#white british women have the worst things to say about men of color and this mindset gives them a fucking free pass

[belle-keys]

I'm the Letty anon that other anon @'ed. Sorry for writing this if it's annoying, this'll be the last time I'll speak on this.

Again, my problem with Letty is that Babel is a weird 21st century-19th century hybrid insofar as Kuang nitpicks what aspects of the story she wants to keep historically accurate or not so that her book can have most of the racism a POC would experience in the 1830s and largely none of the misogyny that suit that same time period. This, I feel, is a slight at both Letty and Victoire, and it may sound a petty complaint, but Kuang wrote a book with fucking footnotes every other page so I feel like I can be a bit petty.

The thing is, women weren't allowed at Oxford until the 1920s, POC men weren't allowed to study at Oxford until the 1870s. The first Black man to get a degree in British soil did so in the 1850s, when the Edinburgh Seven weren't allowed to get their medicine diploma in the 1870s because their faculty decided admitting them had been 'a mistake', even when one of them would've graduated suma cum laude (and that was only the cherry on top, because they weren't allowed to take classes in the same rooms as their peers, they were routinely the target of violent abuse, they had to pay higher fees, etc).

I'm not saying POC wouldn't be treated horribly, because that would be the same ahistorical perspective I'm criticising Kuang for. I'm just a bit mad that Babel is so shallow sometimes when it's promoted as dark academia, has fucking footnotes and Kuang spent pages arguing against claims of historical inaccuracies (she even explained why she'd used xyz treat common among poor folks as a delicacy the rich enjoy ffs).

Also, I'm not trying to be mean, but the white women/feminists/suffragettes who helped maintain imperialism would likely not be friends with POC to begin with, never mind attempt at protecting them (ball scene, Letty is ready to punch Pandennis for wanting to compare her and Victoire's nipples), hence why I say that Letty is strange and I daresay badly written, too, because stuff like her falling for Ramy and getting into contact with the father that has disowned her doesn't make any sense whatsoever.

Anyways, sorry for the spam. Anon, I'm not angry at you or whatever, just kinda frustrated by Babel because I waited a year for a book that ended up kinda disappointing me :)

So, there’s a lot going on here, but I think I expressed my own opinion about Letty as a caricature when I asnwered a few previous asks on the matter. I do agree the book is quite one-dimensional and shallow at times, but it’s set up so politically that highlighting the way it’s shallow actively goes against the central thesis of how white supremacy and British imperialism hurt people of colour and colonized nations. Letty is a rather unrealistic villainess, I agree, but regardless, Letty was a tool used to make a point about how white women and white feminism were actively hurting people of colour and colonized nations too. The original white feminists wanted equal power with white men and the ability to oppress POC the way rich white men did. And guess, what? That’s very much Letty. Letty is a tool to portray the worst parts of white feminism and upper class white womanhood. She’s really not a character at all.

Letty bides her time with the “colored folk” until she gets a chance to really choose where her loyalties lie aka not with them. Letty herself is a bit of a cartoonish character, but her actions ultimately seem quite realistic to me (aka the betrayal). You’re absolutely right that for a book that prides itself on research, it reads like the characters are millenials who were magically transported to the year 1830. It’s 2022 discourse transplanted to an 1830 setting. But Letty’s poor characterization doesn’t change what Kuang was trying to say or the point she was trying to make. And sometimes the message is more important than the execution in political novels. Kuang just went about it in a very unsubtle and Twitterish way, which is mostly okay in a politically-charged book like Babel. Once you, like me, don’t see the book as art or as a means of truly expanding consciousness, then these gimmicky tactics don’t bother you all that much.

But a word of unsolicited advice: I’d also redact that whole comparative paragraph about women and Black men at Oxford in this ask. It’s pretty irrelevant to compare the two when we’re talking about a novel where white women actively oppress MOC. It’s kinda giving “I missed the point”.

#babel #babel an arcane history #letitia price #rf kuang #colonization #victoire desgraves #ask #anon ask #dark academia #dark academia blog

[anticomedygarden]

England's got a new queen! epilogue (two weeks later)

part one | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ao3 link

thanks to everyone who stuck with this for all 6 chapters! i love y'all

-

Alex has to hand it to whoever was in charge of planning this funeral - they sure knew how to throw a depressing party.

Shockingly, it wasn't for lack of trying. The lights are bright, there's oodles and oodles of finger foods and dozens of people to eat it, but there's no ignoring the coffin on the raised platform at the end of the hall, and, honestly, that's not even the worst thing in the room.

There are people everywhere, milling around, talking, showing themselves like a sad who's who of the British upper class. They've all got on designer mourning clothes and flashy jewelry, men carrying business papers in their wallets to show investors and women smiling prettily at them. Older white people sit in the uncomfortable, thousand dollar furniture playing at being happy to be here. No one is really here for Mary; no one is here to mourn, not even Catherine or Philip. It's like the real life version of Death of a Salesman.

It makes Alex sick.

He hates her, hated her with every fiber of his being, but this is truly one of the worst things he's ever seen, some sort of disgusting amalgamation of everything wrong with the world, because not only is everyone pretending to care about the dead woman on the pedestal, he and Henry are the only openly queer people here, Alex one of the few people of color present. It's all so white, so bland, so damn fake, he has to wonder if Mary ever had anything real in her life, anything good. It almost makes him understand how she got to be the way she was, not that it's any excuse.

As much as he hates it, even Alex can't escape the ambassadors and nobility that all want to talk to him and get into his good graces now that Catherine is (about to be) the queen. That, too, makes him want to throw him up.

Henry's around here somewhere, at least, talking to Bea. It's been very hard to separate them since he and Alex were first whisked off to London two weeks ago. That had been a ride. Coming back from vacation to find out the queen was dead and everyone thought someone was trying to kill them? Not an experience Alex wants to repeat, though he is looking forward to the party Pez promised to throw once things calm down.

After a few minutes of standing alone, he finally can't take it anymore and wanders out onto the grounds. He finds a bench in a small garden and sits down, relaxing in the clear, warm air. It's not as good as Colorado, but it's better than being inside.

A few minutes later, Philip sits down next to Alex on the little white bench, face pinched with deep thought.

Maybe it's the funeral, but the words leave Alex’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. "How are you doing with all of this?"

Philip shoots him a confused look, as if he can't believe Alex is having this conversation with him, and, honestly, Alex can't really believe it, either.

He presses on. "I may not like you that much, but I know you were closer to her than anyone else was. It's gotta be at least a little hard for you." That, and this sad as fuck funeral getting him a bit philosophical about all their places in the world.

Philip takes a moment to answer. "I'm not…unhappy," he says, still looking down.

Alex rolls his eyes. "C'mon man, I'm not gonna judge you for being sad that your grandma died."

Philip snorts, the closest thing to a laugh Alex has ever gotten from him. "It's - odd. I thought I would be sad - and I am - but there's other things as well."

Alex waits for him to continue, but Philip just gazes out across the green green courtyard. "You can tell me, if you want, and I'll swear on my mom's immigration policy that I won't tell Henry."

That earns him another snort, and Philip finally looks at him. "I'm glad Mum's about to be Queen. That's definitely something I'm happy about. I'm glad Martha and I won't be berated about our future children anymore when we visit the palace."

"Oh, yeah, definitely a bonus."

"I'm glad that you, Henry, and Bea will have more freedom to do what you want, now." He stops there, and Alex thinks he might be about to pull out the big guns. "I think, maybe, I'm also glad for myself that I won't have to run my life based on her anymore."

Oh. Alex does a double take. He wasn't expecting that. "What do you mean?"

Philip takes a breath. "For so long, I ran my life according to her. I based my career on her, my beliefs, even Martha was approved by her, and for the most part, all it did was hurt all of you, just for her funeral to look like this."

Despite his promise, Alex wishes someone else were here to witness this and verify that he isn't hallucinating because it sounds like Philip is...remorseful, and Alex realizes that this kind of funeral is exactly what Philip's life is heading toward.

"And then that makes me feel guilty that I was so horrible for no reason. I-" he pauses. "I should've been better."

"Hey," Alex says, and dear god, he's about to comfort Philip. "You may have been a dick then, but you've grown a lot. I mean, if it were five years ago, I'd have been worried you would throw yourself on her funeral pyre. Now, we're having a civil conversation at her funeral. You're doing pretty good."

"Really?" There's a good deal of hope in his blue eyes alongside the grief. Alex is happy he could make something real in the midst of these fakers.

"Yeah." Alex spots Henry walking toward them, a day of sunshine, more real than anything. "You good?"

He nods. "Yes, thank you, Alex."

"Kay, see you." He hops off the bench and walks toward his boyfriend. "Hey, baby, how’re you doing?"

Henry smiles at him. "Pretty good, actually."

That's good. Alex had been afraid the funeral would remind him of Arthur's and become a trigger, but the blond seems to be fine. "I'm glad."

Henry takes his hand as they start on the stone path around the garden. "What were you and Philip talking about?"

Alex waves his hand. "Just Mary and how she enjoyed ruining lives."

"Is that really appropriate for her funeral?" Henry asks, though his mouth quirks.

"It's always appropriate, sweetheart." They walk a few places. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

Henry takes a moment to think. "I feel pretty good, honestly. Lighter, almost as if I've left some worries behind in the coffin."

Alex doesn't doubt. During the last two weeks, Henry had been trying to figure out how to allow himself to be happy without feeling guilty, something Bea had helped a lot with. The princess had had no qualms about her joy at the matriarch's passing nor the spreading of it. Alex is just happy that Henry's happy.

Of course, he's sure at some point, they'll have to contend with their newfound freedom, figure out what to do with less restraints, but they were going to have to do that anyway when Henry's abdication went through.

Speaking of- "Hey, I've been meaning to ask. You still want to abdicate right? You were pretty set on it before."

Henry nods. "Of course. It's still the right thing to, for your career and for the world. The time of monarchies is ending, I hope."

"Thank god."

Henry murmurs his assent, and they keep walking through the flowers in the sun, breathing easy, like they're just two anonymous people in the world without the weight of two countries on their shoulders.

#firstprince #rwrb #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #fanfic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #ao3 link #my fic #my writing #my fanfic #henry and alex #henry x alex #alex x henry #rwrb fic #firstprince fic #fluff #angst #humor #alex and henry #nora holleran #june claremont diaz #percy okonjo #pez rwrb #pez okonjo #bea fox mountchristen windsor #philip fox mountchristen windsor #anti royal family

[westcoastrry]

Can’t Help If This Is Us

Hello friends. I’ve worked super hard on this fic. I’m not a fast writer so this took my while and I’m super happy with the way it turned out! Special thank to my bestie @harryforvogue​ . I wouldn’t know how to spell or about even write if it wasn’t for her so thanks you ugly fart face.

Also I wrote this entirely for free so all I ask is for feedback. I would really appreciate it and would love to hear your thoughts!

literally mate please let me know your thoughts. PLEASE. I beg.

WARNING: there is smut in this and mentions of the mafia.

I hope you enjoy reading Kiara and Harry’s story as much an I enjoyed writing it. 11.5k words

A fic about Kiara, a normal girl who works at a coffee shop in the upper east side of New York, where she meets Harry. A man who is caught up in a job he doesn’t want but is working hard to craft a better life for himself.

Fuck me like you wanna make love

Call me when you wanna stay in touch

Lie together just to gain trust

Say what you wanna say, can't help if this is us

Moving to New York was a fresh start for Kiara.

It’s only been a couple of months, but she has grown accustomed to the city.

She has an apartment in a not-so-great part of town, but it is close to her University, and the view from her balcony isn’t too bad. She is a coffee connoisseur, so when her pregnant friend and neighbor, Trina, helped her get a job at a cafe on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, how could Kiara truly not make the best of her newfound city life?

“An Americano please?” a deep British voice asserts.

Kiara’s cleaning off the steamer about an hour into her morning shift when the man with long chocolate curls speaks to her. Kiara has been working here for a month, and some very high profile people have come to the shop, but Kiara has never seen this man, but he sure looks important. He is in a suit, all black, and the only accessories are the multitude of rings he has on his fingers. The rose one catches her eye first, then the big gold H.S letter rings. Those are his initials? What is the point of that? Is this man obsessed with himself?

“Americano?” he says more lightly, snapping Kiara out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, I- Americano,” Kiara stutters.

Kiara isn’t one to get easily flustered, but how can she not be when this six-foot sexy man was towering over her in a suit, asking for black coffee.

Only real men drink black coffee.

She works around the machine expertly until the man’s voice interrupts her. “You’re new here?”

“Yeah,” she responds, swiping a curl off her forehead. Managing her naturally curly type four hair in the bipolar New York weather has been a challenge. Most days, she wears her thick hair in a bun, or when she can afford to get it done, box braids. “Started working here a month ago.” Kiara hands him the coffee in a brown to-go cup.

“Hmmm. I’m here all the time. I’m sure I would have noticed a new pretty employee.”

“Guess I’m not all that pretty then,” Kiara fires back, handing him a receipt with a pen to sign.

Harry doesn’t really know what to say to that because he actually does find Kiara pretty. He likes that her face is an even brown color with a few beauty marks. He likes the color of her light brown hair, and he really likes the sound of her voice. It’s sort of angelic, even when she is snapping at him.

Harry smugly hands Kiara his hefty card (the first indicator that this man has money) and signs the receipt. He drops some cash on the bill.

“That’s your tip. By the way, I do think you’re pretty.” His eyes flick down to her name tag. “Kiara.”

Kiara rolls her eyes at the man. He probably walks around life getting everything handed to him because he’s rich, white, and hot.

Screw him and his stupid cute dimple, Kiara thinks to herself. She goes to grab the receipt he signed and see’s two fifty-dollar bills stacked on each other.

Her mouth forms into an “o” shape. A hundred dollars on a three-dollar coffee? What sense does that even make? This had to be a mistake.

“Hey Kiara, are you okay?” Trina, who’s waiting tables today, asks. She has her brown apron tied over her baby bump with a few crumpled receipts and pens tucked in the pockets.

“I just got tipped a hundred dollars,” Kiara says, still shocked.

“You go, girl!” Trina enthusiastically shouts. “Who was it? A regular?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never seen him before. Brown curly hair, dressed in a nice black suit-”

“Oh, that’s Harry,” Trina smiles. “Everyone loves Harry. He is a cutie. Been getting coffee here for a long time. He owns the strip club down the street.”

“I’m sorry. The dude owns a what?”

“A strip club bar type thing,” Trina shrugs. “Very fancy. It’s pretty much only for the elite. He is super nice. Everyone loves him here! He bought me a crib and this fancy high-tech stroller when he found out I was pregnant.”

“Yeah, well, he is kinda a dick if you ask me,” Kiara mutters under her breath.

“He tipped you a hundred dollars, and you’re calling him a dick?” Trina curiously questions.

“He called me pretty! And he had this arrogant ambiance to his voice. And what is with all the rings? It’s tacky.”

Trina places her hands on her hips.“Oh, just say you find the man hot! It’s okay to admit you find Manhattan’s most eligible and rich bachelor hot. I don’t blame you. I would get on it if I wasn’t thirty and pregnant.”

“I’m not admitting anything. Besides, I don’t have time for men. Men just cause problems.”

“Oh, you're telling me?” Trina points to her bulging belly. Kiara snorts at her friend and starts to walk away to grab more coffee beans from the storage, and Trina follows closely behind her. “You need to have some fun! Loosen up. Get your head out of that textbook. You have been living next to me for three months, and I haven’t seen you invite not one boy over! I know that vibrator you use is tired.”

Kiara grabs the box of coffee beans and turns back around to face Trina. “My vibrator is doing me just fine.”

Kiara’s whole life has been centered around academics. She was a really smart kid growing up. She had a good start to life too. However, Kiara’s wholesome childhood took a turn at twelve when her Dad died in a car accident. The accident was horrific for her entire family, but it hit her mom the worst. Her mom went from being a well respected physician's assistant, to being a drug addict, and Kiara had to grow up at the tender age of twelve just to take care of her mother. Around the age of fourteen Kiara’s mom got shipped off to rehab, and she ended up weaving in and out of foster homes until she was eighteen. Kiara realized that she never wants that to happen to her future family. She has been working hard on her academics because she hopes to have a stable income, so she can give her future kid the life that she never had.

It’s not like Kiara didn’t want to go and mingle around. Meet a new guy, have a one-nightstand, maybe even possibly fall in love. However, the dating scene as a brown skin woman in a whitewashed part of the city isn’t as easy as it sounds. Kiara doesn’t teeter the line of looking ethnically ambiguous. She is clearly a Black girl. Caramel skin, tight curls, full lips, and wide hips. Kiara likes these traits that she carries. In fact, she loves them, but men don’t. Specifically, men that aren’t her race. Not to mention that Black men are hard to come by in this particular part of city.

The simple fact is most white men don’t like Black women.

It’s even arguable that Black men don't even like Black women.

And Kiara is okay with that. She doesn’t need to be approved by a bunch of white people, nonetheless ones with penises. She just wishes she had more options to date within her race, or at least find someone who genuinely liked her.

Maybe that’s the reason why Kiara doesn’t want to go out and find a man to have some fun with. She knows he’s going to be white, and she will have to endure hundreds of questions about her race and her hair or meet racist parents, and she has done that all before.

So, for now, instead of explaining this to Trina, her very white friend, she will just blow off her questions about why she isn’t sleeping around or why she doesn’t entertain the idea of going to bars to find cute boys.

+++

The next day Kiara is off work. She spends her day sitting in her bed, in red pajama shorts and her university sweater, studying for her midterm. She got through quite a bit but is still a little worried about not getting an A. About an hour into her studying, she hears bickering from Trina’s apartment.

“I don’t know what you are being so shy about. Just ask her! You are great with girls.”

“No, I’m great at fucking girls. Trying to establish a genuine connection, I haven’t done that in a while.”

“I believe in you! Now go!”

Knock

Knock

It’s another guy that Trina has been trying to set Kiara up with. Trina does this about every other month. Very rarely does Kiara entertain the idea and sleeps with them, because she is bored, but it usually doesn’t go further than that.

Kiara opens the door to her apartment and there stands Harry. He is holding a boutique of red roses in one hand, and his other is behind his back. The suit he is wearing today is slightly different. Same silhouette, but this time the suit is brown. Kiara finally gets a good look at this man, and fuck.

Green eyes, full bright pink lips. Wide shoulders and defined biceps that show he does work out but isn’t a gym rat.

Gucci loafers. Now, this is an interesting man.

“What are you doing here?”

Harry nervously gestures to the flowers in his hand. “I brought you this.”

“You just came here to bring me flowers?”

“I also brought you this,” Harry pulls his hand from behind his back and shows a bottle of wine he got when he went on a business trip in Napa. He was saving the wine for a special occasion, like the next time he would go visit his mom, but this is more than a special occasion in Harry’s eyes. He is trying to swoon this girl.

Kiara smiles at him and grabs the wine bottle. If it’s one thing Kiara has learned in her adult life is that she loves wine. She usually only gets the cheap stuff from the liquor store down the street, but Kiara has never seen this bottle before.

She walked to her kitchen, leaving Harry staring at her dumbfoundedly. She pulled out two wine glasses from her kitchen cabinet.

Normally Kiara wouldn’t entertain this. Especially since she has a test to study for. However, she can’t lie and say she hasn’t been worked up...sexually.

“Alright, you brought me wine. You are welcomed in.”

Harry follows her inside the apartment, feeling a bit awkward. Usually, Harry never found himself at a girl’s place. He always took his one-night stands back to his house and had his assistant, Trevor escort them out in the morning.

Harry was nervous because this wasn’t a one-night stand. This was him bringing wine and flowers to a girls’ apartment, which he barely knows.

Just like Kiara, Harry also hasn’t been in the dating scene in a while. He has been busy with work, and it’s not easy what he does.

“So why did you come all this way to bring me wine?” Kiara asks Harry, pouring some wine into a glass and handing it to him. “I know you don’t live in this part of the city.”

“I don’t.” Harry sits on the barstool by the kitchen countertop. “I told you I thought you were pretty. Nice place, by the way.”

Kiara looks for the sarcasm on Harry’s face when he compliments her one-bedroom apartment but doesn’t find any. Kiara’s apartment isn’t ugly. But it probably is nothing compared to what Harry lives in.

Kiara takes a gulp of her wine. “It’s kinda trash actually. This is the ghetto.”

“You go to Columbia?” Harry asked, noticing her university sweater.

Kiara takes one more gulp of her wine, finishing off what is left in her glass. She was going to answer Harry’s question. She really was. But she got a good look at his bone structure. The way his jaw is a perfectly angled line. The way his Adam apple moves when he takes a sip of his wine. Even the way his fingers glide against the glass.

She begins to wonder how his fingers would feel against her.

“Kiara?”

That was it for Kiara because she doesn’t think she can keep herself composed in front of this beautiful rich man.

Instead of pouring her wine, Kiara grabs the bottle and starts to chug the wine like she is a trucker drinking a Samuel Adams.

Her lips remove from the bottle with a pop sound. Harry is now staring at Kiara completely taken aback by her actions. “What are you really here for, Harry? Sex? Because we can cut the small talk part.”

“Maybe I actually like you, Kiara.”

“You don’t like me.”

“Who told you that,” Harry counters.

Harry watches closely as Kiara struts towards him.

“I thought you were into blonde models?”

“Where are you finding this information from?” he questions.

“Google.”

Harry smirks. “So you’re googling me?”

“You know, if you wanted to know more about me, you could have just asked.”

Kiara cut him off with her lips attached to his. She wanted him to shut up, but she also wanted to kiss him.

Killing two birds with one stone.

Harry’s lips move in sync with hers, and he places his ringed hands on her back, pulling her closer to him.

If Kiara is being honest with herself, Harry’s lips feel like magic. It’s been a while since Kiara has kissed a guy, and she feels butterflies in the pit of her stomach.

“Kiara, what are we doing?” Harry mumbles into her mouth.

“We are gonna go back to my bedroom, and you are going to fuck me. Hard.”

“A-are are you sure about that?” Harry stutters on his words.

“We both know you didn’t come here to take me out on some date. So let’s just do this.”

Harry should have confidently responded and said, “No, Kiara, that is not why I’m here. I’m here because I actually find you attractive, and I know you have been working at the shop for about two weeks now but I have been very nervous to ask you on a date.”

However, his mouth went dry because Kiara threw off her sweater and her perky boobs sat fully on her chest.

“Kiara-”

“You know,” Kiara rests the palm of her hands on his muscular chest. Kiara has the upper hand and she sees it in the way Harry was staring at her, gaping at her actions. She loves being this bold. Upper chest bare for a man who is practically drooling over her boobs. Kiara likes to be in charge, but only for a little bit. After a while she wants to be taken care of. In bed that is. “For a man of such little words, you are talking so much right now.”

Harry grabs both of her wrist, but keeps her hands placed upon his chest. He knows his heart is racing a mile per minute. Kiara feels it and for a second she thinks to herself that there is no way she is causing this man's heart to skip beats.

Kiara stands up on her tippy toes and lets her tongue dart out to touch right below Harry’s ear suckling on the spot until it turns a nice red shade. She detaches her lips with a pop.

“You want this,” Harry whispers.

“I need this,” Kiara responds back.

“Tell me what you need Kiara.”

Harry’s right hand brushes over her bare breast, causing her to buckle a bit and stumble onto Harry’s chest.

“Hold yourself up, love, and tell me what you need.”

“I need you to fuck me,” Kiara whines.

With that, Harry holds Kiara's hips and roughly turns her away from him. Her hands went out and to grab at the granite countertop, holding herself up as much as she possibly could.

“How do you want it, hmm?” Harry whispers, quickly shrugging off his blazer and undoing a few buttons from his shirt. He begins to place wet kisses along the back of her shoulder. “I can fuck you right here, bent over the counter top. Or I can take you to the bed.”

“Here,” Kiara choked out through a moan.

“Can you handle it?” Harry teasingly asked her.

“I can handle it.”

“Can I take off your shorts?” Harry asks in a more serious tone.

“Mhmm, yes please.”

Harry shimmies down Kiara’s shorts. He takes the time to run his hands over her ass. The contact of her hot skin and Harry’s ice cold rings feels good to Kiara. She wants him to spank her, but she isn’t exactly sure what Harry is into and now she wishes she was sober enough to vocalize what she likes in bed so her needs can be met.

“Let's get a good orgasam out of you. Can I eat you?”

“Yes. God Harry, you're teasing me.”

“Not teasing,” he reassures her. “Just wanna know what you like.”

Harry gets down on his knees and opts for pushing her gray panties to the side instead of taking them off. Her core is glistening in her arousal and the smell alone makes Harry’s dick twitch in his boxers.

“Stop staring at it and-” Kiara cuts her sentence off with a yelp because Harry has attached his plump lips to her clit, giving her small kitten licks.

Kiara doesn’t really prefer to be eaten out. Most men's mouths don’t really do it for her. However, Harry is doing a very good job at keeping her legs shaking. She wants to turn around and look at him, but everytime she tries he delves deeper and deeper in her core, until she can barely hold herself up.

“M’mmm. A little higher please?”

Harry smirks against Kiara’s core because the little please she added to the end of her request tells him that she is slowly letting go of the tough exterior she puts up.

“Here? Is this good?”

“Yeah. Fuck right there please.” Kiara grips at the counter harder until her fingertips turned white.

“Been eating your veggies, huh?” Harry talks against Kiara’s core, the vibrations making her shudder. “You taste good love.”

Kiara is unable to respond because Harry is really going at it. His hands tightly grip Kiara's hips. His face is completely buried in her cunt, and he feels a slight ache in his jaw from the motions he makes with his mouth.

He continues to lick over her swollen folds, and then wraps his lips around her clit, which makes Kiara arch her back and push onto him. She is a panting mess, mouth wide open, eyes pinched together. She begins to thrash around but Harry grips even tighter at her hips.

“Stay still love.”

“I can’t,” she whined. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Why don’t you ask to cum?”

Kiara chokes on her spit slightly when Harry pulls his mouth from her pussy, and dips a finger inside of her. “Am I not entitled to an orgasm?”

“You are if you wanna be good for me.”

“Well if you're looking for a good girl I think you have come to the wrong place-”

Harry adds a second finger to her, which shuts Kiara up. “Ask nicely and you can cum.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna be so-”

“So what?” Harry asks her.

“Dominant.”

“You're lucky I’m not spanking you.”

“What's holding you back?” Kiara challenged.

Harry gets up from off his knees, and his free hand reigns down a heavy smack on her ass.

“Ask me nicely,” Harry demands, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of her.

“No.”

Smack.

“Ask nicely Kiara. I can do this all night.”

Kiara snaps her head back to look at Harry. “No.”

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

The three spanks that Harry had given to Kiara were much harder than the first. So hard that Harry started to see an outline of his hand print.  

It's when Harry gives her one more smack and pushes his fingers deeper into her, hitting a sensitive spot that Kiara gives in.

“Fuck, Harry please just let me come,” Kiara struggles to say with a couple tears falling from her eyes from being so wrapped up in pleasure.

“Say sorry.”

“I’m sorry. So damn sorry. Please, I'm so close.”

Harry laughed at how her personality has done a complete one eighty. She went from being a complete brat to now begging him for an orgasm. “You are?”

“Yes please.”

Once Harry feels her pussy tighten around his fingers he pulls them from inside of her. “I don’t think you are that sorry.”

Kiara let out a whimper at the loss of connection. Her legs are still shaking and she almost slipped off the counter but Harry was quick to catch her.

Harry's strong arms snaked around to the front of Kiara’s stomach, letting her stumble back into her arms. She felt Harry’s hard cock press up against her raw ass.“Easy now.”

Usually, Kiara would give Harry some witty comments, but right now she is too worked up from being so close to her orgamsm. She feels a bit fuzzy, not sure what to do next. Her core aches and all she can think about is getting off.

Her hands go down to rub at her clit, but Harry quickly smacks it away.

“That's my job tonight alright? You gonna let me fuck you? You're gonna be good so I can get you off properly.”

Kiara nods her head.

“Verbal consent Kiara.”

“Yes please.”

“Good girl.”

Harry’s smug voice echoes in her ear as he places wet open mouth kisses along her neck. Harry is really enjoying himself. She felt him smile against his neck when he started to coax soft moans out of her.

Kiara weakly pushes Harry's head away from her neck.

“Doll, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No, I'm good. Can we just take this to my bedroom?” Kiara politely asks. “I think I will be more comfortable there.”

When Harry gets a good look at Kiara, he can tell he has pushed past the first layer of her tough exterior. He knows there is probably much more fight and sass in her, but right now she looks vulnerable.

“Yes of course we can,” Harry held his hand out and Kiara willingly took it as he led both of them to the bedroom.

When they arrive, Kiara sits at the edge of her queen sized bed, and Harry lets go of her hand. She whines a little at the feeling of Harry’s hands slipping away from her.

Harry chuckles at the girl. “Let me just take my shirt off darling.”

Kiara watches closely as Harry’s fingers undo the buttons one by one. His silk shirt gilded easily off his toned shoulders. He made his way to sit at the top of Kiara’s bed leaning against the headboard, and Kiara crawled on her hands and knees toward him.

“Christ,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

Harry spreads his legs wider, which allows Kiara to sit comfortably in his lap. She let her hands roam up and down his tattoos starting with the birds on his collar bone. She then notices the butterfly right above his tummy. When she places her left hand on it, tracing the wings, Harry sighs contently at her touch. It’s a comforting touch, one that he has never experienced with his one-night stands.

Harry breaks a sweat on his forehead when Kiara continues to trace his tattoos. His broad chest stops moving up and down because he begins to hold his breath. He isn’t really sure what she is doing, but it feels good. Good enough for Harry to exhale and relax into the bed.

