The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

The world was a boozy whirl of lights and sounds. Images, broken and fragmented, came and went. Voices, laughter, screaming. The ground pitched like the deck of a tempest-tossed ship, and he felt heavy, as though the ground were pulling him to it. C’mere, Dommy. He fell, lay on the pavement, and pushed himself up again, staggering like a drunk on his way home. His head spun, his body ached, and things seemed blurry, like half-formed images glimpsed underwater.
It was the light blue hour before dawn and Dom was…somewhere. He should have recognized the stores and street signs around him, but he didn’t. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and a sense of confusion gripped him so strongly that he was beginning to panic. Where was he? What happened?
The world spun away again and the next thing he knew, he was lying in a heap of garbage bags, used needles, and rubbish. He came awake with a jerk and sat up so fast that a bolt of pain jammed into his skull. He winced and pressed his hand to his forehead. He felt hot, clammy.
Something was seriously wrong.
Somehow he got to his feet again and started walking. The sun was up now and the streets were filled with people. They all sneered in disgust as he passed, and he wrapped his arms around his chest like a baby comforting itself. He was getting cold. His muscles were sore. Tears streamed down his face and he wanted to cry.
Going on instinct alone, Dom made his way back home and climbed the steps to his apartment. Exhaustion swept over him and he sagged against the door as he dug in his pocket for the keys. They shook in his hand and he had to focus really hard to get the key into the lock.
Inside, he collapsed onto the couch and his eyelids instantly drooped. He was so weary that he couldn’t lift his head, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. Dom felt himself starting to sink, and snapped his eyes open with a start. Something in his soul told him that if he slept, he would die.
He couldn’t help it, though. He was falling, tumbling, hands reaching up from hell to grab him. His eyes fluttered closed again and the world started to go dark, his heart slamming in fear. He tried to fight, but the pull of darkness was too strong, too alluring. Why was he fighting? Why not just…give up? Hadn’t he thought of killing himself before? Didn’t he hate his life and himself? What was there to fight for? A wife? Kids? A community that loved and respected him? Shit, affordable groceries?
No.
There was nothing.
He had nothing and was nothing.
A sense of peace blossomed from the darkness, and suddenly death didn’t seem so scary. In fact, it was warm…inviting.
It was life that was cold and hateful. Not death.
Death accepted you no matter who you were. It didn’t reject you…it didn’t ignore you. If you sought it, you would find it, and if you embraced it, it would embrace you.
With that thought in mind, Dom gave up.
And died.
***
Bruce Kenner, captain of the 5th Albany precinct, sat behind his desk on the morning of June 28 and lazily leafed through a stack of files as he sipped from a mug of coffee. A roughly built man with a dark goatee and graying blonde hair, he looked more like a small town southern sheriff than a low level public works functionary. In fact, he tended to act like it too. He liked to hunt, fish, and drink beer on his off time. Albany wasn’t a big city, but it was big enough that you never got a fucking break. Run here, run there, arrest this asshole, investigate that asshole. By the time Friday rolled around, he was so ready for the peace and tranquility of a fishing trip he could taste it.
Already this Monday morning, he was looking forward to another one.
Over the weekend, three kids went missing in the Pine Hills and Washington Park area, bringing the total for that summer up to eight. All were teenagers, all were troubled. Most were boys, but two were girls.
Troubled kids run away all the time. They might be gone a few days, sulking at a friend’s house over something their father or mother did, but they’d eventually come home. None of these kids had come back yet and from what he knew, a few of them weren’t the runaway types. They were shits at school and caused problems, but they had no reason to up and leave. Hell, Bruce himself raised hell as a kid, but he always found his way back home, even if he spent the previous night dying in a field from Mad Dogg 20/20 poisoning.
One or two kids going missing…okay, it happens. Eight? Over a span of four weeks?
Yeah, something was wrong here.
But what?
There was nothing on any of these kids. No one saw them, no one knew anything - one minute they were here, the next they weren’t. What could he or anyone else do with that?. The public broke cops’ balls all the time, but if you don’t have evidence, you don’t have evidence. What do you want? Door to door searches? Roadblocks? Dogs and helicopters? Yeah, then when you actually do it, they cry fascism. Guess I’ll just use my Spidey Senses.
Bruce wished he had spidey senses. He wanted to find these kids as much as anyone, and he was starting to get pissed off that he couldn’t. He took another sip from his mug and read on. The latest kids to go missing were three boys between the ages of fourteen and eighteen.
They were all white, all thin (except for one). If there was a serial killer in town - and Bruce hoped to fuck there wasn’t - he had a type. What, black kids aren’t good enough to kill, cannibalize, and wear like a skin suit? They should charge him with a hate crime for discrimination.
That way he’d actually stay locked up.
The door opened and Vanessa Rodregiez, his deputy, came in. A tall, shapely Hispanic woman with dark eyes and a mouth poised always on the edge of a smile, she wore her black hair in a ponytail that would look stern and severe on anyone else, but on her, looked childlike. She was twenty-seven and had been on the force for three years, but you could be forgiven for thinking her much younger. “Bright and early, I see,” she said with a grin.
Bruce grumbled.
Vanessa held down the fort during the graveyard shift, acting to the night as he acted to the day. She was young and full of energy, which clashed with Bruce, who was old and just wanted to be left alone. Despite their differences, Bruce loved her like a kid sister…an annoying kid sister he wanted to throat punch sometimes.
“You missed all the fun last night,” she said and parked her butt on the edge of Bruce’s desk. He glared at her, but she ignored him.
“Good,” he said. Then: “What happened?”
“Big fight outside of Club Vlad,” she said. “It looked like a WorldStar video.”
For a moment, Bruce was lost. “Club what?”
“Club Vlad,” Vanessa said. “Where the Fuze Box used to be.”
Ah, right. The Fuze Box was an Albany landmark, a night club for punks…or goths…or someone. Certainly not for Bruce Kenner. It was small, dingy, and always had people in black waiting outside. On Friday and Saturday nights, it blasted strange music with lyrics about fighting The Man. Kids had been fighting the Man since before Bruce was even born and they hadn’t beaten him yet. Kudos to them for still trying.
Last year, The Fuze Box closed down and someone else bought it. It reopened last month and looked more or less the same: Posers, shitty music, and spiked hair. So much spiked hair. “Place is still a pain in the ass,” Bruce said.
“Yep,” Vanessa chirped. “It doesn’t know what it wants to be now. One minute they play nightcore, the next EDM. It’s all over the place.”
Bruce raised a quizzical brow.
“Not that I’ve ever been there in my free time,” Vanessa said in a tone that suggested she had,
Bruce gave a judgemental hum.
“Anyway,” Vanessa went on, “you see we have some new missing persons?”
Sighing, Bruce sat back in his chair. “Yeah. I did.”
“People are starting to ask questions,” Vanessa warned.
That brought a terse smile to Bruce’s weathered face. “Maybe they’ll solve it then.”
“Ha, fat chance,” Vanessa said. She got up and stretched. “Anyway, I’m bushed. Here’s my…” she trailed off and looked at her empty hands. “Damn, where’s my report? I just had it?” She turned in a confused circle as if she might be able to spot her report making a break for it. “Huh,” she said. She left the office and came back a moment later holding a folder. “Found it,” she grinned.
Bruce just looked at her.
“Um…here it is.”
He didn’t take it.
Her smile faltered. She carefully sat it on top of the files Bruce was looking at.
And his hands.
“I’ll just leave that right here.” She patted it for good measure.
“Thank you,” Bruce said.
“Okay. Night.”
“Goodnight,” Bruce said as she left through a shaft of morning sunlight. Alone, Bruce sat her report aside and went back to the missing kids. This case was giving him a headache and it wasn’t even nine. With a deep sigh, he slumped back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the armrests.
Was it Saturday yet?
He could really use a fishing trip.
***
Dom came awake in the cold purple twilight with a shocked gasp like a man coming up seconds before drowning. His eyes strained from his sweaty face and his mouth hung slack, twisted in a gruesome parody of The Scream. His mind was muddled, murky - he didn’t know where he was or even who he was, but he knew this,.
He couldn’t breathe.
He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, but his lungs did not fill with air. A great, unseen weight seemed to bear down on his chest, and panic gripped him. He tried to move, but his arms refused to heed his brain’s command. The weight seemed heavier, all over, crushing him like a bug. Confusion filled him and he started to pant.
Without warning, his bowels and bladder loosened, and horrible wetness filled his pants. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His chest rose and fell with the frantic labor of his breath, but his lungs remained inert. A cry of fear bubbled up inside of him, but escaped his mouth only as a breathy groan.
A bust of adrenaline shot through him and he tried to stand, but succeeded only in falling off the couch instead, landing face first against the cold tile floor. He felt his nose crunch, but the pain was muted.
Dom thought he lost consciousness after that, but wasn’t sure. His next memory was of shivering so violently that his teeth clacked together. A phantom chill - perhaps from the floor - had settled into his bones, and was colder than he had ever been in his life, colder even than the time he fell into a snowbank and got lost when he was two. Shudders racked his body, and though he tried to turn over, he was too fucking heavy. It was like every muscle in his body had turned to dead weight. Fragmented thoughts swirled in his head, faint colors in the dark, but he couldn’t put any of them together.
With great effort, he managed to push himself slightly up, but a wave of lightheadedness crashed over him and he lowered his head once more. He stopped trying and simply lay there. Shortly, his eyes began to burn and he realized that he wasn’t blinking. Jesus Christ, he wasn’t blinking.
For some strange reason, that brought a fresh bout of panic. He started to hyperventilate, but his lungs still wouldn’t work. He wasn’t blinking…he wasn’t breathing…what was happening to him?
A whimper burst from his throat and he started to cry.
He must have cried himself to sleep, because he woke sometime later to the most intense headache he’d ever had. It felt like something was eating his brain from the inside out. He was sore all over, and could feel his muscles twitching, as though a thousand living things were burrowing through his body. A cramp shot down his right leg, and the toes of his left foot curled involuntarily. Slowly, his jaw clenched closed, and the muscles in his neck began to strain…then to burn. His panic turned to terror, and Dom wiggled across the floor like a worm, his limbs screaming in red agony and his brain filling with heat. He somehow wound up on his right side, and his arms curled slowly up to his chest, crossing at the wrists like a mummy. He tried to pull them apart, but the slightest movement sent waves of excruciating pain cutting through his body. His knees began to draw up to his stomach, and his fingers clenched tightly.
Cramps and spasms attacked every muscle in his body. He screamed through his teeth and shook, resembling a man in the electric chair as 40,000 volts of justice coursed through him. The pain grew gradually, getting worse and worse as minutes ticked by like hours. Higher, higher, higher - he clenched his eyes closed and shrieked as it became unbearable. Disjointed thoughts flashed through his mind - prayers, threats, curses, Jesus fucking…FUCK.
What was happening? God, what was happening to him? Was it fentanyl? He’d seen videos of people high on fentanyl, and they leaned in weird positions. He didn’t do drugs but maybe he ingested it somehow.
His panic may have returned if all of his muscles hadn’t picked that moment to contract as one. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his jaw unclenched just enough for him to utter a high. Agonized scream that echoed through his empty apartment like thunder.
A human being can only take so much before giving out. When the pain reached a crescendo, and Dom mercifully sank into consciousness once more. The sun rose and cascaded through the apartment’s sole window, falling over his huddled form. Slowly, it tracked across the sky before setting again. As the last rays disappeared behind the horizon, Dom’s eyes opened. The pain of the night before was blessedly gone, replaced by a feeling of numbness - the cool ash after the hot fire. His thoughts were slow and thick like molasses, but he could actually think again. Nightmare memories flooded back to him, but he wasn’t sure they were real. He was lying on his side, his arms wrapped around his chest as if for warmth, and his teeth lightly chattered against the icy chill. He was so cold that he didn’t want to move, but he couldn’t stay here forever. He needed help. He needed…
A shower.
Yeah, a hot shower. That would warm him up.
Gritting his teeth, he slowly sat up, ready for a burst of pain.
But none came.
He did, however, feel heavy. Getting to his feet, he stumbled and nearly fell, catching himself against the counter. His limbs had no feeling. It’s like they weren’t even there. Head hung, Dom tried to catch his breath, but it felt like he wasn’t breathing at all. His eyelids drooped closed and he felt like he was going to fall down. Summoning all the might he could, he shuffled into the bathroom with the stiff gait of an old man. He snapped the light on, and cold, white brilliance filled the space, blinding him.
Leaning heavily against the sink, he gripped the cold porcelain. Suddenly, he was afraid of looking into the mirror. He was sure that whatever reflection he saw, it would be of something else, something monstrous.
Dom lifted his head and faced the glass.
His heart shrank.
The man in the mirror was him but different. His skin was white as milk, lacking all color whatsoever save for the ugly purple patch on the left side. IResembling a giant bruise, it started at the temple and extended down to the slope of his neck, disappearing beneath his T-shirt. He gingerly lifted the shirt, and moaned when he saw that his entire left side was discolored, the purple edged with a puffy shade of pink. His sallow skin clung tight to his ribcage, and his hip bones stuck out so much it looked painful. Back in the mirror, his cheeks were sunken, hollow, and his eyes were a hazy, dishwater gray. His skull seemed bigger, his hair longer. Dom wanted to whip his head away from the phantom before him, to never see it again, but he was transfixed.
There was no way that thing was -
Dom looked away, cutting that thought off before it could finish.
A shower.
He needed a shower.
Slowly, stiffly, Dom undressed, peeling off his shirt and his soiled pants. He dropped them in a heap on the floor and stepped under the spray. He could feel the water pounding against him, but it provided no heat. It was neither hot nor cold. It was simply there.
Dom pressed his head to the slick shower wall and stood there for a long time. He was spent, tired, and fried - he had no more emotions left to give. He got out after a little while, dried off, and put on a clean pair of shorts. He settled into bed and lay there with his hands folded over his chest and his eyes open. They felt gritty, dry. His stomach felt bloated, gassy. He was drowsy now, the weight of the past two days (or was it two weeks?) coming down on him all at once. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.
He was still asleep - but aware - when the knocking on his door started the next morning. Time was funny in this state of being, fast and jerky but also slow and echoing. Keys rattled the knob turned. The landlord came in with a cop. They saw him on the bed, laid out like a corpse for a viewing, and the cop radioed in a code 35. Soon, cops were all around him, making noise and touching things. He had the vague sense of discomfort and embarrassment at the intrusion. A baling man in a suit stood over him, a cop who looked like a redneck beside him. “He didn’t die here,” the medical examiner said.
The cop looked at him questioningly. Dom caught the name KENNER on his name tag.
“See this?” the M.E. said and gestured to Dom’s face. “That’s livor mortis. When you die, your blood pools at the lowest point. If you’re on your left side, for example, it pools on the left.”
Kenner looked at Dom and then back to the M.E. “Someone moved him?”
“Looks like it,” the M.E. said.
“When did he die?”
The M.E. examined Dom as though he were nothing more than a side of beef. “At a glance? Three days. I won’t have a better answer until I open him up.”
Dom was still awake when they put him into a body bag and zipped it up. He felt a stirring of fear beneath the cold numbness, but he was too tired to worry about it now.
Later, he thought.
He would panic later.
For now, Dom slept.

