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07/06/2020 01:56 PM 


  --------        I'VE BEEN TRYING TO FIND A REASON. Doing the wrong thing for the right reasons is still the wrong thing. Or, however that saying goes. Yet, who was it that invented the laws of morality? Who decided what was right and what was wrong? It certainly wasn't Kristen. The woman walking through the alleyway with a purpose and confidence that is highly unparalled. The smell of garbage, rotting and heavy doesn't faze her or her confidence. New York City's sky is far too loud for any stars to be of any purpose. The distant, fading flickering of an light above her head trying to stay lit. Lightbulb ticking, a thick cobweb casting shadows. A spider the light's only visitor in ages. Both buildings on either side of Kristen have been abandoned for years.Green eyes shine. Exceptionally green. Inhumanly green. The very things that so very obviously give away the fact she's a mutant, otherwise her beautiful features, even dirty mark her as a normal human. Blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Jeans that fit a little too perfectly. A plain white ribbed tank underneath a button up fleece. Kristen really can pull off anything.Especially with that smile. It's curling up the corner of her lips just as Marcus turns. Kristen's head tilts too. There is understanding written in the way his body stiffens - he knows who she is even before he completely turns, even before the slight fear in his brown eyes sparks in the bad lighting. Her eyes are still so vibrant, her smile is still so simple, a little too pretty in this dirty alleyway. He's waiting on another contact. One of Kane's men. Her enemy, the man running for Senator. The very villain of this story. A gurgle of surprise somewhere in between Kristen disappearing and reappearing right in front of him - blade now lodged in his throat, slicing. She steps aside before she even gets messy. Green eyes still shining. Smile still pretty.Aiden Kane may still be the villain, but she never said she wasn't a bad guy. It doesn't matter if she's doing these things to stop them. They're still wrong. There's an anger that's laced in Kristen's blood that just can't go away. A tale of vengeance and sorrow that we've heard far too much. But, really;   who's invented morality?

drabble, ali larter, crime, assassin, morality


07/06/2020 01:51 PM 


01.   The main muse is KRISTEN DURUS.  Unless you directly pick otherwise, she'll be the main character I plot with. Don't be afraid to pick. I'm just here to write. Like a faceclaim? Tell me. Like a character? Tell me. I'll even make verses to fit in your character's storyline or for your character's needs.02.   I prefer plotting in messages. I don't care where we write.  drabbles.01. morality / kristen durus.

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07/06/2020 01:46 PM 


header one short disclaimer here - remind them to sign after reading. topic Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. orem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. topic Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. orem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. topic Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. orem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur.

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07/06/2020 01:46 PM 


header one header two header three header four bold text underline text tt text italic text strong text big text small textregular link regular text is small and in consolas. this is a blockquote example - Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. orem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua. Ut enim ad minim veniam, quis nostrud exercitation ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip ex ea commodo consequat. Duis aute irure dolor in reprehenderit in voluptate velit esse cillum dolore eu fugiat nulla pariatur. bigger linkcontent link


07/06/2020 01:16 PM 

drabble; against each other.