For Harry, sex with girls usually got directly to the point. Of course, there was foreplay, but not to any extent like this.

Having someone else’s hands on your body is a part of sex. However, this feels much more intimate than that. He’s got that feeling of butterflies in his stomach when Kiara begins to run her hands all over his body. It felt like he was in high school again, having sex for the first time and being so nervous because you don’t know what to do. But in this case, the nerves and butterflies don’t come from a lack of knowledge of the female anatomy. It comes from being completely enamored by the beauty this one girl holds.

And for just a second, Harry questions if he deserves this to feel the way he feels right now. Warm and a little drunk on the feeling of love. He doesn’t love Kiara, at least not yet anyway. But he feels like at this moment, Kiara cares for him. And even if she doesn’t care for him, he wouldn’t mind existing in this false reality he has created in his head for a really long time.

Something about having his body touched in such a vulnerable way is making him feel things he has never felt in his life.

“You have a lot of tattoos,” Kiara points out, fingers still tracing his butterfly tattoo.

“Yeah, I have been collecting them over the years.”

“Which one was your first one?” Kiara asks curiously.

Harry brought Kiara’s delicate hands up to the swallows on his chest.

“These ones,” Harry’s voice shakily said. Kiara takes her index finger and begins to trace the birds.

“How old were you?” Kiara asks, keeping her eyes looking at the birds.

“Sixteen,” is all Harry says, trying to keep his past where it belongs. In the past.

“That’s young. You don’t regret any of them?”

“No, actually. I think they all tell a story. Sure, some of them are stupid, but they all got some meaning behind them.

Kiara innocently brings her hand up to his cheek, cradling his face. “You gotta tell me about them one day. You have so many.”

“Mhmm,” Harry hummed in response.

“Let’s kiss some more,” Kiara suggested, wiggling her hips in Harry’s lap to find a comfortable position.

Harry nodded his head in response letting his lips touch Kiara’s, but not yet giving in to her request. His hands find their way to her lower back, and Kiara’s hands now have made their way up to his shoulders.

“You look good. You know that?” Harry says against her lips.

Kiara now has a grin on her face and blushes at Harry as if she has never received a compliment in her life.

Kiara brushes a brown curl off of Harry’s face with her index finger, “You can’t give me compliments while I’m buzzed off of wine because you might make me fall in love with you.”

Harry smiles. “Why don’t I just fuck you like I love you?”

Harry realizes what he said and awkwardly takes his hands off of Kiara’s body, nervously running his hands through his hair.

Kiara see’s the worried look on Harry’s face, but she is just a tad bit too intoxicated to process the weight of Harry’s words.

“Or you could let me fuck you,” Kiara bodly suggests. “I just haven’t done it in a while, so you might need to take over when my legs get sore.”

Harry nods, his forehead pushed upon Kiara’s. He kisses her again, and is taken by surprise when she lightly bites on his lip. She then gives a quick kiss to the corner of the month, and then his throat. She leans over to kiss his collar bones, and Harry takes the opportunity to grab a handful of her ass.

He then slowly peels her underwear off of her. He drags it slowly past her thighs looking down at her soaking wet core.

“You’re wet,” Harry mummers into her ear.

Kiara cups Harry’s dick through his boxers, and slides them off of his hips.

Harry groans in pleasure when he feels her hand touch his hard dick that is leaking pre cum.

“Don’t get too cocky now,” her hand lazily pumps at Harry's length, which she finds to be quite impressive in size.

“Kiara, don’t forget who is in charge here,” Harry grits through his teeth.

Kiara dips her head down to lick at Harry's heavy balls, she then continues her way up to his shaft until she makes her way to his tip and suctions her lips around the pink swollen flesh.

Harry looks down at the Kiara, who is giving him those innocent eyes, as if she doesn’t have his entire dick in her mouth

“Oh fuck me,” Harrys rolls his eyes, and lets his head fall onto the headboard.

“I will. But let me suck you off first.”

Kiara passes her thumb over his dick, and kisses all around the tip. She licks him up and down before taking him into her mouth entirely, making sure to make eye contact with him.

Harry places his hand gently over Kiara’s head, asking permission to touch her. She blinks at him signaling to him that it's okay.

He took a rough grip to Kiara’s brown curls, moving her head up and down in a steady rhythm.

“That's it,” he encourages as Kiara suckles on his tip. “Fucking hell.”

She pulls her mouth from Harry's length and gives him a few sharp tugs.

“Slow down,” Harry pants. “Want to be inside of you when I come. Can you handle it?”

Kiara swings one leg around Harry’s lap, her core just inches away from Harry’s throbbing dick.

“Yeah I can.”

“Well what are you waiting for?”

Kiara slowly slides down on Harry’s dick, and his hands cling to the sides of hips, coaxing her on her way down. Harry groans at how tight and snug she feels around him.

Kiara is about halfway down when the blissful feeling starts to hit her. She tightens her grip on Harry’s shoulders biting her bottom lip.

“What's wrong? Thought you said you could handle it.”

Bravely, in one push Kiara glides right down Harry’s dick.

Harry groans with pleasure as soon as she makes it all the way down. His hands go out to grip her ass, and help her bounce up and down.

“That's it. Good girl. You like it when I call you that?”

“Yes,” Kiara responds, picking up her speed so that her tits move up and down with her.

“What do you want me to call you? I can call you my good girl, a slut, or whore. Which one do you prefer?”

“A whore,” Kiara is slightly embarrassed at what this man is doing to her, but she is so wrapped up in the lust of the moment that she really couldn’t care less.

“You're my dirty little whore, hmmm?”

Harry cranes his neck down to place a kiss on her tongue, lapping his tongue over her soft skin that smells like a floral scented perfume. He moans softly into her neck and squeezes at her fleshy hips.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“I’m your dirty little whore,” Out of nowhere Harry thrust his hips up to meet hers. “Fuck, Harry!”

Harry placed a wet kiss behind her hair before speaking, “How about you get on your hands and knees for me. I can fuck you like that.”

“Okay,” Kiara withdraws herself from him with ease due to how wet she was. She props herself on her hands and knees and arches her back for Harry.

Harry places a hand on her lower back. He rubs the tip of his dick over her wet folds before pushing in.

Harry moves slowly at first, testing out the waters to make sure he isn’t hurting her. Her sweet moans are only egging Harry on, and he is sure he isn’t gonna last another five minutes inside of her.

“Please Harry. Fuck me faster please.”

Harry hands grips on Kiara's fleshy love handles. It is a little tight for her liking however the pain is quickly drowned out by the intense pleasure she begins to feel.

This is a dirty shag. Harry is pounding into her at such an extreme pace that Kiara can’t even get a full moan out. Her little “uhhhh’s” and “nggggs” only encourage Harry on.

Kiara’s orgasm hits her first and it's just as blissful as she thought it would be. Legs trembling, her arms are no longer propping herself up, instead her right cheek is pushed up on the bed, and a bit of salvia is foaming out of her mouth.

“I’m gonna, oh god Kiara. Just give me a sec- fuck!”

Harry’s orgasm shortly follows and it's just as euphoric for him as it was for Kiara. This was one of the most satisfying sexual encounters Harry has had in a while and he wants to enjoy every second of being buried in Kiara’s warmth.

Harry was about to pull out from her but when he looked down at where they were connecting he realized how fucked he was.

Not only did he not wear a condom, but he most definitely came inside of her.

“Fuck,” Harry mumbles under his breath.

How could he be so careless? This has never happened to him. Harry has had quite the extent of sexual partners and he makes sure to always use a condom.

He wants to blame it on the wine but he didn’t even finish his glass.

“I need a second,” Kiara tiredly whispers, panting.

“I didn’t use a condom.”

“I’m sorry?” Kiara says still coming down from her high.

Harry runs his hand through his tangled hair nervously, “I didn’t use a condom. I haven’t had sex in almost a year though. I get tested regularly too. I’m sorry it just slipped my mind. I can run out and get you some plan B.”

“It's okay,” Kiara responds. She turns her head around to look at Harry. “Do you mind pulling out now though?”

Harry looks down at his dick, and then looks up at Kiara. “Oh yeah shit uhh.” He grabs on to Kiara’s hips and slowly pulls out of her.

“I haven’t had sex in like six months by the way,” Kiara slowly turns herself around to face Harry who has now tucked himself back in his boxers. “It could be longer honestly… it's been pretty dry here until now.”

“Yeah, same. Busy with work and what not.”

There is a moment of uncomfortable silence. Kiara has the sheets up to her bare breast, and Harry is not only taking in the raw beauty of the girl in front of him, and still beyond shocked he forgot to put on a damn condom.

“Well, I can get you some plan B. I think there is like a Target down the block from your apartment.”

“No, it's fine!” Kiara responds way too quickly. “I mean like, Trina has a stash in her car. I can steal from her in the morning. You don't have to rush out if you don’t want to. It’s not safe to drive at night, and you probably have such a long way to go.”

“You want me to stay?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Harry shakes his head. “No...errr it's not. I would really like to stay.”

“Okay well I’m gonna pee. And clean myself up. I can bring you some water?”

“Water would be great.”

Kiara nods at him, standing up so that her white sheet is wrapped tightly around her body. She knows that there is no reason to hide from Harry. He just took her from behind and called her a whore, but Harry isn’t just any man. He is a man who looks like a greek god, and fucks like one too. So Kiara couldn’t help but be a little self conscious.

Kiara quickly comes back with two glasses of water. She has even changed into an old ratty T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear.

Kiara hands Harry a glass and he takes a sip, “You know,” she starts, crawling into bed next to him. “If you told me you fuck like that maybe I wouldn’t have put up a fight at the cafe.”

Harry blushes, setting the glass on the nightstand next to him. “Didn’t plan this, you know. Not that I mind. Trust me, I like this.”

“I would be lying if I didn’t say I thought you were cute.”

“Oh,” Harry playfulls wiggles his eyebrows, scooting himself closer to Kiara on the bed. “Please do tell me more.”

Kiara pouts at Harry until he places a kiss on her bottom lip, another sloppy wet one on her cheek. He grabs at her sides, tickling her.

“Har- Harry! Stop, please!” Kiara begins to laugh uncontrollably. She even attempts to pull Harry’s enormous hands from her body but has no luck.

“Okay, okay,” she gives up, Harry pulling his hands off of her. “It was the whole curly hair, suit thing. I love a man in a suit, and you know you got an Americano. You have good taste in coffee.”

Harry smiles. “You make good coffee.”

Kiara hums awkwardly, not making eye contact with Harry, instead opting to stare at his mermaid tattoo with abnormally large tits.

“I like your hair too,” Harry speaks up. “It frames your face nicely. It was the first thing I noticed about you.” Harry’s ringed hands make their way to the top of Kiara’s thigh, rubbing her soft skin. “Then it was all the pins you had on your apron. You have a lot.”

“Oh. Yeah I’ve been collecting them over the years.”

“You had one that said, ‘Don’t be a damn.’ What does that mean?”

“I’m not sure,” Kiara shrugs, breathing out a relaxed sigh. “It was like my third year of undergrad. I studied abroad at the University Of Edinburgh, in Scotland and this guy who had a jewelry shop said it to me. The next day I came back he just gave me the pin and told me to always keep it with me.”

Harry smiles at Kiara with adornment, “I have family in Scotland. I’m from London though. Grew up there with my mum most of my life.”

“What brought you to New York then?”

“School then work. I went to Columbia,” Harry says, giving her the shortest answer possible. “I noticed you had it on your sweater earlier…. You know before you tore it off.”

“Shut up!” Kiara groans, striking Harry’s chest. “But yes I do go to Colombia. Just for my teaching credentials. I want to teach history.”

There is a beast of silence. “Are you sure if I stay the night? I don't want to intrude-”

“I want you to stay the night.”

Harry’s heart warms because no girl has ever said that to him. The feeling of butterflies swarming around in his tummy has come back, and he knows his cheeks are heating up in embarrassment.

“Alright.” Harry pulls Kiara’s body closer to him which makes her squeal in surprise. “Only if you keep me warm for the night.

+++

Harry is awake before Kiara.

Harry is used to waking up early for his job, and usually, he would be on his way to get his morning coffee and then head on down to the club.

However, he just can't leave the girl he just fucked last night.

Her breaths are short, and he can feel her heart thumping against his chest. She was properly attached to him, and Harry really liked it. Having her this close to him.

He takes the time while Kiara was asleep to not only watch her sleep peacefully but look at all the artwork she has displayed on her walls. There are no family pictures that Harry can spot, just a picture of her and Trina on her desk. It looks like they are at some club. Trina has a drink in her hand that looks like she is about to spill and Kiara is downing a shot.

Kiara stirs a bit in her sleep and Harry watches as she slowly blinks her eyes open.

“You're warm.” She blinks. “Do you want breakfast?” Kiara offers, nuzzling herself in the crook of Harry’s neck. “I make a really good omelet.”

Harry laughs. “Kiara I really can’t keep up with you.”

Kiara begins to innocently pepper kisses all over Harry’s neck. “What do you mean?” she pouts.

Harry groans once Kiara sucks on a sensitive right beneath his jawline. “For starters, you didn’t like me at all when we first met. Then we fucked because you claimed I was here just for sex. And now you are offering to make me an omelet.”

“What are you here for then?” Kiara presses.

Harry sighs, looking down at the pretty girl all tangled up in his arms. Harry knows exactly what he wants. He is twenty-seven and he is really looking for love. A life-long partner who he can come home to after a hard day at work. A partner who makes getting up in the morning all worth it. Someone who he can take out on dates, maybe even take to meet his brother.

He wants to take a leap of faith with Kiara. He wants to ask her on a date, however, he can’t bring himself to do that. He doesn’t want to put this girl in harm’s way because he likes her.

And it's not even about Kiara getting hurt. He would never let anything physically happen to the people he cares about in his life. It’s honestly about the hurt she would experience if something happened to him.

“I-”

Harry is interrupted by Trina barging into the bedroom.

“We will be late for the train if you don't get your ass up! You always sleep in--” Trina pauses once she realizes her best friend is wrapped up in her other best friend’s arms. “Oh fuck.” Trina points back to the door. “I’ll wait outside for you.”

“Shit,” Kiara grumbles to herself. “I forgot I had work.”

Harry watches as Kiara frantically pulls her underwear up her body. When she realizes Harry is staring at her, she turns around to slide on her black lace bra.

Harry isn’t trying to be that much of a dick, staring at Kiara while she is getting changed. It's just that her ass is littered with marks from his heavy handy, and a light bruise on her loved handles from holding her securely on his lap, while he pounded into her.

The bruises were tainted with the memory of last night, and Harry notices how every little mark told the story of their rough and passionate sex. Looking back on it Harry doesn’t know if he was too rough with the young girl. He doesn’t like that it was possible that he may have hurt her.

“You need to go,” Kiara demands, pulling her jeans on, and then her white shirt.

Harry picked up his white button-up shirt off the floor and threw it over his shoulder. “Kiara, was I too rough? Maybe you should put something on the bruises--”

“I’m going to be late for work Harry,” she snaps.

“Are you mad?”

Tears well up in Kiara’s eyes and this is very unusual for her. She never cries. She is not even sure why she is crying. She pauses for a moment not answering his questions.

“I’m fine,” Kiara answers with her back still facing away from Harry.

“You’re crying, Kiara.”

“I’m not!” Kiara yelled, throwing her hands up in the air turning around. “I- I’m just a little overwhelmed.” Kiara’s breath gets caught in the back of her throat. “I have school, and I work full time, and I’m interning at this elementary school...and that…” Kiara points to the bed. “That was the best sex I have ever had, and now I look like a complete freak.” She wipes a tear with the back of her hand. “I look like a complete freak because all we did was have sex and now I’m crying. It doesn’t have much to do with you I think. I’m just a little stressed.”

That was a complete lie and Kiara knows it. At this moment, she could care less about school or the stress of work. Its that empty feeling you have after sex knowing that this isn’t a forever thing. Harry will go back to being Harry, and she will go back to being Kiara. It is simply just sex...nothing more.

Harry gets off the bed in just his unbuttoned shirt and boxers. He tests the waters by placing a comforting hand on her back. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just show yourself out please.” Kiara walks away from Harry’s hold, grabbing a scrunchie off her desk, and her purse. “I have to go.”

Harry doesn’t stop her. He knows that if he stops her he is gonna want to kiss her. Then he is gonna convince her to come back to bed with him, and he can’t do that. For her sake.

+++

“Are we not gonna talk about it?” Trina asks while she is driving her SUV.

Trina and Kiara usually take the subway together. It works out much cheaper for the both of them, but they can’t be late for work. Not during the Monday rush. Kiara is in the passenger seat pulling up her hair and frantically covering up a few hickies on her neck from last night. Trina is driving just a little bit above the speed limit, trying to make sure they both get there on time, and also worrying about her best friend who isn’t her usual bubbly self.

“There is nothing to talk about, other than I need some plan B,” Kiara replies dryly.

“You're joking.”

“Nope. Pass me your purse.”

Trina keeps one hand on the wheel and hands Kiara her purple purse from the back seat.

“Kiara you had sex with my best friend. Unprotected sex.”

“Exactly just sex,” Kiara shruged, digging up the pill from the bottom of Trina’s bag. “And I’m your best friend!”

“You are both my best friends!” Trina argued. “You know the poor boy actually likes you right?”

Kiara rolls her eyes. “Did he tell you that?”

“Yes! Actually, he did! More than once!”

“He is lying. I’m just a normal broke student. And him? He is a fucking rich man but he looks like a literal greek god! Trina you know I googled him. His past girlfriends are models! White, skinny blonde models. I’m not white, skinny, or blonde!”

“He was a party boy in the past!” Trina retorts. “He likes you, okay? He just has trouble communicating his feelings. I know you like him too. You just have this strange idea in your head that you are not good enough for him! Which is ridiculous.”

“It's whatever,” Kiara huffs, pooping the pill in her mouth and swallowing it, “It was a hook-up. A simple one night stand.”

“It’s okay to want something more Kiara.”

“He doesn’t want something more! It's so painfully obvious,” Kiara throws her hands up in the air.

Trina knows how stubborn her best friend is. It's why they get along so well. They both have this hot headed temperament. However, Kiara never really likes to give herself time to relax. She likes to be busy but it is clearly taking a toll on her mental health.

“Let me take you out drinking after work.”

Kiara turned her head towards her friend and smiled. “Thank you. Now we are speaking my language.”

+++

While Kiara’s working, a part of her secretly wishes that Harry would show up for his americano. She is trying her hardest to convince herself that he is not worth her energy or time, but the sex is still fresh in her mind and it doesn’t help that her body is showing evidence of what took place last night.

There is still that dull satisfying ache between her legs, the sound of Harry calling her a dirty whore plays on rewind all day. She is practically daydreaming about having sex with Harry again while making coffee.

Harry was the first man to meet her needs in that manner. Sure she has cum during sex a couple times, but it wasn’t anything mindblowing. In fact her orgasms were usually underwhelming, but with Harry he knew what he was doing. His dominance was a complete turn on.

And sure Kiara could be fuck buddies with Harry. But she thinks she deserves a little more than just casual hookups. She wants a relationship because at the end of the day, she wants to build a family. A family that makes up for her broken one.

Kiara has sat down and contemplated this before. Is it inherently selfish to want to fix her childhood trauma with a family of her own, but fuck. Can you really blame her?

+++

When Kiara gets home she quickly changes into a simple black dress. It hugs her curves nicely and it's the dress she usually pulls out when she used to go clubbing with Trina (which has come to a halt because of her pregnancy).

The subway ride to the club is filled with laughter and Trina having to help Kiara actually get on and off the train (because she pregamed at the apartment).

Once they got to the club, Trina walks up to the front of the line with Kiara.

The bouncer's eyes lit up as soon as he saw Trina, “Hi Trina. Umm, should I tell Harry you are here? James is also here too. I can let him know as well.”

“Harry is here?” Kiara questions.

Trina whispers in her ear, “Yes, this is his club.”

“I’m gonna need more drinks if I have to look at his stupid face again.”

Trina playfully rolls her eyes, “Yes, you can let James and Harry know we are both here.”

The bouncer pulls out his walkie talkie and opens the door for Trina and Kiara.

Kiara supports herself on Trina’s arm as they walk into the club, “You didn’t tell me we were going to Harry’s club?”

“I know, I thought you might put up a fight about it.”

She probably would have put up a fight about it, however she wouldn’t actually mind seeing Harry's stupid, beautiful looking face again.

The club itself is beautiful. The ceilings are covered with mirrors, and hanging down from them were stunning crystal chandeliers. The chairs are red, and glass tables are placed strategically in each booth. There is also a bar with some red stools, and a huge red door near it.

“What’s back there?” Kiara asks.

“The strip club. But we don't need to go over there. C’mon you wanted some wine, didn’t you?”

Trina and Kiara made their way to the bar and a heavily tattooed girl with a name tag that says Drew is working on the opposite side of the counter mixing drinks.

“Hey, Trina! What are you doing here? You can’t drink.”

“It’s for my friend, Kiara.” Trina gestures to her Kiara, who drunkenly waves back at Drew “She will take some wine, something sweet. I’ll just have some sprite”

Drew grabs a wine glass and puts it on the table before walking away. “Coming right up”

“James is that new guy you are seeing, right?”

“Yes. He works for Harry.”

Kiara has heard Trina mention James on multiple occasions. She even thinks he has come to the cafe a couple of times for lunch, but Kiara can’t put a name to the face. She is unsure if Trina and James are dating, but she is not sure how far she should pry. She does briefly remember Trina telling her that James does not care about Trina being pregnant. In fact Trina told her one day during their thirty minute break at work that James is just happy to be a part of Trina’s family.

“Mhmm. So Harry owns this club?” Kiara asks, taking a sip from her wine that Drew provided for her.

“Yeah. He owns a few more too. I believe it's a family business or something?”

Kiara sighs before downing the rest of her wine. “Just eat the fucking rich already.”

“Kiara? Trina?”

Kiara spins around on her chair, holding up her second glass of wine that Drew had given her and made eye contact with Harry.

He looks breathtaking. Hair neatly combed out of his face, tailored suit, ring decorated fingers that Kiara thought was repulsive, but now she can't stop thinking about how they feel against her heat.

“Trina, it's Wednesday,” Harry sternly told her, pressing two fingers to the bridge of his nose, slowly breathing in and out, trying not to lose his temper at his best friend.

“Are you not happy to see me?” Kiara says, standing up. She almost trips on her heels but Harry grabs her arm.

Kiara places her hand on Harry’s cheek. “I know you have to be happy to see me. You don’t fuck someone like that unless you hate them or love them. And who could hate me?”

“Okay!” Trina chippers up, grabbing her friend and bringing her back to the barstool. “Maybe we should get some water in you, okay?”

Harry is flustered because way too much is happening at once. Harry has told Trina multiple times that Wednesdays are not a good time to show up at the club. He has his meetings on Wednesday, and dangerous people are always floating in and out of the club talking business with Harry. He just wants to keep Trina and Kiara safe.

“Drew put all their drinks on my tab,” he tells the dark-haired bartender. “Trina, did you drive here?”

“No, we took the subway,” Trina answered.

Harry sighed frustratingly. “Okay. I'll take you two home. Just don’t leave here until I come get you.”

“Harry,” Trina starts. “I'm sure we will be fine. It’s not that big of a deal. James is here anyways--”

“Trina please.”

It's the crack in Harry's voice that caused Kiara to stop drinking her wine and look up at him.

Trina shoots Harry a look of sympathy. “Okay fine. We will stay here until you're done.”

Harry exhales the air he was holding in, a nervous habit he is still trying to break. “Okay. I will be done soon.”

“What's got his panties in a twist?” Kiara snorts as Harry walks away.

“I’m not sure actually,” Trina responds. “He is always stressed at work. I’ve been trying to get him to take a break for ages, but pulling that man away from his job is an impossible task.”

“He always seems so tense.”

Trina laughs, “Yeah maybe you can help him with that.”

“Well I see you have been helping his fellow associate...James.” Kiara wiggles her eyebrows at Trina.

Trina dramatically sighs. “Don’t even get me started on him.”

“What? I thought things were going great!”

“They are!” Trina assures Kiara. “But I’m still not sure what he wants. I’m pregnant and thirty. I really don’t want to fool around anymore. I want to settle down. The baby is coming soon and I won't have time for hookups and flings. He says he doesn’t mind that I’m pregnant, but he hasn’t said he wants a relationship with me.”

“Why don’t you just be upfront with him and ask?”

“Because I don’t want to scare him off!”

“You deserve someone who is upfront with their feelings, Trina. You are never gonna know until you ask.”

Trina sticks her index finger in Kiara’s face. “I’m not doing shit until you figure out what's going on with you and Harry.”

“Fine I’ll admit. The dick is good.”

Trina squealed. “I knew it, you filthy whore!”

“I'm just a little nervous. What if he is just hooking up with me for some weird black girl fetish? What if he is a racist?”

“I can tell you that's not Harry.”

“Am I ready for this?”

Trina takes a sip of her sprite. “I dunno. You know the answer to that question, not me.”

“Well I don’t know, and you don’t know. So that's my cue to keep drinking.”

Trina rolls her eyes and is about to tell Drew that this will be Kiara’s last glass of red wine until she makes eye contact with a man walking towards them.

“Fuck,” Trina grabs her purse then grabbed Kiara’s wrist. “Don’t talk to him okay? Just don’t look at him and maybe he will go away--”

“Trina... Haven’t seen you in a while.” The man's voice is heavy and dark. When Kiara looked up at him the first thing she noticed is that he is extremely well dressed, with a bling out watch on his wrist. “Who is the lovely lady you brought with you?”

“Leave her alone Dorian.” Trina says.

“What's your name?” The man reaches out to touch Kiara’s lower back but she flinches away.

“Don't touch me! Who do you think you are?”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Feisty. Pretty too. You are one of Harry’s girls?”

“Excuse me? One of whose girls?”

“Are you not a dancer for the club?” the man asks in a condescending town that sets Kiara off.

“Oh hell no. You know damn well I’m clearly not stripping so what is it that you want from me?”

Trina leans into Kiara’s ear. “Kiara please leave it alone,” She grabs her wrist but Kiara quickly pulls it out of her grasp. “Let's just go.”

“No, let the girl talk Trina. She has quite a mouth on her anyway. Maybe she can put it to a much better use.”

Slap

Kiara’s hand connects with Dorian’s face before Trina could stop her. Trina knows her friend has a temper but so does Dorian. The slap slightly echoes over the music and gains a few people's attention including Drew, who stops mixing her drink and keeps her eyes on Dorian, who clenches his jaw and fixes his suit on his shoulders, trying to regain his composure.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters quietly.

“And what the fuck are you gonna… Ow!” Dorian roughly grabs Kiara wrist and drags her towards him.

He holds her hand above her head. “You don’t know who you are messing with. Do I need to show you?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Kiara begins to squirm. “Let go of me before I kick you in the crotch--”

“Hmmmm. Maybe I should teach you a lesson. Don’t think Harry would mind if I borrowed one of his girls.”

“Refer to me as one of Harry’s girls one more time and I will do more than just slap you.”

“Dorian. Let her go.” Kiara’s eyes float from the man holding her wrist to Harry who is stalking up to her with a man right next to him. His voice was deep and assertive. Something Kiara never thought Harry to be other than when he was in bed.

Dorian lets Kiara’s wrist go and she stumbles back a bit towards Trina.

“Harry!” Dorian loudly greets. “I was just telling one of your whores she needs to watch that mouth of hers.”

“She is not a dancer, Dorian.”

“Oh, is she not? Such a shame,” Dorians eyes shamelessly rake Kiara up and down. “With a body like that I’m sure she could attract some clients for you.”

Kiara launches at Dornian but Harry is quick to grab her this time pulling her into his chest.

“Behave. Please,” he whispers in her ear.

“Dorian, you need to go.”

“Harry, you know better than that. Came here for my money. Come here every Wednesday to get my payment.”

“Well, you're not getting it today. Come by tomorrow.”

“Funny you say that since you know the history between me and your father--”

“I don't give a fuck about the history between you and my father!” Harry seethes stepping closer to Dorian. “You don’t see him here do you? I made you a deal. You will get your money, just not tonight. You don’t get to threaten my friends and then just demand money.”

“You don’t want to test me boy--”

“No, you don't want to test me. Not tonight. Leave.”

Dorian smirks at Harry before raising his hands up in defeat. “I’ll be here tomorrow. If you don’t have my money there will be problems.”

Harry watches Dorian walk fully out the door before turning to Trina and Kiara. “Both of you. My car now.”

“What just happened?” Kiara questions.

“Trina just take her to the car.”

+++

The car ride back to Kiara’s apartment is silent. Kiara sits in the back confused as to why Trina and Harry kept whispering to each other. A whole conversation is happening and Kiara’s trying to keep up, but she can only get bits and pieces of what the two are saying.

“I might be still drunk but I can hear you know.” That is a lie.

Harry’s eyes glance up to the rear view mirror. “Are you okay Kiara? He didn’t hurt you right?”

“No but I did hurt him. Slapped him. And if you didn’t come and interrupt I was about to kick him in the balls.” Kiara hiccups at the end of her sentence.

“She is right,” Trina agrees. “She is more of a fighter than she leads on to be.”

“Exactly!” Kiara yells. “So if you would have given me the chance I would have fucked him up.”

Harry, who was clenching his hand at the wheel during the whole drive, lets go and smiles. “I believe you Kiara.”

+++

Harry makes sure to walk Trina into her apartment safely, before helping Kiara to hers which was a challenge in itself because she can’t even walk in a straight line.

“Woah,” Harry says, wrapping his strong arms around Kiara’s waist trying to keep her balance. “How about you sit down on the bed?”