Edit: If you are going to comment on the length of this post, please don't. This is not a simple snark but rather an actual critical think piece about feminism and Taylor Swift.

Introduction

Pertaining to Taylor Swift, "Female Rage" has deviated from its intended meaning after Swift debuted a new performance of The Tortured Poets Department during the Eras Tour. Now, according to Swift's use of the phrase, female rage is interpreted as public backlash against Swift's dating choices rather than as a response to the broader injustices against women and women's rights. This post examines Taylor Swift's flawed feminism, philanthropy, branding, and the controversial trademark petition for the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical". Swift's background as an entertainer, indeterminate politics, and alignment with capitalism over feminism pervades her legacy, again threatening her public tolerance as not just an individual but as a brand.

Once Upon a Female Rage...

If you were cognizant in the early 2010's, you've heard countless jabs at Taylor Swift in the media. Magazines, radio, or online. Music critics did not take her seriously as a songwriter; parents put a woman on an unrealistic pedestal as the ideal role model for their children; she dated too much and used men as lyrical fodder. No matter the story, it inevitably spread, conjoined with everyone's respective opinions, and you'd be left to wonder, "Why does everyone hate this girl so much?"
Taylor's target demographic has always been young or adolescent girls, more so when Swift herself was one. She made music that spoke to the awkward misfit, cultivating a para-social relationship with fans on MySpace, then later twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, where Taylor posted relatable vlogs showcasing the life of a homegrown American girl. Taylor had a delayed public "growing up" and, compared to her female pop contemporaries, Swift never "gratuitously sexualized her image and seems pathologically averse to controversy" (and, apparently, never even had a sip of alcohol until she turned 21). She was more than happy to spin this narrative to allude to an inherent moral superiority above other women in the industry (Better Than Revenge, heard of it?), engaging in the very slut-shaming that she herself endured (the Madonna and Whore archetypes). The victim complex arose with the need to prove Taylor as a different type of pop girl. Based upon her holy and clean image, Swift had been dubbed "a feminist's nightmare", and that "[To Swift] other girls are obstacles; undeserving enemies who steal Taylor’s soulmates with their bewitching good looks and sexual availability." Feminism and Tennessee-Christian country values don't exactly mix, it seems.
Years later, Swift befriended Lena Dunham and thus experienced white feminism osmosis, where Dunham taught Swift that real feminists defend rapists, makes insensitive jokes about rape and abortion, and prioritize all-white casts. Swift then declared herself a feminist in 2014, saying,

"Becoming friends with Lena – without her preaching to me, but just seeing why she believes what she believes, why she says what she says, why she stands for what she stands for – has made me realize that I’ve been taking a feminist stance without actually saying so."

I suppose the male-centric songwriting subject that permeates Swift's discography contained covert feminism and that we just didn't see that. Perhaps, the "Bad Blood" song and music video were written only in jest and not about poor Katy Perry, for Swift, as a feminist, would "never make it a girl fight" or tear other women down (though all Katy did was date your terrible ex-boyfriend and allegedly steal three backup dancers from your tour). In 2013, Swift said, in response to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler's joke towards her serial dating, "There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
There was that time in 2015 Taylor said that Nicki Minaj was "invited to any stage [she is] on" (as if Taylor expects to have access to every stage, award, and platform that Nicki might not otherwise have as a black female artist...yikes!) in response to Nicki's criticism of the white + thin VMA nominations. Later, Nicki responded with confusion, as Swift continued, "It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot..". Of course, this 'beef' was 'squashed' when Nicki performed with Taylor at the VMAs, with Nicki quite literally only having 38 seconds of stage time without Taylor. Maybe all that parading around with a legion of famous white women - similar to the way Taylor might've done with her numerous 1989-era handbags - was in fact a stance against gender inequality, and that this display of "girl power" should be enough to constitute Swift as a feminist icon.
Even while Swift says that Dunham informed her feminist outlook, she dances around the exact contents of those beliefs: "what she believes, what she says, what she stands for" is not exactly insightful towards what beliefs Swift might have inherited. Taylor never broaches women's rights topics such femicide, FGM, forced pregnancy & marriage, sex trafficking, women in slavery, women's financial and political oppression, women's educational rights, women's health, or women's autonomy, so we can assume she only gives a fuck about "girls supporting girls" (whatever that fucking means).
Despite some questionable (and sometimes vindictive) behavior, Taylor as a young woman did not deserve every media lashing that she received. We cannot deny that most headlines and criticisms perpetuated a misogynistic rhetoric which has plagued Swift for a majority of her career. Acknowledging events such as the development of her ED, her sexual assault trial, "Famous" lyric and MV depiction of Taylor, and the explicit Twitter deepfakes, for example, as both disgusting and unfortunate things that happened to a young woman in Hollywood does not negate the fact that Taylor is mostly a performative feminist.

Get Your Fucking Ass Up and Be a Philanthropist, It Seems Like Nobody Wants to Be a Philanthropist These Days

In 2013, Taylor Swift cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the Taylor Swift Education Center at the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, Tennessee. The donation amount - $4 million - was the largest individual artist gift ever donated to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which is, of course, mentioned on Swift's website. The two-story facility features three classrooms, an instrument room, and an interactive children's exhibit gallery. Swift also performed at "All for the Hall" charity shows and has donated numerous artifacts from her career (such as notable guitars, tour costumes, etc) to the museum.
This was over 11 years ago, and it is still the only notable philanthropic contribution Taylor Swift has made.
For a woman of her net worth and stature, and a woman who recognizes the difficulties for women in film and music, you would think that Taylor Swift might establish a scholarship program for women to study the arts or something. Perhaps Swift might even consider becoming a member of organizations that support female artists, or one that supports LGBTQ+ causes (since she is now proudly an ally), yet she remains superficial with her graces. Broader philanthropy, such as donating relief aid to Palestinian women or women impacted by violence and discrimination will probably never receive any financial support from Miss Swift because then she'd be using her money towards philanthropies involving anyone but white entertainers.
She even says herself in Miss Americana, "My entire moral code as a kid and now is a need to be thought of as 'good'." Well, she's certainly thought of as good, though her actions say otherwise. She's more than happy to do a vaguely altruistic song and dance for a clip-worthy interview quote and mass appeasement, then fuck off to one of her mansions on a 20 minute private jet flight, rather than actually contribute to anything pertaining to the causes she has endorsed. Yet, far too many people continue to give a woman such as her their money, time, and energy, and she hoards these resources to herself.

I Like Some of the Taylor's Songs, But What the Fuck Does She Know About Feminism?

Swift continued with her self-proclaimed feminist campaign, positioning herself as a political activist and LGBTQ+ ally in the Miss Americana documentary. The primary focus of the documentary consists of the sexual assault trial, Andrea Swift's cancer diagnosis, Taylor's ED and body dysmorphia, media scrutiny, and, largely, finally speaking up about her politics publicly, mostly her opposition to the 2018 Tennessee Republican senate candidate, Marsha Blackburn, and Blackburn's beliefs. Swift says, following a scene discussing her experience during the trial,

"I just couldn't really stop thinking about it. And I just thought to myself, next time there is any opportunity to change anything, you had better know what you stand for and what you want to say."

We must ask ourselves, though: when has Swift ever spoken up to change anything? Okay, pulling her entire catalogue from Spotify because they didn't pay their artists enough and similarly pulling her catalogue from Apple Music are changes that she leveraged due to her revenue potential and power, but they are not pertinent to the average woman's rights. Moreover, these are issues that directly impacted Taylor's income, which was enough reason for her to protest in the first place. Swift has sold the most units for a female artist in first week sales, is the first female artist with 100k monthly Spotify listeners, is the first female artist to win the Album of the Year Grammy 4 times, and is the first female artist to do X, Y, and Z, all while being inoffensive and family-friendly to boot. The actual Taylor Swift seems unwilling to compromise the brand of Taylor Swift by contributing in meaningful ways to feminist causes, especially if it is for women outside of America and Hollywood.
The reason political anthems such as "The Man" and "Only the Young" of the Lover era feel disingenuous and corporate is because, well, it is. Taylor has taken every opportunity to advance her career or public image at the expense of other women. What is truly genuine to Taylor's outlook on other women is vying for male attention, taking down female competition, and vocalizing feminist injustices only if they directly impact her and her money. Some will argue that it's satisfactory for a woman with such a huge platform to even TALK about feminism, but that just isn't enough. It's even less impressive when you candidly look at the scope of her feminist lens: "If I was the man, then I'd be THE MAN", or "I really resent the ‘Be careful, buddy, she’s going to write a song about you’ angle, because it trivialises what I do", and, of course, "We all got crowns". Feminism, but only when it happens to me. It gets worse when you look at Taylor's track record of copying other famous women and removing other female artists as potential threats to her pop prowess.
It's good for PR to align yourself with certain blanket feminist and political beliefs, therefore good for branding, therefore good for ticketing and merchandise sales, therefore good for business. And Taylor Swift is a business.
She's not a feminist. Taylor Swift is a capitalist.

I Can't Pay Those Sweatshop Workers a Livable Wage or Benefits! How Else Would I Make My Billions?

Recently, Taylor's team filed to trademark the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical" after Taylor said during Paris N1 of the Eras Tour,

"So you were the first ones to see The Tortured Poets at the Eras Tour...or as I like to call it, 'Female Rage: The Musical'."

This trademark petition was filed last week on Saturday, and news comes about just as numerous unofficial fan-made merch designs have cropped up with this phrase plastered on Fruit of the Loom basics. I'm of the opinion Swift's team motioned for a trademark so that they can send out cease & desists to all those that make knockoff merch, which disrupts potential sales for Bravado, UMG's choice merchandising company; however, since it was filed earlier, perhaps Swift has bigger plans with the bizarre use of the gendered phrase. One Swiftie referred to the phrase "female rage" as "a funny Eras Tour joke". Could it be a possible fourth version of the Eras Tour Movie? Whatever the reason, the motion to capitalize off of such a concept is disgusting, but not unsurprising, for a woman that profits on her vain feminism.
Swift, through her company, TAS Rights Managements, has also trademarked over 200 phrases, including "1989", where she owns the property rights to this calendar year on keychains, phone cases, sunglasses, stationary, bags, beverage ware, clothing, entertainment services, your subconscious, and, of course, Christmas ornaments.
The vapid consumerism in Swiftie culture is, frankly, disgusting. Bravado's sustainability statement is non-existent, the quality control is abysmal, and the materials they use are horrible. The materials, such as acrylic and polyester, are made from petrochemicals. This means they are non-renewable, shed microplastics, and are quite toxic in production. The manufacturing process to make all of those lazy-rushed Eras Tour logo graphic tees is a huge blow to environmental well-being. Apparently, though, Swifties don't give a fuck. They sell out products in seconds and either have to face the manufactured scarcity or buy from a scalper that resells for 200% of the already ridiculous retail price. This doesn't include the environmental impact of vinyl records, CD, and cassette production, of which Taylor produces many variants that sell unsustainable amounts.
If we're talking about women's rights violations, why is no one acknowledging the women that work in the inhumane sweatshop conditions that have to pump out fugly t-shirts and hats? The millions of plastic microfiber dander they are inhaling, or the toxic dyes that touch their bare skin? Are they being compensated fairly for their skilled labour and are they in safe working environments? Do these women have minimal bargaining power, and do they have authority over their worker's rights? Is Taylor Swift female raging at their injustices? Does Taylor Swift ever feels bad that her wealth was built on the backs of women of color, disadvantaged by the demands of the global economy and garment industry? Do you think she ever says a little white feminist prayer for them before she goes to sleep at night?
What's even crazier is not that Taylor herself doesn't care, it's that Swifties don't care. There CANNOT BE ethical billionaires. You only make a billion dollars if you are exploiting other human beings for capital gain. Based on public perception of the possible "Female Rage: The Musical" trademark, it seems like Swifties are already asking for merch with this phrase. "If Taylor made it, I'd buy it." Oh, cool. So not only do you champion Miss Swift's avarice and billionaire status, but you also are unashamed to admit to your blind consumption of her music and merchandise, no matter where they might originate in production or sincerity. Just as Swift takes and takes and takes, Swifties' consumerism of Taylor Swift cannot be quelled.
The tortured artist's most vulnerable and sincere poetry...available now in 21 different versions!

