rape is just a thing that may happen during war. we're not saying it didn't happen. it may have occurred. rape is not uncommon in war. it's not a weapon of war, there's no proof it's a pattern of violence against women, it's just something that happens for some reason.

Hey, if you're interested in radical feminism the very first thing you need to do is make an active effort to not to center men over women, even the men you know personally or create unnecessary competition between women on the basis of male acceptance. This should be fairly obvious, but your misogynistic or male pandering positions will not be tolerated here and you're going to feel ostracized by your positions if you don't make an active effort to live by the ideals we push in feminism.

I've had a couple of people who are obviously interested in radical feminism (good!) in my notes the past few days that are saying blatantly misogynistic or male catering things (bad!). Commenting on women's appearances or making emotional appeals for males accused of rape over all women because you don't care about the innocent women being hurt over the idea that a man you know could be falsely accused? That's down right unacceptable in radical feminism. If you have more consideration for the "innocent" men being accused of rape, which is a less than 2% false accusory rate, then the women claiming to be victimized by them and you are not approaching this topic as a feminist. You're approaching it as a daughter, sister, mother, or friend but not as a feminist. That is you upholding the patriarchy for the males around you to benefit over the women around you. Antithetical to the goals we work towards here.

Get over your own hangups, get with the program, then you can join the conversations. However, the dismissal of other women because you believe they have pretty privilege or the prioritizing of men because you could imagine a man you love in that situation is directly anti-feminist. You're going to have a hard time being in these spaces with that attitude and really it's no one's problem but yours. We are all on the same page here, yall need to catch up.

Not naming any names specifically because I can see both of the people I'm currently talking about are new to these spaces and probably haven't ever even touched theory, but if the shoe fits consider lacing it up. These are, of course, things we should all be monitoring within ourselves anyways. To make sure that we are living up to the ideals that we espouse here.

ride home  / S. Rogers

Summary : As a girl you were always told to never accept a ride from unknown men. You knew what could happen, you knew the dangers and heck, you`ve seen how it ruined some girls. But hey, he`s your teacher, nothing could happen. Right?

Pairing : Dark(soft)!teacher Steve Rogers x female Reader

Before you read, please understand that this is intended to be a dark fic. There will be noncon elements, rape, violence, manipulation and so much more. If you find any of these disturbing, please click away. 18+ only.

Warnings for this one shot : manipulation, noncon elements, rape, use of drugs, lost of virginity. This is some kind of au and Steve might be out of character a little.

Word count : 3.319

Credit : for the gif I used, the credit goes to its rightful creator.

Note : Don’t expect this to be any good. I came up with this over the course of a few hours and I’m still learning how to write one shots, as I find it much easier to write a series. Also I still suck at writing “smut”. I’m trying to perfect it, tho. Promise. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one shot till my mind would be satisfied with the way the next chapter of “The Magpie” turned out and would let me post it. :)) Also, please excuse any mistakes I made. Have a great day you guys!

                   Also, to all the writers from this platform : thank you !

Girl found wondering around without any memory of the last few days, claims she had been abducted and raped...

Your eyes narrowed as you stared at the case which has been all over the news for the past week. It was quite predictable, really. Young girl, too drunk for her own good woke up by herself in the middle of nowhere. You sighed. In a city as big as New York, cases like this happened almost every other day, but there was always something left behind. Fight marks, blood, hair. Anything that could help the police find the person who did it. This time though, there was nothing.

The poor girl. You couldn`t help but pity her. She must be terrified. All alone against a world that knows nothing better than to judge. You pinched your nose in exasperation.

Cases like this, it`s what made you choose to study law. You wanted to be able to help other women. To offer them a chance at justice. No one deserved to be told that it was their own fault for wondering alone at night or for wearing something more showing. No girl should feel like the law protects only the male population...

“ And what`s your opinion on this matter, miss I`m too busy scrolling on my phone to pay attention to class?”

You cursed in your head, as you put your phone away and lifted your eyes to meet your teacher.

Steve Rogers. America`s hero, savior of the world and an actual pain in your ass, was looking at you expectantly. You held his gaze as you forced your lips to form some kind of smile. Something about him always put you on edge and the way his eyes darkened as he stared at you, didn`t exactly help ease the feeling.

“I`m sorry, I was distracted.” you murmured, not wanting to give him the satisfaction that he caught you unprepared. ”If you would be so kind...”

You looked at him as you raised one eyebrow. It was always like this. No matter what you did he`d always find something to pick at you. At first you took it as a form of banter between a teacher and his students, but with time it became clearly that he had a problem with you. Your grades didn`t reflect the hard work you always put in. Your extra work wouldn`t be considered. Every time you would as much as look at your watch he`d find something to jab at you. He would also have something to say about every paper you handed him. It was a miracle you even made the grade for his class.

You cringed as you remembered the comments he would make about your life outside his class. You seemed to bump into him on a daily. There was also something, in the way he watched your every move, that it made the hair at the back of your neck stay high on alert. You really couldn`t understand what you`ve done that America`s sweetheart despised you that much.

”The women rights...” he smirked down at you.

“Oh, yes. I strongly believe that women should have got their rights the same time men did.” you smiled when you realized that he wanted to add something else. “I mean we know that every society of this world was built around androcentrism, but if we`re real the women were the ones that kept everything from falling apart.” you drew in a short breath. “Oh, and I believe that 1920 was a bit late for our women to get their rights, since women all around the world fought for it since the 18th century.”

You smirked, as for once in your life the bell rang exactly when you needed it. Forcing a smile his way, you stood up gathering your notebooks. You were quite proud of yourself, not because your answer was the desired one, but because you got on professor Rogers nerves. While he didn`t seem to have a problem with women and feminists in general, he sure had a problem with the way you choose to speak on the matter. From the corner of your eye you saw his jaw twitch.

At first you were afraid to even say your opinion lest you would upset him, but now you enjoyed to see that vein on his forehead nearly pop. You held back a giggle. Oh well, at least you won`t have to see him for the next few weeks.

“Professor!” you rolled your eyes when you herd your bestfriend use her sweet voice. “I was wondering if you`d like to come to our party tonight.”

You stood straight, narrowing your eyes at the one that has been your friend since the first day you came to the city. What the hell was happening. You knew she had a crush on him, everyone did, but she wasn`t the one to just go and ask someone out, especially not him. You watched her in confusion as professor Rogers made his way to the front of the class.

“You know, with everything happening right now, the uni council would let us hold the party only if there was someone that could take care of us.”

“Oh!” you supposed that made sense, but even so why did it have to be him.

“Of course professor Barnes already said that he`ll be there, but we`d be thankful if you came too. Please!” your friend bated her eyelashes at him as you rolled your eyes.

Professor Rogers had a pleased smile as he moved his eyes from her to you. You held his gaze, even going as far as raising one eyebrow at him. He blinked, before turning his head towards the rest of the class.

“Since you asked so nicely.” he said after a short moment dismissively. ”`I`ll be there.”

There was something sinister in his eyes. Something that you failed to see as you made your way out of the lecture class.

“I can`t believe you invited him!” you playfully jabbed your friend in the shoulder as she walked next to you.

“Oh, come on! It’s just tonight, and I bet he won’t be able to stay up that late since he’s like... the same age as history?” she bit back a laugh, as she took your hand. “It will be fun, you`ll see.”

You hoped she was right since you were never a big fan of parties of any kind.

                                       _ _ _

This wasn`t fun. Not at all.

You knew you should have stayed home, yet you still wanted to enjoy the last night with your class mates before break. But this wasn`t it. The music was too loud and you couldn`t even hear what some people were saying. Also you`ve never really been a techno fan. The food was crap and you were sure everyone came just because there were free drinks.

It was well past midnight and you have been there since the beginning, but you were already dreading it. You smiled as your only joy came from watching drunk freshmen being rejected by some of your friends. The girls were ruthless and that made you proud.

“Hey girl!” your bestfriend came by your side, holding two glasses in her hands as her body danced along the rhythm of the music. “Look at was professor Rogers sent us.”

Her words were slurred and you could see that she drank already too much. That`s why at first you thought you didn`t hear her right. While it wasn`t unusual for men to send women drinks, getting a drink from your teacher was something you never thought could happen. It was wrong in a way.

“What?” your eyes widened as soon as the word left your mouth.

You eyed the glass she handed you. It seemed to be one of your favorites, and after the sour taste the beer left in your mouth, that would have been like a desert. Still something made you suspicious.

“Come on, take it!”  your friend pressed as she smiled broadly. “He must have realized that he’s been an ass all year and wants to make amends.”

She was giggling as her glossy eyes drifted around the room. She didn`t seem to be able to focus on anything, but somehow her shaky hands found yours and brought the glass you were holding closer to your mouth. You weren`t exactly sure what came over you, but you opened your mouth and let the liquid go down your throat. Involuntarily, your eyes wondered around till you saw the back of your least favorite teacher. He didn`t even seem to care about anything around him as he was engaged into a discussion with professor Barnes. That alone made you feel safe, even though the drink left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You were too quick to judge, you resonated. This was probably his way of saying: “Sorry I tormented you that much.” You suddenly giggled. It was shortly followed by your friend`s laughter. She threw the glass to the side and took your hand leading you to the dancefloor.

You weren`t that much of a dancer. You knew just some basics moves and that was it, but now you didn`t seem to care. You let your body move, and only chuckled when your legs started to feel like jelly. It was a strange feeling. You suddenly felt like were floating.

You furrowed your brows as you started to feel that your body didn`t exactly respond to your impulses. Everything around you happened in slow motion.

You cursed. Just how much did you drink? Moving one hand to your head, you tried to get your senses back, but you found it too hard to do. Your head buzzed. For a second you looked around trying to spot your friend among the sweaty bodies on the dancefloor, but it was like you couldn`t recognize anybody.

Fuck this. You had enough of this party already, and the way you felt made you decide that it was time to go home. You moved between the sea of bodies as fast as you could. Your coat and purse were the only thing you spent more than five minutes looking for, but as you found them you practically run out of there.

The bus stop wasn`t that far, but just the thought that you`ll have to go home by bus, made you want to throw up. You didn`t feel well and there was  dizziness that started to overcome you. As you watched the empty street, you cursed again. Of course you`ll have to wait till the next bus came. Damn it! You should really get your license.

The sound of a engine from behind you, made you turn your head. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the Range Rover slow down and actually stop right next to you. You squinted your eyes, trying to see through the tinted glass, but as a wave of nausea hit you, you moved your head to the side. You didn`t exactly pay attention when one of the windows went down. You didn`t really care. You felt sick, and all you wanted, was to get home.

“ I saw you left the party early.” the deep voice said. “Are you all right kitten?”

You hissed when you heard the voice of the last person you wanted to see right now. What was he even doing here? Your heart skipped a beat as another wave hit. You took a deep breath and tried to steady yourself. Just ignore him and he`ll go away. You didn`t exactly knew why you choose to act like that but there was something in your head that told you it was for the best.

“Come on girl, I have to make sure everyone is safe and sound.” you heard his voice. “If you don`t feel fine, I can take you home.”

The idea of getting home sooner and in a nice car was looking really good right now. But still, you didn`t feel like it was the best for you. You choose to keep quiet for reasons not even you knew. You glossy eyes scanned the schedule of the bus that was right in front of you. Thirty minutes and you`ll go home.

You heard professor Rogers sigh.

“And here I thought you never shut your mouth.” there was a deep chuckle, fallowed by the sound of the engine coming to life. “Look kitten I can either get you home or I`ll go my merry way and let you here all alone... well not quite. But I`m not sure you`d want that kind of company.”

Confusion filled your mind. The sudden move you made to look at him, made you dizzy. You tried to focus your eyes, in time to see him pointing to somewhere behind you. You slowly turned.

A group of guys were eyeing you like a wolf would his prey. Your mouth fell open as they did obscene gestures at you. Your whole body freeze as fear took over you. You knew what could happen. Suddenly you were more sober that ever and as you heard the car start moving, you nearly threw yourself in front of it. On shaky legs you moved towards the door.

“Wait” you find it hard to speak. “Professor, I`m sorry I... please!”

You looked at him with pleading eyes, and didn`t even register the way he smirked as you got into the car. Everything was a haze. You only felt like you could breath when the car started to gain speed. You didn`t even remembered to give him your address or anything, but as the car rolled down various streets you were only thankful you were far away from them.

“It such a crazy world out there” professor Rogers voice made you move your head towards him, but as the fear was gone, you started to feel the dizziness again.

With unfocused eyes you watched him. America`s hero was giving you a ride home for free and you were acting like he was your biggest enemy. What was wrong with you?

“I have to say I`m impressed.” he suddenly said as the car started to slow down. “That was one of the strongest drugs that you drank, and you still have some of your conscious left. The other ones were down after a few minutes.”

You looked at him and simply blinked. You wondered if your mind was playing games with you. Surely, he hadn`t said what you think you heard. You must have imagined everything.

“E... excuse me?” you asked dully.

You drew in a shaky breath as your trembling hand went to the door. He chuckled darkly at your attempts to open it. You wanted to scream but as your movement became slower and slower you found that fear wasn`t enough to fuel your limp body.

The car came to a sudden stop. You closed your eyes as you felt hands pulling you back.

“Now, now honey.” you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. “Don`t waste your energy, you`ll need it.”

You turned your head and watched him through your eyelashes. Something in your head was screaming at you to fight, to run, to get away. You wanted to punch, scratch, hurt him in any way. But your body didn`t listen.

It happened too fast. In a matter of second your dress was ripped to shreds. And your found yourself pressed to the door. He was over you in an instant. Turning your head to the side so that he could stare into your eyes. He had a hungry look on his face. You`ve seen it many times but it never terrified you as much as now.

“Just as pretty as I imagined.” he said in a husky voice.

You squeezed your legs as you felt his hand moving around along your body. He tugged at your bra till the clasps snapped. Your nipples stood erect, you didn`t know if it was from the cold of the car or the heat that was inside you. One of his hands came forward at pinched at your nipples. You made to move, but as sensing your intention he tugged your head back by your hair.

“Don`t you even dare!” he growled as his thumb played with one of your nipples. “I waited a long time for this”.

He leaned forward kissing down your stretched neck. His mouth was hot against your skin. You gasped when you felt his tongue leaving wet traces along your collarbone. He tugged at your hair one more time before his hand went down.

“Always dressing like this world is your own runaway, always thinking that you know it all.” he let out a moan as he squeezed your ass. “Do you know what a face as pretty as yours and an attitude like that do to a man?”

You whimpered. You never meant to catch his attention in that way, you just wanted to feel good about yourself. You wanted to tell him that. To tell him that you were sorry, but your brain didn`t work anymore. There was no reaction even as he spanked you. You felt like you could pass out every second.

“Don`t even think about it!”

You closed your eyes when your panties were soon the same as your other clothes. Slick was going down your legs. Despite everything, you were aroused.

“So fucking wet already. Good girl!” he praised.

You felt his hand descend down to your very core, proding around. You bit your lips as tears filled your eyes.

“How many have been here before?” he gave a low chuckle the same time his fingers pinched your button.

“One?” he mocked as one of his long fingers entered you.

You held back a gasp. Non, no, no. This wasn`t happening. Nobody touched you like that before. Nobody even came close to it. That`s not how you wanted it not how you dreamt it would happen. You wanted dinner, roses, a man you loved... not him.

“Two?” he continued as another finger stretched you.

You felt your walls clench around his fingers, as he moved them in and out ou you, everything while his thumb circled your most sensitive part.

“Fuck... you`re tight!” his breath was ragged, it was like he couldn`t get enough.

There was a sudden pause. In a quick move you found yourself pressed to the door of the car, as he angled your body to have better access to your burning core. He drew in a breath.

“A virgin.” he moaned.

You closed your eyes as you herd him playing at his clothes. The sudden hardness you felt proding around your core, made you shiver. You didn`t dare to look back and see it. You were scared. It seemed too big. You were afraid it would split you in a half.

You screamed when he entered you. The pain blurred your vision. Your whole body ached and tears fell down your cheeks. No, no, no. You bit back a moan of pain when he started to move, not caring about you at all. His moves were rough, punishing.

“Shhh doll, I`ll take care of you.” he rasped. “You must have waited so long for this... saving yourself for me.”

Your body moved in rhythm with his. His cock dragged along your walls as every move sent a wave of pain through you. Soon though, you found the pain disappeared. A strange feeling took over you. It was almost pleasurable. You guessed you would have enjoyed it under any other circumstances. But now? Now you were just tired.

As you passed out, you failed to notice the feeling of something warm flowing through you.

                                          _ _ _

Steve smiled down at your sleeping form. So pretty, even after being used like that. You had a glow. Too bad you might not remember anything that happened. He chuckled. It`s a  good thing he planned to keep you. He`ll make sure you`ll never forget him.

You were his girl after all. The only reason he took that shitty job as a teacher.

TW: rape

‘I May Destroy You,’ Michaela Coel’s gimlet-eyed exploration of trauma and its myriad ripple effects follows Arabella (Coel) — a funny, messy, sharp-as-hell London writer — after a dizzying night in which she’s drugged and raped by a stranger. At first, she dismisses the hazy memory as just an upsetting image in her head. Soon enough, though, Arabella reluctantly comes to understand it as the truth, and tries to work through that horrifying reality without coming apart. [...]

Not every part of Arabella has a direct line to Coel, but the series’ catalyzing experience, unfortunately, does. In 2016, Coel took a break from a marathon writing session for the second season of “Chewing Gum” to grab a drink with a friend, and was drugged and assaulted by a stranger. She’s been sifting through the emotional wreckage ever since to find some kind of clarity, if not peace. Now, with “I May Destroy You,” she’s doing it for all the world to see. “As a fellow android exploring what it means to be human,” says Coel’s friend Janelle Monáe, “watching Michaela be vulnerable on-screen as she walks in her truth gives me and so many the bravery to walk in ours.” [...]

Coel began writing “I May Destroy You” in February 2017, in between acting in TV projects like the “USS Callister” episode of “Black Mirror” and Netflix’s limited series “Black Earth Rising.” She took solo mountain trips and wrote draft after draft of what would eventually become “I May Destroy You,” spilling her stories and tangled guts onto the page, rearranging them into shapes she could better recognize. In August 2018, she spoke about her trauma publicly while delivering the Edinburgh International Television Festival’s James MacTaggart Memorial Lecture, a prestigious assignment the festival has otherwise bestowed on a cadre of white British television mainstays (as well as no fewer than three Murdochs). 

The majority of Coel’s speech, delivered to a room of the U.K.’s most powerful entertainment brokers, traced the constant racism and classism she endured on the way to that Edinburgh stage — a theme subtextually underlined by the fact that Coel was, and remains, the only Black woman to have that platform. She spoke about turning her solo play “Chewing Gum Dreams” into a “Chewing Gum” TV series (which aired 2015-17 on the U.K.’s Channel 4), a transformative time that taught her the technicalities of making television and confirmed just how disinclined certain white gatekeepers are to trust a poorer Black woman’s vision. Toward the end of the 50-minute lecture, Coel revealed her assault and elucidated the industry’s inability — or unwillingness — to handle such a human emergency when pages are due. As for her recovery, she said, “It’s been therapeutic to write about it, and actively twist a narrative of pain into something with more hope, and even humor.”

When it finally came time to translate it all to the screen, “I May Destroy You” was so close to her bruised heart that Coel took on the challenge of playing several roles throughout the series’ development: creator, writer, actor, producer, director. Netflix offered her a total fee of a cool $1 million to make and star in the show, but the proposed contract wouldn’t grant Coel even a tiny percentage of the rights. She hadn’t fully realized how much claiming legal proprietorship over her work mattered to her until the prospect of not being able to emerged, at which point it became crucial. 

Then, after some Googling, she realized that her CAA agents would also be profiting from the deal via the endangered practice of packaging. Stung and surprised, Coel walked away from both her agents and the offer. “I’m not anti-Netflix,” she’s quick to say now, “but I am pro-‘the creator, writer, director, actor should probably have a right.’” She’s hyper-aware of how much this project required of her, and how comparatively little granting her “a right” might cost a powerful network like Netflix. “That’s not quite fair, is it?” Coel muses. Creating the show, after all, took almost everything she had.

With the BBC, a million-dollar paycheck might not have been in the cards, but more important to Coel, she didn’t have to fight half as hard to claim ownership. (As a matter of industry course, it’s far more common for British studios to afford creators rights to their work than it is for American equivalents.) They struck a deal, and Coel got to work.[...]

“When you’re restricted,” she explains, “sometimes that’s where you find great things: in the lack of possibility.” She attributes this rather Zen approach to Hugo Blick, the “Black Earth Rising” showrunner who showed her the value of keeping a cool, empathetic head on set. Blick’s ability to step away from a gnarly situation for even 30 calming seconds is one that Coel has worked to hone for herself, especially while steering a series with such fraught ties to her history. No matter how sideways things might go, she never wants to forget just how much she loves the collaborative act of building a television show, wild complications and all. 

Read more

From Forbes:

I May Destroy You’s Michaela Coel Rejected Netflix’s $1 Million Offer In Favor Of The BBC Because Of Ownership

The creative, who stars as Arabella and wrote all 12 episodes, started pitching the programme in the spring of 2017 with one of her first ports of call being Netflix who picked up her prior series Chewing Gum.

Though Netflix offered a generous upfront fee of $1 million (£800,000), the sum had strings attached, including full rights ownership away from the creator, something Coel pushed back against. Coel recalls a moment during the interview where she is speaking with a Netflix development executive on the phone, asking if she could retain even a very small 0.5% of the copyright to her show.

“There was just silence on the phone. And she said, ‘It’s not how we do things here. Nobody does that, it’s not a big deal,’” Coel recollected. “I said, ‘If it’s not a big deal, then I’d really like to have 5 % of my rights,’” Coel added, stating that she even went down to 2%, and then 1% and even as a final compromise to 0.5%.