Harry helps Kiara walk into her bedroom and he slowly sits her down on her bed. Her hair is completely ruined, her dress slightly bunched up at her hips and her lips gloss slightly smudged. Harry thinks she looks beautiful. He is staring a little too long before he realizes he should help her take off her heels.

He gets down on one knee and his fingers begin to work on the claps of Kiara’s heels until she wraps her leg around Harry’s neck and pulls him closer to her thigh.

“Wine makes me horny.”

“I know,” Harry pushes himself away from her, no matter how tempting she looks, and goes back to undoing her heels. “But I think it would be smart if I get you to bed.”

“Why was that guy asking you for money?”

“Asking me anything but that.”

“Okay. Did you mean it?”

Harry slides one heel off her foot and looks up at her. “Mean what?”

“When we met.” He grabs Kiara’s other foot. “You said I was pretty. You meant it?”

Harry is silent for a couple seconds, his voice low. “Of course. Why would I be lying about that?”

Kiara shrugs as Harry glides her shoe off. “Guys are assholes. Well most guys are.”

“Mhmm. Where can I find some clothes for you?”

“Top drawer.” Kiara points at her dresser right in front of her bed. Harry walks over to get some clothes and places them on the side of her bed. “When I moved here I hooked up with this one guy from my class. I thought there was something going on between us ya know? He was nice at first. So I was gonna ask him if he wanted to go on a date because well, at that point we were hooking up. Turns out he had a girlfriend.”

“Sounds like a dick. Can I unzip your dress?”

Kiara nods her head and stands up hastily, turning around so her back is facing Harry. “I feel like I’m never good enough to be the girlfriend.” Harry listens closely as he zips Kiara’s dress slowly. Her delicate skin has goosebumps on it. When he gets all the way down to the top of her butt he pushes the dress off her shoulders, and allows her to step out of it.

“I’m good enough to hook up with. But never good enough to meet the parents or keep around longer than a couple weeks.” She turns around to face Harry, and grabs the shirt he picked out for her, throwing it over her head, and ignoring the pair of sweats he brought her, opting to stay in her underwear.

“So do you find me pretty in a fuckable way? Or do you find me pretty enough to keep me around longer than a few weeks?”

“Do you want me to answer that? Because you are really drunk, and my goal isn’t to scare you off.”

“Yes please,” she hiccups. “If you want to fuck around lets just be up front about it. Think I’ve gotten my hopes up about too many guys and I just wanna know.”

“Well I always think it's time for me to settle down,” Harry explains to her. “I’m twenty seven and my mum will not stop bugging me about it.” He laughs but Kiara stays silent. “I guess dating is just a bit confusing for me.”

“Confusing?” Kiara questions, tugging at the bottom of her shirt to make sure it is covering her butt.

“I really didn’t expect to be around this long. I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff Kiara, stuff that I really shouldn’t have done because it put my life at jeopardy. I think I never settled down because I didn’t think I was able to.”

“And what about now? Do you think you can settle down.”

Harry inhales and exhales quickly. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay.” Kiara turns her back to Harry and walks to her bed. She is definitely disappointed in his answer, but she knew she shouldn’t have gotten her hopes up.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep seeing you Kiara,” Harry quickly responds, breathlessly. “I want to take you to dinner.”

“You don’t have to pity me Harry-”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry cuts her off. “I like you Kiara. You're a nice girl, beautiful too, and I mean that. My life can be… menacing to say the least. I like you enough not to drag you into my bullshit.”

Kiara tiredly rubs her eyes with the back of her hands. “What exactly is the bullshit?”

“It's my family business and my family… Well, they are interesting people.” That is all Harry could tell her without explicitly saying, “Instead of going into finance with my business degree from Columbia, I had to join my dad’s mafia and fix all his mistakes while he lives in a mansion, even though all I have ever wanted was to have absolutely nothing to do with the “‘family business.’”

“You seem like you don’t want to talk about it.” Kiara is now sitting with her knees up to her chest on her bed and Harry is towering over her small frame.

“No. I’m not a big fan of my past. But I want to get to know you, and you can get to know me. I’m busy with work, and sometimes it's hard for me to open up, but I’d really appreciate it if we took this slow.”

Kiara pouts. “So that means I can’t convince you to stay the night? Even if I suck you off?”

Harry smiles at her. “No.” He places a kiss on her forehead. “But I will come get you tomorrow at seven for dinner. Does that work?”

“Yes it does. Thanks for bringing me home tonight.”

“Anytime. I mean that.”

Kiara flips over to her side, hands resting underneath her head. “Drive safe.”

Harry is unsure about his life. In fact he is unsure about leaping into this with Kiara. He knows they aren’t dating, and that's good for him. He needs time to figure out his life. He knows if he wants to be in Kiara’s life, he has to pay off his fathers debt’s and get out of the mafia, or else he will never truly have the life he wants.

Right now, he can see a future with Kiara. He can see himself waking up next to her, making breakfast. He can see himself enjoying a domestic life with her.

He knows he can’t have that right now. But he sure is gonna work like hell for it. For her.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #haryr styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles angst #mafia!harry #harry styles mafia #harry styles x oc #harry styles x woc #harrystyles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #ha

[krismusings]

INTRO ★

( HARRY STYLES, 28, CISMALE ) I JUST BUMPED INTO [ ROMAN BECKETT ] THE OTHER DAY WHILE WALKING DOWN [ WEST ] KINGSBORO, WHERE [ HE/HIM ] LIVES. I HEAR THEY CAN BE [ LOVING ] AND [ SPOILED ], BUT WHEN I THINK OF THEM I THINK ABOUT [ DESIGNER LABLES, BURNT FOOD, AND JOAN CRAWFORD ] ( KRIS, 30, SHE/HER, EST )

Roman Beckett was born Christopher Jacobs in a classic sob story of a situation. Mother was a prostitute, father was some random deadbeat who of course had no interested in raising a bastard child, and split with no second thoughts. Blah blah blah, yada yada yada, said young mother didn’t really want a kid either. She tried at first, or so he heard, but eventually he was passed on to a family friend, a couple who had been wanting children of their own, and never had any luck. He was given a new name, one his adoptive mother thought fit better, one sounding grand, and worthy of a good new start. Ro really couldn’t complain much about his childhood, and often felt guilty whenever he would get down, and wonder why he wasn’t good enough to be kept around by his actual mother. He had a lot of emotional issues deep down thanks to her, and he’d never get closure for that, because she signed a form saying she never wanted her information given out, didn’t want to be found, nor did she intend to ever reach out herself. Maybe that was why he got into acting, a way to hide behind a different face from time to time.

KINGSBORO

Since moving to Kingsboro after getting a steady job as a barista, and an acting job at a small theater close by his apartment, Ro really felt like he was starting to thrive. This was the perfect window into catching his big break, hopefully, and in the meantime - he just wanted to try and enjoy life. Sex, drugs, strippers, it all seemed to come so naturally to him. It never feels like a risk, and if he suffers any consequences, it never lasts long. Men, women, he’s not picky, and hell, he blurs the lines himself. Rome likes what he likes, does what he wants to do, and has absolutely no filter. If he likes you, he likes the hell out of you, and if not, you’ll fucking know it. Maybe he’s morally “good” deep down, or maybe he only thinks he is, but he’ll kill for his friends. Well, maybe that’s dramatic, but dramatic is the best word to describe him. Psychedelics help him be creative, sex eases the stress, hand and hand - it’s a winning combination. He’s not a selfish lover, he wants his partners to enjoy it as well, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t usually a heartbreaker. At least he’s charming and eadearing. (( TW: mentions of mental illness, past child abuse, substance abuse, kinks )) FULL NAME: Roman Atticus Beckett NICKNAMES: Ro, Rome, Roroyaboat, Roro, Royo, Ramen noodle, Roman candle, Beck, Romeo AGE: 28 DATE OF BIRTH: July 31st ZODIAC SIGN: Leo PLACE OF BIRTH: Manchester, England HOMETOWN: London, England LOCATION: Kingsboro, Brooklyn, New York City, NY ETHNICITY: White NATIONALITY: British RELIGIOUS VIEWS: There’s a happy place somewhere. EDUCATION LEVEL: Graduate of The Royal Central School of Speech and Drama OCCUPATION: Actor MENTAL CONDITIONS: depression, anxiety, substance addiction PHYSICAL IMPAIRMENTS: glasses, contacts, bad back ADDICTIONS: cocaine PHYSICAL APPEARANCE HEIGHT: 6′1 BODY TYPE: athletic, slim, and soft…somehow? EYE COLOUR: green HAIR COLOUR: brown STYLE: All the latest fashions - always has to have a new outfit for each day, will only repeat lounge clothes - but even those are in style. TATTOOS?: ( over 52 ) PERSONALITY POSITIVE TRAITS: outgoing, funny, intuitive, empathetic, humble NEGATIVE TRAITS: gullible, emotional, addictive, insecure, stubborn WHAT DO THEY CONSIDER TO BE THE BEST AND THE WORST PART OF THEIR PERSONALITY?: Roman is probably the best friend to have. He’s always there for anyone who needs him, which is great, but in turn also stresses him a little thin, as he doesn’t know how to say no. His fashion sense though? Always on point. ARE THEY MORE EXTROVERTED OR INTROVERTED?: Extrovert ANY TALENTS?: Acting, singing, anything involving his mouth ;-) WHAT ARE THEIR FEARS?: making a bad decision, hurting the ones he loves. ANY ALLERGIES?: codeine, squash DO THEY HAVE ANY PHOBIAS?: clashing colors LIST 3 PET-PEEVES THEY CAN’T STAND: not having a routine, chewing with mouth open, no sense of humor PAST BEST MEMORY: Spending summers in Italy with adoptive family WORST MEMORY: the child abuse that went on before he was adopted. BIGGEST SECRET: He was given up for adoption separate from his twin sister, because his mother was a prostitute, and subjected them to a toxic environment. BIGGEST WISH: Being a father someday. BIGGEST FEAR: Losing his loved ones FIRST LOVE : Doesn't know if he's ever been in love. ROMANCE & SEXUALITY TURN ONS: dirty talk, choking, slapping, bondage, flirting, confidence, hair pulling, degradation, roleplaying, dom/sub TURN OFFS: anything involving things that should be done on a toilet. MISCELLANEOUS SPEAKING VOICE CLAIM: Harry Styles SINGING VOICE CLAIM: Harry Styles RELATIONSHIP WITH MOTHER: Birth mother is estranged, adopted mother, they are on good terms, but not as close as they have been in the past. MOTHER’S NAME: Kate Beckett RELATIONSHIP WITH FATHER: Birth father is estranged, adopted father, they speak at least three times a week. FATHER’S NAME: Pat Beckett SIBLINGS: Athena Beckett, and Ava Lancaster PETS: A pug named Luigi FAVORITE PLACE: Tokyo ROLE MODELS: David Bowie, Elton John FAVORITE ANIMALS: ALL THE ANIMALS FAVORITE BOOKS: Harry Potter, any good biography, or philosophy read. FAVORITE MOVIES: Mommie Dearest, Gone With the Wind, A Star is Born (every version) FAVORITE MUSIC: Classic Rock, 60′s-80′s FAVORITE FOOD: Sushi QUIRKS ARE THEY RIGHT OR LEFT HANDED?: Right WHAT’S A WORD THAT’S ALWAYS ON THEIR LIPS?: “Gucci” WHAT LANGUAGES DO THEY SPEAK?: English, French, Italian DO THEY CURSE?: Yes. WHAT’S THEIR WORST HABIT(S)?: Weed DO THEY DRINK OR SMOKE? HOW FREQUENTLY?: Drinks socially, smokes weed. ARE THEY AN EARLY BIRD OR A NIGHT OWL?: Night owl HOW TIDY IS THEIR ROOM?: Organized to the Gods HOW LONG TO THEY USUALLY TAKE GETTING READY?: For a quick errand, ten minutes. A night out, an hour or more.

#kingsboro.intro

[comradesummers]

3, 17, 27?

Hi, thank you for asking!

Top 5 underrated TV shows

Idk what really qualifies as underrated, but I’ll try my best.

1. Legends of Tomorrow

Like, outside of the cult following, people don’t give it credit for being one of the most creative and batshit crazy shows on TV. I think what really gets missed in the conversation about Legends, even when the show is brought up, is that it’s not just a weird, kooky show. I genuinely believe LoT is doing something that no other show on TV is doing rn. Like it may be silly, and not take itself too seriously, but it’s actually super creative, it tries new things, it takes risks that shows that take themselves more seriously don’t have the luxury of taking. It’s out there doing something genuinely different from the regular serialized drama format that’s overtaking television, and that’s unique and important and we should appreciate it more.  

2. Every show for or about women that’s ever been referred to as a “guilty pleasure” by men, including but not limited to: BtVS, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Jane the Virgin, Sex and the City (I haven’t even seen it, but I know that it changed television as we know it, and men still dismiss it as meaningless fluff), Gilmore Girls, and too many other shows to list here. All of them are underrated by assholes who think they’re too good for girl things.

3. Blackadder

Y’know, the concept of something being underrated is super weird, because like the question becomes: underrated by who? I mean, if you’re in the know about British comedies or whatever, then of course you know that Blackadder is one of the funniest and most innovative shows ever. But with everyone else I’ve talked to in real life, I’ve had to explain that Mr. Bean and Dr. House dress up in period costumes, and hang out with different important historical figures in British history, and it’s really funny and great (except for maybe the first season).  

4. Don’t Trust the B in Apartment 23

And then on the other hand, I’m pretty sure a lot of people on Tumblr know what this show is, and know it’s hilarious, but I would still probably consider it underrated and pretty unknown outside of certain circles.

5. Sense8

Again, I’m not sure it’s underrated on Tumblr but more people need to see it, so I’m counting it. I like Sense8 for the same reason I like Legends: it took risks, and did things other shows weren’t doing, albeit on a much larger and more unruly budget, which is probably why it got cancelled. But it really was a great, if short lived show, and I wish it had gone on for longer.

Top 5 “deserved better” characters

1. Kendra Young

Yeah, so I think there are two reasons that Kendra’s death makes me so angry. The first being just how much potential was wasted with her death. Yeah, they made her do a goofy accent, but she was still a really interesting character. Her worldview was completely entrenched in that of the Council. She was raised by them, and had never rebelled like Giles had. She would have made an amazing contrast to Buffy and the gang, but I also think there’s a really great story there about her coming to terms with just how exploited by those assholes she had been. Also, her dynamic with Buffy was already fascinating, and I think they had really good chemistry (I ship it).

The other reason her death makes me so angry is that she is the most obvious example of the horrendous treatment of people of color on BtVS. It really is unacceptable how white that show is, and once the writers finally did create an interesting and powerful (if admittedly pretty stereotypical) woman of color, they killed her off after three episodes. Kendra deserved better just like every other non-white character on BtVS deserved better.

2. Meg Manning and Paker Lee

(Yeah, I’m cheating, it’s a tie.) So one of the main issues that I have with Veronica Mars is that there just aren’t that many women on the show. With the exception of Veronica herself, most of the main characters are men, and most of Veronica’s important relationships, be they romantic, familial, or platonic, are with men.

The female characters we do have either have very little screentime, in spite of their considerable awesomeness (Mac and Jackie). Or, in the case of Meg and Parker, are used and disposed of according to the needs of the plot, often to create drama in Veronica’s love life. Meg surviving the bus crash, only to be killed off once she’d given birth, basically because she was no longer relevant to the Duncan/Veronica story is super icky and gross. And Parker getting dismissed as nothing more than road bump in LoVe’s story by both the show and the fandom drives me a little crazy, especially considering how she was introduced to the show.

Also, while we’re at it, every single ‘feminist’ character in season 3 deserved better from Rob Thomas.

3. Tara Maclay

She deserved to live, and we the viewers deserved better than Bury Your Gays.

4. Martha Jones

I mean, Martha Jones deserved better from the fandom more than anything else. And I’m adding her to the list because I’m one of the many people who owes Martha and Freema Agyeman an apology. I was like 12 when I watched Doctor Who for the first time, and I totally bought into the racist sexist bullshit (she’s boring, why is she in love with the Doctor, etc.). To be fair, I also bought into a lot of sexist bullshit when it came to Rose, so I hated her too, but obviously Martha got the shorter end of the stick, because of racism, and she deserved so, so much better.

5. Donna Noble

Fuck the amnesia bullshit and erasing her character development. Why did they have to do this to her? What possible purpose did it serve? Why not just give her a reason to leave and go home like every other companion? Wtf was the point? Was it just so that the doctor would have manpain about it?

Nevermind, I think I just answered my own question.

Top 5 brotps

Ok, not including any relationships I view as purely familial (Dawn and Buffy, Giles and Buffy, Tara and Dawn, Holt and anybody, etc.). Friendships only.

1. Buffy and Willow

Buffy and Willow love each other so much, and they hurt each other a lot too. This relationship isn’t simple and sweet, it starts out that way, but it becomes difficult, and they both do things to one another that I don’t think either one of them ever fully forgives the other for. But even still, at their worst, they love each other so deeply and so completely. This relationship is at the core of the show, I think. It’s arguably the first relationship the show establishes, and the one it spends most time on. The ups and downs are painful, but they feel real (even when they involve things like bringing someone back from the dead without their consent or whatever). And through it all, they never stop loving each other. As flawed as it may be, I think it’s also one of the most complex, interesting, and important relationships between two women ever on television. And that’s worth celebrating.

2. Jane and Petra

So I’ve been on a bit of a Jane the Virgin kick lately, and I’ll be honest, I can’t decide if this is a brotp or an otp. But I love Petramos too, so let’s go with brotp.

In any case, these two were pretty much my endgame for the show. I really didn’t care who Jane ended up with (unless it was Petra, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen), and I got sick of her love triangle real quick (to be fair, I just really can’t stand love triangles, which is why I didn’t give the show a shot for a long time). As for Petra, I just really wanted her to have a healthy relationship with someone, and Jane seemed to be the only person who seemed interested in having a healthy relationship with her.

Plus their dynamic is just amazing and hilarious. My favorite scenes in the show are always when they’re on screen together. The way they grudgingly grow to care about and love each other is genuinely sweet and well developed. And I love how even when they do become friends, their basic moral divide never changes. They still disagree very strongly about certain things, but they love each other regardless. And btw, the scene where they say “I love you” to each other for the first time might be my favorite “I love you” scene ever, platonic or otherwise.

I just love them so much.

3. Gurl Group (Crazy Ex-Girlfriend)

This is another show about romance where I’m far more invested in the female friendship than I am in any of the romances, but to be fair, I think CxG kind of wants you to do that anyway.

Regardless, I love everyone in this Gurl Group, individually and together. And their individual relationships are already fascinating. Like, Rebecca and Valencia’s frienship is pure enemies to lovers friends bliss and I love it. Rebecca and Paula’s relationship is the heart of the show, and like Buffy and Willow, this relationship is often difficult and complicated, but the love is always there. And we never had enough scenes of Heather and Valencia interacting. Every scene where they were together was pure comedic gold. And the group together as a whole was just so powerful and amazing to behold.

4. Amy and Rosa

They do not have enough scenes together. This relationship deserves the same amount of care and development as Jake and Charles get. Melissa and Stephanie have great chemistry. And like, their characters are so different, so the contrast is always so funny. But they also love each other, and support each other, and it’s so much fun to watch. I need 10000% more Amy/Rosa content.

5. Buffy and Veronica

This one’s probably also cheating because it’s a crossover and all, but I’m just kind of obsessed with the idea of them meeting, sparks flying, enemies to lovers friends, the works. They would just have such a fantastic dynamic. Like, think of all the verbal sparring that we would be blessed with. Think of all the drama and angst of them coming to understand and respect each other. If there is one crossover that I would will into existence if I could, it would definitely be this one.

#legends of tomorrow #blackadder #don't trust the b in apt 23 #sense8 #kendra young #meg manning #parker lee #tara maclay #donna noble #buffy summers #willow rosenberg #jane villanueva #petra solano #jetra #crazy ex girlfriend #amy santiago #rosa diaz #veronica mars #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer

[arbeaone]

For “Great British Baking Show” Contestants, The Real Loss is the Endless Trolling

by Rae Robey Published on December 2, 2019 at 11:51am

Against the vast backdrop of high-octane and anxiety-inducing cooking competition television programs, The Great British Baking Show is an aberration. Internationally beloved for its affable contestants and endless supply of baking-themed anglicisms—“soggy bottoms” and “saucy puds” abound—the show follows a dozen or so home bakers as they compete to be named Britain���s best amateur baker. When the 2019 season premiered with a record-breaking 9.6 million viewers, each contestant was thrust into the public eye; most have racked up tens of thousands of Instagram followers since the season began in August. For American audiences in particular, The Great British Baking Show’s intrinsic wholesomeness makes it a cultural phenomenon: We could never be so well-mannered in a televised competition, but we do enjoy pretending.

The Great British Baking Show is, at most, an estranged cousin to American cutthroat cooking competitions like Chopped, Iron Chef, or even Cupcake Wars. In the Baking Show tent, contestants help each other finish their bakes, are graceful (even grateful!) in defeat, and despair when their purported rivals are dismissed from the competition. Each episode is predicated on kindness, love, support, and the freely-given home-baked comforts of the feminine domestic realm. Even the grand prize—a cake stand and some flowers, no cash—highlights the show’s near-pathological humility. Produced by a team called Love Productions, decency is, we can only assume, woven into the show’s DNA. But when Baking Show airs on TV, long after the last bun is iced and the final bap prodded, the trolling begins.

Each season, the bakers spend months immersed in icing sugar, bavarois, and ganache, frantically preparing for the 30 challenges of the competition. In addition to the generalized stress of executing difficult pastry skills while trying to impress professional judges on an international stage, the bakers are told by producers that they’ll likely deal with some backlash from a handful of disproportionately peeved viewers. After all, it’s a competition. But the backlash goes beyond competition, and, despite the warning, most bakers are blindsided by the frequency and ferocity of their trolling. And though adoring fans are certainly in the majority, online trolls yell the loudest. Stacey Hart, a Season 8 semifinalist, dealt with severe online harassment as soon as the season began airing. “I’m smug, I’m a bitch, I’m a worthless piece of shit, I’m a useless baker,” Hart told Bitch, describing the comments that strangers sent her. “[The show] was the best experience and the best thing—at the time—that I ever did. It became the worst thing I ever did.” Trolls loathed her pink, glittery bakes and how often she brought up motherhood; their caustic DMs and comments drove her into a months-long depression. “I’m quite a self-conscious person anyway, and it made me question myself,” says Hart. “Am I good enough?”

Before Hart, there was Ruby Tandoh, a Season 4 runner-up who was deemed a “filthy slag” who traded sexual favors and weaponized “female tears” for preferential judging. Tandoh wrote a piece for The Guardian in October 2013 describing the waves of “lazy misogyny” that followed each episode’s release, but shining light on the problem change much for future contestants. Claire Goodwin, the first to leave the tent in Season 5, was inundated with fat-shaming comments. Season 6 winner Nadiya Hussain, a first-generation British Bangladeshi, was told to “go home” on Twitter. Candice Browne, winner of Season 7, regularly endured comments from strangers who “fucking hate Candice, reckon she’s a right bitch.”

In a 2018 joint study with Element AI, Amnesty International named online trolling of women a human rights violation—one that social media platforms like Twitter continuously refuse to be held accountable for. The trolling of Baking Show contestants generally reflects the Amnesty International findings: White women are trolled hard, but women of color are trolled harder. Commenting on the viciousness of a particularly nasty troll, Hussain offered a succinct explanation: “I’m Muslim, brown, working-class and a woman! I may as well have ‘punching bag’ written on my torso.” In general, men are less likely to be trolled and, instead, are more likely to be trolls themselves, due to years of learned misogyny and—according a Brunel University and Goldsmiths, University of London report—a higher rate of narcissism. But on Baking Show, trolling often extends to the men with nearly as much vitriol and regularity as it does to the women.

Dan Beasley-Harling, a 2018 contestant and self-identified “gay-at-home dad” received the overwhelming bulk of Season 8’s cumulative harassment. “It was about five weeks of people just saying horrible things about me constantly. I had some really overtly homophobic comments,” says Beasley-Harling, referring to unoriginal jabs about queer sex and the suitability of a queer parent. Trolls can generally find a problem with any woman, but two types of bakers stand out as exceptionally deserving of harassment: women who don’t land neatly in the realm of palatable, perfect femininity, and men who aren’t stereotypically masculine. Beasley-Harling’s experience suggests that Baking Show trolls might take a more nuanced approach to their vocation.

Perhaps it’s not just about harassing women online—it’s about re-establishing gendered power dynamics and punishing those who flirt with the domestic on public-facing platforms. Domestic work has historically been an unpaid at-home venture delegated to women, so Baking Show contestants are either women overstepping their household boundaries or men crossing gendered labor lines. For a troll, either is a damnable offense. But with each record-smashing episode, Baking Show subverts the assumptions of where femininity belongs, who it belongs to, and how much it’s worth—roughly £24.2 million in predicted revenue. Still, exploitation is often and easily disguised as empowerment. Lest we forget, Baking Show contestants aren’t paid, and the grand “prize” has little to no real-world value.

To an extent, we all participate in the uninformed and unkind public judging that trolls have championed. We experience celebrities and public figures—especially women—as dehumanized subjects ripe for public dissection, each one existing in a vacuum sealed behind a screen. After all, the Baking Show contestants are filmed, edited, and packaged by professionals into easily digestible archetypes for the sake of a comprehensible and compelling storyline. For example, the latest season featured Michael Chakraverty as the optimistic goofball, Steph Blackwell as the irrationally insecure savant, and Helena Garcia as the spooky, whimsical free spirit. While these personas are fully inspired by who the bakers actually are, they’re ultimately deployed to create drama and tension where it doesn’t exist—that’s just the mandate of reality-TV editing.

But trolls live in the extreme, and for them the editing spurs online abuse. Beasley-Harling, for example, saw the trolling as a direct extension of Love Production’s editing. “I felt like the editing choices were very much treating me like collateral damage,” Beasley-Harling says. “I phoned Love Productions and said, ‘I don’t think you’re representing me fairly, I understand why people don’t like me.’ And they said, ‘No, you’re crazy, everyone’s getting a fair, balanced view on the show. It’s all in your head.’” Gaslighting, the Old Faithful of emotional abuse is regularly deployed against women, people of color, the LGBTQ community and other marginalized groups, is remarkably efficient at restabilizing power dynamics—exactly what trolls seek to do. A representative for Love Productions stated via email that: “Love Productions has always taken contributor care seriously and has robust protocols in place to protect and support those taking part in our shows throughout production and after transmission. These protocols evolve to acknowledge and address the changing media landscape and scrutiny.”

Depending on who you ask, however, the robustness of their protocols fluctuates. According to Beasley-Harling, past contestants have speculated that the Love Productions team tailors their level of attention and support based on the profitability of the contestant in question. After leaving the tent halfway through the competition, Beasley-Harling felt like Love Productions was less interested in protecting its contestants from trolling when money was to be made elsewhere, a behavior not dissimilar to reality television at large. “I barely left my house for three months. I was a shitty parent for three months,” Beasley-Harling says, describing the impact of his trolling. “To me, that felt like, ‘We’ve used you for the entertainment value and now we’re disposing of you.’” But Hart, the semifinalist who received the brunt of Season 8’s trolling and suffered a depressive period similar to Beasley-Harling’s, found Love Productions reassuring throughout airing.

“Every time I called them, they were wonderful. Didn’t matter what time of day,” says Hart. But she does concede that the emotional scarring from her online abuse outlasted Love’s self-proclaimed robust protocols. “They’ve got no idea how it’s affected me to this day,” says Hart. “I don’t think that’s their problem anymore, is it?” It remains to be seen how this year’s cohort of bakers will fare. Airing in the United Kingdom continued through October, and this year’s crop of bakers appear as chipper as ever, even online. So far, trolling appears to be minimal—maybe the bakers can avoid it if they subscribe more closely to normative gender expectations. “When I went on the Bake Off I wasn’t worried about my hair or my makeup or what I was wearing,” says Hart. “Maybe if I had made more of an effort, people would have been nicer to me.”

#Bitch Media #Bitch Magazine #The Great British Bake Off #The Great British Baking Show #`❦

[imaginepirates]

Bird

This is my first time writing for Salazar. It's based off one of my imagines about how he doesn't scare you, even in his ghostly form. Also, I'm dearly sorry to anyone who speaks Spanish.