I Am Tortured Poet, Hear Me Whinge

Look - even if Taylor's intention is to characterize TTPD as more "tortured" and "angry", the main thread of the album is "I was ghosted by my decade-long situationship with a controversial indie boy and my fucking stupid fans wrote a 'Speak Up Now' open letter prompting me to drop him" anger, which is adequately expressed in the lyrics and performances. The extent of Taylor's "female rage" on TTPD is on tracks such as "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?", which contends with relentless media scrutiny; "But Daddy I Love Him", where Swift firmly states she'll date whoever she likes no matter how "Sarahs and Hannahs" may react; and "The Albatross", a track mythologizing her reputation and the consequences of dating her. Of course, these coincide with deep psychological wounds that formed during Swift's early years in the media, and so, from her feminist perspective, these subjects tackle the misogyny and double standards that she faced.
Yet Taylor Swift still has no grounds to be claiming that TTPD best exemplifies female rage and therefore she, in the context of this album, is female rage incarnate. As the daughter of a stock broker and mutual fund marketing executive, Taylor was born into wealth and allowed privileges like trips and subsequent relocation to Nashville all so that she might get a record deal. Her father even invested at least $120,000 into the then-fledgling label, Big Machine Records, which ensured Taylor's place with Borchetta after leaving her dead-end development deal with Sony. The fact that her parents were able to buy her a fucking brand new guitar for Christmas and pay for music lessons says so much about the financial security and safety of her childhood.
Money is privilege and protection, and despite Swift's experiences with misogyny and loser boyfriends, she does not know what female rage is.
Her rage is derived from her frustrations with her obsessive fans pulling the moral superiority card on Taylor in response to her rebound with Matty Healy. That's literally it. She's just pissed that the monster she created is no longer obediant, it's become a feral, sovereign entity that depletes the world of its natural resources and thinks it is more intelligent than it actually is because it's mommy has started to talk to it with big words. Apparently, 'illicit', 'elegy', 'nonchalant', and 'precocious' are considerably big words for the oafish monster, and I find it strange that this level of literacy is present in a group of fans that allegedly have GPAs of 3.5 or higher, but I digress.
Taylor Swift has never been one paycheck away from destitution. Taylor Swift has never experienced racial discrimination. She may have instances of gender discrimination, but she possesses the ideal white, blonde American beauty standard and therefore reaps the benefits of being a conventionally attractive woman. Taylor Swift has sufficient social capital. Taylor Swift is a billionaire woman prolonging her victimhood though she, as a woman, has mostly had control over her image and music (unlike her contemporaries). Taylor Swift is NOT entitled to be championed for her "female rage", nor should she be. Taylor Swift has never even been the struggling artist, for fuck's sake. I don't give a fuck if she's trying to fill the empty lunch tables of her past. Taylor Swift purporting herself, her unpolished album, and her lukewarm feminism as a musical bleeding with female rage is asinine.

Sigh Try and Come For My Job, Poors

Out there in the world right now is a 23-year-old woman, a recent college grad, who works as a barista. She has to wake up and get ready to go into a minimum wage job because she cannot get a job in her field. She doesn't have healthcare benefits or sick time, so she has to go into work no matter how she's feeling. All day long she is berated by vicious customers and creepy men, and, exhausted from being on her feet, she knows she has to go home to her shitty roommate that never does the dishes and her roommate's shitty dog. To comfort herself, she considers getting a treat, but thinks against it when she remembers that matcha lattes cost $15 and they taste like milky dirt. She knows that she needs to buy groceries this week, and so the woman resolves to go home, but notices that her gas tank is low. She goes to put gas in the car, but the pump stops at $27.86 because that's all that she has in her checking account. The woman, bereft and reeling, sinks into the driver's seat. "Well," she thinks, her head in her hands, "at least I don't have Taylor Swift's job. I just couldn't imagine."
Fame is somewhat of a choice. If at any moment Taylor feels that she is misunderstood, misconstrued, or overwhelmed by public opinion, she can LEAVE the public eye - Lord knows she has the retirement fund and residuals to do so. In "I Can Do It With a Broken Heart", the TTPD song about meeting the demands of your career-zenith mega-tour while in the relationship trenches, Taylor ends the song by rambling,

"You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart...you know you're good...and I'm good, cause I'm miserable, and no one even knows!...try and come for my job."

Yeah, obviously we wouldn't know, you recently passed the billionaire threshold and are the most famous and in-demand performer in the world right now. Taylor Swift makes an estimated $10 to $13 million dollars A NIGHT on the Eras Tour. Furthermore, the Eras Tour movie grossed $261.6 million globally, (which, as the producer, Taylor takes home 57% of the ticket sales) not counting the streaming revenue from Amazon Prime Video and the estimated $75 million deal that Disney paid to have it on Disney+. We're not even considering the income from cheap plastic popcorn buckets and drink cups plastered with colored squares in her Era-specific likeness.
It's funny. Taylor Swift often said that being famous wasn't hard, that she "isn't complaining". I'm sure it is difficult to always have to present in a good mood, else you'll end up misrepresented in the media, and I'm sure it's invasive to virtually have no privacy or semblance of anonymity. Still, Taylor Swift shows up each night of tour and performs. For a majority of her career, she has penned her sad songs while on the road. Most of "Red", her breakup album, was written in the thick of the Speak Now World tour. Now, some Swifties say they almost "feel bad" for attending the Eras Tour with Swift's revelations in this song, that they have had a 'dimmed experience' upon hearing Taylor's misery whilst performing. Despite the fact that Taylor said that "this was the happiest she's ever been" at Gilette Stadium in May, the lyrics "boohoo, woe is me, smile for the cameras and make the fans happy!!!" are jarring for Eras attendees.
While Taylor Swift was making double-digit millions a night in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and feeling miserable, Ana Clara Benevides Machado passed away due to heat exposure. The concert promoters, Time For Fun, are now the subject of a criminal investigation due to their lack of adequate hydration and safety. Taylor Swift cancelled the Sunday show that was to follow and offered VIP tent tickets to Benevides Marchado's family, which was a kind gesture, but perhaps incongruous to the incident of which they were offered as consolation. Everyone grieves differently, of course, but I'm not sure attending the very show at the very same venue that my daughter or sister passed away in two days prior, where the singer CONTINUED the show despite her death, would be healthy for closure.
There was no female rage at the show as Swift never saw Benevides Machado pass out. There was no female rage towards the disregard for fans as humans while Swift elected to proceed with her Brazil tour dates despite the country being in historic heatwaves (at risk of overheatting herself). If Taylor Swift was so shaken by touring with a broken heart or a fan's passing, she wouldn't have added an additional North American leg of Eras just two months after the Matty breakup. She's brokenhearted but willing to mend the cracks with your money and move onward with her worldwide female rage induced pillaging.
No matter what happens, even if you die at a Taylor Swift concert, Taylor collects a big fat check and flies away. She doesn't know you as anything other than a conversion rate or earning potential despite what her nearly 20-year long parasocial relationship with fans might otherwise indicate. She knows that, while some Swifties are without disposable income, they feel obligated to spend on a "48 Hours Only!" exclusive vinyl variant instead of necessities because they are so entrenched in Taylor Swift's intoxicating celebrity, they'll prioritize materialistic fandom before their needs. This is good enough for her because this means she can expand her real estate portfolio and finance her cat's lavish lifestyles. They're worth an estimated $100 million dollars. Her three cats could pool their net worth and solve world hunger.
While you and I might be denied bereavement leave and barely surviving the current political and economic climate, Taylor Swift has to, instead of gets to, perform for stadiums at full attendance for three nights in a row across the globe. You and I might be replaced by AI at our longtime jobs, but Taylor Swift is threatened with losing more and more money each time you listen to a "Stolen Version" of her songs. If we don't buy every variant of all of her albums, then who is going to pay for the fucking cats?
It is tone deaf to spend as she spends and lives as she lives in this economy, but this is her reality. She was able to donate $100,000 to all of her tour truck drivers, and that's wonderful, but it leads me to wonder about the ethos of the 2020s where one woman can hoard such life-changing amounts of money. Remember in 2014 when she gave a fan $90 ($120 in today's money) to get Chipotle because she had no fucking clue how much it cost? This is a 34-year-old woman who is increasingly out of touch with the reality for working class people and women in general. Normal everyday adults must wake up and go to their thankless jobs, and yet Taylor Swift, despite all her riches, incessantly references the lows of her life and career as a public figure and entertainer to farm sympathy and drive sales. And still, the corporate women have latched onto "I cry a lot, but I am so productive! It's an art!" as their cubicle battle cry.
Do you think that, from up in her private jet, Taylor Swift gazes at the world through her poetic, tortured eyes, and thinks, "All the little people, in their cars, walking, going about their lives...all those girls that don't support girls...do they know that I've made an album about female rage?"

Conclusion/TLDR

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your critical insights towards this entire ordeal: TTPD, the trademark, the implications of it all.
TLDR: Taylor Swift is a bad feminist and is delusional to think that the TTPD eras set exemplifies female rage at women's injustice.

So I'd been hanging out with this artist and DM duo online for quite a while, after meeting Art Lady through her commissions, and I loved her and generally thought the husband was pretty cool most of the time... I joined DM's 5e game, where everyone played as dragons themed after different things, like love, roses, gold, etc, and we could all turn into 'almost' human forms. All seemed pretty cool early on. We even got custom abilities (though DM didn't seem to understand or want to allow my character simply being resistant to cold weather, meanwhile others got some *powerful* abilities)
Dragon forms were powerful, but dragons were hunted in this setting, so there was also an added danger to using them, despite the +10 to ability scores, double HP, breath weapons, multiple melee attacks, and custom abilities. It worked relatively well, honestly, though it certainly had issues, and DM couldn't make up his mind on certain details.
I played a dragon of sunlight and cleric of the Sun, going by the name Monday Bell in her human form; she hated being a dragon and did her best to hide her nature. I enjoyed creating her, and I loved some of the character interactions, but...
DM had some really questionable encounter designs and rulings. It would take forever to explain, but basically it felt like he thought "you can't do anything once X happens" and likely instant-kill musket shots were fun. Yeah... Anyway, I stayed for the characters.
DM was obsessed with PCs being as mechanically different as possible. He didn't allow people to have the same class (including a 1-level dip into Monk just for better AC as an unarmored person), AND... He didn't allow people to have the same... highest ability score. I kid you not. He went so far as to tell casters to base their spells off of different abilities than the rules say (he gave specific options for each class) so there's no twinsies... I really hated this, and I should have dropped out before I joined, when I saw that rule of his.
DM also said that Art Lady and her friend were uncomfortable with my character flirting with theirs... Monday hadn't flirted with anyone. She was vaguely affectionate, putting a hand on someone's arm sometimes, but that was it; that's not flirting. DM claimed I put Art Lady "into a position where she couldn't say no", because... Monday had asked her PC if they could share a hotel room (not a bed!) for a night, when Monday was scared by something earlier. Um... If Art Lady's PC said no, I would've asked the others; it's just that Monday didn't get along with them as well. They were kind of sus, actually.
Side note: I found the flirting accusation extra weird, because I had consensually flirted with Art Lady before (fiancé also saying he was fine with it); I'd think they'd know the difference between flirting and my character being friendly and compassionate. I was baffled.
Then the "saint" issue. For context: DM previously said "there are no gods in this setting, only saints." He defined saints, then said "Or you can worship a heavenly body, a magical place, or mythical creatures". Sounded cool. As a child, I was a closeted lesbian abused by a Christian cult, and I'm still processing some of that trauma, so I squirmed at the word saint, but I can worship the Sun? that sounds cool! I'll be a pretty dragon lady who gets power from the Sun. Awesome. A couple months into the game, DM reveals to me that ALL worship is saint worship; that I MUST worship them to be a cleric, and my Sun worship would in fact be worship of saints who embody aspects of the Sun... This completely invalidates my character concept. He then finally tells me that the campaign contains intentional Christian references. I'm very uncomfortable.
I'm not anti-Christian, but I am very uncomfortable interacting with Christian-specific themes in games. I wasn't the only one either; the paladin was supposed to be an "ocean" worshiper, and was pretty uncomfortable when I mentioned what DM said to me; she didn't want to play a character worshiping "saints" and was pretty uncomfortable with it. This person wasn't in the game for a few sessions, and DM said to her that she couldn't rejoin since it would be narratively awkward after too long, but gave us a different story; I had to get that from her directly. Her coming back didn't work, but replacing us was fine, apparently. Wow.
I did quit the game, but only after the "saint" conversation; DM said I wasn't allowed in his games anymore, but he was allowing me to stay on his Discord server, because "it would be evil" to kick me off. I then saw that DM and Art Lady had left my Discord server without even mentioning it... I then wrote up a long message to the 2 of them carefully explaining how DM had effectively banned me for having religious trauma and (politely) questioning his crazy rules, and that DM had anger issues, communication issues, and a track record of making me cry a few times before, and that I wasn't going to put up with it anymore. But I wished them both to become healthier, less codependent people.
DM then posted on his server that I "was not so friendly" and warned others about me trying to talk to them, as if I was going to do something harmful. This is absurd, as I had expressed not anger, but sadness and pain. I wished they could've been the people I thought they were before I joined that game, but they weren't; they were toxic, codependent crazy people, and DM was a hyper-controlling jerk with some bad anger issues. I'm a little scared for Art Lady, but also, does she want to be independent or functional? She seemed to like relying on DM for everything, which makes me sad; that's not a recipe for a healthy or happy life.
This experience has made me want to be a more lenient GM myself, and I just don't want to tell people no when I don't have to anymore and I want to be more careful about boundaries/triggers than that guy was, but I don't want to say yes to things that don't fit the game world. I'm trying to find the right balance, and oh, I am galvanized after that.
I hope this story encourages others to watch for these sort of issues in games they join.

