#I must change my focus from being neglected everywhere

[subtlerainy]

Don't ever miss the opportunity to be kind to someone. A mere "Hi there" can be a lifeline at times.

#Sorry if I ever seemed rude to anyone #I never meant to #And also #Today I feel safe because of these little things #and people who crossed my way because of Misha #So thank you for you two people who follow me and mind my existence in tumblr lol #I'm serious #*heavy breathing* #*sobbing intensifies* #I had my 3 antidepressants yes #I'll be back when I feel better #Maybe STISCTY can bring me some light #I must change my focus from being neglected everywhere #whatever

[animeomegas]

Who is the most needy while in heat?

I decided to write for a few characters for different categories: Clingiest, Horniest, Territorial and Requires Support. Enjoy~

Who is the clingiest:

1.     Itachi – Itachi has only ever had soft heats in his life(heats that are not sexually, but instead emotionally charged). He didn’t have his first heat until he was already part of the Akatsuki and didn’t feel safe enough for a proper heat. His health also isn’t the best, so his body knows to have soft heats rather than normal heats. Because he only has these types of heats, they are very strong. He feels a constant urge to be by your side, ideally with you touching him at all times. He can’t take suppressants because they mess with his illness, so he can’t minimise the effects. He spends the two days holed up in his room, the door locked and sealed shut. He won’t let you leave his nest much, growling and whining if you try. His instincts are screaming at him that he has to protect you and that you have to protect him. He can get a little addled and confused because the impulses are too strong. He’s extremely clingy in heat and he hates it. He always feels embarrassed afterwards.

2.     Izuku – Izuku is prone to crying and feeling very rejected if you neglect him during his preheat or heat. He feels the sting of rejection very strongly and feeling abandoned during a heat is… not good for omegas to put it lightly. It can make them sick if it’s serious enough. So, Izuku will definitely try and keep you in his nest as much as possible, asking wordlessly to be carried with you if you need to leave for a moment. Going to work or leaving the house during his heats (even when he’s on suppressants) is a no-no for him. He will do anything to get you to stay with him, including but not limited to hiding your keys, seducing you, and begging.

3.     Mammon – From the second he’s in preheat, he literally will not leave you alone. He’s very attention starved, but his slight tsundere tendencies keep him from acting on his need for affection. His heat and preheat remove the tsundere tendencies and make him even more desperate for attention. He’s hanging off of his Alpha constantly, following them around and sleeping in their room. He enjoys laying on top of them while they stroke his hair or rub his back. Will growl away anyone who tries to take you from him. If the growling doesn’t work, he’ll whine at you to stay with him because he knows you can’t refuse him when he’s like that.

4.     Kaoru – He doesn’t like how clingy he is, but it’s very uncomfortable for an omega to ignore their heat urges, so he doesn’t bother trying to resist it. He’s very prone to loneliness when he’s in heat or preheat, so he likes it if you’re with him as much as possible. He will spend most the time sitting on your lap, innocently and not so innocently.

5.     L – He isn’t particularly fussed about constant physical affection, but he wants you to be in the same room as him at all times. He constantly turns away from his work to make sure you’re still sitting in the room with him, and in the evenings, he likes if he can sit on your lap while he works. His heats are reduced from suppressants, and his libido is very low generally, but he still likes to make sure his alpha is safe and with him during his heat and be surrounded by his alpha’s scent.

Who is the most territorial during heat:

1.     Sasuke – Will straight up growl at anyone who gets too close to you both, and it won’t end well if someone shows up at his house when he’s in heat. Sasuke immediately views whoever it is as a threat and would likely try and attack them, especially if they were a stranger or someone he didn’t like. He is a lot less stressed during this time if you both just hole up at home for his preheat and heat. One of the reasons he makes his nest in a walk in wardrobe is because it’s an easily defendable place.

2.     Shikamaru – He has to have an arm around you or vice versa at all times. He makes sure you always smell like him during his preheats, just as a warning to other omegas. In heat, he gets very intense and caught up in the feelings, so interruptions from outsiders will be jarring and he’s likely to react aggressively.

3.     Shinsou – Is very paranoid when in heat and preheat. He gets nervous about people coming to try and hurt him and his mate while he’s weak, so he doesn’t like anyone he doesn’t know around you or him. Shinsou is fiercely protective of his family and his alpha. When he’s actually in heat, he would probably try to attack anyone who got too close.

4.     Belphie – Likes to just lay down and sleep with you when he’s in preheat, and whenever any of his brothers (or anyone else) try and get you to move, he growls them away, wrapping his arms around your chest to stop you from going anywhere. Would definitely bite someone if they were brave enough to try and remove him from you by force. When he’s in heat, he uses compulsion charms to keep people away from the attic where he likes to spend his heat with you.

5.     Diavolo – He can’t keep his hands or lips off of his alpha during preheat, but not just in a horny way, mainly in a ‘they’re mine’ kind of way. He likes to show off his relationship to others as a warning to stay away. He is delightfully smug if you return the treatment.

6.     Kusuo – He pretends he isn’t being territorial when he’s in preheat, but whenever you end up in conversation with someone, Kusuo is just suddenly standing next to you, I wonder how that happened? He also makes a way greater effort to ditch anyone who might interrupt his alone time with you. He turns his friends away if they show up at his door when he’s in preheat. When in heat, he gets off on the ‘you’re mine and I’m yours’ aspect.

7.     Light – This boy in greedy for your attention when he’s in preheat, and very bitter if he doesn’t get enough of it. He directs most of his anger at anyone who he perceives as taking you away from him. He will lie and manipulate others away from you both during this time with zero hesitation or regret. Would be possessive if you gave too much attention to a book while he’s in heat.

Who needs the most support:

1.     Alois – I headcanon that Alois has some specific heat related trauma, that I’m not going to get into right now, that impacts him greatly. His alpha is his protection. He only feels safe during his heat if you’re there with him. If you leave him alone, even just for a minute, he will panic, fear mixing with his already heat addled brain. For that reason, he needs a great deal of support, he needs a gentle touch and a constant presence.

2.     Shouto – His father paid to have him on illegal grade suppressant without him knowing just after Shouto’s quirk came in. Endeavour got the quirk he wanted, but not the dynamic he wanted, so he tried to change that. He experiences similar heats to Neji when he first comes off of suppressants. He’s so sensitive everywhere that it hurts. He wants to be touched so badly, but it hurts him. His alpha needs to work with him slowly to help him overcome the sensitivity.

3.     Neji – I mentioned before that due to the suppressant abuse that was inflicted on Neji as a child, his heats can be very painful, especially at first, much like Shouto. For a more in-depth analysis, I have headcanons on Neji’s suppressant abuse listed on my pinned masterlist.

4.     Keigo (Hawks) – He suffers from really bad paranoia during his heats. At first, it’s unclear what’s triggering the paranoia, but eventually it becomes clear that his treatment in the hands of the Commission have left him some nasty mental scars. When Keigo is in heat, he needs to have the door locked and bolted, the windows lock and covered with thick curtains and blinds, he needs to be rid of all technology or anything a person could use to contact him, and he needs all supplies to be in his nest with him so that neither you nor him have to leave that one room. It’s why the room he nests in must have an ensuite. He tends to have soft heats (emotionally charge rather than sexually charged) because his paranoia makes his body think he’s in too much danger to have a proper heat. It’s lucky that his heats normally only last for a day.

 (N-sfw under cut~)

Who is the horniest:

1.     Sebastian – He barely manages to keep it together during the day when he has to serve Ciel, but at night? You better be fucking him so well that he can’t stay coherent. He needs a full eight hours of sex before the heat withdraws enough for him to focus. A demon’s heat is very intensive after all.

2.     Kakashi – Every little thing sets him off when he’s in heat. Maybe you knotted him and the heat is subsiding a little, but then you bit your lip or stretch in a certain way, and immediately he’s consumed by his heat again. He struggles to keep it in his trousers long enough to hydrate and sleep. Sometimes he needs to cockwarm his alpha just to be able to calm his instincts enough to sleep.

3.     Tamaki A – He gets so horny at the peaks of his heat that any and all nervousness completely vanishes. He will beg his alpha shamelessly to get what he needs. He cannot control his voice at all, so you better hope your neighbours are forgiving, because Amajiki shouts some filthy things when he feels really good.

4.     Asmo – No one is surprised that he is completely and overwhelmingly horny for his entire heat. Most omegas have down moments for resting and hydrating while their heat isn’t so bad. Not Asmo. His heat lasts for three days (a maximum amount) and is intense for all of it. You have to make him to eat and drink something while he begs and writhes on your lap for you to fuck him.

5.     Kiba – Has a very high sex drive in general, even when he’s not in heat, so it’s no surprise that he’s basically insatiable when he’s in heat. He jumps his alpha five times a day when he’s in preheat, and every hour when he’s in heat. If you can’t provide for him as often as he needs, he will absolutely buy a knotted dildo and use it while he’s on top of you. Most of the time that convinces his alpha to help him get off.

#heat #abo #omegaverse #alpha!reader #alpha!mc #gn!alpha #n-sfw #reader insert #x reader #kiba #asmo #omega tamaki #omega kakashi #sebastian #naruto #obey me #bnha #black butler #hawks #keigo #neji #shouto #todoroki #alois #light #kusuo #saiki #diavolo #belphie #shinsou

[specterchasing-a]

Walking on Broken Glass || Solo

TIMING: Last night.

LOCATION: The Bend.

PARTIES: Eddie and a ghost I accidentally became emotionally attached to.

SUMMARY: Eddie spends some time with a ghostly friend, things get a little heavy, then very stupid, and then heavy again. It’s a roller coaster.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia tw, homophobia tw

Ask any White Crest native about the derelict houses in the bend and they’ll tell you that ‘abandoned’ doesn’t always mean ‘empty.’ Squatters looking to put a roof over their heads might hunker down in the neglected homes, usually becoming a meal for something sinister, but some occupants can’t be so easily disposed of. Those who have no life to be taken from them cling to familiar places instead of moving on. Before death’s embrace, they hung pictures and changed lightbulbs. They tried to determine which color to paint their living rooms before deciding it would be too much work to relocate the furniture. After all, for something to be abandoned, it must have once been cherished.

Eddie knocked on the front door before letting himself in. He arrived later than usual with hardly any time before the sun hung its hat. Soon enough, ‘the bend’ would become ‘the buffet’ for creatures of the night. “Amira?” he called out as he nudged the door shut with his heel. Broken glass covered the living room floor and crunched under his feet as he ventured into the living room. 

“You were supposed to be here hours ago,” a voice replied.

“I got tied up,” he said, turning to face the specter standing mid-way up the stairs. Amira’s arms were crossed, but a few of the stab-wounds on her chest remained visible. “What’s with the glass?”

“Oh, you know,” Amira sighed as she descended to the ground-floor. “I started thinking about how I’ll never taste freshly made coffee again and it made me so distraught that I shattered the windows.”

“As one does,” Eddie sagely responded. With a shrug, his backpack slipped off his shoulders. He tossed it onto the faded couch and began rifling through the main compartment in search of his portable speaker. “On the bright-side, the outcome of your afterlife crisis has inspired the first title on tonight’s soundtrack.” Eddie placed the speaker on the coffee table and synced it to his phone while Amira closed the distance between them. Her eyes curiously watched as he scrolled through song titles.

“Why couldn’t those have been around in the ‘80s?” she asked with a huff.

“Blame Reagan,” Eddie said before hitting play.

‘Walking on Broken Glass’ by Annie Lennox streamed from the speaker in all its soul-pop glory. Eddie shoved his phone into his back pocket and took a cursory glance around the room in search of the broom and dustpan.

“In the kitchen, where you left them,” Amira instructed.

“How do you do that?”

“What, read your mind? You act like it’s difficult.”

Eddie eyed her with light-hearted skepticism as he slipped by, careful not to pass through her. Amira didn’t like being reminded of her intangibility; it exacerbated the ache of a half-existence. From time to time, when their conversations lulled or Eddie seemed distracted, she asked if he couldn’t see her anymore, always with a look of mild panic. The thought of her killer seeing the world continue to grow and change while she faded away kept her from crossing-over. It didn’t matter that prison bars obstructed his view, she said they were both destined to cope with cages someone else put them in. Her cage had nice flowers on the wallpaper and memories of brighter days, at least.

In the kitchen, Eddie noticed the cupboard doors opening and closing along with the music and immediately grinned. Life dealt him a hand he didn’t always know how to play, but helping the dead come back to life for a little while made it seem worth it. He grabbed the handle of the broom and rejoined Amira in the living room. He watched as her shoulders bounced rhythmically.

“Looks like I’ve given Annie Lennox a brand-new fan,” he remarked. 

“I’m inclined to agree.” Amira simpered at him over her shoulder. “When did this song come out?”

“Uh, the ‘90s, I believe.”

“Explains why I’ve never heard it, but I’m in love with her voice.”

“With pristine taste like that, you’re a girl after my own heart,” Eddie crooned wistfully while ushering shards of glass into a neat pile.

“I don’t think I’m your type.”

Eddie froze mid-sweep and furrowed his brow. He thought about Nell, about Alfie and Kyle, how they highlighted an aspect of himself he preferred to keep in the dark, all in unique ways that seemed to share the same conclusion. Eddie remembered the first time he saw two men holding hands in public and the way his mother told him to look away. He felt scared, not for himself, but for them. That day in the common, onlookers didn’t see an innocent display of affection, they saw something unfit for their children to be around. Eddie didn’t agree, but to think that someone might view him as a threat for something as innocuous as holding another man’s hand shook him to his core. He didn’t want that to be his life.

“Why does everyone assume I’m gay?” Eddie laughed, trying to pretend it didn’t bother him. “Is it, like, a vibe, or… ?”

“I meant because I don’t have a corporeal body, but now that you mention it…”

Realizing the error in his assumption, he quickly pulled his phone out and turned the speaker’s volume up to maximum. “I’m sorry,” he shouted. “I can’t hear you at all, Amira! You’re gonna have to speak up.” Eddie gestured to his ears and shrugged helplessly before turning away from her and making a beeline for the stairs, letting the broom hit the floor as he departed.

“Edward!” Amira called out to him.

“You got me feeling like the Ting Tings because that is not my name!”

“I don’t get that reference! Eddie, get back here, there’s still glass everywhere!”

“Shoulda thought of that before you took your anger out on innocent windows!”

Annie Lennox wailed from downstairs as Eddie barrelled towards the closest door. His hands wrapped around the handle and pulled, but to no avail. 

“You idiot,” Amira scolded, suddenly right next to him. “You can’t hide from me in this house, I’m everywhere.” 

“That’s so scary, why would you say that to me?” Eddie balked through laughter, still tugging fruitlessly on the door. 

It didn’t take much to distract Eddie from the uncomfortable topics that plagued his mind. He perfected the art of running away from his problems at an early age like a true prodigy. Even Amira cracked a smile at how utterly ridiculous he looked trying to open a door he didn’t stand a chance against. 

“Fine, you want inside that bad? Go ahead.” With a flick of her wrist, the door opened and Eddie, not letting go of the door fast enough, fell back against the upstairs railing. His chest heaved as looked down at the distance between himself and the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I could’ve died—then we’d be roommates.”

“God forbid,” Amira tittered.

Eddie elected to ignore that comment and focus on the room he now had access to. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here,” he said as took a few steps in. Aside from the moonlight streaming in from the window, shadows dominated every corner. He squinted to bring what he could into focus: a large bed with a plush comforter, a vanity littered with objects he couldn’t quite make out, a couple of nightstands. All in all, it seemed like a perfectly normal bedroom aside from the dated furniture, but that was to be expected.

“Probably not,” Amira said, drifting in after him. “Look, Eddie, about what happened downstairs…”

Eddie turned to face her and shook his head. “We really don’t need to talk about it.”

“Okay, but let me just say that, if you were…” she trailed off with a sigh. “Whatever you end up being, it won’t matter to me.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about, Amira.” He wandered over to the bed and ran his hand over the comforter. He wondered if time took away its softness or if the people of the ‘80s harbored a vendetta against comfort. “It’s everyone else.”

Eddie collapsed into bed and closed his eyes, laying on his back while Amira watched mournfully. She wanted to offer him comfort, to somehow convince him that happiness existed even for those who didn’t fit into society’s neat little boxes. The words wouldn’t come to her and, even if they did, she knew how difficult he could be. If Eddie didn’t want to listen, he wouldn’t. She wracked her brain for something that might cheer him up.

“Hey Eddie,” she said as she moved to the unoccupied side of the bed. “This is where I died, my final resting place as it were. I’m willing to share it for a while if you are.”

“Nice,” he replied with a hint of a grin. “I’d like that.”

She lowered herself onto her side, propping up on her elbow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you ever looked into therapy?” She peered down at him as he nodded solemnly.

“And therapy has looked into me.”

From across the room, Amira lifted a throw blanket off of the vanity’s chair-back and guided it to the bed to drape over Eddie. It felt like the closest she could get to giving him a hug, which looked exactly like what he needed as he laid next to her in silence.

“You’re gonna be okay, you know that, right?” she softly asked.

“We’ll see.”

#wickedswriting #internalized homophobia tw #// i NEEDED to get this out of my head and now i can do replies #i hope you all love amira as much as i do #walking on broken glass #homophobia tw

[janeeyblossom]

We Should All Be Feminist

Chimamanda Adichie is a Nigerian writer who wrote We Should All Be Feminist on 2014. We Should All Be Feminist is a book-length essay that tackles about feminism and gender discrimination. Below are some issues where gender inequalities manifest and are accompanied by realities and situations that happened and are still happening here in the Philippines.

“And a guard at the entrance stopped me and asked me annoying questions, because their automatic assumption is that a Nigerian female walking into a hotel alone is a sex worker. And by the way, why do these hotels focus on the ostensible supply rather than the demand for sex workers? In Lagos I cannot go alone into many “reputable” bars and clubs. They just don’t let you in if you’re a woman alone, you have to be accompanied by a man. Each time I walk into a Nigerian restaurant with a man, the waiter greets the man and ignores me. Each time they ignore me, I feel invisible. I feel upset. I want to tell them that I am just as human as the man, that I’m just as worthy of acknowledgment. These are little things, but sometimes it’s the little things that sting the most. ” I personally haven’t experienced that exact type of neglect for the reason that I’m a woman, and I haven’t witnessed that kind of situation since I’m still financially dependent so I haven’t been in a hotel or a restaurant alone, but those situations causes my mind to play some similar scenes that keeps happening here. I don’t know if it’s the judgmental minds of the people that are speaking about this matter but I think it’s actually part of sexism. Girls receive pathetic and awkward stares whenever they are walking, shopping, or even sitting in the park alone but boys don’t. It is unfair that when you want to have some time alone and just stroll on the beach, you can’t. You have to find a company or you have to be brave enough to take stares and sometimes even gossip.

“And this is how we start: we must raise our daughters differently. We must also raise our sons differently. We do a great disservice to boys on how we raise them; we stifle the humanity of boys. We define masculinity in a very narrow way, masculinity becomes this hard, small cage and we put boys inside the cage. We teach boys to be afraid of fear. We teach boys to be afraid of weakness, of vulnerability. We teach them to mask their true selves, because they have to be, in Nigerian speak, “hard man! What if both boys and girls were raised not to link masculinity with money? What if the attitude was not “ the boy has to pay” but rather “ whoever has more should pay?”

Everything Adichie said in this part is undeniably true and sadly, it’s still very prevalent today. Inequality is happening everywhere without anyone actually noticing it because they think it’s normal. Men would normally be told to pay may it be on romantic dates or family dates. In my family for example, my Mother always asks Father who has just arrived from work what we will eat or what he plans to buy as if he is just the person who is responsible for spending money for us. It is so unjust since she is the one who has the bigger salary yet she’s always demanding my Father to pay. They sometimes split the payment but mostly it’s the man who’s expected to pay. My family is just one of the families who does that and I don’t know if it will change since Filipino elders do not know how to listen to the youth.

“Because I’m female, I’m expected to aspire to marriage; I’m expected to make my life choices always keeping in mind that marriage is the most important. A marriage can be a good thing; it can be a source of joy and love and mutual support. But why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? I know young women who are under pressure from family, from friends, even from work to get married, and they’re pushed to make terrible choices. A woman at a certain age who is unmarried, our society teaches her to see it as a deep, personal failure. And a man at a certain age who is unmarried, we just think he hasn’t come around to make his pick.” This part is the most relatable part in the essay since Filipino women are expected not just by their families but also by the whole community to marry at the right age. Men on the other hand are pressured by some people but most of them just let it go. My female cousin for example is twenty years old and she has been pressured since she graduated to find a boyfriend. The first question people would ask her whenever there is a gathering is --”You don’t have a boyfriend? Why?” and then give a compliment which doesn’t sound like one. “ You are so pretty! You should get a boyfriend soon or else you will become an old maiden or “dalagang gulang” as they call it. It is extremely devastating watching the frustration in her face when she shares to us how she feels about all that. Even her parents pressure her which makes it irritating because they know their own child. Our cousin says in a powerful tone to us-- her cousins-- “I am happy! I am single but I’m happy. I don’t need a man to satisfy my needs and wants. I have a job and I am not in a hurry because I know He has a plan for me”, I just sat there staring at her sadly, wishing she could tell that to her parents.