Coel remembers that the executive said she would have to run it passed her superiors, before adding, “‘Michaela? I just want you to know I’m really proud of you. You’re doing the right thing.'”

“I remember thinking, I’ve been going down rabbit holes in my head, like people thinking I’m paranoid, I’m acting sketchy, I’m killing off all my agents,” Coel says. “And then she said those words to me, and I finally realized — I’m not crazy. This is crazy.”

Coel discovered her agents, Creative Artists Agency (CAA) were set to make an undisclosed amount from the series if she took the deal with Netflix. She reveals that the agency pushed her to take the deal prior to her finding out and their subsequent dismissal as her U.S. representation.

Taking the project to British broadcaster the BBC later in 2017, Coel found the corporation to be supportive with her maintaining creative control even with the explicit depictions of sex, sexual assault and drug use. Plus, as the broadcaster had to adhere to terms of trade, Coel had no problem with retaining the rights also. The broadcaster also brought HBO to the table as another co-producer to help subsidise a portion of the budget.

Read more

This isn’t about just “knowing your worth;” it’s about knowing the business (your business) and never settling just to secure “something.” A million dollar offer, no copyright ownership and no creative control is beyond disrespectful. Learn the business in whatever field you’re in and stay acclimated with jargon and new, current and old practices. Know your shit. 

It’s like when people say “Get a lawyer” to handle negotiations and look over your paperwork. You pay a lawyer to do a job, but it does not mean you should be oblivious to aspects of law and contract jargon among other things because “that’s what they’re there to do.” You can’t say someone (sometimes lawyers included) screwed you over after you’ve signed the dotted line. They’re protecting and looking out for themselves. Commit to do the same for yourself.

Sansan shippers: 'Here is my opinion on how Tyrion is a pedophile who molest Sansa and how Petyr another pedo doing same to Sansa. But our boy Sandor truly loved her as he didn't want her claim and he is better from joffery. He is true knight and Sansa ship herself with him. She had no other options as all other are disgusting wile old men".🙄

I'm not gonna lie, that "she ships herself with him" thing they say really bothers me because that means they're dismissing her trauma and saying, "Ignore what the girl says. She liked it." You can’t read this and not feel the girl’s terror

(beneath the cut because of the content)

He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

(she sings the song)

She had forgotten the other verses. When her voice trailed off, she feared he might kill her, but after a moment the Hound took the blade from her throat, never speaking. (ACOK, sansa VII)

Visualize this scene. I think it’s clear what it is. They are reading an attempted rape scene. I know shippers don’t want to acknowledge that, but this is what he says later:

He made a queer sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was sobbing. "And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf." A spasm of pain twisted his face. "Do you mean to make me beg, bitch? Do it! The gift of mercy . . . avenge your little Michael . . ." "Mycah." Arya stepped away from him. "You don't deserve the gift of mercy." (ASOS, Arya XIII)

This is a confession. It’s a confession of his failure to protect her, his earlier lie to Arya that she willingly sang to him, and a confession of his true intention. The fucking her bloody/ripping her heart out was likely added to get Arya to kill him, but those first two sentences, “I meant to take her too. I should have” sound genuine to me especially because his version of events matches what we read in Sansa’s chapter. I think the author always envision this as attempted rape, the fandom just finds it easy to brush off the brutalization of little girls, or rather, of this little girl because they don’t like her. 

I know his fans/shippers insist that he wasn’t going to do more than kiss her, but he still twisted a knife into her throat. At minimum, he intended some form of sexual assault, and she believed he was going to kill her. 

Just because every man near Sansa is disgusting doesn’t make any of them less so. 

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 6

TITLE: Tear You To Pieces CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 6 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was sent to make up for his deeds by helping out The Avengers at the tower. Everyone thinks he’s changed, but he is just biding his time. He manipulates and uses someone who works there, who has a crush on him, to get exactly what he wants.  RATING: M

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: DARK LOKI, RAPE/NON-CON, MANIPULATION, MURDER, VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, KIDNAPPING

One evening Loki and Cleo were out on a dinner date again. Cleo was completely head over heels for Loki, he was treating her like a Princess, something she had never experienced before.

He’d gotten her a lot of gifts over the last few months, beautiful jewellery, flowers and chocolates. She was giddy each and every time.

Loki slid a small box across the table towards her, making her heart flutter that he was giving her yet another gift.

‘Loki, you shouldn’t have got me another present.’ She blushed as she took the box and opened it to reveal a beautiful pair of emerald earrings.

‘Of course I should, darling. You’re my girl and I want to spoil you.’ He grinned across the table at her, making her smile.

‘Thank you, these are so beautiful.’ She took out the ones she was wearing and put in her new ones, Loki beamed happily.

‘Simply stunning.’ He purred at her.

She had quickly learned that Loki seemed to enjoy it when she wore his colours. So of course, she went out of her way to always try and wear green of some sort as much as possible. More so on dates, so the team wouldn’t get suspicious.

Loki reached over the table and gently placed his hand on top of hers and he stroked the back of her hand softly. ‘You know you mean a lot to me, pet.’

Kelly went a bit giddy and she couldn’t stop the big smile that spread across her face. ‘You mean a lot to me, too.’ She said shyly. She was still so shy and easily flustered around him.

‘But I uh… I feel I need to be honest with you.’ Loki said with a gentle sigh, still stroking the back of her hand.

Kelly felt her stomach drop, wondering what was wrong. What he was going to say. Did she do something wrong? Did she anger or disappoint him?

‘This upcoming mission on Tuesday… I’m really quite worried, nervous, about it.’ Loki said openly, making Kelly’s eyes widen. ‘It’s a big one, really big. Which is why we haven’t been allowed to tell anyone. Very high risk, even the others are pretty worried too.’

She felt her stomach sink. What if he got hurt? She couldn’t bear to think about it.

‘Do you have to go?’ She asked.

Loki nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes. We all do.’ He sounded really worried, Kelly felt bad for him. Her heart was hurting.

‘I wish there was something I could do to help you.’ She said sadly.

Loki nodded and gave her a small smile. ‘I know you do, pet. That’s what’s so wonderful about you.’

She smiled back at him. Then a look of realisation crossed Loki’s face.

‘Actually… There might be something… No, no. I couldn’t ask such a thing of you.’ He dismissed swiftly.

‘What is it? You know I’ll do anything I can for you, Loki.’ Kelly said urgently.

‘No, darling. Never mind, it’s ok.’ Loki said softly and brought her hand up so he could kiss the back of it, making her skin tingle even more.

‘At least let me hear your suggestion.’ She pleaded him.

Loki looked reluctant, but she gave him her best puppy dog pleading eyes. With a sigh, he leaned forward more and spoke quietly. ‘There is one way I could guarantee my safety and the others, too. If I had all my powers, it would make the mission extremely easy. But they are locked away in Starks private vault, in a box. They were pulled from me by Odin before I came down here. I know you are very skilled and magnificent with your security tech work, I did think perhaps you could help me to get it back… But I could never ask you to do such a thing.’

He could see Kelly’s mind racing for a moment as she took in what he said.

‘I… I could try. I mean, it’s not like you’re going to do anything bad. I trust you, the others must to an extent too. Since you’re going on a big mission with them, and you’ve been living with us all for a long time now. I don’t really get why they won’t give them back to you anyway.’ Kelly blurted out.

Loki’s eyebrows raised up.

‘Really? You would do such a thing, for me?’ He asked, sounding surprised.

‘Of course I would. I know you’d do the same for me. And I don’t want you to get hurt.’

Loki smiled widely. ‘Thank you, pet. It means a lot, it really does. But I don’t want you getting into trouble.’ He said, concerned.

‘They’ll never know.’ She shrugged. ‘I can get in and out without them even realising, since I helped to build the security system. You don’t need to tell them that you’ve got it all back, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. They would never need to know.’ Loki agreed.

Kelly was a little nervous, but the thought of helping Loki out big time was too much to turn down. It wasn’t like he was pressuring her into it, anyway. She was going to help him, willingly.

‘I’ll do it. When do you need it? How do I get it to you, is the box safe for me to touch?’ She asked eagerly.

‘We can work out the details later, let’s just enjoy our date. I can’t thank you enough for wanting to do this for me. Truly, you are incredible and I don’t know how I got so lucky with you.’ He smiled at her fondly, making her heart melt.

That was far too easy. Loki thought wickedly, supressing a grin.

-

That night, after discussing some details for the plan, Loki gave Kelly an innocent kiss on the lips. He had hoped it would finally be the night he got to take her, but no. She just said goodnight to him and left to go to her own room.

So he decided to pay her another visit. Like he had been doing every now and then, pleasuring her in her dreams.

He had managed to work on his power and get it to be more stable while he tried fingering her again. She was still uncertain with it, even in her sleep. Always became squirmier when he did insert a long finger into her warmth.

But tonight, with his thumb working overtime on her clit, he finally managed to get her to cum all over his finger. She felt exquisite clenching around him. Her cries of pleasure made him rock hard, he wanted nothing more than to sink his cock into her, fuck her hard and deep. To rip her innocence from her, something she could never get back. Something that would always be his.

But he knew it wasn’t going to happen soon with her willingly.

So he not only had a planet to claim once he got his power back, but he had a mortal to claim too.

Fool For Love 10- Compromising

Fool For Love Series Masterlist , Fool For Love Story Masterlist

Author’s Note: Get ready for some heavy angst and some angry alpha Dean acting an ass. This series is also available on Archive.

Summary: Sam is determined to fix things between his brother and their omega, but with Dean stuck in his self-hatred and Y/n stuck in her self-pity, that's a little harder than it seems.

Pairing: former Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader, mentions of Beta!OMC x Beta!Reader

Word count: 3261

Story Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, angst, past kidnapping, Dean having no clue how to fix shit, some awkwardness, 18+! HERE BE SEX!! DON’T READ IF YOU’RE A YOUNG’UN!!! knotting sex, heat, oral (fem rec)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you, Sam. I really could have figured it out myself, though,” Y/n said as Sam set the LOMMARP down in her living room.

"Well, I know, but I wanted to help," he said as he stepped back to examine the placement. He bit the inside of his lip for a moment before he cleared his throat. "And, uh, I didn't end up putting it together. It was Dean."

She looked away and sighed. "Yeah,” she responded softly. “I can smell him on it."

"He told me not to tell you, but I didn’t want to lie.”

“Well, thanks for respecting me enough not to lie,” she said, turning away from the bookshelf and sitting on the couch.

“Of course I resp-” Sam took a deep breath. “Y/n, I know that you were burned by Dean’s-”

“I was destroyed by Dean,” she interrupted. “He killed me and then he killed my boyfriend and then he killed my beta existence.”

Sam’s shoulders tightened with tension. “You chose to become an omega again. It wasn’t him.”

“No, it was you,” she reminded, softly. “And yeah, some of it was me. I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do, so I’m at fault for my condition too, but the simple fact of it is that none of this would have happened if Dean hadn’t killed me two years ago.”

Sam took a deep breath and sat next to her on the couch. “You need to talk to him.” She looked over, her eyebrow raised. “Look, I’m very happy to have this time where it’s just you and me and you act like the sun shines out of my ass, but…” Sam licked his lips as he ran his fingers through his hair. “You love Dean and Dean loves you and don’t argue about it because being mad at him for what he’s done doesn’t change the fact that you love him.”

She looked away from him and scratched at her neck so Sam set his hand on her knee. “You wouldn’t have saved him if you didn’t still love him. I know you’re angry. I’m angry too. We lost out on two years with you because Dean fucked up, but we can get past it. We can get past the anger and find the love again...but not if you don’t talk to him.”

"Talking to him is...too hard, Sam."

"No, it's not. I'll be with you. Come on, Y/n." He squeezed her knee and she sighed.

"Okay. But not here...and not at the Bunker. Neutral ground."

Sam smiled. "I know just the place."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The park, Sam? Really?" Dean bitched as he parked the Impala and looked around the parking lot for a sign of Y/n.

"It's neutral, Dean. It's not her place. It's not our place," Sam explained as he pushed open his door and climbed out. "Plus, it's open air so no one can claim that pheromones played a part in the discussion. It’s the best place for this."

Dean rolled his eyes and exited the Chevy, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and sighing. "This is not gonna work."

"Yes, it will. She still loves you. It'll work," Sam promised, walking away toward the picnic area.

"Would you forgive me for all the crap I pulled on-"

"I already have." Dean looked over at Sam, confused, but Sam was looking ahead to where Y/n was sitting at the nearest picnic table. Sam took the spot on the bench next to Y/n and Dean took the middle of the bench on the other side.

Dean's eyes couldn't lift from the table top as Y/n looked over at him, waiting patiently. She knew well how hard it was for Dean to speak on his emotions. "Sorry" would come easily. Admitting when he's messed up was easy for him, but talking out the whys was always hard.

Awkward silence dragged out over a few long moments, Sam opening his mouth to try start the conversation but thinking better of it each time. Dean reached out to pick at a splinter in the wood, absent-mindedly playing with it as Y/n watched.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I-I know that doesn’t mean anything but I am so sorry, Y/n.” He finally looked up and caught her eyes, tears making his olive orbs shine even brighter. “I’m so sorry about everything. I wish I had helped you when you were sick and I wish I had been able to walk away when I found out you were alive. I’m sorry I-I went feral and fucked your entire life up. What I did to your fiance...he didn’t deserve that. He just fell in love with the most wonderful woman in the world and that wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve what I did and I’m so sorry.”

Y/n shook her head, anger dripping into her scent. “He didn’t get the chance to actually be my fiance, Dean. You beat him to death before I even had the chance to say ‘yes’.” Tears filled her eyes at the memory of Malcolm covered in blood with his face smashed. “He was a good man. All he ever did was love me, support me, lift me up. And you killed him. You killed him. How is sorry supposed to fix that?”

“It’s not,” Dean answered, shaking his head. “It’s not supposed to fix anything. But I been…” He took a shaky breath and let his tongue out to run along his bottom lip. “Since I woke up and realized what I did, I’ve been sick about it. I ruined everything for you and I ruined everything again after you worked so hard to put together a good life without us and…” He shook his head as tears finally fell. “I’m so sorry.”

"Yeah, me too. I'm sorry I was so forgettable that you could toss me aside so easily. I'm sorry I picked beta existence instead of Chuck just taking my marks because if I'd chosen the first option, I'd be the only one affected. Malcolm would still be alive and you never would have gone feral, because you wouldn't be mated anymore." Dean's bottom lip trembled as she stood. "Would've been better for everyone."

"Y/n," Sam started but she shook her head and leaned over Dean.

"I was raped by a demon because of you and you never touched me again after. Do you even understand what that did to my self-worth? Do you understand that I thought I was ruined because my alpha wouldn't touch me? How broken I already was about what that monster did and how I felt so destroyed-"

"It was Amara, Y/n, she got in my head and-"

"And you couldn’t push through it. Not for me…and you couldn’t tell me why and you could-" Dean stood and moved like he was going to grab her, but stopped and stepped back instead. She let out a deep breath and licked her lips. "You hurt me in a hundred ways, Dean."

"I know. I wish I could fix it."

"You're talking again. That's a start," Sam said, moving to stand too.

"Right. A start." Y/n cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes. "I'm, um, gonna get going. I've got work in a half hour."

"Okay," Sam said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head. "Love you. Text me?"

"Yeah," she agreed before nodding at Dean and walking toward the parking lot.

The brothers watched her walk away until they couldn't see her anymore. "Told you it wouldn't work," Dean grumbled before walking away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I was thinking we could do dinner...with Dean," Sam suggested as he brought Y/n a cup of coffee. "It's been a few days, you've calmed down. I know you've been thinking about his apology, right?"

She rolled her eyes and took a sip of the coffee. "Yeah. I guess I've been thinking but...it’s...I’m just tired of...compromising, I guess?”

“Compromising?” Sam asked, shaking his head a little.

“Putting aside my feelings and my desires to be...because omegas make things easier, omegas soothe and fix, omegas-”

“You don’t have to-”

“Of course, I do. I’m the omega, it’s my lot in life.” She cleared her throat. “It’s fine. I’m...it’s fine. Let’s just...if you want to have dinner with Dean, we can have dinner with Dean.”

“If you don’t want to, then-” Sam started.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” she dismissed.

“Yes, it does!” Sam argued. “Of course, it does, Y/n.”

“No, it doesn’t, because what I want in my head is a different thing than what I want in my body and my body is going to win out in the end because of these stupid fucking marks.” She closed her eyes tight and scratched her nails across her eyebrows. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Call Dean. We’ll do B&E, get some pizza or something.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m sure. Gonna have to fix things eventually, right?”

Sam nodded and pulled out his phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was nervous as he pulled into the restaurant parking lot. He wasn’t sure why he kept letting Sam talk him into this stuff. Y/n was never going to forgive him. She shouldn’t. He fucked up. He fucked everything up. He ruined everything.

She was sitting at a booth with Sam when he walked into the pizzeria. Dean swallowed thickly and approached the booth, taking the seat on the opposite side. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam and Y/n echoed.

“Have we, uh, have we ordered?”

“No. Figured we should wait. That’s the polite thing, right?” Y/n asked, looking down at the tabletop.

Dean bit his bottom lip and shook his head with a sigh. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this. You’re obviously uncomfortable and-”

“I’m on the edge of my first heat in years,” Y/n interrupted. “I can feel it starting to claw at my insides. Little cramps, uncomfortable anxiety...it’s just been a while since I felt it, okay? That’s why I’m on edge.”

Dean nodded. “Sorry. I...I couldn’t smell it over Sammy’s scent. I...I hope...I mean...I don’t suppose you’re excited about it, but...Sam’s gonna be good to take care-” The powerful way Y/n rolled her eyes stopped Dean mid sentence.

“Sam won’t be enough, dumbass.”

“Y/n,” Sam chastised quietly and Y/n rolled her eyes again.

“He is. If he’s already forgotten how I almost died last time,” Y/n snapped.

“I didn’t forget,” Dean said, softly, picking at his paper napkin. “I just figured you’d wanna go as long as possible without touching me. Figured I’d be a last-ditch effort, keep yourself away from me until you absolutely have to-”

“You think I’d rather subject myself to rejection sickness for a while instead of having sex with you? You think I hate you so much that I’d put myself through that pain again?” she asked, seriously. Dean just shrugged, still not looking at her. She sighed and shook her head. “If I hated you, I’d’ve let you die...feral and lost. I don’t hate you...much as I want to.”

"So...you don't hate me?" Dean asked, shyly.

"I wish I did. I really tried." Y/n shook her head and picked up her drink. "I tried to hate you when you said I wasn't really dying and I tried to hate you in Seattle and I tried to hate you when Sam asked me to save you, but I couldn't. Even after what you did to Mal...I couldn’t." Y/n took a sip as Sam wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "There was so much potential in our relationship. We got through you being a demon and the Mark making you dark...we could have gotten through anything together."

"'Til I killed you," Dean whispered. "And I did. I killed you, Y/n. I'm the reason you left and Chuck found you and I'm so sorry." He looked up and caught Y/n's eyes. "I'm sorry I'm the reason your family thinks you're dead and I'm sorry I hurt you so badly. I'm so sorry."

The server walked up as Y/n opened her mouth to reply, so she stopped. They ordered their food and fell into a tense silence that followed them across the entire meal. Y/n cuddled closer to Sam as they ate. She was feeling needy, her abdomen cramping more the longer she was around her alphas, but she was doing her best to ignore it. She wasn't exactly happy to be reduced to base animal cravings again and she planned to fight it until the fever hit.

Dean picked pepperoni off of his pizza and sneaked looks across the table. "You should hate me," he whispered eventually. "I do."

"You hated yourself before all this," Y/n snapped.

“Yeah.” Dean nodded and stood, tossing a twenty dollar bill on the table. “It made sense then, too.”

Sam stood as Dean started to walk away from the table. “We’ll call you when she starts her heat.”

“Not until she really needs me, Sammy. You should take care of her needs. I don’t deserve-”

Sam shook his head. “She’ll need you faster than you think she will. First heat. It’s just like a first heat, Dean.”

Dean sighed. “Just call me when she needs me. I don’t deserve to touch her.”

“Coward,” Y/n whispered as Dean walked out of the restaurant.

Sam sat next to her and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get you through this.”

“Don’t really have much of a choice, do we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n’s temperature spiked as Sam drove her to her house. She squirmed in the passenger seat of the classic pickup truck as she rolled the window down to get air circulating in the cab.

"God, this feels almost as bad as…" she whimpered, curling in on herself.

"As bad as?" Sam asked, reaching over to set his hand on her thigh.

"The first one. The night at the bar," she whined, spreading her legs in silent invitation. Sam slipped his hand further up her thigh and pressed the seam of her jeans into her mound. She grabbed his hand, grinding against it as she made him put more pressure on her. "It's so overwhelming."

"I'll take care of you, Y/n," Sam promised, rubbing at her clit through her jeans.

She was a sweating mess of pheromones by the time Sam got her to her house. Sam held his breath as he moved to pick her up and help her out of the truck. If he breathed in the powerful scent of her, he likely wouldn't make it inside with her. He didn’t need her neighbors to witness him knotting her on the front lawn. She clung to him as he helped her inside, pulling her keys out of her jacket and opening the door. She whined his name as he helped her in and immediately turned right into the bedroom.

They hadn't done more than kiss and grope each other since she came back to Lebanon. Dean had gone further than Sam. As Sam grabbed her head and pressed a fierce kiss to her lips, she clawed at her clothes, desperate to be free of the constricting material. Sam grabbed the collar of her t-shirt and tugged, growling as she gasped against his mouth.

"Pants off. Bed," he commanded, pulling at his own clothes. She scrambled to kick her shoes off and fumbled with the button of her jeans as she stumbled backward toward the mattress. “I’ve been thinking about this for months. Getting between those legs again, listening to you whine. Tasting you. Fuck, I missed the way you taste.”

