking, basically, “Who is this?” I just pasted a number of select photos from the private photo shoot.

Mrs. BS, obviously recognizing her husband’s body and their old home in Europe, kept saying “WHAT THE FUCK?” - I said I was just the messenger, and to do with the photos what she pleased.

The husband of the tattooed wife first thought my new identity was the man in the photos and started to threaten me, until I told him to pay special attention to the background. He realized who the man in the photos was, having also been in that house countless times, and thanked me for telling him the truth. While we weren’t close, I do feel really bad for him. :(

(I didn’t feel too bad for Mrs. BS because she turned into a snob when BS got mean.)

I heard through my buddies from the unit that both couples were divorced, roughly a year later. All the old crew knew exactly who had cheated with who. I also heard that the divorce of BS and Mrs. BS was particularly bad. Nobody knows who leaked the photos, though.

​

Closing

This is the first time I have admitted to what I did, just for the sake of revenge and getting back at the bastard who did so much to personally attack me, even in a time of need, and who very nearly ruined my military career. Part of the reason I decided to get out of the service was because of him - I never wanted one person to have that much control over my life again.

I hope you enjoyed my story, sorry it was so long, but there was just so much that happened. I could add even more crap that he did, too.

​

And to Bastar-Sergeant, if you ever read this someday, I’m sure you will have realized who I am. I only have one thing to say to you: Fuck you - you deserved it.

(source) story by (/u/Celesae)

[alkaliyogi]

WE ARE CURRENTLY IN HELLS PIT OF FIRE AND MISERY…

How did we get here?

2020 is shaping-up to be quite a year; we lost Kobe an important figure to sports yes, but more importantly a role model for black fathers and especially fathers to beautiful brown skinned girls. Now we have COVID, deaths, social distancing and possibly (and I shudder at this thought) mandatory vaccines in the near future.   

Many people lack the vitality and life-force energy required to participate in a democracy. This is not by accident. It was designed this way. 

There is a long history of manipulation of the human race at the hands of the 1% of the 1%- this is what I predict will happen on the other side of COVID;

Travel will become more of a nightmare than it already is. More abuse at the hands of underpaid/overworked security personnel and undignified body searches. I worked in aviation for over 10 years- if you still believe that Arab men flew those aircrafts into the Pentagon and World Trade Towers you are ignorant of the concept of protected air space. The planet’s only Superpower had comprehensive protected air space before, during and after the “attack” on America. Military and law enforcement of this great land long adopted the motto of “shoot first, ask questions later” long before Bin Laden was a spec in his father’s testicles. Besides, who spends more on their military and the protection of their own country than the world’s Superpower?

Already, we are subjected to unnecessary liquid restrictions- you can’t even bring a tub of hummus onboard with you...pause for reaction. If you choose to believe that restricting liquids has saved your life, I invite you to watch a lighthearted episode of “Adam Ruins Everything” where they covered ‘security theatre’ designed to provide you, the average citizen, with little more than a false sense of security.  And if you look at what constitutes a ‘potential terrorist’-it’s a pretty broad net covering how you wear your baseball cap all the way to facial hair grooming standards. Seems like legalized stereotyping, unless of course you’re a polished white male in corporate America.

But perhaps in the fight against mandatory vaccines- even the average white male may find himself in the trenches with us.

Will it be vaccines passports or vaccines with hardware implanted in our bodies? Will we eventually replace handheld passports for data stored in a fingerprint, retina or swab sample? Is that where we’re headed to already? Let’s keep things in perspective, shall we? Thousands of people died on September 11th. Millions more have died at the end of a gun- but the policy makers are very selective with what tragedies they will amplify and how they’ll pick and choose (based on their own agenda) when to introduce new bills or change laws. So even though innocent children die every single year in the greatest country on earth- purchased votes by the NRA (formerly the KKK) prevent amendments to the Second Amendment. Ain’t that something? An Amendment that can’t be amended. You’d think it was written by God and not men. Illusions of grandeur coupled with idolizing the forefathers of America is the exact opposite of being Christian, spiritual, a person of faith, etc. The is the same type of fandom associated with pre-adolescent girls and boy bands.   

An inside job designed to illicit fear of a common enemy (and weapons of mass destruction) became justification for us giving away many of our personal freedoms (i.e. fingerprints scans, eye retina scans, mass surveillance by our smart phones, email providers, search engines, CCTV, etc.). Does this sound familiar? It’s happened before and millions were executed as a result. Hitler wanted complete control of his people- unwavering compliance and that’s exactly where we are headed if The Gates Foundation and the WHO have anything to say about it. China is already practicing this type of population control with their face-recognition software and social behavioural grading system that assigns citizens a credit score that impacts your ability to navigate everything in your life from career, to housing to who and how one travel. Is this what we want? Who benefits? Not you, not I. 

There is growing evidence that COVID is a man-made (military controlled) virus. To many this may seem utterly ridiculous. I would invite you to research this information as discovered by numerous holistic doctors (who have been censored on Google but are searchable on Qwant, a reliable search engine free from the prying eyes of Google surveillance. If you’re wondering why the government would allow for something like a manufactured virus to be unleased on it’s on citizens let me help you. It begins with big pharma and ends with decreasing the human population.

As it stands today over 300,000 people have died- not from COVID but from underlying health issues. Like an episode of Black Mirror- doctors and health professionals are threatened if they don’t adhere to naming COVID as the cause of death. It doesn’t take a genius to observe that the overwhelming majority of people that contracted COVID recovered because they did not have underlying health issues. The Italian Parliament recently went viral for stating this. I’ll say it again, the COVID virus does not kill. Ask any self-respecting health professional/scientist that is not on the receiving end of grants issued by big pharma.  Even the CDC has been corrupted, pick-up a copy of Marcia Angell’s book; The Truth About the Drug Companies: How They Deceive Us and What to Do About It. Marcia Angell was the first woman to serve as Editor-In-Chief at The New England Journal of Medicine, the most influential science journal in the world. She’s done her part to warn us of how drug companies collude not for the benefit of the public, but for their own gain. History will show unequivocally that the real tragedy was not COVID- but the mandatory vaccines that have polluted our bodies for years with unsafe levels of heavy metals, formaldehyde, MSG and more to render your well enough to stay alive and on medications until you die. Newer vaccines will also render you sterile. That is the pandemic we’re headed towards.

Big pharma is greater and more powerful than any government on the planet. And what’s more, they’ve purchased almost every single politician there is to be purchased. In medicine, the first rule is ‘Do no harm’. In Aviation the first rule is ‘if we don’t know, we don’t go’. Thousands of people have had their lives permanently changed when their once healthy children were exposed to vaccines that left them autistic, some children have even died. Unless you can prove without a shadow of a doubt that vaccines are not harmful and toxic (which they have not proven) why do we agree to subject perfectly healthy, clean bodies to foreign matter? And no, vaccines did not eradicate polio- you can still catch that shit. The difference is more people have access to clean food and water today than ever before. As more and more countries develop, more of the planet’s population can practice better hygiene. Vaccines have cured nothing. Measles, malaria, hepatitis are still around!

Fun fact: the US government actually owns more patents of the measles virus than anyone else. Something to chew on.

Are we going to roll over and pretend that the supposed benefits of a vaccine for a non-lethal virus outweighs the damage is can have to the nervous system and reproductive functions of millions of people? We’re already dying a slow death with pollution in the air, water, food and soil we’re consuming. A great portion of the population is already unable to conceive naturally- which is your body’s way of telling you your currently too sick to create new life. So, what do we do? We employee fertility specialists to implant us with embryos instead of addressing the foundational causes and habits for our body’s rejection of bringing new life to our sick planet. 

The world’s population is nearing 8 billion- very few people have died during this pandemic relative to deaths associated to lung cancer, breast cancer, heart disease, medical drug overdoses, etc. It’s sad that we lost anyone. I live in Brooklyn, New York so I’m not removed from the collective loss we’re experiencing. Let’s also take a moment to step back and take a deep breath. This was never a reason to make us anxious, depressed and fearful of each other. This is how they separate and then conquer us.  And it’s certainly not a reason to change our way of living and give away more personal freedoms (that were fought and paid for).