Hi charlotte! Luv your videos. So me (F-17) And friend (F-17) we can call friend; Tiffany (not her real name) Me and Tiffany have had lots of issues. We first met at one of my best friends birthday parties. i always got the sense that Tiffany didn’t like me being friends with “her bestfriend” but i just ignored it and moved on, Me and Tiffany bonded, and Tiffany invited me to her party. We were all having fun playing games, and then cake time came around. I was sitting there eating peacefully, and she then brought up something weird about this guy that we ALL hated. I said “thats disgusting” as a comment on what she had said. But Tiffany and her mom took that offensively and thought i said that about her cake, which was obviously not true, so they were framing me (i guess to get rid of me so Tiffany can have her “best friend” all to herself) I just thought it was weird how Tiffany was framing me, and making rude comments about me. So i texted her to make sure she understood that i was not talking about her cake, i texted in quote “Hey, im sorry about saying something that came off as rude, but i promise you i was talking about that guy, not your cake” I even asked a couple of the other people who were at the party if what i said was okay, and they all said that they thought i was talking about the guy, not the cake. So the next day i went to school, thinking the misunderstanding was resolved. Wrong. Me and Tiffany have a class together, so I walked into class and she almost immediately said “My mom said i’m not allowed to be friends with you anymore” i was shocked and confused, as we are both almost adults, So why would her mom have to make decisions for her. She knew that the comment wasn’t about her cake, but I decided I would ignore it and if she doesn’t want to stick up for me towards her mom, than so be it. We made up quite a bit over time so me, Tiffany, and a couple other friends, all went to the mall for a girls day. (Keep in mind i am short and small) We stumbled upon a store that had baby clothes, and she said “Oh look! You could fit in those!” Very snobby/petty-ish while pointing to a couple baby clothes. I don’t like people commenting on my height, and she knew that. I tried to ignore it, but eventually confronted her as this went on at least three times in the whole day. She just rolled her eyes and said “whatever” when i had confronted her, and if she doesn’t care about my bounderies, then buh-bye. So even though we are not friends, we are on good terms right now but she does make rude comments, and laugh about them, etc. (Btw the only thing i ask for is for people not to comment on my height bc i get made fun of for it)

My partner and I have had a tumultuous up and down on and off relationship over the past decade. Oftentimes I feel like we are just not compatible and I can’t give him the affection or attention he requires. I do genuinely love and care for him, but he completely overwhelms me and I try to take it until I inevitably freak out. An example of this is repeatedly getting in my physical space, constant groping and slapping of my breasts, groin, and bum in a way that hurts, tickling, poking me in the neck painfully, distracting me while I’m trying to do things like prepare dinner or while I’m working, purposefully irritating me, jump scaring me when I’m immersed in something (I work from home so it’s frequently while I’m at the computer focused) and then getting upset with me when I ask him (repeatedly) to stop. I don’t like a lot of physical contact. I don’t mind cuddling and intimacy and what not but I don’t enjoy having my body parts pulled and hit, and I LOATHE tickling. I’ve told him it feels like a physical violation, and explained this multiple times but he says it’s just how he shows affection.
We have a very active intimate life, at least once per day. Usually in the morning and in the evening. So he is getting plenty of that type of affection which he states is the most important to him.
Lately he’s started recording me as I go about my day to day tasks like cleaning or whatever, and I’ve noticed he’s started recording me during intimate moments as well which I object to and push the camera away. I told him I don’t like that, it makes me feel weird. He keeps trying to show me the videos which also makes me mad cause I didn’t agree to that. He says he just thinks I’m beautiful, but I feel like….something nefarious about it in my gut.
I’m feeling extremely physically violated. I have a hard time expressing my feelings, and to be honest I don’t have an easy time even feeling anything. Like period. But I get angry and resentful and it just kind of simmers until it spills over.
This has become a pattern where I get more and more overwhelmed, then I act out in some way and it causes a huge fight. He berates me and screams at me and leaves, refusing to speak to me for days. Usually about 1 week. I am not innocent in this, because I usually do something he hates. In the moment I don’t realize this and it’s always afterwards with self reflection I can see it. I can’t seem to get ahead of the build up, or maybe I try to but I’m not effectively communicating how annoyed and overwhelmed I am. I always feel so bad after. I feel so stupid and emotionally incompetent.
We got into an argument yesterday and I’m realizing this is such a pattern. My cat got hurt and my brother came with me to take him to the vet. My partner flipped out on me so bad for going with my brother. He accused me of hanging out with guys and was acting like I made the whole thing up. Called me a liar. I messaged him with an update on the cat and he didn’t reply. I will add, I don’t ever hang out with men that aren’t blood related to me. Meaning my little brother and my father. I have exclusively female friends. I find this accusation particularly offensive, because it makes me think that he’s the one off spending time with other women if that’s his knee jerk response to me asking for some emotional support while my pet is injured. My brother doesn’t like him so I suppose that could be it.
I feel so disconnected from my feelings and my body. I’m logically trying to figure this out. Am I imagining things? Is the way he’s constantly in my physical space normal? Is it wrong for me to ask for space and have that respected? Am I a bad partner for not giving enough?
Just needed to get that off my chest. I don’t feel comfortable speaking to my friends and family due to our complicated history.

Am I the A hole?
So a little back ground. About 2 and a half years ago my wife found out I had been watching porn and masturbating behind her back. From that point I didnt masturbate and had great sex with my wife. I was on TRT and cycling sarms into my workout so my libido was through the roof and my wife and i taken intimate videos together. So a year and a half ago I confessed to my wife that I had been masturbating but to our videos that we made together. She told me it made her feel like she wasnt enough in general even if it was to us. I respect my wife and i want to please my wife and make her happy so since then I have refrained from watching any porn even mild sex scenes on TV as well as getting rid of social media and adding restrictions so less and less women are on the only remaining social media I have left and that's youtube. I had Pinterest up until yesterday but got rid of it because while browsing on Pinterest I clicked on literally I believe it was 3 total photos in my Pinterest history of women. They are skinny and are well endowed. My wife has gained weight and has been trying to lose weight but is having a hard time. I never say she is fat or call her names or anything that would be demeaning to my wife and her self esteem. If anything she is always saying she is fat and I constantly will deny it and tell her that I am very attracted to her. Anyway these photos weren't provocative in anyway just pictures of women doing workouts. I knew when I was looking at them it was wrong and if she found out holy shit so I didn't continue after the 3rd photo. He'll I didn't even search for it, it was just in my Pinterest home feed. Now she is saying I want hoe's and sluts and not her. That I don't love her or respect her. That I'm jerking off. She then went and masturbated herself and watched porn. I know this because of the cameras and I was able to access her search history. Now before she saw the photos everything was great and fine!. She also made fun of me sexually. Saying I'm not big enough and I don't fuck like the porn videos and at least she will get wet. It was absolutely degrading and humiliating. She is literally demeaning me as a person and my character because of the 3 pictures. I love my wife and yes she has anger problems and is controlling and does not trust at all. Even when I think she is she will all the sudden be going through my phone and interrogation pursues. I literally have isolated myself. I have no friends. I don't go out. I don't spend money. I literally go to work and go straight home. I literally surrounded my whole life around her and yet because of 3 photos she is divorcing me. I haven't jerked off I haven't watched porn. I'm so lost. I don't understand.
I don't understand what it will take to earn her trust. I don't understand what it will take for her to stop trying to find something wrong when there isn't anything there. I don't understand how she can be so cold. I can't believe she would humiliate and degrade me like that. Do the very thing she accused me of and then basically rub it in my face. Doesn't seem very mature. She doesn't communicate well because everything you say has the worst alterior motive behind it. She literally looks for there to be problems. I don't understand and I feel like I'm being abused mentally and emotionally. Now I will confess I have hit and pushed my wife before and I haven't been physically violent towards my wife since November of last year and when it happened it was a game changer for me and my life in general. I have been doing alot of self help as communication and etc that even my wife will tell you I have not struck nor pushed my wife or been violent towards my wife in anyway since November of last year. Now I'm not proud or saying I was right. I was way wrong and am being a man about it and facing it. My wife had hit me and pushed me and kicked me and etc also. She actually struck me in the face about 2 weeks ago because I said I had already turned the TV down and I couldn't turn it down anymore without it muting and because she got angry at that she turned over and struck me in the face. So we have both been physical with eachother also but hers being very recent. I screwed up before and feel so much guilt for what i did that i ignored the hitting me. Believe it or not she didnt even Apologize she stormed off and i had to go into the bathroom and just hold her until she liked me again. However things got great and as I said before had been great up until the photos. Now I'm a cheating slut that doesn't want her or find her attractive and I don't love her or respect her and etc. I won't repeat what I have already wrote before so I'm lost and idk what to do. I love my wife and yes I have screwed up in the past but is 3 photos of women deserve everything I got and her divorcing me. Is this salvageable? Am I the asshole? Should I be the one to go? Should i let her go? Should I fight for her? Should I not speak to her and let it be for a little until she wants to talk? What if she does get divorce paper? She threatened to get them Wednesday since she is off and has court in the morning. I don't want this and love my wife and am hurting and hurt and have cried and cried and cried. I'm not afraid to admit I cried alot. I just said out loud I'm gonna miss you so much while crying hysterically. Please anything. I'm willing to hear anything at this point because I don't know if I'm even making right decisions anymore. Am I the asshole?

Should someone involved in the inner running of Edgenuity be reading this, know that it is not mindless criticism. I have some things I do genuinely like and prefer about your site, which I mention. Consider reading, if you much care for the opinions of a highschool senior about to graduate.
I get why they want students to 'actually learn' and stuff, but they've been going super hard to crack down on userscripts and extensions. I know a lot of people used scripts to pull them through classes, but I mostly had them for QoL (Quality-of-Life, for you non-whippersnappers) changes that I have a hard time working without, such as skipping the little audio bits on assignments and auto-advancing through completed segments and videos.
I honestly wouldn't be so upset about the total blocking of scripts if these changes were implemented into Edgenuity itself, though I doubt they'd even consider that. I do my own work, answer the questions myself, write my own essays, etc.
From the looks of it (at least from the way Edgenuity has been systematically blocking userscripts before this 'academic integrity' block), someone with involvement in the development and operation of the site occasionally references this subreddit to see what they need to block. Maybe one of them will read this. Like I said, I understand wanting students to actually retain information from their classes.
I do really appreciate how Edgenuity lets me work on my own time and keeps all my work in one place, but I definitely think that the site and service as a whole could stand to be improved. A fair bit of the content is outdated (in that it's more than 5-10 years old, by the looks of it), but of course I know that updating all of these classes would be expensive and largely redundant since most of the information still holds up.
My biggest grievance is, like I mentioned before, just how slow the work gets when small QoL alterations are missing that I had added via userscript. It moves from manageable to an absolute slog when I have to listen to the beginning and end audio clips (that really add nothing of value, might I add, as a majority of them just say 'read the question and answer' which is... obvious) and manually click through the videos. This is fine when there are 2-4 segments, but it can get annoying quickly, especially when I've seen some 'Direct Instruction' assignments have upwards of 15 segments, a majority of which are videos that are only 2-3 minutes long.
Now, maybe I haven't been the most integrous student. Maybe I've used Brainly for a few answers, but (although I respect the teachers wholly) I cannot for the life of me sit through these lecture videos and actually listen to gather information myself.
I understand that reading through a scripted curriculum isn't exactly thrilling, and it's nearly impossible to engage with content when the teacher treats their subject matter with the same love, care, and attention as the man that throws bags into the rear of a garbage truck (so to say, without much care at all).
Also, might I add in regard to literature-based classes, so much of it is very linear despite literature and writing being one of the most varied and subjective subjects in education. Much of these classes asks questions based on interpretations of writing, as if there are single correct interpretations of something that is, notoriously, not a subject with objective answers.
I myself am not autistic, though I occasionally have issues discerning meaning and tone through text (and I can imagine this is only amplified for people who ARE on the spectrum of autism) which makes classes revolving around reading and interpreting literature very difficult for me. Getting an answer wrong simply because I have a different interpretation or understanding of a text is infuriating.
I do not have solely negative feelings for Edgenuity. As I mentioned before, I appreciate having all of my schoolwork in one place and in order (I used to lose assignments quite often when I attended physical school). I appreciate how flexible it allows my schedule to be, especially as a highschool senior who is actively studying for my permit and is taking on quite a few new responsibilities as I turn 18 soon.
Edgenuity is to school what watching a movie at home is as opposed to in a theater, because of how much more control over your situation that it offers. Need to go to the bathroom? No teacher to ask, you're in your own home. Hungry? It's lunch time all the time, and anything's on the menu. Need a break? Take it, and pick up where you left off on your work. I do greatly appreciate this.
I don't expect Edgenuity to remove the block on extensions and userscript usage, but a few small additions purely for QoL would make it a vastly better experience, at least for myself. Who knows? Maybe I'm alone with how I feel about Edgenuity.
Whether you're a student or staff (which I doubt will've read this), I'd like to hear your input on the state of things.
The school year is wrapping up (for me, atleast, I'm unsure if it differs for other people) and I hope all of you, even the ones super behind and in the educational dumps, can push through and make this your year.
To all my fellow seniors, the class of 2024, we made it. Through hard work, stress, pandemics, and all the other crazy shit that's been going on for the past 12-13 years of our lives, we've made it. Hopefully you all feel as accomplished as you should.