“Alpha, please,” she whined, dropping back onto the bed and spreading her legs for him.

“God, you are so beautiful,” he whispered, joining her on the bed. He was overwhelmed by the way she smelled and how she looked, sweating and spread out before him. He ran his hand across her collarbone and down into the valley between her breasts, loving the way she pressed herself closer to him. “I’m going to make you feel better, Omega.”

Sam leaned down and took her nipple in his mouth, sucking lightly despite the desire to bite down and make her squirm. Her hand came down and buried in his hair as he laved his tongue over her skin, making the sensitive skin pucker at the attention. Sam couldn’t put into words how much he’d missed the scents and sensations attacking his brain in that moment. A million memories assaulted him as he kissed his way down her body to lick his way along her mound. This was Heaven for Sam. Hearing her noises, hearing her gasps, feeling her fingers grabbing his scalp like her life depended on it, as he feasted on her slick. He wanted nothing more for the rest of his life.

When she came apart on his tongue, he immediately climbed up her body and looked down into her lust-glazed eyes. “Do you want to present or...or should I take you like this or-”

“Let me ride.”

Sam’s cock twitched at the breathless request and he nodded before dropping to the bed beside her. He licked his lips and brushed his hair out of his face as she set her hands on his chest and moved to straddle him. She looked apprehensive for a moment before reaching down and lining his cock up with her entrance. He put his hand over hers on his chest and smiled up at her. “It’s okay, ‘mega.”

She leaned down and kissed him as she started working her way down his shaft. Thick alpha cock filling her up was exactly what she needed and she sighed in relief when he bottomed out inside of her. “Fuck, Sam.”

“You feel perfect, baby. Such a beautiful omega, so tight and wet. Perfect,” Sam praised as she started to roll her hips.

She wouldn’t have admitted to it in Seattle, but she missed this kind of sex. She missed an alpha dick in her, knot swelling at the base. She couldn’t say she dreamed of it, she hadn’t had any sexual dreams. But she did think about it. She thought about Sam and she thought about his brother, her original alpha, her original love. She missed them both. She missed this.

Sam let her work herself into a frenzy. He let her ride as fast as she wanted to. He let her slam her body down on him and only gave quick thrusts every once in a while to let her know he was enjoying himself as much as she was. When his knot started to fill, she leaned down to kiss him again, nails digging into the back of his neck as she finally fell over into oblivion. Sam reached down to grab her hips and braced his feet against the mattress as he started to thrust up into her, chasing his own ending, wanting nothing more than to knot her once more.

His knot caught and they both moaned loudly, kissing as he continued to try to thrust, his cock twitching inside of her. They were dripping sweat and satisfaction as she dropped to lie against his chest. “That...was amazing,” she whispered, panting harshly.

Sam chuckled and held her closer to him. “Yeah. You feeling okay?”