“We’re not gonna talk at all today, huh?” Sarah leans on the wall, watching him playing on the piano in the living room. They hadn’t said a single word to each other since the night before and Casey, content to keep it that way, continues playing as if he hadn’t heard her. Sarah sighs. “Casey, I said sorry. I cleaned up all the glass, I did what I had to do here, so can you please just say something? I don’t even care if it’s rude at this point.” “And if we bleed tonight, it won’t be for the last time…” Casey sings, his voice horse, unpracticed. The split in his lip stings each time his mouth moves. Her eyebrows furrow. “So we race, head on into the fire. These might be hard times but they’re our times now…” His chin finally lifts, but he still won’t look at her. Instead, he focuses on a framed photo behind the piano of the two of them -- their first taken together at a random party. There’s a part of him that wishes he could go back, but he can’t decide whether he’d go back so he could burn the bridge, or if he’d go back just for the sake of reliving what their happiness was like. “Remember this one?” “Are you f***ing with me right now?” Sarah snaps. “No…” “Really, because it sounds like a whole lot of sarcasm to me.” “Then you’re missing my point.” “What’s your point?” “You remember the next words, right?” Casey looks over at her. She’s unrecognizable. The Sarah he saw last night, chucking glasses around and yelling isn’t the one he wrote the song for. The Sarah whose first instinct in the face of a disagreement is a punch to the mouth isn’t the one he wrote the song for either. The Sarah forcing apologies for the sake of ego definitely isn’t the one he wrote the song for. “You are f***ing with me.” “No, I’m not, I’m telling you how I feel. You wanted to talk, right?” Casey turns his attention on the keys, but stopped playing. “I always think about that song when we fight… because it makes me think of a time when it really was you and me against the world. Even though everyone hated it, we were like, well you know what, we’re getting married, so there. We stumbled down the aisle drunk to spite everyone who disagreed with it. We got a house in LA instead of Georgia like your parents wanted. It was always us and nothing else really mattered, you know? And now I feel like we’re against each other.” “You really think that, huh…?” “It’s really hard not to sometimes.” “Casey…” Sarah steps toward the piano, her arms folded. She reaches a hand out briefly to try and brush his hair back, but he turns his head, and she instantly retracts, as if shielding herself. Casey goes back to staring at their picture, eyebrows knit together, his jaw clenched. “It just sucks. And I feel like I keep saying it sucks over and over and over, and then we’re right back here again. I’m sick of it.” Sarah sighs, plopping down on the bench beside him. She idly starts mimicking his fingers across the keys while he scoots further away. “So, what do we do then?” she asks. Casey shrugs, shaking his head. “If I knew that, we wouldn’t be talking like this, would we?”   Get your own valid XHTML YouTube embed code


07/06/2020 01:15 PM 

drabble; harmless.

cw: blood, violenceslight follow-up to catharsis. more NPC work coming soon. Casey huddles up against the wall, his arms shielding his head as if he’s taking cover from a falling ceiling. He can’t breathe. He can’t stop himself from shaking, despite the excruciating ache it causes. If he cries anymore, he’ll throw up, but he can’t stop that either. In the kitchen, he hears Allan slamming dishes around in the sink. There’s distant muttering he can’t fully understand, the rantings of a guy who should have never been in charge of babysitting, appointed by a woman who should have never been in charge of parenting. After a few minutes, he finally manages to pull himself off the ground, though the strength it took is quick to falter once he gets a good look at himself -- the blood dribbling off his chin, the mangled hair, the bloodshot eyes. His lip doesn’t even look real, bright red and swollen entirely out of proportion. When he touches his fingertips to it to catch the blood, he realizes it’s gone almost completely numb. This is his life. The realization of that makes his chest ache. This is his life, his lip, his too-tiny apartment. His absent mother. His sorry excuse for a new step-father, or babysitter, or whatever else she chooses to call him. His blood. A sudden banging on the door causes his heart to jolt again, where it’d previously stopped short at the sight of his face. Casey holds tightly to the counter to stop his hands from shaking, but lets it go, thinking Allan might go on ignoring him. No such luck. After a few more obnoxiously aggressive knocks, Casey flings the door open. “What do you want?” They stare at each other for a long time, but Casey can’t figure out whether Allan is feeling remorseful or not. For some reason, the part of him that had once naively regarded Allan as a harmless goofball clings to the idea that he could show some semblance of humanity and apologize, but he doesn’t. “I changed my mind, you can come out and help clean this up.” Casey looks beyond him. The only thing left is the blood on the floor. He feels woozy all over again. “No,” he snaps. “That’s technically your problem.” “I’m not gonna tell you again, get out here and help clean this. The hell’s the matter with you? Didn’t your mom teach you to listen when someone’s in charge of you? C’mon.” Allan latches onto his arm. It’s fight for flight; a knee-jerk reaction in the wake of desperation. Hitting hasn’t worked in the past. He’s not strong enough to yank his arm back, and so instead, he hawks a mixture of spit and blood into Allan’s face. With his arm free, Casey stumbles back into the counter. Everything stops. Casey and Allan stare at each other, jaws both identical in the way they come completely unhinged, but neither say a word. Allan wipes his face slowly, looks at his hand in some kind of disbelief and then sees himself out, slamming the bathroom door behind him, causing Casey’s entire body to shudder. He missed his chance. Pent up adrenaline propels the fist that would have been saved for Allan into the door, then again and a third time before he finally recedes right back to the wall where he had been, huddled up in hiding. Unable to catch a breath. Crying, again? Right back to square one. “What the f***…”