I’m calling on citizens of the world. Stand-up! We are many in numbers- they are few. Don’t let them violate you or anyone else in a way that is not humane.

One last interesting fact to research- the United States Supreme Court or Congress (depending on which article you come across) that vaccines are ‘unavoidably unsafe’. And the kicker? If you or a loved one are damaged from a vaccine you can’t sue the vaccine manufacturers. How’s that for democracy?! Look it up for yourselves, but not on Google.

 Stay up!

Alkali Yogi

[musutofu]

【 Dating Muscular 】

Muscular sees himself as the height of the human form, superior to any average person by every definition of the word. He was born as an apex predator, gifted a body that is nothing short of a weapon of mass destruction and a mind that isn’t afraid to use it. There isn’t anything that can stop him from quenching his boundless thirst for blood. Anything or anyone that tries will learn the true extent of his strength and be crushed in the process. He doesn’t have the time or the patience to be dictated to by governing laws and the society built around it. If Muscular wants to do something what in this world is going to stand in his way?

It turns out that something is you. Small and fragile, at least compared to his mountainous physique, Muscular had every intention of killing you where you stood upon your first meeting. It wasn’t you in particular that he wanted to kill, but by virtue of your proximity he decided he might as well kill two birds with one stone. Or, at least, that was his plan until you made a promise to his original target. Knowing most people can’t keep their promises he decided to let you leave with your life, but still killed the person you’d made a promise to. He meant to simply kill you after you refused to fulfill your promise now that they were dead but came up short when you went above and beyond to do just as you said you would even after hearing the news of their death.

Having never been in such a situation before–that’s what he gets for playing with his prey–Muscular is uncertain of how to move forward. He kept tabs on you all that time just to kill you in the end, but now he has no real reason to and doesn’t have his usual urge to blindly kill you because he can. It’s still a niggling thought at the back of his head but it’s different from the blinding bloodlust he usually feels. It’s not so much a kill or die feeling so much as it’s an I could but I won’t type of feeling. It’s a foreign feeling and entirely confusing which makes it harder for Muscular to keep his composure while stalking you. It’s honestly a miracle that you haven’t noticed him yet.

But by the time you do it’s much too late for you to try to get away from him. You had all the time in the world to run away and change your name or whatever it is victims do when they manage to get away–he wouldn’t know–but instead you made the decision to keep to your normal routine. Admittedly it’s partially his fault for keeping to the shadows and not making his presence known. You’d probably be long gone if you felt unsafe due to his near constant but unseen presence. Usually he’d loathe someone with such a nonexistent self preservation instinct but in this one instance he’s grateful for the lack of difficulty your obliviousness gives him. And it’s never much of a fight even if they do decide to fight back.

There was enough foresight on his part after watching you for so long to prepare a place for you to stay if he ever decided to take you. It’s not a particularly glamorous residence but it has the basic necessities and is located somewhere no one would question him for your screams or resemblance to the missing person posters. You’re well fed and have a place to sleep and that’s what matters. Not because Muscular is a caring kidnapper but because if anything is going to kill you it’s going to be him. Not starvation or infection from a poor living environment. Him. And he makes certain that you know that in case you start denying your food or wallowing in your own filth as a form of protest.

Fighting against him is useless. Muscular was quick to inform you of your inferiority, making sure that you knew he had been planning to kill you and the only thing keeping you alive was him. If you fight him you’re surely lose and Muscular doesn’t deal out defeats unless it’s a fatality. If you still decide to fight him he’ll prove that he isn’t just saying things to scare you into submission. He’s not afraid to hurt you. In fact, it brings him pleasure. So unless you’re hoping that death will free you from his captivity then it would be better for you to just do as he says and avoid punishment.

The attraction between the two of you is purely circumstantial. One might call it Stockholm Syndrome but Muscular prefers to think of it as logical. You’re both together in the same place whenever he isn’t out terrorizing the citizens of Japan. It’s only natural that the two of you have learned to tolerate each other’s existence. Once you’ve proven that you aren’t faking your resignation to a life with him Muscular will calm down if only a little. He won’t be as overbearing as when he initially stole you away but it will take a while for him to completely relax. He’s already made the mistake of being overconfident in his ability to intimidate you into submission so he isn’t likely to completely drop his guard until he’s absolutely certain you’ve made peace with your new life.

If you ever get to a point where you start taking liberties and being more uppity than Muscular can tolerate he won’t hesitate to hurt you. It won’t be a punishment based on the severity of your crime either. If Muscular wants to hurt you he’s going to hurt you. You’re body is fragile to someone of his strength and if you want to gamble with your breakable body then he’ll happily indulge you. And when he decides he’s done he’ll leave you to clean up whatever mess you caused him to make. Unless you’re on the verge of death and maybe even then depending on how angry you’ve made him, Muscular will put you in charge of figuring out how to heal whatever bodily harm he’s done to you. If that means you’ll end up permanently mutilated because you don’t know how to make neat sutures or set bones then so be it. It’ll be a reminder not to test his patience.

Knowing that he is stronger than you is something Muscular prides himself on. He’s stronger than most people but he knows that you know that he’s definitely stronger than you. Sometimes he touches you just to prove a point. He’ll squeeze your arm until he leaves bruises hit you hard enough to break your skin. It’s an odd sort of pleasure for him to have physical proof of his dominance over you. Because while he’s grown used to keeping his brutal tendencies at bay when it comes to you there’s only so long he can go before his need to hurt people becomes too much to deny. Unless he’s legitimately angry with you he’ll likely stop once he gets the results he wants.

If Muscular ever returns home in an inconsolable mood the quickest way to get him to calm down is to hurt yourself. Not enough to do any lasting harm, but enough to make yourself bleed. It’ll sate him for the time being. He has an odd obsession with your blood. It’s not the same as the bloodlust he feels when he sees other people. It’s less all consuming. He doesn’t want to splatter you all over the walls–not so much that he can’t ignore the desire–but he does want to see your blood. The scent of it is like a sedative to him. As long as you aren’t slashing your guts open in some spectacularly lethal fashion Muscular can be soothed by a few drops of your blood.

No matter how much time passes his desire to kill you will never fully disappear. It’s gotten smaller and smaller since he’s learned to tolerate you as a fellow person rather than a bug to be crushed under his boot but never truly went away. If you ask Muscular won’t deny that he’d enjoy killing you if he got the chance to. Although he no longer sees proximity as reason enough to kill you if something were to happen he would revel in the opportunity to finally murder you like he originally planned to. If, say, the police finally gained some competence and found where he was hiding you; he’d kill you. If you contracted some illness that was slowly killing you he might consider letting you go to the hospital even though he knows you probably wouldn’t feel obligated to return. His more logical reaction would be to kill you before your sickness got the chance.

Muscular has no intentions of ever telling you that he loves you. It would be a lie if he did. There’s no love between you at least not from his perspective. It was mere curious out and intrigue that brought the two of you together. Love had nothing to do with it. And if you say it to him whether it’s out of self preservation because you think it’s what he wants from you or because you truly think you’re in love with him, Muscular will tell you that you’re wrong. He doesn’t want your love. If anything he wants your life.

[healthpeak02-blog]

Deborah Eisenberg’s Short Stories Are Sharp Enough to Cut Deep

It isn’t long before an elegiac note sounds in Deborah Eisenberg’s latest book of short fiction, Your Duck Is My Duck. In the first story, the narrator begins:

Way back—oh, not all that long ago, actually, just a couple of years, but back before I’d gotten a glimpse of the gears and levers and pulleys that dredge the future up from the earth’s core to its surface—I was going to a lot of parties.

That retrospection, tinged with rueful wisdom and more than a little melancholy, is central to the collection, Eisenberg’s first in twelve years and her fifth since Transactions in a Foreign Currency heralded her arrival in 1986.