What do I do?
So a little back ground. About 2 and a half years ago my wife found out I had been watching porn and masturbating behind her back. From that point I didnt masturbate and had great sex with my wife. I was on TRT and cycling sarms into my workout so my libido was through the roof and my wife and i taken intimate videos together. So a year and a half ago I confessed to my wife that I had been masturbating but to our videos that we made together. She told me it made her feel like she wasnt enough in general even if it was to us. I respect my wife and i want to please my wife and make her happy so since then I have refrained from watching any porn even mild sex scenes on TV as well as getting rid of social media and adding restrictions so less and less women are on the only remaining social media I have left and that's youtube. I had Pinterest up until yesterday but got rid of it because while browsing on Pinterest I clicked on literally I believe it was 3 total photos in my Pinterest history of women. They are skinny and are well endowed. My wife has gained weight and has been trying to lose weight but is having a hard time. I never say she is fat or call her names or anything that would be demeaning to my wife and her self esteem. If anything she is always saying she is fat and I constantly will deny it and tell her that I am very attracted to her. Anyway these photos weren't provocative in anyway just pictures of women doing workouts. I knew when I was looking at them it was wrong and if she found out holy shit so I didn't continue after the 3rd photo. He'll I didn't even search for it, it was just in my Pinterest home feed. Now she is saying I want hoe's and sluts and not her. That I don't love her or respect her. That I'm jerking off. She then went and masturbated herself and watched porn. I know this because of the cameras and I was able to access her search history. Now before she saw the photos everything was great and fine!. She also made fun of me sexually. Saying I'm not big enough and I don't fuck like the porn videos and at least she will get wet. It was absolutely degrading and humiliating. She is literally demeaning me as a person and my character because of the 3 pictures. I love my wife and yes she has anger problems and is controlling and does not trust at all. Even when I think she is she will all the sudden be going through my phone and interrogation pursues. I literally have isolated myself. I have no friends. I don't go out. I don't spend money. I literally go to work and go straight home. I literally surrounded my whole life around her and yet because of 3 photos she is divorcing me. I haven't jerked off I haven't watched porn. I'm so lost. I don't understand.
I don't understand what it will take to earn her trust. I don't understand what it will take for her to stop trying to find something wrong when there isn't anything there. I don't understand how she can be so cold. I can't believe she would humiliate and degrade me like that. Do the very thing she accused me of and then basically rub it in my face. Doesn't seem very mature. She doesn't communicate well because everything you say has the worst alterior motive behind it. She literally looks for there to be problems. I don't understand and I feel like I'm being abused mentally and emotionally. Now I will confess I have hit and pushed my wife before and I haven't been physically violent towards my wife since November of last year and when it happened it was a game changer for me and my life in general. I have been doing alot of self help as communication and etc that even my wife will tell you I have not struck nor pushed my wife or been violent towards my wife in anyway since November of last year. Now I'm not proud or saying I was right. I was way wrong and am being a man about it and facing it. My wife had hit me and pushed me and kicked me and etc also. She actually struck me in the face about 2 weeks ago because I said I had already turned the TV down and I couldn't turn it down anymore without it muting and because she got angry at that she turned over and struck me in the face. So we have both been physical with eachother also but hers being very recent. I screwed up before and feel so much guilt for what i did that i ignored the hitting me. Believe it or not she didnt even Apologize she stormed off and i had to go into the bathroom and just hold her until she liked me again. However things got great and as I said before had been great up until the photos. Now I'm a cheating slut that doesn't want her or find her attractive and I don't love her or respect her and etc. I won't repeat what I have already wrote before so I'm lost and idk what to do. I love my wife and yes I have screwed up in the past but is 3 photos of women i didnt jerk off to not were they porn deserves everything I got and her divorce me? Should I be the one to go? Should i let her go? Should I fight for her? Should I not speak to her and let it be for a little until she wants to talk? What if she does get divorce paper? She threatened to get them Wednesday since she is off and has court in the morning. I don't want this and love my wife and am hurting and hurt and have cried and cried and cried. I'm not afraid to admit I cried alot. I just said out loud I'm gonna miss you so much while crying hysterically. Please anything. I'm willing to hear anything at this point because I don't know if I'm even making right decisions anymore.

Hi! So over the past week one of my friends reached out to me, let's call him Mark. Mark snapped me a picture of his close friend, (who we'll call Grant for arguments sake) holding a few Taylor Swift cd's (I'm a huge Swiftie so this immediately caught my attention) and after a few back and forth snaps between myself and Mark, and with Grant in the background, Grant asked for my snap which is fine. Do I usually give my snap to people I've just met through someone else? No! But I know Mark pretty well (I've gotten to know him over the past year because we're in a theatre class together) and he knows me very well so it's not like anything bad was gonna happen in the first place. Anyway, myself and Grant have now been talking for the past week, give or take, and we've called a few times over video games and whatnot which is another shared interest of ours, and I thought he was, and is a pretty cool guy. But he has been sending a few messages that don't come across as flirty (then again I'm awful at social cues so it could be flirting I have no idea) but also not necessarily general conversations you'd have with your friends. To me, it sounds like that's what he's building up to. He'd say things like "oh you like this song/ artist? That's such a green flag" "Your hair looks really good today" "Your makeup is super pretty" "If this artist came to town I'd take you to their concert with me in a heartbeat" and "Oh that song you liked? Yeah I learnt it on my piano for you" which is SUPER sweet and he just told me that last night and I appreciate it so much right? BUT with that, he has said a few things about people he knows or has known that are in the LGBTQ+ community that come off as a bit homophobic in a roundabout way and he calls a lot of things gay? I've never got what he means but anything bad happens to him in a video game or we play Apex (he kinda made me get Apex I dint generally play games like that but I was in a "whatever" mindset at the time) and he says "oh blah blah blah just killed me that's so gayyyy" and I don't like that one teeny tiny bit because I am a bisexual woman (he doesn't know that yet and I'd rather he wouldn't know) so I just wanna prepare in case he does ask me out because I'm not even looking to date anyone right now anyway, and I'm not into him romantically either (for obvious reasons) and even if he wasn't somewhat homophobic, I cant for the life of me form a romantic connection with someone only in just one week, I've gotta be close friends with them first tbh (I have no idea why but I never get crushes on people that quickly, it takes me at least a month, sure I can find people physically attractive but not on a crush crush level until I know them on a more personal level first) So all I wanna know is what to say if he DOES ask me out soon because I can't really go down the "I don't wanna hurt our friendship" route because theres barely a friendship there, and I also don't wanna upset Mark in any way by rejecting one of his closest friends and then I have to walk to my class the next week and see Mark and it could be awkward (I'm so so sorry if this was long I juat wanted to give as much detail to the situation as i possibly could) any and all advice is hugely appreciated and welcomed :) thank you in advance 🩷

So when I was in like 10th grade I started using chat rooms and dating sites. They were geared towards teenagers and there was a cut off age limit. Iono growing up is complicated. So I met this older guy who made it in America. He was Born in China and move to the US on crazy drive. Mid 20s successful, his family disowned him for being gay and he always had this vibe about being mad at the world. nice car, iono he must be a demon to do so well being so mean. we hooked up a few times. I didnt think much of it at the time other than amazement, but somehow he was the proctor at my practice SAT testing exam.
How difficult is it to become a proctor for the SAT at a specific location assigned to a specific class? Its crazy because not only is it my hs but the classroom i was assigned to. Anyway we dont connect much because school and stuff is so busy.
Well fast forward to my sophomore year of college. I got assaulted and a couple bad things happened to me. I think by the same people. Young ppl caucasian but I could swear they were stalking me to cover what they did to me.
I was terrified of being watched, being followed. Smertphones were barely coming on the market so all everyone has is a dumbphone. Its was a rural liberal college in a small town but was affluent and near tech cities. I got so scared I moved out of my off-campus college housing and into some shady gay roomate situation. One of the friends confided in me that on the weekends they would get drunk and listen to peoples conversations with equipment. Like a hobby. The town is full of potheads and paranoids, so... I always built this phobia that if I did have a stalker it was those white dudes who were local trying to cover shit up.
My family never believes me that stalking could be real and I rationalized that I am just schizophrenic. Too many weird things happened to me and eveeryone I know wants me to just put it behind me. But its terrified me. It felt like a horror movie leaving campus that year and I took two years off and had multiple breakdowns, angry at things I cant even figure out. I never healed and just have to accept that I'm just crazy and delusional.
I can't ever figure out why I get so freaked out. Ive leveled off since its been years but it still keeps me up at night thinking who is pulling strings in my life. It was so easy for that creep in highschool, i know hes a creep cause he showed me this disgusting video when I hooked up with him once some years later), to just get clearance like that but I never pinned him as a reason for feeling afraid of being stalked. It was always the druggie white boys from the forrest town. I don't know. Am I just haunting myself?

I neglected to include this in my cycle recap, but hopefully some future applicants find this helpful. Obviously this is not a one-size-fits-all. https://www.lsd.law/users/creep/SquidwardsHouse
Resume
This will be controversial, but it ideally should be one-page. Harvard and Yale have made explicit their preference for such. I’d say if you’ve got less than 10 years of work experience, you almost certainly can and should fit it on one page. Be concise with your verbiage. Don’t piss the reader off with small fonts (definitely no less than size 11) or crammed wording. You don’t need to patronize the reader by describing in intricate detail what some common-sense things are.
LORs
Again, I believe less is generally more, continuing with my theme. If you can effectively cover ground with two letters when you can submit up to three or four, then choose 2. The only school I submitted 3 letters to was Yale, and that was because I was advised they wanted two academic letters and a military letter to speak to my five years in the Navy. Every other school I submitted one academic and one professional (military) letter.
Yale 250
I wrote about a humbling experience where essentially the main takeaway was that I didn’t need to have an opinion/express an opinion on everything. I hit on the same anecdote in every single one of my interviews, and I think it was well-received.
Harvard Statement of Purpose
-I opted for a different approach contrary to what many recommended. I did not use my traditional Personal Statement for this topic. Instead, I went with a much more direct 1-page statement addressing why I no longer wanted to pursue the JAG Corps in the military (since I’m a reapplicant from a few years ago), and how now I want to clerk, work in big law for a few years to gain experience, and then be a federal prosecutor. There was a lot of good interview fodder from this statement that Dean KJ took an interest in.
PS/HLS Statement of Perspective
My Personal Statement was very reflective in nature on my past failures and moments of growth, and how offering and accepting help is crucial to such growth. I felt this fit the prompt of Harvard’s Statement of Perspective much better for me, as stated above. For my personal statements for other schools, the only modification was I had a paragraph inserted about why I wanted to continue in public service as a federal prosecutor.
Why UVA
I made crystal clear how UVA was one of my top choices, and I think they appreciated that. I did not want to run the risk of appearing like I was coasting on stats, which often leads to people getting waitlisted or denied at UVA and similar schools. I talked about how Charlottesville mirrored my state school undergrad, and how I loved that being an island of blue in a sea of red on the political lap brings with it a perspective you can’t find easily most other places. I also discussed my goals of wanting to practice in the south after law school, which added to the authenticity in my view.
Character and Fitness
Just own it. Don’t shift the blame. Be as concise about what happened as possible and take ownership of it. I got fired as an RA for hosting a party with other RA’s in my dorm room. It was about 5 sentences in length.
Georgetown Top 10
As a huge Survivor fan, I made a detailed top 10 winners list.
Interview Advice
It’s okay to be nervous. I fucked up the intro to my Harvard interview by saying something like “I guess it’s nervous to be normal” and we laughed about it.
-My Yale interview started 8 minutes late because we had audio issues connecting. I was panicking on the inside from embarrassment, but tried not to let that show to my interviewer (who I could see on video still). The interview went great and we talked for twenty minutes past my allotted time.
-My other feedback is to give good thought as to Why X school and why law school in general. In my Harvard interview, I said something along the lines of "A lot of people grow up dreaming of coming to this school, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't one of them. Even more than that, though, the size of Harvard's class brings with it a diversity of backgrounds and thought that you can't find as easily anywhere else. I remember reading about conservative students in the past enjoying now-Senator Elizabeth Warren's classes when she taught here. That coupled with Harvard having the highest student veteran population of any school make it a natural fit."
-As for the Georgetown interview, I think a good rule of thumb is to be respectful of the other applicants’ time and answers. Try not to talk more than anyone else in the group interview, and try to pay attention to what people say to show you’re listening.
-Finally, (and maybe I’m old fashioned) I think it’s generally polite and professional to send a quick thank-you email to your interviewethe admissions inbox. Don’t expect a response, but I do think it’s a thoughtful touch.