“For now.”

~~~

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Do you think the trio were good as villains? (As foils, as obstacles etc) I know people tend to dislike them in general

Anonymous asked:

Why do you think “the trio” make sense as the antagonist of season 6?

i’m combining these two asks together, since they’re both about the trio.

i love the trio as villains. they might even be my favorite villains in the whole show. angelus and glory are both classic, and easily my favorites after, but the trio just get under my skin—much like season six in general—in a way those classic villains don’t. adding a cut for length.

i think a lot of what i like about them was covered in these two excellent posts by @comradesummers, so i’ll probably end up repeating some of what she said. i’ve also talked about the trio before myself, so there’s a good chance i’m repeating my own past posts as well.

but to put things in my own, new words. the reason i love the trio is because of how many levels they operate on, and how interesting those levels are.

on one level, the mundane nature of the trio and their villainy parallels the depressing, irritating banality of adult, real-life problems that the season spends so much time exploring. it’s very deliberate that after a season in which buffy defeated a god, she finds herself antagonized by a cringey trio of boys her age. the writing emphasizes the lameness of the trio enough times that you know this choice was on purpose.

scenes like:

BUFFY: I'm just saying, all the things that have happened lately? Okay, the, the bank robbery, the jewelry heist... XANDER: The exploding lint. BUFFY: I-is it me, or do these things seem really- ANYA: Lame? BUFFY: (shrugs) Well, I was gonna go with unusual, but, yeah.

or:

DOCTOR: Buffy, you used to create these grand villains to battle against, and now what is it? Just ordinary students you went to high school with. No gods or monsters...just three pathetic little men...who like playing with toys.

the fact that buffy dismisses the trio, but eventually finds herself in danger of them, echoes the way that she struggles to “defeat” the problems of adulthood that she thinks she should be able to handle. as she says in “flooded”:

BUFFY: Okay, it's, it's bills, it's money. It's pieces of paper sent by bureaucrats that we've never even met. It's not like it's the end of the world. (she thinks about that for a moment) Which is too bad, you know, 'cause that, I'm really good at.

the fact that the trio is so “ordinary” and “lame” adds to that season six feeling of having been rudely brought to earth. of the magic of childhood being left behind, and having to deal with problems you can’t build a myth around. there’s just something so real and brilliant to me about how wrong it feels that these are buffy’s antagonists. because of how well it evokes that wrong feeling of: this is what adulthood is? these are the problems i have to deal with? it seems so easy, so why is it so hard?

the second level of the trio relates to the first level, in that they represent the mundane dangers of real-life misogyny. season six is all about making the metaphorical literal (ironically, as a metaphor for how the transition from childhood to adulthood can feel), and so there’s something very fitting that in a show that has spent a lot of time creating horror from metaphorical, supernatural misogyny—it suddenly becomes literal. no more swim team jocks becoming rapacious fish monsters, no more frat boys sacrificing girls to a snake demon, no more vampires cornering victims in dark alleys. and okay, the trio is still doing spells and such. but besides that, everything about them is so normal it becomes disturbing. they are simply boys who feel disempowered in their own lives, and think this entitles them to play with other people, particularly women, because they barely see those women as people in the first place.

there is also something crucial to the fact that the trio are the villains that are most like the writers, and who the writers probably conceived of as their audience. it’s on record that many of the nerd debates that the trio have were lifted directly from debates the writers would have amongst themselves. the writers were also on fan boards, and well aware of the fact that their show was popular with very nerdy people. which means that when they made nerdish avoidance and entitlement a villain in season six, it was another way of bringing the show to earth. by making the trio into some of the show’s mostly subtly, yet acutely, horrifying antagonists there is an implication that: misogyny and wrongdoing is not something that only oafish athletes and distant authorities are capable of. it is something that anyone can be complicit in.

which is also why the third level of the trio, the fact that they act as mirrors of all of the other characters, works so well. because season six is when the show makes some of its most beloved characters do very bad things. the protagonists become aware, just as the audience does, of their potential for complicity in evil. and i think this is a very very important aspect of becoming an adult for the show to capture. to me, becoming an adult means becoming responsible for yourself and your moral choices in a way you aren’t quite, when you’re younger. bad choices are a bit cuter when you’re younger, a bit more forgivable. you’re growing, right? but at a certain point that stops working, and you need to own your choices. and that means being able to recognize that you’re capable of being the villain, so that you can choose differently.

so over the course of season six, all of the characters get tempted by irresponsible and easy ways out. sometimes they give in, and sometimes they don’t. but no matter what, the trio is there to help frame the actions of the protagonists. so for example, while the trio robs banks and steals diamonds, buffy takes a difficult job, and doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity to blackmail the doublemeat palace. or the fact that buffy is giddy at being turned invisible in “gone” is framed as troubling in part because the trio are giddy at the idea of invisibility as well. and of course: willow, spike, and buffy, and how they behave in intimate relationships, all get paralleled with warren and the trio. what tara says to willow in “tabula rasa” for example, is much like what katrina says to the trio in “dead things.” (TARA: “violate my mind like that? how could you willow? how could you after what glory did to me?” WILLOW “violate you? i…i-i didn’t mean anything like that, i-i just wanted us to not fight anymore” / WARREN: “i just, i wanted us to be together” […] KATRINA: “well this is not some fantasy, it’s not a game you freaks! it’s rape” JONATHAN: “what?” ANDREW”: “no..we didn’t…”). or buffy’s “tell me you love me” exchange with spike in “as you were” is almost word for word what warren says to the mindwiped katrina in “dead things.” and of course, there’s the fact that spike and warren both assault the woman that they claim to care about in an attempt to get them back.

does this mean that all of our protagonists are irredeemably evil? of course not. the reason that warren ends the season flayed and burnt alive is because he repeatedly commits to doing the wrong thing. while the scoobies and spike don’t, because as flawed as they are, they still ultimately try to make better decisions. but it doesn’t mean that they’re not capable of harm. and specifically, the kind of harm that comes from not seeing oneself as truly capable of it. spike thinks he doesn’t hurt buffy, willow thinks she’s just trying to fix things, jonathan and andrew think they’re living out a comic book. this is why i also love how the season lulls you into a sense of complacency with the trio. you think the show might be playing their hijinks straight, and validating their less-than-savory plans as funny, until “dead things” pulls the rug out from under the season and shows what the writing has been doing with them all along. that wake-up slap of katrina saying “rape” is like the slap of willow’s breakdown in “wrecked” or xander leaving anya or warren shooting tara, or—and this takes us back to the central metaphor of the season—buffy being brought back from heaven. that slap of “childhood is over, it’s time to be responsible now, and it turns out you’re fucking up at it.”

this honestly is just the surface of what i could talk about with the trio, and it’s already long enough as is. and when a villain has that much thematic richness in it, i just can’t help but love it.

In Defense of Marilyn Manson

Just kidding.

This is another one of those ‘if you live under a rock, you might not know what is going on’ pieces. But because this story appears to be unfolding daily, I’d think you’ve heard a murmur here or there even if you haven’t really paid too much attention to it because for many, I think this may fall into the “that guy has been a messed-up weirdo for years so I’m not surprised” category.

Please note that in NO WAY I am making fun of this situation, but I learned a long time ago that I require a certain amount of humor to be able to digest much of what this world presents to me.

As always, let me give you the Coles Notes version with the hopes you will go and do your own reading as well.

On February 1 actress Evan Rachel Wood posted this on her Instagram:

"The name of my abuser is Brian Warner, also known to the world as Marilyn Manson. He started grooming me when I was a teenager and horrifically abused me for years. I was brainwashed and manipulated into submission. I am done living in fear of retaliation, slander or blackmail. I am here to expose this dangerous man and call out the many industries that have enabled him, before he ruins any more lives. I stand with the many victims who will no longer be silent."

Quick history lesson – They started dating in 2007 when she was 18 and he was 34 and were engaged for a brief time in 2010.

This was Manson’s response to what she wrote:

"Obviously, my art and my life have long been magnets for controversy, but these recent claims about me are horrible distortions of reality. My intimate relationships have always been entirely consensual with like-minded partners. Regardless of how - and why - others are now choosing to misrepresent the past, that is the truth."

Since the original statement on February 1 a number of women have come forward with stories of their own ranging from physical and emotional abuse to human trafficking. And everyday something new is revealed. Evan Rachel Woods is feverishly posting on her Insta-Story and is slowly burying Manson in an ocean of consequences. She isn’t “fired up” or “a woman scorned”, she is a victim rising above the shame she has felt and the fear of what others will say about her to tell her story and encourage others to do the same. She is the voice that started the ball rolling. The ball that is about to crush Marilyn Manson.

Whenever I write stuff that is currently being heavily featured in the media, I always dive into articles so I can get as much information as possible. But more importantly, I plunge my sensitive little soul into the murky depths known as “the comments section”. I do this because unlike those polished, finished pieces the comments section will give you a better idea of what your fellow human beings think and feel about the topic at hand. And it is never polished or even polite. And often not for the faint at heart. In case you didn’t already know – people can be quite terrible.

The comments section is the modern-day gladiator pit. Only most (not all) of the participants are not ripped, athletic warriors but rather drooling basement dwellers with one hand down their pants (not gender specific by the way) and the other hand maltreating the letters on their keyboard.

Side note: Look, I am not the grammar police as I often just push past all the warnings from the Gestapo editing program in Microsoft Word. BUT I know the value of proper spelling, well placed punctuation and valid attempts to appear smarter than a domesticated turkey by making sure sentences are well-thought out and complete. Raising your argument doesn’t mean USING ALL CAPS AND ABUSING THESE THINGS -> !!!

I just deleted three paragraphs going over the recent “reckoning” that has taken place in the past few years with regards to sexual and physical abuse accusations against (mostly) men in positions of some kind of power. I eliminated all that writing because I started to tumble off topic. I’m not writing about all the dicks now getting their comeuppance, but rather the reactions to it being Marilyn Manson’s turn in the chamber.

Victim shaming is sadly a real thing.

The easiest way I can explain this to you – if a person gets pickpocketed and then blamed because they should’ve known better than to carry their wallet in their back pocket.

Evan Rachel Woods and others have come out to accuse Manson of some pretty appalling acts of abuse and what I’ve found to be the biggest reaction is, “How did they not know he was a bad guy? His music is so graphic and they thought it was all an act? Why did they stay so long?”. As innocent as those questions might seem, and I say that because our brains don’t always serve us or others well, it is a form of discrediting those women. Let’s be honest here… it’s hard to look at Marilyn Manson and his art form and not say, “What the fuck, this guy has bad idea written all over him!”. I feel that is a perfectly reasonable response, but that is where it should end. I think it is fair to pause and attempt to understand the choices of others, but it’s heartless to minimize their experience by placing blame on them for a situation we couldn’t possibly understand if it has never happened to us.

And like I’ve quoted before: People only understand from their level of perception. But that doesn’t stop them from laying on the judgement and damaging already fragile individuals with their inability to show compassion for a fellow human being. Reading through comment sections isn’t just maddening, it’s disappointing and sad but also a real look into how awful many people feel about themselves… to the point where they seem to derive some pleasure or satisfaction from condemning a rape victim for wearing a short skirt and getting drunk.

So… we have to touch on this to be balanced: innocent until proven guilty. Only these days it’s an automatic trial by media with the public acting as judge, jury and executioner. This is where “cancel culture” steps in and within days can destroy an entire career / life. I am not a fan of cancel culture. It does not give people a chance to learn from their mistakes or make amends as it immediately harms their very existence. Often times even before any proof has surfaced. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous this is… the fact that just an accusation could ruin your life.

Let me make this clear: if someone comes forward and claims they’ve been sexually assaulted/abused, they need to be taken seriously and not dismissed based upon the circumstances, their gender identity, the color of their skin, their economic position or profession or the person they’re accusing. In turn, the individual being accused should be given time to address the claims before the public begins demolishing their life.

A reoccurring comment in almost all these cases where someone comes forward and alleges abuse YEARS after it happened, is – “Why did they wait so long to come forward?”.

Is this a fair question? Sure. And I feel it is asked because our brain needs to find a way to understand the information we are being given. Because while we’d all like to think that if in the same situation we’d be unfuckable with and anyone who dared to bring damage to our doorstep would immediately suffer the consequences, we actually cannot predict our reaction. There are too many unknown variables to be able to confidently say we’d instantly speak up and seek retribution.

The fear of not being believed. The fear of being blamed. The fear of rejection. The fear of retaliation from the person being accused. The fear of being forever defined by your experience. The fear.

It does not matter the why, what matters is the chance they’ve taken by speaking up at all. Those who come forward should be embraced, not ridiculed. Not abandoned. Not criticized.

“Don’t ask why victims wait so long to speak up. Ask what systems were in place to keep them quiet”. Anonymous

I own a few Marilyn Manson CD’s. And I’ve even attended one of his concerts. Would I say I am a fan? Probably a number of years ago I was but truthfully, I’ve not paid attention to any of his music in recent years because I feel it devolved while my taste evolved. That’s not a slam against him or anyone who fancies his work, it’s more a statement on how I’ve matured and now seek out music that feels authentic to me.

The one concert I attended was opened by Courtney Love. I know, what a duo to pay money to see. Near the end of Manson’s set he made a disparaging remark about Love and trashed her music. At the time he was wearing some pretty hefty platform shoes so it made it all the more hilarious when from out of nowhere she charged like a rhino and tackled him to the stage; throwing punches at his head all the way down. When he finally was able to get up, he announced the show was over. There would be no encore and then him and his bandmates trashed the stage in a temper tantrum worthy of a toddler Napoleon. Still makes me laugh to this day.

Shoutout to Evan Rachel Wood and her most recent movie ‘Kajillionaire’. Watched it on demand about a month ago and it’s a brilliant comedy that will also pull at your heart. I highly recommend you give it a chance.

Check out the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiMPCevu8Wk

National Enquirer, May 10

You can buy a brand new copy of this issue without the mailing label for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Prince Charles orders Prince Harry to divorce Meghan Markle

Page 2: In a sniveling fit of pique, scorned Alex Rodriguez has trashed former fiancee Jennifer Lopez as a dud in the sack and A-Rod is moaning J. Lo drove him to chase excitement elsewhere because she couldn't keep up with his sex demands and Alex is defending his piggish behavior by saying Jennifer pushed him into it and their spark died long ago, and they were barely intimate for the best part of a year before calling it quits -- Jennifer would pack on the PDA for the cameras, but the moment they were in private she pushed Alex away and even made him sleep in a separate bedroom and he says it was like dating an ice queen and pities the next guy she ropes in -- Jennifer thought she and Alex had a pretty good connection during their happier times, even though she'd likely admit things really petered out toward the end when the lack of trust set in so it will sting her that he's trashing her skills in the bedroom

Page 4: Robert De Niro is getting pummeled by estranged wife Grace Hightower's free-spending ways and his bitter spouse is intent on taking the aging legend for every penny as their nasty divorce drags on -- Robert's lawyers argued in court that greedy Grace's extravagant lifestyle has forced him to take every job he can snag, causing the 77-year-old to toil 12-hour days, six days a week and what's more, Robert's Nobu restaurant business has hit hard times and his tax bills to Uncle Sam are piling up but he is reportedly worth a whopping $500 million, and Grace's lawyers have countered he's pleading poverty but regularly charters a helicopter to Sunday brunch, a charge denied by his lawyer and her attorneys also claimed Robert frequently flies to Florida on a private plane and spends millions and millions on himself -- meanwhile, Robert's relationship with 66-year-old Grace has taken such a nosedive, she's spending frivolously just to punish him and she's walked into a shop a spent $80,000 in 15 minutes and she will go on vacations to the Bahamas, stop at the duty-free store and pay four times the price of what things usually cost and she has more wigs than Imelda Marcos had shoes -- Robert met Grace in 1987 when she was working as a waitress in London, and they married a decade later but they split in 1999 then reconciled and renewed their vows in 2004 before finally calling it quits in 2018 -- De Niro has forked over as much as $375,000 a month to his spouse since their split and the financially squeezed star may resort to doing product endorsements just to pay the bills -- under the terms of the couple's prenuptial agreement, once Grace and Robert are finally divorced, she's allowed a $6 million home, $500,000 cash and $1 million in annual alimony, but her lawyers have argued she should be entitled to half his fortune

* Nearly two years after Hayden Panettiere accused ex-boyfriend Brian Hickerson of brutally attacking her, the bully was sentenced to serve time in Los Angeles after he pleaded no contest to two felony counts of injuring a spouse or girlfriend, and the remaining charges of battery, assault with a deadly weapon and dissuading a witness were dismissed and he was hit with 45 days behind bars and four years' probation but he'll get credit for 12 days served -- he's done his own damage and will pay a permanent price for it -- meanwhile, Hayden is now in a great place in her life

Page 5: Danny Masterson has dragged Leah Remini into his rape case, claiming her docuseries Scientology and Its Aftermath influenced his alleged victims to file police reports against him -- former Scientologist Leah offered the women inducements and benefits to report Masterson to cops, his lawyer Tom Mesereau told a L.A. criminal court -- Danny, a 45-year-old Scientologist and That '70s Show alum, has pleaded not guilty to charges he raped three women in separate incidents between 2001 and 2003 -- Mesereau also called an LAPD detective who worked a second job as security for Leah a double agent and questioned how a 2000 police report made by one alleged victim went missing, but Deputy District Attorney Reinhold Mueller dismissed Mesereau's double agent claims as hyperbole and said the defense got a copy of the missing report and Mesereau's request to push back Masterson's preliminary hearing, a Scientology delay tactic, was also rejected

Page 6: Kelly Osbourne's shocking relapse after nearly four years of sobriety occurred amid intense family drama for the former reality show clan -- Kelly's mom Sharon Osbourne's exit from The Talk amid racism claims by co-hosts and dad Ozzy Osbourne's struggles with crippling Parkinson's disease and excruciating nerve damage frazzled her and she confessed she relapsed and she's not proud of it, but she's back on track and she's truly learned that it is just one day at a time -- her parents' problems weighed heavily on 36-year-old Kelly, who first struggled with substance abuse in her teens, and there's no doubt her mother's scandalous exit from The Talk played a big role as Kelly was crushed over the beating Sharon took in the press and retired rocker Ozzy's relentless suffering also pains Kelly and throw in brother Jack Osbourne's progressive MS and she's dealing with a lot

Page 7: Distressed Dolly Parton is ready to stage an all-star country intervention for her party-hearty goddaughter Miley Cyrus after recent photos of the troubled wild child swilling booze triggered alarm bells for Miley's family members and inner circle, including Dolly who has acted as a mentor to Miley and Dolly has always fussed over Miley like a mother hen and she's worried Miley is going to throw away her career and her life -- 75-year-old Dolly is so concerned about 28-year-old Miley that she's talked about reaching out to other country icons to arrange a meeting with the former Disney child star and help her consider her options and Dolly wants to enlist women she knows Miley truly admires, like Reba McEntire and Loretta Lynn, and organize a sit-down and Dolly knows if Miley hears from legends who achieved so much in the music industry, she's likely to understand any mistakes she makes now can affect her life forever -- every time Dolly thinks Miley's got her demons beat, she hears of another slip-up, so she feels like it's time to take action and Miley's parents Billy Ray Cyrus and Tish Cyrus, who are good pals of Dolly, are thankful for Dolly's concern because Billy Ray and Tish have tried talking to Miley, but she tunes her parents out and they agree their daughter is more likely to respond to Dolly and her legendary friends

* Angelina Jolie blamed her ugly divorce with Brad Pitt for dashing her dreams to direct movies -- she and Brad split in 2016 and the two have been locked in a mudslinging legal slugfest ever since -- Angie says she love directing, but she had a change in her family situation that's not made it possible for her to direct for a few years and Angie, who last directed 2017's First They Killed My Father, said she needed to just do shorter jobs and be home more, so she kind of went back to doing a few acting jobs

Page 8: Shamed sleaze Matt Lauer has been snubbed by his old Hamptons crowd, and it's got the scandal-scarred scumbag down in the dumps and the super-rich who live and socialize in the fashionable high-society playground won't forget how Lauer was axed from his longtime Today gig over bombshell allegations of sexual misconduct and Matt's done everything he can to regain his place in the community, from hanging out in the village to splashing money around and tipping too well and he's convinced he can make a comeback, but snooty residents turn their noses up and it must be difficult for him because it's tough for anyone who wants to get in with this crowd but for Matt it's become almost impossible -- with scandal raging, Lauer's marriage to Annette Roque collapsed and they divorced in 2019 after a two-year separation and they share three children, daughter Romy, 17, and sons Jack, 19, and Thijs, 14, and Lauer has denied any wrongdoing and insisted his reputation was wrongly smeared in a media feeding frenzy intent on destroying him -- after his divorce, Matt hooked up with public relations guru Shamin Abas and the two have reportedly been pals for years and were first linked when Matt took her to his New Zealand home in December 2019 and Matt's friends are saying he's talking about a big Hamptons wedding when he and Shamin make things official, but it would be a failure if no one attends but Shamin has a lot of connections, so maybe that will help in time -- Matt's obviously an embarrassment in the area and he's not getting much joy at the swanky country clubs he likes to frequent either and it's clear to see that doors from many A-listers, like Martha Stewart, Gwyneth Paltrow and Scarlett Johansson, who have had ample time to put out the welcome mat and Matt won't be getting invites to their homes anytime soon

Page 9: Kourtney Kardashian is packing on the PDA with new boyfriend Travis Barker and insiders said her desperate bid to compete with her sisters has gone way over the top and ever since Kourtney and Travis first went public, the oldest Kardashian sibling has made it a point to post the couple's passionate romps in racy pics and videos on social media and people in her circle feel it's beneath her to advertise her personal moments like this and even her family thinks it's unflattering, but she's getting a kick out of showing off her wild side and Kourtney has been desperate to raise her profile to keep up with internet-savvy sisters Kim Kardashian and Khloe Kardashian, who promote themselves by posting incessantly and Kourtney was always more low-key, but now she thinks she needs to be outrageous to keep up but her friends and family say it's not who she is, and she should put a lid on the steam

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Alison Brie helped tend to newly planted trees in Malibu, Chris Rock tuned out the world with a set of headphones while walking in Miami, Dylan McDermott plays a bad guy on Law & Order: Organized Crime, Dancing with the Stars pro Sasha Farber buzzed around L.A. on an electric bike, Margot Robbie skating in Malibu

Page 11: Paula Abdul is filling in for Luke Bryan on American Idol, but she's gone crazy with fillers and Botox to the point where she can barely move her face -- 58-year-old Paula, one of the show's original three judges who left before the ninth season, jumped at the chance after Luke tested positive for COVID-19, but when she showed up for work, she was far from the familiar face everyone was expecting and she must have given her co-hosts quite a fright because her face is blown up like a balloon and her forehead has no lines and her eyes have no crinkling at the corners that you would normally expect on someone who's pushing 60 and people are saying she never did know when to quit and this time she's really gone overboard and it was a shame, since it's no secret she'd love to make a comeback on the show and she's still in fantastic shape, but it's kind of sad to see her fall victim to these Hollywood trends as she's a lovely lady and should leave well enough alone -- her heart-shaped face may predispose her to a slower aging process than longer facial shapes

* Jessica Simpson has plumped up her kisser, but one expert thinks her new inflated piehole would look better on a fish because she's gone overboard with filler in her lips and the end result is an unnatural and very unattractive look because the M-shape of the middle upper lip is distorted, creating a fishy appearance she surely wasn't going for

Page 12: Straight Shuter gossip column -- James Bond will be gunning for Top Gun: Maverick on movie screens in November, and Tom Cruise isn't happy -- moving the Top Gun sequel from July to November has left Tom shaken and stirred and no one is more competitive than Tom and going up against the new 007 film starring Daniel Craig has put the fear of God into him because Tom likes to win and coming in second is not an option so get ready for an all-out box office war between Tom and James Bond and this is going to get ugly

* Just out-of-the-closet Colton Underwood has been invited back to his old stomping grounds on The Bachelor but he won't be the new Gay Bachelor, but there's been talk about him returning to help contestants through the process -- he'll literally play the gay best friend who helps the straight contestants find love

* Bridgerton stud Rege-Jean Page won't be back for season 2, but crossing the show's powerful producer Shonda Rhimes was not smart because Shonda is not used to being told no, especially by an actor no one had heard of before she cast him -- Rege-Jean was naive about the business of Hollywood, but he's learning fast but saying no to Shonda is a move he's now thinking twice about

* Irina Shayk had her hands full during a photo shoot in NYC (picture)

Page 13: Racy reality series The Bachelorette has so disgusted some American viewers, they've flooded the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) with complaints and calls to yank the sexy show from TV -- according to documents, a season 16 dodgeball game that turned into a stripping competition among Clare Crawley's suitors in 2020 especially fueled viewers' rage, even though the aired footage was blacked out to protect the men's privates but the game was not over until one team was fully naked