Eisenberg’s early stories often focused on a certain kind of lost girl—bright but slightly overwhelmed, a little too pliable to the people around her—trying to find a place for herself in a rudely inhospitable world. When Eisenberg was working her comic mode, the travails of these women rose to the level of modern-day screwball comedy: thinking of 1987’s “A Cautionary Tale,” a classic account of Manhattan bootstrapping, I still laugh at how the heroine indignantly admits to herself, at the low point of an impossible waitressing gig, that “This was not how she had imagined her adulthood.”

Thirty-some years later, Eisenberg’s protagonists are likely to be women of a certain age, members, however tenuously, of the creative class, and still city dwellers acutely attuned to the mores of a world that’s passing them by. (“No one met people in person any longer—you couldn’t hear what they were saying” is the most concise summary of New York restaurant culture I may ever need to read.) Most saliently, these modern selves find themselves unexpectedly alone (breakups are a recurring motif) and only too aware of the shadows lengthening all around them.

In one new story, “Cross Off and Move On,” a narrator reckoning with the death of her last surviving relative thinks, “Yes, off they go, my old allies, sailing right through the radiant shield at the edge of the universe, blending into darkness.” In “Recalculating,” a former dancer mourning a long-ago lover feels “brittleness fretting her bones, youth streaming from her in galaxies of sparkly molecules.”

These women have even more to contend with than aging and loss. Because they’re Deborah Eisenberg characters, they are also coping with what it feels like to be alive, as educated, alert citizens of a Western society, in the early years of the twenty-first century, when old-fashioned everyday anxieties have given way to something like dread. As in her previous collection, Twilight of the Superheroes (2006), Eisenberg is able to dramatize how the diabolical crawl that appeared on the bottom of TV news screens in the days after 9/11 found a counterpart inside people’s heads—and just what a toll our new normal of permanent crisis is taking on them. In the title story, a painter says to the doctor who’s prescribing her sleeping pills:

“It’s beginning to look like a photo finish—me first, or the world. It’s not so hard to figure out why I’m not sleeping. What I can’t figure out is why everybody else is sleeping.”

(This is from a story, by the way, that was originally published in 2013.)

The painter in “Your Duck Is My Duck” later meets an avant-garde puppeteer whose magnum opus, The Hand That Feeds You, is such a blunt allegory of life under terminal capitalism that it leaves the audience at its premiere, a select handful of one-percenters, momentarily speechless. The scene is bleakly funny in a way that feels just right for our present moment. But the story’s coda fulfills the puppet show’s preemptive title and then some, acknowledging how the two artists’ reliance on those one-percenters for patronage implicates them in the same system—a subtle reshuffling of our assumptions that’s characteristic of Eisenberg’s method throughout these stories.

In real life, the charge “first-world problems” became a reductive cliché almost overnight, so it’s especially gratifying in this book to see the idea explored humanely and from so many angles. Beings of conscience, Eisenberg’s characters are haunted by a suspicion that their relatively well-off lives might somehow be linked to all the hypocrisies, inequities, and worse that are the stuff of daily headlines—the stuff of our malaise, in other words. (As a character in her story “Twilight of the Superheroes” asked himself back in 2004, “Then again, how far away does something have to be before you have the right to not really know about it?”)

The theme gets its most expansive treatment in the novella “Merge,” which traces the shifting fortunes of Keith, a slippery scion of privilege headed for rock bottom after his domineering father, CEO of a rapacious multinational, kicks him out of their home. Eisenberg has long specialized in a comedy of aggrievement, and at first Keith’s indignation, his perplexity at having to fathom how ordinary people go about their lives, yield some of the funniest scenes in this book. When Celeste, an NGO worker who is also a potential romantic interest, tells him she’s about to embark on fieldwork in Slovakia, he thinks: “Slovakia? That was what she meant by Europe?”

Celeste’s trip to Europe—and points beyond, in several senses—is the hinge on which the story turns; it leads to a widening of scope that puts Keith’s struggles in a stark new light. The fascination with multiple perspectives that distinguishes Eisenberg’s later stories comes into full effect in “Merge,” whose changing points of view ask us to consider, among other things, dramatically different definitions of what it might mean to be homeless, and why some people become victims while others, heedless or even undeserving, get to flourish.

That said, even after repeat readings I’m not sure how all of the story’s thematic elements, which grow to include mental illness and theories of language, cohere into a persuasive whole. At the same time, it’s evident that a late Eisenberg story isn’t interested in surrendering its meanings too easily. A case in point here is “The Third Tower,” the outlier in the collection: set in a world both like and unlike our own, it features a young woman receiving treatment for a psychological condition that scans a lot like unfettered creativity. Something other than naturalism, the story testifies to Eisenberg’s formal restlessness, the way she regularly tests the four walls and ceiling of short-story form.

No account of Your Duck Is My Duck is complete without a mention of how gracefully this writer, tagged earlier in her career as a quintessential urban sophisticate, renders the natural world. “Recalculating” includes a beautiful description of a hurricane descending on a Midwestern prairie, and “Your Duck Is My Duck” has this snapshot of a wildfire witnessed from a great height:

Accident had selected me to observe, in whatever way I could, the demonic, vengeful, helpless, ardent fires as they consumed the trees that had replaced the crops—to observe the moment when, at the heart of the conflagration, the trees that sustained it became phantoms, the fire’s memory.

It’s typical that these lyrical outbursts are prompted by natural disasters—appropriately for a collection that regularly glances over its shoulder at environmental collapse along with every other kind of decline.

How much needs to be said about a writer who has very little left to prove? Across four decades Deborah Eisenberg has steadily enlarged her vision while refining her art. Her writing adds to our collective store of wit, empathy, and intelligence. If you haven’t read her yet, by all means start with Your Duck Is My Duck, and then waste no time in getting your hands on her Collected Stories, the chunky 2010 trade paperback that gathers the rest of her singular body of work.

FICTION Your Duck Is My Duck By Deborah Eisenberg Ecco Published September 25, 2018

Deborah Eisenberg is a MacArthur Foundation Fellow and the award-winning author of four previous collections of stories: Transactions in a Foreign Currency (1986), Under the 82nd Airborne (1992), All Around Atlantis (1997), and Twilight of the Superheroes (2006). Her first two story collections were republished in one volume as The Stories (So Far) of Deborah Eisenberg (1997). All four volumes were reprinted in 2010 in The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg (2010). She is a professor of writing at Columbia University.

Source: https://chireviewofbooks.com/2018/10/25/your-duck-is-my-duck-deborah-eisenbergs-review/

[arcticdementor]

The Hungarian version of The Benedict Option finally hit the shelves this week! But look, it is next to a book by Michel Foucault, who traveled to Tunisia to rape boys. By the standards of today’s publishing progressives, I ought to march into that bookshop and demand that the manager remove the Foucault book from the display. Of course I would never do such a thing, because when it comes to books, I am a good liberal (besides, Kierkegaard, Berdyaev and I have the French creep surrounded). Seriously, Michel Foucault is probably roasting in hell now for what he did, but he was an enormously important 20th century thinker (alas, the dog!), and the public should be able to buy his books and judge them apart from his personal immorality.

What Norton has done is not exactly a book banning — as the head of Norton said, Bailey is free to sell his manuscript to somebody else — but it’s troublingly close. This is exactly what happened with Woody Allen’s memoir last summer. Now both books have a permanent taint, and neither Allen nor Bailey is ever likely to get a significant publishing deal again.

Which is fine, I guess; nobody is entitled to a literary career. But Woody Allen is a major 20th century film director, and though he may well be a man of poor character, attention must be paid to his life and work. Philip Roth was a major novelist, by all accounts an unpleasant and misogynistic man, but an extremely significant artistic figure — one who personally tapped Blake Bailey to be his biographer. Blake Bailey’s work on Philip Roth stands or falls on its own, not on whether or not Bailey is a sleaze. We absolutely have to maintain the art-from-the-artist distinction if we are going to have a culture worth having. Otherwise its socialist realism (woke realism?) all the way down — that is, art whose merit is decided by political criteria, not actual merit.