@fablelady @bonjour-frens @mozelym

@tesserphantom

~3450 words

~~~~~~~

          The sun dipped below sea-level, leaving pink trails across the sky. You looked out over the white tiles of the roofs around you, trying to catch a glimpse of the water. A warm breeze wafted through the shutters of your room, bringing with it the sweet scents of flowers.

          Your coastal town harboured less than a thousand souls. The village mostly had its trade in the fishing industry, but there were plenty of artists and musicians about. The coast was the perfect place for inspiration.

          It was a romantic sort of a place, with pale colored houses and bright flora. You knew most of the people on your street, like the baker and the washerwomen. There was a small market with men and women who sold goods made by hand, but you only knew a few of them.

          The town was still poor. If someone wanted enough money to raise a family, they needed to sail somewhere else. Whatever they could sell at other ports, they did.

          That was how you and your father lived. He sailed off with a catch of fish and returned with money. It was good pay, but it left you alone.

          Tonight was another night by yourself. You wandered down to the docks to check if he'd returned, but there was no sign of your father's boat. He wouldn't be back in the morning, either, you knew. You checked anyway. Every morning and every night. You knew that at some point, he would return, and you'd be there waiting. You always were.

          In his absence, you cleaned the house and worked odd jobs. Some of the tasks you might have shared with your mother, but you didn't have one, so you worked alone. It didn't bother you much, but you noticed every pitying look. You didn't even have a sibling.

          Most people had known your mother before she was taken. You lived in Cuba, which was owned by the Spanish. The British tried to claim Cuba for themselves on multiple occasions. Once, a soldier had taken your mother. He could have done anything to her. She never came back.

          You hadn't known her, but the memory weighed on your father. He said you looked too much like her. He tried to be a good father to you, but you knew he couldn't look at you without seeing her. It hurt him, and it showed.

          The Brits had attacked since then, too. Once, when you were still a small child, and another time when you were older. You remembered that one, and what had happened, but you recalled feeling terror on both occasions. You didn't want to lose the only family you had left.

          The morning brought no sign of your father. You threw on a worn, rust colored dress. You liked the lace adorning the color, sleeves, and bottom. It was not by any means a nice dress, but it made you feel prettier somehow.

          The walk to the baker's was uneventful. You were to sweep the entrance room before customers got there. Then, you'd move on and see details into dresses at a seamstress'. What pay you earned, combined with your father's, would get you through the day.

          The week. The month. Until your father showed up again. You could make the money last. You only hoped he had what he needed. He wasn't so fortunate as to always have fresh food. Time at sea was unpleasant, to say the least.

          You thought of how you missed him while you worked. How you could convince him to stay home longer next time. How you could make him understand how much you wished him home.

          You walked home to do your daily chore work. You would dust, mop, and sweep. If you felt up to it, you could bake a fresh loaf of bread, but it mainly depended on how much flour you had left. Then, you'd wash your clothes. You didn't have to worry about your father's.

          Upon returning home, you sat on your bed and cracked open a book. A minute or two of reading wouldn't hurt.

          A loud sound echoed off the walls of the city, followed by a shaking. The floor to your house rattled ever so slightly. You stepped outside to peek, and you found a large hole through your neighbor's wall.

          Screams followed soon after. You knew what it meant; someone was attacking your town. Instinctually, you ran to hide inside. You climbed into a cupboard, squeezing your body in tight to fit.

          Minutes later, things went silent again. There was an eerie quality to the lack of gunfire, to the non-existent screams. You guessed people were in their homes, sobbing as softly as they could.

          You held your breath. If it was anything like the last time the British attacked, you were afraid you'd walk outside to dead bodies in the streets.

          But you didn't walk outside into anything.

You heard the door forced open and the men entering. Before you knew it, the door to the cupboard was being flung open, and you were dragged out.

          All it took was the slightest relaxation in the hand of your captor. As his grip on you loosened, you bolted. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to run. You found yourself stuck in a room with no way out.

          A figure stalked in. He was much taller than you, and he wore a faded uniform. It was as if he hadn't taken it off in years. And judging by his looks, he hadn't.

          You hadn't met any ghosts in your time, but this was what you imagined one to be. His skin was cracked like old paper, and his hair was an oily mess of black. There was a crazed look in his eye, one that told you he was not among the sane.

          And whatever blackness oozed from his body came straight from hell.

          He lurched out, black slime dripping from his coat and skin. It was like he was moving underwater; his hair floated behind him, and each step he took was jerky, like he hadn't walked in a long time.

         You had yourself pressed up against a desk. There wasn't even a window to fling yourself out of in a desperate attempt for escape. "What do you want?" You whispered.

          His hand reached toward you, and you shrunk away from his touch. "The compass." His fingers curled around a lock of your hair, and it slid over the cracked skin.

          "What compass?" You asked. You owned a compass, yes, but it wasn't of much note. You had two, actually. One was regular and pointed north, but the other was strange. You'd held it once; it was broken, but your father insisted it worked just fine. Secretly, you thought he was a little crazy.

          "We know you have it." There was a distinctive Spanish accent in his voice. It was the accent you'd grown up around your entire life. Somehow, it put you more at ease.

          "My father took both compasses with him to go sell fish. You won't find either of them here." You tried to loosen the white-knuckled grip you had around the edge of the desk, but you realized it was holding you up. The strange man was bent over you, and in leaning back to keep your distance, you had to hold onto the desk.

          "You lie," he accused.

          "I do not lie," you hissed. "You are in the wrong place. I'm sorry. Please, leave. Come back when my father is back; he might be willing to deal with you."

          The man eyed you. "Who are you? Do you not fear monsters?" Something like ink spilled from his mouth. It made you shudder.

          "You aren't the worst monsters I've seen."

          He smiled. You didn't think you'd ever want to see such a thing again. "We will see about that, niña."

          Grabbing you by the arm, he pulled you off the desk.

          "What do you think you're doing?" You screeched as he pulled you down the hall. "Let go!" You tugged at his hand, but it was futile. His grip was as hard as steel, and looking at the color of his skin, you surmised he might be made of such.

          "You're coming with me." He said it as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

          "Absolutely not! Why would you need me? I'm not a stupid compass!"

          He whirled on you, which was quite alarming given his hair. Bright eyes bored into yours. You were uncomfortable with all his men in the room watching.

           "How do I know your father will deal with me?" He stared at you, and continued when you said nothing. "I don't. I need a bargaining chip."

          You did not like the sound of that. Yet no matter how hard you struggled, his grip wouldn't break. You screamed and tore at him, but he ignored you and dragged you on. You could only imagine you were being taken to his ship, and you tried not to think of what awaited you there.

          It was so much like your mother. You became frantic, and you were embarrassed to find tears rolling off your nose. You wiped them away with your free arm. You had no intention of letting any one of the men see you as weak.

          Nobody came to help you. Everyone was boarded up inside their houses, trying to ignore the activity outside. You'd known some people your entire life, but they didn't so much as raise a finger.

          The ship looked as broken as its captain. She stood with wooden beams sticking out at odd angles, and the sails were torn to shreds. How she moved, you didn't know. You supposed the same power kept the crew moving, too.

          Though you had stopped crying, you were still afraid. The monstrous ship hulking before you was unlike any other you had seen. And to your horror, it dripped the same slime as the crew.

          There were no lifeboats on the shore when you got there. The ship waited out in the harbor without proof of anyone leaving it. Some of the men were so close to falling apart, you wondered if they were even capable of rowing an oar.

          At the edge of the water, there was a hesitation. An unspoken something that drifted through the air.

          And just like that, it vanished.

          Hands wrapped around you, and you felt yourself hoisted into the air. You gasped, and nearly puked when you noticed the slime dripping over your body. You dared not look at his face, but you knew by the sleeves of his uniform that it was the captain carrying you.

          The ocean blurred beneath you. It might have been something magical if it hadn't been terrifying. The crew could run over water, you realized. They didn't sink. Apparently, the laws of the universe didn't apply to such beings.

          You closed your eyes for only a moment before you felt yourself being let down. You were afraid that you were being dropped into the water and left to drown, but your feet caught you on solid wood.

          The captain steadied you, grabbing your shoulders to ensure you wouldn't fall. You looked out, back to your village. It stood where you had left it. The ghostly men would've had to run extremely quickly over the water to have gotten to their ship in the time they did.

          Suddenly, home seemed incredibly far away.

          When you turned again, men were already moving to grab you. You flinched away, but their hands wrapped securely around your arms, pulling you with them.

          "Who are you?" You shouted back at the captain.

          He smiled again, and you tensed. "Captain Salazar," he said, "Terror of pirates."

          "Are you dead?" You asked impulsively.

He only smiled wider. You turned away sharply, and it made you glad to be taken to the brig. There, at least, you didn't have to see the blackness dripping from his mouth.

          When Salazar felt generous, he allowed you to walk around the deck. It wasn't pleasant; the crew jeered at you, and Salazar himself made jests. He often called you a frightened little girl. It annoyed you, and it stung, but that made it no less true. You were a frightened little girl.

          You didn't dwell on it. Instead, you took what comfort you could out of the rolling sea. That was to say, the comfort was minimal. To see such an unending expanse of water, and to know you were farther from home than you'd ever been before unnerved you. And to think the waves were your father's only companion during his days.

          It was on a day when you were feeling particularly lonely and miserable that Salazar felt particularly cruel. As you avoided being hit by a pail of water, he called out.

          "Look how she flits around deck, like some bird that cannot fly. Perhaps I should take to calling you pájarita."

          The crew found humor his words, but you only felt loneliness. Pájarita. It meant both 'small bird' and 'paper bird'. The perfect word to describe you. Fragile and incapable of escape.

~~~

          Shouts echoed above you from deck. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. You felt the ship change course dramatically. It was like the ship was turning completely around. What for, you could only guess, and your imagination was too fond of wandering down treacherous routes.

          When the cannon fire started, you screamed. You were terrified that a hole would be blown right through you. The cannons were so close. You felt them fire overhead.

          There were other screams that drowned out yours. They came not from Salazar's crew, but from whomever he fought. There was terrible shrieking followed by dull thuds, and you thought you heard men screaming for mercy.

          You were going to be sick. The smell of the brig, combined with the noise and the shock of being hit by cannon fire was too much.

          Mostly, it was the memories that hurt. And the fact that you were alone, with no semblance of comfort.

          Thankfully, it ended quickly. You sat in your cell, staring into nothingness. You vaguely wondered if you could strangle yourself on the bars to your cell.

          Footfalls echoed on the stairs, but you paid them no mind. When the door to the prisons flung open, you still didn't look up. Your cell opened, and you were dragged to your feet, but you hung limply from the hands that held you.

          Salazar studied you; you could feel his eyes. More gently than you thought possible, he laid you back down. Then, he stormed out. You only moved your eyes when he began yelling, but you couldn't imagine what about.

          He returned shortly, and when he did, he lifted you off your feet. It shocked you into changing your expression, though you couldn't convince the rest of your body to move.

          "Good." He looked down at you. "You're alive. I told them to put you in my cabin and keep an eye on you." He carried you back to his cabin and laid you on the tattered remains of a bed. "I'm glad you're not hurt."

          Glad I'm not hurt because if I was, my father wouldn't trade with you. You kept your thoughts to yourself.

          Hearing your silence, Salazar asked, "You aren't hurt, are you, pájarita?"

          He said it tenderly, as if he might actually care. You looked up at him again, staring into black eyes. They looked, to your shock, a little more sane.

          You shook your head.

          "Good."

          "Are you?" You rasped. "Hurt?"

          He stared at you a moment. "They can't hurt me."

          You nodded. Then, "Please. Please never do that again."

          "The cannons frighten you?" He wasn't mocking.

          "They remind me of darker times."

          To your utter disbelief, he set a hand on your shoulder. There was no weight to it. Perhaps he thought you were made of glass. "I'm sorry. We've all had darker times."

          From then on, you never engaged another ship. You saw many on the horizon, and the dark looks Salazar cast them, but you never got close.

          You were allowed to wander the deck. Salazar kept you in his rooms. He, for one, didn't need to sleep. Apparently, it wasn't a requirement for whatever kind of creature he was. You, however, did, and you used what was left of his bed.

          He ceased bothering you. No more taunts, no more condescending tone. It was gone, and shakily, you could rebuild some of your strength.

          The battle had left you shaken. You jumped at loud noises, you flinched when people bumped into you, and your limbs were limp. Most of all, you felt empty.

          Salazar always had you in his sights. You thought he liked keeping an eye on you. And even behind the horrid appearance, you began to catch glimpses of the man he used to be. Or so you gathered.

          He gave you as much privacy as possible while still keeping you as a sort of prisoner. You figured you didn't pose much of a threat.

          You awoke one morning to an argument outside your door. There was shouting, but the early-morning fog in your brain didn't let you process it for the longest time.

          Then, you heard it. "We should throw her overboard!"

          "She's of no use!"

          "Feed 'er to the sharks!"

          Shouting ensued. You began to grow afraid again. The crew could easily overpower you and do with you as they wished. For an awful moment, you thought Salazar might let them. No captain would risk a mutiny for some little girl.

          A voice cut through the crowd. "The girl stays here."

          Salazar nearly slammed the door as he entered your room. His room, really. There was a fire in his eyes, but it wasn't directed at you.

          "You didn't have to do that," you said. "Why?"

          "I still need you for my bargain."

          "What's the compass got to do with you?"

          "It will lead me to the man I want vengeance on most."

          "That's not how a compass works."

          "This one does."

          You hesitated. "It shows you who you most want vengeance on?"

          "It shows you what you want most."

          You felt like you'd just been slapped. What you want most. Your father... he must look at it every day. It must point somewhere he can't go, to some other continent. It must point to your mother. How hard it would be.

          "Is that really what you want most?" You whispered. "There's a different side to you, a man who wants to escape his shell."

          He glared at you through narrow eyes. "You know nothing of me."

          "I think I do." You were beginning to understand. "You wouldn't protect me if there was no goodness in you. I would still be in the brig, slumped over in my cell. Whatever this is," you waved your hands at him, "it feeds off your hate. If you let it all go, I think you'd be released."

          A sudden darkness made itself known in him. He looked at you with that gaze again, as if he were dealing with a very small child.

          "Don't. Don't you do that to me."

          If he was surprised, he didn't show it.

          Without thinking, you stepped forward. Your arms wrapped around his back of their own volition. You were short enough that your head rested on his chest. Despite the sticky quality of the action due to the black substance, the hug wasn't completely unpleasant.

          "You really aren't afraid of me, pájarita."

          And really, you weren't.

          He stepped back from you suddenly, like he'd been stung. His hands obscured his face, hiding it from you. He looked like he was in terrible pain.

          Gently, you pried his hands from his face. When he looked at you, one eye had changed. In fact, a whole section of his face had turned back into skin. You brushed over it with your fingertips.

          "You're changing me," he rasped.

          "No. You're changing you."

          "It would not have happened without you." His still flaking fingers groped at the new skin. "Stay with me, pájarita, and take this curse from me."

          You smiled sadly. "You know I can't do that." Your fingers found their way back to his face, tracing the patch of skin. He shuddered at the contact; you figured nobody had touched his skin in a long time. You almost wanted to stay. Instead, you whispered what reassurance you could.

          "But I'll be here until you take me home."

#pirates of the caribbean #potc #x reader #drabble #request #writing #armando salazar #potc5 #salazar #fanfic #dmtnt

[incorrigible-groupie]

why the "I lost my best friend" scene in Good Omens is the worst

(For four reasons)

Number one ! Someone on Twitter said that the last time Aziraphale was on the phone with Crowley, Crow said that he was with an old friend. So Az thought Crow was talking about someone else when he said « best friend ». Dumbass.

Number two ! That’s something I realized on my own, but when Az is in front of Crow - and let’s not talk about the fact that the only place, THE ONLY PLACE where he materialize is next to Crow, you know, like this is where he belongs… - when he is in front of Crow, he actually can’t see him. He is totally blind, go watch it again if you don’t believe me. So not only he doesn’t know Crow thinks he is his best friend. But even if one day he finds out, he will never know how much devastated Crow was, because he didn’t see him. AH.

Number three ! Does Crow see him, or does he just feel him ? Actually ? Like, Az can’t see Crow and Crow can’t see Az too ? It could make sense, that Crowley can’t see how Aziraphale was disappointed by the fact that he wasn’t his best friend, I mean he would have say something otherwise ! You know, being the annoying demon he is.

Also, Crow seemed surprised when Az stopped to talk to him, like he didn’t expect him to disappear, while we saw clearly that Az was dissolving… like Peter Parker after the Snap!

The fact that we could see it doesn’t mean that THEY could see it.

I have a theory that, we see Crowley as David Tennant and Aziraphale as Michael Sheen because we want to see them that way. The same reason why we hear them speaking english… why would they speak english, of all languages, is God British too? That would also explain why in 6000 years no one in the universe said « hey, they looked like someone I saw on a painting, or an old photograph ! » I mean technically Az and Crow don’t have faces they’re an angel and a demon, you really want to know how they looked like in the Bible ? Don’t. It’s actually terrifying. So maybe some people see them as women, some people see them as men or women of color. The only thing that never disappear is their… mark that represent them, you know like the snake or the golden stripes like… I wonder what is Aziraphale’s mark. Could be his blue eyes (you know like the Velvet Underground song) or his white hair, I mean he never change his haircut !

He never change his haircut... I think that’s most because, well angels and demons are not supposed to look like humans. The best thing about humanity, the thing that Aziraphale and Crowley adore, is this capacity to evolve. But when you’re an angel or a demon you can’t evolve, you have one job to do, one place to go, one thing to deal with for all eternityyyyyyy. BUT Crowley doesn’t give a damn about it, so you can clearly see that he evolves with the humans by watching his haircut, and Aziraphale is WAY to scared to do that. Because the angels are bitches with him, pushing him on the wall, probably even strangling him with his bow tie. (Let’s not talk about the fact that when it’s Crowley he trusts him so much that he’s not even scared, not even if he’s traumatized. OH MY GOSH.)

Anyway, about their appearance, Crowley and Aziraphale recognized themselves maybe because they just feel each other ? How would Aziraphale know Crowley was still demon otherwise ? You know, before the oysters thingy. Az knew Crow was still a demon but the other demons didn’t realize during the trial that it wasn’t Crowley, WHAT KIND OF COLLEGUES ARE THEY ??? 

(((By the way, the whole swapping moment, unbelievable. Every details the actors put on their way to play those character, with such love it’s… DAMN. Thank you so much whoever had the idea to put David and Michael together. I knew David thanks to Doctor Who and Jessica Jones (great season 1 and loved season 3), but I discovered Michael thanks to Good Omens. He is such a great actor and… I’m actually watching Masters Of Sex, a nice show by the way it’s like Sex Education but much mature, and way sadder. Like Michael Sheen is Otis, and Lizzy Caplan is Maeve, kinda. I watch Masters Of Sex, and I’m ace ! WHAT THE HECK ?? What was I talking about again ?)))

Number four ! I really, truly believe that Az and Crow think they are friends, BUT. That’s because they didn’t experience love the same way as we, humans, does.

What is love ? Baby don’t hurt me SORRY

But seriously who was the first one who loved Az and Crow « unconditionally » ? Yeah I’m talking about the Big One. Which I think is gender fluid, you can’t mess up that much while being a woman. Also Big One Almighty have a «woman» voice but it’s okay to call Them Lord ? Also okay to say They are Jesus’ Father ?

Oh yeah and let’s talk about Jesus, because it was a big deal for the angel and the demon. So the Almighty, their Creator, their Dad/Mum, Who should forgive everyone, smashed angels into the ground so they became demons, drown an entire civilization because They weren’t happy about it, let Their own son, Their own son, die ! If this is really the definition of love, then love is an abusive bullshit. Aziraphale is with the angels, who are supposed to be good so probably full of love, a love they like to demonstrate while choking him. And Crowley, Crowley… I really think he is sad about Jesus’ death like, it pushed him on his limits. After Jesus died, he cut his gorgeous hair for the first time, he began to be bitter with Aziraphale, he didn’t even search for Aziraphale ! I’m sure Crowley adored Jesus and it was like « well if even a demon can melt for that little fellow the Almighty must be so full of love for him » and then he was nailed on a cross ! I’m sure J stands for Jesus, and like do you know what are the initials of Anthony J Crowley ? AJC ! Like After Jesus Christ ! Am I going to far ! YES OBVIOUSLY !

All I’m saying is… Letting your son to suffer ? And to die ? Is that love ? Is that what Crowley is supposed to feel for Aziraphale ? Is that what Aziraphale think about Crowley ? Heck no. So they definitely are not lovers. Soul mate ? I saw that some people think Aziraphale and Crowley were one single soul before the fall, which is kinda true because in the first version of the Book by Pratchett and Gaiman there was only one demon. And after the fall their soul might have been split in two, one being Crowley and the other being Aziraphale and… they’re always together because they only feel complete when they have each other. Which is cute. But I don’t really like the fact that they aren’t their own soul, I don’t know. I don’t like the fact that they aren’t their own individuals. Also it doesn’t explain why Az didn’t even know what was Crow’s name while Crowley knew that Aziraphale had the flaming sword AHA.

(((Oh! Some people think that Az is War’s dad, because he gave the first weapon to humanity and I’m like… YES ! And Crow gave people knowledge and free will and to have free will is to have the right to not fight, so to make peace so in a way Crowley created Peace ? Does that make sense ?)))

My point is Az and Crow are really bad at their job because that’s all it is, begin a demon or an angel at the end, it’s a job. Gabriel, Belzebuth, they’re not doing it by conviction, they’re doing it because they think they were told to do so. Well, they have the conviction that they are following a Plan but you know, like okay so we’re on this side, the enemy is on the other side but it’s just like chess there are black pawns and there are white pawns. You just have to win.

And they all follow God’s Plan ? Which is weird because demons shouldn’t follow God’s Plan right ???? Does Lucifer was like « oh yeah let’s please the Big One by creating the being who can provoke the Apocalypse what do you mean I’m a rebel ? ». Lucifer didn’t look like Tom Ellis either, by the way. Maybe, you know, in American Gods way, the fact that we believe so much that Lucifer is a monster he became one, just like the fact that Adam believe Lucifer isn’t his dad made him… not his dad. 

The power of Faith humans have.

I don’t think that it was a test for humans, like yeah the Antechrist who was raised by humans decided that Earth was worth saving kinda mean we won because there is still hope for us can i hear a yahoo… 

But actually I think that God, as messed up as They may be, is the biggest shipper of us all. 

I think the all Apocalypse thing was a test for Aziraphale and Crowley. To show their true nature.

Like I said before, they sucked at their job. Which is what make them lovable. God probably knew and God probably wanted them to be free, free of Heaven and Hell because the Apocalypse was their limit. All the other missions they did on Earth were obsolete compare to that, so all they could do was to raise their voice this time like « no freaking way we don’t want to do this mission ». If God didn’t mess with the delivery of the baby, you know the exchange and all that stuff, none of this would have happened. Az and Crow had been together for 6000 years but this mission ? This mission showed them how much they want to stay on earth, and why, and yes of course one of the reasons is so they could be together pffff…

You know, if they didn’t have the opportunity to scare the angels and the demons so they should leave them alone (during the trial), their relationship surely wouldn’t have grown that much. Having lunch to the Ritz was a big step. They wanted SO MUCH to be together, and only their status was keeping them appart. I read a theory that the main reason why Crow hated to be called «nice», when it didn’t bother him before, was because being nice is something Az love about Crow. He doesn’t care that he shouldn’t be nice, clearly he doesn’t care what the demons think of him, he’s even prepared in case they try to kill him. (YOU KNOW THE KIND OF THINGS YOU DO BETWEEN COLLEGUES !) But Az does care about what his colleagues think because he is scared of them and so he can’t love a demon, even if that demon is nice. So, when Az calls Crowley «nice», it reminds of Crowley that not only Aziraphale likes him, but also that he shouldn’t be and that’s the reason why Aziraphale can’t be with him.

But now that they’re both free, Aziraphale can call Crowley « kind » and Crowley can imagine a future with Aziraphale, they can have a relationship. They can kiss, or not, if that’s not what they are into. Aziraphale could have a beard and no bow tie to be choke with. Crowley could have his snake eyes less obvious, his snake tattoo smaller. 

With a bookshop full of plants.

And maybe one day they will realize that love isn’t something that should be abusive or maybe they will find another human word that describe their relationship. But until then there’s no word to describe how much they are connected to each other. 

It’s simply… ineffable.

#good omens #theories #aziraphale #crowley #oh dang this text is so long i'm sorry guys

[psychosistr]

Hero- Part 2 (CaeJose Dancers!AU)

Second part of this section for more sweetness between these two x3 Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

“You sure you don’t want a ride home, Jojo?” The deep voice of her mother’s assistant, Loggins, asked Joseph as a large group of men and women dressed in formal wear left the front gates of a lavish mansion.

“Nah, it’s fine.” Joseph replied with a smile. “It’s a nice night, so I think I’ll walk for a bit. Catch you guys later!” She waved to the other members of her troupe before walking off down the sidewalk outside of the mansion towards her apartment down town.

She could have caught a ride with her mother, but she needed some time to herself every now and then. The fresh air was nice and the sky was clear for a change, it made sense to walk around right now.

Besides, she needed some time to calm down. Big parties like that always left her feeling stressed: The awkward introductions. The nervousness over how people viewed her. The frustration of constantly having to correct people’s pronouns for her. And, worst of all, HER CLOTHES. She HATED the outfit she was wearing, but had no choice in the matter...

She stopped by a big water fountain while cutting through a park and took a look at herself in the constantly rippling reflection and saw her hated outfit.

A suit.

A purple double-breasted tuxedo with a black shawl, gold buttons, a black tie, white shirt with black buttons underneath, and black loafers, to be exact.

Joseph absolutely LOATHED the sight of herself in the formal wear. The only thing she didn’t mind was the color scheme, but her hatred for the outfit as a whole cancelled out the one thing she was okay with.

Pants, she was okay with. Shirts, she of course didn’t mind. Hell, she was even okay with wearing shoes that didn’t have heels to them just for the sake of comfort and practicality. But there was something profoundly different about walking around in a suit that made her skin crawl.

Joseph sighed and reached into her pocket, pulling out a penny. ‘Might as well put this to good use.’ She flipped the coin into the air with her thumb, making her wish while it spun in the air before plunging into the water to join more of its kind below the surface. ‘I wish I didn’t have to wear this stupid suit ever again.’

“Jojo?” A familiar voice called out, getting her attention. She turned towards the source and saw Caesar walking towards her from across the park. “I thought that was you!”

Joseph blinked in surprise, not expecting to see the blond Italian here of all places. “Caesar?”

She tried not to blush as she looked him over. Not expecting to see him was one thing. Not expecting to see him in his tight leather pants and sexy leather jacket with a black mesh top that showed off his torso was another matter entirely. The golden studs in his ears and various chains and pendants around his neck that hung low and directed attention towards his exposed midriff and tightly encased nether region certainly didn’t help, either…

Caesar stopped in front of her by the fountain, his usual charming smile already in place. “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you tonight. Not that I’m complaining, of course.” He looked around curiously. “Are you here all by yourself, mia bellisima angela?”

She nodded her head, trying to keep her eyes above waist-level as she spoke to him. “Yeah. It was a nice night, so I thought I’d walk home.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Besides, seeing Caesar was already helping her feel better. She glanced around similar to he had earlier. “What about you? You, um, out with someone…?”

In her head she was repeatedly chanting “please say no, please say no, please say no”. She REALLY didn’t want to think he was on a date with someone.

He seemed to pick up on the subtext of what she said and dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. “Not at all. I was catching up with some friends at a bar down the street. I thought some fresh air might help clear my head enough so I could drive back home- I didn’t drink much, and I don’t want to leave my bike at the bar.”

Joseph’s face lit up with a surprised but excited smile. “No way! You ride too?!” She reached over and started tugging at the sleeves of his leather jacket. “I knew you dressed like a biker, but I thought it was just for show! What’s your ride?”

Caesar grinned, allowing her to inspect his riding jacket as she wished. “An MV Augsta F4CC with a custom 1080cc engine and over 200 horse power. It’s my pride and joy. I can easily hit 200 miles per hour in a race. You?”

“Figures you’d like one of those Italian speed-machines.” Joseph put her hands on her hips, puffing her chest out proudly. “My baby’s a British classic: A remodeled Norton Commando, the mk3 edition, with an 880cc engine and custom breezer bars, all with a chrome finish. It may not be as fast as yours, but I can still top at 130 AND I can hold it there pretty much all day.”

Caesar put a hand over his heart with a dramatic sigh. “A lady after my own heart.” He winked at her with that flirtatious smile of his. “I would love to go for a ride with you sometime. Perhaps even a race?”

Joseph grinned, always up for a challenge, and held a hand out to him. “You’re on! My baby and I would be happy to wipe the floor with you any day.”

“It’s a date, then.” Caesar then took her hand, shook it briefly, and kissed it while maintaining eye contact with her.

Joseph felt her heart skip a beat and jump up into her throat, all while her face burned like it was on fire. This guy REALLY didn’t play fair. She didn’t completely hate it, though…

“Y-Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.” She tried not to sound as flustered as she felt, but wasn’t quite sure if she managed it.

Caesar chuckled softly, not giving away if he noticed her flustered state, and smoothly laced his fingers through hers. “Well, seeing as we are both here to enjoy the fresh air, how about we walk together for a bit? The night is always more lovely with good company, si?”

Joseph couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment and took him up on the offer. The two took their time walking through the park, enjoying the scenery, skipping stones across the small pond in the middle, and talking about anything and everything that came to mind. They learned a lot about each other- Joseph learned about Caesar’s family back in Italy and his past as a street thug, his favorite foods and hobbies, and that he had a phobia of bugs that she would have to remember later for practical jokes. In return, she told him about her own family in both America and England, the number of fights she’d gotten into growing up, her love of dogs, and how she actually knew how to fly small planes but that her family forbid her from flying after the third time she survived a plane crash.

At one point, the conversation shifted to the topic of favorite clothing brands and designers. After Joseph finished bragging about the front-row seats she had at the last Paris fashion show thanks to her grandmother’s connections, Caesar gave her an appraising look from head to toe.

“By the way, I hope you don’t think it too rude of me to ask, but..” He gestured to her suit. “May I ask why you’re wearing something so…bland, compared to your usual style?”

Joseph let her head fall back with an exasperated groan. “Uggggggh, don’t remind me..” She reluctantly looked back down at herself. “I was at my uncle’s party with the rest of the troupe and it was a black-tie event and this was literally the ONLY thing I had to wear and I HATE IT!”

Caesar frowned a bit, bringing a hand to his chin as if he was thinking about something. “Really? Nothing else at all?”