07/06/2020 07:16 PM 

Task 2 - 4th July

blah blah


07/06/2020 07:40 PM 

Swtor Credits For Sale Fundamentals Explained

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07/06/2020 01:10 PM 

The Rules

Welcome to my account. I know I hate having rules but some like to make it difficult so I had to follow these we should get along fine. 1. No flirting, hitting on of my character will be tolerated. I don't care or want excuses including their characters are like this or their nature. Also no asking for smut or explicit roleplays. This is a roleplay and writing site not a brothel or p0rno. Don't ask to ship with their characters either. I am here to write, make stories. Not here to sleep around or do booty calls. Anyone that tries will be blocked. End of story. 2. No one liners or text speakers. To write with me I expect some proper grammar. I am not a neo nazi grammar person. But I expect few mistakes here and there. Use of proper grammar is required if those that can't do this. Then I won't bother. Like effort. To write with me the length I want is Para to multiple paragraph nothing less than that. 3.  I will not tolerate God modding, bullying, or anyone to control my muse, character. That includes killing them or forcing them into a relationship. I will do and portray, ship my character how I choose. No one has the right to tell me how to write, do my character. I respect everuomr and how they do their characters I expect same in return. Killing  or forcing my character into anything, anyone tells me how to do my character, including causing drama over shipping, over status updates I do is my business, or without โ€‹my knowledge or discussion first will be blocked or deleted. 4. I am patient and lenient on replies. We got a busy life outside of here. Take your time. If those that hassle me if it hasn't been a hour, ask me to redo a starter, stop replying to discussions, or stop replying to roleplays without telling me first will be removed. 

