#he wants to pay them pennies for working in abusive conditions

[lyinginbedmon]

I once had someone try to say that a guy supporting sex workers was only doing it because he innately believed he deserved to have sexual access to women, and not only is that intensely backwards (if you want to ensure you retain that access, those people need to be as low and desperate as possible so they can't decline, not elevated to a state of equality with everyone else) but it completely skipped over why anyone stands with sex workers at all: The "There But For The Grace Of God" factor.

Yes there are people who go into the industry because they like it, but the majority are there because, like every other career, they need money to survive in Capitalism. And in the sex industry, it's frequently a desperate last option, due to a combination of social stigma and ease of access (ie. almost anyone can do it).

That desperate last option aspect means that you can be easily exploited, blackmailed, and abused with little recourse. Even in areas where sex work is legal, there's still the hurdle of getting over the stigma just to report such violations.

And it also means that if you criminalise it, you take away one of the most accessible sources of income in existence, which (somewhat ironically given the previous paragraph) will only ever harm some of the most vulnerable demographic groups of society.

Because when you have absolutely nothing else, when absolutely no-one will help you, sex work keeps food on the table. No-one benefits from a ban, except the people who want to hold power over those affected.

[college-girl199328]

Former President Donald Trump and Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell may disagree on many issues, but they can both agree on one: Republicans should keep their hands off Social Security and Medicare over the House's looming issue of raising the debt ceiling and what spending cuts the GOP wanted in exchange for ensuring the US does not default.

GOP Sen. Rick Scott, in particular, became a target for President Joe Biden when he introduced a 12-point plan last year that included sunsetting all federal programs, including Social Security and Medicare, every five years, meaning Congress would have to repeatedly act to renew the programs that millions of Americans rely on numerous occasions, and McConnell even recently called it a "bad idea."

'That was the Scott plan, not a Republican plan," McConnell said, and a friend who has previously clashed with McConnell agrees.

"Bad news for Senator Rick Scott of Florida! "The Club for NO Growth has just announced that they will back him, and without my backing, an endorsement from them is the kiss of death," Trump wrote on Truth Social on Wednesday night, referring to the Club for Growth, a conservative economic group that recently endorsed Scott's plans. "Be careful, Rick, and most importantly, fight for Social Security and Medicare," Trump wrote.

Trump has previously expressed his belief that Social Security and Medicare should be preserved. Before McCarthy made it clear that he was not considering cutting the programs, Trump said in a January video message directed toward House Republicans that "under no circumstances should Republicans vote to cut a single penny from Medicare or Social Security; fraud and abuse are everywhere that we can find them, and there are plenty of them; don't cut the benefits our seniors worked for and paid for their entire lives for in Social Security; don't destroy it."

The Congressional Budget Office issued a report on Wednesday estimating that the government could run out of money to pay its bills as soon as July, implying that Republicans must act before then to reach a debt ceiling deal. Obama has stated that he hopes to continue negotiating with Biden on the issue, but Biden has stated that raising the debt ceiling should be a bipartisan deal without conditions, not a bargaining chip.

"Some of our Republican colleagues in the House were talking about holding the economy hostage over the full faith and credit of the United States," Biden said during a speech, "allowing this nation to fail."

[startledstars]

If you want God to buy you

(Warning: there are no take backs)

A few years ago, if someone asked me, “would you like to hear about our lord and savior Jesus Christ,” I’d be tempted to slam the door in their face

No one in this day and age would care for this question or its traditional answers.

“Jesus died for your sins.”

“I never asked him to do that.”

“He offers eternal life.”

“I’m not a huge fan of being alive.”

“He’s the only way to God.”

“There are many ways to God. That’s what Hindus like me believe. What makes your God special?”

Maybe you’ve had this sort of conversation before. I asked that last question to my Christian classmate in high school. She didn’t have an answer, solidifying my bias that Christians are willfully ignorant, with faith so fragile and baseless, it crumbles under an iota of scrutiny.

So, what is salvation (presented and explained in a less cringe way) and why is Jesus special?

It’s simple: God saves you when you ask him to. You have to come to the end of yourself. Look at your life, look in the mirror, and be filled with sorrow about who you are, what you’ve done, and all the things you couldn’t stop doing even when you tried.

That’s what it means to “admit you’re a sinner.” It’s not an accusation, but a description of the human condition.

You come to Jesus with a broken, contrite spirit. He accepts you and promises to change you for the better. When Christians say “repent,” it’s not an accusation. It’s a plea to change your mind about the things that hurt you, hurt others, and hurt your relationship with God. When God sanctifies you, he convicts you of sin and helps you stop wanting the wrong things.