* Matchmaker Olivia Newton-John is itching to play Cupid for longtime pal John Travolta as her Grease co-star approaches the one-year anniversary of the death of his beloved wife Kelly Preston and Oliva would like nothing more than to bring some joy and happiness back into John's life and she has lots of beautiful, fun-filled lady friends from the U.S. and Australia she could set John up with but he may not be ready for a new romance, and John himself has admitted mourning is individual and experiencing your own journey is what can lead to healing and John still hasn't gotten over Kelly's death yet and it feels like yesterday to him

Page 15: Tiger Woods' former mistress Jamie Jungers is dishing about her doomed 18-month affair with the then-married golf great and the fallout that triggered her harrowing spiral into drug addiction in a juicy new tell-all -- Jamie, 38, said she met the skirt-chasing links legend, now recovering from a shattered right leg after a February car crash, during her stint as a party host in Sin City and she claimed they kicked off a fling behind the back of his wife Elin Nordegren and Tiger would often fly his new squeeze to his L.A. home for their secret trysts and Jamie said she even once signed for a package at the newlyweds' pad that turned out to be wedding photos of Tiger and his bride, who divorced the sex addict in 2010 -- but it was not too hard for Jamie to convince herself the couple's marriage was on the skids because Elin spent so much time in her native Sweden and Jamie confessed she loved Tiger in a way but knew they'd never have a real relationship -- things came to a screeching halt when the tightwad millionaire refused to help her find new digs and Jamie kept her lips zipped about the hush-hush affair for three years, but she claimed her ensuing media appearances, in which she was dubbed Mistress No. 4, left her feeling humiliated, triggering a $500 a day pill habit that led to her getting hooked on heroin and meth and homeless Jamie endured failed stints in rehab, went through detox while behind bars and hit rock bottom before getting clean in 2018 and now sober, she said of her former flame she's not in love with him anymore

Page 16: Picky parents Alec Baldwin and Hilaria Baldwin have found one thing that's even tougher than raising six kids: finding the right nanny -- Alec and Hilaria have high expectations for prospective carers and exacting demands when it comes to their duties and Hilaria is so involved with the kids, so she's especially vigilant and has the final say when it comes to hiring and firing though Alec definitely has his checklist on what makes a good nanny and try as they might, they realize they can't do everything themselves and need help, lots of it, but it's been a logistical nightmare getting a team of nannies organized as Alec and Hilaria are tough on them and firm and long hours and multitasking are a must and of course they must be quick on their toes and know what to do with a cranky set of children without losing their cool and a good disposition, a clean and tidy appearance and the ability to step in last minute when needed are all prerequisites to be a Baldwin nanny -- Hilaria and Alec feel guilty about using more help than they initially thought they'd need and typically have at least two nannies on duty and they're doing their best to keep their home from becoming a nuthouse and stay sane and even when Hilaria and Alec are both home at the same time, they still need help changing diapers and doing endless loads of laundry, preparing meals and snacks and assisting homeschooling for the older ones and making sure they all get plenty of exercise and playtime -- it's been a challenge and they won't settle for anything but the most skilled nannies, and their friends can see the efforts are paying off

Page 17: Britney Spears has taken to social media to insist she's OK, but there are increasing concerns over the singer's state of mind -- Britney, 39, has shared bizarre Instagram posts showing her maniacally dancing and also bellyached that she's trying to learn how to use technology in this technology-driven generation, but to be totally honest she can't stand it -- the wacky videos followed the documentary Framing Britney Spears, which cast an unflattering spotlight on her troubled history amid her fight to have her conservator dad Jamie Spears removed from overseeing her personal and financial affairs and Britney, who has not had control over her own cash or major life decisions since her notorious 2008 breakdown, said the documentary's portrayal embarrassed her and brought her to tears and she cried for two weeks -- still, Britney reassured fans she's totally fine and she's extremely happy, she has a beautiful home, beautiful children, referring to her sons Sean, 15, and Jayden, 14, and although Britney, who's been coupled up with 27-year-old personal trainer Sam Asghari since 2016, insisted she's enjoying herself, she was caught on camera in Malibu appearing out of sorts and she looked a total mess and she looked like she hadn't brushed her hair in days and the truth is she's wracked with anxiety and she doesn't trust anyone in her orbit except her boyfriend

Page 18: American Life -- Like many dads, J.B. Handley couldn't understand his teenage son, but in this case, 18-year-old Jamison Handley is autistic and has not spoken a word since he was born -- using a breakthrough strategy called Spelling to Communicate (STC), J.B. discovered his son was hyper-intelligent and now Jamison is graduating from high school and will go to college to study neuroscience in 2022

Page 19: Newly single Kanye West is in the market for someone to cuddle with now that Kim Kardashian is out of the picture and the National Enquirer has decided to help him in his quest: Amanda Gorman, Bjork, Quay Dash, Marina Abramovic, Maria Cristerna

* While Kanye West is looking for a new lady to be his creative muse, his estranged wife Kim Kardashian sees the dating pool as the source of her next career move -- Kim has not been romantically linked to anyone since she filed for divorce in February and she's not dating anyone because, if she were, it would be a career move and Kim can't date quietly; she doesn't even understand what that would be like

Page 22: Katie Holmes and her boytoy beau Emilio Vitolo Jr. haven't been photographed together in more than a month, leaving people to wonder if the once snap-happy couple's romance is cooling off -- after being constantly caught on camera packing on the PDAs, the coosome twosome's vanishing act has sources suspecting work stress is taking a toll -- they're still together but things aren't anything like they were, and Katie seems pretty down and Emilio has been working long hours at his dad's restaurant, which was hit hard during the pandemic and that's meant less time for him and Katie to hang out and their romance may have gone from full boil to simmer

* Hollywood Hookups -- Danica Patrick and Carter Comstock dating, Zac Efron and Vanessa Valladares split, Madison LeCroy is dating a mystery man

Page 23: Lizzo stripped nude on social media for an unedited selfie to promote body positivity in all its glory and the 32-year-old defied the haters by bravely going makeup-free and wearing only her birthday suit -- she said she's letting it all hang out to encourage girls struggling with their self-image and self-confidence to embrace their natural beauty

* Bethenny Frankel plans to spend a whopping $10 million on her upcoming wedding -- she is set to wed Paul Bernon after she was spotted flashing a ginormous sparkler reportedly worth over $400,000 and movie producer Paul, 43, has given Bethenny, 50, carte blanche to spend whatever she wants so she's thinking 50,000 roses, champagne, gilt-edged glasses, a garden setting with fountains, dancers and a choir and Bethenny wants it to be perfect and she expects the best of everything

* Julianna Margulies has admitted things were hot on the set of ER, and it was because she and co-star George Clooney had a crush on each other and the chemistry on the beloved TV series between Julianna, now 54, and George, 60, was organic, she gushed in her upcoming memoir -- she also said when you create an environment that people feel safe in, then you do your best work and George taught her that and she felt so safe with him

Page 25: Troubled Tori Spelling is convinced having a sixth baby is the only way to bring her rocky 15-year marriage to Dean McDermott back from the brink -- Tori, 47, and Dean, 54, have been living separate lives for months and she has frequently been seen in public without her wedding ring and lately they've been more like brother and sister than husband and wife, but Tori is under the impression that another baby will give them a fresh start -- Dean has tried to repair their romance by taking on more dad duties and he even pushed for a recent family getaway to Palm Springs, where Tori socked her husband with the ultimatum to give her another baby or hit the highway and it's true they got along a lot happier when she was pregnant, but a lot of people think she's being delusional since they still have a lot of issues to work through and having another kid isn't going to be a magic fix and in fact, it may even add to their problems

Page 26: Cover Story -- Prince Harry's desperate bid to make peace with his estranged royal family exploded spectacularly when his father Prince Charles gave him an ultimatum to divorce Meghan Markle or you're out forever -- the secret showdown came after the funeral for his grandfather Prince Philip that forced family members to reunite for the first time following a year of bitterness and shocking allegations and any hope Harry had of mending fences and being welcomed back went out the window when he broke Queen Elizabeth's heart by snubbing her 95th birthday right after the funeral because he flew back to California the day before her birthday and it was the last straw for Charles, who was furious and he was stunned his son couldn't wait just 24 hours more to show respect for his grandmother and felt compelled to rush back to his pregnant wife Meghan and it would have meant so much for Her Majesty, who was still mourning her husband and needs all the comfort she can get but instead Harry headed back to his ritzy $14 mansion and Hollywood lifestyle, callously leaving his grieving grandmother on what should have been her big day -- the word is Meghan ordered him back as he'd been gone 10 days, their longest separation since they wed, and she didn't want his family playing mind tricks on him, trying to convince him he should return to the U.K. -- Charles confronted his younger son about snubbing Her Majesty during a phone call from his country getaway in Wales, where Charles was grieving his father Prince Philip and considering the future of the monarchy and Charles didn't mince words and he called Harry selfish and blamed Meghan for ripping the family apart and he bluntly admitted he and other royals, including the queen herself, were deeply disappointed and very angry by what the couple said in an explosive tell-all TV special and he couldn't believe Harry would agree to such a devastating interview without pressure from his publicity-obsessed wife or her advisors and Charles told Harry he was ashamed of him for turning his back on his family and breaking his grandmother's heart and Charles said he didn't believe Harry's marriage can survive long-term and suggested that Meghan was so ambitious, she'd dump Harry when something, or someone, better came along then he shockingly told his son he would only be welcomed back if he divorced that American actress and Charles insisted divorce was the only way to save the royal family and Harry himself -- Harry faced a great deal of frostiness from other members of the family after he arrived for Philip's funeral: Princess Anne, Prince Edward, his wife Sophie and other relatives didn't even look at Harry, they are so angry with him and Meghan, and Prince William and his wife Duchess Kate tried to put on a united front, speaking to Harry as they walked away from the service, but it was all for show as the queen had ordered a truce in the feud to avoid another public scandal, but family feelings are running very deep against Harry and Meghan for quitting royal duties and trashing the royals in their interview and the truth is if Harry doesn't divorce Meghan, this rift will never be mended

Page 36: Ellen DeGeneres confessed she'd swilled three cannabis-laced drinks and popped two snooze-inducing pills before driving wife Portia de Rossi to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy -- during an interview with Jimmy Kimmel, Ellen said she'd downed a commercial beverage containing the weed compounds THC and CBD and admitted she didn't feel anything and then she drank three, and she also took two melatonin sleep pills and she's lying in bed and realizes Portia is not in bed -- after finding Portia on all fours and in pain, Ellen claimed her adrenaline kicked in and she rushed Portia to the hospital

Page 38: Gwyneth Paltrow knows at least one person who is not a fan of her catalog of sex toys: her mom Blythe Danner -- while Gwynnie loves to bang the drum for frisky female fun by hawking vibrators, whips, handcuffs, genital-themed jewelry and even a candle called This Smells Like My Orgasm, her 78-year-old mother is always shocked by her raunchy online inventory and is very proper, but Gwyneth said even proper ladies have sexuality too -- although her mom is not lining up to purchase the BDSM starter kit or the $15,000 gold-plated dildo, Gwyneth remains committed to tackling taboos related to female pleasure, saying she thinks that our sexuality is such an important part of who we are and one of the things they really believe in at Goop is eliminating shame from these topics

* The Entourage crew might get back together, with Charlie Sheen joining the gang -- the creator of the bro show and 2015 spinoff movie said he may bring the boys back with his buddy Charlie in the reboot and Doug Elin says whether he would ever be in Entourage as Charlie Sheen or whether he would create a character for him, he would be all for it -- Charlie hasn't been seen on the big screen since a 2018 guest spot on Saturday Night Live

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Sofia Vergara

Don’t Call Me Angel - Detective Meares x Reader (Needle)

GIF CREDIT: X 

All responsibility out the window here, I can’t claim any, it’s all Mendo Nation’s fault! No seriously they came up with it, I’m innocent I swear!

Author’s Note: “How did we get here!? Who brought us here!?” 

I stg, @mendelskrull​ and @crawlingmist​ started me on this damn man with digging up (and creating) gifs I didn’t even realise were a thing. And then I was like ‘you know I think I can probably get something out of him!’ and kinda dismissed that 500 words as all we were ever going to get.

Oh no. Then - rightfully so! - I did some campaigning for him on Twitter polls and now I’m here. 

I digress. I wrote more for Meares, and you’re welcome.

Disclaimer: This is not my idea/plot and is a joint effort of the Mendo Nation - who let me go ahead and write it / Needle naught to do with me / gifs & lyrics not mine

Premise: When Meares turns up at a crime scene and finds a second potential victim he’ll do anything to see the killer brought to justice, for her. If he can figure out who the killer is...

Words: 8277

Warnings: TW potential rape discussed / sexual connotations / sexual pre-amble / swearing / kidnap / I really tried to make that last scene as far from non-con as I possibly could but I still want to put a warning for it jic.

____

Don't call me angel when I'm a mess Don't call me angel when I get undressed You know I, I don't like that, boy I make my money, and I write the checks So say my name with a little respect All my girls successful, and you're just our guest Do I really need to say it? Do I need to say it again, yeah? You better stop the sweet talk And keep your pretty mouth shut Boy, don't call me angel, You ain't got me right Don't call me angel, You can't pay my price Ain't from no Heaven,Yeah, you heard me right Even though you know we fly, Don't call me angel You sizin' up my body, oh yeah Don't you know that I bite when the sun set?  So don't you try come around me Might work with her, but not me, oh yeah Don't you know that I bite when the sun set? Keep my name out your mouth I know what you about So keep my name out your mouth I appreciate the way you watch me, I can't lie I drop it down, I pick it up, I back it off the county line I fell from Heaven, now I'm living like a devil You can't get me off your mind I appreciate the way you want me, I can't lie I drop it low, I back it up, I know you wanna think you're mine Baby, I totally get it, you can't guess so You can't get me off your mind We in it together, but don't call me angel

---

Abandoned building in the middle of nowhere – that wasn’t so unusual, not for a crime scene anyway. This was the kind of place he half expected to be sent to. Not that he particularly wanted to go – another Detective had been on the case this morning, but apparently something a little more interesting had come up for them and so Meares was thrown the file. ‘So… where’s my crime scene?’ in fact, he wasn’t even sure he was in the right place by the fact there appeared to be no officers guarding the scene. Only the tape strung across the front of the building let him know that’s exactly where he wanted to be. Maybe they’d all just been lazy and decided to clock off for the evening? He ducked under the tape and flicked his torch on, which he still needed because the lights in the warehouse were so goddamn dim. But why had everyone left? The sheet was still over the body and to him that only signalled that the scene had yet to be fully processed. ‘Fucking bastards sending me out here…’  He huffed, ‘If they’ve all miked off drinking I swear to GO---D.’ He noticed how he was also alone out here and his partner, Detective Reddick, didn’t want to bother driving across town for it either. “Aw, nah, it’ll only take one of us. Report back..!” Cursing again, Meares approached the victim, he supposed he might have to start this alone. Bending over he grasped the corner of the white sheet delicately – having learned from previous crime scene interactions that sometimes he could be a little too flamboyant in his actions and there’d been a few ‘incidents’ – and stood to height as he pulled the fabric back from the body. Respect the victim - a little easier when he was alone… Meares guessed that sometimes he just liked being a show off and it was an unfortunate trait he couldn’t help. He jumped as he surveyed the body, just one glance over – his stumbled footsteps echoed around the warehouse, adding to the eerie atmosphere. Meares checked his papers, then the body, then the papers again, then the body… That was not a ‘white male, 20s, average build, deep lacerations, bruising and ligature marks’. This was a very naked (but very beautiful) woman; possibly around the same age bracket - but the body itself looked intact. “Okay. Who is out here pranking me now!?” Had someone switched files? Had someone told him the wrong location? No, no, how often did that happen? Everything else about his file was right, apart from the body. Meares tipped his head, tongue between his lips as he drew his eyes back up her. He rolled it with a small tsk sound, and then knew he was smirking. It was probably very inappropriate to think that a potential victim was hot, even when it was as confusing as to why this was the body in front of him. But her form dipped and curved in just the right places, her skin very nearly perfect… Meares wouldn’t have guessed she’d been dead too long, but also didn’t see any way that she could have died. He stepped carefully around her, her eyes may have been closed but she had an Angel face to match her body, Meares thought hard; ‘more importantly, why is she at my crime scene? And if she is here… where is the real body?’ He let his eyes linger on her for a little too long, and felt that guilty blush build up on his cheeks, travelling fairly swiftly to his neck… but the rush of blood travelled a little further than expected. NO. NO. C’mon, man… He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. But found himself suddenly sad that she was the victim; of course, every victim was difficult but as a detective he had to do his best to separate- “Is it her or her body, though? C’mon. You have nooo idea what she’s-” Meares paused, “Aw, great, I’ve finally cracked I’m talking to myself at a crime scene.” He stopped his walk, palm to his forehead for a minute, “Well, nothing like an expert opinion!” He looked her body over again. No, he was fairly certain there was no obvious sign of trauma. Nor anything to indicate any other type of foul play. And it still bothered him that the body was supposed to be male-! ‘It sure does feel like a set up…’ And of course, forensics had all cleared off. He took one more step towards her; maybe Meares just wasn’t thinking clearly enough. ‘Too distracted, obviously.’ But also maybe he just wasn’t looking closely enough. His eyes lingered on her face ‘Who are you? Why are you here? Who did this to you..? C’mon, darling, I need answers…’ Meares didn’t have a chance to think much more than that; her eyes snapped open. If he thought he’d jumped back before, his string of yelled expletives matched the pounding of his heart in his chest as his adrenaline spiked. Yeah, dead bodies did that, occasionally – but dead bodies did not then take dry choked breaths that then became something close to strangled sobs. That didn’t surprise Meares either; she’d practically been declared dead, she was in a middle-of-nowhere warehouse, naked, and a male detective was now standing over her and – by his own admittance – probably looking a little leery. When her eyes focused on him all he saw on her face was terror, she pulled her knees up, arms around her body to cover herself as she attempted to scramble away. Meares threw his hands up, immediately going for his badge, “Hey, hey! It’s okay! It’s okay! My name’s Detective Meares. It’s alright – I’m here to help… I promise… you’re alright now.” He wasn’t sure she trusted him, and her nails dug hard into her skin. Meares shrugged himself out of his jacket, levelling his voice off in hushed tones. “You gave me quite a scare there you know?!” He smiled as he held it out for her, “I’m here to investigate a body, although believe me I’m glad you’re not one… take it. It’s okay… We should probably get you outta here…” He watched her slip it on, buttoning the front up to look as modest as possible, but she still shivered. “You… got a name?” Her eyes raised back to his face, but suddenly she shook her head, “I don’t…” “Remember?” Her nod was certainly sad and he didn’t want her to panic and spiral, but anything he could get now would aid his case greatly, “Do you remember anything? Why you’re here, what happened? Anything about who did this? What about your clothes honey, do you know what you were wearing?” She continued to shake her head, and Meares certainly didn’t want to stress her out any more than he had to. “Okay, it’s okay, this happens. I’m sure it’ll come to you. It’s all going to be fine. But, I should really get you over to a hospital.” “I don’t-” “Honey it’s procedure, I don’t have much of a choice,” he held his hand out for her, “you’re safe with me. No one is going to hurt you.” She placed her hand in his delicately, and Meares felt like he was going on some kind of power trip, but not a bad kind of trip; she trusted him. He was going to protect her now, that was his duty. He pulled her up, trying to keep his eyes on her face. “Thank you.” “Hey, we’re not there yet, you can thank me later. Let’s make sure you’re all okay, right now. Come on, I’ll get you to the car and get you warmed up.” He didn’t touch her as he led her to it, opening the door; Meares would put the heat on for her, he’d pull up to the hospital and they could do tests and maybe he’d get some more evidence from her… And she’d remember too, once she was over the shock, he was sure. He slid his mobile out of his pocket, calling his partner as he jogged around to the driver’s side of the car, indicated that he should meet Meares at the hospital and they could figure it out from there. The detective paused, looking back at the building for just a moment as he opened the door… There was just once problem he couldn’t quite figure out here. “Where the fuck is my actual body, though?!”

** You kept glancing across to the detective as he sped towards the hospital, and you did mean that – Meares was running every light and had his blue lights flashing. He looked on the verge of his 40’s, messy greying black hair and piercing blue eyes – though the true colour seemed fleeting as they changed with his emotions. And those were all over the place right now, that much was obvious. Although he appeared to be being the gentleman, sometimes he couldn’t help but look over at you – and his glances to your body weren’t very fleeting, either. In a normal situation you supposed you would be flattered, but right now you were having doubts you could trust him to be taking you where he said he was. ‘No… He’s a detective. He surely wouldn’t take advantage of that?’ or, maybe he would; how much did you know about Meares anyway? Maybe not a lot; but he was very easy to read on the surface so you didn’t think that figuring him out was going to be much of a challenge. Eventually you started seeing the Hospital signs and could breathe a real sigh of relief; okay… you could trust him. Upon pulling up you noticed several other police vehicles waiting around outside – all with their lights also flashing. You gasped and visibly shrank back in your seat; Meares turned to you. “Don’t worry, I called for backup, they’re good guys. I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He opened his car door. “I’ll be very quick, okay, just wait here. We’ll get you checked up.” You reached for his hand before he had a chance to leave and held him there for a minute, Meares thought that you might be about to thank him, but that wasn’t what came out of your mouth: “Y/N.” “…What?” “…My name. You asked my name.” You found yourself taken aback by how gentle and sweet his smile was, “Y/N, you remembered… That’s good progress. Real good progress.” His large hand enveloped yours for a second, “Excellent! Now just, wait here, the hospital will help you out!” By the time Detective Meares exited the car and found his partner he was panicking again, “God damn, Meares-! What the hell is going on!” “You tell me! They send me to a crime scene where somebody is supposed to have been cut through, and I find a live woman there? What happened to all the investigators!? Anyway, that isn’t the point, she’s sitting in my car, I don’t know who she is – she’s barely remembered her first name – she doesn’t know how she got there and she’s half naked! And that’s only cuz she has my jacket! Who does that to a girl and leaves her in the middle of a crime scene!?” Reddick wiggled his eyebrows, “Naked ehhhhhh?!” Meares immediately hit him, “No! She’s a victim, quite possibly a witness once we get through to her!” Although his face burned, it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought the same thing. “…Well they knew someone would find her in a crime scene?” “Logical if it was accidental but then evidence has been moved, where’s the logic there, huh?” “Maybe forensics has the body.” “…Then why send me with the damn report like a body is there?” “Because they don’t like you, Meares?” “Fuck that. No wonder this department is a laughing stock…” He sighed angrily, “Look, if we have the body, great, but someone has tampered with that scene, and there’s either a secondary scene for her, or new forensic evidence at this one. Get down there with some people and figure it out.” His partner groaned, “Why me!?” “Because I’M staying with the victim for questioning, and hospital test results. I found her, her mind is clearly fragile, right now I am the familiar face-!” “Shouldn’t you be telling the department all this?” Meares glared at him, “Quit whining! Sure, I’ll do it. Can you please get down there – I really don’t want to leave her alone too long!” “Fine… fine, I’m going, but then get them to come straight out to me.” Reddick peered around his friend, “She’s a good-looking girl.” “Y-Yeah.” Meares also turned on the spot, you were looking at the hospital nervously, chewing your lip, “She is.” “And you’ve seen her naked.” There was a waiver of amusement in the other Detective’s voice, Meares turned back to him, snapping: “Will you get out of here!” ** Meares hung around in the hospital as long as he could before they forced him to leave to conduct their tests. Not before he took your hands and promised you he’d be back as soon as they let him. You did trust him, you knew that already – right now he seemed like the only person you could trust; and he’d brought you to a hospital and he trusted them to take care of you. You took a deep shaky breath as he let you go, but you knew everything was going to be okay. Once outside he called his superiors to tell them the news. That he’d found a secondary victim and that Reddick was back at the scene to retrieve any other evidence – luckily that was met positively and a forensics team was dispatched. Although Meares did mutter something about lack of communication under his breath. He had to voice his concern now: “There were no police or detectives on the scene – things have been moved, or must be missing. Someone got a second body in there between them packing up and me arriving. And conveniently no one was around to see anything!? And if I just missed them, then I’d say the killer was watching us, or the building. You have the body right-!?” “Yes. Meares, don’t you worry about that.” “Why send me with paper work?! This all seems fairly suspicious to me!” He was rambling and he knew that he probably shouldn’t have let that become more than just a thought, but Meares couldn’t help it. “You’re not shouting conspiracy, Meares?” “Are you giving me reason to?” There was silence for a moment, before a heavy sigh, “We’ll put you on the case team, see what you can get from our live victim.” “Thank you, Sir. They’re going to call me when the tests are finished.” With that they both hung up, but Meares couldn’t help but think that something was going on: after all, he wouldn’t exactly have called that answer straight. Much more like a bribe not to mention it. Someone isn’t saying something Meares… Watch your back… Was the only conclusion he could draw, dropping his mobile into his pocket he leant his head back against the waiting room wall and closed his eyes. He’d figure it out; that was his job. *** He was woken by a nurse, who led him into a back room. “Well, it’s all fairly conclusive Detective.” “I do like easy.” Meares grinned, but she didn’t find his joke attempt amusing, so he cleared his throat, “What happened to her?” “A fairly heavy dosage of sedative. Ketamine.” “She was drugged? That makes sense… isn’t that like a date rape drug?” “Correct. Although the rape kit has come back negative. And she didn’t ingest it, it was injected into her.” “Someone really knew what they were doing.” She nodded, “She’s not a regular user?” “No. No recent tracks or scars in her skin, she’s clean apart from this.” Meares nodded, mulling the information over, “You say fairly heavy… enough for the memory loss she’s experiencing? There’s also gotta be a reason why I didn’t realise she was alive, right? But Ketamine elevates heart rate?” “In small doses – but this wasn’t a small does, Detective. As for her memory, I wouldn’t say so but it could be a stress reaction, we don’t know what else happened to her tonight, or at any other point. It