Roleplay Rules

That Other Stilinski

07/05/2020 11:42 PM 

Out of group mains

Coming soon


07/05/2020 08:10 PM 

Task 002: Independence Day Carnival

The sun was shining in through the bedroom window as Starlee began getting dressed for the evening. For the first time in ten years, she was going to be able to attend one of her most favorite events in Fairhope; Independence Day Carnival. It was a huge deal for the small town. People seemed to come from miles just to participate in the annual event. Growing up, Star attended every carnival with her parents. During her father's first term as deputy mayor, it had been a political outing. Starlee wasn't allowed to be seen with anyone other than her parents. She couldn't be seen hanging around with the town hoodlums. Star always found a moment to sneak away though. The carnival brought back so many beautiful memories for Starlee and she was more than excited to get to go this year. She finished getting dressed in her denim cut-offs, and her red crop top and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals. Grabbing her keys and her sunglasses she walked out of her door and headed off toward the fairground.The different smells of the carnival greeted Star first. There were the sweet smells; churros, fried everything, and Starlee's ultimate favorite. As she approached the cotton candy stall. It was the most nostalgic part of the carnival for Star. She smiled as she slid the money down and stood back to wait for her light as air spun sugar. While the pink was prettier to look at, she always thought the blue cotton candy tasted better. Pinching off a bit she let the sugar dissolve on her tongue as she navigated her way through the different people. She could tell that some people recognized her. She was sure there were whispers as she walked by, but the truth was that Starlee didn't care. She could let them talk, let them whisper. She was eating her favorite sweet treat, and walking around a fairground she never thought she would see again. Sure, this was a celebration for America but deep down, Star believed it was a celebration for herself as well.Starlee loved seeing all the happy people. The carnival was the perfect way to bring people together, even if it was only for one day. She walked past the various game stalls. The ones where parents would drop giant amounts of cash to appease their screaming child. Everyone trying to win one of the top prizes. The sight brought back so many fond memories of herself as a child, trying desperately to win the goldfish in the middle of the cluster of glass vases. Chuckling to herself, Star moved along. She tossed her empty cotton candy away as she passed a trash can and made a second stop to buy some lemonade. The evening was wearing down, and bright lights were starting to twinkle all around her. People were passing by her heading toward the field at the pack of the fairgrounds. That was the best spot to view the fireworks that would be lighting up the sky later on that night.Starlee could hear familiar music and knew what she would come to when she rounded the next bend. In the middle of the fairgrounds stood the only way Star would be found on a horse. The carousel was like a beacon of hope for Starlee. Her whole life she had been terrified of real horses, but the frozen, galloping horses of the carousel seemed to fill her with joy. She sipped on her lemonade, as she put herself in line. It had been ten years, and Star was now a grown adult. She needed this circular ride to make her feel like the kid she was when she was stripped of the life that she knew. She could help but smile as the horse she sat upon moved up and down, the lights blurring just a little as she twirled around. The music ringing in her ears just added to the nostalgia. She could have stayed on the ride all night, but there was still so much to see before the night was over.The ride stopped and the children filed out in front of her, like a little parade to find their parents and move on to the next ride. She kept walking along the dirt path until she came upon another popular attraction of the carnival. It was a little petting zoo where people could reach over a fence and pet a few baby animals. It was like a magnet pulling her in. Reaching down, she scratched the head of a sleepy baby goat before she moved along on her way. The air smelled of sweet southern barbecue and the paths were lined with flowing American flags. It was all leading to the final stop of the carnival. The crowded pathways opened up in the crisp green field. People were already gathered, as the sun was nearly set. To her left, was the Ferris wheel loaded with people who were waiting to watch the fireworks from their dangling chairs. Starlee found a pile of wooden boxes and took a seat. Just as she did, a single red light filled the air, signaling the show was about to begin.


07/05/2020 06:38 PM 

Activity Check - July 5, 2020

ACTIVITY CHECK, July 5, 2020 Character development!  For this activity check, we want to know about your character's living space this week (can be any room, i.e. bedroom, kitchen, bathroom).  So the activity goes as follows; search the internet for pictures that will best express your character's area of living. Keep in mind your locations in Valkery based on which group you are a part of, people, rioter, etc. After finding this image of what you feel would be a living space for your character, please do the following: Write a drabble (at least 5-10 sentences) describing the room underneath the picture.  Get creative! You can write what you'd like about the room but feel free to describe it and how your character feels in this space. Once you have posted this in a bulletin, please comment this blog with the link to the drabble!  We would love to see what you come up with!This is due in one week (July 12, 2020) before 5PM EST.  If you have any questions, please ask one of your moderators!