At the University of Toledo, they are well on their way to that kind of corruption.

…

Got that? Lee Strang was so admired by his colleagues that he received an overwhelming number of nominations for this award. They admired what he does to diversify “thought and perspective.” But he is a conservative, and just as bad, is, on evidence, a Pale Penis Person:

So naturally, the University of Toledo is changing the award criteria, to prevent anything like this from happening again: “We are working to revise the nomination and review process to be sure we take a comprehensive approach in selecting the recipients to ensure their bodies of work represent our diversity and inclusion values.”

Some people are more diverse than others, as Orwell might have said. Seriously, if there is a more Orwellian concept than “diversity and inclusion,” I don’t know what it is. It is precisely to exclude the Wrong Sort Of Person, and to congratulate oneself on one’s broad-mindedness in doing so.

…

Listen to the audio. The interviewer, a Jewish woman, is audibly shocked by what Philippe, a black man, has written about gassing whites. Emotionally stunned, she says that her family includes Holocaust survivors. You can hear the gears grinding in her head as she processes this, and then she blurts out to this race-murder fantasist, “I’m so sorry that your experience of the world made you feel that way and made you feel compelled to write that.”

…

Meanwhile, if you thought this primitive woke ideology was going to leave the hard sciences alone, you are quite mistaken. The Telegraph this week reports that Sheffield University is considering canceling Isaac Newton. Yes, the founder of modern physics. More:

…

I hope, at the end of the 20th century, when the Chinese masters of the globe write the history of the West’s decline and fall, they note that it was a suicide. Seriously, yesterday I was having a beer with a Hungarian journalist, and mentioned to him that it troubled me that the Hungarian government is going to welcome a Budapest campus of Fudan University, the first foreign outpost of the Shanghai college. Fudan U. is one of the best in China, and best in the world. My Hungarian interlocutor observed that “there won’t be any wokeness at Fudan.” As much as I recoil at the idea of Communist China establishing a beachhead in Hungary, on second thought, it would not be obvious to me that it’s more dangerous to do an academic deal with the Chinese devil than with the Western devil. As we see daily, wokeness is destroying the West. If this insanity takes hold in Hungary, it’s going to tear Hungary to bits. There’s an argument to be made that a country would be better off with ChiCom College than with the University of Baizuo (the Chinese term of derision for “white leftists”).

…

Friedman is missing the role that cultural degeneration among America’s elites plays here. Again, if you were a Hungarian leader looking West, do you see anything healthy or strong in the cultures of the US, of Britain, or western Europe? No, you see cultures being cannibalized by self-hating elites and woke barbarians.

[hammeraction07-blog]

Deborah Eisenberg’s Short Stories Are Sharp Enough to Cut Deep

It isn’t long before an elegiac note sounds in Deborah Eisenberg’s latest book of short fiction, Your Duck Is My Duck. In the first story, the narrator begins:

Way back—oh, not all that long ago, actually, just a couple of years, but back before I’d gotten a glimpse of the gears and levers and pulleys that dredge the future up from the earth’s core to its surface—I was going to a lot of parties.

That retrospection, tinged with rueful wisdom and more than a little melancholy, is central to the collection, Eisenberg’s first in twelve years and her fifth since Transactions in a Foreign Currency heralded her arrival in 1986.

Eisenberg’s early stories often focused on a certain kind of lost girl—bright but slightly overwhelmed, a little too pliable to the people around her—trying to find a place for herself in a rudely inhospitable world. When Eisenberg was working her comic mode, the travails of these women rose to the level of modern-day screwball comedy: thinking of 1987’s “A Cautionary Tale,” a classic account of Manhattan bootstrapping, I still laugh at how the heroine indignantly admits to herself, at the low point of an impossible waitressing gig, that “This was not how she had imagined her adulthood.”

Thirty-some years later, Eisenberg’s protagonists are likely to be women of a certain age, members, however tenuously, of the creative class, and still city dwellers acutely attuned to the mores of a world that’s passing them by. (“No one met people in person any longer—you couldn’t hear what they were saying” is the most concise summary of New York restaurant culture I may ever need to read.) Most saliently, these modern selves find themselves unexpectedly alone (breakups are a recurring motif) and only too aware of the shadows lengthening all around them.

In one new story, “Cross Off and Move On,” a narrator reckoning with the death of her last surviving relative thinks, “Yes, off they go, my old allies, sailing right through the radiant shield at the edge of the universe, blending into darkness.” In “Recalculating,” a former dancer mourning a long-ago lover feels “brittleness fretting her bones, youth streaming from her in galaxies of sparkly molecules.”

These women have even more to contend with than aging and loss. Because they’re Deborah Eisenberg characters, they are also coping with what it feels like to be alive, as educated, alert citizens of a Western society, in the early years of the twenty-first century, when old-fashioned everyday anxieties have given way to something like dread. As in her previous collection, Twilight of the Superheroes (2006), Eisenberg is able to dramatize how the diabolical crawl that appeared on the bottom of TV news screens in the days after 9/11 found a counterpart inside people’s heads—and just what a toll our new normal of permanent crisis is taking on them. In the title story, a painter says to the doctor who’s prescribing her sleeping pills:

“It’s beginning to look like a photo finish—me first, or the world. It’s not so hard to figure out why I’m not sleeping. What I can’t figure out is why everybody else is sleeping.”

(This is from a story, by the way, that was originally published in 2013.)

The painter in “Your Duck Is My Duck” later meets an avant-garde puppeteer whose magnum opus, The Hand That Feeds You, is such a blunt allegory of life under terminal capitalism that it leaves the audience at its premiere, a select handful of one-percenters, momentarily speechless. The scene is bleakly funny in a way that feels just right for our present moment. But the story’s coda fulfills the puppet show’s preemptive title and then some, acknowledging how the two artists’ reliance on those one-percenters for patronage implicates them in the same system—a subtle reshuffling of our assumptions that’s characteristic of Eisenberg’s method throughout these stories.

In real life, the charge “first-world problems” became a reductive cliché almost overnight, so it’s especially gratifying in this book to see the idea explored humanely and from so many angles. Beings of conscience, Eisenberg’s characters are haunted by a suspicion that their relatively well-off lives might somehow be linked to all the hypocrisies, inequities, and worse that are the stuff of daily headlines—the stuff of our malaise, in other words. (As a character in her story “Twilight of the Superheroes” asked himself back in 2004, “Then again, how far away does something have to be before you have the right to not really know about it?”)

The theme gets its most expansive treatment in the novella “Merge,” which traces the shifting fortunes of Keith, a slippery scion of privilege headed for rock bottom after his domineering father, CEO of a rapacious multinational, kicks him out of their home. Eisenberg has long specialized in a comedy of aggrievement, and at first Keith’s indignation, his perplexity at having to fathom how ordinary people go about their lives, yield some of the funniest scenes in this book. When Celeste, an NGO worker who is also a potential romantic interest, tells him she’s about to embark on fieldwork in Slovakia, he thinks: “Slovakia? That was what she meant by Europe?”

Celeste’s trip to Europe—and points beyond, in several senses—is the hinge on which the story turns; it leads to a widening of scope that puts Keith’s struggles in a stark new light. The fascination with multiple perspectives that distinguishes Eisenberg’s later stories comes into full effect in “Merge,” whose changing points of view ask us to consider, among other things, dramatically different definitions of what it might mean to be homeless, and why some people become victims while others, heedless or even undeserving, get to flourish.

That said, even after repeat readings I’m not sure how all of the story’s thematic elements, which grow to include mental illness and theories of language, cohere into a persuasive whole. At the same time, it’s evident that a late Eisenberg story isn’t interested in surrendering its meanings too easily. A case in point here is “The Third Tower,” the outlier in the collection: set in a world both like and unlike our own, it features a young woman receiving treatment for a psychological condition that scans a lot like unfettered creativity. Something other than naturalism, the story testifies to Eisenberg’s formal restlessness, the way she regularly tests the four walls and ceiling of short-story form.