doesn’t have to be related to the drug.” “I guess I’ll only find out when her memory returns.” “Yes, but she’s doing very well, she’s certainly open to talking to you – in fact she asked for you.” “No doubt, do you think she’s ready for questions?” “Go easy on her, Detective.” “Oh, I promise.” Meares nodded, and he meant it, “Just one last thing. I found her at a crime scene, we had a body that had been almost completely lacerated. When I turn up on the scene her body is in the same place. Could… could it have killed her?” “Any sedative in a high amount could yes, but not the amount in her. Perhaps it is only to sedate the victims until the killer is ready to…” the nurse paused, not willing to spout conjecture, “I will say this, at least, she’s very, very lucky you found her Detective. Less she become just like your body.” “On that, I’m sure we can all agree.” When Meares reappeared in the room that you’d been set up in, your heart couldn’t help but give a flutter of excitement – he surely was a very attractive man, and kind too, although you weren’t sure if you could call him your knight in shining armour. A knight in one-hell-of-a-suit, maybe. Though you noticed his shirt was untucked and his tie a little more slacked than it had been previously. You were dressed in a hospital gown now, but you were still clutching his jacket. His scent was unfamiliar to you, but it was one you liked. Meares sat next to you, once again taking your hand in his; you thought your pulse might run wild and suddenly felt light headed – but you controlled it. “How are you feeling?” “Alright, considering what happened… And thanks to you, god knows what would have happened if-” He stilled you, “Hey, you don’t need to think about that. Sounds like you were on one hell of a trip!” the grin indicated he had just cracked a joke, although your laugh was more embarrassed than anything else, “I… suppose.” “I’m sorry-” His eyes left yours, “I have… never been too good with my comedic timing. I wanted to ask though, Y/N, if you’d be up for answering some questions of mine?” You weren’t sure how much help you’d be, but you certainly wanted to help him. “Of course, Meares, anything.” Anything. His heart almost skipped at that, heat rushing back to places it had no business being. Anything was a big word, and he could think of plenty of things he wanted that were certainly not appropriate to bring up right now! He took a slow breath, c’mon. Be professional! For once! “Well, hey, we have your name now at least. And I have a little data on you from the hospital – with your consent to use it, of course. So, I know your address, we can get you back home, maybe that’ll help too.” Yes, he had your name, and you certainly liked the way he said it. “Oh, of course, use whatever will help your case.” Meares nodded gently, “Well, let’s start simple, do you remember what you were wearing?” “Uhm. Yes.” Although you chewed your lip, blushing – and he caught the red. “It’s okay, it stays in this room.” “Just a short black dress, off shoulder, low cut. Maybe even very low cut. Small split up the side… I remember… I remember thinking that I had to wear my sexiest dress. That was very important.” He raised an eyebrow, “Hot date?” “I-I don’t think so.” Although maybe you’d count this… interview… “Shoes?” “Good heels, yes. But also black, nothing fancy. Uhm, some… obscure brand that you only find in stores like T.K.Maxx…” “So we’re looking for a dress and heels. That’s good, you’re doing great.” He squeezed your hand, “Anything else?” You shook your head, “No, I… I wasn’t wearing-” “Oh. Oh, no, that’s- That’s okay… Dress, heels. We’re hoping your items are at a secondary crime scene. So, any detail is good. Do you remember anything, about where you were?” “…Some crowded part of town. I know, that doesn’t help any but…” “Well, do you have any idea what time? We have plenty of ways of figuring out where – sounds like you’re heading for a night out.” “Yeah, uh, 9:30, maybe closer to 10?” You scrunched your face, “That’s habitual. I don’t think I was meeting someone…” “Well, there’s security footage in the busy parts of town as you can imagine, so, I’ll get a team working on that.” “Thank you.” You took his other hand, and instinct laced your fingers with his, “Meares, I… I don’t know what I would have done if-” “I said don’t think on it. You’re safe. Keep moving forward, okay? Well, okay, maybe any information you do remember would still be good!” You giggled, then gathered his jacket and held it out for him, “And for this, especially.” “Oh!” He looked a little bashful for a second, “It’s not anything anyone else wouldn’t have done.” “But it was you.” There was another silence of understanding as you looked into each other’s eyes; his really did change just like weather. “No…” His tone was quiet, and he pushed it back at you, “Keep it. It looks good on ya.” “Y-You think?” “Mhm.” That small smirk was playful, and made more than just your stomach flutter. Oh… “Well, I guess I should thank you once more, detective.” “Don’t mention it… Just keep talking, maybe that’ll trigger something.” He had the right idea, but for the investigation it proved rather fruitless. Eventually he stopped you, just because you were getting so worked up about it not being useful. But he did learn a little bit about your life, even the most random of details helped Meares build up a picture of you, and that could really help him figure out the ‘why you’. It wasn’t necessarily the same person that had done this to you as had killed the first victim, but if it was there could be a connection somewhere. Perhaps a crime of opportunity, but that was down to Meares and his detective skills to figure out. Some details that you could remember were patchier than others, and as you struggled with the want to give him more information you became less forthcoming with anything you thought was unusable. Meares had taken notes and finally pocketed his notebook. “Y/N, I promise you, everything you’ve told me is important. It helps us build a profile of the person we need to catch too. Maybe there’ll be similarities between you and our victim. Trust me, in an investigation like this no detail is useless or too insignificant. Everything counts. And you’re brave for going through this with me.” He stood, leaning forward he kissed your forehead and you gasped, making him think that once again he’d screwed up professionally. Though Meares was hardly sure he was thinking professionally at the moment; you were a nice girl. Someone he’d actually want to hang out with… that wasn’t just your body talking to him, although that was a somewhat delightful image still burned into his head. He would do anything to bring the person who had done this to justice, he vowed that to himself. “Stay in the hospital tonight, just make sure you’re okay and I’ll come back in the morning, alright?” You nodded, “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow, Meares.” Today, by the looks of his watch, but it was still dark. Not tomorrow until you’ve been to bed-! was a rule he liked living by. “Goodnight, Y/N. Try to get some rest.” You smiled, watching him leave, and wishing he didn’t have to go: “Goodnight Detective, you too.” *** Meares did turn up at the hospital the next day for you, and seen as they were good with discharging you, he offered to drive you home. At first you thought that would be fine but, under Meares’ gaze in his car, this time your heart kept running away with your thoughts. He really was gorgeous, and now you were seeing him in natural lighting those blue eyes were even more stunning. Even when you stole glances at him and traced that side profile… Should you be thinking this way about him? Meares was supposed to be investigating what had happened to you, after all. You doubted he’d be able to have a relationship with you; not when the investigation was open. He’d noticed these shy little glances of yours and could barely hold that smirk back, you must have been checking him out. Meares was fine with that of course – and this morning you’d walked out of hospital with his jacket on, and he wasn’t reserved about admiring you in it, especially now sitting in his car again. He knew your address but he was certainly taking the scenic route, Meares’ drive was leisurely at most. Once he did pull up at your home, you were both clearly disappointed. You hesitated, staring up at your front door. Thinking he should probably be being the gentleman right now, Meares rounded the vehicle to open the car door for you – but you just kept staring forward. “I don’t want to go.” Your voice was timid, but he still caught it. “What? Why? You’re home.” “I don’t feel safe here. Not alone.” You shook your head, seemingly shrinking back into your seat, “I can get people posted, or watching the house, if you’re not comfortable.” You shook your head again, “What if whoever did this is watching the house-!? What if they’re waiting for me to be alone, Detective?!” Meares opened his mouth to try to calm you down, but this time his joke faltered. He couldn’t forgive himself if something happened before he arranged for someone to watch out for you. “Y/N… I don’t know what else I can really do with you.” Your big eyes looked up to his, pleading, “Can’t I stay with you? For a little? Until I feel safe again.” He almost did a double take, and hoped he looked level and not like he was about to punch the air – a little like what was happening in his head – “…I don’t know if my supe’s are gonna like that. But I can sure ask. They might pull me off the case to do it. But your safety should be paramount, and you’re a key witness. It’s just-” You knew exactly what he was getting at but tilted your head, “Just what, detective?” Meares for once opted not to run his mouth, and swallowed thickly eyes flicking down your body again – he hoped inconspicuously – “…It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’ll call them. I have a spare room, don’t you want to collect some things first… though?” So, Meares found himself dropping you at his house. Although he didn’t see how this was helpful for you, considering he still had to leave you alone and work on the case at the precinct. He guessed no one was going to think of finding you here. And, obviously, he was secretly elated… Even though Meares guessed he was about to get heavily reprimanded for this. And he was laid into quite hard, despite his – fairly calm – explanation as to why. Oh yes, of course he wanted to raise his voice, yell about it to be heard – but he didn’t think that would help him in keeping you at his. Upon offering to hand the case to someone else in exchange for making sure you were truly safe, his superior immediately scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve done the hard work.” “I don’t want to compromise anything!” “You should have thought about that before you agreed to let her stay.” “So pull me off, like I said. You have my write up… She’s scared, she doesn’t remember things, I found her… I just think giving her some familiarity and comfort right now is a good idea.” “Familiarity? In a house she’s never seen before?” “You… know what I mean.” “Just, be sensible, Meares.” “Yes Sir.” “You do know how to do that, don’t you?” Meares made the mistake of laughing, and it wasn’t met well, before he turned serious: “Y-Yes. Of course.” The case itself brought about good progress very quickly, with all your files back from the hospital and his own notes – coupled with what they knew about the victim, and witness interviews begun, the team were beginning to shape a picture of events. Fingerprints and DNA helped narrow the list of people who would have been around the warehouse recently, and soon interviewing witnesses became interviewing suspects. Your dress and shoes had been found well within a mile radius from the warehouse, and whilst sweeping the areas around, needles – one containing Ketamine – were also recovered with the DNA of both you and the victim. General consensus was the killer had tampered with the crime scene. That raised questions of its own; why, and how had they been able to? Meares believed that’d lead to some internal investigation – and he was still mindful to be cautious around others in the department - but right now catching this person was paramount. *** Your relationship continued to grow. Although Meares was very careful with what he told you. You understood why, this was his job on the line after all. But of course he kept you updated on your own case; he was determined to catch the person who did this. It was good to see how joyous he became the more information he gathered, and how Meares would always announce ‘we’re close!’ if you asked for an update. You weren’t sure exactly how true that was, considering he’d been saying that for weeks, but you couldn’t help but be happy that he was happy. Detective Meares made you feel safe, safer than you had been for a long time. And as you started to remember little pieces that would help him, Meares got excited to grab his little recorder to make sure he had everything right. You continued to get closer, and you were sure by now you’d outstayed your welcome at his place and you should be heading back home – but neither of you raised the subject of you leaving, and he never asked if you were safe enough to go home, even though it was obvious by your attitude and body language that you were. It started slow – to build to something more than the victim and the detective who had saved your life (probably), you were sitting on the couch together watching TV. Not even a movie, just news reports, but you leaned into him, head on his shoulder. For a moment Meares tensed – not in an uncomfortable, ‘I don’t want this’ way, but in a ‘is this really happening?!’ way. Meares didn’t dare breathe for a minute, and yet as if to prove how much you meant it, you cuddled into him a little more, soaking up his bodily warmth. Meares’ smirk was a little too smug, but you were smiling too, and your cheeks began to hurt as his arm snaked around your shoulders and he pulled you a little closer. Meares knew he probably shouldn’t be doing this. But, fuck it, when had he ever really listened to rules and procedure? You were beautiful, no, you were gorgeous. Wasn’t it the first thing he’d noticed about you anyway? He pulled your body into his, hand settling on your waist; and you didn’t complain. Maybe Meares was right, maybe you wanted him as bad too. Was that a good thing? Well, he knew he would certainly choose to believe it was.

 Pretty soon that dynamic changed, and cuddling on the couch turned into making out on the couch. It didn’t take much persuasion; he’d been staring at you like that ever since he’d first met you and you were certainly hot on him too. As you both leaned closer Meares tilted his head, smirking “Whatcha thinking about Angel Face?” And how you almost returned his smirk as you looked deep into those ever-changing blue eyes, “Kissing you.” Angel Face - That was his nick-name for you, even if he wouldn’t admit how he came to that conclusion, and it just stuck. You soon found out that if you ran your fingers through his hair Meares would groan into the kiss - and it was no wonder that he always liked his hair being messed up. Clearly it was even better for him when you did it. Professionalism be damned, the detective was not about to resist you. And he’d offered to be off the case, fair and square, he didn’t see how they could blame him now. Especially when you looked like that.

Being with him was just so easy; old enough to know better, young enough to still be playful - but he could bounce back from any fuck ups, a little headstrong and rough around the edges… No one was ever perfect though. A good man, even if he spent his time making inappropriate comments or jokes - just as often in content as in his timing. But all of that just made you love him more, that attractive face of his (not to mention his voice) was the best bonus. It only made you wonder what was under his clothes… after all, he already knew what was under yours. And you were fairly certain that was an image burned into his head.

This meant Meares had a particular way of staring at you; you wouldn’t call it predatory, but it had that kind of effect on you. Your pulse ran and your eyes widened and sometimes you struggled to breathe against the weight of his stare; drawing his eyes slowly up and down your body, tilting himself to get better views of you. The way his lips parted and he ran his fingertips over them, or sometimes his tongue before he smirked. Of course he wondered when he’d get to see you naked again. You weren’t sure if that made you more or less scared of it being an eventuality. Sometimes you shied away from him completely. Sometimes you had the confidence but found yourself unable to speak it.

Today was not either of those. Today the stars aligned all from a seemingly innocent sentence. If Meares hadn’t wondered aloud if you were ready to return back to your own house then you probably wouldn’t have had the opportunity to take his hand and turn him back to you. You found the words to be honest: “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be alone. Or without you. Again.” For the first time Meares saw something in you that he hadn’t before. Whilst the sentence had been said in all innocence there was a wildness in your eyes. An untameable force that somehow you were holding back. You very nearly stole his breath with that look alone. He kissed you hard and fast; slipping out of his own jacket before reaching out to pull your hips to his.

When he broke away from you, the look on your face was of slight wonder. Yet that wildness was still there - and the trembling he felt under his fingertips was not because you were nervous and scared. It was because of what you were holding back: this didn’t match the personality that you’d been showing off to him; shy and sweet and delicate. Meares wondered which was real, this or the girl he thought you were just pretending to be. Cupping your face in his large hands his next kiss was delicate, lips barely touching yours. “Don’t hold back now Angel Face.”

He found himself yanked back to you almost angrily by his tie, the look in your eyes not hiding now. Oh, you didn’t intend to.

 ***

 He was falling for you. And hard. Meares didn’t want to call it love yet, but he thought it could be. He wasn’t sure he was simply in lust with you - but he’d keep that option on the table. You were always lingering in the back of his mind, and now he knew what your sex was like you weren’t just an image of a naked body, but a whole experience. And every so often you’d use this to your advantage, and send him pictures that made him smirk and text eagerly back: ‘Bad girls get put in handcuffs, you know?’

 Of course, all this had to happen right around the time of the major case break through. And not a breakthrough Meares particularly wanted. One day he was called down to the forensics room, and was faced with a mix of items of both yours and the first victims. They had been through everything again, and again, and again and nothing. Meares hoped that today was the day they’d finally find something that would help. “Detective, we will have to simply call it.” “We can’t give up on them! The killer is still out there!” “There’s nothing more we can do. Nothing - if we go on evidence alone now, logically there’s conclusions that must be drawn.” Meares sighed and placed his hands flat on the table, stretching his body back behind him; “Give it to me again.” “There’s NO other DNA in that warehouse, on her clothes, nothing.” “No other person?” “None.” “No evidence that anyone else was involved?” Meares wanted there to be another angle, something beyond what he felt – with dread – that this was all building to. “No. And we have tested and retested everything.” As you well know, this seemed to say. “…What about our first body?” “Well, here’s the interesting thing.” “What?” And why hadn’t this ‘interesting thing’ been raised!? Meares knew he sounded more annoyed than he did elated at this potential breakthrough. “Same sedative.” “So what, they were coming back for her?” That didn’t make things any better. He certainly was glad he’d found you if that was the conclusion. There was awkward hesitation, before the technician cleared his throat: “…Prints on the syringe are hers.” Meares raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding: “They… forced her to do it to… herself?” “Meares…” The look was pointed, “You know what the evidence is saying.”

Meares set his tablet up on the kitchen side, staring at it hard, before taking a stylus and trying to connect all the dots virtually. He’d been trying to do this in the office all day - and he almost had it but there were blanks that he was drawing that he still didn’t understand. They could easily have forced you into it, he doubted they’d forced you to inject someone else. But he suspected they could have had you self-inject. That’s what Meares wanted, but that wasn’t what the evidence was saying. That was never what the evidence was saying.

He had to be sure, and he’d found the security tapes of the warehouse opposite: terrible quality of course, and grainy. They’d already been dismissed by the team as being insufficient to gather anything from. But if you looked hard enough, if you knew what you were looking for, you’d find it. And he unfortunately did. This figure that he was seeing was you. It had to be you - it wasn’t like he could see your face, but he was living with you. He knew your body, he knew the way walked, the attitude you put into steps. This wasn’t that shy act either, this was careful and calculating. The person he knew, sure, but there was a horrendous chill that ran up his spine. Like he was watching some kind of horror movie. No one else went in or out of the warehouse after you. Then you came back out - he fast forwarded all the police investigators turning up - but you returned later… then nothing, until he showed up. And Meares knew the rest.

 “Oh. SHIT.” His head bent forward and he rested it on the cold side. It’s you. It had to be you. Meares couldn’t help but admit his heart was a little broken, that he felt a little nervous and sick. Where were you? Were you here? A killer in his house; someone he trusted, he had feelings for, that he’d told about his life. Was everything you’d told him about yourself a lie? You didn’t remember anything, because there was nothing to remember. You’d killed someone, drugged yourself to make yourself look like a victim… watched the warehouse while the police did their work… but why? The why had him so confused. And it was a question he couldn’t answer. Meares wouldn’t put you in handcuffs until he had the whole story.

 But he heard the sound behind him all too late, and as he straightened to react you grabbed him. Meares didn’t really have time to struggle, you’d been watching him - and bless his heart he was struggling. With the truth - but he didn’t know the whole truth just yet. You placed your hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out and sunk that needle in; no hesitation in injecting the heavy sedative into his veins. “Figured it out yet… Detective?”

 ***

 Meares took a little longer to come around from the sedative than you’d have liked. No doubt it was the same one that you had used on yourself and your victim. Damn did he feel like an idiot. And drowsy. And have one hell of a pounding headache.

Didn’t take very many of his detective skills to figure out he was tied to a chair, hands bound too. He thought back to that first description; bruising and ligature marks. Looking around it seemed a little like he’d been put back in another warehouse. Though this one looked a little cleaner than the one he’d been investigating. Eventually his eyes fell on the figure approaching him; and Meares glared.

“You?!? It was you all along?!?” He sounded much more hurt than he wanted to, “Why would you do that?!?” You stopped a few feet from him, hands in your pockets, head tipped as you surveyed his body. It was slightly gratuitous, but he could hardly complain about it after what he’d been doing to yours. Meares supposed that he should be thankful he wasn’t naked. Then again...

You took a breath, and once again answered too honestly. “For you.” Meares squinted, disbelieving: “What the fuck!?” That made no sense. “Are you kidding!?” You shook your head, “Detective Meares I’ve been watching you for a very, very long time. And is it any wonder, just look at you.” You paused, biting your lip seductively. He hated to admit it was almost working, “...What better way to finally meet you? And the fact that you were the first man on the scene for me. Couldn’t have worked out better.” He swallowed, backing up as far as the chair and restraints would allow: “There’s better ways to get my attention.” “Oh, but it did... didn’t it. Get your attention.” You took a step back, but your eyes didn’t leave his, “Or I did.”

Meares face was illuminated fairly well by the dim lighting, and his cheeks flushed. Yes - but he’d only admit that in his head right now. Of course you’d caught his attention. Look at you. You were gorgeous.  ‘She’s a fucking killer though, Meares, c’mon!’ Although he wasn’t really listening to that reasoning anymore as his eyes flicked up and down your body once more. He found himself struggling against the restraints. You smirked, “I wouldn’t do that, they’re your handcuffs.” Meares did the unexpected and smirked back, with a raised eyebrow, “Little kinky?” You gave him a look of amusement, but disappeared for a moment into the gloom. That made him panic a little and strain against the cuffs and binds again. No luck.

When you returned you placed a stool in front of his chair and sat opposite him, twisting the keys to his cuffs around your finger. “You want out?” Meares stared at the keys for a long while, before looking back to your face, then the keys, and then your face once more. When that gorgeous blue returned to the keys, Meares took a deep breath; he wouldn’t lie, he was in two minds here. ‘What’s she gonna do if I say yes, actually this is weirdly turning me on. If it weren’t for the context I’d actually quite like her to be in charge if we’re gonna fuck?...’ His eyes returned slowly to your face but you recognised that swallow; you knew exactly where Meares’ mind was at and what you were doing to him. That man was craving you, even now. “What are you gonna do to me? You gonna kill me now?” “Nothing you won’t like.”

A shiver of excitement ran his spine and he cursed himself, the widening of your smirk meant you’d seen it, and the way his pupils dilated. “I want answers.” “I don’t think you do. You want means and motive. I saw opportunity and your jurisdiction.” “You drugged yourself, stripped naked and… no maybe that was for me.” You enjoyed the way that blush rose on his face again. “Yes, Although I wasn’t really meant to inject quite so much sedative. I’m sure your labs will figure I have enough immunity to have got back to the crime scene after stripping off before it kicked in. And yes, of course for you.” You tilted your head, arms folded for a second, “I didn’t meant to go that hard; and it did affect my memory momentarily.” “You’ve… also obstructed the course of justice.” “There was no attack for me to remember.” “And the guy you… lacerated?” You shrugged, “Just some guy.” “...You- he was a random vic?” “Not entirely, but I’m sure you know by now he won’t be missed.” “You can’t just… do things like that.” Meares’ look was hard, his tone disgusted. “No, but I did.” “You’re psycho-!” “Little emotional there, detective.” He scoffed, “You expect me not to be?!” His eyes narrowed and for a moment hurt genuinely flickered across his face: “I can’t believe I fell for you, can’t believe I slept with you. Holy shit what have I got myself into-!?” “I just told you…” Your voice softened, and you leant forward, hands on his knees you pushed his legs apart. That shade of red on his face got deeper as his eyes widened: “So what, we’re gonna hate fuck now?” Your head tipped and you said it almost sweetly, “Not exactly.”

For a moment you left your stool and sat between his feet, arms up over his left thigh you leant against leg, eyes almost pure and innocent. “Oh. FUCK!” He had to voice something in realisation, after all. “Baby…” You ran your fingers up his inner thigh and loved the way he tensed under you, “Just let me take care of you.” “Y-Y/N…” His breathing hitched, should he want this? Shouldn’t he watch this? This was certainly going to fuck up his case. If it wasn’t already fucked. “You’re so god damn sexy when you’re frustrated…” Your voice purred and his body threatened to shudder once more. Meares felt himself getting hot, and that feeling was very quickly travelling down his body. “Geez, will ya just do it?!” His voice a mixture of anguish and yearning. There was underlying lust there too you were certain to capitalise on. You were certain you’d probably let him go; you didn’t want to have to kill him… What he would do to you, you weren’t sure. But you knew the implications of his relationship with you to the case. Well, he had warned them.

 You smiled gently, eager to please, pulling the stool forward with your foot you sat back on it, leaning up to kiss him. “Do you want out of the cuffs?” He thought about his hands in your hair, about the control that would give him. “Mhm…” His voice wavered with what he was trying to hold back, you reached behind him and unlatched them, “Don’t worry, Detective, I trust you…” “I don’t know if I trust you,” then he smirked, “Angel Face.” You tsked him, giving him one last slow kiss, before your hands travelled to his belt, “I probably should have told you not to call me Angel… but that might have given it all away…” “Oh yeah…” Meares groaned at the sound of his zip coming undone and you sank back onto the stool properly. “That woulda done it…” You leant back on his knees, smile playful, “Just relax, Meares. Enjoy yourself.” “I’m not sure I’m gonna call it that right now.” You ran your tongue across your lips to wet them, “We’ll see, Detective… I’m sure you’ll find a way to appreciate this.” “Well…” He breathed deep again as you forced his legs a little wider, bringing his hands around, just itching to tangle in your hair, “Won’t say I won’t love the view…”

---

Cheers guys, I owe ya!  🤣

“Interconnected” based on James 1:17-27

Welcome to the book of James. It is one of my favorites, despite the fact that it takes away one of my best preaching tools. That is, I usually spend a lot of time explaining context and making sense of a scripture in the time and place it was written. But James is almost a form of wisdom literature. It is universal. So, we're able to spend our time on the ideas in the book directly.

James is written to the followers of Jesus in the diaspora – that is, those who lived outside of the Holy Land. The ones who had been DISPERSED from the land of their ancestors in faith. This feels relevant right now too. I don't know any church members at FUMC Schenectady who would claim modern Palestine or Israel as their native land, but I think that all of us are displaced from the “land” we once knew, and have not yet settled into the “land” we'll live in eventually. The Pandemic has displaced us all (although not all the same amount.)

In this opening chapter of the book of James, we are urged to LIVE our faith. James wants faith in ACTION. He urges people not to just listen to preachers ;) but to LIVE their faith, and he gets rather specific about it. James believes that people who are followers of Jesus should be acting out different values than the world's.