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07/05/2020 05:50 PM 

The Truth

There’s a pounding sound. A deep dark pounding sound. I’ll never forget it. I’m laying on the waterbed, entangled with Astrid’s muscled legs. I turn over and I’m engulfed in my lovers body as she snuggles close to me, mumbling something in her sleep. We finally have our own place, and it’s a small little place in Burbank and close enough to my uncle that I can visit him at work. “Make it stop.” I moan. We’ve partied too much this weekend and the evidence is clear from the vodka bottles and beer cans that decorate our bedroom.   The knocking doesn’t stop. Astrid groans, curses and throws her pillow. I know not to bother her when she’s angry. I back away because she is her father’s daughter even if she looks more like her mother. She rises and gets up naked. Astrid has never been ashamed of her body like I often have, and why not? She’s slim in all the right places, firmed and muscled where she needs to be. She slips on some basketball style shorts and a tank. Her fingers grab at her cigarette case and she fumbles for one. “F***ing hell!” Astrid yells. She looks over at me. “If this is your f***ing uncle...”   I shrink back. “No. He’d call first.” I say. I’m naked too and I pull our covers up to my armpits. “I’ll be right back.” Astrid says through the cigarette she’s got in her mouth unlit. I nod. I watch her go and this is the last time my life is normal. I hear muted voices, Astrid’s cursing. “Star!” She screams.   On wooden legs I manage to slip into my skirt and a tee shirt and head into the living room. It’s like moving underwater and in slow motion—I see the police cuff Astrid and read her rights. One starts towards me and Astrid yanks back. “No! She had nothing to do with it. She didn’t know!”   I shrink back again. “What’s going on?”   “You’re under arrest for helping in the murder of Sharon Tate, Jay Sebring, Abigail Folgers...” the first police officer said as he read off the names. I feel sick. I touch the stone railing near the door. “Astrid?”   “It’s nothing.” Astrid turns a bit as the police officer shoves her forward. “It’s nothing, Star. your uncle. I’ll need a good lawyer.”   *** I smoke up all my cigarettes, do all the pot. Once I’m high and relaxed I call my Uncle Tar and tell him what happened. In an hour he is over at the apartment, dressed in his Bermuda shorts, polo shirts and Pukka Shell necklace like he’s a tourist in Hollywood. “Did she do it?” He asks me and helps himself to Astrid’s expensive liquor cabinet. He makes me a drink and slides it to me.   “I don’t know. She told me she didn’t.” I’m chain smoking like a freight train and every time I try to light a cigarette, my hands shake.   “Here.” My uncle takes it from me and lights one. I inhale. “Drink some vodka. It’ll warm ya up and keep ya steady. Pack a bag. You can stay with me and Vivienne tonight. She misses you.” Vivienne Adare is his newest muse and girlfriend. She’s a thirty year old German model with a thick accent and big breasts. I’ve got to admit to myself that Tar has good taste in women. I’ve seen Vivienne study me as I secretly check her out, my eyes fleeing back to Astrid. She smiles and never says nothing and never treats me any differently but I know she knows.   I don’t listen to the news, though Tar turns it on. I’m sipping straight vodka, no chaser, no flavor. It stings my throat and burns the whole way down and I cry quietly into my tumbler.   It’s said the last of the “Manson Women” have been arrested for the murders of the Tate Fraction. With shaky fingers I pluck at a cigarette and set it down. Astrid’s pale face flashes before me on the news, and I watch as she’s being lead inside the jail. I know she’ll be in with Squeaky, Sadie and the others but I can’t help but worry for her.   Astrid’s genealogy is revealed and her life is exposed. I am exposed with it as detailing of being her “lesbian lover”. I cringe and soon enough my apartment duplex is surrounded with the press. Tar peers out the windows. “We gotta do a distraction.”   “How?” I ask. I grab a bottle. I’m going to get so f***ed up I can’t remember anything.   “I got this.” Tar waves a hand. “Pack.” He demands of me.   I head into our bedroom and grab a few things at random. I grab one of Astrid’s shirts that still smell like her and stuff it into my bag and then the stuffed Panda she recently got me because I love them. I try not to cry. Cosmetics and personal items are next. I leave everything else.   I hear gunshots outside. “What the hell, Tar?”   “Go through the back. Down the fire escape.” He’s laughing and I know he’s high on acid. Grumbling I follow my uncle down the fire escape to his Pontiac Firebird Sky Bird in Powder Blue. It’s his baby though Tar has promised it to me as a wedding present if Astrid and I ever get married. Astrid loves this car and when Tar lets us we cruise the hills in it, radio loud listening to Conway Twitty at full blast.   We make it into the car. Uncle Tar puts it in drive and we slide out unscathed.   *** I sleep for what feels like days and I do not wake until Vivienne is forcing soup into my hands. She stares down at me in concern her words thick and heavily accented with her German. “You drink Dis.” She says. “It is special soup from Germany. Make you well again.”   I take it. I sip it and make a face. “What the f*** is in it?” It’s salty, thick and overpowering.   “Family secret.” She grins and pats my face. “You be well now. Drink more little Star shine.”   I drink as much as I can muster and she soon exchanges this for some German vodka and hands it to me. That I take willingly and drain almost half until it feels like it will come back up. She stops me and pulls away. “Shower. You stink. Need to get pretty again.”   I can’t deny that. On shaky legs she helps me to the shower. “Thank you.” I say humbly.   “Astrid is killer no?” Vivienne asks me. She pulls clothes out, inspects them and tosses them back. “Hippie clothing. Let me get you something.” That last part is spoke in Good English and soon she comes back with a stylish black eyelet dress for me. “I can’t--”   “You take it now.” She insists. She stands outside the door to make sure I take a shower. The hot water feels good and I soon use the bath lotion and other things she’s brought me. Once I am done and dried off I slip into the black eyelet lace dress. It fits me perfectly. I clip the red belt on. “OK. I’m done.”   Vivienne opens the door and nods. “Beautiful. With that hair, gorgeous.” She flips my red hair behind my back. “Now you ready to face world.”   I am not so sure about that. I’ve had no contact with Astrid in over 78 hours, the longest we have ever been apart.   But I follow Vivienne out into the mansion. Uncle Tar is in his office down the hall, I can smell pot as it comes from the crack in the door. He’s laughing at something. Music is playing, The Doors are talking about the End.   And it’s an appropriate song because I feel like it’s the End for me. My lover has been arrested for the murders of Sharon Tate and her friends after promising me she had nothing to do with it, she wasn’t like her father. I feel sick again thinking about it.   “You go see her?” Vivienne was leaning against the wall smoking.   “I don’t know.”   “See her. You get truth. And money.”   I raise my eyes towards her. “I don’t want money. I have enough of that.”   She smiles. “Never enough.” She says around her black cigarette, imported from Russia. “You learn soon. You want woman to stay? You do what need to be done. You get kept. She wants you, that’s easy to see. But being kept...” Vivienne rolled her hand. “Like your uncle. Easy to form. Men are so. They like it. Makes them feel good. With women? I know not. But that one has eyes for you. Use to advantage.” She suggests.   I did need to know the truth. I nod a moment and grab a bottle of imported vodka excusing myself for the guest office. I can still hear Uncle Tar’s laughter, smell the sweet scent of pot. I make a call to the California Women’s Prison.   *** I am scheduled a visit. It shall not be televised, no cameras. It will just be me and Astrid. Tar has pulled strings for this. He wants us both comfortable and has told me to carry a recorder. I did not want to but then thought better of it.   