https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/pikmri/calvin324hks_igs_rep_page/
https://www.reddit.com/sgsflaicomments/of2wzu/flair_profile_ucalvin324hk/
Wishlist
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• 10 Second Ninja X
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• IN SOUND MIND
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• Infectonator 3: Apocalypse
• Infinite Beyond The Mind
• Injustice 2 Legendary Edition
• Insane 2
• INSOMNIA: The Ark
• Internet Cafe Simulator
• Internet Cafe Simulator 2
• Interstellar Space: Genesis
• Iron Fisticle
• Iron Harvest
• Ittle Dew
• Ittle Dew 2+
• Jack Move
• Jackbox party pack 2
• Jackbox party pack 5
• JANITOR BLEEDS
• Joint Task Force
• Jotun: Valhalla Edition
• Journey For Elysium
• Journey to the Savage Planet
• JUMANJI: The Video Game
• JumpJet Rex
• Juno: New Origins
• Jupiter Hell
• Jurassic Park: The Game
• Jurassic World Evolution
• Jurassic World Evolution 2
• JUST CAUSE 4: COMPLETE EDITION
• Just Die Already
• Kardboard Kings: Card Shop Simulator
• Keep Talking and Nobody Explodes
• Ken Follett's The Pillars of the Earth
• Kentucky Route Zero - Season Pass Edition
• Kerbal Space Program
• Killing Floor 2 Digital Deluxe Edition
• Killing Room
• Kingdom Two Crowns
• Kingdom: New Lands
• King's Bounty: Crossworlds
• Knights of Pen & Paper 2
• Knock-knock
• Koi-Koi Japan [Hanafuda playing cards] *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.1 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.2 DLC *Koi-Koi Japan : UKIYOE tours Vol.3 DLC
• Konung 2
• KungFu Kickball
• Labyrinthine
• Lair of the Clockwork God
• Laserlife
• LAST OASIS
• Lawn Mowing Simulator
• Layers of Fear: Masterpiece Edition
• Lead and Gold: Gangs of the Wild West
• Learn Japanese To Survive! Hiragana Battle
• Learn Japanese To Survive! Katakana War
• Learn Japanese to Survive! Trilogy
• Legend of Keepers
• LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE
• LEGION TD 2 - MULTIPLAYER TOWER DEFENSE.
• Leisure Suit Larry - Wet Dreams Don't Dry
• Leisure Suit Larry 1-7
• Lemnis Gate
• Lemon Cake
• lethal league blaze
• Let's School
• Levelhead
• Liberated (GOG)
• Life is Strange Complete Season (Episodes 1-5)
• Light Fairytale Episode 1
• Light Fairytale Episode 2
• LIGHTMATTER
• Little dragons cafe
• Little Hope
• Little Inner Monsters - Card Game
• Little Nightmares
• Little Nightmares Complete Edition
• Livelock
• Loop Hero
• Loot River
• Looterkings
• Lornsword Winter Chronicle
• Lost Castle
• Love Letter
• Lovecraft's Untold Stories
• Lovely planet arcade
• Lucius2
• Lucius3
• Ludus
• Lumberhill
• LunarLux
• Lust for Darkness
• Lust from Beyond: M Edition
• Mad Experiments: Escape Room
• Mad Max
• Mafia Definitive Edition
• Mafia: Definitive Edition
• Magenta Horizon
• Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle
• Mahjong Pretty Girls Battle : School Girls Edition
• Mail Time
• Maize
• Maneater
• Marooners
• MARSUPILAMI - HOOBADVENTURE
• Marvel's Avengers - The Definitive Edition
• Mato Anomalies
• Max Payne 3
• Mechs & Mercs: Black Talons
• Medieval II: Total War - Definitive Edition
• Medieval: Total War Collection
• MEEPLE STATION
• Men of War
• MERCHANT OF THE SKIES
• METAL HELLSINGER
• Metal Hellsinger
• Metro Exodus
• Metro last light
• Metro: Last Light Redux
• Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
• Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor GOTY
• Middle-Earth: Shadow of War Definitive Edition
• MIDNIGHT PROTOCOL
• Mighty Switch Force! Collection
• MIND SCANNERS
• Ministry of Broadcast
• Minute of Islands
• Miscreated
• Mists of Noyah
• MKXL
• Mob Rule Classic
• Monaco
• Monster Slayers - Complete Edition
• Monster Train
• MONSTER TRAIN (FIRST CLASS - COLLECTORS EDITION)
• Monstrum
• Monstrum 2
• Moon Hunters
• Moons of Madness
• MORDHAU
• Mordheim: City of the Damned
• Mortal Kombat 11 Ultimate Edition
• MORTAL KOMBAT XL
• Mortal Shell
• Motorcycle Mechanic Simulator 2021
• Mr. Run and Jump
• Murder Mystery Machine
• My Big Sister
• My Friend Peppa Pig
• My Lovely Wife
• My Summer Adventure: Memories of Another Life
• My Time At Portia
• N++ (NPLUSPLUS)
• Napoleon: Total War - Definitive Edition
• Narcos: Rise of the Cartels
• NARUTO TO BORUTO: SHINOBI STRIKER
• NECROMUNDA: HIRED GUN
• Necronator: Dead Wrong
• NecroVisioN: Lost Company
• NecroWorm
• Neighbours back From Hell
• Nelly Cootalot: Spoonbeaks Ahoy! HD
• Neon Space
• Neon Space 2
• Neon Sundown
• Nephise: Ascension
• Neurodeck : Psychological Deckbuilder
• Never Alone Arctic Collection (w/ Foxtales DLC and FREE Soundtrack)
• Neverinth
• Neverout
• Neverwinter Nights: Complete Adventures
• Newt One
• Nexomon: Extinction
• Nigate Tale
• Nine Parchments
• Nine Witches: Family Disruption
• No Straight Roads: Encore Edition
• No Time to Relax
• Nomad Survival
• Nongunz: Doppelganger Edition
• Noosphere
• Northgard
• Northmark: Hour of the Wolf
• Nostradamus: The Last Prophecy
• not the robots
• Nurse Love Addiction
• Nurse Love Syndrome
• Nusakana
• Obduction
• Obey Me
• Observer: System Redux
• Occultus - Mediterranean Cabal
• Odallus: The Dark Call
• Oddworld: New 'n' Tasty
• One Finger Death Punch 2
• One Hand Clapping
• One More Island
• One Step From Eden
• One Step From Eden (Region locked)
• Orbital Racer
• OTXO
• Out of Reach: Treasure Royale
• Out of Space
• Overclocked: A History of Violence
• Overlord: Ultimate Evil Collection
• Overpass
• Overruled
• OZYMANDIAS: BRONZE AGE EMPIRE SIM
• Pac-Man Museum +
• Pan'Orama
• Panty Party
• Panzer Corps 2
• Papo & Yo
• PARADISE LOST
• Parkan 2
• PARTISANS 1941
• Passpartout 2: The Lost Artist
• Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous
• Patron
• Paw Patrol: On A Roll!
• Paws of Coal
• Payday 2
• PAYDAY 2
• Peaky Blinders: Mastermind
• PER ASPERA
• Perfect
• PGA 2K21
• PGA Tour 2K21
• Pharaonic
• Pixplode
• Pizza Connection 3
• Plague tale
• Planescape: Torment Enhanced Edition
• Planet Alcatraz
• PLANET ZOO
• PlateUp!
• Pogostuck: Rage With Your Friends
• Poker Pretty Girls Battle: Texas Hold'em
• Police Stories
• Poly Island
• Post Void
• Power Rangers: Battle for the Grid
• Prank Call
• Prehistoric Kingdom
• Pretty Girls Mahjong Solitaire
• Pretty Girls Panic!
• Prey
• Primal Carnage: Extinction
• Princess Kaguya: Legend of the Moon Warrior
• Pro Cycling Manager 2020
• Prodeus
• Project CARS - GOTY Edition
• Project Warlock
• Project Wingman (EU)
• PROJECT WINTER
• Propnight
• PULSAR: The Lost Colony
• qomp
• Quadrilateral Cowboy
• Quake II
• Quantum Break
• Quern - Undying Thoughts
• Radio Commander
• RAGE
• Rage in Peace
• RAILROAD CORPORATION
• Railroad Tycoon 3
• Railroad Tycoon II Platinum
• Railway Empire
• Rain World
• Rayon Riddles - Rise of the Goblin King
• Re: Legend
• REBEL COPS
• Rebel Galaxy
• Rebel Galaxy Outlaw
• Red Faction Guerrilla Re-Mars-tered
• Red Riding Hood - Star Crossed Lovers
• Red Ronin
• RED SOLSTICE 2: SURVIVORS
• Redout Complete Bundle
• Redout: Enhanced Edition
• Redout: Enhanced Edition + DLC pack
• Regular Human Basketball
• REKT! High Octane Stunts
• Relicta
• REMNANT: FROM THE ASHES - COMPLETE EDITION
• Republique
• Rescue Party: Live!
• Resident Evil 0 HD REMASTER
• Resident Evil 4
• Resident Evil 5 Gold Edition
• Resident Evil 7 Biohazard
• Resident Evil Revelations
• Resort Boss: Golf
• RETROWAVE
• rFactor 2
• RiME
• Ring of Pain
• Rise of Industry + 2130 DLC
• Rise of the Slime
• Rising Storm 2: Vietnam + 2 DLCs
• Riven: The Sequel to MYST
• River City Girls
• River City Ransom: Underground
• Roarr! Jurassic Edition
• Roboquest
• Robot Squad Simulator 2017
• Rogue : Genesia
• ROGUE HEROES: RUINS OF TASOS
• ROGUE LORDS
• Rogue Stormers
• rollercoaster tycoon 2
• ROTASTIC
• Roundguard
• ROUNDS
• RUNNING WITH RIFLES
• Rustler
• Ryse: Son of Rome
• S.W.I.N.E. HD Remaster
• Sailing Era
• Saint Row
• Sam and Max Devil's Playhouse
• SAMUDRA
• Sands of Aura
• Sands of Salzaar
• Saturday Morning RPG
• Save Room - Organization Puzzle
• Scarlet Tower
• Scorn
• SCP: 5K
• SCUM
• SEARCH PARTY: Director's Cut
• Second Extinction
• Secret Government
• Serious Sam 3 Bonus Content DLC, Serious Sam 3: Jewel of the Nile, and Serious Sam 3: BFE
• SEUM speedrunners from hell
• SEUM: Speedrunners from Hell
• Severed Steel
• Shadow Tactics: Aiko's Choice
• Shadowgate
• SHADOWS: AWAKENING
• Shape of the World
• She Sees Red - Interactive Movie
• Shenmue I & II
• SHENZHEN I/O
• Shift Happens
• Shing!
• Shoppe Keep 2 - Business and Agriculture RPG Simulation
• Shotgun King: The Final Checkmate
• Sid Meier's Civilization VI
• Sid Meier's Railroads!
• Sifu Deluxe Edition Upgrade Bundle (EPIC)
• Silver Chains
• SimCity 4 Deluxe Edition
• Sinking Island
• SINNER: Sacrifice for Redemption
• Skautfold Chapters 1-4
• Skullgirls 2nd Encore
• Slain: Back from Hell
• Slap City
• Slash It
• Slash It 2
• Slash It Ultimate
• Slay the Spire
• Slaycation Paradise
• Small World
• Smart Factory Tycoon
• Smile For Me
• Smoke and Sacrifice
• Smoke and Sacrifice
• Smushi Come Home
• Snail bob 2 tiny troubles
• Sniper Elite 3
• Sniper Elite 3 + Season Pass DLC
• Sniper Elite 4 Deluxe Edition
• Sniper Ghost Warrior 3 - Season Pass Edition
• Sniper Ghost Warrior Contracts
• Snooker 19
• SONG OF HORROR COMPLETE EDITION
• Songs of Conquest
• Sonic Adventure 2
• Sonic Adventure DX
• Sonic and SEGA All Stars Racing
• Sonic Generations Collection
• Soulblight
• Souldiers
• SOULSTICE
• Soundfall
• Source of Madness
• Spartan Fist
• Spec Ops
• Speed Limit
• Spelunx and the Caves of Mr. Seudo
• Spidersaurs
• Spin Rush
• Spirit Hunter: Death Mark
• Spirit of the Island
• Spirit of the North
• Spring Bonus
• Stairs
• STAR WARS - Knights of the Old Republic
• STAR WARS - The Force Unleashed Ultimate Sith Edition
• STAR WARS Jedi Knight II - Jedi Outcast
• Star Wolves
• Starsand
• STASIS: Bone Totem
• State of Decay 2: Juggernaut Edition
• Steel Rats™
• Stick Fight: The Game
• Still Life
• Still Life 2
• Stirring Abyss
• STONE
• Strange Brigade
• Strange Brigade Deluxe Edition
• STRANGER
• Strategic Command: World War I
• Strategic Mind: Blitzkrieg
• Strategic Mind: Fight for Freedom
• Strategic Mind: Spectre of Communism
• Strategic Mind: Spirit of Liberty
• Strategy & Tactics: Wargame Collection
• Streamer Life Simulator
• Street Fighter V
• Street of fury ex
• Strider
• Strikey Sisters
• Stygian: Reign of the Old Ones
• Styx: Master of Shadows
• Styx: Shards of Darkness
• SuchArt
• Sudden Strike Gold
• Suite 776
• Sumoman
• Sunblaze
• SUNLESS BUNDLE
• Sunset Overdrive
• Super Buff HD
• Super Mag Bot
• Superbugs: Awaken
• Superhot
• Surgeon Simulator 2
• Survive the Nights
• Surviving Mars
• Surviving The Aftermath
• Swag and Sorcery
• Sword Legacy Omen
• Sword of the Necromancer
• Swords and Soldiers 2 Shawarmageddon
• Syberia 3
• Symphonic Rain
• Symphony of War: The Nephilim Saga
• Synthwave Dream '85
• Tacoma
• Take Off - The Flight Simulator
• Tales
• Tales from the Borderlands
• Tales of Vesperia™: Definitive Edition
• Talk to Strangers
• Tallowmere
• Tangledeep
• Tank Mechanic Simulator
• Tannenberg
• Team Sonic Racing
• TEKKEN 7
• TEMTEM
• Terminus: Zombie Survivors
• Terror of Hemasaurus
• Textorcist
• Tharsis
• The Adventure Pals
• The Amazing American Circus
• The Anacrusis
• The Ascent
• The Battle of Polytopia
• The Battle of Polytopia *DLC1. Cymanti Tribe *DLC2. ∑∫ỹriȱŋ Tribe *DLC3. Aquarion Tribe *DLC4. Polaris Tribe
• The Blackout Club
• The Chess Variants Club
• The Citadel
• The Dark Pictures Anthology: House of Ashes
• THE DARK PICTURES ANTHOLOGY: LITTLE HOPE
• The Darkest Tales
• The Dungeon Beneath
• The Dungeon of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet of Chaos
• The Elder Scrolls Adventures: Redguard
• The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind® Game of the Year Edition
• The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion® Game of the Year Edition
• The Elder Scrolls Online
• The Escapists 2
• THE GAME OF LIFE 2
• The Golf Club™ 2019 featuring PGA TOUR
• THE GUNK
• The Haunted Island, a Frog Detective Game
• The Hong Kong Massacre
• The Horror Of Salazar House
• The Indie Mixtape
• The Innsmouth Case
• The Invisible Hours
• The Jackbox Party Pack 9
• The Last Campfire
• The LEGO Movie 2 Videogame
• The Letter - Horror Visual Novel
• The Long Dark
• The Manhole: Masterpiece Edition
• The Mortuary Assistant
• The Mummy Demastered
• The Outer Worlds
• THE OUTER WORLDS: SPACER'S CHOICE EDITION
• THE PALE BEYOND
• The Quarry
• The Quarry deluxe
• The Ramp
• The Red Lantern
• The Rewinder
• The Sacred Tears TRUE
• The Sexy Brutale
• The Smurfs - Mission Vileaf
• The Tarnishing of Juxtia
• The Tenants
• The Uncertain - The Last Quiet Day
• THE UNCERTAIN: LAST QUIET DAY
• The Uncertain: Light At The End
• The USB Stick Found in the Grass
• The Walking Dead
• The Walking Dead - 400 Days
• The Walking Dead Saints and Sinners
• The Walking Dead: A New Frontier
• The Walking Dead: Final Season
• The Walking Dead: Michonne - A Telltale Miniseries
• The Walking Dead: Saints & Sinners
• The Walking Dead: Season 1
• The Walking Dead: Season Two
• The Way
• The Wild At Heart
• The Wild Eight
• The Witness
• Them and Us
• They Bleed Pixels
• Thief of Thieves
• This War of Mine
• This Way Madness Lies
• Three Kingdom: The Journey
• Time on Frog Island
• Tinkertown
• Tiny Tina’s Wonderland(EU)
• TINY TINA'S WONDERLANDS CHAOTIC GREAT EDITION
• Tiny Troopers
• Tinykin
• Tinytopia
• TIS-100
• Titan Quest
• Tokyo Xanadu eX+
• Tools up
• Tooth and Tail
• Torchlight
• Total Tank Simulator
• Tour de France 2020
• Tower Unite
• Trailblazers
• Train Sim World 3: Standard Edition
• Train Simulator Classic
• Train Valley 1
• Transport INC
• Treasure Hunter Simulator
• TRIBES OF MIDGARD
• Trine 4
• Trinity Fusion
• Trombone Champ
• Tropico 5 - Complete Collection
• Trover Saves the Universe
• Tunche
• Turmoil
• Turok 2: Seeds of Evil
• Twin Mirror
• Two Point Campus
• Two Point Hospital
• TYPECAST
• Tyrant's Blessing
• Ultimate Chicken Horse
• Ultimate Zombie Defense
• Ultra Space Battle Brawl
• Unavowed
• Undead Horde
• Unexplored 2: The Wayfarer's Legacy
• Unity of Command: Stalingrad Campaign
• Universim
• UNLOVED
• Unpacking
• Until I have you
• Unto The End
• Upside Down
• URU: Complete Chronicles
• Vagante
• Valfaris
• Valfaris: Mecha Therion
• Valkryia Chronicles 4 Complete Edition
• Valkyria Chronicles 4 Complete Edition
• Valkyria Chronicles 4: Complete Edition
• Vambrace: Cold Soul
• Vampire Survivors
• Vectronom
• Velocity Noodle
• Venba
• Verne: The Shape of Fantasy
• Victoria 3
• Victoria II
• Viking: Battle For Asgard
• Virgo Versus The Zodiac
• VirtuaVerse
• Visage
• Viscerafest
• Void Bastards
• VOIDIGO
• Volcanoids
• Voltage High Society
• V-Rally 4
• Wanderlust: Travel Stories (GOG)
• Wargroove
• Warhammer 40,000 Sanctus Reach - Complete Edition
• Warhammer 40,000: Armageddon - Imperium Complete
• Warhammer 40,000: Battlesector
• Warhammer 40,000: Gladius - Relics of War
• Warhammer 40,000: Mechanicus
• Warhammer 40,000: Space Wolf Special Edition
• WARHAMMER AGE OF SIGMAR: REALMS OF RUIN – ULTIMATE EDITION
• Warhammer vermintide collector's edition
• Warhammer: End Times - Vermintide
• Warhammer: Vermintide 2
• Warman
• Wasteland 3
• Wayward
• WE NEED TO GO DEEPER
• We should talk.
• We Were Here Together
• We Were Here Too
• Webbed
• What Lies in the Multiverse
• When Ski Lifts Go Wrong
• while True: learn()
• Whos Your daddy
• Wick
• Will You Snail?
• Windward
• Witch It
• Witchy Life Story
• wizard of legends
• Wolfenstein 3D
• Worms Rumble
• WRC 6 FIA World Rally Championship
• WRC 7 FIA World Rally Championship
• WWE 2K Battlegrounds
• WWE 2K23
• WWZ Aftermath
• Wytchwood
• X-COM: COMPLETE PACK
• XCOM: ULTIMATE COLLECTION
• XIII - Classic
• X-Morph: Defense + European Assault, Survival of the Fittest, and Last Bastion DLC
• X-Morph: Defense Complete Pack
• Yakuza Kiwami
• Yumeutsutsu Re:After
• Yumeutsutsu Re:Master
• Zen Chess: Mate in One, Mate in 2 , Mate in 3 , Mate in 4 , Champion's Moves (5 games)
• Ziggurat
• Zombie Army 4
• Zombie Army Trilogy
• Zool Redimensioned