“If we have sons, we don’t mind knowing about our son’s girlfriends. But our daughters’ boyfriends? God forbid. But of course when the time is right, we expect those girls to bring back the perfect man to be their husbands. We police girls, we praise girls for virginity, but we don’t praise boys for virginity. We teach girls shame. “Close your legs.” “Cover yourself.” We make them feel as though by being born female they’re already guilty of something. And so, girls grow up to be women who cannot say what they truly think, and they grow up-- and this is the worst thing we did to girls-- they grow up to be women who have turned pretense into an art form.” As a girl who is raised in a very conservative environment, I can relate to this part big time. And I know I’m not alone. I think every girl in the Philippines can relate to this-- except to those who have not-so-strict parents or those who are stubborn. We are forbidden to be or to get too close to guys because we might be judged by society as a slut or somewhat similar to that. We were raised to behave and act properly when we’re around guys. Even when we're just around our guy friends or classmates, we can’t act normal (maybe not all girls do the same, but I do). I act like I’m allergic to them because that’s what has been taught to me since I was young. I am also told to be single until I graduate. It’s not just I, also every girl in my family and all my friends (who are all girls) experience the same. We are not allowed to have a boyfriend until we graduate, yet when we have a job and decide that we don’t need men, they pressure us to get married soon. It is so unjust and heartbreaking how people prohibit and control girls and let boys do what they want. Boys can go out even at night, boys can have girlfriends without getting told that they won’t have any house to get back to, and they aren’t the ones being gossiped in the whole campus and community when they lose their virginity.

“I know a woman who hates domestic work, she just hates it, but she pretends that she likes it, because she’s been taught that to be “good wife material” she has to be -- to use that Nigerian word-- very “ homely”. Today women in general are more likely to do the housework than men, the cooking and cleaning. What if in raising children we focus on ability instead of gender? What if in raising children we focus on interest instead of gender?” This issue is ubiquitous in the Philippines; female teenagers are trained and told to practice doing all the household chores so that their future husband won’t neglect and replace them with someone else. It is told to them as if it is their duty to serve men when they become women. It is disappointing how parents tell their kids to do all that when they know it didn’t serve them good and they know deep down, it’s unfair. Fortunately, some parents nowadays (here in the Philippines) as I’ve noticed are raising their kids, both girls and boys to do the chores regardless if some people think it’s a girl’s job.

#feminist #chimamanda ngozi adichie

[behrooz-musigns]

+ Innovative, warm, witty, kind, protective, geeky +/- Intellectual, observant, horny - impatient, unreliable, outspoken, easily distracted

++ BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Behrooz Hakim Najm PRONUNCIATION: Beh-roes MEANING: Lucky ZODIAC: Pisces ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Bi SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Poly CURRENT LOCATION: Epineios OCCUPATION: Student, IT

++ BIOGRAPHY

Behrooz personally invented the saying ‘I guess luck is just on my side’, or so they would have everyone in their school believe when they got another high score in one of the games they played in the back of the school. They would do guessing games, with people asking them a number which they had written down, and Behrooz would always guess right. 

Sadly luck rarely followed them home. They were raised by their grandmother, who forbade them to hang out after school, and certainly ensured they would never be seen hanging out with girls on their own. She would remind them time and time again of their father, a gambler who had made it big winning game after game, then one day showed up with a baby, only to drink himself to death a year later. She would remind them that they were the family’s burden, and they would have to behave in order to not bring another burden upon them. 

And as they grew older, luck left them more and more often. Being a practicing Muslim was already a hard sell, but with the world growing more extreme around them, they found the community stifle their ambitions daily. It confused Behrooz that while their religion gave them anxiety, praying chased the demons away. It was almost as if they couldn’t have the one without the other. 

Life was a constant . Bad people walking in and out of their life, bullies, racist teachers, judgemental neighbors, judgemental extended family members. Behrooz tended to lock themselves up in their room every day, listening to music or playing games of chance. A knot seemed to live inside their stomach all the time, a fear of being plucked off of the street and never arriving home. 

When that actually happened, it wasn’t like they had imagined. 

Being mostly interested in digits, numbers, code, etc. Behrooz hadn’t paid much attention to history class when Ancient Greek and Ancient Rome were being discussed, and as they saw a creepy creature with goat legs walk up to them, they really wished they had. There was a whole speech about being in mortal danger, gods, strange creatures on the loose, yada yada. Behrooz had a headache by the time the goat legged creature told them to follow him. Very close to sparking some lie about soccer practice or prayers, their head snapped back to attention when the creature suggested they had a mother who was a God. 

The only thing driving them forward was the possibility of learning who their mother was, something in their brain sending out constant messages of: gotta meet mom, gotta meet mom, gotta meet mom. Rather than forming coherent sentences. They disappeared into some cleared out old train tunnel, and emerged on the other side of the bleedin’ ocean. All Behrooz knew to say was: “thought your accent sounded funny.” Before being swarmed by the strangest assortment of kids, some younger than their fourteen years, others older, everyone excited. Was this the right time to say they were Muslim and watch everyone slowly disappear like they had done back in school? 

Nobody really seemed to care however, over the years - in which they discovered their godly parent, never got to meet her, discovered she was probably the most difficult goddess to find, got a large portion of the camp to join them during Ramadan - Behrooz stayed at the Camp the whole year round. They didn’t wish to return to the UK, and followed online lessons to keep up with their education. Of course they were bleedin’ lucky, and with time they learned how to use that luck to their advantage, and to that of those around them. Yet, Behrooz started to appreciate the balance of it all, the bad and the good. 

To them, code was good. Watching others struggle with programs and computers, just made them more interested in it. Algorithms fascinated them, they could spend hours looking at code trying to figure out how it worked. When the time came for them to move out of the warm nest of Camp Half Blood, Behrooz had already set their sights on studying Programming at the University of New York. 

++ HEADCANONS

++ Horny as hell, and often very lucky in love, although they can never seem to hold on to anyone for long. 

++ A skilled programmer with a love for code and numbers and digits. They can stay up nights on end trying to figure out some new program or write an algorithm of their own.

++ Despite their interests in the digital, Bez spends most of their time outside if they can help it. They love forests, trees, the fresh air. They take walks a lot, driving the metro to the park and helping themselves to a huge thermos of coffee. 

++ Religion is an important part of their life, without it they would be nowhere. Whenever they feel lost or anxious, they tend to be eager for it to be time to pray, something they do five times a day. 

++ They’ve read the Quran, although their grandmother never taught them Arabic beforehand, so they’re currently reading it in English in between classes, thesis writing, and walks. 

++ Bez is a very kind individual, who will help others whenever they can - mostly with IT stuff. As a job, or a way to get money mostly, they help teachers or partake in arranging anything that needs a programmer. They’re a regular Upwork user. 

++ In fights Bez uses their ability to generate luck to get other Demigods out of trouble and make the damage less. 

++ They love bunk beds.

++ Wears very loose-fitting clothing. 

++ Drinks way too much coffee and black tea. 

++ Doesn’t like it when people constantly nag.

++ Extremely messy, will end up finding coffee mugs everywhere. 

++ Is always running from one place to the next because he has too much planned on a daily basis. 

++ SKILLS & ABILITIES

PHYSICAL STRENGTH: Above average  OFFENSE: Lacking  DEFENSE: Main attribute  SPEED: Above average  INTELLIGENCE: High ACCURACY: Descent AGILITY: Good STAMINA: Fine  TEAMWORK: Speciality  TALENTS: Luck manipulation SHORTCOMINGS: Easily distracted, no overview LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English  DRIVE?: yes  JUMP-STAR A CAR?: not really  CHANGE A FLAT TIRE?: absolutely not  RIDE A BICYCLE?: absolutely  SWIM?: decently PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: piano and guitar  PLAY CHESS?: no  BRAID HAIR?: one day maybe  TIE A TIE?: yes  PICK A LOCK?: yes

++ PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Viveik Kalra  EYE COLOR: brown  HAIR COLOR: brown  HAIR TYPE/STYLE: semi-long, wavy, thick GLASSES/CONTACTS?: no  DOMINANT HAND: right  HEIGHT: 1.75m WEIGHT: 65kg  BUILD: lean  EXERCISE HABITS: jogging in the morning, some sparring during the weekend  SKIN TONE: brown  TATTOOS: none  PIERCINGS: none  MARKS/SCARS: none  NOTABLE FEATURES: three-day beard on account of forgetting to shave  USUAL EXPRESSION: concentrated or dreamlike  CLOTHING STYLE: loose clothing, soft fabric.  JEWELRY: two rings on their right hand  ALLERGIES: incense

++ PSYCHOLOGY

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral ELEMENT: earth MENTAL CONDITIONS/DISORDERS: Dyslexia, slight ADHD  SOCIABILITY: normal  EMOTIONAL STABILITY: average, let’s not talk about it.  OBSESSION(S): code  COMPULSION(S): gambling, drinking coffee and forgetting coffee, hyper-focus PHOBIA(S): fear of people being Islamphobic  ADDICTION(S): caffeine DRUG USE: none  ALCOHOL USE: none PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: no

++ MANNERISMS

SPEECH STYLE: quick, active, excited  ACCENT: London British  QUIRKS: licks teeth, uses swear words HOBBIES: coding, walking, jogging, drinking coffee, is Starbucks a hobby?  HABITS: forgetting to sleep, running from place to place  NERVOUS TICKS: tapping feet, sighing a lot DRIVES/MOTIVATIONS: meeting their mom, finishing their education  FEARS:  fear of being neglected or ignored SENSE OF HUMOR: yes, mostly dark British humor. DO THEY CURSE OFTEN?: a lot, though they use ‘bleedin’’ and several other more British less terrible words.  CATCHPHRASE(S): “must be my lucky day” “I was born lucky”

++ FAVORITES

ACTIVITY: walking/hiking in the forest ANIMAL: raven BEVERAGE: coffee  BOOK: Thief Lord by Cassandra Clarke CELEBRITY: Tom Hanks  COLOR: Green DESIGNER: ??  FOOD: Sharma FLOWER: Lotus  GEM: Emerald  HOLIDAY: Eid al-Fitr  MODE OF TRANSPORTATION: Bike  MOVIE: The Internship  MUSICAL ARTIST: Sigur Ros QUOTE/SAYING: “No person knows what he will earn tomorrow”  SCENERY: forests  SCENT: freshly grinded coffee  SPORT: soccer SPORTS TEAM: Manchester united  TELEVISION SHOW: I, Robot  WEATHER: overcast and drizzly VACATION DESTINATION: -

++ ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: to create their own algorithm that can help people choose what they want the most  GREATEST FEAR: being targeted or discriminated based on their religion  MOST AT EASE WHEN: at home, in their bed, with coffee, coding, or hiking in the forest, or at a mosque praying  LEAST AT EASE WHEN: in a crowded place, discussing religion  WORST POSSIBLE THING THAT COULD HAPPEN: being killed before finishing their degree  BIGGEST ACHIEVEMENT: getting a scholarship on luck alone  BIGGEST REGRET: never having known their father MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENT: grabbing a girl by her boobs in a hug from behind by accident  BIGGEST SECRET: sometimes wishes they weren’t born a Demi-god.   TOP PRIORITIES: finishing their thesis

#about

[hecohansen31]

Fire Of My Loins

Trevor KIrchner+Younger Margaret’s Sister! Reader:

(A/N): Hello, lovelies!

Before you extract your knives to fight me… just know that I am working on “More Than You Bargained For” (2), which will be named “More Than You Can Give Me” (these shits are getting longer than Fall Out Boy’s titles).

But while I was working on it, I ended up not being truly able to focus on it (I still can’t), and this fic low key helped me a bit!

I STILL HATE TREVOR WITH ALL MY GUTS (and haven’t seen 9x07, when I wrote this) but hey… he low key inspired me to write this, so I honestly couldn’t help but write this down, and I hope it won’t be too much!

(Alongside the fact that “Lolita”, “Off The Races”, “Put Me In A Movie” by Lana del Rey have been on my youtube playlist since for-freaking-ever...).

Also the title is inspired by “Lolita” and it is nothing more than a quotation of a book that a truly appreciate for his writing style, which if you have read doesn’t glamorize any kind of relationship between an older man and a child, so please don’t make a shitstorm for that.

Reader in this case is an adult, since she is completely legal, being 22.

This was just a little disclaimer, because I know it might be controversial, and if anybody feels even slightly offended by it, just let me know!

Much love!

SUMMARY: It was supposed to be a  “bright new start”, but apaprently it is much easier than it seems to go back to your previous life, mostly when your sister’s husband seems so attractive...

WORDS: 9 K.

WARNINGS:

Older! Man+Younger! Girl (Trevor according to me is either 36-40, meanwhile Reader is 22), Mention of Child Neglect and Domestic Abuse (alongside attempts of Sexual Assault), General Violence and Use of Drugs, Daddy Issues, Seducing an Older! Man, Mention of Reader’s past as a sex worker, Fingering and Oral Sex (Male-Female Receiving), PTSD, Nudity.Vulgarities.

Being Margaret Booth’s sister wasn’t an easy thing.

The big age gape had made you always take a deep distance from the other, but honestly the more they went on, the more she didn’t want to be associated with that psycho.

After Margaret’s traumatic experience at Camp Redwood, the first one, their parents’ attention had been all on her, not matter how much she cried or asked for it, as a small child in need of her parents’ help.

She remembered perfectly the night when her stomach had hurt terribly and she had cried till it had given her an headache, meanwhile her parents comforted her older sister from a nightmare, completely ignoring her, she had had to call the ambulance herself and at the hospital she had discovered her appendix had busted open.

When the social services had asked her why her parents hadn’t taken her themselves to the hospital, she had lied, not wanting to be separated by them and the silent abuse had perpetuated but the more she grew up the more she found herself to search the lacking attention, everywhere outside home.

Older men were her favorites: she had once fucked one and he had left her a good grand on the bedside table of the dirty motel they had met at, and she had felt that rush of adrenaline that got her to become an escort for older men.

They doted on her desperately and she was good at fucking and listening to them.

It might have seemed an ideal paradise, but it hadn’t lasted: any of the man she “doted” upon seemed to have a flaw.

Jack had gambling debts and whenever he would be with her, he would steal some of her money and she was unable to say anything.

Bill liked to snort coke off her body, and he had tried desperately to get her hooked up on it, no matter how many times she told him she wouldn’t ruin her pretty head for it.

Kent was the worst: he was the reason why she was going back to her sister’s house.

He was violent, but he was the lover she had loved the most, desperately letting him control every single aspect of her life, alongside quitting her escort career, to move with him and the first days were idyllic.

She had had the best 21st birthday party ever and the following day she was in hospital, avoiding brain damage just because the police had been alerted by the hosts of the party promptly.

Kent had tried to smash her head against the wall, after he had seen her “drunkenly flirting” with one of the guests.

She hadn’t been able to press charges but somehow Kent had never talked to her, and she was pretty sure it was all due to Margaret, who had chosen to take care of her, as the good Samaritan.

She didn’t understand this change of heart, so suddenly made by Margaret.

They had always had this cold distance and she knew perfectly that her Jesus-fearing sister didn’t approve of her life, promiscuous and disgusting as she thought it was.

But she had been there once she had woken up from the hospital and had helped her through the rehabilitation eventually asking her to move in with her.

“… I just feel so guilty for stealing your childhood, sweetie” she had commented, as if she knew half of the things she had gone through “… come home with me, little sister”.

She hadn’t been able to say no, since she usually relied totally on the met she met with and fucked, and without Kent she had no home and money, hence… she would have been homeless.

It was better to stay in her psycho-sister’s house than the open air.

She had come home with Margaret on the day they had dismissed her, although she hadn’t completely healed, since headaches and nightmares plagued her mind.

“Welcome home” uttered Margaret, opening the door for her and showing her an extremely elegant sitting room, extremely modern and distasteful, but what could she have expected?

“Thank you, Margaret, I would like to sleep a bit, so if you don’t mind, can you show me my room?” she honestly just wanted to move in her room, settle the few things she had owned in her small suitcase and then sleep a bit, but Margaret promptly grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks-

“Listen to me, little tramp” oh here comes the Jesus-fearing bitch, hadn’t she missed her “… if you want to live under my house, there are some few rules: you don’t bring your “dates” here, I won’t let you desecrate my temple!”.

It took all her strength not to laugh in her face, but she just smirked a bit, nodding softly.

“… you stick to your room and don’t go out unless I tell you to” and then Margaret grabbed her chin in her hands, tightening the grip enough that she found herself panicking a bit, making her remember Kent’s bruising hands “… don’t embarrass me more than you have already done… “.

And she immediately left her chin, pushing her slightly, after she brushed away imaginary dirt from her elegant clothes fixing them and her own smile, gently leaning down to kiss her sister’s cheek, before she moved away, calling over a maid to show her the way.

She had been able to take a quick shower, at least her room had a bath linked to it, since it seemed to be the smallest one, something that she honestly didn’t like, but she knew better than to ask her sister for more, mostly after the little “discourse” they had had.

She honestly needed to get a grip on her life, in order for her to move away as soon as she could.

She had worked through her teen years before her “career” took over, but she hadn’t been able to attend college, since not only it made her anxious and nervous, but also, she was addicted to those men’s attention and when she “fell” for them, she devoted herself to them.

What a shitty life, had she chosen?

She was brushing her hair to dry them, simply dressed in a cotton nightgown she had found on her bed, definitely more modest than the ones she had owned, but the color gave her some kind of innocent allure.

When she moved to drop the towel in the bathroom, she found the door opening, without knocking.

She immediately turned around, as a deer in the headlights, scared that it might have been Margaret, and annoyed by the thought that somebody wouldn’t respect her privacy.

But it wasn’t Margaret.

It was a man.

Even worse.

Her heart started beating roughly and she found herself holding her hand out towards the handle of the door of the bathroom thinking that if she rushed she might hide behind it, but the man, almost as if sensing her nervousness immediately, raised his hands, trying to show that he wasn’t a threat.

“You must be (Y/N)” he commented, his tone was nice and sweet, clearly trying to calm down “… Margaret’s sister”.

“You surprised me” she simply mumbled, not knowing who this stranger was and keeping her hand onto the handle onto the bathroom door.

“I should have knocked” he muttered, clearly seeing her trembling “… I am Trevor Kirchner, Margaret’s husband”.

Margaret had never mentioned a second husband, in her visits.

So, she was a bit suspicious, but with the way he moved and acted he seemed not to want to scare her, and she relaxed a bit.

“… Margaret never talked about you” she simply uttered, and pushed herself to sit onto the bed, moving towards the little bottle of lotion she had managed to sneak away from Kent’s house, the smell of honey and roses intoxicating and comforting for her.

She tried to act nonchalantly, calming softly her nerves with the usual gestures, and immediately Trevor’s gaze shifted onto her legs, where she was smearing the lotion, and this didn’t go unnoticed from her, who took this time to analyze him better.

He was certainly charming, although some of his charm seemed ruined, shadowed by life and with the way his arms and legs moved spasmodically she knew it was drugs, and she couldn’t help but pout a little.

She would have gladly fucked him, before Kent.

Maybe just to spite Margaret.

“… she never talked about you either, till a week ago” he replied sassily, moving his eyes way from your shiny legs, as you pushed your arms up, as with them slightly your breast showcasing them more, in an act of subtle seduction that got Trevor quite engrossed, although he tried not show it “… just wanted to meet you and say that you are welcome to stay as long as you like”.

“I am staying here till I get a grip on my life” she stated, but Trevor just smirked at you, as if he didn’t believe you, as if he had said something like that to himself “… can you leave me alone? I prefer to do my beauty routine all alone, without creepy men staring at me”.

Most of her first week at the Booth Manor had been passed in her room, joining Margaret and Trevor only for dinner, when she felt like it.

When she didn’t, she just didn’t eat.

But at the start of the second week she felt bit better and most importantly due to the warmth of that summer day and the sunny weather she had thought about a little dive in Margaret’s tacky pool, although she didn’t own a bikini.

She hadn’t wanted to ask her sister, mostly due to the fact that Margaret had treated her like she was invisible and because she knew what kind of bikini her sister owned: matronly to say the least.

In the end, she had dipped into the water in her nightgown, a cotton white, very simple in details and puffy on the “sensitive zones”, such as her stomach and  her breasts, but as the water drenched her body, the fabric immediately attached itself to her body, revealing her skin.

She was enjoying a few breaststrokes in the water, when she heard a low whistle and realized that Trevor was leaning onto the swimming pool’s side, lounging onto it in a costume that showcased his “best attribute”.

She didn’t mind him any attention doing a few more laps around the pool, till she had enough, and another migraine hit her, making her quickly exit the pool, and reach out for her towel.