No account of Your Duck Is My Duck is complete without a mention of how gracefully this writer, tagged earlier in her career as a quintessential urban sophisticate, renders the natural world. “Recalculating” includes a beautiful description of a hurricane descending on a Midwestern prairie, and “Your Duck Is My Duck” has this snapshot of a wildfire witnessed from a great height:

Accident had selected me to observe, in whatever way I could, the demonic, vengeful, helpless, ardent fires as they consumed the trees that had replaced the crops—to observe the moment when, at the heart of the conflagration, the trees that sustained it became phantoms, the fire’s memory.

It’s typical that these lyrical outbursts are prompted by natural disasters—appropriately for a collection that regularly glances over its shoulder at environmental collapse along with every other kind of decline.

How much needs to be said about a writer who has very little left to prove? Across four decades Deborah Eisenberg has steadily enlarged her vision while refining her art. Her writing adds to our collective store of wit, empathy, and intelligence. If you haven’t read her yet, by all means start with Your Duck Is My Duck, and then waste no time in getting your hands on her Collected Stories, the chunky 2010 trade paperback that gathers the rest of her singular body of work.

FICTION Your Duck Is My Duck By Deborah Eisenberg Ecco Published September 25, 2018

Deborah Eisenberg is a MacArthur Foundation Fellow and the award-winning author of four previous collections of stories: Transactions in a Foreign Currency (1986), Under the 82nd Airborne (1992), All Around Atlantis (1997), and Twilight of the Superheroes (2006). Her first two story collections were republished in one volume as The Stories (So Far) of Deborah Eisenberg (1997). All four volumes were reprinted in 2010 in The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg (2010). She is a professor of writing at Columbia University.

Source: https://chireviewofbooks.com/2018/10/25/your-duck-is-my-duck-deborah-eisenbergs-review/

[nathanielburgos]

EB-5 Final Rule

The EB-5 immigrant investor visa program was created by Congress in 1990 to allow foreign nationals acquire permanent residence or citizenship by investing a substantial amount of money into the United States economy. Over the past two years, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), the agency overseeing the investment program, has been working behind the scenes to redefine the rules guiding the program.

The final rule was eventually published on July 24, 2019 by the DHS. It is the most significant change to the program since its inception in 1990. An overview of the major aspects of the EB-5 final rule, set to become effective by November 21, 2019, can be seen at a glance below:

The minimum investment amount will be $900,000 for Targeted Employment Area (TEA) projects and $1.8 million for non-TEA projects

Designation of the Targeted Employment Areas will exclusively be done by USCIS rather than the individual states.

The original priority dates will be retained by investors for subsequent EB-5 petitions.

An improved adjudication procedure for the removal of conditions on permanent residence.

As expected, existing and prospective investors are keenly interested in the details of these changes. This article gives you a breakdown of the EB-5 final rule.

EB-5 Minimum Investment Amounts

Since its inception, the minimum investment amount for the EB-5 program has been $500,000 and $1 million for TEA and non-TEA designated investments respectively. However, as of the effective date of this final rule, the new EB-5 investment amount will be $900,000 for TEA and $1.8 million for non-TEA endeavors. Understandably, this is the most significant change to the regulations for foreign investors, which is why the USCIS had to reconsider its earlier proposed amount.

According to the Department of Homeland Security, the final rule would have had the TEA capital be 25% lower than the non-TEA amount, which would have meant $1.35 million for TEA investments. However, considering the review of comments from the public, the agency had to maintain the 50% difference between the two types of EB-5 investments.

Is the Increase in the EB-5 Minimum Amount Necessary?

Though many EB-5 foreign investors may be uncomfortable with the increase, from the perspective of the USCIS, it was a decision borne of sheer necessity.  While the minimum amounts have remained the same for the past three decades, the same cannot be said of the inflation rate.

Several significant changes have occurred in the inflation rate since 1990, as indicated by the consumer price index (CPI). The increase, therefore, is to account for inflation and help fulfill the core congressional intent for creating the program, which was primarily to improve the U.S. economy.

The increased amount isn’t going to just make up for the inflation rate, but will also improve the performance of designated EB-5 regional centers. Fewer investors will now be needed by each center to pool the required amount of capital for a project. With this, it will be less costly and less demanding to search for and match investors for a project.

Targeted Employment Areas Designation Final Reforms

A targeted employment area (TEA) is a rural area or a location with a high unemployment rate, meaning at least 150% of the national average rate. Currently, investors are to demonstrate that their investments meet the definition of a TEA in two ways.

They can do so by providing evidence that the Metropolitan Statistical Area (MSA) where their businesses are located is a county or city with a population of 20,000 or more, and has experienced an average unemployment rate of at least 150%. The other way is to submit a letter from an authorized body of the state government where the business is located. The state can certify that their business is indeed located in an area that meets the definition of a TEA, and has been designated as a high unemployment area.

However, this is going to change. The proposed rule will eliminate state designation of high unemployment areas and also amend how investors can demonstrate that their investment is located in places with high unemployment rate. Instead, the designations would be made directly by the DHS based on the revised requirements. Cities and towns outside MSAs that have a population of 20,000 or more may be added based on high unemployment rate.

Impacts of the Final TEA Reforms

Although these reforms may cause some investments and projects to no longer qualify as being in a high unemployment area, it will help in increasing job growth in the targeted areas, consistent with the EB-5 program’s congressional intent. The new regulation will also restrict TEAs to the immediate environment of the EB-5 project, such as contiguous census tracts and adjacent areas.

Amendments on EB-5 Petition Priority Date

To ensure fairness in permanent residence issuance to all eligible foreign nationals, the Immigration and Nationality Act had to set a numerical limit for each country using the priority date initiative. This requires applicants from the same country to take turns in the visa waiting line.

A priority date is the date that the USCIS receives an immigrant investor’s EB-5 petition to participate in the program. It is your place on the green card queue and will have to become ‘current’, meaning you have reached the front of the queue and a visa number has become available to you. This is why the processing time can sometimes last for years, especially for nationals from countries with multi-year immigrant visa backlogs.

However, with the proposed rule, EB-5 applicants will be allowed to retain their first priority date and use it for subsequently filed petitions. Unless the petition is canceled by the DHS for a material error, fraud, or willful misrepresentation by the petitioner, the first date will remain valid.

If circumstances, such as termination of a regional center, a material change, or other situations that are beyond your control, require that you file another EB-5 petition, you will be able to do that using the same priority date given for the first petition.

The adopted changes will make visa allocation more predictable and reduce fluctuations in visa availability dates. Immigrant investors will also spend less time waiting for their visas. It will also make the program more flexible for investors, allow them to contribute to more viable investments, curb fraud, and improve job creation.

Procedures for Removal of Conditions on Permanent Residence

Additionally, the revision will address the technical issues affecting how EB-5 derivatives file an I-829 petition, a process which the existing regulation does not clearly define. The final rule will make the process flexible by determining the interview location and amend the regulation by which investors obtain their new green card after the approval of their I-829 petition.

This will help eliminate the existing confusion faced by beneficiaries who file their petitions separately from principal petitioners. Also, the amendments in the interview location will give applicants more options, allowing them to travel shorter distances and saving both time and money.

EB-5 visa derivative family members whose names are not included in the petition can independently file a petition for the removal of conditions on their permanent residence. Those included in the principal investor’s petition will not be affected by this regulation. The new rule also clarifies the following:

A child who is 21 and got married during the conditional permanent residence period may be included in the investor’s petition or file separately. The same applies to a former spouse who became divorced during the conditional permanent residence

If the principal investor is deceased, the children and spouse may be included in one petition or file separately.

However, whether you are using a joint petition or filing separately, the general EB-5 requirements for removal condition must still be met, especially the provision or preservation of at least 10 U.S. jobs. The DHS also reiterated that failure to properly file and submit your petition for the removal of conditions within the 90 days preceding the second anniversary of the date it was issued, “shall result in the automatic termination” of your permanent resident status.

Will the Final Rule Affect the Number of EB-5 Visas Available Annually?