The crux of the advice from today's passage is “let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God's righteousness.” For James, this is integral in what it means to be “religious” - right up there with caring about God's beloveds who the world doesn't value (“widows and orphans.”)

As far as I can figure it out, the work of Christians is to build the kindom of God. The kindom, sometimes called the beloved community, is God's vision for the world. We will know it is here when the power of love overcomes the love of power; when the abundant resources of the world are used for the good of all people; when kin-ship connections cross all boundaries; when the poorest and most vulnerable people have enough to survive and thrive; when no one has to teach anyone about God because God is known by all. The kindom is God's long term plan for us, and our work to get there happens in two broad ways: first, by creating Christian communities where we practice kin-dom values and treat each other like we're already there and second by working with God to share love, to seek mercy, and advocate for justice so that the world is healed.

One of the parts of kindom building that can be hard sometimes is that it requires seeing clearly what the world is like now. We have to do this so we can hold it in tension with how God would have the world be in the kindom, but often the aching pain of the world as it is can be hard to let ourselves see clearly. For instance, we can't work towards a world without rape and violence unless we admit that we live in a world with rape and violence, and that there are barriers to changing it. So, we seek to see clearly. We seek to see how things are AND how God wants them to be.

Now, I don't want to shock you or anything, but the United States is a highly individualistic society. (The kindom is not.) We in the US have proven to the world how terribly individualism works – time and time again. Including in our responses to the COVID-19 Pandemic.

You might think that if you were looking at this pandemic with clear eyes that you would see that none of us can be well unless all of us are well- that we are collectively only as healthy as the least healthy among us – that every act of protection and prevention has enormous ripple effects. However, if we had learned this lesson, we'd be spending as much as possible to make it feasible to vaccinate every willing person in the world as soon as possible. We'd even do this before triple vaccinating our own population, because slowing down the spread of the virus is the most important way to keep everyone safe, healthy, and alive. The well being of all and the well being of the USA actually align! Yet, we miss the mark.

The book of James has an interesting perspective on the relationship that Christians have to the world. In the face of the injustices of the Roman Empire, the wealth inequality, the slavery, the power imbalances, the death rates of the poor, James urges the faithful … not to get angry.

I find that my first instinct is to argue with this a little bit. “Are you sure?” “What about when...?” Yet, even as I argue, I am convicted by this passage.

Society is rife with anger. Anger is pulling us apart at the seams. Some of the anger, I'd argue, is “righteous.” It is a response to injustice that needs to be seen, acknowledged, named, and addressed. We'll talk about that in a moment.

Most of the anger is misplaced. The anger is being used to create groups of “us” that stand against “them,” and those distinctions dismiss that everyone in both groups are beloveds of God. The anger is being used to provoke fear, sell products, pass unjust laws, and elect politicians. The anger is being USED.

And James points out directly that the people who want others to get angry are selling them on the idea that if they get angry enough, they will provoke God to action. James says it won't work though. God will act when God will act, and furthermore, prayer is a better way to go about it. Anger serves the people promoting it, not God.

But what about righteous anger? As I've been saying recently, anger is a “secondary” emotion. That is, it exists like a red flag to mark a place where something that is held precious is being violated. It lets us know when our values are attacked, and underneath that is another emotion. Most often anger is there to act as the bodyguard to sadness or the diversion to fear.

Sadness and fear are sufficient. They can guide us to good action, they can show us the ways of compassion, they can help us grow together. They are wise enough, that once we find them, we can let go of the anger that guided us to them.

Which means that the way to be “slow to anger” is often to identify anger, and then sit with it and find out what is underneath it. It means that we sometimes need to listen – to ourselves and our tender emotions. God is there, with us when we listen, with us when we feel, with us when we discover what is under our anger. This is, even, a form of God's healing, God's salve in our lives.

Of course, “be slow to anger” is the third piece of advice we're given in today's passage. The first two are to be quick to listen and slow to speak. It seems clear that James' advice is aimed at faith COMMUNITIES, because his advice is aimed at deepening and maintaining good relationships among the followers of Jesus.

For the past several years, I have participated in “listening circles.” These intentional spaces have careful guidelines that are aimed at making sure there is holy and sacred space for listening – and speaking. At times there have been 20 or 30 people in these circles, and you might think that there would be a lot more speaking than listening. But, there isn't. Often there are prolonged silences between speakers, and they feel like time to absorb the wisdom one beloved of God has offered. When the obligation to have a response is taken away, along with the tendency toward chit-chat, there is spaciousness for silence and listening.

When I hear James say, “be quick to listen, slow to speak” I think of how healing those circles have been in my life. I love being freed from having to have a response to something someone says, and instead just listen to them and receive their wisdom. And, when I do speak into such a space, I am astounded at the power that comes with being heard with love.

As much as I have loved these experiences though, it isn't clear to me how to live “be quick to listen, slow to speak” ALL the time. Really listening to another of God's beloveds takes energy and attention, and … let's be honest dear ones, those are finite resources!!! We will drain ourselves if we try to listen WELL all the time. (I've tried.)

That said, there is a being who is capable of listening with complete attention, and full energy, with love and compassion, with care and support – all day, every day, to all of us. God, the creator, sustainer, redeemer has gifted us with life, and God is with us breathing new life into us day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, and even second by second. When we seek God in prayer and meditation, we find that God is close at hand, ready and able to offer us healing. When all we have to offer are sighs too deep for words, God knows what we mean. When we are full of words, God listens until we have exhausted them. When we are able to be with the Divine in holy silence, God meets us there. And, of course, when what we offer God is our listening, …

well, that's when things really start to happen ;)

James encourages us to an active faith – not just to worship God once a week, but to live out faith in every day. He reminds us that the very people the world dismisses (the “widows and orphans”) are the ones that followers of Christ take care of. James doesn't hate the world – though he isn't impressed with it either - but he doesn't think being angry with it is going to change it. James encourages the people of faith to act differently. Take care of the struggling and vulnerable, listen deeply, speak with intention, slow down anger and learn its lessons instead of acting it out. Don't replicate the brokenness of the world – change it.

So, dear ones of God, I invite you to God's restoration, God's healing of the world, God's work of the Kindom: be quick to listen; be slow to speak; be slow to anger. With such “simple” acts as these, we can heal the world. May God help us. Amen

Rev. Sara E. Baron 

First United Methodist Church of Schenectady 

603 State St. Schenectady, NY 12305 

Pronouns: she/her/hers 

http://fumcschenectady.org/ 

https://www.facebook.com/FUMCSchenectady

September 5, 2021

Hello! A post by @west-moor got me thinking, and it resulted in this! This is a little left to the point of the post, but it just grabbed hold of my brain for a solid three days. It’s currently full of author’s notes, but I feel the Need to Share. (Please let me know if you’d like to see any of the struck-through bits revisited!)

Warnings: Renfri’s backstory mentioned throughout (rape tw); Jack Harkness-style immortality (death tw, not permanent)

Concept: With a little bit of timeline nudging, Jaskier could be Renfri’s son

“Dandelion, come here before I go.” Renfri held out her arms, and Julian dashed forward, snuggling into her. She squeezed him. “I want you to make me a promise, okay?” Her voice was soft but raw. Julian frowned - this must be serious. 

“What kind?” He asked, refusing to let go of her. She rested her chin on the top of his head. ((she’s grateful she doesn’t have to look him in the eye))

Renfri sighed, tracing patterns on his back. “The [hard/important/??] kind. What I’m about to do...it might get me in trouble. I -“ Renfri hugged him tighter. “I might not be able to get back home.”

“What?” Julian’s voice went up, and Renfri shushed him gently, kissing the top of his head. 

“I want to. I’m going to try to. But this is dangerous, Dandelion. Even so, I have to take this chance. I’m so sorry.” Renfri took a breath. “But I need you to promise me, Julian, that if I don’t come home...you won’t do anything about it.” She squeezed him, so he didn’t shout like he wanted to. “No matter what you hear. No matter what Stregobor might do. That bastard cannot have you, do you understand?” Julian squirmed, and Renfri loosened up her hug with an apology, finally pulling back to look at him. “I don’t trust him not to use any excuse he can to hurt you, too. So we’re not going to give him an inch. Not a thing he can twist about you the way he did me. Alright?” She cupped his face, looking into his eyes. “So that’s the promise. No revenge. I don’t care what else you do, love - swordplay or poetry, or -“ She grasped for a third option, shook her head when she couldn’t seem to find one. “Anything but revenge. Promise?”

“Promise, Mummy.” Julian saw her eyes go misty. ST ? It was probably because he’d called her Mummy instead of Renfri. That’s what everyone else called her, and she was fine with him doing it, too. [Also draws less attention than Mummy] But sometimes, when he was scared or when something was important, Mummy meant so much more ? ST

*****

Fuck, but it had been hard without Renfri. It seemed like it would be fine, at first. Renfri had left him with her friend Gina; Gina lived in Oxenfurt; and he kept living with Gina; so it was easy to badger the Academy into accepting him when his interests turned to poetry. (He ignored the pang he felt at the memory of his last promise to his mother.)

Since then...well, he was just glad Gina was an innkeeper and had seen every trick in the book for getting food, some less underhanded than others. He stuffed the bread into his pants - he wasn’t likely to be able to eat here in peace, not with everyone...

Jaskier’s eyes caught on the corner and narrowed. Not everyone. He’d thrown neither bread nor coin. Strange - even people nominally without opinions usually got caught up in the energy of a room. He hopped to his feet, grabbed an ale, and crossed the room. He’d expected it to be a little harder to wheedle a review from the stranger, considering he claimed he was there to drink alone, but he came right out with his opinion once Jaskier sat down across from him. Now Jaskier got a good look at the whole of him, though, besides that stand-out hair. His eyes were golden.

“White hair....big, old loner. Two very -“ Jaskier’s words caught in his throat. The hilt that peeked just barely out of the [bag (technical term?)]. He couldn’t look away from it. “Very,” he managed to find his voice before it could be suspicious. “Scary-looking swords. I know who you are.”

Geralt stood. [second instinct>] STDismay filled Jaskier. That was his mother’s brooch. Seeing it made his heart ache, and he wanted a piece of her - any piece of her - back. He tried to stop him by drawing attention, but it only landed Geralt a job. Well. A job would keep him in Posada long enough to talk, wouldn’t it? So he followed, letting his mouth run wherever it would. He surprised himself a little with the optimism in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”.ST

[first instinct>] Jaskier nearly saw red. The Witcher didn’t get to just walk away with his murdered mother’s brooch. Drawing attention to Geralt didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped, instead landing him a job. Jaskier hurried after him, not wanting to give him any chance of escape. He let his mouth run as it would, taking a kernel of malicious glee in pointing out the onion scent. Geralt either had a very good poker face or quite thick skin, or both. He surprised himself with the optimistic tone in “death and destiny, heroics and heartbreak”. After all, Geralt had already brought him two of those things directly.

“Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the - the Butcher of Blaviken.” He relished the taste of the title in his mouth. The way it hung in the air was viscerally satisfying. He shouldn’t have gotten caught up in it. It made the fist seem like it came out of nowhere. 

He couldn’t catch his breath back. He’d had the wind knocked out of him once before, falling out of a tree. It had seemed like it had taken hours for Renfri to come to him and hold his hand. It was probably barely minutes, if that. The panic stretched time. Long enough for him to remember his promise to Renfri and break his own heart. He’d nearly broken his promise. Over a piece of jewelry - a sentimental improvised weapon, but far from as useful as the daggers he hid on his person. 

When he could breathe again, he straightened to find Geralt hadn’t moved far. He seemed to be checking the horse’s reigns, but coincidentally finished just as Jaskier straightened up. Well. That was almost cute. Jaskier dug claws right into a tender title, and Geralt waited to make sure he hadn’t done permanent damage. He suppressed a smile. 

“You really do pack a wallop!” He crowed. He regretted it a little, his stomach still aching. “What’s this going to take, two minutes?”

Geralt ignored him, mounting Roach. Jaskier hurried to keep up, still talking.

*****

As he talked, Jaskier realized his mother would’ve disapproved. Home wrecking wasn’t puppy-murder, but it was still something Stregobor might use should he ever find out Julian de Lettenhove was connected to the Black Sun. But there was nothing to be done about it, now. It didn’t technically break his promise, and it did too many wondrous things for his mental health to simply go without.

Jaskier was tired of this semantic argument, and they’d only had it twice before. The first time Jaskier had called Geralt a friend, and the first time he’d called him his best friend. He was all too happy to turn the conversation back to the night’s contract, and years of living at an inn had him snatching away Geralt’s ale with barely a thought. There was work to be done, and drink made everyone slow, even Witchers. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Jaskier dismissed, setting the ale gently on the dresser. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time.” You got involved in Stegobor’s petty squabble. You killed my mother. But that would bring the mood down and might give Geralt the wrong idea. Real friendship had taken two years for Jaskier to admit to himself, and sometimes hurt still festered, but hate? It had all but vanished at Dol Blathana, listening to Geralt bargain for his life. Listening to him reason with the elves, Jaskier suspected he got a peek into his mother’s last few days. He had to stop thinking about it. He pulled a joke out of his ass and let the conversation carry itself. 

*

He had proven, via scorned lovers past, that he had a resistance to magic. It didn’t skirt away from him, not completely. But it was often less severe. However, a shockwave was a shockwave was a shockwave. 

***

A djinn was not a shockwave. And he thanked his mother, and Melitele - even Lillit for that. Because he could feel the djinn on the edge of his senses. Drowned, trapped, shaken, fought over: tired and hellishly angry. He should’ve dropped dead, his throat burst open. But no. There was the taste of copper in his mouth and he could hardly force air in and out, but he was alive. Barely. Because the djinn had underestimated the force it would need. As his head began to spin and he clutched desperately at Geralt, his mind took a few funny turns. Renfri would be disappointed in the wish about Valdo. Not against the letter of the promise, but the spirit - Stregobor could definitely use murder-by-djinn against him. Would Renfri think it was funny if he died in Geralt’s arms, when she had met her end at his hands? And make no mistake, he was dying despite the djinn’s miscalculation: that was Roach’s back. Even after a decade, he still didn’t get to ride Roach unless he broke a leg miles outside town. 

**

[Yenn POV of Jaskier definitely dying and coming back to life; deciding to make it her little secret???]

**

It was a spring snow, and Jaskier wasn’t dressed for it. He was pleasantly surprised when the puppy eyes he gave Geralt got a non-frowning eye roll. That was about as good as an exasperated laugh from Gina. Shortly afterward, Geralt had found a safe-ish cave, and Jaskier helped him to set up the campfire. Usually Geralt didn’t resort to an Igni to start a fire unless they were both running low on coin for supplies - better to have all his energy at his disposal if something came across them in the night. But the kindling was damp, and Jaskier was shivering. After the fire, Geralt rummaged around on Roach for a moment before producing a blanket to drape around Jaskier’s shoulders. Jaskier smiled at him. 

For a while, there was only the sound of the whetstone as Jaskier warmed up. Once he felt a little better, though, out came Filavandrel’s lute. It had become something of a game over the years, to try to make Geralt’s sword-sharpening his metronome. He plucked mindlessly in time to the sound, his eyes only half-focused. Renfri’s brooch caught the light as Geralt worked. Jaskier didn’t even realize what he was playing until Geralt stopped, looking downright alarmed. Well, for him.

“Are you hurt?” Geralt demanded. Jaskier frowned at him. The change in his face meant he felt the tear tracks. Then, he realized what he’d been playing. He clamped his fingers down on the fret board, strangling the notes. 

“Fuck. No.” Jaskier wiped roughly at his face. “I...didn’t think I still knew that.” He focused on his instrument.

“Do you...not want to talk about it?” He supposed it made sense for Geralt to be unsettled - he did usually tell Geralt about all his woes. He’d just kept him away from the serious ones, the old ones, so far.

Jaskier swallowed. He unfolded his hand and slowly began to play again. “Little Viscount Dandelion,” he sang. “It’s time to rest your head. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to eat your bread.” He hummed a little. “Little lord, oh little lord.” More humming. “Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to comb your hair. Little Viscount Dandelion, it’s time to cut through air.” It was five lines, at best. How was he crying again? Why couldn’t he go on? Renfri had stretched it out as he grew up. The first couplet had been easy. But as she’d wanted him to do more than go to sleep or to eat his dinner without a fuss, rhymes had gotten harder. He’d helped her rhyme them, and she would sing it while he laid down to sleep, or while she combed his hair. Sometimes she would teach him to fight to it. “‘S just a silly kids’ song.” Jaskier said thickly.

“Nothing silly about something that makes you think.” Geralt looked down at his sword, his thumb skimming across the edge of Renfri’s brooch. Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at it now. Geralt must have caught his line of sight. “Even you’ll think less of me if I tell you where this came from.”

“No, I won’t.” He didn’t mean for his voice to be so low, so mournful. And the sincerity had to be confusing. 

“I killed the woman it belonged to.”

“In Blaviken?” He was relieved it sounded like a guess. Geralt grunted in grave affirmation. 

“It’s from Creyden, I gathered,” Geralt continued. 

“Princess Renfri’s.” Please, just let his voice not sound funny to Geralt.

“Not a Princess after what Stregobor[‘s meddling got her stepmother (to do)]did to her.”

“I imagine not,” Jaskier murmured. His hands clenched around his lute. Sometimes he wished his mother hadn’t told him about the man who sired him. But she had never, not even once, held it against him. 

“You should sleep, Jaskier. It’s not going to clear up before tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he agreed in a whisper. He rolled out his bedroll and curled up as close to the fire as he dared. If he hummed Renfri’s song and cried himself to sleep, only Geralt and Roach could say so. 

***

[mountain? Or just...skip the mountain, cuz it’s overdone and I don’t imagine much changes]

***

ST Jaskier stopped suddenly. Ciri noticed first and tugged Geralt to a stop. Jaskier turned on his heel and retraced several of his steps, stopping in front of a pair of [idle gossipers(?)].

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help but overhear.” He flashed them a quick grin so patently false that be even saw Geralt wince out of the corner of his eyes. “You said Gina of Oxenfurt’s in town?”

“Apparently she knew Jaskier before Toss A Coin. She keeps tryin-a find him, she said.”

“Right, right. Who did you say she’s with?”

“Ffffffrida,” the other one said slowly, far too drunk for so early in the afternoon. “Of Let-something.”

“Lettenhove?” 

“Hey, yeah!” They frowned then. “Did you need to talk to them?”

“Would help, yeah.”

“Right. They’re at the market,” the first one declared. The other frowned. 

“No. The [otjer place]”

Jaskier’s heart roared in his ears as they fought, and he charged out to go looking himself. Gina wouldn’t let just anyone use Lettenhove - she knew what it had meant to Renfri, the pretend city she’d given him because she could. Jaskier snarled as a hand landed on his shoulder, and he prepared for a fight. 

“Which one were you checking?”

“[place]

[Renfri back, bitches. I might prefer this pre-mountain tho idk. Best for Julian’s blood pressure if he finds her first instead s of Geralt finding her.] ST

*****

“Julian.” Jaskier froze. Then he nearly cursed himself out - there would be no denying after-the-fact that the name had anything to do with him. He stood there and clung to the strap of his lute, trying not to lose himself in swirling negativity. He turned, surprisingly controlled. He frowned at seeing it was Borsch. 

“I prefer Jaskier.” Well, at least his voice stayed even. He tried to settle himself, putting his arms at his sides. 

“Come with me, my boy. Didn’t you tell our companion you’d be getting the rest of the story?” His tone was complicated. He’d obviously noticed Jaskier had no intention of doing anything but going straight down the mountain, but there was a painful gentleness to his request. Jaskier followed just to shed the itch of vulnerability. He could hardly believe what he saw there [in the cave]. At least until he turned to speak to Borsch and fell flat on his arse with an undignified Yelp. Alright, then. Gold dragons. Rarest. That’s how he’d smiled like he knew better than a Witcher. 

ST“I sought out the Witcher for a number of reasons. The first being that I have, on occasion, insights into the course of destiny. The second being the way your songs painted him. Destiny showed me a number of paths. And I may have guessed at the wrong one, given the knowledge of what occurred in Blaviken. But I heard your songs, and destiny told me of you. I am relieved I let faith dictate my choice.”

[dialogue I don’t wanna deal with hammering out at work]

[Borsch revealing the Jack Harkness thing “there are some creatures on this Earth who are not slated to meet their makers even should they fall to tooth, claw, or blade.” Etc; mentioning Deidre as an “aunt”, maybe suggesting Eskel assumes she’s dead as well and maybe he should fix that; intro of idea that Renfri would call other girls of the black sun his aunts]ST

STBorch didn’t speak, letting Jaskier stare, his mouth flapping soundlessly. 

“You hired Geralt,” he eventually managed. 

“Yes.”

“For - protection?” He guessed, face screwing up in a sort of frustrated confusion. ST

“Fuck!” It felt good to swear. It made the loss, the anger, the confusion, and the heartbreak feel less intense. 

“The baby does have some understanding of the world, if you don’t mind.” Borch’s voice was terribly mild. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut - he never was good at keeping it that way for long, though, not that Renfri or her men had ever minded. Gods, that was so long ago, now. 

“No one’s called me Julian in thirty years.”

ST“Will you keep your promise to your mother, even now?” Borch asked, softer than Jaskier would’ve believed possible. Jaskier sighed, curling in on himself and covering his face.

“He would deserve it if I broke it.” His voice was dark and angry. A moment later, he curled deeper in on himself. “No, he doesn’t. That bastard.”ST

“With all that’s happened today, I think it is safest if you know something in advance, Viscount Pankratz.” Jaskier looked up furtively, trying to make sure no one heard. When nothing stirred, he fixed his gaze on Borch. 

“There are some individuals in this world who are destined not to meet their makers until a god is satisfied with their work here. Wounds that should end them will not stick; substances that shouldn’t be inside them will be expelled one way or another; some days they will wake up and find that wrinkles they had the day before have retreated.” Borch looked at him. Jaskier frowned, a crease forming in his brow. “Many of Lilit’s chosen fall into that category.” The words settled slowly into his mind, his frown deepening. 

“Not all of them?”

“Not all. But - some. Including your mother.” Jaskier’s breath hitched. Borch fell silent. It felt like Jaskier’s mind was racing, but he couldn’t have articulated one single thought on his mind. He scrambled to his feet.

“I have to -“ Where before he’d felt lost, his tether of twenty years cut, now he had new purpose. “Thank you. Sorry.”

“You’re very welcome. Take care, Jaskier.”

Jaskier babbled another goodbye as he raced to start back down the mountain. 

***

[thing from receipt in work jacket pocket about Valdo discovering Gina isn’t Jaskier’s mother.]

“It’s what bards did at the Academy, make fun of each other,” Marx claimed. “It’s all in good fun, picking at your opponent’s mother. Nobody means what they say.” Geralt stated dubiously at Valdo Marx. Were students really that stupid? “We were at the inn - fairly traditional setting. Everyone knew it was where Jaskier was from, too. The regulars all knew him; Gina roped him into chores on the weekend. I was up first. I’d cultivated my set carefully. Nothing that might actually hurt Gina’s feelings.”

“But you were wrong,” Geralt rumbled. Otherwise, there’d be no story to tell - he’d learned that much from Jaskier. 

“Found out when he put a dagger to my throat, and I was the one Gina kicked out over it. Gave me a lifetime ban, but... did me the courtesy of explaining, a few years back. It hadn’t been all that long, in the grand scheme. His mother had gone traveling and never made it back. It was a mistake,” Valdo insisted. “One anyone could make. Glad, in hindsight, that it was me, even if he still holds it against me.”

****

[Deidre and Jaskier meeting]

***

Vesemir was tucked into a shadow on the battlements. He was glad he’d been in the courtyard; inside, the stone might’ve blocked their voices. But he’d been hearing them for a while now, giggly and serious in turns.

“Whose idea was this? All this trouble and they’re not even likely to be home.” The man’s voice had turned from giggles to complaints the closer they drew. 

“Mm. Yes. Terrible idea.” The woman sounded terribly amused. 

“Fuck you.” His voice was light. 

“Language!”

“Oh, fuck off!” He laughed.

“I’ll wash your mouth out with soap. It’s my right as an ‘aunt’.” Laughter, a pause. “How often were you mistaken for siblings?”

“Usually as soon as I opened my mouth and called her by her name instead of, y’know, Mum.”

“Figures.”

“Oh!” The man said after a beat of silence.  “Oh, towers! Oh, thank fuck, this mountain is too damn tall.”

[more break in]

They were rather a motley pair as they stood before Vesemir. [Deidre] and the brightly-dressed man who was probably a bard, to be carrying his lute this far. 

“Well, you see - sir,” the bard amended. Then he stopped. Frowned. “Where do I even start?”

“Your mother?”

“Bad decision.” He shook his head at her. “Too much, too fast.” He paused again. “Well.... A dragon told me to find my Mum because she didn’t stay dead. But it’s been thirty years and I didn’t know where to look. Ran into Deidre first. Mum always talked about other Black Sun princesses as sisters. I was interested. She heard me out. Have to say, the ‘Witcher’s child surprise’ thing gave me a headache. But when she told me it was a Wolf, well - I knew generally where Kaer Morhen is, and we thought it would be funny if we. Um. Dropped in. Especially since it’s Summer so the consequences are minimal.”

This bard knew too damn much. “Are you Jaskier, then?”

“Ah. I hoped it wasn’t quite so obvious.” Suddenly, tentative hope bloomed behind his eyes. “You’ve heard of me?”

[All Geralt talks about. Other princesses? ~~ Ah yes well no easy way to say this mine is one too. It’s Renfri. No, Geralt doesn’t know. About any of this. And please don’t tell him! well, you’re actually supposed to tell them all Deidre and her nephew came by, to make Eskel sweat, but - hand wring - don’t connect Jaskier and Julian in their heads, if you can avoid it?]

*****

Jaskier had a hand pressed to Roach’s neck as they walked. It was both easier and harder going this way than breaking in. He liked the directness of it, but he hated the cold. Ciri shifted on Roach and leaned down a little to fuss with the cloak Geralt had made him wear.

[Vesemir has found Renfri; reunions, identity confessions, etc...]

***

[hm. To mention all the ammo Stregobor could potentially have against him and then not having a Stregobor plot is about as distracting as an unused rifle on the wall.]

Reading about hypersexualisation of Millie Bobby Brown at very young age, reminds me of fictional world of asioaf. I was shocked when people defend the pedos lusting after Sansa claiming it's normal for that era. But now I am thinking in real world young girls are still preyed upon. I know s*nsan is fiction but the way shippers tried to romanticised the abuse or erase the abuse is baffling. Atleast they should acknowledge the fact that their ship is abusive and have pedophilia.