Which had been brought around herself with much care and when she opened her eyes, a bit comforted by the warm hug, she found Trevor gently helping her, and not looking at her almost naked body.

“Is everything alright, (Y/N)?” he asked, seriously worried and she promptly pushed away from him, quickly sitting on one of the sunbathing chair on the side of the pool, trying to regain a bit of composure.

“It’s just a headache, I strained myself today” she mumbled, meanwhile she adjusted her drenched hair and tried to stop her legs from trembling.

“Margaret said that you tend to have some headaches… can I do something about it?” he asked softly, and gently moving closer and she couldn’t help but wonder why he was like this.

He was certainly attracted to her: she had seen the way his stare lingered onto her, but he never dared, and she was sure it wasn’t out of respect or faithfulness to her sister.

She had heard them fight, and during those times her head would be hidden under the pillow, memory of Kent in her mind flashing and her tears rushing down.

“… just stop talking…” she uttered sharply, seeing Trevor’s mouth move onto a straight line, clearly displeased, before he moved away and entered the swimming pool, effectively leaving her alone.

An hour later she was back inside, but she was unable to stop watching Trevor from her window, the way he brushed his hair away wet and drenched and the way little drops of water caught fire in his skin as light hit them.

This would end badly.

By her third week with her sister, she understood perfectly why Margaret had brought her there.

She had thrown a party to celebrate some kind of business milestone and had paraded her sister as a rescue case, constantly getting praised for her good heart and kindness.

“Oh Margaret, you truly are a saint” they muttered, meanwhile she simply smiled behind her glass of champagne, hoping they could serve something heavier, just as Trevor did, whenever he would excuse himself to snort some coke, in his office.

Already, after only an hour since the charity event had started, she was damnably bored.

And wasn’t the only one.

The man she picked out was dressed elegantly, jeweled cufflinks, linking a sober attire that seemed the incarnation of purity and bigotry.

He wasn’t so chaste as she went down her knees and bobbed her head up and down around his length till his release stained her pretty red lips.

It was the little pick up she had needed, and she quickly turned towards the elegant marble sink to clean her face, but he quickly got ahold of her arm and pushed her to face him again.

She honestly didn’t find him in the slightest attractive anymore: his red face had a terrific smile and she felt dirty and used.

“Don’t expect me to let you go after you blew me as a pro, I bet that you fuck even better”.

Everything that Kent had done to her, before almost killing suddenly came back and her fought as the man tried to drag her back in the little bathroom cubicle, but he quickly shut her up, with one hand, meanwhile the other went between her legs, under her gown, hastily pushing down her panties.

He pumped himself a few times, but before he could penetrate her, some force rammed into him and he was pushed onto the ground and when her eyes finally focused, she realized it had been Trevor.

Almost ashamed, she rushed to push her panties back in place and adjust her dress, meanwhile the man screamed against Trevor.

She knew he would fucking judge her an whore.

“What the fuck, man?!”.

“She didn’t want you, Carl, you were fucking forcing yourself on her” he shot back, before picking up the little shit from the floor, and pushing him towards the exit, his pants still undone and his face red “… and if you so much as try to utter something, remember about that pre-nup with your wife… she’ll fucking ruin you, for having cheated on her”.

The man went immediately from red to white and before she knew it, he pushed himself back in control and exited hastily the bathroom, muttering something about “whores being fucking bitches”.

She rushed again to the sink, this time it wasn’t to check her lipstick, but she threw up into it, although she hadn’t eaten much, so nothing but liquid came out of her mouth, a truly disgusting show, but Trevor gently rubbed her back, holding back her hair, and uttering gentle encouragement.

He was nice enough to collect a bit of hygienic paper to clean her mouth, totally smearing her red lipstick, the only exception to Margaret’s modesty rule on her outfit, but effectively cleaning her up.

It was such a gentle gesture that it broke her.

“Get the fuck away from me” she ushered, slurring it as soon as she felt like she could walk away without her legs shaking “… leave me the fuck alone”.

Trevor sent her a bewildered look, one that told her that he didn’t understand her.

Well, he wasn’t the only one.

She had spent the following night, not sleeping just staring at the roof and crying.

Why was she like this?

Why did she feel this morbid need to screw somebody to feel better?

… and to push away anybody who was remotely gentle to her…

She didn’t join Margaret for breakfast, but she eventually went down the stairs to collect something to eat since her troubled stomach was grumbling loudly and she knew that death by starving was a bad look on her.

Not to talk about the fact that it would just take too long.

No, she needed something quick.

She caught Margaret on the threshold, with too many suitcases for a single person, and she immediately smirked as she saw her.

She was low key grateful that Trevor hadn’t uttered anything about catching her blowing some of their friends and then having a mental breakdown.

“.. this week I’ll be on a trip” she commented, cheerily “… the newest haunted house just ready for Halloween!”.

She faked being happy for her sister, before she turned to her mission, collecting something easy to eat, thinking about how she was stuck there with Trevor.

Had he ever cheated on her sister?

She hadn’t noticed any maid sneaking in and out of his “office” or any pretty young thing looking at him with malice.

Meanwhile she was thinking this, she heard knocking onto the kitchen’s walls, and when she turned around she saw Trevor looking at her as if he had found her a wounded animal, not knowing how to approach it.

But she was thankful he had knocked.

And pushed one of the sandwiches she had been doing towards him, a peace-offering.

“Oh no, sweetheart” he commented pushing it back to her “… you need to eat, you look like a scarecrow”.

This got him a playful fist to the side, which he faked had hurt him.

It was such a light moment that she honestly let out a laugh.

This seemed to take aback Trevor, as if he had heard the angelic voice of God.

“… by the way, since Margaret is not here I thought we could go out shopping” he mumbled, a bit shy, as if he was sure she would shoot down his idea “… you can’t go around with those nightgowns, and certainly can’t swim in them”.

She didn’t know why but the shyness in his voice intensified as he muttered the “nightgown” part gaining a smirk from her, and her hands gently traced the light patterns of her nightgown, indeed.

The cotton of it had brushed against her nipples enough to make them bloom in pebbles and she knew that he could see them, although he avoided to look straight up at her body.

“What is wrong with my nightgown?” she asked, feigning innocent, meanwhile he released a light laugh to hide his embarrassment.

“Just think about the heart-attack that we’ll give Margaret once she receives the notice of how much we spent”.

He didn’t have to say anymore.

She was used to men showing off her body, whenever she tried on clothes for them.

They didn’t want anything more than a quickie in the changing room and a pretty girl who smiled for them and wore pretty things.

But strangely with Trevor it was somehow fun: he constantly commented and made her wear the most absurd dresses, muttering about how much she looked ridiculous, just for her to do the same till the shopping clerks had enough of them and threw them out… kindly…

She hadn’t had this much fun… since ever.

They went to lunch to some fast-food place, something that got her to utter:

“Aren’t we supposed to be rich? We can do better than McDonald’s”.

Just for him to shot back as he stole some her fries:

“Is that sarcasm? Because I thought it was your usual tone”.

She just pouted a bit, kicking him under the table but he smirked, eating up his hamburger meanwhile she picked around her food, knowing she needed to speak up.

“… I am sorry for last night” she thought about ripping the band-aid immediately “… I don’t know what came onto me…”.

He stopped holding up a hand, to calm her rushing tone.

“It was the trauma, and I know about it…” he spoke as if it pained him to talk about this “…I was a survivor at Camp Redwood, one of the three alongside Margaret and Brooke”.

She knew that story all too well since Margaret didn’t lose any occasion to remind everybody about the fact that she had survived a camp murder spree not once but twice.

But Trevor, unlike her, seemed like he wanted to forget.

Hence the need for coke.

“… there are some things that make us feel that way and I am not going to judge you for that” he explained as if he got her and the way his eyes were shadowed, as if he was worried about something on his mind “… but if you ever need to talk…”.

“Margaret will pay me a good psychoanalyst” she replied, trying to shift the tense area that was created, although she shot a thankful smile on Trevor’s way, who moved onto slurping his drink.

“… that is the spirit” he commented but his tone was too serious “… if you have money, you can have anything”.

After lunch they were supposed to move away back home, mostly because she was again getting a migraine, but she was unable to stop herself from wanting to visit a bookstore again.

She hadn’t visited many, during her life with Kent, mostly segregated in the “trophy wife” role, so she couldn’t help but brush eagerly her hand through the papers, meanwhile Trevor had gone to the bathroom, asking her not to run away, in the meanwhile.

But she couldn’t help but move through the shelves checking out the newest releases and choosing a few to read meanwhile she looked out to the glasses outside the shop to check on Trevor, but she quickly become too engrossed on an illustrated version of “Little Women” by Louisa May Alcott, one of her favorite books.

She related to Jo on a personal level, remembering her all about the possible dreams she had had about becoming a journalist and a novelist, when she still thought that there was hope in the world.

She was so interested in the re-reading that she didn’t realize that Trevor who hadn’t found her outside. had gone in the bookshop and was gently shaking her, trying not to scare her.

“Hey, found anything interesting?” he asked, eyeing the book and she pushed it closed, immediately rushing to push it back on its original shelf, but Trevor stopped her, collecting the book and moving towards the cash desk, extracting his wallet “… you want to get only this one…”.

Clothes were one thing: she needed them, mostly if Margaret wanted to parade her as her personal corgi.

But books… books were something that made her almost nervous to be gifted, it was a window on her soul she couldn’t accept, and couldn’t let Trevor stare into, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, instead pushing Margaret’s card to the clerk, smirking gently at him.

When they walked away, she was holding a few more packages, Trevor carrying the rest, almost as if they were some kind of happy couple, finally coming back home.

It had been a truly good day, one of the first since she had opened eyes, and she made sure to say so to Trevor: she might still think that he was hiding her something, but she definitely couldn’t help but feel a bit soft around him.

“Thank you, it was a nice day” she thanked him, taking the little bag of books in her hands to try to hide her secret from him, and he smirked, gently caressing her face, and strangely she leaned herself into that simple touch.

“Don’t mention it, I have to say you are the funny sister” he giggled, and she found herself blushing.

“… you are the first one who ever thought this”.

The night she and Trevor had decided to treat themselves to a nice dinner outside in an expensive restaurant, mostly for her to try out the newest outfit she had bought big shoulder-pads with sequins and a tiny waist, giving the perfect hourglass figure, in a very fashionable style.

She almost looked like when she hanged onto older men’s arms, who showed her as if she was  their newest Rolex.

She was almost expensive as one.

“… don’t you think that they will talk about this?” she asked, almost worried: she didn’t want her sister to kick her out because she was standing too close to her boytoy.

“Not if we leave the waiters a huge tip” he replied, making her smirk, meanwhile he helped her out of the car, gentlemanly giving her his arm to hold her close to him, meanwhile they strutted inside.

Dinner was nice, and she was used to this kind of elegant setting, falling back in her charming persona, after a good chalice of wine, which Trevor continued on pouring, insisting on the fact that it made her almost funny.

“… well it almost makes you handsome, so…”.

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice with family?” he retorted, meanwhile he played around with the food in his plate, almost as if he couldn’t focus on it, as she, instead, tried to cut perfectly what she had chosen, into tiny bites.

“Are you my family, Trevor Kirchner?” she replied, sending him a slight glance, under her eyes, almost teasing him.

“I married your sister, or did the wine already get to your head?” but his retort was stopped short, as her legs brushed against his, the silkiness of the stockings she wore against his elegant dress pants, making her laugh loudly at his stunned surprise “… yeah the wine got to your head”.

“Did Margaret tell you what I did before I come to you” she didn’t know if it was the wine talking or the fact that strangely she felt nice, almost comfortable with Trevor.

Alongside the fact that she wanted to fuck him desperately.

Before dinner she had spent a good hour igniting a soft fire in her most private parts, gently touching them and caressing her skin till she reached a lazy and aching orgasm, thinking about him doing it to her.

She couldn’t deny that no matter how much she tried she was attracted by him.

And without no inhibitions she just couldn’t stop her blabbering mouth.

“I got paid to sleep with men…” she linked their eyes together, and pushed her legs apart under the table “… but I had a type you see, I liked old men, older than boys, and they would pay me with nice things”.

“I didn’t know, (Y/N)” his voice was dark, definitely lower and aggressive, asking for more, almost desperately.

“… I liked it, I liked the attention, the gifts, the lavish lifestyle…” she continued, meanwhile she adjusted herself onto the chair, unable to sit straight “… but nobody fucking loved me, isn’t it such a horrible thing”.

“Sweetheart, you are…” Trevor seemed almost confused about what to do, she could feel that he was aroused, but also, he somehow had reigned himself back in control from the state he had gone in, after her confession, as if he pitied her.

“I don’t need your pity” she replied, harshly hissing through her teeth and quitting all her movements, instead reaching out for the wine glass, which Trevor took from her hands.

“I think it is enough” his tone was stern, and before she knew it, he was by her side, helping her up, although she protested, attracting quite the attention.

She seriously hoped the thing about tipping the waiters to keep them quiet was true.

He pushed her into the car, definitely with much more force than when he had helped her out, saying to the driver to rush them home and she immediately pushed herself away from him, almost burned from his sudden reaction.

“(Y/N)…��� he tried to call her, but she kept on facing the window, looking out at the cold night, since it started raining and she pushed herself to look at the way the little droplets moved down the window of the car, letting it all lull you in a comfortable nap.

She was awoken by soft arms, pushing her into them, and when she opened her eyes, she found Trevor looking down at her, he seemed worried, but this time there was no pity, which made her wonder if there ever had been.

“… is your head hurting you?” he asked, treating her as if she hadn’t just confessed to him that she was a prostitute and that she had a thing for older men.

She shook her head, lightly pushing herself to bring him closer to her, tightening the grip onto his shoulder, finding comfort in that gentle contact and letting him lead her inside, cradling her closer to his chest and once they were inside he let her gently and softly down, holding her close, till he felt like she was steady again.

He then moved to leave her, but she tightened the grip onto his hand, bringing him back towards her and before she knew it her lips were onto his.

Her hand gently but steadily shifted onto his shirt, already opening the buttons she could slip an hand inside, meanwhile the other slung onto his neck, to bring him closer.

His hand shot up to her thin waist, caressing softly her hips, almost to gently reassure her to keep going.

A thunder shook them apart and realization shone in Trevor’s eyes and as she pushed him closer, he pushed her away.

“Babygirl, we can’t…” she didn’t even stay enough for him to finish.

It was always the same.

For the rest of the entire week she had avoided Trevor, as much as she could in a house in which they were all alone, except for the service maids, with whom she had developed some kind of strange friendship, to spite Trevor.

She spent most days off in her room reading and writing, mostly keeping a diary, but starting again with poetry, writing a few lines.

Even the silliest helped the confusion in her mind.

And they helped her mind going off the swift rejection she had received from Trevor still fresh and hurting.

She was low key glad when Margaret came back, although their first dinner was tense and she was more than happy to get away to the swimming pool, this time with a proper bikini, a red one, which fit her physique and as she dipped back in the water she finally felt like she was breathing freely, away from anything.

She emerged and found two brown eyes following her: Trevor.

She took her sweet time, with a few more laps, hoping he would be annoyed by the time she exited the pool, but suddenly she felt cold and to avoid getting a flu she immediately exited the pool, trying to avoid Trevor, but he quickly moved towards her.

“Can we talk, (Y/N)” he pleaded, but you simply covered yourself with your robe “… or are you going to continue to avoid me?”.

She turned around with violence, suddenly a frenzy anger taking over her.

“I am not the one who pushed away, firstly” she replied spitefully, pushing him away, with a shove of her shoulder, seeing his eyes brighten with surprise “…  I am not the one who refused, I am only doing what you asked me to”.

“Would you let me explain?” he screamed, almost as if he was tired of this argument.

Oh, she had just started.

She surprised him again, gently pushing herself closer to him, their faces so close that their lips brushed again and her hateful eyes became slightly honey, in a deer-eyed expression of purity and want for him, her legs pushed themselves between his pants, completely touching his screaming manhood, wetting it even.

“… I don’t want you to explain” she replied, her voice pointing out each word “… I just want you to fuck me”.

And as she had moved closer to him, she moved away, quickly grabbing the towel she had brought with her, and moving lightly her hips to a non-existent music.

And like this she ran away from him.

It was a week later, when Margaret was away on her trips, that Trevor did the first move, knocking on her door, meanwhile she was finishing her latest poem, which she hid quickly under her pillows, worried that it might be Margaret who had come home earlier.

But again, it was just Trevor.

She didn’t want to say that their relationship had changed, although they had been both civil with each other more for Margaret’s pleasure than because they had worked their issues.

Closer They were cold to each other, if Margaret wasn’t around.

Or better she would be as cold as ice with Trevor, although it didn’t stop her from teasing him, bending a little when she was stretching herself out in her red bikini or bringing her cleavage to be shown more through her new nightgown, a scrap of dark blue lace, much more provocative than her cotton ones.

And Trevor would just look at her as a kicked puppy.

“Caught you off guard, sweetie?” he asked with a poisonous edge to the “sweetie” part, which got her to huff, and adjust herself more comfortably onto her bed, showing off her legs.

“Stop using petnames” she mumbled instead, giving him zero attention, picking up the magazine the maid had left in her room “… it’s annoying”.

“… you just don’t look very like a (Y/N)” he replied, settling beside her and she still gave him no attention, but he grabbed her chin, raising it so their eyes would meet “… you look more like a little girl to me”.

“Ah ah, very funny” she mumbled drily, trying to get out of the grip, but it didn’t work, mostly because Trevor silenced her sarcasm, kissing her.

She immediately tried to rush the kiss, licking his upper lip, and opening her mouth, but Trevor seemed to like taking his time, gently brushing his lips against her own, at first against her upper lip, and then the lower one, before his lips separated themselves from hers.

But they stayed near her, wanting her to beg for more.

But after Kent, she didn’t beg anyone.

Her kiss was more aggressive, but she tried to keep it teasing, nibbling onto his upper lip, and pulling it between her teeth, releasing it with a pop, and pushing herself away.

“… what made you change your mind?” she asked, meanwhile Trevor moved closer to her, pushing himself onto her bed and cornering her gently against the wall “… aren’t you afraid of my sister finding out about us?”.

“As if I would ever give a fuck about that bitch” he replied, and sincerely showed up in his eyes, but if it wasn’t enough, he gently pushed an hand between her hair, bringing her close and gently kissing her cheek “… it’s just, things are going to be complicated with me”.

“I don’t give a fuck about all that, I just want a nice fuck” she retorted, her legs opening beneath him and bringing herself closer so that she could whisper in her ear “… can you do that?”.

Trevor just smirked and before she knew it she was laid onto the bed, with him gently pushing up her nightgown to reveal her baby blue underwear, matching with a lighter tone her nightgown.

“… you just have to say, please, sweetheart” he simply mumbled, meanwhile his voice was muffled by soft nibbling at her exposed thighs, brushing his moustache against it “… you have driven me crazy”.

Her fingers immediately tangled itself in the sheets underneath her, meanwhile she tried to buckle herself up to be more close to him, but Trevor quickly pushed her back, plunging his fingers into her hips, to keep her steady on the mattress against him.

But they shifted their position quickly: one finger started prodding over her panties, as if he was making sure that she was wet enough, as if he wanted to learn the ways of her body.

“… were you already this wet, before I came in the room?” he asked, his voice appearing closer to her head and as she opened her eyes, she found him staring at her as if he was worshipping a goddess, looking at her with intensity and decision, meanwhile his finger didn’t stop his attentive ministrations “… or was this because of me?”.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much, old man” she replied, refusing to surrender herself to him so easily and he simply smirked, before he laid a soft kiss onto her forehead, something that her previous lovers had never done and it low key…

… it low key made her feel almost cherished.

Trevor’s finger dipped under her panties, simply playing with the hair he found underneath there, them moving back to teasing her over her panties.

And then back in them.

And then back outside of them.

In a teasing torture that brought her to whine pathetically.

“Is this too much for you, sweetie?” he taunted her, but she didn’t give up, spreading even more her legs, and letting him do her bidding, meanwhile her head turned to face the pillow, her hair a total mess around her “… don’t you want some relief, pretty girl?”.

She did desperately and Trevor knew it, gently dragging her panties down thighs, something that surprised her extremely: he wasn’t treating her as fine china, with his constant teasing, but the soft little attentions he gave her, made her feel damnably alive.

Almost as if he cared about her.

As if it was more than just sex.

He finally gave up to her desire and pushed a finger inside her.

The intrusion, although not unwelcome, was slightly unpleasant, since it had been quite some time since she had last taken something inside of her, but she tried her best to avoid showing anything on her face.

But still Trevor caught on her discomfort, and stilled his movement, backing up a bit, so that he wouldn’t be overwhelming her.

“… is everything alright, little one? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, again… strangely caringly.

“No no….” she tried not to blush, like a virgin “… it’s just been a long time since I last have done this”.

She almost thought that Trevor would make fun of her, but he just grabbed her hand and softly brought it to his lips.