“Trust me,” She said with a scowl. “If I had literally ANYTHING else, I’d be wearing it. All of the dresses I have are too flashy for ‘sophisticated’ parties, but it’s hard to find anything in my size that ISN’T flashy and over the top.” She looked down at her sleeves as if they were mocking her. “God, I can’t stand wearing this stupid suit- it’s stuffy, too tight around my shoulders, makes everyone keep calling me ‘sir’ like I’m some old man, and it’s just..” She fished for the right words before settling on the only thing she could think of with a sad sigh. “It’s not me.”

Caesar’s eyes softened as he listened to her, giving her an understanding, sympathetic frown. “……” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed in what she at first thought was a sympathetic gesture of comfort, but soon realized it was something else when he suddenly gripped the expensive fabric of her jacket sleeve and pulled it down HARD.

Joseph let out a surprised yelp when the seam split apart and he tore the sleeve off of her arm, tossing it carelessly somewhere behind him. “Ah! What the fuck, Caesar?!”

Instead of answering her right away, Caesar proceeded to untie her black tie and drop it on the ground. Then, while grinding his heel into the discarded tie repeatedly, he hooked two fingers into her coat’s buttons at the top for just a second before violently yanking them down and breaking off several of them.

After that task was done, he confused her by kneeling down to the ground. Once down on his knees, Caesar pulled out a pocket knife and glanced up at her. “Don’t move.”

Joseph was still confused, but his tone didn’t sound like a threat. She decided to trust him and see where he was going with all of this. “Okay..?”

Caesar grabbed the fabric of her right pants leg and pulled it to the side, moving it so it was no longer flush against Joseph’s strong legs. Once he had the amount of space he needed, Caesar stabbed the knife into the fabric and cut downwards, leaving a long gash that tore the purple fabric apart. He then moved to her other leg and cut the hem so that it busted and frayed apart. To finish everything off, Caesar, for some reason, dug his fingers into the dirt and grass beneath them and pulled out a large, damp clump of earth. After breaking the clump up in his hand, Caesar smeared it across her white shirt and the front of her jacket. He ended with wiping his dirty hand off on her shoes until they were scuffed and filthy.

“There.” Caesar stated while rising back up to his feet and brushing off his own pants. “All done.”

“Uh huh..” Joseph said with a raised eyebrow as she examined what remained of her suit. “Now that you’re ‘done’, mind explaining why I look like I just lost a fight with a lawnmower?”

Caesar gestured calmly with one hand in the general vicinity of her clothing. “Would you say that suit is no longer wearable?”

She picked at a frayed spot where one of the buttons used to be with a confused frown. “Well, yeah, you did a pretty good job of-” She stopped and blinked when the pieces finally clicked into place. “……” She looked back up at him with a surprised expression. “Caesar..you..”

He smiled at her. Not in his usually charming or flirtatious way, but in a much more caring and sweet way- similar to the look he gave her after their first dance. “Now you won’t be able to wear that suit anymore. If someone tries to insist that it can be mended, just let me know and I’ll burn it.”

“Oh my god..” Joseph said softly under her breath, still in shock. Then, her face lit up with a bright smile and she repeated herself in a much louder voice “Oh my god! Caesar! You brilliant bastard! I could hug you right now!”

He chuckled, apparently delighted by her newfound joy. “I would prefer if you didn’t, seeing as you’re covered in dirt at the moment and I actually LIKE my current outfit.”

“Too bad! You’re getting hugged anyway!” She tried to grab him, but he ducked out of the way just in time. This lead to a roundabout game of tag with her attempting to hug/tackle him while he tried to avoid her. It lasted for a few minutes until she pulled out her trump card right after he dodged one of her grabs. With a smirk, she pointed at him and said. “Now you’re gonna say ‘Sorry, mia bella dea, but I’m afraid you’re too slow to catch me!’.”

Caesar smirked playfully while spreading his arms out in a shrugging motion. “Sorry, mia bella dea, but I’m afraid you’re too slow to catch me!” He blinked when he realized what just happened, frozen momentarily in shock. “Wait, what-?!” He was cut off by a startled exclamation when Joseph suddenly tackle-hugged him to the ground. “Mama mia!”

Joseph laughed while looking down at him with a victorious grin. “Looks like I won this game, Caesarino!”

After recovering from the initial shock of the tackle, Caesar looked up at her with a curious expression. “Did you just call me ‘Caesarino’?”

She nodded proudly. “Yep. I figured it’s only fair that you get a nickname, too, since you always call me different things. I may not be able to come up with a bunch of sweet things to say in Italian like you can, but I can use the all-mighty power of search engines to come up with something!”

Caesar still seemed surprised for a bit, before his lips easily slid back into that sweet smile of his. “Whatever you wish to call me is fine with me, bella.”

“!!” She blushed at his response and the way he smiled at her. The fact that he had just called her “beautiful”, with no other name attached this time, somehow flustered her more than usual. She glanced away, not able to meet his eyes with the way he was smiling so fondly up at her. “W-Well, good, ‘cause I’m gonna do it anyway..so..yeah..”

He chuckled softly under his breath and brought a hand up to gently touch her burning hot cheek. “But of course, mia bella angela. I have no plans of stopping you.” Her heart fluttered and she really wanted to lean further into that contact. “However, would you mind if we got off of the ground? I certainly don’t mind having you on top of me, but I’m afraid there’s a rock digging into my spine.”

She blinked, suddenly realizing the position they were still in. “Oh! Y-Yeah, right!” She got up off of him and offered him a hand up. “Sorry about that.”

“No harm done.” He took her hand and pulled himself up to his feet. “Grazie, bellisima fanciulla.” He brushed himself off a little, but it was pointless as there was too much dirt and grass on him now, so he gave up and settled for kicking a rock (presumably the one he mentioned earlier) away from their general vicinity. “You certainly got me good with that one. How did you do that, by the way?”

“Hey, I’m more than just a pretty face, you know.” She smiled, thumbing at her nose in a confident gesture. “It’s my secret technique. I’m essentially a genius and I can predict what someone’s gonna do or say next. It’s really handy in fights, arguments- hell, I even use it when I dance to predict if my partner’s going to be able to do something or if they’re about to make a mistake so I can cover for them.”

Caesar looked her over with a smile, like he was appraising her and was pleased with what he saw. “My, my..beauty, grace, strength, wit, skill, AND intelligence? You really are the total package, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am!” She said proudly, hands on her hips and trying to act cocky and confident to hide the butterflies fluttering in her stomach from hearing Caesar say that. “It’s about time somebody noticed!”

“Mhm, I agree.” He took one of her hands from her hip and raised it to his lips, kissing it sweetly. “The fact that someone has not already noticed and stolen you away from the men of this world is surprising. Both a shame..and a blessing..” He looked into her eyes, his lips still near her hand, the look in those green orbs downright seductive. “Perhaps someone will have to correct that mistake, hm?”

“Y-Yeah..maybe..” She managed to reply.

Joseph’s cheeks felt hot and her knees felt weak. She was practically swooning from dealing with this Casanova and she actually liked it. She liked it A LOT. No one had ever tried to seduce her before. No one had even tried to approach and flirt with her since high school, and most of those were girls that she had to turn down since she was only attracted to men. Now, to have someone so thoughtful, charming, strong, and charismatic flirting with her, it was making her heart race and made her feel like she was floating on cloud nine.

Caesar gave her hand a gentle squeeze to bring her out of her thoughts. “Would you like a ride home, mia bella fanciulla? I’ve sobered up now and my bike is parked nearby, and I would feel terrible leaving a lady to walk home on her own this late at night.”

She almost said no. Almost said the automatic response of how she was tough enough to walk home by herself. But, somehow, she was able to stop herself. “You know what? Sure. Why don’t you show me to that little pocket-rocket racer of yours?” She joked with a grin.

He smiled that charming Casanova smile and led her by the hand.

One exhilarating ride that probably broke several traffic laws later, Joseph was clinging to Caesar tightly as he did one more high-speed wheelie before they reached her apartment building.

“Whoooooo!” She laughed and shouted excitedly as she held on securely to Caesar’s waist, her voice muffled by both the purple helmet around her head and the hum of the engine. It had been a while since she was the passenger for these sorts of stunts, but it was just as much fun as when she did them herself. She laughed louder when Caesar was able to keep the bike popped up onto the back tire while skidding around a corner for the turn leading to her street. “Hahahaha! You’re crazy, damn it!”

“Ha! This is nothing!” Caesar called back to her, his voice muffled by his own orange helmet- the matching counterpart to Joseph’s purple one as both were custom painted to match the stunning metallic orange and shimmering purple of the motorcycle. “You should see me when I race! If I don’t have to worry about cops, I can pull off flips on this beauty!”

“You’ll have to show me sometime!” Joseph would like to see that. She loved how much of a dare devil Caesar was turning out to be. Who would have guessed the flirty Italian pretty boy had a wild side? Joseph REALLY liked it, though.

Caesar finally lowered the bike down onto two wheels and gradually slowed to a stop in front of the tall, fourteen story apartment complex that looked like a small skyscraper. He turned off the engine after parking the bike along the sidewalk and took off his helmet, shaking his hair out a bit. “Wow, this is where you live? It looks nice.”

Joseph took off her own helmet and got off the bike so she could stretch her tense muscles properly. “Thanks. I live on the top floor.”

“By yourself?” Caesar asked as he stood to do the same.

“Technically, yeah.” She said while handing him the helmet so he could put it away in its compartment. “But my mom lives in the apartment right next door to me, so we spend a lot of time at each other’s places.”

Caesar gave her a concerned look as he regarded her clothes. “I was unaware you two lived so close together. Will she be mad about what happened to your outfit?”

Joseph shrugged. “Eh, maybe. But it’s alright.” A smirk appeared on her face and she winked at him. “If she says anything, I’ll just say the look didn’t really SUIT me.”

He groaned and leaned back against his bike. “Ugh, that was terrible.” He shook his head and tried to hide his face with one hand, but she could still see him smiling. “That joke was terrible and you should feel terrible for having brought it into the world.”

“And yet I don’t.” She said teasingly while sticking her tongue out at him. “Anyway, thanks for the ride..and for the suit..and, well, yeah, everything, really. Tonight was..” She glanced away, a smile on her face even as she blushed. “It was really fun. I..wouldn’t mind doing it again sometime..”

Caesar smiled back at her, that caring, sweet smile from earlier. “Neither would I.” He pulled his phone out of one of his jacket pockets and handed it to her. “If you want, you can put your number in here. That would make it easier to talk and set up a time to do this again. But, as I said, only if you want to.”

Her smile softened a bit as she took his phone and put her contact information into it. He really was thoughtful- flirty, but not forceful, and not going forward with anything until he knew she was comfortable. “Sure, it’ll give me someone to text when I’m pretending to listen to my mom.” She sent a text to herself on his phone and felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. “There, and now I have yours.”

She handed his phone back to him and he looked at the information she entered with a raised eyebrow. “Did you really save your number as ‘Joseph the Greatest and Most Amazing Joestar, aka, Jojo’ in my contacts?”

“Yes I did.” She said with a grin. “And you’d better leave it that way, too, or I’ll go in and mix up all your numbers later.”

He sighed in exasperation, but smiled and put his phone away. “Very well, then. I won’t touch it.” He stood up from his bike and looked at her with a fond smile. “Until next time, mia bellisima dea.”

He took her hand and kissed it. She blushed, thinking that would be the end of it, but was surprised when he suddenly moved in closer and placed a warm, tender kiss to the corner of her mouth.

It was far from a full-on kiss, but it still left her heart pounding and her head spinning just the same. Her breath caught in her throat and she froze in place like a statue. All she could do was watch as he pulled away with that sexy, seductive smile of his and wink at her before donning his helmet once more and taking off down the street on his bike without another word.

After he was gone, she brought a hand up to her mouth. Her fingertips touched the spot that Caesar had kissed- it didn’t feel any different from the rest of her face, but she could swear the spot was still warm and tingling like his lips were still there. She kept her hand there as she walked into her apartment complex, moving like a stunned zombie with the same wide-eyed expression on her face as she called down the elevator, rode it by herself to the top, got out, walked to her front door, unlocked and opened it, walked inside, and closed the door behind her.

It was only after she had walked over to the couch, grabbed a throw pillow off the top, and pressed it to her face that she finally said something. Well, not so much said as screamed into the pillow like a teenage girl.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!” Her voice was muffled by the pillow and she screamed repeatedly to get it all out of her system. “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOOOOOOD!!” She let the pillow slide down enough that she could hug it excitedly in her large arms. “He kissed me!!” She let herself fall backwards to lie on the couch and covered her face once more with the pillow so she could scream again. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!”

Her scream soon dissolved into giddy laughter. She still couldn’t believe it: Caesar had KISSED her! He’d actually kissed her! A suave, hot, charming guy like that had kissed her! She was so happy she could pass out!

She set the pillow aside on the couch and pulled her phone out of her pocket. Looking at the text message on the screen that simply read “Caesarino~<3” with his as-of-yet unsaved number, she couldn’t stop smiling. Caesar kissed her and, based on what he’d said when getting her number, he seemed very interested in seeing her and doing so again.

She sighed, the butterflies that had been in her stomach earlier that evening now morphed into a bubbly feeling throughout her whole body that was much more comfortable.

Speaking of comfort, she remembered that the uncomfortable suit she was still wearing was dirty now and probably messing up the couch a bit. She got up and started changing out of the ruined clothes. After changing into a set of black and yellow super-hero themed pajamas, she gathered the various parts of the suit and deposited them in her garbage can.

‘Well,’ She thought with a smile when she went back to retrieve her phone from the couch. ‘It’s a bit of a roundabout way to grant a wish..but I really don’t mind this outcome at all.’

She looked down at the screen and smiled once more. She couldn’t wait to see Caesar again…

<-Part 1 Next Story->

-From the Beginning-

#caejose #caesar zeppeli #joseph joestar #dancer!au #modern!au #trans!character #trans!joseph #general fluff and sweetness

[whovianfeminism]

Whovian Feminism Reviews “Twice Upon A Time”

Letting go is always the hardest part. And yet, letting go is how this show survives. We have to let go of Doctors and companions, TARDIS windows and sonic devices, and producers and showrunners to let new ones come in. It’s how Doctor Who has survived for 54 years. Change and go on, or die as we are, as the Doctor would say. But it doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. "Twice Upon a Time” gave us an episode filled with both sadness and hope, a perfect balance between a heartfelt goodbye to Peter Capaldi and a generous welcome to Jodie Whittaker.

To prepare for this historic regeneration, we’re brought all the way back to another iconic regeneration -- the very first one. After playing William Hartnell himself in An Adventure in Space and Time, David Bradley returns to Doctor Who to play the First Doctor in “Twice Upon A Time.” His portrayal of the First Doctor is incredibly well done, recreating the feel of Hartnell’s performance while also providing his own subtle interpretation of the role. In the unseen moments between the First Doctor’s escape from the Cyberman ship and his regeneration in the TARDIS, Steven Moffat slips in a story about how he, too, might have resisted regeneration.

Although it doesn’t quite break the fourth wall, I can’t recall an episode of Doctor Who that acknowledges quite as much as “Twice Upon a Time” that we are, in fact, watching a television show. The “Previously...” opener doesn’t just show us an abbreviated version of “The Tenth Planet,” it tells us that it took place 709 episodes ago. Black and white footage from “Tenth Planet” is show in its original, smaller dimensions before it beautifully transitions from Hartnell’s Doctor to Bradley’s Doctor, in color and in modern television dimensions. 

There’s also a bit of a retrospective on the era and the actor which influenced the character of the First Doctor. Though this is a show about an alien time traveller, Doctor Who has always been a product of the people of its time, and has reflected their biases and prejudices. This was something that Steven Moffat was very aware of when writing his version of Hartnell’s Doctor. He told SFX magazine that the First Doctor reflected "old fashioned attitudes” in ways that stand out to modern audiences but were “normal and invisible” at the time. And instead of ignoring that, he tried to embrace it and confront it head on. 

The first Doctor has several astounding moments that lay his sexism bare in “Twice Upon A Time,” several of which are grounded in comments and actions from previous stories. The First Doctor threatens to give Bill a “jolly good smacked bottom,” which is exactly what he threatened Susan with in “The Dalek Invasion of Earth” (a line which Hartnell may have improvised himself). And the First Doctor mentions to both the Twelfth Doctor and Bill about how he expects female companions to clean up the TARDIS and fetch him things. That moment is handled much better than a similar one from “The Five Doctors,” where the Fifth Doctor asks a very offended Tegan to “humor” the First Doctor when he makes a similar demand of her.

Although I understand and appreciate what Moffat was attempting to do, I have to admit that after the fourth or fifth sexist comment it began to feel overplayed. His point could have been made with just one or two lines. Eventually, they began to actively detract from my enjoyment of “Twice Upon a Time.” The last thing I wanted to hear in the episode introducing Jodie Whittaker was two men sniggering over how all women are made of glass, even if they were clearly in the wrong. Hartnell and the First Doctor were hardly progressive, and it’s perfectly reasonable to want to address that. But to have some of the worst moments of that era of Doctor Who thrown so frequently in your face was just exhausting. 

And yet, I have to admit there might be a generational difference here. I later watched "Twice Upon a Time" with my mother, who's just one year younger than Moffat, and she actually appreciated those moments. She grew up watching the same era of television as Moffat did, and remembered just how pervasive and accepted those sexist attitudes and comments were. These types of comments were already outrageously outdated and caricaturish by the time I was watching television in the 90s. But they were the background radiation of the media my mom consumed at a young age -- a poison in the foundation of our current media that we are still, generations later, trying to clear out. She felt it was important to have those moments called out for what they were, instead of letting them be swept away and forgotten. 

And she felt that those moments perhaps revealed the endemic bigotry that kept a woman Doctor from being able to come forward earlier. Is it really believable that an alien time traveller would believe it is appropriate to spank a grown woman or would be befuddled by lesbians? No. Is it also believable that an alien capable of totally changing their physical appearance has only ever appeared as a white man? No. But did we really need to belabor the point and escalate the problematic comments? From my perspective, no. 

Between three Doctors and two regenerations, we hardly have any time for Bill Potts, who makes a re-appearance to help urge the Doctor towards regenerating. Although it’s always a delight to have Pearl Mackie back on our screens, Bill is unfortunately not much more than a plot device in “Twice Upon a Time.” She’s used as a tool by the Testimony to either manipulate or understand the Doctor. She asks the right questions so the Doctors can provide us with exposition. And she’s there to put in the emotional labor to convince the Twelfth Doctor that he should regenerate. Bill does have moments of charm but ... that’s it. Moments. In the end, nothing much has changed since “The Doctor Falls.” She still lacks a satisfying story arc that is wholly her own, and exists almost entirely to further the Doctor’s arc. It makes me long even more for the next season of Doctor Who, where a woman will be the lead protagonist and a woman of color will be one of her companions, and it will be much harder to make their stories center around white male characters.

But for the time being, this is still Peter Capaldi’s story, and I cannot begrudge him the incredible ending that he so justly deserved. The man who was introduced as the Doctor while holding his lapels in an imitation of Hartnell ends his tenure by encouraging the First Doctor towards regeneration. The man who began by creating a “darker, less user-friendly” Doctor lands on his defining ethos: “Be kind.”

There is fear and sadness here, too. Regenerating isn’t dying, but it is an ending, and both of the Doctors are afraid of what comes next. The First is afraid of who he might become. The Twelfth is afraid that he might never leave the battlefield. But they still get another chance at life — which is why it is so very fitting to put them up against a British Army Captain from WWI, who is facing a very real and very final death. He was resigned to his death, until the Doctors accidentally gave him hope. Now he’s had time to think about everything he will lose, and he is afraid.

But kindness underlies everything. The Doctor pushes time forward to save a stranger’s life, relying on the simple and yet extraordinary kindness two armies showed each other in the middle of a brutal war. That selfless act of kindness gives the First Doctor the courage and conviction to regenerate. The Testimony allows the Twelfth Doctor to see his companions one last time and restores his memories of Clara Oswald, giving him peace. But it is one more call for help, one more act of kindness, that finally convinces the Twelfth Doctor he must regenerate. 

His final triumphant speech epitomized the Twelfth Doctor, and the man who played him. Peter Capaldi will be remembered above all for being one of the kindest, most generous actors to ever pilot the TARDIS. He understands intimately what it is like to be a fan of the show, and what the Doctor means to so many. He was generous with his time and went the extra mile to show his appreciation. And he never, ever gave a condescending answer to children. His final lines about how children can hear the Doctor’s name came directly from his answer to a young fan at an episode screening. 

I’ll admit that I have never before cried at a Doctor’s regeneration. During Capaldi’s, I sobbed. Bill was right — the hardest part of knowing the Doctor is letting him go.

Enormous credit has to be given to Rachel Talalay for creating such a gorgeous episode. I feel like I say that every time I review one of her episodes, and yet it has never been more true. She faced such a variety of challenges in this episode, from faithfully recreating scenes from the 1966 story “The Tenth Planet” to a grim and damp WW1 battlefield, from spaceships and glass ladies to explosions galore. And never is an opportunity wasted to turn what could be a simple scene into a work of art. When the two Doctors first meet at the South Pole, the scene is infused with the shifting, changing blues and greens of the Aurora Australis. When the Twelfth Doctor is considering whether or not to regenerate, the sky is filled with a fading golden light.

And never has a regeneration been quite as incredible as Jodie Whittaker’s. Most regenerations are efficient -- one Doctor burns or fades (or sneezes) into the next, and he plunges straight into a new adventure. But Whittaker is revealed in a mix of intimate glimpses and long, slow shots. We see her lit from behind, standing amongst smoke and light. We see her stumbling to see her own reflection, our first glimpse of regeneration from the Doctor’s perspective. Each scene, beautiful on its own, builds up our anticipation until we finally get our first full reveal of the Thirteenth Doctor. It’s a regeneration that will be remembered as being truly iconic.

Steven Moffat may never have cast a woman to play the Doctor himself, but he has been laying the groundwork within the narrative of the show for a woman Doctor for a very long time. And in an episode that could’ve been focused solely on memorializing Capaldi and Moffat’s time on the show, they both instead provided an incredible generous welcome to Jodie Whittaker.

“Twice Upon a Time” is, above all, a story about letting go. The First Doctor believes it is courageous to simply live and die as himself, but it is later revealed to be fear — and perhaps vanity and selfishness too. The viewers know, from seeing all the Doctors who have followed, that he has so much left to do. There are so many adventures to be had, planets to be saved, and friends waiting to be known. Things can’t end with the First Doctor.

But it’s not just the Doctor who needs to hear this —it’s the viewers too. We all have favorite eras and favorite Doctors, and that’s okay. But some fans go even further to say that the show should have ended after their favorite time or Doctor, as if because they got no enjoyment out of what followed that it held no value for anyone else. To end the story now, to deny all those stories that are waiting to be told, is selfishness.

Some are just nervous or afraid about what comes next. And that’s okay. I won’t deny I’m nervous about what the future holds too. But “Twice Upon a Time” has a message for us too — this is a chance worth taking. We wouldn’t have Peter Capaldi if someone didn’t take a chance on Patrick Troughton, or all the men who followed him. 

Jodie Whittaker is a chance worth taking. 

The Doctor has to grow and change, or the show will die. This is a change that brings the character forward into a new and exciting direction. This opens up a whole new universe of stories, and gives another wonderful actor a chance to define the role. And it gives a whole new generation of young girls and boys a new hero to look up to.

In one beautifully delightful moment, we get a glimpse of Jodie Whittaker and the Doctor she might be. And I cannot wait to see where we go from here. 

#Doctor Who #Twice Upon a Time #Peter Capaldi #Jodie Whittaker #Twelfth Doctor #Thirteenth Doctor #The Time Lady #reviews

[millenniumfae]

hi fae! i was wonderng if u could give me some advice as an ace poc on this other ace poc character im writing. its for an urban fantasy series w/ 4 main characters, 3 of whom are non white. the character im concerned abt is korean/american and demisexual. ive read a lot of discourse about asian characters being desexualized in media and as a white woman i want to avoid reinforcing those stereotypes, but also keep ace rep. other characters def perceive him as attractive and hes also not my (1/2)

ace character (the other is a white sex indifferent girl). truthfully the story is more about interpersonal relationships and found family with dashes of action than about any of the characters identities. im ace myself and this character is someone i feel i can really get ppl to identify with. do you have any tips about staying in my lane/what to avoid?

Well, let’s be very specific; it’s some Asian men that suffer desexualization in the given term. Largely, when we discuss the Asian experience, we are talking about objectification - the removal of a voice and autonomy in their sexuality. 

Desexualizing Asian men often occurs when they’re in comparison to ‘real men’ and ‘real male sexuality’. It’s a quick way to ‘emasculate’ the partners of Asian women, and tell these women that they deserve better than men who can’t fulfill their little womanly desires.

But in my experience, Asian men are much more likely to be objectified alongside Asian non-men, than they are to be desexualized. Because we’re not just talking about your given straight cisgender frat boys in State, we’re taking about any and all sexual individuals who have their own misconceptions of Asian people, and how Asian people relate to their sexual desires.

In my own experience of being aspec and Asian, the primary reaction (upon someone knowing that I am both) is an immediate reduction of my worth as a person. I was invited to this party to stand there and be sexy, not because I’m an actual guest. Insert-fellow-college-student-here will never ask for my peer opinion again, because why bother talking to me at all? Date #1 asks me if I know what ‘asexuality actually means’ and orders me to imagine an erect penis, date #2 turns into a therapist with an obvious intent to ‘cure my trauma’ so they can continue the night as planned, date #3 gets dangerously angry and is seconds from having a meltdown because they ‘don’t appreciate being lied to’.

So as you can probably guess, I’m very much not impressed with the sudden interest in telling Asian people that we could NOT be asexual, and having that movement couched as progressiveness. 

It’s more than ‘enforcing stereotypes’. It’s about the lack of real-life Asian voices regardless the material. AKA, a lack of paychecks paid towards us, a lack of media attention, a lack of autonomy over our creative endeavors. 

Writing characters of color is a discussion in itself. We (and by ‘we’, I mean both white and not) will most likely encounter characters of color that engage the audience like the audience is white. Or, at the very least, not of their own race and culture.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and it can be carefully justified. A good example includes Raul from Fallout New Vegas - one of the companions the player can recruit. Raul is voiced by a famous American latin-american-speaking actor, Raul’s spanish words are not translated in the subtitles, Raul makes several allusions to his life in Mexico as a Mexican man.

Raul is no token Mexican stereotype, he is a character with strong Mexican backgrounds and stands on his two feet as a character of color. He talks to the player in a way that implies that the player is shoehorned into being not Mexican themselves, but it’s only a slight suspicion and you can also say his outsider’s opinion on the player’s background can instead be attributed to his age - he’s nearly 200 years old, and talks about the world pre-nuclear apocalypse. 

Is Raul ‘obviously’ written by a non-Mexican writer? You’d have to talk to someone who’d be more familiar with that, but there’s enough on Raul’s benefit for me to claim that he’s a passible example of a fictional man of color.

So what’s a character obviously written by white people, for white people? Continuing the Latin route, Mass Effect: Andromeda’s Reyes Vidal is… hhhhhh. His face is a white model spraypainted tan, instead of having different hairlines or a differently shaped nose and mouth and forehead and etc. He’s voiced by a white british actor who does an atrocious job at faking some sort of spicy latin accent. He exists primarily as some sort of captivating, mysterious Sexual Being - every interaction with Reyes involves dates, or otherwise hints at sexual histories. Any moment that doesn’t, it’s about his failure as an honest man.

He’s obviously meant to be a sexual interest. That itself wouldn’t be a problem, but add in the fake ‘latin’ accent and spraypainted white model and lack of any indicator of him as someone from an actual culture and society? Very not good. 

Reyes is what happens when you take your default white character, and decide to spruce him up for spiciness points. Raul, on the other hand, is someone who was built from the ground up as having that very specific of color experience.

The mistakes that gave way to Mass Effect’s Reyes is what I see most primarily, and it’s what I encourage all to avoid. 

So lets consider your goal of writing a Korean man, and compare the worst case scenario versus what you’d want to aim for. So you, under pen name Cassandra Blair, introduce Yoosung Baekhyun (named after your favorite dating sim character and kpop member combined into one), and he’s a lily-delicate elven boytoy when he enters the room. By chapter five, it’s clear that our exotic ricefairy has neither interest nor knowledge of sexuality, leaving him completely out of any sexual discussion - and therefore by extension, he has little voice in any written development in bodily autonomy.

Everything about Yoosung Baekhyun is to be pliant under the hands of an outside force. If he doesn’t have neither an interest nor a voice in sexual discussions, that leaves a big empty hole where anyone could fill it with whatever, should they wish. His lack of voice and autonomy makes him into an object for the purposes of your other characters. 

Instead, let’s say that Yoosung has a voice. A large one. He’s got that Jughead sarcasm when it comes to dealing with sexuality, and gets to both start and end these discussions. Suddenly, this Korean man gets to control the flow of the story, and he’s not just a prop to be used. 

That’d probably be more accurate, anyways. Aspec people love to talk about their asexuality. I know I do.

There’s very little I can tell you without actually reading the story. Criticism of literature should (and sometimes do) have a huge emphasis on justice-driven portrayals of the marginalized. Thing is, criticism is a paid profession that is useless in small doses. From one artist to another, I say unto you - write your story, but get more voices of color to give you their honest opinion. And then change, and change often. Your efforts will never be perfect, but you can do much to avoid the worst.

#rinkakuleo #asian blogging #asexuality #acephobia #diverse asexuality

[antiracistkaren]

Post Hysterectomy Thoughts

CW/TW: Mentions of eating disorder, surgery, suicide, sexual assault/rape of trans people

I am at home with my family--meaning, I can hear every cry my girls make, every short answer from Jon, and every minute that goes by that I'm not studying. I feel it all.