The new regulations will not reduce or increase the number of EB-5 visas per year. The numeric limit will still remain at 10,000 visas for eligible investors. However, the number of applicants may drop significantly due to the increased investment amount, which will mean less competition for those who meet all the eligibility criteria for the program.

The $900,000 or $1.8 million of required capital may become unaffordable to many foreign investors. This regulation might see many investors opting for investment programs offered by other countries other than the United States. But the overall congressional intent for EB-5 program will be more feasible.

What If I File My EB-5 Petition Before November 21, 2019?

The new regulations will not affect EB-5 petitions that are properly filed before the November 21, 2019 effective date. Therefore, you can still leverage the existing EB-5 regulations by obtaining the required investment amount and filing your I-526 as soon as possible.

While doing that, ensure that you submit your petition with all the necessary supporting evidence, which may subject your application to a request for evidence (RFE) down the line. While you are still allowed to enjoy the current rules, you should keep in mind that petitions with little or no evidence that appear as mere placeholders will likely be denied by the USCIS.

EB-5 experts have predicted an increase in the number of I-526 petitions that will be filed between now and the November effective date, as many people will want to take advantage of the existing rules. To this end, you will need to ensure thoroughness in your application process.

What Are the Current Guidelines for EB-5 Petition?

If you would like to leverage the current rules and reduce cost, the most effective guidelines for EB-5 petitions are as follows:

Raise your investment capital of $500,000 or $1 million before the November effective date for the final rule.

Consult an experienced EB-5 attorney to help you prepare your petition and complete the process.

Find an EB-5 project to invest in.

Prepare your EB-5 business plan.

Put your capital “at-risk” by investing it in a project of your choice and submit your I-526 petition.

Apply for a two-year conditional green card.

Does the Final Rule Affect the Existing EB-5 Investors?

While the adopted changes will mainly be felt by investors starting after November 21, the existing EB-5 participants are also concerned in the proposed review. Every 5 years, there will be adjustments to the investment amounts in line with the Consumer Price Index.

The review, however, should not have a major financial effect on existing investors. Also, the differential between the two investments types will not be affected, as the equivalency difference will remain at a 50% difference.

How Our Immigration Attorneys Can Help

While the new EB-5 regulations may appear strict, the good news is that you still have four months to leverage the existing rules, especially the minimum investment amount. Keep in mind, however, that the four-month window will most likely witness an influx of EB-5 petitions.

This is why you need to engage an experienced EB-5 immigration attorney to help you file your petition properly with all the necessary evidence. Errors, either by omission or commission, can be detrimental to your application. This is where we can be of help.

At Immi-USA, we have a team of experienced EB-5 lawyers with many successful investor green card cases. We will help you prepare your petition and avoid RFEs so as to maximize the short window of opportunity and dramatically reduce the cost and time for your EB-5 green card process. Don’t wait, you can schedule a consultation with us today by filling out this contact form.

The post EB-5 Final Rule appeared first on SGM Immigration Law Group.

EB-5 Final Rule published first on https://ordergcmsnotescanada.tumblr.com/

[alamante]

Image copyright AFP

For almost two years, I experienced pains I did not tell friends about. Burning and stinging in your genital area don’t make for good dinner-party conversation.

But I’m now writing about it precisely because, as I found out, many men like me needlessly suffer in silence.

At the onset in mid-2016, urologists tested me for prostate cancer, an obvious concern for a male in his 50s. When this was ruled out, they sent me away.

Although no longer a matter of medical concern, my symptoms were very much still there. An aching penis, a sore rectum and an inflamed perineum were taking turns as affliction of the day.

It was overshadowing my life. Sitting was difficult. I could walk only slowly. Running, my exercise of choice, was out of the question. And sex loses its appeal when your nether regions are a source of suffering rather than fun.

Looking online for clues, I realised that I was not alone. “Chronic nonbacterial prostatitis” is by far the most common type of prostatitis (inflammation of the prostate). Also known as “chronic pelvic pain syndrome” (CPPS), it is estimated to affect about 8% of men at any one time.

Doctors don’t know what causes CPPS. I kept a diary to track the ups and downs of my pains and found no correlations with what I did, ate or drank. Treatment is equally elusive: antibiotics and inflammation drugs don’t work.

The NHS website offers scant hope: “The aim is to reduce symptoms to a level where they interfere less with day-to-day activities, rather than getting rid of the pain completely.”

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption The pelvic area is a tangle of muscle and nerve that is vulnerable to tension

I tried various tricks. I found hot baths soothing. Soft cushions made sitting bearable: I brought one to work, telling colleagues it was more comfortable.

But the prospect of spending the rest of my life managing pain was dispiriting. I got my first hopeful insight that autumn by reading a book by Tim Parks, a British writer living in Italy. Teach Us To Sit Still describes how Parks overcame an acute version of the syndrome through Vipassana meditation, or “mindfulness”.

This sounded kooky, but I was ready to listen to anyone who said CPPS was not a life sentence.

It helped that I identified with Parks. Like me, he’d settled in a foreign country that had given him a foreign culture and a wife to love; he lived largely through words; he was anxious and intense, prone to overreacting and internalising emotion; he did not believe in New Age healing, or any form of spirituality.

Thinking too much

Parks, after reading about a therapy for CPPS devised by US medics at Stanford University, had concluded that the pain was produced by tension: anxiety is often stored in muscles and pelvic musculature is particularly vulnerable as it is intertwined with nerves. The solution lay in calming a restless mind.

I decided to give meditation a go. Every morning I sat focusing on my breath for up to an hour. I did it both at home and on public transport. When you meditate you don’t care what people think.

Not caring is what meditation is about. Sounds, sensations, and ultimately your own thoughts, come to you free of judgement or context, like the helicopter noises and snatches of conversations that come and go in Pink Floyd tracks.

The same goes for pain. Instead of experiencing it directly, I observed the fact that I was someone who was hurting. The pain had become an object of compassion rather than raw distress. Over time, I noticed a reduction in its intensity and frequency.

Image caption Henri says meditation is about accepting what is and letting go of the rest

The improvement was all the more remarkable because I remained concerned for some time that I might have cancer. Three months after a urologist gave me a clean bill of health, I went to see another one about my continuing symptoms.

When I told him about meditating, he was quick to reclaim my body for science. “Just because you and I have nervous personalities, it doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong with us,” he said.

He pointed out that my Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA) count, a possible indicator of cancer, was high and rising. I had to undergo a biopsy, which involves inserting needles through your backside to collect cells from your prostate.

The procedure feels as barbaric as it sounds. The “discomfort” that doctors breezily warn you about can only be lessened with strong opiates. You urinate blood for weeks.

Then there was the wait for the results. Prostate cancer is often treatable, and online calculators put my chances of having it at only 15%. But being an unlucky roll of the dice away from any form of cancer was unnerving. I had visions of being made permanently impotent and incontinent by surgery.

But mindfulness helped me keep those fears in perspective. My pelvic pains continued to lessen both before and after I got the final all-clear.

Physical exercise was as important as the meditation. Swimming twice a week palpably relaxed my pelvic muscles. So did daily stretches – those that brought me the most relief more or less replicated Monty Python’s Ministry of Silly Walks sketch (John Cleese, a one-time prostatitis sufferer, may have got useful practice in advance).

Image caption John Cleese was stretching his pelvic muscles long before he needed to

Every patient, however, is different. CPPS does not lend itself to traditional, off-the-shelf medical treatment. Urologists can save your life if you have cancer, but are largely helpless when it comes to a little-understood, multifactor condition like CPPS.

“Many of them don’t like treating it,” says Jonathan Rees, a North Somerset-based GP who co-wrote the prostatitis guidelines for Prostate Cancer UK. “Urologists tend to dispense antibiotics and when people don’t get better they can run out of options.”

The best hope for patients, Dr Rees says, is finding a person, whether a GP or a pain specialist, with a special interest in the condition.