“We are going to take it slow, lovely… don’t worry” he calmed her down softly, treating her with the most kindness she had ever been reserved, and she was just able to nod speechless “… just give me a minute and I’ll make it all better”.

He then lowered himself till he was between her legs, and before she knew it, his lips were onto her clit, suckling it softly at first, wanting to get her used to sensation, although she was unable to stop a soft moan from leaving her mouth, and then with more force sucking the delicate pearl in his mouth, till he engulfed it completely.

And as he felt her shiver pleasantly under him, he started moving his fingers, wetness oozing onto it, and collecting in the little pathway between her ass and cunt, in a creamy liquid, that Trevor licked clean with a quick play of his tongue, once his finger exited her, collecting all her wetness.

And then he re-entered her again, pushing two fingers inside her, and although it was again so sudden, she adjusted more quickly, buckling up and down onto them and onto Trevor’s rough face, his moustache leaving traces onto her thighs and folds, and she could have sworn he was smirking proudly at her.

He moved his fingers inside of her, at first without too much force, and then scissoring them inside her to spread her more, since he, himself, felt the tightness of her walls, slowly crumbling apart due to his attentive ministration.

And when he curled his finger into her, she basically found herself losing herself completely to him and her fingers quickly grappled his wrist, pushing it to stay inside of her, and he just smirked at her, again kissing her forehead and holding her, meanwhile trembles went through her.

“Just let go, lovely, I am here for you” and she did, watching him in the eyes, meanwhile he brought her over the edge with his mouth a breath away from her womanhood, and his fingers in her, letting her ride the orgasm till she had enough.

Sensitive and shaking she pushed him slightly away and Trevor quickly understood her need, and moved away a bit, but he kept watching her, analyzing whether she wanted his help or not.

But as soon as her orgasm finished, and pleasure didn’t obscure her brain anymore, she moved closer to him, searching lazily his lips, mostly to distract him from the hand that went into his pants pushing itself onto his belt, wanting to unlatch it.

But he stopped her.

“What do you want to do, babygirl?” he asked, almost surprised as if he didn’t understand what you had in mind “… you don’t have to”.

“Well the fact is… “ she unlatched her belt, and then pushed it away, lowering his pants, without a single look at anything, finding herself with a very evident bulge in her face, barely contained in his red boxers “… I want to”.

And then her hand came onto his dick, teasing him over his pants as he had done with her, feeling him whine pathetically against her, who simply smirked, meanwhile she continued her teasing, slipping him outside of the boxers just as he started begging her, a constant plead of mercy, that made her feel strong and in power.

And in control.

She smirked as she lowered onto his dick, a majestic one, definitely the biggest she had ever had and the thought of trying to envelop it all, made her nervous, but she didn’t waste time, at first teasing him with kittenish lick, and then gently plopping her lips around the tip, gently teasing it, meanwhile Trevor shifted forward, his hand going up to her hair, but immediately he retreated them, almost scared.

She pushed his cock out of her mouth, with a slick “pop”, gently letting him tangle his fingers in her hair.

“You don’t have to be gentle” she mumbled, meanwhile he softly huffed slightly annoyed “… I am a big girl, I can take it”.

“Can you” he retorted back, but was shut up as she gripped him tighter in her hand, literally holding him by his dick, before she ended again enveloping him, pushing herself even more through her limits and swallowing more, till it hit the back of her throat and she had to grip the ground, trying to calm herself and relax.

In the meanwhile, Trevor had pushed his hands in her hair again, but putting it softly, mostly pushing it away from her mouth and face, in a soft ponytail, loose enough not to hurt her, but steady enough that he helped her taking the rhythm, till she found one on her own, comfortable enough that the sensation almost soothed her.

And so did to Trevor, and she had to remind him, gently bruising her teeth against his cock, making him startle, meanwhile her eyes sparkled maliciously.

“Beauty, let me come” he mumbled, because she had kept him on the edge quite a bit, with a gentle stimulation, but she knew he had had enough and she moved herself to do that trick with her tongue, pushing her tongue under the underside of his dick, probing it till she found the right spot and a salty taste invaded her mouth.

It was so sudden that she had to retreat quickly and some of his seed stained her nightgown and her mouth, which she quickly tried to clean up with the back of her hand, but Trevor was quickly and cleaned up with a little tissue, attentively not to leave any stains.

She couldn’t help but feel a bit like a child.

Then Trevor pushed himself gently against her, kissing her forehead, before he gently pushed himself even closer to her, raising her nightgown, and although some alarms went off in her, she let him take her nightgown off, her body not tampered anymore by any livid.

He kissed her tasting himself deeply, his taste still lingering in his mind, and he then pushed his hand to gentle caress her pebbling nipple and her swollen breasts.

“… you made me feel so good, babe” he mumbled softly, nosing her neck and then whispering in her ear, meanwhile he shifted her in his laps, and there everything went off.

She pushed him off, sweat dripping down her back meanwhile Trevor collided with the ground, achingly moaning out of pain and she swiftly moved off the bed to check up on him.

“Shit, babe, I would have preferred you just said stop” he mumbled as she helped him up.

“I am so so sorry, Trevor” she tried to apologize, helping him back onto his feet “I swear I don’t know what overcame me”.

“Sweetheart, don’t worry” he sighed gently, trying to push her a bit closer, checking with her whether she felt like being held or not “… I just hope that I wasn’t the one who hurt you”.

“No no you didn’t” she mumbled , meanwhile she gently adjusted herself, allowing him to bring her onto his laps, as she decked herself up in an elegant robe in order to shelter her modesty, meanwhile Trevor gently held her in his arms “… you don’t know you why I am here, do you?”.

“Just that you were in hospital, before” he replied innocently, but suddenly his face became more worried, and she honestly felt like he was caring desperately for her, and that this would hurt double if not triple when she final realized it was all so fake.

“… I was put in the hospital, actually” she corrected him and found a sudden anger being harbored in his eyes, but she kept herself from thinking about it “… a year ago, I decided to quit the escort life, because I thought I had found someone who would love me, Kent… but, oh boy was I wrong”-

Trevor didn’t even smirk at her poor attempt to humor, but brought her close, since she had started slowly trembling.

“Little one, you don’t have to continue…” he tried to calm her, but she just smirked sadly at him.

“… no no I want to” she replied, gently hugging herself “…I ditched my life to live with Kent, he said he loved me, and I actually did love him, but… then he started being more violent”.

“At first, he was just possessive, which wasn’t so bad to me, didn’t it mean that he cared for me?”.

“He had never been truly violent, he would grip me tighter and have me have sex with me, although I wasn’t in the mood, but… I owed it to him, he took care of me and I never gave him anything, back”.

“Sweetie, you don’t owe people anything, nor sex, nor your body, nor your time” stopped her discourse Trevor, moving her to look at him in the eyes “… do you understand me?”

He waited for her to nod, before he let her continue.

“On my 21st birthday, he thought I had flirted with this dude, I actually didn’t, I was just being gentle with him, but for him… I was cheating in front of his eyes, making fun of him in front of all his friends, and this wouldn’t just do” she couldn’t help but move back at that night: the way her dress had shifted meanwhile she had tried to move around the room to avoid being hit by the objects thrown to her by Kent “… he slapped me, and I started crying, telling him I wanted out, he didn’t love me anymore…”.

“… he just smirked back at me and told me that he had never loved a fucking shit about me, ‘I was just a fucking good fuck’ and he then proceeded to undress me, to…” her voice broke and she felt Trevor trembling around her, rage coursing through him, but it was in no way directed to her, whom he continued to caress softly, as if petting a scared bird “… he couldn’t, he had drunk too much and I was able to fight him off, but just when I was trying to get my back, he got me from behind, and he started choking me”.

“He almost smashed my head against the wall” her body was suddenly shaken by sobs and Trevor cooed her softly “… I thought I was going to die, but then I heard the ambulance, the guests had been alerted by the screams and they had called the police…”.

Margaret had been alerted by the hospital and she had woken up to her sister’s blonde halo and this constant pain in her head.

The migraine a long-lost sign of anything she had gone through and survived.

She gently leaned onto Trevor’s naked chest, there listening to his soft heartbeat, meanwhile she was lulled to sleep, by that and the soft caress he kept donning to her head.

Truly sleeping peacefully.

The following day, she woke up before Trevor, and although she didn’t regret what had happened the previous night and she didn’t have to worry about Margaret catching them.

Still she didn’t want the maid to worry about the entire thing, since she might end up referring everything to her sister.

That wouldn’t just do.

She had breakfast alone, although she found herself pleasantly enjoying the soft pain between her legs, and the pleasurable ache that went through her as she shifted, taking her time, to choose what she wanted to have, peeling the apple she had chosen and gently waiting for her tea to cool down.

Every attempt to keep her body calm was brought down by a soft hand gently touching her shoulder, not wanting to startle her, showing a smirking Trevor, dressed in that horridly ridiculous pink robe which made her raise her eyebrows, annoyed.

“…started without me, lovely?” his voice dripped with a sexual undertone, she didn’t give too much thought, sending him an annoyed smirk, before he brought her lips to meet his, in a soft “goodmorning kiss” that made her ache for more, wanting to throw away everything that was in the table and let him lay her down on it…

Alongside that she couldn’t just discard the feeling of warmth in her chest.

She had had anything she had wanted and some more…

… it was that “more” that worried her.

“We have to be careful, Trevor” she had to remind him, once their lips parted, but he kept them close to his “… the maids and personal staff might see”.

He giggled, softly setting beside her, his hand gently setting onto her thigh, barely exposed by the new nightgown she had changed in that morning: a beautiful light pink silky thing that complimented her complexion.

“C’mon, babe, I know all the timetables of the people working here, and I know that we could have a quickie on this table and still have some time for something more” she blushed at his bold mention, pushing him lightly away with her shoulder “… you are so cute when you blush”.

She tried not to blush even more, but she didn’t think it as physical possible, mostly when Trevor Kirchner looked at her as if he wanted nothing else but you.

Although he knew how broken she was.

“… and about last night” could he read in other people’s mind “… I’ll fucking kill this Kent, if you want to”.

A strange source of power went through her body and her center started aching for attention again.

The previous night, she had been scared with him, and right now she wanted just to be bend over and given some relief: how the hell did her body work?

Her mind was too far gone that rabbit hole.

“… and you don’t have any fault, sweetie, in case your pretty mind tells you it does, it wasn’t your fault, and I am sorry that you had to undergo everything, most importantly alone, you are not alone anymore”.

“You think that a hook-up means that much for me?” she didn’t want to sound so harsh, but there was no way in hell that they would end up living happily ever after together.

First of all, she was a mess.

Secondly, he was married to her sister.

“I just know that I am glad that we had that talk and that I really like you, (Y/N)”.

Again, with the blushing: she was used to hearing man say that they loved her, but it was never “her”, truly.

It was her body, her cunt, her legs…

Instead Trevor truly meant her.

“Let’s just make no expectation on the other” she simply mumbled, and Trevor nodded, brushing his hand against her thigh, before slowly raising up and finding her wet and aching for him.

“We are going to take things slow” he traced lazy and slow patterns, onto your barely covered core “… take all the time you need”.

And with this he was off: up and running for the swimming pool.

“I think that such a nice day should be celebrated” he mumbled, meanwhile he ran discarding all his clothes around, and she followed him smirking silly.

Meanwhile he jumped in the water, she quickly pushed herself onto the board of it, before she discarded her nightgown, as bare as him.

Offering him a chance to turn away.

He didn’t, he softly grabbed her by the waist and brought her in the water, much to her protests.

But she was happy for once.

---

Lately my fics have done extremely shittily so if you end up coming across this, and feel like it... PLEASE LEAVE AN HEART, A REBLOG, OR A COMMENT... I would truly apprecciate it!

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[unrelletable]

I had known about Reni Eddo-Lodge’s Why I’m no longer talking to white people about race for a couple of years before actually buying it. Not that back then I had thought that it was not relevant enough to spend my money on it, but - as many other university students - my finances were so tight that I had to wait in order to be able to purchase it without having to cut off on basic necessities. So as soon as I got the chance - and considering that Amazon’s free shipping does not apply unless you spend a certain amount on money - I placed my order and finally got this book in my hands.

What I am not extremely excited about books that are hyped like there is no tomorrow is that usually they tend to disappoint my expectations. It had already happened a good couple of times before, so my biggest question was whether or not this particular piece of work would have ended up in my ‘not that fabulous after all’ list. I am glad to say that this was not the case, at all.  

Why I’m no longer talking to white people about race is, as already thousands of people have stated, a masterpiece. There is absolutely no doubt about it. Its reading is not comfortable for someone who does benefit from white privilege and has nothing but a very - very - limited knowledge of what it means not to do it. It cannot be defined an understanding, because as a white woman I will never be able to experience it. And this is basically the whole point of the book.

Being white in Britain - and I would add everywhere in Western societies - is a what is considered normal. Being white is neutral, unproblematic and common. It is presented as the reality of our countries, even to those who cannot and do not experience it. Being non-white is the alterity that is portrayed as necessarily negative and worth of less dignity. And it has enormous consequences on the everyday lives of milions of people. 

Through an analysis that starts from the very origins of racism’s history and the display of statistics that irrefutably show how actually white privilege and systemic racism influence the ordinary reality of black people and people of color in general, the author forces the reader to take their pink-coated glasses and come to terms with their way of getting through life. I must admit that this is game-changing. Once you gain the consciousness regarding the inequalities and discriminations that are constantly kept hidden or belittled, the excuse of ignorance is not relevant anymore. It is up to us whether we want to keep us accountable for our own actions and behaviour or decide to be consciuosly racist and go on with our life as if nothing happened. Because in the end this is all it is about.

Systemic racism is critical because it is so entangled into our institutions and systems that we do not see it for what it is. For example, the fact that we do not see many balck people in positions of power or simply in our work environment is not due to the fact that there are not skilled black people who are able to carry out certain jobs. The real reason behind the lack of their presence is the discrimination that is pursed against them, whether is it voluntarily or not. The fact that our history is a racist one, makes it extremely easy for prejudices and stereotypes to climb their way up from a apparently lovely neighbour to an important HR manager. And because of it it makes it also extremely hard - if not impossible - for people who are not white to live their lives without having to face the consequences of a racist view of the world that has not been dealt with properly.

The level of difficulty that black people encounter in their way to success is high, and it starts from the very beginning. Our societies are so full of racist bias that even the birth of a black child can be a risk for their mother. As it has been pointed out in various studies, the prejudice that pictures black women as strong and almost unable to feel pain because of it can cause neglection by medical staff, in all kinds of situations. The same kind of bias apply to young kids at all levels of education, making it almost impossible for young black adults to achieve a school carreer as successful as their white peers. And even when in rare cases it does happen, the world of employment preserves those discriminations with the consequence that high  positions of power are almost never occupied by someone whose skin is not white. 

The main issue about these kind of dangerous prejudices that have consequences on the everyday life of milions of people is that they are also almost always invisible to those who perpetuate them. Being aware of them and of the way we carry them on is the first necessary step towards a more equal world. Why I’m no longer talking to white people about race does the amazing job of putting us in front of our responsibilities and, in case we do not consider ourselves racist people, it forces us to come to terms with our own bias and our own actions. Going through this book is not a walk in the park, because it forces us to face the reality in which we live. Saying that we are not racist is not enough anymore - and honestly I do not even know whether it has ever been enough. If we want to truly create a more equal world, we must be actively anti-racist. Which means that we need to focus on ourselves first and recognize our own mistakes, whether we committed them consciously or not. We have to recognize our own wrong behaviours and we must do our best to do better. And, most importantly, we must be ready to consciously give up our white privilege and be ready to live up to the consequences of it, which might not be exactly nice. 

This book has the enormous credit of opening the eyes of those who were privileged enough to keep them shut. It calls for action and it calls for an immediate action. We must start from the bottom, changing our mentality and the beliefs and mindsets of those around us. Reading this book put us at a crossroad: we can either decide to change things or we can keep up living in the same way we have until today. When the moment comes, I hope we will have made the right choice.

- Why I’m no longer talking to white people and why it’s worth all its hype

#unrelletable #unrelletable blog #blog #blogger #blogging #blog post #new blogger #new blog post #read #reading #summerreadings #why i'm no longer talking to white people about race #book #booksobsessed #booklover #bookworm #book review #review #reni eddo-lodge #author #amazingbook #amazing books #must read

[merrysithmas]

you may have talked about this before but do you believe boris already knew he was queer and first approached theo bc he liked him or that he started crushing after they developed a close friendship and theo was what made him question his sexuality? i think theres reasons to believe either side- boris being bold enough to cuddle him in bed seems like he was making a move but him suddenly “loving” kotku seems like an impulsive move out of fear bc he realized he might like a boy. oof idk

I think Boris knew he was attracted to boys — which is evident by his playful, charming, almost teenaged-desperate pursuit of Theo. I think he probably inherently knew this about himself for a long time. I think Boris has always been physically attracted to boys since he’s entered puberty and since he’s still a young teen it is kind of a fun, funny, interesting, enlivening thing for him.

He’s never had a stable life and despite being all over the world he’s led an extremely sheltered existence in a certain way with only one terrible person as his constant (Vladimir). Boris lets it slip to Theo that everywhere the miners go they are hated — this includes Boris. Boris is hated by the public everywhere they go. So long as he is part of their unit, he is hated. That is mortifying to intelligent good-natured Boris. That is why he learns to slip out and around, to be so personable and friendly. His world travels have not been so glorious but probably rather extremely lonely and isolating (as with Judy in Canada), hurtful, and damaging. That is why Bami and Judy (and eventually, Theo) stand out to him so much — people who were kind to him in a childhood of isolated misery and directionlessness. Boris has no moral hang ups about his same-sex attraction - why should he? This directionlessness in his key developmental years is also a good thing: He never grew up around any sort of organized belief systems or stayed bound within an orthodox culture for too long for it to indoctrinate him as its own.

I think people really underestimate how incredibly remote and friendless Boris’ life must have been. Boris is a cheerful boy who Theo says is often plagued by black moods and sullen attitudes. He is an abused and secluded child dragged from location to location with literally no love or stability and constantly brutally beaten to the point where it does not even phase him. Boris actually equates love with that abuse — and nonchalantly claims his father loves him. That is painful to read, that amount of damage.

Living with a bunch of derelict miners whose leader was HIS FATHER (so surely then mostly assholes) and who are “hated everywhere they go” Boris has probably seen any NUMBER of things a conservative-minded person would (likely often erroneously) see as “morally unacceptable” — it’s like Boris is traveling the world with a crew of pirates. He’s probably seen drinking, all kinds of drugs commonly used in front of his face. He has esoteric knowledge about drug use that a child of his age should not — so he was taught by the miners: roll like this, dont include the stems, never mix this, tuck snuff like this, you can get this kind of drug here here and here, it isn’t safe if it doesn’t look like this. His young child’s mind eager to learn sucked up this black information from men who probably didn’t have a second thought to a child or what his developmental needs were. He’s probably first hand witnessed sex workers copulating with his father’s crew (how else would be have learned about the opportunity to lose his virginity in an Alaskan parking lot to a sex worker?), definitely thievery, and said he saw his father murder a man in the mine once and cover it up. Boris’ mind is full of a lifetime of this morally shadowed behavior being presented as normal, or at least secret but common.

I think he understands his attraction to boys in this same way. I think he feels it isn’t “appropriate” to share with Outsiders but it is something that Happens, something that is no one’s business but his own, and something that brings him pleasure and happiness and therefore something he will look for. However he knows it isn’t common or visible or “appropriate” to be showy about it in front of others — especially not people who could judge him (kids at school), kick him out (society), or hurt him (his father). Boris treats his attraction to Theo like his other vices and “bad” habits - barrels head first — but secret: deep dive into happy drug use (but don’t show his dad), steals everything he ever needs (but don’t let them see, put it in my coat), lies when it suits him (lies to Xandra and Larry and his father and Theo too), happily sleeps with Theo and has sex with him (but this is between you-and-me).

He knows other people might have a problem with his actions — but he does not. So that’s his hangup there. He is aware of and ever-vigilant of his surroundings. School: a safe place isolated from his father. He is free and happy to do what he wants at school — including crush on and go after Theo who he clearly likes. He thinks Theo is cute, flirts with him, tries to get him to notice him, talks to him after class, sits next to him on the bus, begs him to come over his house, tries to impress him with far-flung stories, gives him alcohol because it’s what he’s seen his father’s men do in pursuit of romantic partners or as a bonding ritual with one another.

Theo’s house is also a safe place. So safe in fact that Boris starts to leave behind some of the maladjusted development of his childhood and become more of a happy, clear-minded person. Boris and Theo suffer from arrested development and one of themes of the book is childhood lost. They are forced to mimic adults either knowingly or unknowingly, and act in ways that children should not have to in order to survive this Adult World alone. With one another they begin to heal from their traumas, their affection for one another the catalyst. Theo cooks for him, talks to a babbling eager-to-talk Boris (imagine how few people have listened to or understood the ideas of a smart boy like Boris, often surrounded by oafish alcoholics, his violent father where he is expected to keep quiet, or cultures where he does not speak the language), Theo sleeps next to him willingly, he likes Boris, a boy from New York (the top of the world!) he think Boris is funny and smart and worldly, shares his dog with him, hangs on his words, becomes his companion, cares for him if he drinks too much, tried to tend his wounds, welcomes him gratefully into his broken family, watches his favorite movies with him, celebrates holidays with him, inherently values him — and so starts to mend Boris’ broken heart.