The desire to write complex characters has resulted in less than ideal (or downright horrifying) dynamics in fictional relationships, so I think that some readers genuinely believe writers are the ones who have romanticized abuse, they're just accepting what they've been given. I try to remind myself of that, especially in this fandom. I've seen a lot of people essentially say that about the big Jon ships which are either incest or feel like incest. They don't like the idea, but they think that's what's coming. There are some people who have the same feeling about the pedoships. They think they're gross, but they believe they're being told something by the author.

But, the problem is exactly what you point out. We read an attempted rape and the shippers are claiming it as something it isn't. Even if the author were to decide later (he clearly isn't planning to) to make Sansa have a romantic relationship with her abuser, Sansa is traumatized. So shippers aren't following the author's lead, they're reinterpreting what we're given for their own purposes. I do find that personally upsetting, so I have it all filtered.

Everyone is free to interpret the books as they want, and "ship and let ship" is a thing because no one should harass anyone else about fictional characters, but if in order to support your interpretation you have to say that an innocent little girl isn't genuinely upset by having a grown man pull her down onto her bed, hold a knife to her throat, and demand "a song," that she isn't deeply traumatized by having a man who had protected her before threaten her life...well, I don't think that's a genuine attempt to understand what the author has given us. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I talk about the ship here, and I'm with you in being creeped out by the fandom's interpretation of it all. And you're absolutely right that it's really hard to dismiss when we see how people treat girls in real life.

So.....I just found out two of my basically a hippi friends is sort of a trump supporter now and I....I don’t know where to start?

Okay....so I live in Georgia but I used to live in Illinois and 3 of my friends up there are homeschooled hippish kids. you know vegetarian, vegans, doesn’t seem to trust vaccines but other times do. worked on pumpkin farm. really really good at tech and computers. a big fan of pokemon. very pro LGBT and all that jazz. I haven’t checked in on the sister yet but I checked with the guys a few days after the election and honestly while I wasn’t expecting them be in love with Joe Biden (He’s useful but lets face it no one is THAT enthusiastic for him....he’s better than trump but he’s no Bernie or Elizabeth warren when it comes to competency)....he was.....defending trump as the better canidate.....and I WANT to believe he is just joshing with me(he did trick me into believing he thought light was the good guy from death note instead of L).

but at this point its definitely not the case and I’m confused as all hell this happened...HOW did this happen? like he and his brother were basically bernie bro’s wo years ago the last time I checked and now they are defending trump?

I mean they brought up not trusting the main media because of the situation with the teens and the Native American that was clearly not researched enough before it was sent out into the world by any media outlit. and they brought up that trump has said he is against nazi’s and white supremacy but the media keeps asking him that question alot. even tried to use the good people on both sides bit to defend him by saying he did say nazi’s were bad before even though trump has clearly floundered n that question. even the north korean thing O.O

My sister got heated trying to understand how they feel about trump’s relationship with sexism. even the grab her by the pussy statement or the rape accusation by trumps ex wife or the many lady’s claiming it...or even the confirmed cheating scandals about trump. Like...I get that they said he is innocent until proven guilty...but they wouldn’t even acknowledge that its even having the accusations is sketchy even though they were creeped out by it two years ago!

they tried bringing up a kid who liked touching joe’s leg hair or the hair sniffing which IS creepy no doubt but not to the level of the guy who admitted he would go to the changing rooms of the teenagers in his pageants with the inspecting excuse. or talked about another man’s 14 year old daughter right infront of him. or talks about his own daughter like that.

I mean clearly there is some sexism thats creeped in because their instinct was to call my sister cuckoo and crazy or irrational because she got emotional and raised her voice when she said they them making light of the subject of the rape accusations against trump with no concern over how Trump’s history supports the lack of respect for the female gender as equals, makes her feel like if something of that nature happened to her they were letting her know she can’t trust them enough to let them know about it.

and while I get being shouted at can be uncomfortable.... is it normal to completely dismiss the point the other person was making just because the voice was raised? like somehow getting emotional or raising the voice can be seen as completely invalidating your point?

but they have been raised by a amazingly strong lady who is kind and creative and over powered medical issues and a kind smart father.

but now they are telling me that there is voter fraud in Georgia? when the REPUBLICANS are basically the ones in charge but still say there is no voter fraud? when we have had multiple recounts and everything matches up?  when all the other states including Georgia have knocked down the voter fraud ideas themselves? like voter SUPPRESSION I can TOTALLY see happening. but they brought up the video that even fox news didn’t see as a thing. and they had even admitted they haven’t been keeping up with the news as well as they should.

I’m SERIOUSLY worried about these two. like one of them admitted that he might be in a bit of a echo chamber by getting his news from the internet so there IS hope...but like..........are other people baffled?

like I get it if you fell for the rhetoric before trump became president and just stuck with it. its horrible but admitting he is wrong and bad means accepting you supported terrible views and a bad man who has ruined america’s reputation around the world and hurt many people and broken the trust americans have worked hard to build with our allies. and accepting you supported bad things can be HARD to accept...

.....I mean you should accept it because its better for you to grow as a person than to cling to a carpet bagger like trump and his lackies who have hurt many many americans and non americans at this point and are willing to shit on the constitution.....

...but like I get that if you’ve clung on this long accepting it is going to be hard and hurt because no one likes getting tricked.....

....but like...these guys started falling for trump after becoming bernie bros O.O

AFTER Trump started fucking shit up and putting incompetent people into hos positions like his kids or that lady who tried to fuck with the special olympics and the dude who started fucking with out national forests to name a few.

I don’t.....I don’t understand how to even START breaking own their logic. They think America handled COVID BETTER than other countries O.O

BETTER! O.O

They started trying to throw numbers at me but I don’t understand where their numbers are coming from!

like I can understand if it was before trump was president for 4 years MAYBE because he was a loose cannon and people were desperate for anything different and if your desperate enough to turn a blind eye to the red flags everywhere...but we KNOW for CERTAINTY that trump is a shitty president now. O.O

The man got impeached and the senate chose not to listen to witnesses instead of trying to prove trump was innocent they decided to avoid the risk that he could be guilty which made him look even guiltier.

.....Does anyone have any clues? how have you all handled loved ones believing this stuff? like its not like I want them to not find issue with the other sides. others do have problems to be pointed out but its like they are completely ignoring the problems from trump and the republican side completely and its CREEPY.

Shouldn’t there be WARNING signs for these type of things?

where am I supposed to begin? we clearly have very different sources where we get our news and media so what if i give them a source they have already decided can’t be trusted? I know its not my job to convince them but they ARE my friends. I don’t want them to get sucked in and potential lose more views they used to support.

How did all of you handle finding out your loved ones got like this internet?

Non-consent Nancy (part 1, repost)

(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)

Chapter 1, parts 1 and 2

WARNING: This story focuses on a lesbian black woman who fetishizes rape, misogyny, racism, and abuse. As such, there will be copious amounts of offensive language and themes, including the sexualization of victims. The story is fiction, and nothing written here should be taken as an endorsement for any of these view or activities. In fact, I wholeheartedly condemn nearly everything the main character thinks and does in this story. I believe that consent is a central tenet of morality, and violations of it are only acceptable in the context of fiction.

***

Introduction:

Nancy had grown up in a conservative, affluent neighborhood. Being one of the only black girls, she became a target for bullies and bigots at an early age. The fact that she dressed and acted like a lesbian before she even fully realized her sexual orientation certainly didn’t do her any favors.

Her mother worked hard to give her a better life than she’d had; as such, she could be a bit dismissive of her problems. When she was little, and informed her that she was being bullied at school, she simply suggested that she try to turn her abusers into friends. Taking her suggestion to heart, from that point on, Nancy always responded to cruelty with kindness. She want out of her way to accommodate bullies, to show them more kindness than she showed anyone else.

In middle school, she pressed her mother to tell her about her birth-father. After a long conversation, her mother finally admitted that Nancy had been conceived through rape by a man her mother had never met. She reasoned then, that her mother had virtually nothing to do with actually creating her. Her father was the one who took the initiative that resulted in her existence. Therefore, every moment of her life, every instant of joy or pleasure she took from being alive, she owed to a rapist. Her gratitude and affinity for rapists and abusers began to reach a level that bordered on worship, with those who defied them being, in her eyes, akin to heretics.

When she reached high-school, her views became even more extreme. She had internalized her affinity for sadists so much that she began to hate victims that tried to fight back. She felt as though they were dishonoring the blessing they had been given. When her best friend, Janet tearfully confessed that she’d been date-raped by a boy she had a crush on, Nancy insisted that she not tell anyone, convincing her that she must have enjoyed it and that she should call the boy and apologize for being such an ungrateful brat. She was proud of herself for facilitating the three-month abusive relationship that followed. Even prouder that she thought to secretly ask the boy out herself, allowing him to cheat on her best friend, as was his right and her honor.

Nancy loved how creative the young man was. He often had Nancy come over right before a date with Janet so he could fuck her and have Janet unknowingly suck her best friends cunt juice off of his cock. He liked to ask Janet for particularly humiliating naked pictures which Nancy insisted it was her duty as a good girlfriend to send him. She often assisted Janet with these photoshoots, helping her write humiliating words on her body, making sure she spread her ass far enough to make her holes clearly visible, ensuring that her tongue really was making contact with the inside of the toilet.

Their friendship ended after the boy mentioned to Nancy that her friend refused anal, and fought vigorously when he tried to force her. Nancy was appalled at learning of her friend’s refusal, insisting that she would help; that night, they stripped her naked and Nancy held her down and covered her mouth while the boy raped her ass. It’s no wonder she thrashed about so much, her barely-lubricated asshole was bleeding pretty badly by the end. Nancy made her apologize for ruining the boys sheets and made her give him money from her purse to replace them.

Janet didn’t talk to Nancy after that, which annoyed the budding rape-enthusiast. That left Nancy with the problem of how to distribute her former friends humiliating pictures as punishment for her ingratitude. Certainly she couldn’t allow the boy to be blamed for sharing them with their classmates. Hell, she would have happily lied under oath to ensure he didn’t suffer the consequences of taking what was his.

Eventually a solution became apparent. There was another girl in her school who always rejected the advances of the boys, a nerdy type who talked back when people made fun of her. Nancy eventually figured out that this girl was a dyke as well. She had no problem with dykes, per se, she was one herself. She had a problem with bitches who thought they were too good to be a plaything for cruel men. So she hatched a plan.

She pretended to befriend the dyke, and eventually the two of them became lovers. A few weeks later she broke up with her very publicly at school, making sure to loudly announce how bad her pussy tasted and claiming she was breaking up with her because she couldn’t stand the girl’s hardcore scat-fetish. This would ensure that the little bitch would be made fun of for the rest of her Senior year, and it would open the door to blame her for posting Janet’s humiliating pictures online.

When the authorities investigated, Nancy admitted that she’d helped Janet take the pictures (claiming that it was Janet’s idea, and backing up the boy’s claim that it was actually Janet who pushed for kinky sex, a story she’d arranged with him earlier). She said that the dyke must have hacked into her computer after she broke up with her, and distributed the pictures as payback. Nancy made sure to include a few compromising pictures of herself in the photo-dump just to make the story more believable.

The plan had worked, in one fell swoop Nancy had managed to humiliate that ungrateful bitch Janet, and teach that stupid dyke what she gets for refusing men their right to use her body. It was one of the great triumphs of her young life, but she only just barely got away with it. Nancy knew that she’d need to be more careful from now on if she wanted to continue abiding by her life’s mission to help all bullies, abusers, and rapists.

So when she got to college she reinvented herself. Publicly she was an advocate for every marginalized group. She went to feminist marches, she spoke at Black Lives Matter events, and collected donations for LGBT causes. This way, she could be seen as a champion for the abused, they would trust her. Never suspecting that she actually masturbated each night to the teary-eyed confessions by dumb bitches whose boyfriends smacked them around or sorority cunts who didn’t appreciate getting gang-raped when they were stupid enough to get drunk at a party.

A few years in, Nancy was majoring in psychology and volunteering at a rape crisis center as a counselor. This is when she met Darla.

Part 1

Nancy walked in that day with a button-up shirt and tie beneath her black vest. Her masculine fashion sense left little doubt to onlookers that she was a lesbian. It was form-fitting enough to display her slim body. Had she had her clothes ripped off in public, as she so often fantasized, observers would see a strong, athletic body with clear muscle definition beneath her smooth, dark brown skin. They would also notice the ample curves of her large breasts atop her six-pack abs, a contrast rarely seen in non-black women. Her hair was styled in neat dreadlocks that hung down just past her chin. Her whole style screamed liberal black lesbian feminist. Yet she dressed with enough allure that she hoped every misogynist, racist, and sadist that saw her went home and planned how to make her scream while they raped her dyke-nigger asshole bloody. She secretly believed it’s what all women deserved, and made it her life’s mission to ensure it happened to as many women as possible.

When she saw the defeated-looking woman with a bruised face in the rape crisis center office, she knew she was in for a treat.

“Hi, have you been helped yet?” Nancy said to the girl in a gentle voice.

“They said they don’t have anybody who can see me right now, and they said I have to wait.” she responded meekly, still staring at the ground, but obviously in distress.

Nancy squatted down in front of the girl to meet her eyes and gave her a reassuring smile. “My name is Nancy, would you like to go somewhere private and we can just sit together? If you want to talk, I’ll listen. If you want to just sit, that’s okay too. If you need a shoulder to cry on, or a hand to hold, I’ll be there for you if you want. And if, at any point, you think you’d feel better being alone, you’re welcome to leave, I won’t judge you or think less of you no matter what. I only care about making sure you get what you need right now.” She gave some version of this speech to almost every ungrateful cunt that came in. It made it easier for them to open up to her.

The girl nodded and Nancy led her to a small, quiet room where they sat across from one another. “Would you like to tell me your name?” Nancy asked.

“Darla.” She replied.

“It’s very nice to meet you Darla. What can I do to help you, today?” She asked softly.

“He raped me again last night.” Darla replied, her tone hectic. “I don’t know what I did! He always does this, even though he says he’s going to stop!”

Haha! What a stupid cunt! Nancy thought. “Who did this to you?”

“My ex boyfriend. Back when we were started dating, he said he understood that sex is something that’s really, really hard for me because of my childhood. But after a little while he said he didn’t want to wait anymore. And after that he stopped caring, and he didn’t even stop when I said no and begged him! That’s why I broke up with him, but he called me and said he changed. Except it seemed like he really meant it this time! He asked me to come over so he could give me a gift to apologize. But when I got there he…he…”

Oh, come on, don’t tease me you little rape-slut, Nancy thought, “It’s okay, you’re safe with me.” her gentle voice reassured the girl.

“He…put it in my butt.” Darla replied blushing, though the bruising on her face made it difficult to tell.

“This was the first time he’d forced you to have anal sex?” Nancy asked

Darla nodded, “That was always like really, really super off limits.” Tears rolled down the girls face. “And, and, and he knew that! I said I’d break up with him if he ever did that. He said he always wanted to, and that he was going to do it now that I can’t break up with him again.”

Well I can’t fault his logic! she thought as the girl cleaned the tears from her face with a tissue. Nancy briefly had a fantasy in which she congratulated the girl’s ex-boyfriend for a stellar job of tricking her into getting raped so many times, followed by the two of them laughing over how stupid she was to fall for it so many times. A brief moment later she considered how improved the fantasy would be if Darla were bound naked and gagged listening to them during the exchange as they prepared to rape her together. She was tempted to smile as she contemplated the scenario, but fortunately she was practiced at not letting her inner thoughts show on her face.

“You mentioned that sex was difficult for you because of your childhood. Was there something that happened when you were younger that resulted in you having a strong negative reaction to that particular act? Nancy asked.

“My parents used to make me do that when I was little. They used to make videos and let strangers do it to me for money.”

“They made videos of you having anal sex when you were underaged?”

“They stopped when I was fourteen, they said I was too old. But they only had men put it in my butt, because they said it’d be really bad if I got pregnant and had to see a doctor.” Darla explained, her lip quivering.

Jackpot! Nancy thought, I’ve got a real life porn-star in front of me! She wondered how many men and women had masturbated while watching her little asshole get sodomized. A spark of anger suddenly shot through Nancy. Ungrateful cunt, do you know what I would have given to have a childhood like yours?!? Her thoughts alternated back and forth between arousal and resentment. She compromised between the two emotions when she vowed to make Darla properly suffer for how blind she’d been for all the wonderful honors that her family and boyfriend had bestowed on her.

“Your boyfriend knew this when he anally raped you?”

“Yeah! He said he thought it was funny. He laughed and said that this keeps happening to me because I’m a whore, and I deserve it.” Darla said with tearful anger.

Smart AND a sense of humor! How dare this dumb bitch deny this charming boyfriend of hers the right to use his victim! She should be begging him to blister her cunt with a belt to show how sorry she is! God, I hate her!

“You’re a good-hearted person. It was very kind of you to keep giving him chances. But your kindness doesn’t mean you deserve to be raped.” The fact that you’re weak and you have a cunt means you deserve to be raped. Nancy finished the thought in her head.

The rest of the session continued along the same theme, with Darla pouring her heart out about her tragic life full of rape, molestation, and abuse. Nancy struggled to contain her excitement, but managed to maintain her professional disposition. Her only worry was that her cunt may have soaked through her slacks and left a stain on the chair. She resented this pathetic girl for having been given so much, yet being so stupid as to complain about it.

Finally finished with her cathartic confessions, Darla was finally ready to leave. Nancy, not wanting this delightful encounter to be fleeting, wrote down her phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to Darla. “I know you feel better now, but this isn’t something you can get over in one session. I’m taking a special interest in you. Feel free to call or text whenever you need, and I absolutely expect to see you back here soon.”

“Thank you, Doctor. That means a lot to me.” Darla replied before hugging her tightly. Nancy only had an Associate’s Degree, but chose not to correct her, hoping the assumption would work to her advantage at some point in the future. Darla walked out, riding on the high of catharsis.

***

Nancy stayed for a few more hours, but the rest of the afternoon was rather banal. A few girls came in asking about domestic abuse resources or abortion services. Much as she didn’t like helping these little rape-dolls, she had to if she was to keep her cover intact. Normally, she’d at least get a kick out of making girls give a few extra details before she provided them with what she wanted, but all she could think about is how she wanted to ruin and violate Darla.

When she left the center, she was so lost in thought, she hadn’t even heard the awkward footsteps of the girl racing to catch up to her.

“Hi, Nancy! I’m really glad that I get to volunteer here with you. You’re such an inspiration.” the girl said, failing at coming up with a natural way to start a conversation.

“Oh, Hannah. Hi, I didn’t notice you.” she replied. Hannah was a pansexual Jew-cunt that answered phones at the rape crisis center. She also took care of all the accounting. She’d been raped by her friend’s older brother when she was ten years old and it fucked with her self-esteem. She was desperate to get people to like her, a fact which Nancy regularly took advantage of. The big-nosed bitch always tried too hard, especially with people who treated her like shit.

“So, do you have any plans tonight?” Hannah asked.

Nancy smiled and took the Jew-cunt’s hand as they walked, interlocking her fingers. “I do! I’ve been dating a lot; getting pretty lucky in the romance department lately. But I don’t want to tell you about that, it’d be inconsiderate of your feelings. I’m sure you have something interesting going on. Tell me about that.”

Nancy knew that Hannah wasn’t especially popular and had a bit of a crush on her. Her background in psychology allowed her to utilize her knowledge to hurt Hannah in subtle ways while still pretending to be her friend. In a few sentences, she’d managed to remind her of the humiliating rejection that had occurred a few months ago; impress upon her the fact that while she has trysts with lots of women, she doesn’t find Hannah attractive enough to date; and put her on the spot to share plans that Nancy knew she obviously didn’t have.

The pair of them walked hand-in-hand as Hannah’s eyes frantically darted back and forth in thought as her chest slightly tensed, not knowing how to respond.

“Oh… ya know.” she finally replied with a forced smile.

“No, I don’t know. Come on, Hannah! Open up a little, you’re always so timid.”

“Ummm. Just… just catching up on some reading. Heh. Guess we’re not all as popular as you.”

“Hey, you’re a wonderful person. Any man, woman, or nonbinary would be lucky to be with you!” With that, Nancy kissed the lonely, desperate kike on the cheek and veered off in the other direction.

Nancy’s mind began to reel with delightfully villainous ideas. It’ll probably be a few days until I get a chance to see Darla again, she thought,  Maybe it is finally time to give Hannah some attention.

***

Part 2

That evening, Nancy went home and ordered a few spy cameras that she could use to record subsequent encounters with Darla. With that quick errand finished, she focused her attention on ensuring that her good friend Hannah the big-nosed Jew-cunt finally got put in her place.

Nancy worshipped individuals who violated others, but she did have a certain affinity for rapists on a cultural or societal scale as well. It’s why she has a strong veneration for men, whites, and authority figures (the last group being made up, predominantly, of white men). It was no wonder that she had developed a fetish for misogynist white-supremacists; in fact, she’d become a bit of one herself.

Jews like Hannah were among the worst, Nancy believed. As a shit-skin dyke, she couldn’t exactly claim superiority, but at least Nancy knew her place in the world. Hannah, however, was such a stereotypical Jew that it almost seemed intentional. She whined about being raped when she was little, she whined about her ancestors being tortured in the Holocaust, she even sometimes whined about her ancestors being enslaved in Egypt. In typical Jew fashion, she played them off like jokes, but Nancy knew that the little kike actually did feel as though these things were injustices.

Nancy hoped her friend would eventually learn her lesson and join her in honoring all the wonderful contributions that rapists and abusers make to society, but she was impatient and wanted to help her along.

A few months before, she sent Hannah a naked picture of herself out of the blue. She had picked up on the girl’s crush on her and hoped to use that to subtly humiliate her. Hannah’s response was ecstatic, she poured her heart out, saying how she’d loved her from afar for so long and was overjoyed to know that she felt the same way. After that followed a series of lewd images of the black-haired kike. Nancy didn’t reply, despite the increasingly nervous-sounding texts that followed. Instead, she confronted Hannah the next day in person. She remembered the conversation vividly…

“I felt like I owed it to you to explain this in person. I think you got the wrong idea yesterday. I had a great day at the gym and I was just feeling really good about my body, so I sent pictures to some of my close friends, but it was completely platonic, Hannah. I’m just a very body-positive person. I’m so sorry you got the wrong idea, it must have been so humiliating to you, but I could never be intimate with you. I value our friendship so much, so I just want to be clear. You are not attractive….to me. I still think you’re a great person, but I could never find you physically appealing.”

Nancy smiled as she thought back on that moment with pride. The look of pain and humiliation on Hannah’s face was priceless. She had run to the bathroom just after the conversation, and Nancy snuck in a few minutes later to hear her crying loudly. She felt an exhilaration at knowing she’d hurt the girl so deeply. In just a few moments, Nancy had left a mark in her mind and soul that would last for years, probably decades; words that would echo over and over again. There was a sort of romance to that, knowing that her friend would carry that moment with her for such a long time. It was the kind of gift that bullies left their victims with. But tonight, Nancy wanted Hannah to have an even better gift.

She knew that Hannah would be home alone tonight, so Nancy reached out to some of her online resources. She could be herself on the internet, and it made her many friends among rape-baiters and rapists. Those were the people she needed that night.

Nancy was posing as Hannah online, she was uploading the obscene images that the Jew-cunt had sent her a few months before and claiming that she was finally ready to fulfill her fantasy of being brutally violated by racists. She had even photoshopped an image she’d found of Hannah online. The original image showed her face holding a sign reading “I need feminism because no one believed me when I told them I was raped. I was 10.” But with some slight touch ups, in the new image, the sign read, “I don’t need feminism, I need my Jew-holes brutally gang-raped by Nazi cock.” Photoshopping “I need feminism” signs had become a bit of a hobby for Nancy, and she’d become pretty good at making them look real.

She was sure to include this new picture along with the other images of her naked body. She sent them to anyone with potential, even posted them online in a few spots with her name and location. Finally she got into a conversation with someone who was close enough and real enough to get it done tonight. Nancy shared private details, still posing as Hannah and claiming to consent to anything he and his friends wanted to do to her. She begged him for an assurance that he’d violate every hole, that he’d beat her. Even made him promise that he’d break her big Jew-nose. She warned him that she wanted it to be real, so she was going to beg and cry a lot, but they weren’t to stop raping her, no matter what.

The stranger online gave assurances that he’d do everything she asked and more. Nancy proceeded to give him Hannah’s home address, along with details of her house, and the location of the spare key. She finished by thanking him, then went off to masturbate for hours as she thought about all the wonderful things that could be happening to Hannah that night.

I’m such a good friend. She thought with a smile before falling asleep.