I was at Dylan's this weekend for the first couple of days. I just went into a room and really didn't come out except to use the bathroom and have small talk when I was too restless to stay upstairs. I ate Oreos whenever I wanted and eggs scrambled up by Dylan in the mornings. I had one cup of coffee while I was there.

I watched all of The Crown, and have that fullness of feeling caught up on something. I finished Becoming right before my surgery, which has also extinguished my desire to read in general. It was my "easy" read, while The People's History of the United States is dense and must be read slowly. It's hard to speed read through history. It takes time to digest. And then there's This Little Light of Mine about Fannie Lou Hammer. Another dense biography with close writing and thick pages. I know the outcome of this one is not nearly as bright as Mrs. Obama's, so I am loathe to really get into it. However, I know that once I get going, I am able to polish off books rather quickly. It just takes me time to reach the halfway point--which is usually where I start to get invested in the rest of the book. I always have to fight to get to that "halfway" mark, where I bend the book and it no longer wants to snap shut on my hands, but falls beautifully open, having been appropriately used and doted on enough to break the spine.

So I just let my eyes enjoy some historical fiction. The quiet dialogue of The Crown would help me drift off the sleep when I became tired from my medication, and would be there when I woke with gentle British accents and sweet "arguments" occurring on screen.

It's hard watching Diana's eating disorder. It is not something that I personally struggle with--bulimia, but I do strictly control what I eat and when. You can always tell when I am super stressed out because I simply stop eating because I am too nervous or overwhelmed. The times when I have dropped weight suddenly are times in my life when I was at my worst, emotionally and relationally.

So I understand the Bulimia, the desire to have control at least, over what goes in and out your body. Especially when you have no control over how your mind feels, how your emotions are responded to, and even your every day movements are stilled and controlled. Post-surgery is a box, but it is one I do not mind inhabiting at the moment, because I know that once I emerge from this particular box, I will be free of cyclical pain and will be free to live as a man does: without concern or thought to when my period is coming and when I will be in pain.

Although it may sound small to most people... or to men especially, it is hard to describe the depth of thought and concern one's period brings. You hear about it a lot as a kid growing toward puberty, and then comparing severity among your peers becomes normal. Women talk about their periods to each other all the time: ways to avoid it, to skip it, to make it lighter, shorter, less painful. We use all of the strategies and tricks to attempt to act "normally" like a man does while we are mercilessly bleeding from a major organ.

It's really strange: how we treat women and their periods. Something that afflicts over half of the population on a roughly a monthly basis, and we're not even allowed to discuss it.

I want to talk about something that happened the day before my surgery, which still has me stewing and fuming a bit, and that was a Pregnancy Test.

I have not been sexually active with Jon in a way that would produce a baby since June. June, y'all. I know my life and I know my marriage, and we are hanging on by a thread, but I know this fact: I am not pregnant. I have gotten my period, often and heavily.

However, thanks to Texas state law, prior to my hysterectomy I had to prove that I'm not pregnant.

Basically, the law prevented me from "lying." And I can't help but think about... well, "what if?"

What if, after having three children and taking every single precaution I could, I was pregnant? It means I would either have to cross state lines to get an abortion and then have a hysterectomy, or carry that unwanted baby to term, furthering the pain and trauma on my body.

My body has been through enough at this point, y'all. That's what I was in the office to get this organ removed. Pregnancy is literally toxic to my body. Getting rid of my uterus was the last recourse I had, since birth control makes me suicidal and absolutely bonkers prior to my period. I'm not talking about PMS, I'm talking heavy mood swings that put me into suicidally sad places. I'm talking fits of rage that felt like explosions from my body. In short, birth control really aggravates by ability to manage my emotions at all levels. Which means, as an autistic woman that struggles to manage emotions anyway, I was absolutely psychopathic. I would come out from the fog and look backwards and see how irrational I was, how irritated I was. I found myself apologizing every few weeks for having huge breakdowns emotionally, physically around ovulation and then again around my period.

So I am telling the nurse that there is no way that I can be pregnant, and I'm mostly shrugging this off, but it really bothers me when I get to the paperwork: I must either consent to have this test, or risk not having the surgery if I won't take it. Classic catch-22: submit in order to get the thing I need to have a better quality of life, or stand up for my rights as a woman and risk being denied this surgery.

So I submitted, with great resentment. I stood up after my blood draws and asked if I needed to pee on a stick, and that I could leave a sample. The nurse informed me that no, they would run a blood test.

A blood test. Something far more accurate, detailed, and expensive. I am lucky enough to have hit my deductible, and so I will not personally pay for this bloodwork and this pregnancy test, but if I didn't have health insurance, I would have been required to do something because of my gender, and then been required to pay for it myself.

That's fucked up, y'all. Never mind that I was taking birth control. Never mind that my husband and I are basically abstinent right now. Never mind that I have three children already and if I don't want to have another one, that should be my RIGHT as a human being, I was required to take a test AND pay for it at the same time.

Smacked by two laws: one in which I do not have the right to free healthcare and pregnancy tests, and one in which I do not have the right to evacuate a toxic organ if it happens to house a mass of cells (because I just had my period, there's literally... no way that it could have been more than a mass of cells that that point), because my husband happened to catch an egg right before my procedure?

I was heartsick thinking about it. The amount of women who may try their best to get away from an endless cycle of pain or pregnancy being turned away because they caught an egg this month. Pregnancy is like being in prison for some of us. It is toxic to my body: I would get gestational diabetes without fail. That's my body telling me something: This isn't healthy for you. And yet I did it three times.

And I don't get to say when it's over without taking a test? Without proving to the medical community, to law-makers, that I am not pregnant?

What is the reasoning here? Do we somehow believe that women will, knowingly pregnant, go in for a hysterectomy? Really?

It's three days later, I still cannot get over it. I also think about Trans people, who want to have their uterus removed and are denied if they are under 30. That leaves Trans people open for getting pregnant via rape: trans people are far more likely to be sexually assaulted and raped (Source). If we refuse to allow trans people to remove their own uteruses when they deem fit, we are damning them to having to take hormones to suppress ovulation, or other chemicals that will fundamentally alter their mental state for the worse.

This isn't about oh poor suburban me--I am LUCKY I can do this. Luckily, I'm not pregnant. Luckily, we have paid out of pocket all damn year and got this surgery for free. It makes me angry that I have to feel like this is a damn gift that I got--this major abdominal surgery is a privilege that many do not have, simply because they are not a white, suburban mother whose husband has decent (not great!) healthcare through his employer.

I'm thinking about all of the women under 30 with endometriosis, cysts on their ovaries, and other conditions that make having this monthly cycle a NIGHTMARE. I'm thinking about trans people who want desperately to evacuate an organ that does not feel like part of their bodies. I'm thinking about homeless women who want to be rid of their pain on a monthly basis, who are just trying to survive and who have to make money just to be a part of society, to have money to buy sanitary supplies.

We are treating people with uteruses in this country as criminals if they want to alter their bodies. We have brought a Christian, white supremacist, doctrine into the patient/doctor relationship, and it is humiliating to women, especially those AFAB, and those women of color who cannot get access to this surgery at all.

It IS a gift, but I wish it weren't. I wish that women could take comfort in knowing that when they feel "done" with having children, they can choose to be done. Whenever they want. Empower women to take control over their own bodies and reproductive lives. You don't need to imprison us to make children--many of us want to, and will suffer in order to have children. But it shouldn't be forced on anyone simply because they have a uterus.

#trans rights #hysterectomy #lgbtq #actually autistic #autistic adult #autistic women

[loudlytransparenttrash]

12 Wacky Things The Left Mistakes For Oppression

1. Black men are disproportionately being incarcerated

Maybe that’s because black men are disproportionately committing the most crime and murder? Despite making up just 13 percent of the population, blacks have been committing 52 percent of homicides in the United States for 30 years. In the other categories of violent crime such as rape, robbery and aggravated assault, blacks consistently committed a staggering disproportion of the total (40 percent while making up just 13 percent of the population) in 2013, 2012, 2011, and 2010. The murder rate among blacks is similar to the rates in some of the most violent third-world nations. No other racial or ethnic group comes close. Note that for 20 to 24-year-olds, the murder rate committed by blacks (109.4/100,000) is 17 times higher than the rate for whites (6.4/100,000). Among 15 to 19-year-olds, it is over 20 times higher. The average for all ages is 13 times higher. The media have relentlessly fanned the flames of racial hatred while engaging in a systematic pattern of misinformation and blatant suppression of facts surrounding the perpetrators and victims of crime. As a result, so-called “criminal justice reform” is now being proposed to release a ton of black criminals from prisons, supposedly to “make amends” for the unjust “mass incarceration” of black men. The vast majority of blacks in prison are there because of violent crime and mostly against black people. Ordinary black people cannot afford to go along with the liberal agenda that calls for undermining police authority over black criminals, they are still criminals regardless of their skin color. That agenda only makes for more black crime victims. The black incarceration rate isn’t racism, it is simply a sad but accurate reflection of the horrific black crime rate. It’s your own fault.

2. Some women don’t have high paying jobs

These young women either have taken woke intersectional feminist genderqueer majors which resembles less of a qualification in anything useful and more of a retarded child’s participation certificate. Or they have actually chosen happiness and personal fulfilment over frantically comparing their wage slips to every man they meet. Despite the fact that young women flock to these pointless and low paying courses, young women are still earning more than young men after graduating. Girls are getting better grades from kindergarten to university, they are being accepted into college more, they are being handed grants and scholarships simply for being women, they take home 57 percent of university degrees and they are dominating in many STEM fields plus they are twice as likely to be hired. If there is a biased structure in play favoring one gender over another, women are not on the losing end. The problem we have is once women are hired, they usually lack the motivation, competitiveness and win-at-all-cost mindset it takes to rise up the corporate ladder. Women also tend to work less hours, they don��t want to do overtime, they don’t want to take their work home with them and if the job involves danger, difficulty or physical labor, regardless if it offers high wages, they will turn it down. Feminists only reference the highest paying males of Fortune 500 companies as evidence of their “oppression” but these men are examples of working 90 hour weeks and not having a life away from work and making the worst partners and parents imaginable. If you don’t want a family, you don’t want to study a real major, and you don’t want to work hard but you still want to blame “the patriarchy” when you are broke and miserable, it’s your own fault. 

3. Islamophobia

Islamophobia is not a real thing, it’s just a term pushed by Islamists in order to export Islamic blasphemy laws to the West. This word is nothing more than a thought-terminating tool conceived in the bowels of the Muslim Brotherhood for the purpose of silencing critics. Every religion, ideology or idea is allowed to be subjected to criticism without turning those critics into people suffering from a phobia - except for Islam. Islamophobia is classic political correctness. You don’t have to deal with the substance of arguments against the oppression and human rights atrocities celebrated under this barbaric seventh-century ideology or the fundamentals within the Quran and Hadiths which are the driving force behind Islamic extremism, all you have to do is label critics a cluster of “Islamophobes” and the argument is over. As this lie prevails, we become infinitely more vulnerable to Islamic terrorism and sickening Islamic practices because we are afraid to talk about them and it prevents us from being honest about the danger we are faced with. People have become too scared to report radicalization, police have become too scared to investigate mass Muslim rape gangs grooming and abusing young girls, women have become too scared to report their rape when it’s committed by a migrant. All because we don’t want to be “Islamophobic.” It requires that no one speak ill of Islam or say anything that might put a frown upon a Muslim, if so then we are accused of spreading hate and being responsible for radicalizing and pushing these Muslims to terrorism but in reality it’s to enforce Islamic blasphemy laws onto the West, easing us into getting used to Sharia law. Ten years ago we could never have imagined British citizens being sent to prison for writing a criticism of Islam on a personal social media account but today it is illegal blasphemy and we are now being arrested for it. Brushing off Islam’s primitive religious fundamentals and pretending they are harmless and cute all because the majority of those who believe in them aren’t white is not progressive, it is not being tolerant, it is being submissive and dumb. If you believe your backwards religion is beyond criticism and your beliefs can’t hold up to basic scrutiny, it’s your own fault.  

4. Immigrants are being deported 

No. Illegal immigrants are being deported. I know the left have popularized the crazy idea that once somebody illegally breaks into our home, they are to be rewarded with citizenship, protection and handouts but that’s not how immigration works, this is not the immigration you say our country was built on and you know it. This country was built on legal immigration, and the ones who made it through learned the language and assimilated while bringing a ton of jobs with them. Legal immigrants are as safe from ICE as the President so let’s stop pretending that every immigrant is living in fear. I read children of Italian immigrants from the 60′s are “scared” of being deported - give me a break and learn the difference between legal and illegal, fucking morons. When you break the law, you do not get rewarded, that is not progressivism, that is stupidity. Today’s scenario is 15 million illegals ridiculing those who played by the rules. Illegal immigrants should have no expectations that their lives here should be the same as those who are legal citizens. These people are here illegally, they are aliens, they are not “dreamers.” By lumping together illegal and legal immigrants, the “let them all stay” folks are vigorously trying to muddy the water so the actual issue, illegal immigration, gets lost in the process. Though people are waking up and are finally putting border security before caring about being called bigots. If you cheat the system, sneak into a country illegally and you get caught and your ass is sent back, it’s your own fault. 

5. Women live in a “rape culture”

Feminists describe our society as a “rape culture” where violence against women is so normal, it’s invisible. Films, magazines, fashion, books, music, humor, even kids toys according to the feminist activists cooperate in conveying the message that women are there to be used, abused and exploited. Recently, rape culture theory has migrated from the lonely corners of the feminist sphere into the mainstream. Obama’s admin asserted that we need to combat campus rape by changing “a culture of passivity and tolerance in this country, which too often allows this type of violence to persist.” Tolerance for rape? Really? The 1 in 5 myth is just that. A myth. It comes from this 2007 Campus Sexual Assault study. In the study itself, the researchers make it clear that the research consisted of students from just two universities. There are over 4,000 colleges and universities in the U.S and the research was confined to just two of them. It was a basic online survey that took 15 minutes to complete, it was anonymous, no one’s claims were verified and any affirmative answer to questions such as “have you ever had sex while intoxicated” was marked as rape. Even the study authors have since come out and explicitly stated that it is “inappropriate” to use their survey to make the claim that 1 in 5 women are being raped. Even the nation’s largest and most influential anti-sexual violence organization rejects the idea that culture as opposed to the actions of individuals is responsible for rape. RAINN urged Obama’s White House to “remain focused on the true cause of the problem” and explained “In the last few years, there has been an unfortunate trend towards blaming “rape culture” for the extensive problem of sexual violence on campus. It is important not to lose sight of a simple fact: Rape is caused not by cultural factors but by the conscious decisions of a small percentage of the community to commit a violent crime.” RAINN is especially critical of the idea that we need to focus on teaching boys not to rape, the hallmark of feminist activism. “No one would deny that we should teach boys to respect women. But by and large this is already happening. By the time men reach college, most students have been exposed to 18 years of prevention messages, in one form or another. The vast majority of men absorb these messages and view rape as the horrific crime that it is. So efforts to address rape need to focus on the very small portion of the population that has proven itself immune to years of prevention messages. They should not vilify the average guy.”

6. Nobody wants to have sex with trans people

These “transphobic” people aren’t gay. I’m sorry to break it to you but we know the difference between a woman and a guy in a wig and we know the difference between a man and a girl with a buzzcut. Mutilating what’s between your legs makes no difference either. No amount of repeating ‘it’s all just a silly social construct’ will change biological facts and the nature of human attraction. We all support your right to live your life in any way you please but you cannot expect everyone to just go along with what’s inside your head especially when it comes to preferring who we want to have sex with, because uh you know, that should always be our choice. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to feel that you are in the wrong body but this does not mean that people should feel obligated to have sex with the gender that you “feel” when all they see is the gender you are. You are not being discriminated against, people should be allowed to be as picky as they want when it comes to who’s dick they let inside of them. To be discriminated against, one needs to be denied something without a valid reason and it seems like having a cock hanging between your legs when a straight guy is expecting pussy is a whole lot of reason to not to have sex with you. Do we call gay men misogynists for not having sex with women? Do we call lesbians man-hatin… forget that one. I get it, you’re desperate for love, you’re desperate for affection, aren’t we all? But manipulating and shaming people into having sex with you is pretty fucked up. It’s not your fault that you suffer from dysphoria but if you believe it makes you entitled to shame people into having sex with you, it’s your own fault. 

7. Women can’t walk alone at night without feeling scared

Name one person apart from maybe Thor who isn’t vulnerable to violent crime if they walk home alone at two in the morning. Men make up the large majority of all victims of violent crime, everything from threats to robbery, assault and murder so if anyone should feel afraid of walking alone at night, it’s guys. Except men aren’t being told the responsibility for their own safety falls to everyone else but themselves. The responsibility does not fall onto every man to keep you safe from your own actions, the responsibility remains with you and your decision to be stupid enough to put yourself in such a vulnerable situation. If a white man walks around at night alone and he gets robbed by a black person, would we say it’s every black person’s job to make sure it never happens again to another white person? Would we tell black children not to grow up to be robbers? So why do feminists insist on ‘reprogramming’ young boys and ‘rewiring their brains’ to teach them a crime they already know is wrong is wrong? Feminists instruct women to be scared and suspicious of every man that looks at them or they cross paths with but the idea that scary boogeymen are jumping out from behind bushes to rape women as they walk to their cars is a myth. Almost all rapes are committed by someone known to the victim so being scared and suspicious of random males on the street is an irrational and sexist paranoia perpetuated by feminism’s false rape statistics and anti-male campaigning. If you want to walk home alone late at night dressed like a slut, drunk and lacking all self-awareness, it’s your own fault. 

8. Black people are shot by police officers

Let’s be clear, by far more whites are shot by police than blacks. Although I don’t pick and choose when to consider demographics so it’s true, black people are more likely to be shot but for the same reasons black people are more likely to be incarcerated, this comes directly back to the black crime rates we talked about earlier. When you commit the most crime, you are going to have the most confrontations with police and thanks to black culture’s anti-police and thug mentality, most young black people don’t know how to properly react to the police which is a recipe for disaster. Police don’t patrol black neighborhoods for the fun of it, they go where the most crime happens and the astronomical black crime rate warrants such police presence. In almost every case Black Lives Matter have rioted over, their martyr has either been armed, attacking the officer, ignoring demands or resisting arrest. Hands up don’t shoot is a myth. What’s also a myth is the idea that white police officers have declared open season on black innocents. How many white cops have been responsible for shooting a BLM darling? Practically none. Black and Hispanic police officers are more likely to fire a gun at blacks than white officers, these are facts. Police are also more likely to be killed by blacks than to kill unarmed blacks. In 2013 alone, 49,851 officers were assaulted with firearms, knives and other weapons. On average, 150 police officers have been killed in the line of duty every year. These include being shot, stabbed, strangled or beaten. Of the several hundred officers feloniously killed in the past decade, 46 percent of the perpetrators were black, despite them representing only 13 percent of the population. Do we call this a black war against the police? Blacks are 18.5 times more likely to shoot and kill a police officer than an unarmed black person being shot by an officer himself. If anyone’s life is consistently in danger, it’s the cops. If you commit crime, you attack a cop or you resist arrest, it’s your own fault.

9. The Pink Tax 

Feminists say that they’re being discriminated against for being women because products advertised to women are sometimes more expensive than products advertised to men, even though they’re exactly the same product. So, if they’re exactly the same, then why the fuck aren’t you buying the cheaper option? These “pink” products and services are only more expensive because companies know women are the only ones gullible enough to pay for a pink razor with a naked goddess on it and believe it’s better than the boring cheap brown razor alternative next to it that men will buy. The same thing applies for health foods, they’re usually priced higher because they know creepy vegan people and health fanatics are dumb enough to fork out cash for sundried pumpkin seeds and cabbage juice. The same thing applies with make up and beauty products, you slap a label on them that tells us it hasn’t been tested on a pig and people are willing to pay triple the price. The same thing happens with sports team merchandise and clothing and footwear, men’s versions are usually more expensive than women’s because they know men are dumb enough to pay whatever it costs to wear their favorite team’s gear around. Women are not exclusive to this targeting, if you’re dumb enough to pay for the more expensive option then sellers will remain smart enough to continue to charge you for it. An even more ludicrous tantrum feminists are having is about women having to pay more for certain services. They complain how mistreated they are because women get charged more to get a hair cut, even though on average women have more fucking hair to wash, cut and dry and men aren’t exactly lining up to get highlights, curls and extensions now are they. Listen ladies, it’s not rocket science, it’s simple business that keeps our economy as one of the strongest in the world. As I said, if you’re dumb enough to pay for it then it’s your own fault.

10. Transgender suicides

People who become so convinced they are something they’re not and resort to mutilating their genitals and hormonal development to make what’s inside their minds a reality have mental health issues? Who’d thunk!? Again, this is what happens when we pretend this is normal behavior and go along with it, we pump them with drugs and cut their tits off instead of actually helping them deal with their mental disorder in a humane and responsible manner. If someone came to a doctor and asked him to cut off a perfectly healthy arm because it just felt “wrong” for the arm to be there, should the doctor do it? This isn’t an idle question because this does happen with a mental illness called Body Integrity Identity Disorder (BIID). People who have it feel as if they’re not supposed to have a certain body part, like an arm or leg. Doctors won’t remove a healthy body part, so some of these poor deluded people crush, mangle, burn, or otherwise deliberately destroy their own arms or legs in order to get a surgeon to slice them off. This raises a question: Are surgeons who refuse to remove healthy limbs from people with BIID doing them a service because they’re mentally ill or are they denying them their civil rights? Is BIID going to be the next mental disorder we are shamed into normalizing and accepting? When children who reported transgender feelings were tracked without medical or surgical treatment at both Vanderbilt University and London’s Portman Clinic, 70%-80% of them spontaneously lost those feelings. Imagine removing your genitals and realizing that it didn’t make any difference or worse yet, that it was a HUGE MISTAKE. Nobody wants to talk about the suicide and depression of trans people once they have realized it was all a mistake. Nobody is denying that transgendered people face a high risk of suicide, but it’s not because people aren’t using the correct pronouns, it’s because they are suffering from a mental disorder so for as long as we enable their suicide and depression by hacking their bodies and filling them with drugs instead of providing real and effective help, it’s your own fault.

11. Blacks still waiting for slavery reparations 

Black Africans and Arabs were responsible for enslaving the ancestors of African Americans and most people around the world including white people. Only 6 percent of African slaves were taken to North America, most slave imports were overwhelmingly taken to South America and the Caribbean. In 1830 there were almost 4000 black people who owned around 13 thousand black slaves. Are reparations to be paid by the descendants of Africans, South Americans and Arabs too? Or are we just going to keep pretending whites are to blame for slavery? Only a tiny fraction of whites owned a tiny fraction of the slaves so expecting every white person 200 years later to provide a black guy with a free sandwich or gift him a job for being black makes zero sense. The claim for reparations is premised on the false assumption that only whites have benefited from slavery. If slave labor created wealth for Americans, then obviously it has created wealth for black Americans as well. Black buying power is expected to reach $1.2 trillion this year, and $1.4 trillion by 2020. That is so much combined spending power that it would make black America one of the largest economies in the world in terms of gross domestic product, the size of Mexico based on world bank data. Black people earning $75,000 or more per year are growing faster in size and influence than whites in all income groups above $60,000. American blacks on average enjoy per capita incomes in the range of up to fifty times that of blacks living in any of the African nations from which their ancestors originated. Is it time to check that little thing called privilege? No evidence-based attempt has been made to prove that living individuals have been adversely affected by a slave system that was ended over 150 years ago. But there is plenty of evidence that economic adversity is the result of failures of individual character rather than any lingering after-effects of a system that was abolished 150 years before most of Black Lives Matter members were even born. Reparations were meant as payments to Jewish survivors of the Holocaust, Japanese Americans and African American victims of racial experiments in Tuskegee, or racial outrages in Rosewood and Oklahoma City. But in each case, the recipients of reparations were the immediate family or direct victims of injury caused by injustice. It’s never been about giving free shit to black people a century or two later and neither should it ever be. That’s just trying to rip off the system and it’s your own fault. 

12. Black people are held back by white privilege 

White privilege has become one of the favorite arguments of BLM and pandering guilt-riddled liberals who like to make excuses for the fact that black Americans struggle to keep up. The concept of white privilege is also a favorite weapon for those who make their living stirring up racial discord by saying that to be anything but white in America is to be handicapped by default. For those who wish to exploit an entire demographic of people for political benefit, the idea of white privilege has great appeal. However, there are a number of problems with the fundamental premise of white privilege. One factor that tends to undermine the premise of white privilege is that poor whites face every one of the same challenges that poor blacks and poor people of all races face, it would be easier to make a case for wealth privilege in America than white privilege. If that’s the case, white people still wouldn’t be the privileged group as all socio-economic indicators show Asian Americans come out far on top. This being the case, all Americans would do well to consider why it is that Asian Americans as a group do so much better on basic socio-economic indicators than white, black, and Hispanic Americans. There may be something worth learning from such an exercise. What Asian Americans have proven is that privilege in America is based not on race but on merit. People of any race can succeed in America if they emulate the approach of Asian Americans: take education seriously, develop a positive work ethic, obey the rules, respect the laws, and stay together as families. There is no escaping the fact that education and family structure play huge roles in determining the success or failure of various racial and ethnic groups. This plays a greater role in the difference between white and black success than automatically throwing a blanket over the entire white race. There are many issues within the black community that need to be fixed by themselves, acknowledging these issues is the first step as we all too often want to ignore them and expect whites to make the change. You cannot lack education, work ethic, family structure and respect for law and then go on to expect equal success and opportunity, it’s not plausible and it’s your own fault.

#feminism #equality #equal rights #gender equality #blm #black lives matter #sjw1

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Level 1: The surprising truth about sugar. Here’s everything you need to know about what it does to your body. https://ift.tt/2Al06ea

Worried you’re eating too much sugar? Wondering how much is safe to eat? Or whether it’s bad for you… no matter what? It’s time we took a clear-headed look at this topic. It’s time you heard the truth about sugar.

++++

Is sugar “good”?

Is sugar “bad”?

It’s hard to know for sure these days.

Which is interesting because…

Sugar is a fundamental molecule in biology.

Human bodies need sugar.

Sugar makes up the backbone of our DNA. Helps power our cells. Helps store energy for later. Plants convert sunlight into sugar. We convert sugar into fuel.

Molecules like glucose and fructose (just two of the many types of sugar) are so basic to our biological needs, even bacteria love them.

Indeed, sugar’s the breakfast of champions, chemically speaking.

Yet, somewhere along the way, sugar became the bad guy.

Why did we start hating on sugar?

When did we start wanting to purge it from our bodies?

Why do some of us fear it so much?

At this point… do we just need a little relationship counseling?

Or is it a toxic relationship?

Is it time to part ways?

The truth is, this is a difficult conversation to have because…

Almost all of us are emotionally invested in our position on sugar.

Talking about it brings up a lot of controversy and intense debate, even among scientists who are supposed to be “objective”.

So why not step back and take a fresh look?

In this article, we’ll explore five key questions about sugar:

Does sugar cause obesity?

Does sugar cause us to gain weight / fat?

Does sugar cause diabetes?

Does sugar cause cardiovascular disease?

How much sugar is OK to eat?

Yes, we’re biased too.

At Precision Nutrition, we generally consider ourselves ‘nutritional agnostics’. (Case in point: our view on the absolute best diet.)

We help people become their healthiest, fittest, strongest selves—in a way that works for their unique lives and bodies.

In our work with over 100,000 clients clients, we’ve learned a few things…

… that one size doesn’t fit all,

… that an all-or-nothing approach doesn’t work for most people,

… that fitness and health habits should be doable on your worst day, not just your best.

So here’s our bias in this article.

We follow the complexities of nutrition evidence as best we can, always interpreting them through the lens of:

How does practice X or Y work for us, for the clients we coach, and for the fitness professionals we certify?

Does said practice help us make our food choices wiser, saner, and simpler?

Does it address individual differences between people?

(And if not, how can we help adapt each person’s diet to match their unique needs?)

You can ask yourself these same questions as you go through the article. And, of course, feel free to come to your own conclusions.

But first, let’s get to know our sugars.

What is sugar?

Most of us think of “sugar” as the white stuff we put in coffee, or maybe what makes up 90% of those colored marshmallow cereals.

However, “sugar” is actually a group of molecules that share a similar structure. So we might actually call them “sugars”, plural.

This group includes lots of members such as:

glucose

fructose

sucrose, aka table sugar (which is glucose + fructose)

maltose (which is glucose + glucose)

galactose

lactose (galactose + glucose, found in dairy)

And so on.

Sugars naturally occur in biology and in most foods (even if just in trace amounts). For example, here’s what the breakdown of sugars looks like in a banana:

There is, of course, much more sugar in processed and refined foods than in less-processed and unrefined foods.

(We’ll come back to this important point in a moment.)

Sugars live under the larger umbrella of “carbohydrates”.

Along with the sweet stuff, this macronutrient group also includes:

starches (like in potatoes or rice),

fiber (like the husks of whole grains), and

structural building blocks like chitin (which makes up the shells of crustaceans) or cellulose (which makes up things like the trunks of trees).

The more complex the molecule, the slower it digests.

Sugars, which are simpler, digest more quickly.

Starches and fiber, which are bigger, more complicated molecules, digest more slowly, if at all. (This is why eating more fiber can help us feel fuller, longer.)

Most carbohydrates are actually broken down into simpler sugars once they’re digested.