A lot of things and viewpoints Boris has are clearly repetitions of things he has heard his father or the miners say — “Christmas is for children” (of course they’d say that to a tiny Boris longing for the magic of Christmas as a child stuck in a mining camp watching the peripheral joy of children around him and coming back to bleak hunger and a dark home), or “god yes I loved having sex with her” (about his hooker in the parking lot — Boris then says he knew she didn’t enjoy it and never shows enjoyment but rather avoidance towards women and girls in any genuine way afterwards, yet covets Theo’s physical company).

Theo on the other hand, who for a short while and then so painfully ripped from him, grew up with love. His natural disposition in Vegas comes from a place of being so recently loved and cherished by his mother and he here, in this lonely place, turns the focus of this disposition onto the one person who is kind and protective towards him: Boris — his one light in a life that has turned very dark. This is like an alien world to Boris. Lonesome and neglected Boris is touched and startled and soon changed by this kindness. So much so that Theo, unknowingly, alters the rest of Boris’ life (Boris feels Theo saved his life).

So that is why I believe the Kotku Gay Panic came about. After their climactic Vegas pool scene where their abuse and trauma is opened to one another (their wounds from their fathers, from fire, literally pouring into the purifying chlorine of the watery womb - mother - pool as they try to drown one another, angry at their attraction to one another, but then cling to and save one another instead) Boris begins to not just have fun and have sex and have freedom with Theo (all okay things by Boris’ standards as long as it is secret) — after that scene and they sleep together and Boris satisfies that teenaged human sexual need... they continue to hookup and be at bliss for a very long, happy time where they both begin to psychologically heal— Boris doesn’t just have sex and fun with Theo, he realizes he starts to love Theo.

Love - an extremely foreign concept to Boris who literally freaks the fuck out because he has no baseline for it. It isn’t the type of “love” that his father gives him (violent, untrustworthy), it isn’t the type of “love” the men who grew up around valued (cheap parking lot sex), it isn’t the kind of “love” his idol Larry has with Xandra (Larry lies to Xandra all the time), it isn’t the kind of “love” Boris has seen in his favorite movies (men and women over and over). No, this love with Theo is very very scary to him. Very perhaps dangerous. He doesn’t know.

I think Boris accepts his physical attraction to men as nbd. I think he probably feels most people feel such attractions or some other harmless private desires that certain people may see as an aberrant from “normal” for whatever reason (either typical kinks and silly hush hush sex shop porno stuff - or other far more despicable things he’s witnessed his father’s men do) and so thinks nothing of his own innocent, consensual goodtime-centered desires. Boris, who likely grew up with little exposure to healthy LGBTQ representation and has a very isolated POV in some ways, likely to some degree at the Vegas point in his life (however casually self-accepting he is) equates same-sex attraction with hush hush taboo sex activities — nothing to be ashamed of, but you’re not going to tell your dad.

As long as it is a personal thing, for him only, Boris embraces it. But it is the emotionality, the healing, the care, the love that freaks Boris out and makes him make a run for it to Kotku — only to recede to what he knows and repeat the exact kind of fake “love” he was taught by his father: unbelievable exclamations of devotion (Boris’ dad sobbing and telling him he loves him + “I love her I love her! She’s beautiful and perfect!”) coupled with the black truth (Boris’ dad beating the shit out of him + Boris beating Kotku).

Boris knows he likes boys but when he starts to love one — that’s when he runs away. Because that means something totally different: societally and personally.

#ask #anon #the goldfinch #boreo

[workersolidarity]

Throwaway Culture: A Marxist Perspective

I never imagined I'd be interested in anything a Pope might have to say, but this caught my eye after Googling: Throwaway culture. It was something I had been thinking about all day.

I'm not religious in any way, and there are points of disagreement I have with how Pope Francis has framed Throwaway Culture, but he also gave voice to an aspect of Throwaway Culture I've personally been focusing on, our trained willingness to toss other human beings away like garbage.

So first my disagreement with the quotes above. Throwaway Culture isn't something that rose up out of nowhere from the bottom up. The set of ideas behind the development of the Throwaway Culture was something encouraged and developed from above. It began with the evolution of our Capitalist economy from one based on industrial production, into one driven largely by domestic consumer spending.

Beginning after the Second World War, consumerism began when US mega-corporations, hoping to take advantage of a better educated, wealthier population by encouraging families aspiring to be part of the expansion of the Petty-Bourgeoisie (Lower Middle Class), to buy disposable products that could simoly be thrown away after one use and replaced by subsequent purchases. This made life easier for busy Petty Bourgeois households to focus on their family, rather than the tedious cleaning tasks they were previously accustomed to.

At the same time, this fueled a massive economic expansion as the Resources and other spoils of America's development into an Imperialist Power poured back into the domestic economy. This created millions of stable, well paying jobs, funded further economic development and infrastructure, and further reinforced America's new status on the global stage as the major dominating Super Power.

Following the crises of the mid-70's and into the Reagan years, the Bourgeois politicians, grown fat after years of economic boom, were all too happy to oblige the further Corporate push towards Consumerism and the single use economy. Policy was used, not to discourage single use products and consequently heavy trash producing economy, but instead the State actively encouraged this evolution.

Movies and media began reflecting the turn towards Consumerism, encouraging a new culture, one of post-modern aloofness, cynicism and sarcasm. A brave new society was being built by cultural elites. They were creating a world where people were expected to be disgusted by the sentimentality and emotion of human interaction. It slowly became culturally taboo to feel deeply for anyone else but oneself. Sentimentality was treated as a sign of weakness, and by extension, someone who could never succeed under the Neoliberal Capitalist order. They'd managed to repackage an old idea (Classical Liberalism or laissez faire Capitalism) into a new ideological framework dominated by free markets, deregulation, global free trade and specialization, consumerism and financialization.

Everywhere you look, society tells you the only things worth investing yourself in are economic success and fame. In other words, public acknowledgement of your economic success, thereby enshrining a kind of reality television mindset into the id of the public. Everything else is just an expression of weakness.

Which brings us to today. A time when society seems to be breaking down. Many people are deeply disatisfied with their lives. Instead of being showered with fame and fortune, most people have had to experience extreme economic uncertainty, disappointment with their career, and an inability to accrue enough money to satisfy their habit of trying to buy their way to happiness. Just as we'd been trained since childhood to do.

Unfortunately, even the mountains of cheap plastic crap overflowing from landfills hasn't exactly left very many people feeling fulfilled.

For most people, this brave new world filled with opportunity and free wheeling human interaction, has turned out to be even more alienating than the 19th Century factories Marx once observed. Except today that alienation extends well beyond the workplace.

Despite spending endless hours a day perusing social media and bragging about ones latest good time, people are more likely than ever before to feel lonely and listless. The cool cynicism encapsulated in so many movies and television characters, has swiftly turned into bitter resentment, loneliness, depression, poverty and addiction.

Where once detachment seemed a hallmark of the successful Capitalist, the ironic optimism people once felt from leaving behind human emotions, particularly emotions such as love, simpathy and empathy, has devolved into a society willing to throw families living in poverty onto the streets, only to arrest them the next day for the crime of being homeless and visible.

Instead of Liberating society from life's ills, Throwaway Culture has led to a society willing to tolerate even the most offensive of injustices, stripping away the humanity for those who's fortunes never rose alongside Neoliberal Capitalism.

Consumerism, as encouraged by the newly reformed ideology of Neoliberalism, manifested itself most obviously in the 90's culture of Post-Modernism. Post-Modernism soon devolved into today's Throwaway Culture. Today, workers tolerate some of the most horrific conditions under Capitalism since the end of the Guilded Age.

A society with a high tolerance for extreme exploitation, oppression and abuse at the hands of both employers and the Bourgeois State was always a critical goal of the ruling elite. The Neoliberal ideology was built on, and driven into the minds of the masses as the tool with which to train the workforce into developing this tolerance, and it has largely succeeded. Workers today are more willing to blame themselves for their economic failures, as opposed to recognizing a system specifically designed to create the illusion of opportunity, while nearly always leading to economic mediocrity at best, and brutal destitution at worst.

That same Neoliberal alienating logic even extends to those around us. When someone loses a job,or can't pay their bills, or goes to jail for minor unpaid fines, we tell ourselves that they must not have worked hard enough. Why should we help these people when they won't help themselves? Yet, when we experience these same conditions for ourselves, instead of waking up to the reality of the inherent inequalities of Capitalism, we are trained to blame ourselves. Every economic failure we live through, no matter how absurd, how unavoidable, we see it as a failure on our part. We must have done something wrong right?

Neoliberal ideology has so infected the public mindset, that we fault ourselves for even the cruelest of outcomes, despite knowing we did everything we could, worked as hard as possible, and still we often suffer severe economic distress despite doing everything right.

It's been drilled into us from the time we are toddlers, that Capitalism offers success to anyone willing to work hard and make good decisions. (Good decisions as determined by Capitalist interests). Yet, even when this idea proves to be false, we blame ourselves rather than question Capitalism.

All of these markers of today's society are a direct result of unfettered Capitalism run amok. The Bourgeoisie and their Bourgeois State have so thoroughly manipulated the public consiousness, that we find ourselves steadfastly clinging to the assumptions of Neoliberal ideology. Capitalism has become indistinguishable in the public consiousness from ideas like "freedom", "democracy" and "the pursuit of happiness".

These buzzwords have served to make the Capitalist System omnipotent in the mind of the public. It has effectively taken the Capitalism out of the arena of politics. No longer is Capitalism something to be debated. It has officially become sacrosanct, scientific fact, and essential to personal freedom.

Taking all these assumptions of Neoliberalism to their logical conclusion brings us to today's cutting edge of Capital expansion and reproduction.

Anything can be a product to be sold on the market, even you and your most personal information, and the market is infallible. So if cruelty is a side effect of Markets, well than cruelty must be acceptable too.

As Marx once said, it's either Socialism or Barbarism. Well, the results are in and Barbarism is now a dominant feature within the frame of this Throwaway Culture and Neoliberal Capitalism.

So when Pope Francis talks about people individually taking responsibility to change their behavior, it's not that he's wrong. But he's purposely avoiding looking at the cause of today's culture. He is, like it or not, part of the elite. And the elite cannot effectively criticise, or criticise at all, other sections of the elite. That's why it has always been up to the Working Class to lead the Proletarian Revolution to Socialism. The Petty-Bourgeois reformers in Organizations such as the DSA cannot be depended on to challenge the basic tenets of Capitalism.

As much as I admire our DSA Comrades for their hard work, they seem incapable of acknowledging the Nature of Capitalism and the Bourgeois State. To understand Capitalism would mean to understand why Reformism and Electoralism within the context of the Bourgeois State can never succeed.

In much the same way, Pope Francis is incapable of confronting the threat Capitalism poses to his own Church. He neglects to see (or just ignores) the way the Church as been deeply intertwined with the fortunes of the Bourgeoisie, depending on wealthy benefactors to pay for the day to day operations of the Church.

Taking individual responsibility is something that must happen after we've cast aside the Bourgeoisie. It's something that must be confronted eventually, but only after we've begun to build a new Revolutionary Socialist society. A Socialist society must be built on empathy, collective success, collective liberation, collective wellbeing and collective responsibility. Only then is it warranted to even mention personal responsibility, which has always been another buzzword for the Capitalist Class.

Throwaway Culture has been so incredibly successful at raising the individual above all else (think the "rugged individualism" of the American ideal pushed upon us all our lives).

This is, of course, a necessary feature of Capitalist domination and exploitation. To control the masses, the Bourgeoisie must divide the masses, and the easiest way of sustaining and normalizing a divided society is by creating a culture centered around the individual while minimizing into insignificance the importance of the collective, the importance of community, and even minimizing the importance of family and friends.

This has been so successful that most human relationships have become so shallow as to be practically meaningless. This of course making it easier to allow Throwaway Culture to move from an attitude towards society generally, into an attitude towards even the most important relationships a person can experience in life.

After all, in order for someone to find it acceptable to throwaway even those closest to her, then her relationships with them must be reduced to simple, meaningless economic transactions between herself and those around her. (think of our holiday "traditions" that always seem to require consuming large amounts of disposable products, overcooking massive meals and giving of gifts. All of which require prolific spending that is treated as a competition)

This is essentially where we've arrived today. All relationships are being reduced to simple and meaningless economic transactions. And after all, as we've been trained to do all our lives, our economic interactions are always disposable.

Pope Francis is right to bring these issues into the fore for the world. The Church, just as Communities and families do, requires a certain degree of importance placed on human relationships. The Church brings people together under one roof on a weekly basis, and must convince them all that this religious Community is at least equal in importance to their economic concerns.

This where the analysis by, and strategies of, Historical Materialists and those employed by the Church for its own survival meet. Generally, throughout the history of Capitalism, the needs of the Bourgeoisie have run parallel with the needs of the Religious elites. But Throwaway Culture, Consumerism, and Neoliberal Capitalism are becoming antithetical to the very survival of the Church.

And I'm not necessarily calling the Pope an Opportunist. For all I know he may truly believe that Throwaway Culture and Neoliberal Capitalism go against the teachings of the Church. Still, we have yet to see either Pope Francis or the Church more generally turn against Capitalist ideology.

If Pope Francis and the Church really wants to challenge the Culture of Consumerism, just like Socialists he must name the enemy of the Collective: Capitalism, Imperialism and the International Bourgeoisie.

Additionally, no amount of idealism, religious or otherwise, will help us to defeat the Reactionary forces of Imperialism. Only a deep Materialist analysis and understanding of how we got here can open the eyes of the masses, and help us to develop the strategies and tactics we will need to defeat Capitalism on an international scale.

We didn't arrive at this point when Throw Away Culture dominates the ideological underpinnings of society overnight. Nor can we expect to sweep generations worth of manipulation, historical lies, and Bourgeois propaganda under the rug.

Opening the eyes of the masses will take time, and unfortunately time isn't on our side. A multitude of crises are converging more quickly than anyone could have predicted. Yet, for those of us living in the heart of the Imperialist world, we are vexed by the least developed Proletariat in nearly two centuries.

How we can develop and educate the Proletariat of the Western world fast enough to avoid complete disaster on a planetery scale? This is something we must organize around and work through.

The time for Academic Marxist papers and years of drawn out debates are over. Climate Change and sea level rise are occuring many times faster than anyone predicted just a couple decades ago. Capital, instead of working to solve this Global problem, is actively making things worse. Meanwhile our Throwaway Culture is corrupting the very souls of the masses. If change must occur quickly to save the planet, then the human race is headed in completely the opposite direction.

We must unite as Workers and begin the hard work of educating and organizing the Proletariat. We have to find a way of uniting and organizing behind a single Vanguard Party, and developing our Praxis without delay.

Capitalism is sucking the very humanity out of us all. Unless we act quickly with an urgency that matches the scale of the problems we face, and unless we put aside our differences and our final visions for the Socialist society to come, instead working together to develop the fledgeling Socialist Movement, than it may soon be too late to change course.

I want to live in a Society that values empathy. A Society that embraces the human condition and our human emotions. Not a culture that ignores the trashing of our planet, embraces greed and detachment, and assumes the consequences of our actions can be solved by idealistic notions of just moving to another planet once we've trashed and exhausted the resources of this one.

A want a world where those living in the Global South aren't starving while Americans throw away tens of thousands of tons of food a day, just to keep the homeless and hungry from getting a free meal out of our trash cans. How disgusting a society are we willing to live with?

And so even though I am motivated by objectively Idealistic notions of Community. I turn to Historical Materialism to understand how we got here, and how we may fix it.

Socialism offers the only way out.

I'm not so naive as to think simply appealing to our humanity is going to change anything. Even if suddenly the great masses of workers agreed with those appeals tomorrow, we would still be at the mercy of Capitalist exploitation, oppression and a Bourgeoisie ready and willing to use any destructive and violent means to enforce it's will. A simple look at the Middle East shows Imperialism is alive and well, and what it looks like when Western Bourgeois interests are threatened.

A strategy and set of tactics must be developed. Theory is only as good as the praxis it's used for. We must also provide for the development, education, and organization of the Working Class.

Lastly, we must be ready for massive resistance by the Bourgeoisie. They will almost certainly react with violence to any major challenges to their power and the system they've spent more than three centuries building. Potentially a violent Revolution and even civil war on a massive scale must be prepared for. Socialists cannot expect to passively win this war. One look back on Proletarian Revolutionary History should tell us all we need to know about what we must be ready for.

But NEVER forget Comrades, there's many many times more of us than their are of them! We will win the Revolution to come!

Solidarity Comrades

Workers of the world unite!

#throwaway culture #throw away culture #disposable culture #disposable relationships #consumerism #historical materialism #anti capitalism #anti capitalist #capitalism #late capitalism #climate disaster #climate change #climate justice #socialist politics #socialism #revolutionary socialism #pope francis #the church #marxism leninism #marxist leninist #marxist #marxism #marxist analysis #communist #communism #revolution #violent revolution #the bourgeoisie #bourgeoisie #workers of the world unite

[gingergoatfarm]

Recovery - (Nearly) Three Years Later

It’s nearly unfathomable to me that it will be 3 years since my car accident next month.

It happened 2 days before Hurricane Matthew. Boy that was NOT a fun time. I think I’ll write a story about that next.

Looking back, the accident seems SO long ago, a LOT longer than just 3 years. I think about all I went through: the surgery, the legal battle with the insurance companies, the pain pills (ALL those pain pills, Percs, Oxys, Soma, Lyrica, Robaxin, Valium, etc.), physical therapy, acupuncture, therapeutic massages...and the alternative therapies I also sought in my desperation to provide me with some relief (I know some people think acupuncture is an alternative therapy, but I “went there.” Oh, yes I did. I did crystals, homeopathy, herbal concoctions, meditation, I even sought out the advice of a medium.).

Don’t you even dare judge me! When you are in such misery that ALL of your energy--mental, spiritual, physical--is consumed by unrelenting, all-consuming chronic pain, you will try ANY-thing or go to ANY-one that offers you any sliver of relief.

However, when I think about the past three years--and not in the perspective of the car accident and its aftermath--they just flew by. I don’t exactly know how to explain it. I do know I am a much better person than I was before this calamity even happened. I am gaining a stronger sense of who I am and what I do (and don’t) want to do with my life. My relationship with my partner is more solid and I appreciate him so much more as my ally and as a deeply caring human being. I especially value my friends and family that stuck by me and wouldn’t let me go down the “rabbit hole” (and have left behind those people who really weren’t very good for [or nice to] me, for whatever reason. No hard feelings, though; just moving on.).

Nonetheless, even as my body is SLOWLY returning to what it used to be (within limits--no more running [*sniff sniff*] or roller coasters or ziplining or bumpy ATV/bike rides--which I am totally bummed about) my mind is having a tougher time recovering. I don’t know really how to explain it. I’m not sure if I am mourning the person I used to be or if I am apprehensive about the person I am becoming.

I know now that I am a MUCH more empathetic person; I truly listen to and care about others’ circumstances. I know I am not alone. I also take my time, whereas I used to rush, rush, rush everywhere; I don’t anymore--I don’t need to, I don’t have to, I don’t WANT to. Now, I sometimes just go outside, close my eyes, and take a deep breath and listen to the crickets or smell the jasmine...or whatever.

However, I do--at times--have a nagging sense of sadness that follows me around. Most of the time, I can just push it away or shake it off, but not always. It affects my concentration and can consume me. I guess the “fancy” word for this condition is called melancholy--such a pretty word for such a sad place.

Melancholy:

- a constitutional tendency to be gloomy and depressed

- type of mental state characterized by a pessimistic sense of inadequacy and a despondent lack of activity

According to what I understand (and read on the Internet), being melancholy originated from something pretty nasty. Back in the day, people thought that body secretions--called humors--determined their feelings. So sad people were thought to have too much melancholy--or black bile--oozing from their spleens. Pretty graphic and grisly, right?

Well, I do know that I am not secreting black bile from anywhere, but at times, I can be in a “funk” that is extremely difficult to escape and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t concentrate so, I can’t read. I want to write, but I can’t focus. I think of all the things I want to do with my life and I just feel paralyzed and powerless to do anything.

I am now realizing that recovery from trauma can be one of life’s greatest challenges and stretches way beyond the physical. The body and the mind both have great healing capacities and the ability to become stronger, together. I have been working on my physical health and have neglected my mental well-being. I am accepting the fact that I went through a very stressful experience and I need to some help with my mental fortitude.