DLCs and Softwares:

• For The King: Lost Civilization Adventure Pack
• Train Simulator: Isle of Wight Route Add-On
• Train Simulator: Woodhead Electric Railway in Blue Route Add-On
• Train Simulator: North Somerset Railway Route Add-On
• Train Simulator: Union Pacific Heritage SD70ACes Loco Add-On
• Train Simulator: London to Brighton Route Add-On
• BR Class 170 'Turbostar' DMU Add-On
• DB BR 648 Loco Add-On
• Europa Universalis IV: Wealth of Nations
• Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Conquest of Paradise
• Expansion - Europa Universalis IV: Res Publica
• Grand Central Class 180 'Adelante' DMU Add-On
• Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - Gilroy Route Add-On
• SONIC ADVENTURE 2: BATTLE
• Small World - A Spider's Web
• Small World - Cursed
• Small World - Royal Bonus
• The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - Goodies Pack
• The Dungeon Of Naheulbeuk: The Amulet Of Chaos - OST
• Thompson Class B1 Loco Add-On
• Total War: Shogun 2 - Rise of the Samurai
• Train Sim World® 3: Birmingham Cross-city line
• Train Sim World®: BR Class 20 'Chopper' Loco
• Train Sim World®: Brighton Main Line: London Victoria - Brighton
• Train Sim World®: Caltrain MP36PH-3C 'Baby Bullet'
• Train Sim World®: Cathcart Circle Line: Glasgow - Newton & Neilston
• Train Sim World®: Clinchfield Railroad: Elkhorn - Dante
• Train Sim World®: Great Western Express
• Train Sim World®: Hauptstrecke Hamburg - Lubeck
• Train Sim World®: LIRR M3 EMU
• Train Sim World®: Long Island Rail Road: New York - Hicksville
• Train Sim World®: Nahverkehr Dresden - Riesa
• Train Sim World®: Northern Trans-Pennine: Manchester - Leeds
• Train Sim World®: Peninsula Corridor: San Francisco - San Jose
• Train Sim World®: Rhein-Ruhr Osten: Wuppertal - Hagen
• Train Sim World®: Tees Valley Line: Darlington - Saltburn-by-the-sea
• Worms Rumble - Armageddon Weapon Skin Pack
• Worms Rumble - Captain & Shark Double Pack
• Worms Rumble - Legends Pack
• Worms Rumble - New Challengers Pack
• Ashampoo Photo Optimizer 7
• Dagon: by H. P. Lovecraft - The Eldritch Box DLC
• Duke Nukem Forever Hail to the Icons
• Duke Nukem Forever The Doctor Who Cloned Me
• GRIP: Combat Racing - Cygon Garage Kit
• GRIP: Combat Racing - Nyvoss Garage Kit
• GRIP: Combat Racing - Terra Garage Kit
• GRIP: Combat Racing - Vintek Garage Kit
• GameGuru
• GameMaker Studio 2 Creator 12 Months
• Intro to Game Development with Unity
• Music Maker EDM Edition
• Neverwinter Nights: Darkness Over Daggerford
• Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Dark Dreams of Furiae
• Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition Tyrants of the Moonsea
• Neverwinter Nights: Enhanced Edition
• Neverwinter Nights: Infinite Dungeons
• Neverwinter Nights: Pirates of the Sword Coast
• Neverwinter Nights: Wyvern Crown of Cormyr
• PDF-Suite 1 Year License
• Pathfinder Second Edition Core Rulebook and Starfinder Core Rulebook
• RPG Maker VX
• WWE 2K BATTLEGROUNDS - Ultimate Brawlers Pass
• We Are Alright
• The Outer Worlds Expansion Pass
• A Hat in Time - Seal the Deal DLC
• City Skylines:mass transit
• A Game Of Thrones - A Dance With Dragons
• A Game Of Thrones - A Feast For Crows
• Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Gods of Asgard
• Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mythical Monsters
• Blood Rage: Digital Edition - Mystics of Midgard
• Carcassonne - The Princess and The Dragon DLC
• Carcassonne - Traders & Builders DLC
• Carcassonne - Winter & Gingerbread Man DLC
• Carcassonne - Inns & Cathedrals
• Carcassonne - The River
• Splendor: The Trading Posts DLC
• Splendor: The Strongholds DLC
• Splendor: The Cities DLC
• Small World - Be Not Afraid... DLC
• Small World - Grand Dames DLC
• Small World - Cursed!
• Sands of Salzaar - The Ember Saga
• Sands of Salzaar - The Tournament
• Monster Train: The Last Divinity DLC
• WARSAW

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Wishlist
Region: NA (Canada)
Fees on buyer if any, currency is USD unless specified
CTRL + F to find your games in terms of name