Other carbohydrates (such as insoluble fiber) don’t really get broken down nor absorbed fully, although our intestinal bacteria often love munching on them.

So: Sugars are a type of carbohydrate, but not all carbohydrates are sugars. And some carbohydrates break down quickly/easily into sugars. Others don’t.

This point is important to understand, because it tells us that not all carbohydrates do exactly the same things in our bodies.

Evolution has helpfully given us the ability to “taste” sugar.

Sugar-type molecules react with receptors on our tongue, which then tell our brain “OM NOM NOM DELICIOUS!”

Sugar tastes good to us, because in nature, sweet foods like fruits are often full of good stuff like vitamins, minerals, and energy.

But we differ in our physiology and behavior.

In all things, humans are diverse and variable.

Some of us like and seek out sugar more than others. This may be genetic. Or we may have learned it as we grew up. Or both.

For example, some of us like sugar in small doses; we can only eat a little before pushing the dessert plate away. While others like it a lot; the more we eat the more we want. The idea of “too much sugar” doesn’t compute.

Likewise, some of our bodies seem better suited to sugar than others.

For example, some of us can eat sugar all day long and feel fine. While others can only tolerate a little bit before our pancreas (which secretes insulin, a hormone that helps sugar get into the cells) tells us to knock it off.

In general, most of us like at least some sweetness.

When we’re young, we tend to like sweetness more and avoid bitter foods more. Yet each person’s response to sugar and sweet taste is unique.

With that said, let’s get back to the questions at hand. Starting with…

Question #1: Does sugar cause obesity?

The term “obese” (or “overweight”) is, like sugar, a contentious thing. In this article we’ll use it just for the purpose of discussion, so bear with us.

The World Health Organization defines “obese” as having a Body Mass Index higher than 30. Of course, some fit athletes (like heavyweight boxers or rugby players) might have a higher BMI but still have a low body fat percentage.

However, for most folks, having a BMI higher than 30 signifies that they have a higher-than-average level of body fat. 

(Indeed, some studies that correlate BMI with body fat testing suggest that BMI may even under-estimate how much body fat a person has.)

When it comes to obesity, there have always been people who are heavier, and/or who have more body fat, than most other folks like them.

However, over the last several decades, “average people” in industrialized countries have gotten heavier, bigger, and gained more body fat fairly rapidly.

It’s now statistically “normal”.

Although this shift is happening worldwide, and there are differences by ethnic group and socioeconomic class, it’s particularly noticeable as a general trend in the United States.

Along with body weights, we can look at changes in body fat percentage and overall fitness levels. Here, we also see that over time, body fat percentage has gone up, and fitness levels have gone down.

Currently in the United States, the average body fat percentage for men is around 28%, and the average for women is around 40%.

For comparison:

In general, 11-22% for men, and between 22-33% body fat for women, is considered a “healthy” range.

Lower than that is still “healthy” (to a point), but generally considered “athletic” or “lean”.

Does increased sugar consumption explain body weight trends?

Could sugar be responsible for changing body weights and body compositions in industrialized countries?

By reviewing data from the USDA Economic Research Service, National Health and Nutrition Examination Surveys (NHANES), as well as Food Frequency Questionnaires from the long-running Framingham Heart Study, we can track food intake from multiple angles. These varying streams of data all show fairly consistent trends.

They tell us that, since 1980, Americans:

Continued to eat the same total amount of fat. (Though they generally ate less naturally-occurring fats, like in whole fat dairy, and ate more added fats, like oils.)

Ate more carbohydrates. (Especially refined ones that included added sugars.)

So, as a percent of total calories consumed, fat dropped. But we didn’t end up eating less fat. We just added more sugar and other carbs on top of the fat we were already eating.

This added up to approximately 200-400 extra calories per day.

In terms of calories, that’s like eating an extra McDonald’s hamburger or a double cheeseburger, on top of your existing meals, every day.

Whether those calories came from sugar is probably irrelevant.

This increased energy intake alone, combined with decreasing rates of daily physical activity, is probably enough to explain people getting heavier.

Yes, but how might sugar play a role?

We can’t say that sugar specifically was the culprit behind the obesity surge for everyone. (Remember, humans vary.)

But our increased sugar consumption does seem to correlate with continued obesity levels… up until recently.

For about four hundred years, human beings have been enjoying more and more sugar.

Once Europeans discovered tropical trading routes and set up cheap slave labor economies to raise sugar cane, sugar became more and more available to the average person.

Indeed, sugar quickly became the food of the poor.

(It was said that the entire working class of the British Isles lived on jam and sugared tea during the Industrial Revolution.)

As a prime colonial power, the British once claimed the title of biggest sugar consumers. Per year, the average Brit consumed:

4 lbs (1.8 kg) in 1704.

18 lbs (8.2 kg) in 1800.

90 lbs (40.8 kg) in 1901.

However, once they got rolling as a country, Americans weren’t far behind. Per year, the average American consumed:

6 lbs (2.7 kg) of sugar in 1822.

40 lbs (18.1 kg) in 1900.

90 lbs (40.8 kg) by the 1920s.

There was a subsequent drop due to the Great Depression & World War II.

90 lbs per person again by the 1980s.

Then they really took off: By 1999, the US reached peak sugar consumption of nearly 108 lbs (49 kg) of sugar per person per year.

Between 1980-1999 Americans ate more sugar. And obesity rates got higher.

But then something changed: Our sugar consumption actually started to decrease.

Interestingly, since 1999 through 2013 (most recent data available) intake of added sugar has actually declined by 18% (or as much as 22%, depending on the data).

This drop has brought Americans’ current added sugar intake back down to 1987 levels.

And during this time, total carbohydrate intake has dropped as well. (Makes sense, as this was the dawn of the low-carb phenomenon.)

Nevertheless, though sugar and carb intake have declined over those 14 years, adult obesity has continued to climb—from 31% of the American population in 1999 to 38% as of 2013.

(Diabetes diagnoses have continued to climb as well, which we’ll address in a moment.)

So, despite lowering sugar intake by nearly 20% over a 14 year period, obesity (and diabetes) rates have continued to climb.

Along with sex, ethnic, and socioeconomic differences in obesity rates, this suggests that changing body sizes and compositions is probably a complex, multi-factored phenomenon.

Bottom line here: No single thing—including sugar—causes obesity.

Many factors work together to contribute to a consistent energy (calorie) surplus, which ultimately leads to fat gain. One of those things is often sugar, but not always, and not alone.

Question #2: Does sugar cause us to gain weight / fat?

So, we can’t unequivocally blame sugar for increased obesity rates.

But many of us are still wondering whether sugar is a gateway to fat gain.

It seems logical. Carb and sugar consumption are the main drivers of insulin release. Insulin’s job is to help store nutrients, including fat.

Therefore, it seems obvious. Carbs and sugar cause fat gain, right?

Once again, our scientist friends reveal that it’s a bit more complicated than that. Let’s take a look at a couple of studies that explore this question.

Study 1: How do carbs, sugar, and/or insulin release affect body fat?

In 2015, a small pilot study was conducted by Dr. Kevin Hall to investigate the carb/sugar/insulin model of obesity.

What happens if we keep calories and protein the same, but play with dietary sugar and fat levels?

Here’s how the study worked.

19 participants had to live in a metabolic ward, where the researchers controlled virtually everything about how they lived, what they ate, etc.

The participants tried both lower carbohydrate (LC) and lower fat (LF) diets.

They followed each diet for two weeks, separated by a 2-4 week period during which they returned to normal eating.

All participants spent the first five days of either the low-carb or low-fat diets following a baseline plan of 50% carbs, 35% fat, and 15% protein. This was done so that all participants started on an even playing field with an intake that virtually matches what the average American eats.

Each participant had to exercise on a treadmill for one hour every day for the full two weeks, to make sure physical activity levels were consistent and equal.

After the first five days, both groups had their calories reduced by 30% from the baseline diet (1918 calories vs 2740 calories). They then ate the lower calorie diet for six days.

With both diets, energy intake (i.e. calories) and protein were kept the same. Only carbs and fat went up or down.

Lower carbohydrate:

101 g protein (21% of cals).

108 g fat (50% of cals).

140 g carbohydrate (29% of cals).

Lower fat:

105 g protein (21% of calories).

17 g of fat (8% of calories).

352 g carbohydrate (71% of calories).

Let’s take a closer look at how much the study participants actually ate.

On the lower carbohydrate diet:

Of their carbohydrates, 37 g was sugar. This means that 8% of all calories were coming from sugar.

This is much less than the average American eats.

On the lower fat diet:

Of their carbohydrates, 170 g was sugar. This means that 35% of all their calories were coming from sugar. That is a lot of sugar.

So what happened?

Insulin production:

On the Lower Carbohydrate diet, people produced 22% less insulin throughout the day.

The Lower Fat diet didn’t change insulin output at all, since it had the same total carbs, and even slightly more sugar than the baseline diet.

Body weight:

People on the Lower Carbohydrate diet lost 4 lbs (1.81 kg) of body weight, and 1.16 lbs (0.53 kg) of body fat.

People on the Lower Fat diet lost 3 lbs (1.36 kg) of body weight, which included 1.29 lbs (0.59 kg) of body fat.

Note that body weight loss doesn’t necessarily equal body fat loss.

We can also lose body weight from losing glycogen, water, and/or body protein—and that’s exactly what happened to the people on the Lower Carb diet.

They lost more overall body weight, but actually lost less fat. (Though a difference of 0.13 lbs is irrelevant in the big picture. Who would notice that?)

Meanwhile, the folks on the Lower Fat diet lost more body fat but less total weight because their body was busy burning fat (rather than glycogen or lean body mass) to meet its calorie needs.

After these results were in, the researchers then ran validated mathematical models that showed over longer periods of time (say, longer than 6 months), the fat loss between the two groups would be roughly equal.

In other words, there was no particular physiological advantage to either diet in terms of body weight, nor body fat loss, over the longer term.

Study 2: Fine, let’s go lower.

For this second study, the game got hardcore: Drop the carbs and sugar much lower for the Lower Carbohydrate group, just to make sure the minimal differences found in the first study hadn’t been because the carbs and sugar weren’t low enough.

Here’s how this second study worked:

17 overweight or obese people participated.

First, they followed a high-carb but calorically-restricted baseline diet for 4 weeks (with 25% of calories from sugar).

Then, they spent 4 weeks on a very-low-carb ketogenic diet (with 2% of calories from sugar), with equal calories to the baseline diet.

So what happened?

The researchers found that everyone lost weight and fat throughout the study.

However, when subjects switched from the high-carb, 25%-sugar baseline diet to the ketogenic, 2%-sugar diet, fat loss actually slowed down for the first few weeks.

Much like the previous study, this happened because as people’s bodies adapted to the ketogenic diet, they were more likely to break down fat-free mass and protein stores (e.g. muscle).

Thus:

Weight loss went faster during the ketogenic phase, thanks to losing glycogen and water.

But body fat loss was actually less during this phase (though not tremendously so, and it likely wouldn’t make any significant difference over time).

Overall, the researchers stated that based on the current evidence, as well as their validated mathematical models, long-term body fat loss would likely be very similar between the high sugar (high-carb) diet and the low sugar (low-carb) diet.

In other words, the amount of sugar didn’t seem to influence the results.

In the end, these, plus other studies, seem to support the idea that:

Sugar, carbohydrate intake, and/or insulin alone probably aren’t the main drivers of weight gain.

Other research comparing low-carb diets to low-fat diets has found similar results. The same results have also been found with:

Meta-analyses: Big reviews of other studies. These types of data are considered among the most robust as they explore a lot of experiments from a much broader perspective, pulling in evidence from dozens or even hundreds of studies to try to draw conclusions.

Systematic reviews: Methodologically rigorous comparisons and critical analyses of other studies. These type of reviews are also considered useful, because they take a skeptical perspective, looking for errors.

There have been at least 20 controlled in-patient feeding studies where protein and calories are kept equal, but carbs are varied from 20% to 75% of total calories (and sugar intakes ranged significantly as well).

Of all these studies, none of them found any truly significant differences in body fat levels when people were eating either high carb (and high sugar) or low carb (and low sugar) diets.

In other words, as long as protein and calories were equal, the amount of sugar people ate didn’t make a difference.

There have been at least 12 other systematic reviews and meta-analyses published over the past 10+ years on long-term low-carb diets (which are invariably also low-sugar diets).

Of these 12 reviews:

3 were in favor of low-carb

3 were in favor of non-low-carb comparisons (e.g. low fat, Mediterranean, vegan, low glycemic index, etc.)

6 were neutral, meaning they concluded that various approaches can be equally valid and effective.

Yes, but how might sugar play a role?

Sweet foods may increase energy intake.

In 2013, a review commissioned by the World Health Organization investigated how sugar affected fat gain.

It found that increasing sugar intake can increase body weight, and lowering sugar intake can decrease body weight… but only by changing energy balance, not by any physiological or metabolic effect of sugar itself.

In other words, if we eat more sugary foods, we might be eating more energy (i.e. calories) overall.

Sweet foods are often processed and highly palatable.

This is especially true because most high-sugar foods are refined, tasty, and hard to stop eating. We digest and absorb the energy they contain quickly and easily, they overstimulate the reward/pleasure centers in our brain, and we tend to overeat them.

Plus, hidden sugars in processed foods (like yogurt, granola, juice) or even so-called “health foods” / “fitness foods” can add up fast without us even realizing.

These foods and our brain’s response to them, not the sugar by itself, can often lead to overconsumption.

So the sugar itself may be less of a culprit than the fact that many of us just can’t quit at just one gummi bear or sip of soda.

What else is going on, besides sugar consumption?

Most of our clients who struggle with their weight, body fat, eating habits, and health tell us: It’s not just about the food. There are many factors involved: stress, sleep, metabolic health, lifestyle, social environment, and so forth.

Sugar alone does not explain the complexity of our bodies’ health, function, fat percentage, nor weight. Metabolism is complicated.

And, as always, remember that people vary in response to particular diets.

Some people do better with higher carbohydrates and lower fats. Some do better the other way round.

This is likely due to genetic differences, individual satiety differences from fats vs carbs, personal preferences, and possibly even differences in the bacterial populations in our GI tracts.

The above studies don’t provide hard and fast rules that will always apply to everyone.

This is especially true given that many study populations were small and probably similar in terms of age, sex, ethnicity, and other important factors that can affect our physiological response to a given diet.

But they do indicate that sugar is not some kind of unusually evil substance that causes weight gain or prevents fat loss.

Question #3: Does sugar cause diabetes?

Diabetes is a disease where we can’t properly regulate the sugar in our blood.

It seems logical, then, that eating more sugar might increase our risk for diabetes, particularly Type 2 diabetes, also known as adult-onset diabetes.

Unlike Type 1 diabetes, which typically starts in childhood and is considered an autoimmune disease (in which our own bodies attack healthy cells of our pancreas, which normally produces insulin), Type 2 diabetes typically starts later in life and (among other factors) is linked to long-term food and exercise behaviors.

Type 2 diabetes generally starts with insulin resistance, or impaired glucose control.

This means that over time, insulin is less and less able to do its job of moving glucose into our cells for safe storage. Your doctor might test this with various blood tests, such as an A1c test, which measures how much sugar is being carried around on hemoglobin, a blood protein.

Type 2 diabetes (as well as other metabolic diseases) are also related to how much fat we have in our livers and in or around other organs (such as our hearts and kidneys).

There does seem to be a link between how much refined sugar we eat and insulin resistance. Eating too much sugar can also increase fat accumulation in the liver.

For example, a recent study found that for every 150 calorie increase in daily sugar intake (essentially a 12 oz soda, or ~37 g) corresponded with a 1.1% increased risk for diabetes.

Other factors shape our disease risk, too.

That risk above might sound scary, but it’s important to keep it in perspective.

Other research has shown that losing 7% body weight and doing about 20 minutes of daily physical activity decreased diabetes risk by 58%.

And many other studies have corroborated those findings, telling us that losing a little weight / fat and doing a little more exercise, consistently, will significantly lower our diabetes risk.

In fact, a recent meta-analysis provided some compelling information on diabetes risk:

~60-90% of Type 2 diabetes is related to obesity or weight gain, not sugar intake.

Having a significant amount of excess body fat / weight can increase diabetes risk by 90 times.

If people who are in the obese category lose about 10% of their initial body weight, they dramatically improve their blood glucose control.

Weight management (not sugar reduction) appears to be the most important therapeutic target for most individuals with Type 2 diabetes.

This makes sense if we understand how adipose (fat) tissue works: It’s a biologically active tissue that secretes hormones and other cell signals.

If we have too much of it, adipose tissue can disrupt metabolic health, including how we regulate and store blood sugar.

Does fructose contribute?

Some researchers have suggested that fructose, a particular type of simple sugar (aka monosaccharide) found in fruit as well as many processed foods, might play a special role in diabetes.

We know that fructose is digested, absorbed, and used in specific ways in our bodies.

Does that mean that fructose might have unique properties that could increase our diabetes risk?

Let’s take a look.

One meta-analysis looked at 64 substitution trials (in which fructose replaced another carbohydrate with no change in total calories), and 16 addition trials (where fructose was added to normal intake).

In the trials where fructose was substituted for another carbohydrate, the average fructose intake was 102 g per day.

In the trials where fructose was added on top of the participants’ normal intake, the average fructose intake was 187 g per day.

Compared to the average American fructose consumption of ~49 g per day, these are extraordinary intakes. To achieve those kinds of intakes would require up to 13 cups of ice cream, or consumption of 10 cans of soda.

Possible? Yes.

Daily norm? Sure hope not.

A recent review paper summed up the state of the evidence on fructose nicely, essentially stating:

The best-quality evidence to date does not support the theory that fructose intake directly causes cardiometabolic diseases.

The review added that fructose-containing sugars can lead to weight gain, along with increases in cardiometabolic risk factors and disease, but only if those fructose-laden foods provide excess calories.

Overall, research does suggest that a high intake of all sugar (including fructose) might slightly increase the risk of diabetes development by itself.

However, this research also indicates that most of this risk is due to the high sugar intake leading to excess calorie intake, and therefore increased body fat (which leads to inflammation, and ultimately insulin resistance).

An absolutely immense amount of research consistently and strongly indicates that the main causes of diabetes are:

excess body fat,

inadequate physical activity, and

genetic predisposition.

On that last point, we know that diabetes risk, as well as risk of metabolic diseases and propensity to gain body fat, differs significantly by ethnic group or genetic subgroup. For instance, many groups of indigenous people are vastly more likely to struggle with these issues, as are people of African ancestry living in North America, or people of South Asian ancestry.

So your personal risk of these diseases also depends on where your ancestors came from, what genetic makeup they gave you, and/or how that genetic makeup interacts with your environment.

The bottom line here: Managing your sugar intake is just one small tool in your diabetes-fightin’ toolbox. However, far and away, the most useful tool is weight (and body fat) management, however you manage to accomplish it.

Question #4: Does sugar cause cardiovascular disease?

The term “cardiometabolic disease” refers to a broad group of related diseases, like the Type 2 diabetes we mention above, along with other diseases related to the complex phenomenon of:

metabolic disruption,

changes in hormonal and cell signaling,

inflammation, and

an inability to regulate normal physiological processes (like DNA repair).

These diseases can appear in many organs or organ systems. When they hit the heart and/or circulatory system of blood vessels, we call them “cardiovascular disease”. They show up as things like heart attacks, strokes, clogged arteries, and so forth.

A heart attack, or heart disease, used to be a death sentence. With better treatment and new medications, people are surviving longer and living better with cardiovascular disease.

Over the past 50 years or so, deaths from heart disease have declined by over 60% despite sugar intake increasing by about 20 lbs per person per year over that time (and by more than 30 lbs per person per year at the 1999 peak intake).

Researchers estimate that about half of that 60% decrease might be from better medical care. The other half likely comes from reducing the risk factors, such as:

lowering blood pressure

smoking less

lowering blood cholesterol levels

Of course, as we’ve seen, consuming more energy in the form of sugar can increase body fat. And, because of its chemically active nature, more body fat definitely increases cardiovascular disease risk.

So eating a lot of sugar can certainly play a role.

But cardiovascular disease, as with other metabolic diseases, is complex.

It’s not just one thing.

It’s all the things.

It’s how we live, how we work, how active we are, how stressed we are, what’s in our environment, and the various other factors that influence our health.

There are other factors besides sugar in metabolic disease.

Indeed, if we look at factors that we know for sure are related to the risk of metabolic disease, only about 3% of Americans uphold four essential healthy lifestyle behaviors consistently:

Not smoking.

Maintaining a healthy body weight.

Eating 5 or more servings of fruits and vegetables per day.

Being physically active at least 30 minutes a day 5 times a week at a moderate intensity.

On top of that, let’s consider two other known preventative methods for metabolic disease…

Keeping stress levels moderate.

Sleeping well, 7-9 hours per night, consistently.

…now we’re probably at 1% of Americans.

Once again, sugar intake is probably one piece of the puzzle. But it’s just one piece—and probably a very small one.

Question #5: How much sugar is OK to eat?

Let’s get real here.

Sugar is not a health food.

It doesn’t nourish us.

It doesn’t add a lot of nutrient value: It doesn’t give us any vitamins, minerals, phytonutrients, antioxidants, fiber, or water.

Eating a lot of sugar doesn’t make our bodies better, stronger, healthier, or more functional.

Sugar doesn’t add value, certainly not when compared to other foods or macronutrients like protein or omega-3 fatty acids.

But biology is complex.

Diseases are complex too.

We can’t blame one chemical for all the health problems we have.

Good health is neither created nor destroyed by a single food.

Again, human beings are diverse.

We vary widely in all kinds of ways, including:

How much carbohydrates we need to thrive or perform well.

How well we digest, absorb, and use sugars, as well as how effectively and safely we store or dispose of the excess.

How sugar affects our appetite, hunger, fullness, ability to stop eating it.

How we feel about and behave around sugar.

How sugar “spins our brain dials” and gives us a sense of reward.

So we can’t say that “X amount of sugar is always best for everyone, all the time” or that “People should never eat any sugar.” It just doesn’t work that way.

Some people might choose to cut out sugar completely.

Some people might try to micromanage their intake down to the gram.

Some people can just roll with a general “eat less-processed foods” guideline, and be fine.

Some people do find that a low-sugar, low-carb or even a ketogenic diet works for them. While others thrive on high-carb diets.

That said, being aware of your sugar intake is probably a good idea.

The 2015-2020 Dietary Guidelines for Americans recommends limiting sugar to 10% of your intake. So, for example, if you’re consuming 2000 calories per day, that would be approximately 200 calories from sugar, or 50 grams.

What does this all mean?

Let’s sum up what the science suggests:

Sugars are basic biological molecules that our bodies use in many ways.

Each person’s response to sugar (whether physiological or behavioral) will be a little different. This goes for carbohydrates in general too.

Sugar is not a health food. But sugar alone doesn’t necessarily cause most chronic health problems like diabetes or cardiovascular diseases, which are multifactorial.

Sugar is energy dense. If eaten in excess (like most foods), sugar can contribute to weight / fat gain.

This weight / fat gain is probably mostly from the extra calories, not some special properties of sugars (or carbohydrates in general, or insulin).

Some people find it hard to stop eating sugar / sweet foods. This may also contribute to weight / fat gain—again, because of the extra energy intake.

We likely eat more sugar than we realize, since it’s hidden in so many food products.

Yet, after working with thousands of clients:

For most people, cutting out sugar completely, trying to abide by rigid rules, or basing dietary decisions on fear, probably isn’t sustainable or realistic.

That’s why, at Precision Nutrition, we prefer a more balanced approach.

What to do next: Some tips from Precision Nutrition.

1. Recognize that health concerns are more complex than a single smoking gun.

The fitness and nutrition industry loves to say that one factor is responsible for everything (or that one magical food / workout / mantra will cure everything). It also loves to over-simplify and moralize (e.g. this is “bad”, this is “good”).

You don’t have to understand physiology to grasp the idea that things are complex.

There are many factors that go into good health, athletic performance, physical function, and wellbeing.

This means you should…

2. Begin with fundamental behaviors.

Sugar is one part in a much bigger puzzle.

Review this checklist and see how many of these fundamental behaviors you do well and consistently. That means every day, or most days:

Don’t smoke.

Keep your alcohol intake moderate.

Eat slowly and mindfully.

Eat enough lean protein.

Eat 5+ servings of fruit and/or veggies per day, ideally colorful ones.

Eat some healthy fats.

Get some movement for at least 20-30 minutes a day.

Get 7-9 hours of good-quality sleep every night.

Reduce stress.

Spend time with people you love, and/or who support you.

Do things that are meaningful and purposeful to you.

These are all behaviors that we know for sure are health-promoting and disease-preventing.

3. Become aware of your overall energy balance.

Take a clear-headed look at how much food you’re eating for your body’s needs, and how much activity you’re doing.

Are you eating the right amount for your physiological requirements?

If you’re heavier or carrying more body fat than you’d prefer, you may need to adjust how much you are eating and/or exercising.

This may mean lowering your sugar intake, and/or it may mean eating a little less of other foods overall.

4. Become aware of what’s in your food.

Read labels. Sugar lives in processed foods, even foods you wouldn’t expect (like salad dressings or frozen dinners).

Better than reading labels, ask how you can eat more foods without labels. (Like fruits and veggies, beans and legumes, nuts and seeds, meats and seafood, etc.)

Transitioning to less-processed and less-sweetened versions of various foods is a simple way to lower your sugar intake and get the benefits of a better nutrient intake. Double win!

5. Maintain a healthy weight.

There is no single “healthy” weight. Your weight may be higher than average, or it may be within a “normal” range.

What is most important is that this weight is healthy for you (which you’ll know because all your indicators like blood work or athletic performance and recovery look good).

If you think you need to lose a little weight/fat to look, feel, and/or perform better, the good news is that you often don’t need to lose very much to see metabolic benefits.

You don’t have to be super-lean… and in fact, many people won’t benefit from trying to do that anyway.

6. Be mindful of your overall eating patterns, habits, and perspectives.

Consider…

Are you eating slowly and mindfully? Can you stop when you’re satisfied?

Are you using sugar-rich foods as a “treat”? How often?

Do you feel “deprived” if you don’t “get” to have sugar?

If you have a sugary food, can you stop eating it when you’ve had “enough”? Is there an “enough” with some foods?

How does sugar fit into your life and overall habits? Is that working for you?

7. Keep it in perspective. Add “treats” in moderation.

Around here, we keep it real.

We like “treats”, “junk food” and tasty stuff just as much as anyone else, whether that’s a glass of wine, a bowl of ice cream, or a hot dog at the ball game.

We just keep the portions moderate and don’t have “treats” for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.

For most people, a little bit of sugar fits just fine into an overall healthy diet pattern.

If you’re looking for numbers, we suggest you shoot for including “treats” or other discretionary indulgences at 10-20% of your meals. If you eat 3 meals a day for a week, that means about 2-4 of those 21 meals might include something fun or “less nutritious”.

8. Ask yourself what works for you and what doesn’t.

If you struggle with sugar (for instance, if it makes you feel ill, or you feel like you can’t eat sweet foods in appropriate amounts), then it’s probably not a good food for YOU.

Try experimenting with lowering your sugar intake gradually (for instance, by making simple substitutions like drinking water or seltzer instead of soda), and see what happens.

Look for foods that you love, and that love you back—that make you feel good and perform well, that give you sustained and long-lasting energy, that keep your moods level, and that keep you feeling “normal” as an eater.

9. If you’re a coach, keep it real and positive.

Don’t scare your clients. Don’t lecture them. Don’t moralize.

Help them. Learn about them. Understand them.

Although research may say that on average low-carb is no more effective than other dietary strategies long-term, or that sugar by itself is not addictive, or any other innumerable statistics, your clients are real people. They are not averages.

Each individual’s preferred approach, unique circumstances, and personal experiences have to be carefully considered and taken into account when working together.

Go slowly, step by step. Make sure your client can actually do what needs to be done.

Fit the dietary strategy to the client, not the client to the dietary strategy.

10. Use data.

Track your health and physical performance indicators.

Schedule regular medical checkups.

Look at stuff like how you feel, how your mood is, how you sleep, how your bloodwork looks, how well you recover from workouts (and life in general), etc.

Follow the evidence. If everything looks stellar, keep doing whatever you’re doing.

If you’re a coach, or you want to be…

Learning how to coach clients, patients, friends, or family members through healthy eating and lifestyle changes—in a way that’s evidence-based, practical, and individualized for each person’s lifestyle, preferences, and goals—is both an art and a science.

If you’d like to learn more about both, consider the Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification. The next group kicks off shortly.

What’s it all about?

The Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification is the world’s most respected nutrition education program. It gives you the knowledge, systems, and tools you need to really understand how food influences a person’s health and fitness. Plus the ability to turn that knowledge into a thriving coaching practice.

Developed over 15 years, and proven with over 100,000 clients and patients, the Level 1 curriculum stands alone as the authority on the science of nutrition and the art of coaching.

Whether you’re already mid-career, or just starting out, the Level 1 Certification is your springboard to a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results.

[Of course, if you’re already a student or graduate of the Level 1 Certification, check out our Level 2 Certification Master Class. It’s an exclusive, year-long mentorship designed for elite professionals looking to master the art of coaching and be part of the top 1% of health and fitness coaches in the world.]

Interested? Add your name to the presale list. You’ll save up to 44% and secure your spot 24 hours before everyone else.

We’ll be opening up spots in our next Precision Nutrition Level 1 Certification on Wednesday, October 2nd, 2019.

If you want to find out more, we’ve set up the following presale list, which gives you two advantages.

Pay less than everyone else. We like to reward people who are eager to boost their credentials and are ready to commit to getting the education they need. So we’re offering a discount of up to 44% off the general price when you sign up for the presale list.