Having mental fortitude requires patience, creativity, exploration and I don’t exactly know how to do it and I am seeking help. I have to redefine who I am and figure out what I want now, because like it or not, my life has changed (and is changing) and I need to accept this fact. I need an “attitude adjustment.”

not the kind of adjustment that I used to get when I was a teenager--you know those kind--a knuckle sandwich, haha 

I must learn how to replace my wistful thinking with hopeful thinking. My attitude is the result of the thoughts I have allowed to run through my mind; progress is not built on skeptical thinking. I am learning that it is easier to stay positive when I approach solutions (and not focus on problems) one step at a time--no matter how small the steps may seem. My goal is to be an even better person--mentally, spiritually, physically--than I was 3 years ago...however long it takes.

[kbrown78]

Monthly Wrap Up: August

Not a lot to say with this month. Mostly I just wasn't in the mood for reading or writing (which is why this is late). I tried to do 2 readthons and didn't fully complete either of them. I only read 6 books and while overall they were good (only having one 2 star), they were almost all disappointing to a certain degree. I did still manage to have a good variety of books (including a non fiction), read my classic of the month, and continue with my yearly reading challenge. Also midway through the month I started impleneting a new star rating system on a scale of 10 stars that I would then translate into a scale out of 5 stars. For clarification numbers on the left is out of 10 stars and the numbers on the right is out of 5 stars: 1-2 stars=1 star, 3-4 stars=2 stars, 5-6 stars=3 stars, 6.5-7 stars= 4 stars, 8-9= 5 stars (if a book manages to get 10/10 it's obviously going to be 5 stars). Not a bad month, just wasn't what I hoped it would be.  

More Than This by Patrick Ness: In the past I've read two very different books by Ness. A Monster Calls and The Knife of Never Letting Go. Also had very different opinions about the books. I've stayed away from Ness' other books because they've gotten mixed reviews, at best. The one exception seemed to be More Than This, which everyone seems to like but also tip toed around what it's about. Now having read it, it makes sense why very little is given away about this book, but I really didn't like it. The only reason I kept reading it was in the hope that I would get answers by the end of the story, which I didn't. I will say that the first quarter of this book, when Seth is waking up and just experiencing the environment around him, was actually good. Lyrical and introspective, the pacing was just right and really pulled me into the story despite little action or dialogue. It was definitely my favorite part of the book. After the mysterious Driver shows up, however, the entire novel goes downhill. Instead of being a slow, tender story that would focus on people, and life, and mortality, it just degrades into this weird action packed dystopian. Characters were just bland, absolutely devoid of personality and minimal back story to establish how tragic they are. As for Seth himself, I liked that he was gay and in the big scheme of things it wasn't a big deal, but I don't get why their had to be such extreme hatred for him being gay when that was only a very small part of the story. What's most frustrating about this book is that nothing makes sense and it provides no answers. Even the ending makes no sense! I can't go into any details because of spoilers but this is definitely one of the worst post apocalyptic/ dystopian stories I have ever read, and there are a ton of generic ones out there. This novel was just a cheap Matrix rip off with sloppy execution. Based off my opinion of this book, and what I've heard of other works by Ness, I don't think I'll be reading any more material that produces. More Than This received 2 out 5 stars (3/10) and was my pick for the Treasure Hunting Readathon: Door.

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett: I was initially going to read this one next month, as my classic for September, but I picked it up for this month as part of a reading challenge (which I did not complete). I know it's classic that a lot of people read as a child, but I wasn't one of those people, and I was curious how I would feel about it as an adult. There were definitely some problematic aspects of this book that are honestly staples of Victorian literature, child abuse (neglect) and racism. That being said, I rather enjoyed this book. It's a simple story, a sour girl discovering a secret garden, with a lot of depth due to the themes of love, friendship, and growth, making it both easy to read but something that lingers with me. It's a pretty book, with both the writing and the setting, that works as a timeless classic. The Secret Garden received 4 out 5 stars (7/10).  

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak: When I read this book in junior high, I liked it but I honestly didn't get the hype. Now rereading, I realize that I missed so much as kid and this is the type of book I would recommend everyone read. Taking place during WWII, this book follows a young girl named Liesel as she grows up in a small town in Germany with her foster family. This is a book that nails everything that a historical fiction should be. The war serves as a backdrop while the spotlight is put on the struggles of daily life and the effects of the war. Characters are all well written, to the point where they come off as life like. Each one stands out as an individual with their own story to tell: from the book thief, to accordion player, to the Jesse Owen's fan, to the Jewish fist fighter, even Death himself. Even the plot, which is simple war time slice of life, really pulls me in with it's humanity and stellar characters. It's honestly hard to restrain myself in this quick wrap up because this book evokes so many thoughts and emotions in me. The best thing about this book is that it shows the humanity, it shows the light even in dark times. There's very little fault to this book, if any, and is the kind of book the comes along every once in while that you know will withstand the test of time and evolve into a modern classic. Needless to say The Book Thief received 5 out 5 stars (9/10).  

The Social Sex: A History of Female Friendship by Marilyn Yalom and Theresa Donovan Brown: While the topic of this piece of nonfiction did appeal to me, since I'll read just about any history book that focuses on women, but I think because it was a topic I had such high hopes for, I was ultimately disappointed by it. There were only a few chapters that I thought were actually informative, which is actually the problem I have with most shorter history books. When it's a history book there's generally a lot of ground to cover, that can't be properly condensed into a book under 400 pages. The result is usually a text that glosses over the more intimate and intricate details, which is what I'm really looking for. I really wanted to get a sense of the real world history of friendships among women because it's something I feel like doesn't get the spotlight it deserves and even in fiction I'm always looking for good examples of friendship between female characters. The first few chapters focused on the philosophy of friendship, while emphasizing how male dominated it was at the expense of women. That theme remained to almost the halfway point, which I really didn't want because that lesson has been driven in my head and I don't want to see it everywhere I go. Those chapters really only focused on a few notable female friendships at various periods of history, and only in 3 countries (sort of 4) in the entire world. There were a few solid chapters in the middle, and the book did end better than it started, but the last few chapters kept repeating the same thing. I felt stiffed because most the book just wasn't informative or memorable. An interesting subject that just fell short in it's delivery (and possibly research). The Social Sex received 3 out 5 stars (6/10) and was my pick for the PopSugar prompt “book by 2 female authors” (which was really hard to find).  

The Girl of Fire and Thorns by Rae Carson: Every century, someone is chosen to be the bearer of the Godstone. Princess Elisa is the current bearer, and while she is prophecised to perform a great act of service, the path to that destiny is filled with danger. When she is married off to a king from a neighboring kingdom she must finally face what it means to be the bearer and begin her long journey with an uncertain ending. I am excited to talk about this one but I'm finding it hard to. When I first read it back in high school, it instantly became one of my favorite series and remained one of my favorite series all these years. Because of how much I loved it, I put this reread off for awhile because I was super nervous that it wouldn't live up to my previous experience. It didn't, but to be fair it would be almost impossible since my reading tastes have changed, I have a better understanding of what I think makes a good book, and I've been hyping up this book for years.  What made this first book so beloved to me (an intelligent female protagonist who experiences amazing growth and the role of religion) were still all there with the depth that I remember them having. There even some surprising elements: like I still thought the romance was well handled and I loved the world. Everything about it from the religion to the geography to the language and even the fact that all the characters have darker skin (seriously if you're looking for more diverse YA I would totally recommend this one), clearly has influence from a certain culture in our world but is still its own thing. There were however, a few things that did disappoint me, one of them being a big deal (at least for me personally). The pacing of the narrative itself was fine, especially since there was a lot of journeying in this book, but it almost felt like the narrative was moving too fast and I just wish there were at least a few moments where the plot settles and we get more intimate character moments. The major issue I had with this book the lack of girl power, something I thought this series had but upon reread I was confronted with the fact that it really doesn't. Again I would like to emphasize that Elisa is a fantastic character, not only because she proves her intelligence and puts it to good use but she's someone who grows past her insecurities and becomes a better individual for it, but she's the only female character that gets this treatment. Most of the other females, like her sister Alodia, her nurse Ximena, and her new handmaid Mara, get little screen time and are hardly relevant to the story, while the only female side character, Cosme, is a total bitch to Elisa for basically the entire novel. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted in terms of girl power, and I was really disappointed by that, but that's my only major complaint. This book has its strong points that elevate it beyond the typical YA fantasy but it isn't all that I thought it would be. The Girl of Fire and Thorns received 5 out 5 stars  (8/10) and was my pick for the PopSugar prompt “reread of a past favorite.”

The Crown of Embers by Rae Carson: Immediately after I finished The Girl of Fire and Thorns I started reading this one, since I want to marathon read all the books in the Fire and Thorns series, like I did last time. Where the first book focuses on Elisa's personal growth (the whole series does but its most prominent in the first book), introducing the world, and the battle of good vs evil (Joyans vs Invierne), the second book focuses more on Elisa being a ruler while still having a looming destiny and the political machinations of the world, and starts to blur the line between good and evil. Based on that summary it sounds more like the kind of book that I would love, but I struggled more with this book than I did the previous. I think it's due to the fact that this book tried to tackle more mature subject matter, but kept the narrative pacing the same as its predecessor, and also didn't really remedy the issues I had in the previous book, which were only more prominent. I didn't like the political intrigue because almost everything about it was just kind of dumped in the book with no prior development, which it really needed in order to create a believable scenario. I discussed in The Girl of Fire and Thorns wrap up that I was pretty disappointed by the lack of girl power which only got worse in this book. Mara as a character frustrated me because she only existed to talk about boys with Elisa, but there's also a lack of females being major characters or even important figures in politics. Even Elisa being a ruler is undermined by all the males in her court (except Hector), which is something I've seen done with YA fantasies with female monarchs, and I really don't like it because it reduces the queen down to little more than a figure head. Carson clearly shows that she can write amazing characters that are also female, but I don't know why she reserves it to only 1. Speaking of Elisa though, she is the best thing about this whole series. Like I love everything about Elisa. I love that she retains her core characteristics (strong moral code, her faith and intelligence) but she continues to progress as a character, constantly evolving to reach her full potential. She's honestly what drives the narrative, her decisions as a queen, her destiny as the bearer of the Godstone, and her internal growth. As YA fantasy, especially one from the time period it was published, this is a good book, but it's frustrating seeing the obvious potential this book has to be a rather sophisticated fantasy series, but then just not having it reach that potential. The Crown of Embers received 4 out 5 stars (7/10).

Thank You Everyone

Keep Calm and Keep Reading

#monthly wrap up #girl of fire and thorns #rae carson #more than this #patrick ness #the book thief #markus zusak #the secret garden #frances hodgson burnett #the social sex

[davewakeman]

StubHub, platforms, and the challenge of far too many empty seats...

  I was thinking about open ticket markets and a relatively closed market like we have in the United States over the last few days and the ongoing sales process that involves eBay looking to sell StubHub.

In general, I am a proponent of having more means of open distribution like you see in Europe where companies receive allocations of tickets and are incentivized to market and sell tickets to ensure that they continue to be able to receive tickets.

As I’ve been reading articles about the decline in attendance at college football games, baseball games, and pretty much everywhere. I’ve drawn a few conclusions and that’s one that I think is pretty familiar to folks around the world: the biggest challenge facing the business of tickets and experiences is one of marketing.

By this I mean that in far too many places we just aren’t doing a very good job of bringing the basics of modern marketing or the best practices of marketing and sales 101 to the way that tickets and experiences are sold.

Which gets me back to the overwhelming utilization of platforms to sell tickets in the States.

Far too often, we are finding that our content producers are wed pretty tightly to one platform on the primary side, maybe one on the secondary side, and they can find themselves stuck in a position where there is little control to their strategies and their marketing and selling.

In looking through this idea, I’ve come back to three insights that I think are the most important to keep in mind. (And, are likely relevant to anyone selling tickets or experiences to anything.)

When you are so platform-dependent, you see the following things pop up over and over:

You may gain data, but you have no relationship with the consumer.

You often end up as a commodity and not differentiated in your positioning.

You end up at the mercy of your platform partners’ marketing and sales efforts.

Let me explain these a little more completely.

You get data, but you don’t have a relationship:

For some reason, it feels like everyone is chasing data constantly now and that data is always held up as the saving grace of every new initiative.

Recently, we’ve seen the bidding for StubHub allegedly include people like Vivid Seats and Fanatics. With Fanatics coming in late in the process under what has been described as a potential play for StubHub’s data.

Obviously, knowing more about your customers is better than knowing less, but there are limits to what data can and can’t do for you.

In the way that many organizations are using their data and partnering with platforms to gain more data, they seem to be making the assumption that all data is good data.

When all data isn’t good data.

All data is just a lot of data.

Relevant and contextual data is the really important stuff.

In the process of chasing data at all costs, many organizations have lost the art of building relationships.

What is missed in this lack of relationship-building is the reality that the most important data could be gleaned more efficiently if organizations, teams, and venues did a better job of relationship building and managing the relationship from cradle-to-grave of their fans, supporters, and guests.

Just the other day, I got an email about a playoff ticket pre-sale from an MLB baseball team that I don’t remember having received an email from in several years.

Maybe they have my information from years back, maybe they are utilizing partner data that shows I went to about 3-4 baseball games this year, or maybe they are spraying and praying. The point is that I looked at an email from the team after not receiving an email for years as a little sketchy and a little desperate.

I think about it in the same way that no one pays full price at J.Crew any longer. They discounted and acted desperately so much that it never seems like I should pay full price.

Compare that someone like Apple that never really discounts. When I need a new phone, I buy it. Laptop, same.

Two things set Apple apart from J.Crew or many organizations:

They own me as a customer. I’m brand loyal and don’t shop around for my Apple products.

They market to me consistently not just when they are in a snit because their iPhone sales are down.

In today’s world, the tools to achieve a greater degree of knowledge about your customer exists everywhere. For sports or other experience organizations, you can easily do any of the following that would go a good way towards developing a better relationship with your audience. This list isn’t anywhere near complete, but here are several ideas that you can use to gain relevant and contextual information that you can use constantly:

Create a membership program like teams like Tottenham Hotspur or Man City do that offers value, connection to a global fanbase, and gives you the chance to engage with your fans year-round.

Develop a frequent guest program that could look something like Starbucks’ rewards program or Peet’s or any number of frequent guest programs. The technology to drive these is pretty simple and you turbocharge it by adding in the membership program data too.

Have a content calendar that uses assets that you own like your website, your email list, and your building to drive engagement, data collection, and other information to you and not through partners.

I could go on, but the key is that you must return your focus to owning the relationship with your customers and the tools that can deliver on this promise readily available.

You often become a commodity and that’s a problem: 

I have a number of friends and colleagues that take the point of view that a ticket is a commodity and I’ve often pushed back on that.

But, lately, I’ve come around to the idea because if you are neglecting to sell an event as a once-in-a-lifetime experience, which every live event or experience is, you are a commodity because you’ve done absolutely nothing to differentiate yourself from every other event or experience going on in your market or in other markets where the events are being broadcast.

This is only emphasized further by the nature of how the platforms market and sell your tickets and experiences.

Do a Google search for any event you might be thinking about, I’ll wait.

I did Madonna in Brooklyn tomorrow night (September 19th, 2019) because I went to her “Confessions of a Dancefloor” tour at MSG and despite being hotter than hell, it was awesome!

The point is that I know from reading the WSJ article about the tour launch yesterday that there are VIP options available. I know the venue is intimate. I know several things.

But when I visit the sales page, primary tickets are mixed in with secondary tickets. VIP tickets aren’t well marked. There isn’t a lot there to build anticipation of the event that is likely really cool because it is seeing Madonna in a venue of the size that you would never have seen her since she was just starting out.

I point out this because this happens across the board for events.

Your event is presented as a standard Thursday night in NYC, not the once-in-a-lifetime event that this most definitely is.

At what cost are you allowing your events and games to become commodities with your pricing flying up or down built on uncontrollable or difficult to control buzzwords like “buzzy”, “hot”, or “huge”.

The thing about this is that these once-in-a-lifetime events are too precious and valuable to allow to become commodities, especially with “The Experience Economy” being a bigger part of people’s attention and their recreational spend.

The answer, again, to controlling the narrative around your events and not allowing them to fall into commodities is:

Marketing better and consistently.

Storytelling.

Creating more and more value that is unique for your buyers and potential buyers.

In the end, you become a pawn at the mercy of your partners and platforms to market and sell you effectively: 

This is the worst thing in the world to happen to a lot of companies.

I was listening to Scott Galloway talks about how dangerous Amazon is for retailers, not the stores, but the people selling products because on a whim they can change the way your product is presented, if is presented, or the terms of your relationship and you have no power.

That comment was the one that got me started down this rabbit hole of platforms.

I did a really well-received webinar for the NATB a few years back where I talked about if you rely on platforms like StubHub, Vivid Seats, or Ticketmaster to sell your tickets, you aren’t anything but a commodity.

I went on to highlight that you have to have something of unique value that you can use to differentiate yourself and make your tickets more valuable to the platforms you are partnering with.

This is a lesson that everyone can and should learn because it plays itself out daily.

I’ve been working with a few events around the country and I’ve needed to partner with the secondary market to ensure that tickets are available in places that people are likely to search for them.

I’ve learned 2 important lessons, at least:

Your primary partner contract can make or break you.

You don’t want to be at the mercy of having to figure out how to effectively use the primary and secondary market once you’ve gone on-sale because you are at their mercy once you’ve made a deal with your platforms.

This is important to keep in mind because it is all about strategy. Which I’ll remind you comes down to 3 points:

Your value

Your customer

How you are reaching them

Back to the platforms, you might be listed on a platform, but if they aren’t allocating spend to promote your event when you need to be promoted, you are at the whims of them and you have to figure how to scramble and fill in the void in your marketing and sales efforts that you were hoping to have alleviated by your platform partners.

And, if the same lack of urgency befalls you on the primary side…well, good luck!

You’ve now fallen into the commodity trap.

All 3 of these points really come down to marketing, strategy, and focus. Things we all talk about with great frequency, but often don’t execute on with enough consistency.

Which brings me back to StubHub and the sale of the top platform on the secondary market. eBay is going to make a lot of money off their initial investment, I’m sure of this. But the company that buys StubHub under the hope of utilizing their data more effectively to open up another market or revenue stream likely needs to be reminded of my warning about Big Data versus contextual data.

Why?

Because we’ve seen this story before and it typically ends poorly for the business making this play.

What say you? Let me know in the comments!

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StubHub, platforms, and the challenge of far too many empty seats… was originally published on Wakeman Consulting Group

#amazon #entertainment #marketing #NATB #platforms #sales #Scott Galloway #sports #storytelling #stubhub #tickets

[strikersunindie-a]

Adventure Down Underground || Hanson/Scott

@blue-eyed-devils​

Scott had to be flown in by helicopter to get to the top of the mesa. He got a great view of the arid landscape, reminding him once again how far he was from his frigid homeland.

The helicopter dropped him with a cloud of dust, leaving Scott to locate Dr Hanson alone. He’d read enough of the detailed reports to know the dig site, even if it was his first time visiting. A cave marked by First Nations drawings leading down into an extensive underground network left by a lost civilization.

The historical significance of which had drawn Dr Hanson, but Scott was more interested in finding the cause of their demise - for it’s modern day applications.

Scott figured he wouldn’t find the man in the cluster of tents, so he pulled out a torch from his backpack and started his descent into the caves. About halfway down the cave floor changed to rough-hewn steps, eventually leading down to a big cavern with buildings and walls cut into the stone. A series of flickering torches led him down to where Dr Hanson was working.  

The man must have heard him approach but didn’t look up, seemingly too entranced with his work. Scott hadn’t met him in person before, only spoke briefly on the phone. He was taller and more fit & handsome than he’d expected. Scott stowed his backpack by one of the metal cases and dusted off his white shirt before approaching Dr Hanson.

“I’m Scott Verdant,” he said, offering his hand. “I believe you were expecting me?”

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Hanson had surprised the crew when they first met him as well. As the leading archeologist, they were expecting some nerdy academic, with thick rimmed glasses, sunscreen all over the place, and either sweating buckets with just a few steps or overly lean. Hanson was fit and definitely caught the eye of a couple of members, but he ignored it all and had them focus on mapping and setting up the caves.

It was magic when they finally discovered the route to the city of stone. Despite centuries of neglect, nearly all the buildings were intact. It took them days to set everything up, knowing they were going to eventually explore each one to see what life was like inside. Unfortunately, the items inside weren’t as intact, as opening the door to one with the utmost care caused many items to finish turning into dust. With the funding they received however, they used a machine to chart the place, similar to sonar.

Hanson was examining one house with certain inscriptions when he heard someone approaching. He just assumed it was one of the workers, giving him an update, but he didn’t think it would be their financial savior!

“Mr. Verdant! Welcome!” Mr. Hanson walked over to the man, taking it and giving him a strong and enthusiastic grip. “You’ll be very pleased to hear we’re making great progress on everything. Come!” The excitement was almost like a kid’s at this point, as he showed the drawings he was examining.