I have never been inside a prison. I’m shaking at being checked out, at the insults Astrid has have to endure without me. Soon I am lead into the room where we can visit. No cameras, nothing but my tape recorder. Feeling bad I put it on the table top. Soon she comes out. In her orange jumpsuit she looks smaller. She does not look so big as she used to, and her swagger is somewhat diminished. Her hair is buzzed a bit and she has a bruise on her right eye.   “What happened?!” I exclaim and rise to my feet. “Who hit you?”   A guard pulls the longer cord from her but keeps her hands in chains. I run to hug her and Astrid leans into me. I feel her smelling me, as if committing my smell to memory and I am glad I wore her favorite scent; her nose brushes against my shoulder up to my neck and I feel for a second her sweet lips in the middle part.   “Nobody.” Astrid glances down at the recorder. “What the hell is that?”   “Tar wanted me to take it. I am not using it.” I say. We are left alone after this. I hear the slide of keys, of bars against metal.   She smiles a bit and sits down. I sit down too. My stomach is in knots and I wish I had smoked some before I left. “As, what happened?”   She looks away. Astrid does not speak for long, long moments. Enough to chill a body. “You know who I was when we got together.”   This does not help. My stomach clenches together. I feel fire burning in my throat. Fire is burning in my eyes, stinging hot tears trapped. “No.”   “Is this thing on?” Astrid takes the recorder and fiddles with it. I shake my head and she sets it down “Good. I can never betray Charlie. To betray Charlie is death.” She says softly.   “Are you really his daughter?” I want to reach for her hands and I do so. Astrid closes her eyes, I see her lower mouth tremble as she claps mine. Her fingers lovingly brush over mine sending chills up me.   “Yes.” Astrid’s eyes are on mine. “I f***ing miss you.”   This is a true statement. I can see it, feel it. I hold her hands tighter.   “I miss you too. I’m staying at Tar’s.” I whisper.   “With the German Boob?” We both laugh at that, as Astrid says Vivienne makes her uncomfortable too.   “Both of them.” I don’t tell her what the German Boob has told me about being kept. I smile and try to make this visit good for her. “Did you do it?” My face breaks a little and I can feel tears slip from it.   “Star...”   “Did you help kill her? She was pregnant, As.” I whisper. “Eight months. Did you help end her life and her friends? They were innocent!”   “Innocent!” Astrid drops my hands and turns. “Nobody is ever innocent!” Then she pauses, and begrudgingly adds. “But you, I’d never let anyone hurt you. I never let Tex and I wouldn’t let Charlie.”   This makes me feel sick. “What do you mean?”   “You know. The women in his group. They both wanted to...wanted to f*** you. I fell in love with you and I kept you. You’re mine!” She exclaims, and pounds the table top.   I jump a little. Her anger is nothing new, but in this place it’s amplified. I knew about Tex, he made it no secret he wanted me. He’d even tried a few times to molest me and I managed to get away. Charlie I didn’t know about and I felt sick, like I wanted to throw up. I manage to suck in a breath of air, though.   “Go home, Star. Please talk to your uncle to get me out.” She doesn’t answer my question. I let go of her hands feeling sick. What if my lover had been responsible for hurting that poor woman and her friends? Could I live with it? Could I excuse Astrid?   It’s heavy on the soul. A feeling I can’t describe. I rise and Astrid’s blue eyes meet my brown ones. “I love you, Star.” She whispers. “My star shine.” She reaches a hand to me and my body aches. I feel myself kind of break.   “I’ll come back.” I say. “I have to go now, though. I’ll come back next week.”   “Squeaky Fromm says hi.” Astrid’s voice is hoarse. “And she misses you.”   It’s the last thing I hear as I leave the prison my entire body shaking from the feelings.  