Sign up 24 hours before the general public and increase your chances of getting a spot. We only open the certification program twice per year. Due to high demand, spots in the program are limited and have historically sold out in a matter of hours. But when you sign up for the presale list, we’ll give you the opportunity to register a full 24 hours before anyone else.

If you’re ready for a deeper understanding of nutrition, the authority to coach it, and the ability to turn what you know into results… this is your chance to see what the world’s top professional nutrition coaching system can do for you.

//

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Lewis AS, McCourt HJ, Ennis CN, Bell PM, Courtney CH, McKinley MC, et al. Comparison of 5% versus 15% sucrose intakes as part of a eucaloric diet in overweight and obese subjects: effects on insulin sensitivity, glucose metabolism, vascular compliance, body composition and lipid profile. A randomised controlled trial. Metabolism. 2013 May;62(5):694–702.

Li C, Ford ES, Zhao G, Balluz LS, Giles WH. Estimates of body composition with dual-energy X-ray absorptiometry in adults. The American journal of clinical nutrition. 2009 Dec 1:ajcn-28141.

Lozano I, et al. High-fructose and high-fat diet-induced disorders in rats: impact on diabetes risk, hepatic and vascular complications. Nutr Metab. 2016;13:15.

Menke A, Casagrande S, Geiss L, Cowie CC. Prevalence of and Trends in Diabetes Among Adults in the United States, 1988-2012. JAMA. 2015 Sep 8;314(10):1021–9.

Mintz, Sidney. Sweetness and Power: The Place of Sugar in Modern History. New York, Penguin, 1986.

Naude CE, et al. Low carbohydrate versus isoenergetic balanced diets for reducing weight and cardiovascular risk: a systematic review and meta-analysis. PLoS One. 2014 Jul 9;9(7):e100652.

Nordmann AJ, et al. Effects of low-carbohydrate vs low-fat diets on weight loss and cardiovascular risk factors: a meta-analysis of randomized controlled trials. Arch Intern Med. 2006 Feb 13;166(3):285-93.

Pan XR, et al. Effects of diet and exercise in preventing NIDDM in people with impaired glucose tolerance. The Da Qing IGT and Diabetes Study. Diabetes Care. 1997 Apr;20(4):537-44.

Petro AE, et al. Fat, carbohydrate, and calories in the development of diabetes and obesity in the C57BL/6J mouse. Metabolism. 2004 Apr;53(4):454-7.

Poulsen P, Kyvik KO, Vaag A, Beck-Nielsen H. Heritability of type II (non-insulin-dependent) diabetes mellitus and abnormal glucose tolerance–a population-based twin study. Diabetologia. 1999 Feb;42(2):139–45.

Ramachandran A, et al. The Indian Diabetes Prevention Programme shows that lifestyle modification and metformin prevent type 2 diabetes in Asian Indian subjects with impaired glucose tolerance (IDPP-1). Diabetologia. 2006 Feb;49(2):289–97.

Schwingshackl L, Hoffmann G. Comparison of effects of long-term low-fat vs high-fat diets on blood lipid levels in overweight or obese patients: a systematic review and meta-analysis. J Acad Nutr Diet. 2013 Dec;113(12):1640-61.

Schwingshackl L, Hoffmann G. Low-carbohydrate diets impair flow-mediated dilatation: evidence from a systematic review and meta-analysis. Br J Nutr. 2013 Sep 14;110(5):969-70.

Shah NR, Braverman ER (2012) Measuring Adiposity in Patients: The Utility of Body Mass Index (BMI), Percent Body Fat, and Leptin. PLoS ONE 7(4): e33308. https://ift.tt/2tDA3JX St-Onge M-P. Are Normal-Weight Americans Over-Fat? Obesity (Silver Spring, MD). 2010;18(11):10.1038/oby.2010.103. doi:10.1038/oby.2010.103.

Stanhope KL, et al. Consuming fructose-sweetened, not glucose-sweetened, beverages increases visceral adiposity and lipids and decreases insulin sensitivity in overweight/obese humans. J Clin Invest. 2009 May;119(5):1322–34.

Sumiyoshi M, Sakanaka M, Kimura Y. Chronic intake of high-fat and high-sucrose diets differentially affects glucose intolerance in mice. J Nutr. 2006 Mar;136(3):582–7.

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Surwit RS, et al. Metabolic and behavioral effects of a high-sucrose diet during weight loss. Am J Clin Nutr. 1997 Apr;65(4):908–15.

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What if you could trade a paperclip for a house? | Kyle MacDonald | TEDxVienna

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/what-if-you-could-trade-a-paperclip-for-a-house-kyle-macdonald-tedxvienna-2/

What if you could trade a paperclip for a house? | Kyle MacDonald | TEDxVienna

Translator: Queenie Lee Reviewer: Cristina Bufi-Pcksteiner My name is Kyle, i’m the pink paperclip guy. But earlier than I get started on that story, I want to draw awareness to this slide behind me. On the establishing of each TED video available in the market, the anything it’s referred to as, the screenshot that precedes the video, every body’s standing like this … All of them. So, demand extra from TED, submit comments online poking enjoyable at this, we need better screenshots for these videos. We can make a greater world of TED with higher screenshots. Onto the paperclip though. This is this form of crazy suggestion I had once I was – Y’recognize, about 10 years ago, I was once watching down at my desk, and i saw a red paperclip sitting there. And that i said, "Y’recognize what, I bear in mind this game referred to as ‘better and better’ the place you start with anything small, trade it for something larger, and you then repeat. I wonder what would happen if I took this crimson paperclip and tried to alternate it?" I posted a picture of that red paperclip on a internet site known as "craigslist." Two ladies named Ronnie and Karina answered and said, "hey, that’s lovely cool! We would wish to exchange with you. We bought a pen formed like a fish." (Laughter) I was quite excited, this used to be a cool pen.This was larger and better than a pink paperclip. "How some distance can i am going with this idea? Any individual want a pen shaped like a fish?" "obviously, my title is Annie, and i have bought a doorknob with a crazy face on it." (Laughter) Two trades in, I’ve already long past approach up from a paperclip, and i used to be thinking, "How far can i’m going with this? Maybe i will be able to hold going except one day I owned a apartment or some thing from this." Shawn says, "Come down to my situation, i’ll prepare dinner your burgers, and i will alternate you my tenting range for that doorknob, since i want it to repair the knob on my stovetop espresso maker.(Laughter) We’re moving liabilities into assets; we’re creating price. We’re making improvements to every other’s lives, albeit on a small scale. However the Sergeant, David J, of the U.S. Marine Corps, he stated, "i have been watching for that specific mannequin of tenting range. I’ve bought further mills, would you love an electrical generator?" To me this used to be a dream come actual: an electric generator. Ultimately, my teenage dreams of being able to create vigour have been realizing.(Laughter) alas, most men and women on the net failed to suffer from a blackout, they failed to need energy. So, my buying and selling in for better and better things that I proposal had price was a legal responsibility. It took me a couple of weeks to be capable to alternate this. However I truly observed yet another individual only in the near past out of his teenage years who did wish to create vigor with this generator. His name was once Martin, and he was in New York city. He says, "look, I’ve received an empty beer keg, i’m going to trade you an IOU to fill the keg with beer and a neon with "Budweiser" sign. What do you say?" So I met up with him. We made the alternate, and this is us displaying all materials of the exchange work. (Laughter) I rebranded the mishmash of IOU beer keg and neon "Budweiser" signal, and called it an instant occasion. Does any individual available in the market need to party? "My identify is Michel Brett, i am a famous radio and tv personality within the province of Quebec, and that i want to make a exchange with you." "without doubt Michel, what do you have got to trade?" "i’m going to trade you my worst snowmobile." I was once intrigued simply with the aid of the thought of an individual’s worst snowmobile.It implied that he now not most effective had multiple snowmobile, however he was once style of cheeky and inclined to show to me that, you already know, I’ve obtained better ones, however i’m going to exchange you my worst. I used to be quite pleased to alternate with him. He used to be a first-class man, and it was once a gorgeous nice snowmobile. Seeing how it was once the middle of iciness in Canada, and it was very bloodless, and a snowmobile at that time of 12 months had extra price than in the summer, a snowmobile journal called "SnoRiders West" referred to as me up and stated, "howdy, we wish to offer you two trips for 2 to the Canadian Rockies in trade for that snowmobile.It will most often supply our journal some publicity, and who would not want to go to the Rockies right now of 12 months?" I stated, "yes, alright, what’s the seize?" They said, "The seize is that you could come to the Rockies; you can’t come to the town of Yahk in British Columbia." I said, "very well, I got to discover a loophole round this." So we made up our minds to kind of blackmail a country wide information institution. It can be a particularly long story, however what ended up happening was once I acquired on television carrying the logo for the shirt I was wearing. It was known as Cintas, the uniform corporation. It was once simply kind of an inside funny story: my cousin’s husband had given me this shirt … An excellent longer story to explain the whole factor. However, the top honcho of that company noticed me on tv with his corporate uniform on, and said, "Wait a 2nd, this is a tremendous liability to me, but additionally it is an possibility." And we met up one night time. He says, "i would wish to make you a exchange. What d’you say?" and i’m like: "I believe that is the best manner we are able to work collectively with out promoting our souls to the corporate ownership satan." He stated, "pleasant, let’s meet up." So we met up.He furnished this van for the go back and forth for 2 to the Rockies, I drove the van to the Rockies; he flew considering that the commute integrated that. And that i wound up with this significant, tremendous computer, a lot higher than a paperclip, arguably better, worst gasoline mileage, but to transport significantly better things than simply that. So, I mentioned, "Does someone out there need to exchange?" And i noticed higher and better was just fairly getting greater, however how would it get better, what was once the opportunity here? And i noticed that i have been furnished a recording contract, a piece of paper, a promise, an opportunity to anyone who’s excellent at song."Does anyone wish to be a recording artist?" So I traded the van for the recording contract with Brandon. He used it to drive round in his band, which was currently traveling around in a 1988 Volkswagen Jetta. Moving as much as the van fairly helped him out. I took the recording contract. "Does anybody wish to be a recording artist?" It seems most of the time everyone on the earth needs to record song. (Laughter) I was once provided my soul from a soul singer, a pinkie finger. Any one definitely furnished me their virginity, which is – (Laughter) I do not know what the legalities, or – needless to say, I said no, when you consider that Jody stated to me, "seem, I’ve bought a half a duplex in Phoenix, Arizona. Half of of it’s unrented. I will alternate a 12 months free hire in my duplex for that. What do you say?" I said yes.I went down there. We made the trade in front of the white wooden fence. Very Americana. Now I had a year free employ. Her next door – one among her tenants truly – Her next-door neighbor, Lesley, learned about this. She says, "i need that free employ." She offered me up an afternoon together with her boss. To start with I was once like this sort of sucks, like oo-er-hoo … (Laughter) on account that I did not know who her boss was. She stood up – "i’ll deliver him out." i’m, "this is bizarre." She brings out her boss’s head. Her boss was once Alice Cooper seeing that she labored at Alice Cooper’s town in Phoenix as the manager of the restaurant.I used to be like, "an afternoon with Alice Cooper, that is pretty mighty, what’s it’ll be valued at?" His tour supervisor called me up and says, "We’re on tour in Fargo, North Dakota. Come up, experience an afternoon with Alice Cooper, see what it can be like." after which after our afternoon this happened survive stage. (Video starts) (Cheering) (Applause) (Video ends) Alice is a particularly pleasant man – this image displays how nice he’s.(Laughter) "look, it is nice you’re doing this. You can find an Italian billionaire who’s a massive Alice Cooper fan. He’ll typically have a number of mansions. He’d quite simply alternate you considered one of them. Promise me one factor?" "What’s that?" Promise you won’t exchange an afternoon with me for a weekend with the Rolling Stones or a night with KISS. (Laughter) I stated, "all right, i will are attempting." The mobilephone rang, and it used to be Mark. Mark says, "i am an newbie photographer with a lot of KISS memorabilia. Are you be involved in any of that?" that is difficult. I rather wanted to trade with him. "What do you might have?" He says, "good, I’ve acquired this, I’ve obtained that, KISS posters, KISS guitars, a KISS snow globe." When he stated KISS snow globe, I immediately stated, "sure, and simplest the snow globe." So, met up with Mark, traded the afternoon with Alice Cooper, a priceless possibility for a KISS snow globe.And the whole world style of type of like oo-oo-oo – and that i was once like this is first-class, it lights up, alterations colors. (Laughter) here is one of the crucial more than a few online responses from the video. That is the worst exchange that I’ve ever heard of, bar none. (Laughter) this is almost certainly the dumbest selection I’ve ever seen anyone make … Ever. (Laughter) except for the folks on Jerry Springer. (Applause) different folks were much more eloquent of their supply. (Laughter) And this was once the only time in the course of the entire mission where I had another alternate lined up. Each other trade had come along serendipitously, and it’d just been this potent expertise. Nonetheless, two months earlier to all this, this man had referred to as me up and said, "howdy, my identify is Corbin Bernsen, i’m a enormous Hollywood actor. I’m making a movie and i would wish to offer a paid, speaking, credited role in a Hollywood movie.Are you interested by buying and selling for that?" I had simply done the recording contract trade, and was like, "sure, certainly, this sounds excellent." He hung up the mobile, and i’m, "Corbin Bernsen, who is this guy?" It turns out he’s very good identified, he’s been in lots of major films, and he additionally, in step with Wikipedia, has the sector’s largest snow globe assortment, over 6,500 snow globes. (Laughter) for the reason that it was once Wikipedia I knew it was once genuine, (Laughter) and that i just form of kept it behind my head.When Mark stated he had a KISS snow globe, I was once like,"this is ultimate." known as Corbin: "Do you wish to have the KISS snow globe?" "ship a photo." sent one. Corbin referred to as again, "now not most effective do i need it, i need it." (Laughter) whilst these comments were coming in like dumbasses, etc, I had no backup plan, and luckily for the challenge and for Corbin, he failed to get hit by means of a bus and he used to be still alive, and we made a alternate.He confirmed us into his snow-globe lair of over 6,000 snow globes, which appears form of like this. (Laughter) Following this, the financial development Officer of the town of Kipling, Saskatchewan, a fellow named Bert Roth, known as me up and stated, "We see that you have been doing this undertaking. Our city has a couple additional houses that we own. Would there be a abilities that perhaps we might alternate such a residences for anything you might have?" I say, "i’ve a position within the movie." he is like, "That’d be best: What we had been pondering is having a large residence warming social gathering, a huge party, inviting every person in the world to come back to Kipling. We could present an opportunity: we’ll call it ‘Kipling Idol.’ we’ll have reside auditions for the movie function, here, right in town." I stated, "that’s without doubt best, Bert. What you need to do to make this occur?" he is,"good, we need city council approval." I say, "all right, if you could get it, that’d be nice." He called me back two weeks later: "I did it, I acquired city council approval, we will make the trade." turns out town council approval was once getting two men and women to put their hand in the air.But, full credit score to Bert, he made it happen. And we traveled to Kipling, and there we are. That is the way you exchange a paperclip for a apartment. And that is the house. (Applause) The best part about this whole challenge is fun, making the trades for matters. Easier to inform the story with the objects, however it was the people at the back of it. In Kipling, it sounds as if, Mounties signal the deeds to traded residences. We had a huge apartment warming celebration, over three,500 men and women got here to the town of Kipling, a town of below 1,000 humans, for an entire weekend. There were reside auditions on stage, 500 to 600 individuals in the crowd including the volunteer fire department, in a ability 300-man or woman constructing.So, yeah, they let it slide, however it was an strong expertise. Corbin Bernsen went out on stage, the next day to come on the town, and mentioned, "here’s the winner of the movie role. Written on his back was the identify Nolan Hubbard. Nolan Hubbard had just graduated from high college, was once making minimal wage at the Bottle Depot. Two months after this snapshot was once taken, he was down in l. A. Working on a movie with Corbin. An amazingly proficient individual who, with out this opportunity to make a movie, would have not had that chance. And it used to be all about the persons announcing, "sure, let’s construct anything, let’s do something together, let’s collaborate, let’s have a look at what occurs." That was what one crimson paperclip used to be all about. There, at this apartment warming occasion in Kipling, Saskatchewan, Karina had the customary pink paperclip round her neck in a photograph frame. And men and women have been announcing to me like, "Wow, you traded with a paperclip, but do not you want you had it back now?" (Laughter) that’s received to be valued at some huge cash. That’s got to be – it is rather noted.And that i mentioned to them that day what I nonetheless say today: "It wasn’t concerning the paperclip, it is now not about having it, or promoting it for what it is valued at. If I hadn’t traded away that red paperclip, i’d simply be a guy sitting there at a desk keeping a paperclip in his hand, questioning what would happen if I did whatever with the paperclip." So … If in case you have a paperclip, exchange it away. You might only get a fish pen, however it perhaps the one step that results in an robust journey. And, for me, that ride shall be off this crimson circle. So, I want you the quality. (Applause) (Cheering) .

#Austria #business #community #english #Entertainment #Internet #Investment #TEDxTalks

[batterymonster2021]

What if you could trade a paperclip for a house? | Kyle MacDonald | TEDxVienna

New Post has been published on https://hititem.kr/what-if-you-could-trade-a-paperclip-for-a-house-kyle-macdonald-tedxvienna-2/

What if you could trade a paperclip for a house? | Kyle MacDonald | TEDxVienna

Translator: Queenie Lee Reviewer: Cristina Bufi-Pcksteiner My name is Kyle, i’m the pink paperclip guy. But earlier than I get started on that story, I want to draw awareness to this slide behind me. On the establishing of each TED video available in the market, the anything it’s referred to as, the screenshot that precedes the video, every body’s standing like this … All of them. So, demand extra from TED, submit comments online poking enjoyable at this, we need better screenshots for these videos. We can make a greater world of TED with higher screenshots. Onto the paperclip though. This is this form of crazy suggestion I had once I was – Y’recognize, about 10 years ago, I was once watching down at my desk, and i saw a red paperclip sitting there. And that i said, "Y’recognize what, I bear in mind this game referred to as ‘better and better’ the place you start with anything small, trade it for something larger, and you then repeat. I wonder what would happen if I took this crimson paperclip and tried to alternate it?" I posted a picture of that red paperclip on a internet site known as "craigslist." Two ladies named Ronnie and Karina answered and said, "hey, that’s lovely cool! We would wish to exchange with you. We bought a pen formed like a fish." (Laughter) I was quite excited, this used to be a cool pen.This was larger and better than a pink paperclip. "How some distance can i am going with this idea? Any individual want a pen shaped like a fish?" "obviously, my title is Annie, and i have bought a doorknob with a crazy face on it." (Laughter) Two trades in, I’ve already long past approach up from a paperclip, and i used to be thinking, "How far can i’m going with this? Maybe i will be able to hold going except one day I owned a apartment or some thing from this." Shawn says, "Come down to my situation, i’ll prepare dinner your burgers, and i will alternate you my tenting range for that doorknob, since i want it to repair the knob on my stovetop espresso maker.(Laughter) We’re moving liabilities into assets; we’re creating price. We’re making improvements to every other’s lives, albeit on a small scale. However the Sergeant, David J, of the U.S. Marine Corps, he stated, "i have been watching for that specific mannequin of tenting range. I’ve bought further mills, would you love an electrical generator?" To me this used to be a dream come actual: an electric generator. Ultimately, my teenage dreams of being able to create vigour have been realizing.(Laughter) alas, most men and women on the net failed to suffer from a blackout, they failed to need energy. So, my buying and selling in for better and better things that I proposal had price was a legal responsibility. It took me a couple of weeks to be capable to alternate this. However I truly observed yet another individual only in the near past out of his teenage years who did wish to create vigor with this generator. His name was once Martin, and he was in New York city. He says, "look, I’ve received an empty beer keg, i’m going to trade you an IOU to fill the keg with beer and a neon with "Budweiser" sign. What do you say?" So I met up with him. We made the alternate, and this is us displaying all materials of the exchange work. (Laughter) I rebranded the mishmash of IOU beer keg and neon "Budweiser" signal, and called it an instant occasion. Does any individual available in the market need to party? "My identify is Michel Brett, i am a famous radio and tv personality within the province of Quebec, and that i want to make a exchange with you." "without doubt Michel, what do you have got to trade?" "i’m going to trade you my worst snowmobile." I was once intrigued simply with the aid of the thought of an individual’s worst snowmobile.It implied that he now not most effective had multiple snowmobile, however he was once style of cheeky and inclined to show to me that, you already know, I’ve obtained better ones, however i’m going to exchange you my worst. I used to be quite pleased to alternate with him. He used to be a first-class man, and it was once a gorgeous nice snowmobile. Seeing how it was once the middle of iciness in Canada, and it was very bloodless, and a snowmobile at that time of 12 months had extra price than in the summer, a snowmobile journal called "SnoRiders West" referred to as me up and stated, "howdy, we wish to offer you two trips for 2 to the Canadian Rockies in trade for that snowmobile.It will most often supply our journal some publicity, and who would not want to go to the Rockies right now of 12 months?" I stated, "yes, alright, what’s the seize?" They said, "The seize is that you could come to the Rockies; you can’t come to the town of Yahk in British Columbia." I said, "very well, I got to discover a loophole round this." So we made up our minds to kind of blackmail a country wide information institution. It can be a particularly long story, however what ended up happening was once I acquired on television carrying the logo for the shirt I was wearing. It was known as Cintas, the uniform corporation. It was once simply kind of an inside funny story: my cousin’s husband had given me this shirt … An excellent longer story to explain the whole factor. However, the top honcho of that company noticed me on tv with his corporate uniform on, and said, "Wait a 2nd, this is a tremendous liability to me, but additionally it is an possibility." And we met up one night time. He says, "i would wish to make you a exchange. What d’you say?" and i’m like: "I believe that is the best manner we are able to work collectively with out promoting our souls to the corporate ownership satan." He stated, "pleasant, let’s meet up." So we met up.He furnished this van for the go back and forth for 2 to the Rockies, I drove the van to the Rockies; he flew considering that the commute integrated that. And that i wound up with this significant, tremendous computer, a lot higher than a paperclip, arguably better, worst gasoline mileage, but to transport significantly better things than simply that. So, I mentioned, "Does someone out there need to exchange?" And i noticed higher and better was just fairly getting greater, however how would it get better, what was once the opportunity here? And i noticed that i have been furnished a recording contract, a piece of paper, a promise, an opportunity to anyone who’s excellent at song."Does anyone wish to be a recording artist?" So I traded the van for the recording contract with Brandon. He used it to drive round in his band, which was currently traveling around in a 1988 Volkswagen Jetta. Moving as much as the van fairly helped him out. I took the recording contract. "Does anybody wish to be a recording artist?" It seems most of the time everyone on the earth needs to record song. (Laughter) I was once provided my soul from a soul singer, a pinkie finger. Any one definitely furnished me their virginity, which is – (Laughter) I do not know what the legalities, or – needless to say, I said no, when you consider that Jody stated to me, "seem, I’ve bought a half a duplex in Phoenix, Arizona. Half of of it’s unrented. I will alternate a 12 months free hire in my duplex for that. What do you say?" I said yes.I went down there. We made the trade in front of the white wooden fence. Very Americana. Now I had a year free employ. Her next door – one among her tenants truly – Her next-door neighbor, Lesley, learned about this. She says, "i need that free employ." She offered me up an afternoon together with her boss. To start with I was once like this sort of sucks, like oo-er-hoo … (Laughter) on account that I did not know who her boss was. She stood up – "i’ll deliver him out." i’m, "this is bizarre." She brings out her boss’s head. Her boss was once Alice Cooper seeing that she labored at Alice Cooper’s town in Phoenix as the manager of the restaurant.I used to be like, "an afternoon with Alice Cooper, that is pretty mighty, what’s it’ll be valued at?" His tour supervisor called me up and says, "We’re on tour in Fargo, North Dakota. Come up, experience an afternoon with Alice Cooper, see what it can be like." after which after our afternoon this happened survive stage. (Video starts) (Cheering) (Applause) (Video ends) Alice is a particularly pleasant man – this image displays how nice he’s.(Laughter) "look, it is nice you’re doing this. You can find an Italian billionaire who’s a massive Alice Cooper fan. He’ll typically have a number of mansions. He’d quite simply alternate you considered one of them. Promise me one factor?" "What’s that?" Promise you won’t exchange an afternoon with me for a weekend with the Rolling Stones or a night with KISS. (Laughter) I stated, "all right, i will are attempting." The mobilephone rang, and it used to be Mark. Mark says, "i am an newbie photographer with a lot of KISS memorabilia. Are you be involved in any of that?" that is difficult. I rather wanted to trade with him. "What do you might have?" He says, "good, I’ve acquired this, I’ve obtained that, KISS posters, KISS guitars, a KISS snow globe." When he stated KISS snow globe, I immediately stated, "sure, and simplest the snow globe." So, met up with Mark, traded the afternoon with Alice Cooper, a priceless possibility for a KISS snow globe.And the whole world style of type of like oo-oo-oo – and that i was once like this is first-class, it lights up, alterations colors. (Laughter) here is one of the crucial more than a few online responses from the video. That is the worst exchange that I’ve ever heard of, bar none. (Laughter) this is almost certainly the dumbest selection I’ve ever seen anyone make … Ever. (Laughter) except for the folks on Jerry Springer. (Applause) different folks were much more eloquent of their supply. (Laughter) And this was once the only time in the course of the entire mission where I had another alternate lined up. Each other trade had come along serendipitously, and it’d just been this potent expertise. Nonetheless, two months earlier to all this, this man had referred to as me up and said, "howdy, my identify is Corbin Bernsen, i’m a enormous Hollywood actor. I’m making a movie and i would wish to offer a paid, speaking, credited role in a Hollywood movie.Are you interested by buying and selling for that?" I had simply done the recording contract trade, and was like, "sure, certainly, this sounds excellent." He hung up the mobile, and i’m, "Corbin Bernsen, who is this guy?" It turns out he’s very good identified, he’s been in lots of major films, and he additionally, in step with Wikipedia, has the sector’s largest snow globe assortment, over 6,500 snow globes. (Laughter) for the reason that it was once Wikipedia I knew it was once genuine, (Laughter) and that i just form of kept it behind my head.When Mark stated he had a KISS snow globe, I was once like,"this is ultimate." known as Corbin: "Do you wish to have the KISS snow globe?" "ship a photo." sent one. Corbin referred to as again, "now not most effective do i need it, i need it." (Laughter) whilst these comments were coming in like dumbasses, etc, I had no backup plan, and luckily for the challenge and for Corbin, he failed to get hit by means of a bus and he used to be still alive, and we made a alternate.He confirmed us into his snow-globe lair of over 6,000 snow globes, which appears form of like this. (Laughter) Following this, the financial development Officer of the town of Kipling, Saskatchewan, a fellow named Bert Roth, known as me up and stated, "We see that you have been doing this undertaking. Our city has a couple additional houses that we own. Would there be a abilities that perhaps we might alternate such a residences for anything you might have?" I say, "i’ve a position within the movie." he is like, "That’d be best: What we had been pondering is having a large residence warming social gathering, a huge party, inviting every person in the world to come back to Kipling. We could present an opportunity: we’ll call it ‘Kipling Idol.’ we’ll have reside auditions for the movie function, here, right in town." I stated, "that’s without doubt best, Bert. What you need to do to make this occur?" he is,"good, we need city council approval." I say, "all right, if you could get it, that’d be nice." He called me back two weeks later: "I did it, I acquired city council approval, we will make the trade." turns out town council approval was once getting two men and women to put their hand in the air.But, full credit score to Bert, he made it happen. And we traveled to Kipling, and there we are. That is the way you exchange a paperclip for a apartment. And that is the house. (Applause) The best part about this whole challenge is fun, making the trades for matters. Easier to inform the story with the objects, however it was the people at the back of it. In Kipling, it sounds as if, Mounties signal the deeds to traded residences. We had a huge apartment warming celebration, over three,500 men and women got here to the town of Kipling, a town of below 1,000 humans, for an entire weekend. There were reside auditions on stage, 500 to 600 individuals in the crowd including the volunteer fire department, in a ability 300-man or woman constructing.So, yeah, they let it slide, however it was an strong expertise. Corbin Bernsen went out on stage, the next day to come on the town, and mentioned, "here’s the winner of the movie role. Written on his back was the identify Nolan Hubbard. Nolan Hubbard had just graduated from high college, was once making minimal wage at the Bottle Depot. Two months after this snapshot was once taken, he was down in l. A. Working on a movie with Corbin. An amazingly proficient individual who, with out this opportunity to make a movie, would have not had that chance. And it used to be all about the persons announcing, "sure, let’s construct anything, let’s do something together, let’s collaborate, let’s have a look at what occurs." That was what one crimson paperclip used to be all about. There, at this apartment warming occasion in Kipling, Saskatchewan, Karina had the customary pink paperclip round her neck in a photograph frame. And men and women have been announcing to me like, "Wow, you traded with a paperclip, but do not you want you had it back now?" (Laughter) that’s received to be valued at some huge cash. That’s got to be – it is rather noted.And that i mentioned to them that day what I nonetheless say today: "It wasn’t concerning the paperclip, it is now not about having it, or promoting it for what it is valued at. If I hadn’t traded away that red paperclip, i’d simply be a guy sitting there at a desk keeping a paperclip in his hand, questioning what would happen if I did whatever with the paperclip." So … If in case you have a paperclip, exchange it away. You might only get a fish pen, however it perhaps the one step that results in an robust journey. And, for me, that ride shall be off this crimson circle. So, I want you the quality. (Applause) (Cheering) .

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