“So this is interesting because somehow, this is similar to Anasazi drawings and language. Yet it’s older, meaning this would be a connecting point to that tribe that mysteriously disappeared. At this point, I can tell you that it wasn’t another tribe that wiped them out.”

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Theirs was a mutually beneficial arrangement. He funded Hanson’s expedition and Scott got access to anything unearthed. Hanson’s eyes lit up as he spoke passionately.

Passion is good. Means he’s fully engaged with the task at hand and more tractable. Boys and their toys….So predictable.

Scott came in closer and quickly glanced over the drawings. “You found these here? Do you think we’ve finally found the lost tribe?”

He considered Hanson’s conclusion for a moment. “So not another tribe. Maybe my theory that this is a special religious site is more plausible. Maybe they had a mass sacrifice and must be somewhere special. How the progress going on the lower levels?”

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“Perhaps, but we haven’t been able to find any remains inside. Each house is practically sealed, any new motion might turn the contents into dust. That machine you got for us however is helping us map each one though.” He knew that Hanson would want some artifacts for his personal collection, but Scott hoped that he would at least get to examine and photograph them for research.

“I’m not sure about the mass sacrifice, but it definitely possible this was a religious site. Or perhaps something similar to a last stronghold, where they go for safety.” It was pure speculation at this point, as he’d need more time to examine everything.

“However, we’ve opened the way to the lower levels at least and cleared a path. There is where it’s real interesting. Come,” he said as he clipped a portable light to himself. “Once we found this, I wanted us to double back and examine each place carefully, in case we can find more things related to this.” As they traversed down, things got darker, but it was definitely carved out. At the end was a massive wall, but had a few indents in it that were definitely man made.

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He followed after Hanson, eager to see what they might find. Scott was inexperienced with being on dig sites and archaeology in general, but he knew a fair amount about geology and the natural world.  

He noticed how the rock changed the further they went down. Softer sandstone changing to denser rocks like granite in the torchlight.  “There just has to be so much more than what we’ve found. To sustain a community of this size to build all this….they’d need a fresh water and food source. Where’s the signs of all that? There just has to be more to unearth h-”

A rock suddenly crumbled underneath his foot. Scott stumbled forward, bumping smack into Hanson’s surprisingly solid body. “So sorry,” he said, steadying himself. He gave the man’s shoulder a brief pat. “I should be more careful, less excited.” He smiled ruefully and gestured for Hanson to continue the way.

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Hanson was familiar with the area and knew where to stand. He was also rather light footed because of the fact many places could simply crumble underneath a step. Scott however, was not. So while he was a bit startled by feeling the man’s body against his own, he held firm so Scott didn’t fall anywhere else. Then he turned around to make sure Scott was secure before turning to the wall.

“I’ve only allowed a few people in here because they know how to examine things. Please, don’t touch anything. Even something like the oils from our fingers can affect the composition and quality of any artifacts.” Hanson didn’t like having to tell his benefactor this, but it was necessary.

He pushed open the wall and revealed a rather large cave. It was raised, as much of the floor was covered in water that led even deeper. The walls were covered in a bio-luminescent algae, that revealed patches of mushrooms and other fungus growing. “The water must have come from there, while they ate the mushrooms. Unfortunately, I’m not sure if these are poisonous or not, or if the water is actually safe to drink either.” There were paintings there too, around the algae on the wall, of creatures that didn’t look like the humans they’ve seen everywhere else.

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Scott wanted to point out it was an accident, not deliberate, but he held his tongue. The man had a point and there was need to distract Hanson further.

He followed after the man, down through to a cave covered in fungi, bio-luminescent algae and rock art. “It’s beautiful…” breathed Scott, as he looked all around.

“You think the fungi was still around in their time? Maybe some of it has hallucinogenic properties,” he wondered. “How deep is this water? Perhaps there is more to be revealed in it’s depths… -but after we’ve fully explored this complex, of course.” he quickly added.

Scott raised his torch to view the cave drawings as they passed. Beautiful… so pristine…But nothing unremarkable. What if this site comes up empty? That this whole project’s been a waste of time and money?

He followed Hanson through the cave, down some rough-hewn steps that seemed to go on forever till eventually they stopped at a passageway, cleanly cut into the stone. Already Scott could tell the masonry was different here. The passageway led out into an enormous ante chamber, filled with countless carved stone pillars and other things Scott didn’t recognise. The chamber was so big, his torchlight didn’t reveal the end to it.

“Wow!” Scott didn’t know where to look first. “Hanson! This is incredible! This is it, right? You’ve found it!”

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Although Hanson had lectured Scott just moments before on proper behavior at a site like this, Hanson couldn’t help but enjoy the look on Scott’s face. It was as if the man got younger again, the stress of life seemingly lifted as it was replaced by wonder and awe. It was how Hanson first felt when he first saw the giant t-rex skeleton in a museum.

“I have to study some more to confirm it, but yes, I do believe that this chamber was likely used in some sort of ritualistic manner.” The chamber was huge underneath the earth, though there was clearly air filtering in through some natural vents.

“If you look closely at the pillars here, you can see markings of some sort that are repeated on each of them, with only very slight differences. And they all lead to that center,” he said as he pointed to each one with the torch. “I wish to leave this last while we explore further up, to see if we can gather clues as to the details of each markings,” he said to Scott, hoping the investor would listen to him.

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Scott aimed his torch in the direction where Hanson was pointing. The centre had some kind of stone altar, or at least what appeared to be to Scott’s untrained eyes. Below the altar, a channel was cut into the stone, leading away into the shadows.

“Are those cut lines down there to capture blood from their sacrifices?” asked Scott, thinking out-loud. The run-off might lead to human remains -  And I can finally get a sample of the disease!

“Wonder where it leads to?”  Too excited, Scott immediately set off after it.  A half-dozen paces and there was a soft click!  A sickening sound of stone scraping again stone echoed in the chamber. Scott stumbled. The floor beneath them started to give way.

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

Scott felt a strong hand gasp his as he fell. Sliding on stone into darkness for a few scary moments. Scott tumbled on a hard surface before his whole left side slammed into solid stone, his skull hitting it with a lound thump. “Are you alright?”  asked Hanson, from somewhere in the dark. “I’ll live,” muttered Scott, rubbing his pounding head. It felt a little sticky.  Must be bleeding. I'm getting too old for this. His eyes adjusted to the gloom, lit only by the flashlight that must have fallen with them. Scott pulled himself to his feet with a groan. “It looks like this might have been a dumping ground for sacrifices,” stated Hanson. “What was that? Was that you?” “Hmn? Oh that’s a snake. Easy now. Stay still while I find it.” Scott grabbed the flashlight and looked around for the snake. “He’s just warning us that we’re in his home. Give him space and he’ll be fine.”  The flashlight’s beam revealed a number of snakes, most were relaxed and out of range, except the one coiled up in strike position near Hanson. “Stay calm. That’s it. I’m gonna distract him, and you’re gonna step back towards me when I do.”   Scott slowly bent down to pick up a rib bone. “Alright,  ready-”  He tossed the bone with the snake’s reach, but away from Hanson. The snake dived after the bone, sensing movement in the air. He sighed with relief when Hanson stepped beside him, the two men pressed close together against the wall. “Phew. I didn’t want to tell you that was a black  desert cobra and pretty venomous. You good?”

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

Hanson was a bit surprised by how concerned Scott sounded. Of course he knew that snakes around here probably were poisonous, as he worked in these environments. But anti-venom was on the campsite, not on him, and even all of his powers couldn't stop that. When he saw Scott toss the bone, Hanson jumped to Scott's side against the wall. "Yeah. But how the hell are we gon a get outta here," he wondered aloud, looking at the walls and ground to see if there was an way out. There had to be, since even snakes needed oxygen to live. They were still breathing after all so there had to be an exit. "Guess you're getting a bit more adventure than you paid for," he joked as he looked at Scott, trying to lighten the mood."Here, hand me the light," he said. Looking around, he waved the light up above and saw a bunch of stalactites, but one area was clear. "There. I think we need to find a way to press it. Otherwise we will be stuck here." Looking down at the ground, some snakes were nearby but they were relaxed at the moment too. "If only we could make a torch. The fire would scare them away," he said, trying to figure out who to do so without revealing his ability.

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

Scott passed Hanson the torch and looked up where he was pointing the light. a A bunch of stalactites. What’s he thinking? All the way up there?

 “Um...how would we even get there?  You on my shoulders? I'm not a smoker so no lighter or matches. Nothing to burn anyway, unless you’re counting clothes.” Scott paused to check his pockets. “But I do have a Swiss army knife. And some gum, if you want.”   He lightly touched Hanson’s arm. “Shine the light back down here. Maybe we’ll get lucky.” 

Scott took hold of Hanson’s hand, an unconscious gesture, needing the other man close and safe as they inched along the wall, away from the snakes. His foot crunched on something in the shadows more solid that sand. Scott immediately stopped, feeling Hanson bump up against his backside. “There’s something down there. Point the light down a bit.” 

 The light revealed a pile of bones blocking his way. Scott didn’t recoil, instead it got him thinking.  “Now if I had a chamber with a trap door or sacrificial pit, I wouldn’t want the dead bodies stinking up my lair. No, I’d want them cleared out.” 

 He knelt to start moving the brittle bones away from the wall. They were tangled up with bits of god knows what else but Scott grit his teeth and worked them free revealing a fair-sized opening cut 

#hanson and scott #different agenda #adventure down underground

[fireproof-harry]

Game. Set. Match. OR Tennis!Harry

The one where Harry’s a superstar tennis player and you’re just the friend from back home.

Type: fluff, bit of angst

Word count: 2.5k

“...and young Styles hits it into the net again.” A sigh from the crowd follows as Harry falls another game behind.

It’s the second set of the AusOpen quarter finals. Harry’s already lost the first set and will most likely lose the second, but that’s not what’s on his mind. With his body aching, sweat dripping everywhere, all he can think about is the fact that she’s not here.

—

Y/N feels horrible. She’s never missed a game.

Her eyes keep glancing to the corner of the pub where the TV is playing the match live. She can’t see the score from where she is but she can tell that he’s losing. Badly.

Focus! she tells herself. Here she is on a lovely night out with a lovely nice man talking about nice things that aren’t tennis!

But every time Y/N tries to focus on the blue eyes of her dinner partner all she can think about is the blue court she’d rather be watching... and how she much prefers green eyes anyway. She’s not supposed to be thinking about those eyes though. Not after the other night. 

“And then I did my new backhand trick - you know the one I showed you last week? - and he didn’t have a chance!” Harry was always chatty after a good training session and this day was no different. Bouncing a tennis ball along the pavement as they walked through the park, Harry was animatedly describing (and reenacting) his last hour as Y/N nodded along and ooh-ed and ahh-ed on cue.

“So I’m feeling pretty confident for Tuesday,” he finished.

“That’s great H,” Y/N said, flashing him a quick smile.

It’s not that Y/N didn’t like hearing about Harry’s training, it’s just that Harry trained a lot. And talked about it a lot. Not just the training but everything tennis. Ever since Harry had turned pro it was like there suddenly wasn’t any time for any of their old hobbies or discussion points. No more Harry Potter movie marathons or debates about Marvel vs DC. Just tennis. And while it was great to see Harry gain some hard earned success, she couldn’t remember the last time Harry asked her about her and truly listened to the answer without bouncing a ball or rewatching one of his games in the background. And this trip to Australia was just the icing on the cake. You’d decided to take a stand.

“Actually H, about the match on Tuesday...” you started, “I might be a little late.”

“Late?” Harry asked, turning to you, “you’re never late.”

“Yeah well I have something on and I’m sure it will probably finish early or you know I can just leave but I’m just letting you know that I’ll be a little late is all.”

“What for?” Oh shit. Now this is not where you wanted to go. You were hoping he would just half listen and nod and move on.

“I have a date,” you blurt out.

“A date?” Harry stopped walking.

“Yes.”

“What do you mean you have a date?” Harry asked, scoffing as though it was the most ridiculous idea in the world.

“Exactly that!” replied Y/N indignantly. “Why do you sound so surprised? Didn’t think anyone would want to take me out?”

“What? No...I’m just.. you never ... I didn’t know you were looking to date anyone right now,” Harry stuttered.

“It’s recent,” Y/N answered vaguely, hoping to put an end to this already embarrassing conversation. Y/N and Harry didn’t talk about this stuff. Ever. They could talk for hours about anything and everything but when it came to dating, they led separate lives and pretended not to care about the others. Until now.

“Where’d you meet him?” Harry asked, his full attention now completely on Y/N.

The truth is - Y/N met him on a dating app. She hasn’t been out with anyone in ages and she thought what better time to try out a dating app when on the other side of the world? And Lo and behold one of her first matches was a strapping young Aussie whose abs certainly made up for his apparent affinity for beer (Y/N was not a beer drinker). You couldn’t tell Harry this though as he probably wouldn’t see this as important and easy to cancel... and desperate?

“A café,” you lied, “I’d forgotten to bring my Australian money and he offered to pay for my drink,” you made up wildly.

“He seemed really nice and we got talking and now we’re going on a date,” you finished, fingers crossed inside your jacket pocket.

“Oh,” Harry replied, starting to walk again. You continued in silence for another moment before Harry stopped again.

“But he could be a serial killer!” He exclaimed. “You don’t know him! How do you know what his intentions are?”

“Harry I hardly think he’s a serial killer! He seemed really nice and we-“

“Well maybe not a serial killer but he probably only asked you out because he wants to get into your pants!”

“Oh right I get it. You think the only possibly reason someone might ask me out is to have sex with me?” You fired back.

“No I didn’t say-”

“That’s exactly what you were saying!”

“It was not!”

“Was too!”

The hustle and bustle of the park carried on around you and the two childhood best friends stood face to face, cheeks flushed, in the middle of the path.

“What I was trying say...” Harry started, “is that you’re a very um... attractive woman and that might lead some jerk guy to ask you out with ..um.. not so good intentions!” Harry smiled, seemingly proud of the way he was able to turn that around. “I’m just trying to look out for you Y/N.”

“I can look after myself,” you reply, sick of Harry’s know-it-all attitude.

“Well I just don’t see why you would want to go on a date with some random guy when you ... had a prior commitment anyway.”

“Harry, I told you I’m only going to be a little late!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t even bother.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to.. get in the way of your ‘date’,” he said, using finger quotation marks to emphasise date.

“But I always go,” you reply, hurt.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t,” Harry said, staring at the ground.

“Well maybe I won’t,” you retorted.

Harry looked back up to see if you were serious. He didn’t actually think you wouldn’t come. Like you said, you always came.

“Well...” he started when he saw no glimpse of humour in your eyes. “A true friend would come,” he blurted out.

Your jaw dropped.

“Don’t get me started on what a true friend should do,” you bit back, feeling the anger swell inside you. “How dare you! I have been the best fucking friend to you!”

Harry stepped back, surprised at your outburst. But you weren’t done. All those feelings of neglect and hurt were flying through your brain and suddenly you couldn’t stop them coming out.

“I have been by your side through thick and thin! I have been at every match, heard every training debrief, come with you to fucking Australia! I’ve missed work and cancelled holidays to make sure I can be there for you and the one time I want to take a bit of time to myself - to go on a date - of which I haven’t been on in quite awhile I must say! Not that you would know because you never ask - you can’t be a little supportive? No! Because it’s all about you. It’s the Harry show! Well I say no! I won’t give up my life to tennis like you!”

—

And now here Y/N was. Sitting in a pub, opposite a lovely guy but unable to forget the image of Harry’s wide eyes and open mouth as she walked away.

—

Harry was so fucked. He felt like utter shit. He’d been having trouble sleeping ever since Y/N had exploded at the park the other day. This was entirely her fault. But also... it was entirely his. He knew it. He had hurt her. He’d got so caught up in the game, in himself, that he hadn’t even thought to really check in with Y/N about how she was, if she was okay, if she needed him. Of course Y/N was allowed to go on dates. He didn’t mind.

“Ugh!” He hit the ball into the net... again. He couldn’t lie to himself. This felt wrong. A part of him had always kinda hoped that one day something might happen between him and Y/N. Something wonderful. And now he’d messed it all up and she’d chosen some random guy over him. Just when he needed her the most.

—

“And then they refused to give our bond back! It was so lame.”

Y/N sighed. Mr Cute-Aussie was turning out to be not-so-cute! Did he really think that telling her about some lads holiday weekend where they trashed their Airbnb was supposed to impress her? Harry would never have done something like that. A true gentleman - whenever he tripped over anything or knocked something over (those giraffe legs are a hazard) he would be bending over backwards to get whatever fixed.

Y/N’s eyes drifted over to the screen again just in time to see Harry hit the ball into the net. He looked so angry, so hurt, like the ball was personally breaking his heart. She could see his eyes glance over to his coaches box where Y/N normally sat, only to look down even more disheartened and in that moment Y/N realised he was looking for her. He couldn’t focus on the ball because he was upset with her. And the fact that she wasn’t there.

“Don’t you think?” The Aussie added, realising his date’s focus had drifted elsewhere. But Y/N had had enough.

“Actually no. You trashed it. You should pay. Now if you will excuse me, there’s somewhere I need to be.” And with that she picked up her bag, threw some cash on the table, and walked out.

What was she thinking! How could she have let this happen? How could she have even considered the idea that supporting Harry wasn’t important. They may have fought and he maybe a bit of a jerk sometimes but they were best friends. She loved him. And no Aussie was going to change that. No guy could.

“Holy shit. I love him,” Y/N said out loud, stopping in the middle of the path.

Y/N quickly struck out her hand to wave down a taxi and jumped in. She was going to fix this.

—

It was half way through the third set. Harry was about 20 minutes away from losing the match and being kicked out of the tournament. And honestly, he couldn’t even find it within himself to care. All he wanted now was to go to bed. And cry a little maybe. He wasn’t normally such a sore loser but he’d never lost her before.

Out of habit he glanced to her usual spot in the crowd as he bounced the ball preparing to serve. And then he froze.

She was there. Y/N was sitting right there. It felt like the whole arena was holding there breath as he locked eyes with her across the court. She had one hand over her heart as he saw her mouth those three words that he thought he’d lost all chance of hearing from her lips. I love you.

Someone was saying something and suddenly everything came back into focus. The ref was telling him to hurry up and he remembered where he was. He threw the ball into the air and hit it as hard as he could across the court. Ace.

—

“And what a match we have here at Rod Laver Arena tonight. The young Brit started off slow but has completely turned around the game! After losing the first two sets I thought he was a goner for sure. What do you think, Jim?”

“Absolutely. But as we have seen something has changed within him and he’s had a wave of ..I don’t even know what! Just when we thought it was over he won that third set and then the fourth! And now he’s smiling. He’s positively beaming as he smashes one ace after another.”

“Yes, and I’ve heard a rumour that it all may be something to do with a new addition to his box. People have been going back through the footage and we think that the change in young Styles behaviour might have something to do with the young girl now sitting there as she wasn’t there to begin with.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s working!”

—

Y/N was freaking out. Harry was suddenly playing brilliantly and had taken the last set to a final tie-breaker. Harry has just got in-front and needed to win this point to win. Her hands wouldn’t stop sweating as she watched on, trying to send waves of love and support into Harry’s head as he set up to serve for the match.

“Ohhh,” the crowd sighed. Harry’s first serve had gone straight into the net. Fault.

You can do this, Y/N repeated over and over in her head.

—

Harry took a deep breath and sneaked one more glance up at Y/N before throwing the ball into the air.

It was the longest rally yet. Across the court he ran back and forth, up and down until finally his opponent hit one right over his head. Running to chase it, Harry stopped thinking and let his body take over. His arm reached out and just caught the ball before it’s second bounce, whacking it between his legs back across the court. Cheering erupted and Harry thought he must’ve missed but when he turned around he could see British flags being waved in the air and Y/N jumping up and down in her seat. He had won.

—

He couldn’t stop moving the whole post-match interview. All he wanted to do was get to her and now he was finally moving through the corridors backstage, shrugging off people trying to congratulate him.

And then there she was. She was running towards him and his legs started moving before his brain could catch up and then she was in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, I’m sorry. I was the jerk - I should’ve been looking out for you - I’m so sorry.”

They parted a bit to look each other in the face. Harry pressed his forehead against hers.

“I love you.”

“Harry!” Y/N gasped. And then laughed. Her smile becoming wider and wider.

“What? It’s true! I had to tell you, I’m so- what’s so funny?“

“No Harry!” Y/N started, trying to wipe the frown lines off Harry’s face. “I was about to say that!”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Harry’s grin was back in full swing as his eyes lowered to Y/N’s lips.

“Alrighty then,” he whispered before pressing his lips to hers.

The end. 

This is my first time writing on here so please let me know what you think! 