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07/05/2020 05:49 PM 

The Beat Goes on

I remember this day, because we are both smiling. Looking at the faded photograph it’s hard to believe some of the women we are standing with on that bus became the cold hard murders they did. I no longer want to have anything to do with them, except for one and try to push it out of my mind. We believed in him, he was everything to us. As my mother, Butterfly said “Charlie is our God now. We listen to him.” As a young woman growing up within this cult it was something I began to believe was my mother’s rosary chant.My mother never allowed me to call her “Mother” or even “Mom” or “Mama”. It was always Butterfly. She was born Tabitha Sylvia Reed and she rebelled from an early age. I knew from what my mother had told me I was born out of wedlock which her parents, my grandparents hated. My father was an unknown figure, someone who had went on to Hollywood hoping to make it big in the movies. Butterfly and I were nothing but vagabonds. We stayed with her friends until they asked us, or made Butterfly leave. And she was addicted to everything by then; Weed, alcohol, acid you name it. I know she used to whore herself out for whatever she couldn’t get and then use me in the attempts to get us food because I needed to eat. Older gentlemen are a memory in the recesses of my young brain I did not like.I don’t think none of them ever touchme but seeing them slobber on Butterfly turn me way off the whole Adam and Eve thing. I am a rebel at a young age and Butterfly used to say I was like her brother who had left home at an early age to join the army right after she got pregnant. His name was Tarren and he went by Tar, and was just like Tar—thick and stubborn. They were fraternal twins who in childhood had been super close. People used to poke fun at their relationship and Butterfly at age fourteen told Tar they had to have sepearete rooms. Butterfly used to wonder if she was the reason Tar became the way he did.Other than that the only relation I ever hear Butterfly talk about is her first cousin, Jerry Reed. And by then he is a famous singer. I am his second cousin and she has snapped a picture once of me sitting on his knee at a family reunion. He is teaching me to guitar pick and I guess it must have stuck with me because music is what I live for. I think it’s one of the reasons Charlie would later take me and Butterfly in. That, and Butterfly’s loose ways with men. Much like with Dianne Lake he would have sex the moment they met. The other women in the group took to me and tried to distract me. Very early on we all form a bond.For a while we drift with Charlie and the girls and hit it big with Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys. His wife would take pity on me and take me shopping with his children and buy me clothes and accessories. Butterfly often take the hair ties, jewelry and whatnots she buys for me and sells them for drugs. The clothes I got to keep. One thing Brian’s wife buys me is a mood ring and I hide it from Butterfly. I still have it to this day and keep it in a keep sake pouch. I have given it to my lover as a present for our past and they wear it on a chain now around their neck.But eventually our good luck runs out. It was about the 70’s then and I am growing up. I am almost a teen and needed something more stable. I think Butterfly thinks about sending me to her parents but Charlie told her no. He likes me and he was teaching me how to play The Beatle’s song. He calls me his little Nightingale and would have me lead the singoffs at night. He doesn’t want to loose me. This is before Charlie became the darker spector we all know and so in a way he was kind of fatherly to me. That was before we got Spahn Ranch.***Spahn Ranch is massive. We soon establish a life here, nestled in the California hills. It is a paradise of sort for all hippies. We live in a commune. We wash each other’s clothes, cook each other’s meals and look after each other’s children. The ranch still has movie sets, and it was a paradise for children and even teens such as myself. A few b rated movies were still being made there, but nothing that would create a superstar. We even give daily tours and take care of the horses.During this time Charlie’s brought in a few others with him and one is labeled as possibly his daughter, or a relative. It is never revealed to the Family as what. I recall the day that we met. She is wearing a long tie dye skirt and a black tank top. Her hair is cut short, boyish pixie like Twiggy’s and she wears bright blue eye shadow. Around her neck is the Yin Yang Symbol. She is skinny as a flute and her face bright red as though she’d spent time in the sun. As Charlie makes his introductions our eyes met and then she looks away. I’m with Butterfly holding onto the neck of my old acoustic guitar I’ve named Betty.“She was watching you.” Butterfly whispers to me. “That’s good. She is Charlie’s daughter.”“How do you know?” I’m always the first to question everything. My mother sighs and pinches me, her form of making me behave. I smirk to myself. I have just rooted through her things earlier and found her weed, smoking a lot of it. I’m high as a kite and feeling really good. Right now I wouldn’t mind a stiff drink, though.“If Charlie says so it’s what it means.” She whispers back. I shrug and there’s a speech going on. Sometimes Charlie speaks truthful words, sometimes he rambles. Today is a rambling day. I see Squeaky From and she winks at me making me chuckle though Butterfly pinches me again. She does not like Squeaky or Sadie, or any of the women close to Charlie. Butterfly is jealous. She’s not in the “in” circle. Her sexual powers over Charlie wore off quickly so she sucks up to Tex, Charlie’s right hand. I don’t like Tex. He has dark eyes that remind me of the night sky without a cloud and stares at me as though he’d like to eat me up.I am the devil and I’m here to do the devil’s work.


07/04/2020 10:01 PM 

Owes List.

I OWE YOUJuliet-S-7-5-20YOU OWE ME


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