For me, that person was Karl, a sports massage therapist and former CPPS sufferer who runs a pelvic pain clinic in London. I sought him out because after 10 months, I felt my progress was too slow.

Image copyright Getty Images

Image caption Mindfulness originated in Buddhism, but you don’t have to be religious to feel the benefits

Mindfulness and medicine

It is not all “in the mind” – you cannot meditate away diabetes or kidney stones. But clinical trials have suggested that mindfulness has health benefits, including:

Over a year, Karl listened to me, devised specific stretches and, most importantly, changed the way I approached my symptoms. “The idea that you can control your pain makes some people freak out,” he told me. “But I find it liberating.”

He taught me to stop dwelling on what was wrong. Early on, he got me to ditch the cushion, which he said was focusing my mind back on the condition.

When I told Karl that my diary confirmed his method was working, he suggested that the pain chart was another security blanket to discard. My improvement continued, no less tangible for remaining unrecorded.

Signal failure

Last December, I had my first pain-free days in 18 months. Soon they became the norm.

Admittedly, there is no proof that a switch in mindset cured me. No-one has done a rigorous study on meditation as a treatment for CPPS. It is possible that I would have got better anyway. And it might not work for others.

But my path to healing is consistent with an emerging medical consensus about the link between mental stress and pain. Any form of chronic pain, Dr Rees points out, involves “central sensitisation”, where the brain becomes overly receptive to signals sent by nerves. The more you fear pain, the more you feel it.

Conversely, he says, being relaxed makes you less responsive to pain signals: “The mind is such a big factor in the way we respond to pain.”

Dr Rees finds it entirely possible that my mind went into overdrive following a prostate inflammation – as suggested by my PSA count – and that meditation slowly broke that vicious circle.

Leaving aside any therapeutic effects from meditation, I found it to be its own reward. Whenever a twinge comes, in the pelvic area or elsewhere, I now take a deep breath and regard it as something else to rise above.

The condition, in a strange way, has been a blessing. As I approach my 60s I feel better prepared for the inevitable bodily challenges of the years ahead.

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[garyforrest051-blog]

POLYNESIAN TATTOOS Related Articles

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[h0lybasil-blog]

Facts Are Not Feelings

The double-edged sword of activism linguistics.

QUEER LANGUAGE

If you know me at all, we’ve probably gotten into a conversation about linguistics at some point.

I’m particularly interested in the way language affects our ability to connect with one another, and how what we say influences how we feel.

A lot of activists in the queer community are also quite concerned with linguistics, and it’s an issue every person seems to relate to differently.

This morning, I woke up to a thread of Facebook comments on a casting call I posted, requesting “male bodied humans”.

The word choice was intentional. I didn’t want to ask for “dudes” or “men” because a fair amount of the dudes and men I know have vaginas. While I love them and want to celebrate their bodies and experiences, this particular project required someone who inhabits a biologically male body, regardless of how they identify their gender, which is a totally personal detail, and doesn’t have a lot to do with the body you inhabit, in my opinion.

Usually, when I’m at work, I am usually “in drag” as a cis-woman - I am dressing the part that society expects when they see my physical form. I’m comfortable with this! I’m also comfortable when I leave the house in jeans and a backwards baseball cap. Because I don’t identify as either gender, dragging as both can be a fun experience, and a powerful way to play with image.

I’m here, I’m queer, and I’m doing my best.

How I choose not to identify seems to cause confusion in people who aren’t up on the “in-group slang” (aka people who exist within the bounds of mainstream culture) — I’m not a man, not a woman, not a feminist, not a liberal socialist, not an anything, really, as I believe identity politics only lead to frustration.

But Tate, didn’t you just tell us all that you’re “queer”?

Yes! I did. That is an identity. You caught me :) While I claim my queerness, I am still a human first. I think that might be what I mean by identity politics — letting a facet of your experience become the lens through which you interpret and interact with the rest of your experiences.

This is hard. I want to be kind and respectful to everyone. I also want to be able to express myself in a way that feels authentic.

This next thing is difficult to say, because I know it will upset some people who are passionate about social justice:

I’m tired of being yelled at. Especially on the internet.

Today, I was accused of marginalizing and contributing to the physical harm of trans people. Going back to labels and identity politics, I don’t choose to call myself trans, though multiple people have told me that technically I qualify as transgender, since I don’t fit into the socially expected gender of my body. I don’t identity as trans because I think that while the word may have a more inclusive annotative definition, it is my perception that transgenderism has been culturally understood as males who identify as women, or females who identify as men.

Let me take a minute to explain this, before you start scrolling to the comment section to tell me that “female” and “male” are improper ways to describe people’s bodies.

Male/female are the medical ways we describe most of the population’s genetic sex. To be crass, a person usually has a sex organ that is either an innie or an outie, and that sex organ usually determines the balance of hormones they have in their body, and the shape and appearance it takes overall. Taking out of the mix people who have modified their bodies with hormones and surgery (fuck yeah for the freedom to body modify!), I am fully aware that individuals exist who’s bodies generate hormone imbalances, or are intersex.

These people are valid, and I care about them. I care about everyone. I want all of us who feel less than supported and celebrated by our current social/political/economic system to be free from whatever is telling them they aren’t allowed to reach their full potential. Just because someone is different than you doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be respected.

A lot of people prefer to use “AFAB/AMAB” or “DFAB/DMAB” — assigned/designated female/male at birth. To me, these terms are practically analogous with “male/female bodied human”, though I can see the argument that FAB/MAB is more inclusive to people who are intersex, as it acknowledges their being marginalized/erased by the medical system.

So why use the clunky term “male/female bodied human” if it causes strife?

Well, I use “female bodied human” to refer to myself, as I find it to be validating of my gender in the many situations where I am qualified for participation due to my female sex, regardless of the fact that I don’t identify as a woman. Work, for one, when it involves playing a role, as it often does. (Quick shoutout to Asia Kate Dillon for using their notoriety to leverage a much-needed change in the entertainment industry!)

Just because a silly string of words makes me feel comfortable, it might not work for everyone. And I think we need to be okay with that!

PRONOUNS

This is something I have struggled with. I prefer “they/them/theirs” pronouns. It’s awkward to ask people to use what feel like foreign language to refer to me. Most who aren’t a part of the queer scene will be confused by me “referring to myself as multiple people”. In a lot of ways, that feels accurate and comfortable for me — it feels like a truer reflection of my multi-faceted human experience. (Not that cis-gendered people can’t have multi-faceted experiences…)

I don’t ever expect perfection, nor total understanding, but if someone wants to be in my life, I do expect them to try. It’s hard to understand someone’s existence that you can’t relate to, but that’s where empathy comes in. While pronouns may be tricky, I don’t think it’s hard to understand someone’s desire to be seen as their true self. I think everyone should have the opportunity to identify however feels authentic, and also to have the freedom to disengage with people who don’t desire to respect their self-perception.

It’s all personal choice!

I identify as human, and I use my human capacities to work towards the greatest good for all humans, as far as I can understand it. Seems simple, right?

As it turns out, not really. Society is big, and takes time to change. We do change, though! Less than one hundred years ago, I likely would have already been jailed for taking one of my love interests on a simple date. In this country’s short existence alone, we have come to see women as more than property, black people as more than slaves, and homosexuals as more than perverts. I know we can do this gender thing, but it’s going to take work.

In the English language, we regard pronouns as a “fixed class” of words. This isn’t technically true, as “fixed” in this case just means “harder to change”, not “permanent”. More than two classes of pronouns for humans is so new to the mainstream, it’s still just a little larvae of a concept. We have a while to go before alternative pronouns are a butterfly of language, free and easy.

EDUCATING THE MAINSTREAM or COMPASSIONATE ACTIVISM

This is not something I ever thought I would say, let alone publish, but I want to publicly thank my mom for getting into a comment debate on my Facebook page. She brought up some valid points, properly gendered me, and was gracious to a stranger who (I believe with good motives) angrily typed in her direction.