#harry styles #harry #tennis harry #harry styles tennis #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry imagine #harry oneshot #harry fanfic #hs #1d #1d fanfiction #1d oneshot #one direction #one direction oneshot #harry fluff #harry angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #niall #louis #liam #harry styles one shots #harry styles one shot #harry imagines

[nicoolios]

The Power of the Dystopia

What do nanotechnology, young adult dystopias, and zombies learning to love again have in common? As the old meme says, the answer may surprise you. By nanotechnology I mean Michael Grant’s BZRK trilogy, by young adult dystopias I will focus mostly on The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and by zombies learning to love again I am referencing Isaac Marion’s Warm Bodies. Each of these books will be discussed in great depth in how they relate to the common theme of power in the following collection of literary criticisms. Power surfaces in BZRK through the obsessive lengths the characters go to to maintain it with superior technology and firepower. The Hunger Games refrains from the subject of actively maintaining power, but its story accurately depicts a society where power is exploited to keep its poorer citizens in line. The zombies in Warm Bodies regain power in a world that exists to destroy them by relearning language. Again, each of those topics will be explained at the introduction’s conclusion in their individual essays, but I will add a bit more clarity later on in these opening remarks.

This issue, which puts power front and center in the spotlight, tackles problems pertinent to the world we live in today by using a wide variety of popular books to reach the widest reader base possible. All of them can be considered young adult fiction, but each series pushes the boundaries of the genre. The Hunger Games specifically doubles as political commentary, BZRK is hardcore science fiction written for the eyes of teenagers, and Warm Bodies is technically a zombie romance.

As previously stated, The Hunger Games is political commentary, which only gets all the sweeter the more the political scene in the United States and around the world goes south. The main character Katniss lives in District 12, the poorest of the twelve districts, and is forced to hunt illegally to keep her mother and sister fed. District 1, the wealthiest district home to people so rich they take medicine to force themselves to throw up at parties so they can continue eating the fanciest, most expensive food, holds the Hunger Games every year to keep all the other districts in line. All three books in the series have the same background: the rich exist to stay rich, and the rich have all the power, so when District 13 starts the rebellion it sends them into a panic. The entirety of Mockingjay, the third book of the trilogy, is about that very topic. Money plus power equals bad guy, especially in this series. In regards to the essay on The Hunger Games, not only is there a common theme of power in all three books and all four movies, there are also real-life connotations for both the people spending money on the series and the young adult genre in general. While the essay specifically talks about the genre and what political books do for readers of young adult fiction, The Hunger Games just so happens to be the most popular representation.  

BZRK also deals with money and power and rich people trying to control the universe, but this time it is set in contemporary New York, rather than the fictional Panem. In this universe nanotechnology, which was originally developed to cure cancer, is instead weaponized and is used by both the good and the bad guys. The bad guys, the Armstrong twins and their lackeys Nexus Humanus, want to use nanotech to brainwash the planet into their cult through “sustainable happiness.” The good guys, BZRK, want to protect free will by using their own nanotechnology, biots individually linked to one user, to manipulate others. The whole concept is built on shady deals and backwards justification on both ends of the stick. Both sides think they are in the right, think they are the ones with access to the most power, both already have access to the money and resources that will get them that power. The Armstrong twins spend the series doing everything they possibly can to become rulers of the world, while their second in command Bernofsky goes mad with power and wants to destroy the world with nanobots that feed on carbon. Most of BZRK New York’s plotlines are about playing catch up to Nexus Humanus and holding on to what little power they have. By the trilogy’s conclusion the proper balance that everyone was fighting over has been restored, eliminating the need for technology-based power.

A book about zombies learning to love again seems like a stretch. How could power possibly be involved? Half the main characters are dead. And judging by the movie, there is no possible way for the former dead to regain the power they lost upon getting into their current predicament by reteaching themselves how to speak and act human again. But there it is. The movie is a better illustration of it, but the novel still details R, an incredibly articulate zombie, struggling through a language barrier to communicate with his human captive turned friend turned girlfriend Julie. At the beginning the most R can get out are a few grunts to the zombie he deems his best friend, M. When Julie finds herself the survivor of a zombie attack but the only member of her group still alive and unable to make it back home, she ends up at the airport R lives in. The two of them form a relationship different from the usual zombie eats human, even though R ate Julie’s boyfriend during the attack where they met. Julie teaches R English, pop culture, and how to be human again. The zombies must fight to prove they can become what they once were again, first and foremost by Julie demonstrating R is physically able to love her. As they become living again they go through their own revolution.

These essay’s order in this collection is due to their subject matter and relativity to the real world. The Hunger Games takes place in a fictional country similar enough to our own to make accurate political commentary. BZRK takes place in real life New York, and its plot is one that might happen with how quickly nanotechnology is developing. Warm Bodies’ setting is never specified, but the aftermath of the apocalypse is clear, and for all we know it could be right next door to where we grew up. They move from the clearly fake to the it might just be real, from this could never happen to me to holy crap, this might be happening right now. Please see the meanings these novels preach, what lurks between the lines. Right now this kind of commentary is more important than ever. With people being censored and completely silenced right and left, these books are clearly about power and its consequences, both by exploiting it and by regaining it.

"If Peeta and I were both to die, or they thought we were....My fingers fumble with the pouch on my belt, freeing it. Peeta sees it and his hand clamps on my wrist. ‘No, I won't let you.’ ‘Trust me,’ I whisper. He holds my gaze for a long moment then lets go. I loosen the top of the pouch and pour a few spoonfuls of berries into his palm. Then I fill my own. ‘On the count of three?’ Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. ‘The count of three,’ he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight. ‘Hold them out. I want everyone to see,’ he says. I spread out my fingers, and the dark berries glisten in the sun. I give Peeta's hand one last squeeze as a signal, as a good-bye, and we begin counting. ‘One.’ Maybe I'm wrong. ‘Two.’ Maybe they don't care if we both die. ‘Three!’ It's too late to change my mind. I lift my hand to my mouth taking one last look at the world. The berries have just passed my lips when the trumpets begin to blare. The frantic voice of Claudius Templesmith shouts above them. ‘Stop! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the 74th Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark! I give you - the tributes of District 12!’” (The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins).

Young Adult dystopias have been an important part of American culture for so long it feels like they have always been there. As children we had The Hunger Games, which later spawned Divergent, The Maze Runner, Uglies, and countless others. In school we read 1984, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, A Clockwork Orange, and the list goes on and on. Their movie and television show adaptations are everywhere. Everyone has a favorite example. So when Moretti's data suggests the genre bubble will burst in the coming years, it is kind of hard to believe. The genre is still going strong, and for good reason. Young Adult dystopias have something the classics neglect: diversity. Katniss Everdeen is a physically and mentally disabled woman of color surrounded by other females, people of color, people with disabilities, people from every walk of life. When The Hunger Games shot up the best sellers list Katniss inspired Tris Pryor in Divergent, Teresa in The Maze Runner, and Tally Youngblood in Uglies. The sheer volume of books and characters guarantees there is something for everyone. Everyone turned out to be mostly adult women and teenage girls. It is the reading power of the latter that presents my point: so long as we live in the world we do, with the current political climate active, and with a steady stream of strong female characters willing to stand up to oppressors, there will be a need for the genre. Multiple people see that need and write books based upon what they think needs to be said. This bubble, much like the superhero movie one, will stay untouched until the world proves it has no need for that kind of fiction anymore. Therefore, I think the genre is here to stay for years to come.

Seeing yourself in a character on the big screen or on the page is so incredibly important. Some little girl with hearing issues read about Katniss' ear trauma and saw herself; if for whatever reason she was unable to get it fixed, related to Katniss refusing surgery to restore her hearing. Or someone living under an oppressive government learning first that they should fight back and then it is okay to do so. Or that people bullying you for something outside your control deserve to be called out on their behavior. Or any number of things prevalent in what makes it big in the genre these days. The books that make it big pave the way for even greater diversity to truly reach the entire reader base. Those might carry on as something no one has ever heard of, but reach the right audience and lives can be changed. I feel like the genre will be around for quite a while. Not just because it is one of my favorites to both read and write for, but also because it is important. We are faced with the possibility of the complete destruction of life as we know it. Someone must recognize what is going on and do something about it. At this point they might as well be fictional, but that is the only way to get the ball rolling.  

“Tell me something, Noah. Which is more important: freedom or happiness?' What was this, a game? But Nijinsky wasn't smiling. 'You can't be happy unless you’re free,' Noah said" (BZRK, Michael Grant).  

Michael Grant's BZRK trilogy depends upon nanotechnology to further its plot, give motivation for characters and their development, provide multiple bad guys, and generally make BZRK what they are. One of the main character's father invented biots, part human machines smaller than the head of a needle, capable of acting on the controller's behalf within a body. The good guys, BZRK, use biots reluctantly to fight the bad guys, Armstrong Fancy Gifts Corporation. AFGC is a cover for the cult Nexus Humanus which wants to take away free will to guarantee eternal happiness. This war is mostly fought at the nano level. Even during "macro" fights, with guns and fists, the focus is always on protecting the nano. Emphases placed on the nano and neglecting the macro, which is only protected by BZRK's enforcer Caligula, exists because of only looking at the available technology and how to improve it. When the original tech, designed to cure cancer, fails and is proven archaic, BZRK only wants to move forward with more advanced biots. Benjamin argues for only looking to the future, for using tech to get and maintain power. The Armstrong twins (founders of AFGC) only maintain their power through superior firepower and lots of unethical manipulation. Under the guise of innocent gift shops across the globe they plot to control world leaders and, therefore, everyone on the planet. That is an extension of Benjamin's philosophy. AFGC has money and manpower, giving them the ability to accomplish their goals. BZRK only has the money, but its members are determined to prevent doomsday. Their conflict over who's in control spans three novels.

There is a connection here with how the world is going today. We even touched upon it in class. For the longest time everyone was obsessed with the technology of tomorrow made today. Classic standbys like books or physical music or playing outside fell by the wayside as electronics fell in the hands of the youth. Why use what cavemen did when you can use what Marty McFly did? For the longest time my younger sister and I were the only kids on our street playing outside. We made fun of our neighbors three doors down for having a pool and never going in it. My parents still can't drag me out of ours. At restaurants we read books, my sister drew and I wrote or, heaven forbid, actually talked to each other. Then, out of nowhere, that changed. The many, many little kids living in the cul-de-sac behind us were outside screaming at all hours of the day. One time we saw our neighbors in their pool. Tables around us when we went out to eat started implementing a no phones rule. The shift was real and, according to the Internet, commonplace. Retro was becoming hip again. We aren't the only people who feel that way, but we're the ones making it happen.  

"In my mind I am eloquent; I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses” (Warm Bodies, Isaac Marion).  

Whoever controls language controls culture. Whoever controls the culture has all the power. Whoever has all the power writes all the rules, determines humanity's fate, and generally determines the ongoing nature of life. While a lot of stories tackle that concept, Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion handles it without beating around the bush. It's about the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, sure, but it is told through the point of view of a very articulate zombie. The narrative hints rather heavily at the main character, R, being the only zombie outside of the Boneys capable of higher thought. It is only with the help of a human that he learns basic speech. The surviving humans are the only ones capable of speech, of making sure human culture does not die out. Them being able to talk makes them superior to zombies, even after zombies become human again at the novel's conclusion. The settlement the novel focuses on is run based on that fact. It is only poetic that the leader, Colonel Grigio, is the father of the woman R is in love with and the one who sparks the change from zombie to human. Colonel Grigio controls the whole narrative, both the book's and the city he runs. Zombies are to be shot on sight, anything dead must stay out of the walled city, and the language he uses to spread that information reflects how deeply rooted his control extends. On the other hand, R is the first zombie capable of replicating full human speech. By the end the other zombies learn speech as well. Them relearning speech perfectly coincides with them wrenching power from the Boneys in their twisted society and, a bit later, wrenching power from the humans when they rejoin the society they used to know. Language lets them write their own culture again, this time as rediscovered human beings.

I feel like not a lot of zombie books take advantage of exploring the concept of retaking a culture through language. It is a topic that is easily applicable to the genre. World War Z comes close, but that is the best example I can think of. What is happening right now with millennials and gen z is the closest real-life example. I tried tackling the concept in my own zombie novel Flowers Die specifically because I am unable to find anything quite like Warm Bodies or even World War Z on bookshelves. The main character comes back from the dead, but because she reanimated through the original radiation and not a classic bite, she is still fully mentally articulate and, later, verbally as well. As the apocalypse spreads zombies like her become increasingly rarer. She joins the military and fights to take back the culture she once knew by force. Her and her friends are superior by nature. Her husband, who eventually dies to prove the point, used to be a lawyer, defending traditional culture with evolving language. Later on, she meets a young woman trapped by isolation in the woods bound by her lack of language and loss of the culture that raised her. Reintroduction to what she used to know helps bring her back. This is all a work in progress, but as the old saying goes, if you want something specific you have to write it yourself.

#the hunger games #bzrk #warm bodies #literary analysis #college

[hufflepuffhermione]

“You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.” Mary x Matthew

The late afternoon sun gleams as Mary leans against the window, her eyes scanning the blooming grounds in front of the house. This is unusual for her, this waiting. She always looks forward to Matthew’s homecoming from Ripon, but staring wistfully out the window has always seemed a pitiful attempt at emulating an heroine in a romance novel; something Edith might do, perhaps, in her own weak attempts at romance, but an absurd habit for Mary.

And yet she wishes to see him the moment he arrives home from work, for she cannot wait much longer. So she stares out the window, rather hoping no one comes by to see her. 

The arrival of Matthew’s bicycle on the grounds coincides with the sound of footsteps down the hallway, and Mary takes one last lingering glance at her husband as he rides his ridiculous contraption up the gravel path. Eight years ago, she might have mockingly laughed at such a sight. Now she finds it endearing, understanding that the return to the law, the bicycle, all of it is an outcropping of a desperation for normalcy, even in a very different situation. She might have minded even so, but since George’s birth, he has cut his hours back to spend time with his family, and Mary can hardly fault his careful balancing of his time. He is busy, but she hardly feels neglected.

Except today, it seems.

Mary turns away from the window, just as a servant rounds the corner. She walks towards the stairs purposefully, as if she had been heading that direction the entire time. As she descends the stairs, she watches the front door, expecting Matthew to come through any minute.

He does not.

Frustrated, Mary begins to pace the great hall, wondering where he could have gone. Usually he simply leaves his bicycle at the front of the house, too eager to see his wife and child to take it back to the garage where Carson thinks it belongs. Maybe he is back there?

Mary opens the large door at the front of the house, surprised by how heavy it is. She follows the path that he likely would have taken to get back to the garage; she has followed it enough times to order the car.

Just as she approaches the garage, a car pulls out of it, Tom driving, with Matthew in the passenger seat (an instant relief as Mary has not been comfortable with Matthew driving ever since his accident on the day of George’s birth; he has since recovered but Mary’s anxiety about his driving has not). Mary rushes up to the side of the car, glad to see him.

“Matthew! I need to speak to you about something,” she yells. Tom stops the car briefly to allow them to speak.

“I’m sorry, darling, can it wait? Tom and I have a meeting with a tenant in ten minutes, and it seems as if we’re already going to be late,” he replies, taking her hand and kissing it. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Mary, having spent so long waiting at the window, hardly believes this, but nods in acquiescence. “Very well. Have a good meeting.”

He waves back to her as Tom drives off. Mary presses her lips together and sighs, turning back towards the house.

Her news presses at her, and every minute she goes without speaking with him causes her more anxiety. She spends the rest of the afternoon in the nursery, playing with George, who, at nearly 9 months old, is crawling everywhere and pulling himself up on every piece of furniture he can find. While Mary had never considered herself a fan of babies, she normally finds his antics rather endearing, and his babbling sweet. Today, it simply presses on her more, and her head begins to ache.

It is almost a relief when the dressing gong rings and she gives up her son back into the care of the nanny. That was one fight with Matthew that she did win; while she doesn’t like the idea of her son being wholly raised by someone else, she is frightened of being the sole caretaker. Matthew has encouraged Mary to break with tradition in several realms, but this is one tradition she cannot fully break off from.

Every minute, she hopes Matthew will come back, so that she can get a weight off her chest. Every minute, that hope grows stronger. And with every tick of the clock, she is disappointed.

Matthew is still not back by the time Mary is changed for dinner, and only bursts through the door after Anna has left and as Mary is fastening her earrings. “I’m so sorry, my darling, our meeting went much longer than expected. I must change quickly, everyone else is already downstairs. You probably ought to head down and plead their mercy for my tardiness,” he says, laughing as he kisses the top of her head.

“Are you sure you don’t have just a minute to…”

He shakes his head as he opens the door to his dressing room. “I’m afraid I’m already late enough. But after dinner, I’m all yours. And perhaps we may be able to leave somewhat early?”

Mary sighs as he closes the door behind him and throws her necklace down in frustration. Now she has to suffer through a painfully long dinner. Besides all that, her headache is getting worse and every few minutes, a dizziness seems to reoccur. Food does not sound appetizing, but she dutifully makes her way downstairs and explains Matthew and Tom’s late arrivals.

Dinner is, as expected, a painful process. Mary can barely touch her food, and finds herself getting more and more frustrated as Matthew goes on and on about his meeting that interfered so much with her own plans. Everyone’s voices seem to get further and further away as Mary can focus on nothing but her own dinner. Her head pounds more and more, and she feels nothing but relief as her father suggests they all go through together. Matthew comes by to take her arm and she is grateful for the support as the dizziness has returned, and she isn’t entirely sure whether she can make it to the drawing room alone.

Just as they step through the door together, Mary feels a wave of exhaustion his her and leans against Matthew more, suddenly collapsing into his arms. For a second, everything goes back.

When she wakes again, everything is slightly fuzzy. She blinks a few times to orient herself, and sees that she is being carried up the stairs. “Matthew,” she murmurs.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright.”

“What happened?”

His blue eyes meet hers, and for a moment there is nothing else in the world but those ocean eyes. “You fainted, straight into my arms.” He gives her a nervous chuckle. “You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

If Mary had felt stronger, she would have laughed. He could not hide his fear at all, even under a bad joke. “Clearly I did,” she whispered. “You don’t need to carry me, you’ll strain yourself.”

“We’re here anyway,” he says, pushing open the door and laying her down on the bed. He strokes a few tendrils of hair that have come unravelled from her chignon. “I called for Dr. Clarkson, he’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Matthew, you didn’t need…” she begins, but he puts a finger over her lips.

“Just rest, I’m going to go meet him and bring him up,” he says, nodding to Anna, who has followed him up the stairs. She brings Mary a cup of water and Matthew leaves again.

Mary leans back, taking a drink. In truth, she doesn’t feel all that much better, and despite everything, she still can’t manage to have a conversation with Matthew. If only she could talk to him, he’d understand. She closes her eyes, willing the pounding in her head to go away.

Dr. Clarkson knocks on the door a few minutes later, Matthew trailing close behind. “Lady Mary, Mr. Crawley tells me you fainted this evening?”

Mary nods slowly, and shoots a glance at Matthew.

“Perhaps I ought to leave you alone,” Matthew says, although the tone of his voice indicates there’s nothing he’d rather do less.

“Do you have any idea of why this happened?” Dr. Clarkson asks, as he sets his bag down on the end of the bed.

Mary shrugs. “I may know of a contributing factor…”

It’s hardly fifteen minutes before Dr. Clarkson opens the door to allow Matthew back into the bedroom, although to Matthew it seems hours. “Mr. Crawley,” the doctor begins, “you’ll be pleased to hear that your wife’s fainting spell was not an indicator of ill health, and is perfectly explainable.”

“What… what was it, then?” he asks, his voice trembling with anxiety.

“I’ll let your wife tell you,” Dr. Clarkson says, closing the door and leaving Matthew alone in the room with Mary.

He rushes to sit beside her on the bed, holding both her hands. “Mary, are you sure everything is…”

“Everything is more than alright,” Mary says, squeezing his hand. “I’ve been trying to speak to you about this all day, but I suppose it’s better now that it’s been confirmed anyway.”

“What can you possibly mean?” he asks, feeling his heart beat faster than normal in his chest.

Mary shakes her head. “Matthew, just allow me to… Well, you see… there will soon enough be a new addition to our family, and it seems this one likes to lower my blood pressure and make me dizzy. It’s not uncommon, you see, but…”

Matthew’s mouth drops open and he hardly can absorb what she is saying before he stops her. “You’re pregnant again? But George is hardly nine months old, and is it safe so soon? How could…”

“You know perfectly well how it happened,” Mary says, with a smirk. “And while it’s not ideal for my body, really, millions of women have done the same. And after we struggled to have George, I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be delighted.”

Matthew lets out a chuckle that turns into a grin. “Oh, Mary, I’m more than delighted! I’m surprised at the timing, of course, but I’m absolutely thrilled. I only wish it hadn’t taken such a fearful exhibition for you to tell me.”

She leans toward him and pecks him on the lips. “Well, that, my darling, was entirely your own fault. Perhaps next time, you ought to make some time for a conversation with your wife.”

He laughs and kisses her back, this time much more passionately. “Perhaps I should.”

#mary x matthew #downton abbey #mary crawley #matthew crawley #downton fanfiction #anonymous #asks #alli's writings #drabbles #this turned out so much longer than i was expecting #but i'm proud of it tbh #yay for me for actually writing a thing