• 10 Second Ninja X
• 11-11 Memories Retold
• 112 Operator
• 12 is Better Than 6
• 198X
• 1993 Space Machine
• 60 Parsecs
• 7 Billion Humans
• 8 DOORS
• 8-bit Adventure Anthology: Volume I
• 9 Years of Shadows
• 911 Operator
• A Game of Thrones: The Board Game
• A Hat in Time
• A Hole New World
• A JUGGLER'S TALE
• A Long Way Down
• A PLAGUE TALE: INNOCENCE
• A Robot Named Fight!
• A Tale for Anna
• A.I.M.2 Clan Wars
• Ace Combat Assault Horizon Enhanced Edition
• Adore
• Aeterna Noctis
• AETHERIS
• Agatha Christie Hercule Poirot The First Cases
• AIdol
• Airborne Kingdom
• Alba: A Wildlife Adventure
• Alder's Blood: Definitive Edition
• Alfred Hitchcock - Vertigo
• Alien Breed Trilogy
• Aliens vs. Predator™ Collection
• All-Star Fruit Racing
• Almost There: The Platformer
• American Fugitive
• American Truck Simulator
• Amerzone: The Explorer’s Legacy
• AMID EVIL
• Amnesia rebirth
• Amnesia: The Dark Descent + Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
• Anomalous
• Another World – 20th Anniversary Edition
• Antigraviator
• Anuchard
• APICO
• APICO
• Aragami
• Aragami 2
• Arboria
• Arcade Paradise
• Arcade Paradise - Arcade Paradise EP
• Arcade Spirits
• Arkham Horror: Mother's Embrace
• Armada 2526 Gold Edition
• Army Men RTS
• army of ruin
• Arto
• Ary and the Secret of Seasons
• As Far as the Eye
• Ascension to the Throne
• Assemble With Care
• Assetto Corsa Competizione
• Assetto Corsa Ultimate Edition
• Astebreed Definitive Edition
• Astronarch
• Attack of the Earthlings
• Automachef
• Automobilista
• Automobilista 2
• AUTONAUTS
• AUTONAUTS VS PIRATEBOTS
• Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora™ - Ubisoft Connect
• AVICII Invector: Encore Edition
• Awesomenauts All Nauts pack
• Baba is you
• Back 4 Blood
• Back 4 blood (EU)
• Backbone
• Baldur's Gate II: Enhanced Edition
• Baldur's Gate: Enhanced Edition
• Banners of Ruin
• Bartlow's Dread Machine
• BASEMENT
• Batbarian: Testament of the Primordials
• Batman: Arkham Asylum Game of the Year Edition
• Batman: Arkham Origins
• Battle Royale Tycoon
• Battlecruisers
• Battlestar Galactica Deadlock
• BATTLESTAR GALACTICA DEADLOCK SEASON ONE
• Battlestar Galactica Deadlock: Complete
• BATTLETECH MERCENARY COLLECTION
• BATTLETECH Shadow Hawk Pack
• BEAUTIFUL DESOLATION
• BEFORE WE LEAVE
• Beholder 2
• Ben 10
• Ben 10: Power Trip
• Bendy and the Ink Machine™
• Between the Stars
• Beyond a Steel Sky
• Beyond The Edge Of Owlsgard
• Beyond the Long Night
• BEYOND THE WIRE
• Beyond: Two Souls
• BIOMUTANT
• Bionic Commando
• Bionic Commando Rearmed
• BioShock: The Collection
• BLACK BOOK
• Black Moon Chronicles
• Black Paradox
• BLACK SKYLANDS
• BLACKHOLE: Complete Edition
• Blacksad: Under the Skin
• Blade of Darkness
• Blasphemous
• Blazing Chrome
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• The Way
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• TINY TINA'S WONDERLANDS CHAOTIC GREAT EDITION
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• Vambrace: Cold Soul
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• Victoria 3
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• Warhammer vermintide collector's edition
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• WE NEED TO GO DEEPER
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Hey guys!
I like a girl since we were in class 6th!
Lambi story hai dosto, don't judge me!
She left school in 7th grade, just as I realized I liked her. Despite struggling academically, I unexpectedly came 2nd in 8th grade. I tried reaching out on Facebook and WhatsApp, but conversations were sparse. In 9th and 10th, I switched schools to an all-boys institution, where I found her on Facebook through mutual friends. Despite her limited activity, I maintained contact through Facebook and WhatsApp groups. Through Polytech and Btech, our communication hardly continued. In my 4th year of Btech, we reconnected and began sharing topics, including collaborating on articles for my website. Despite our busy schedules, we stayed in touch, and she even used me as a professional reference during a job switch.
I kept talking to her, sometimes flirting, while also pursuing my passion for guitar and posting songs on Instagram. She would often ask for song recommendations and even requested songs dedicated to her. Additionally, she asked me to edit her videos, showing a growing level of trust and connection. She eventually moved to Pune for a job, and we remained in contact as she searched for accommodation, even engaging in video calls. When her company allowed remote work, she returned to town, sparking strong feelings in me.
Feeling like everything she said was a green light, I decided to confess my feelings. One day, while chatting on WhatsApp, she asked for a caption for her display picture, and in my nervousness, I opted for a light-hearted response instead of revealing my true feelings.
After that I asked her that I have a crush on someone! and want to tell her, will she like me! She asked me do you talk to her? I said yes. She said - daily baat hoti hai? I said - casually! jese tere se baat hoti hai! kabhi lagta hai hint hai kabhi nahi lagta! She said - 2-3 din cut off krke dekh and see her reaction I said - mai agar msg na kru to hafto tak uska msg na aae. She said - fir nahi hai kuch, agar wo like krti hai to she will message you chahe busy hi kyu na ho! and if you like her, tell her about your feelings.
And I noticed that she deleted her photo for which she asked caption! I asked her why she said mind changed and not posting now!
Next day we are talking about games and she said to play truth and dare first ques she asked is who is your crust tell her name? I said - 'her name' she thought thatw as a joke and we move on!
Now after that I asked what are my chances if I ask my crush? She said - I don't know, and I don't who is your crush I said - you are She said - tu majak krra hai I said - mai majak kru karunga She said - no chances then😂.
That was the message and I broke down! It was midnight and it is light raining!
After that I tried to maintain the talk but it was not like before! Basically I have't said her clearly so that was a mistake of mine!
Now is been 2 years, we just casually talks in months! but the way is similar and we also met in friends grp meet! but last I messaged her is a year ago.
Now since I never go into any relation after that! The feeling are not that strong but I still kind of like her. sometime it feels I should tell her again and ask her out! and sometime I fear if she I really want her!
So what should I do? I am still confused and I might know what to do, but still have doubts that I haven't clearly express my feelings and I should ask her again directly then thought she already knew still she didn't show any interest!

Caution: Long Post
The Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. is without doubt and still is to this day one of the most influential, powerful, and iconic figures in American history due to his steadfast and nonviolent commitment in the fight for Civil Rights, Equality, and Justice during Jim Crow Segregation in the United States. The highlight of his career as an activist came in 1963 in which he delivered his famous "I Have a Dream" speech in front of Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. in which he envisioned a nation in which his children will be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character. This resulted in the Civil Rights Act of 1964 to be passed. Even after his assassination in 1968, his legacy inspired many similar Civil Rights Movements around the world.
Today, Martin Luther King, Jr. is hailed by both sides of the American Political Sphere as a Beacon of Hope on how to fight for Justice and Equality for all during turbulent times. But it's the Conservatives who constantly claim that they truly support him and follow his dream, especially in modern times and they've expressed it in a rather whitewashed and partisan fashion. The most obvious being their use of his "I Have a Dream" speech by quoting the one line that has often been cherry-picked and misinterpreted quite a lot in which they judge people not by skin but by their character. The main reason they do this is to give them the appearance that they are colorblind as their way of opposing racism. And in doing so, they consistently criticize Liberals of trying to divide the country into special interest groups and promote favoritism. As a result, they always claim that Dr. King is a Republican, let alone would've been one in this era given his views, along with the fact that he was a Christian. His niece, Alveda King even emphasized it herself.
Some of the ways that Conservatives try to supposedly live up to Dr. King's "Colorblind" Dream is by opposing supposed "Wokeness", Critical Race Theory, and the practice of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion everywhere. They also express it by opposing Affirmative Action and the use of Racial Quotas when it comes to applying for schools, universities, and jobs because they believe it causes Reverse Discrimination. In terms of nonviolence, Conservatives express their disapproval of the Black Lives Matter movement. On the basis of Christianity, Conservatives believe that Dr. King supported a fixed moral code as indicated in his Letters from Birmingham Jail since he led with love and not racial hatred by changing the lives of people and not the laws itself, along with the notion of self-sufficiency. Seeing all this, it seems like Conservatives are really desperate to prove how much America has progressed in this post-racial world in order to debunk accusations that it isn't a racist country and that's why they always prop up Dr. King by claiming that they follow his dream and will continue to do so. Well.....up until now.
During this year's Martin Luther King Day, a string of prominent Conservative activists and organizations suddenly turned on him. Starting off with Charlie Kirk of the Youth Conservative Movement Turning Point USA, who launched a blistering anti-MLK campaign in which he supposedly dispelled the alleged myths surrounding his popularity. He accused Dr. King of being a "Bad Person" and that his "Sainthood will cause Black voters to realize it's being used against them to suppress the individual." He even went further by stating that "we made a huge mistake when we passed the Civil Rights Act in the 1960s" accusing it as "a way to get rid of the First Amendment". A while ago, the organization marketed the Conservative image of Dr. King when they sold $55 T-Shirts with his name as well as stickers of him with the words "Let Freedom Ring". Kirk was later joined by the Daily Wire's Matt Walsh who accused him of being a "communist". In fact, he railed against Dr. King a few years ago by accusing him of being a Womanizer, Adulterer, Plagiarizer, etc. Coming after Walsh was Human Events editor, conspiracy theorist, and fellow Turning Point USA alumna Jack Posobiec, who labeled Dr. King "a God of the Left" and stating that "the real legacy of the 1960s was enshrining Racial Discrimination and Race Consciousness into the Federal Bureaucracy." And finally, a popular Conservative Twitter account called "EndWokeness" called Dr. King "a Racial Marxist" because he "did not support a Colorblind Meritocracy" after it cited his quote on Wealth Distribution. What's even worse is that even non-White Conservatives hate him. Two examples include a commentator named Vince Everett Ellison and former football player and sports columnist, Jason Whitlock. The latest editions to the lineup of Black Guilt Conservatives, they railed against Dr. King and the passing of the Civil Rights by stating that they worsened the Black community by drifting them away from God into "Democratic Dependency". They even accused him of the same crimes as Walsh did.
With the sudden change in tone and emphasis from the Right against Dr. King, you have to ask yourself why they're doing this and what caused them to believe this way. And this is not an extremist fringe of the Right that some would expect to hear from. All of these are Mainstream Right-Wing Figures who have direct lineage to the GOP, including the current presidential nominee, Donald Trump. That's as Establishment you can get. Their remarks have been criticized by a lot of people from both sides and surprisingly by some Black Conservatives. One of them was Pastor Darrell Scott, a former faith advisor of Trump, who these days, is one of a few Black Conservatives who has been calling out other Black Conservatives for tearing down their own race in order to elevate their status among others, a very notorious habit of them. He criticized Kirk for inspiring a Hitler Youth. Another was Kimberly Klacik, who in 2020, gained viral for her campaign video stating that Black Lives don't matter to Democrats when she was running for Maryland's 7th Congressional District following the death of Civil Rights Leader, Elijah Cummings, who was the incumbent. She criticized Kirk for his remarks stating that his rhetoric will prevent Blacks from voting Republican. Even with that said, there have been instances in which Conservatives themselves have questioned the Civil Rights Act and many of them have been pretty negative. If you check out other Conservative websites and especially here on Reddit, many of their criticisms echo the same sentiments as those Pundits stating that it was unconstitutional and that in infringed on the First Amendment, particularly the Notion of Freedom of Association.
That being said, there is some silver lining to this. Now, that they exposed themselves for what they really of think Dr. King, I think it's time for them to admit that they never really liked him in the first place, let alone understood who he really was and what he really stood for. In fact, they never really liked him at all. All they did was whitewash him and cherry-pick his ideas and speech for own Partisan Agenda. Dr. King constantly talked about the notion of Black Pride and campaigned about the need for Reparations. He also supported Affirmative Action stating in 1965 that "a Society that has done something special against the Negro for hundreds of years must now do something special for the Negro. Dr. King realized that our society was created in a way that managed to disadvantage the many for the benefit the few, and that America's Racial Hierarchy was connected to its Class Hierarchy. He also had political beliefs that manifested through both Racial Reconciliation and Concrete Policy Changes that could help restructure and benefit a divided and unequal nation. This is the reason why he referred to himself as a Democratic Socialist as he wanted a "Radical Redistribution of Economic and Political Power". In fact, he argued that true Equality can only be achieved, not just through legal rights, but through an equal distribution of resources. This is evident when he said “Call it democracy, or call it democratic socialism, but there must be a better distribution of wealth within this country for all God’s children.” This is the exact vision that Vermont Independent Senator Bernie Sanders believed in. After all, he did participate in the March on Washington in 1963. In regards to Police Brutality, while Dr. King opposed violent protest, he did acknowledge that a Riot is the language of the Unheard and that it came from a place of Desperation. In fact, in his "I Have a Dream" Speech, he stated that Blacks could "never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the Victim of the Unspeakable Horrors of Police Brutality." After all, he was hounded by the FBI, was called a Communist, broke the law in protest of race-based Segregation and Violence, was thrown in jail, advocated Protests and Sit-Ins, opposed White Rule of Society, and was assassinated for his Race and his views on Race. Regarding the quote about the Content of Character from said speech, Dr. King's daughter, Bernice King stated that using solely that quote diminishes the purpose of the entire speech because her father's dream and work included "eradicating Racism, not ignoring it."
If anything, this goes to show that is Dr. King were around today, he would be heavily criticized for being Woke, politically correct, a Communist, a Race Hustler, and a member of the Radical Left. And we all know that the Right hates those ideologies passionately. But here's the thing, he never considered himself a Democrat, let alone a Republican. He was an Independent as he felt that both parties are the same. And reducing his legacy to a single quote diminishes the gains that he fought for and believed in. This especially goes to a lot of Conservatives out there who claim to follow his lead using that quote because they interpret them in a way that benefits them today than how he meant them back then. For you to claim that he didn't care about Skin Color is like saying Susan B. Anthony didn't care about Gender. And to those Conservatives who now hate him, including Black, I hope you're OK with people getting treated unfairly, including your own. Who knew being seen as an Equal is a Negative in your eyes.

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

Bought an Akai 4000DS around Christmas, haven't had much chance to use it between classes and my flat being tiny. The seller said it was refurbished, and it is (clean, new belt and replacement switches that had come off), but the speed's a bit off: the 3¾-7½ switch doesn't seem to do much of anything, although I've read that these particular units may also need a capstan cover in order to actually switch speeds. Anyone know if that's the case? The main problem is what happens when tape travel starts: it whizzes along super fast for a song or two until the tension on the tape on the take-up reel slows it down to normal, and it's fine until the end of the side. At the very least, I think that's what the problem is. I'm guessing that the pinch roller will have shrunk, but if it's refurbished that seems odd? Perhaps it's not engaging properly? Happy to answer any questions and attach photos or video upon request. Any help would be much appreciated :) -J

As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”