Let me paint a picture: my mom is a self-described “boring 52 year-old” real estate agent who lives in San Diego. It has taken years of learning how to share my feelings and preferences with her to help her understand my perspective and experience. The conversation has spanned over a decade, and took a lot of incremental retooling as I became more comfortable with myself, as well as a better communicator.

I started with yelling at her as a teen, and slowly moved through stages of avoidance, confrontation, and finally listening to her — letting her teach me how to ask for what I want from her. We have learned to meet each other halfway in our vastly different life experiences. While one of her best friends is publicly gay, she doesn’t have access to the young, queer scene up here in Los Angeles. Hardly anyone does.

In activist communities, there is a lot of conversation around wanting people who aren’t in the know to “self educate” before they even ask questionsabout someone’s life they can’t begin to understand. Have you ever thought that since these people are open and curious enough to ask questions, they might be worth a few moments of your time and knowledge?

I’ll be the first to admit, if I observe said person starting to speak combatively, I walk away. No one deserves to be the whipping boy of a bigot. I trust you, compassionate activist, to make the distinction between a naive, normal person and someone who is festering in their hatred for things they don’t understand (usually including themselves).

If we weirdos, as the self-appointed teachers of the rest of the known Universe, can take the time to educate ourselves on how to best express our thoughts and ideas, we might start getting somewhere. But please, no more yelling.

I’m not saying no yelling in general, just no yelling at people. If like me, you have neighbors, great places to yell are into a pillow, in your car, and that’s about it.

It is so explicitly important that we learn how to communicate in a way that invites others to experiences and revelations, rather than chastises them for not knowing the newest in-group slang. It’s not fair to be mad at someone for not knowing something that you didn’t know less than a year ago.

If you know something before others, congratulations! You get a chance to be a teacher. It’s one of society’s most esteemed — and poorly paid — positions. In fact, you’ll be doing this job for free. But you don’t care, because you believe in the cause of all people being treated with respect!

So, let’s start by mastering how we introduce our philosophical ideals. Let’s be kind and generous with people who we perceive to be less knowledgable than us.

NON-VIOLENT COMMUNICATION

I can’t recommend highly enough that anyone who does any kind of activism familiarize themselves with the concepts of NVC (Non-Violent Communication), which is self-described as a system of “skills that foster compassionate relating”. I’m not saying it’s a perfect system, but I think it’s a lot better than what we currently fumble with, which is a lot of blaming, name-calling, and CAPS ATTACKS — three things I’m sure your rational mind recognizes as inefficient ways to get people to listen to you.

But Tate, gender/queerness/feminism/racism/etc. are emotional issues! We aren’t allowed to be emotional about emotional issues!?

Yes, these issues have deep emotional ties, which is why the conversation is hard. I’m glad you have strong feelings about oppression! I do too. Let’s examine how we want to transmit our feelings about injustice to those who may not be so aware, in an attempt to bring them on our team of humanist do-gooders. (Yes, it’s probably because of privilege that they aren’t aware of the way that some people struggle. No, I don’t think using the word “privilege” is going to strengthen your argument. It’s still in-group slang.)

Calling someone an oppressor is not going to get them to listen, either. We have to stop blaming white people. We have to stop blaming straight people. We have to stop blaming men. Mainstream culture is a representation of the average social experience. Yes, we can look back and see that a lot of our societal infrastructure is the product of many years of non-consensual power imbalance, but that doesn’t mean that every straight white guy alive today has to pay for it. It’s no more their fault that our world is unfair than it’s your fault for being whatever you are.

I’m saddened by the number of awake, compassionate men I know who have expressed the only way they feel welcome in any political conversation is to shut up, and publicly reduce themselves to a string of insults, “I’m a hopelessly cis-straight-white guy”. Perpetuating the cycle of blame and shame is not what we need. We need everyone on board, inspired to be their most compassionate and inclusive selves. We can’t do this by alienating most of the mainstream population, a lot of whom are smart and have skills to contribute.

If you have someone in your life who you want to introduce to the concepts that have freed your mind from the oppressive systems at play, please treat them with the same respect you want to be treated with.

I often find this NVC formula quite helpful. Ready for a mini lesson?

Verbally identifying these aspects of emotionally charged situations — in order — has been extremely valuable to me.

Observation

Feeling

Need

Request

Observation: What this means is, first, I want to identify — without judgement — exactly what is happening. This is different than an interpretation of events, which is often how we defend ourselves when we feel our ideology or identity is being threatened. I’m not using this example to shame anyone, but because it is fresh in my mind, I will use the Facebook debate as an example.

With the use of NVC skills, the conversation might have looked more like this:

“I notice that you’ve used the term “male-bodied humans” to effectively refer to “men”. Some trans people have told me that this is not how they like to be identified.”

2. Feeling: Next, I like to relate how what I’m observing affects me. Not how the other person “makes” me feel, because that isn’t a real thing, but how I naturally react to what I’m observing.

“I feel uncomfortable knowing that some people might feel excluded or erased by your choice of words.”

3. Need: This is the most important part. Relating your feelings back to a universal human need, and acknowledging the other person’s needs establishes mutual respect and understanding. Helping your conversation partner feel seen and cared for will do the opposite of attacking them - it has the potential to open them up to learning something new.

“I recognize our need to be specific when referring to people, and to have clear concepts for effective communication. I also want to respect the needs of others to be seen and accepted with our use of language.”

4. Request: Lastly, this is how adults ask each other for things. We make requests. We don’t demand, and we don’t passive-aggressively stew in our disbelief that someone hasn’t already read our mind and acted perfectly according to our silent desires. We ask specifically for what we want out of the interaction, and are prepared to hear “no”. No ultimatums.

“May I request you consider changing the term you use? I can suggest a different term that might be more palatable to more people.”

SUBJECTIVE OBJECTIVITY

People are rooted in their personal experiences more than anything. We all experience our objective reality through unique, subjective lenses.

Because my subjectivity has led me to like the term “male/female bodied human”, it will probably take me a good amount of convincing that my preferred terminology (as someone who is already on the fringe of society) is unacceptable.

We run on an infinite treadmill of PC terms turning into slurs. It seems like each week another word goes out of vogue. We can’t get mad at each other for not knowing the latest, least “offensive” way to refer a person or concept.

We aren’t going to achieve equality by cyclically pushing people down and blaming them for our problems, which are all built on the backs of dead people. That’s why our prisons are filled to the brim with people of color. That’s why trans people are getting murdered daily. It’s not because I used the term “male/female bodied” (as a fellow “trans” person!) — it’s because we don’t know how to change the mind of the opposition.

This is exactly why political revolutions fail: the oppressed become the oppressors. Facts are great, but they won’t change people’s minds. People aren’t changed by statistics and lecturing. People are changed by personal experience — in other words, people’s opinions are changed by their feelings. (Ever wonder how Trump became our leader? Certainly not with facts.)

[walkamileinmydocmartins-blog]

The marker is down

They marked your grave and marked me for life. What is happening in there. If life continues to evolve even after being buried. How is yours evolving? I want to be there with you to know these changes. You were the biggest part of my existence and life took you from me. A blackness crept in and stole you. At least that was my perspective because grief is dark, vast and deep. In reality your cancer was white and fibrous and mucous-like with ringlets like a fucking octopus. Too hard to cut through is what he told us. It operates like a web entangling every organ suffocating them until they burst. How can I have watched you be eaten alive by a foreign invader? How can this be? Not only did it take your body it took every fucking thing from you while I watched in desperation and fear. The anticipation and the fighting was better than this loss. Fuck this shit. Fuck cancer. Fuck this grief. I can only surrender to the pain over an over. No one understands it because every person and every experience is different and the same all at once. It is unique and not unique. The pain is indescribable and as time passes and the permanence of your life being over drags me further and further into a valley. That is what Psalm 43 is about. I get the part about walking through he valley of the shadow of death. It is absolutely a walk because you can not sprint this bitch. It must be respected and caressed at times; held tightly at others and loosely too. Thank you death for teaching me how to be still; how to live more richly and how to fall in love again. I never thought that it was possible to live and love so deeply but now I know it is the only way.