I used to drink too much and abuse Adderall. I was lowkey addicted. Never to the point of hospitalization or rehab, but it was on the horizon. I begged Jesus to take these things out of me, make me hate them, and keep me away from them. I. Could. Not. Save. Myself.

So he did.

Now, drugs and alcohol are as appealing as a rusty penny on the sidewalk. I’ll ponder for a moment, shake my head, and move on. I couldn’t go back if I wanted to. What once gave me joy and pleasure is now repulsive.

Sin is cancer. God promises remission. The change is so radical, it can only be supernatural.

God didn’t save me because I stopped certain sins. He helped me stop certain sins because he saved me. A changed life is evidence of salvation.

And that’s what makes Jesus special: out of all the gods in the world, only one loved you enough to die for you, paying the price for your sins and your soul. Only one God does all the work of changing you and bringing you to heaven. Your only role is to ask him by name.

(And only one God conquered death by resurrecting himself. Buddha, Muhammad, and Sai Baba are lying in graves. A legion of Roman soldiers and Jewish religious leaders couldn’t find Jesus’ body. He is known as the living God for a reason.)

Again, I encourage you to test this. Compare how Muslims, Hindus, New Agers, Buddhists get to a better life/paradise with what the one true God promises. This is what my high school classmate should’ve said to me.

My greatest regret is not asking Jesus to save me ten years ago. My biggest excuse is that no one told me what salvation is or how it works. I’m saying to you, the person reading this, what I wish someone said to me a long, long time ago.

[cursed-saphire-hart]

Ok so uh I've been thinking about Tobi and this has been on my mind for a while. Doomed timeline specifically I'm gonna say rn that this has discussion of him unaliving himself so yeah uh be warned ig also this is gonna sound dramatic as fuck especially the ending but I'm feeling things right now and its making me write things Also I know I'm probably gonna get some stuff ooc and I apologize in advance. Last also but this is loooong so uh putting this here instead of the end TLDR What's everybody, mainly Tord and Anya, doin if Tobi offs himself? What happens if he tries and fails? Its been said before that even if he doesn't show it, Tobi struggles emotionally. A lot more than he lets on, hiding it because he's been taught that it made him weak. Its been said that people around him know something is wrong, and on occasions he's opened up a bit, but as far as I know? He takes on a lot of it by himself. And becuase he feels he has to hide it, everyone knows he's not in a great place, but so few would know just how bad it could be at any given time. I can almost guarantee he spent the worst of his childhood alone. Becuase no one was really helping him. He had his friends, maybe Yuu. But I don't think anyone around him could actually undertand what was going on. Its no secret that a lot of Tobi's issues stemmed from the way Tord treated him because I'm just gonna say it, Tord was abusive. If thats not the right word than I don't need to say how neglectful he was. People working for him, including Yuu, were conditioned to go with what he did and not interfere. So they can only offer Tobi so much. Tobi's friends might be awsome and they are but just like Tord's soldiers, they can only give so much, this time because Tobi's situation is so specific and large for lack of a better word that I don't know how he survived it because I don't know how he could be helped. Tobi was very lonely. What happens when that really starts getting to him? When he starts to feel like there is no one standing behing him to catch him when he falls? When he starts falling and no one sees him so he has to hang on and pull himself up evertime. Because no one sees it, so who's giving him credit for it? Did anyone ever recognize just how much living like this was hurting him and how he still carried on despite it? He deserved so muc better. He at least deserved someone seeing him and telling him just how proud they were. But that never seemed to come. No one could see him hurt becuase he wasn't supposed to hurt. He wasn't allowed to. Not allowed to crack so what happens when he breaks under the preasure and stress that he kept bottled up? What happens when Tord wakes up in a world where his son isn't alive anymore? How does everyone else handle it? How does Anya handle it? And if Tobi survives, I don't wanna think about how Tord would handle it since I know at the very least, he's not gonna change. Maybe avoid Tobi for a bit and lose it behind closed doors for however long he does but then go on as normal Im sorry for all this but uh Tobi hits a certain way

You guys always surprise me at how much you guys pay attention, and I'm glad I can write characters well enough for them to become people to those who read about them.

There's a reason Tobi never fell. Penny and A.k. were always there to catch him when he stumbled, he slipped alot, and sometimes he fell, but they always caught him. Ive said before that Penny doesn't fear Tord, she loves Tobi more than she could ever fear him. A.k. however has been under his command since he was a child, he can't break away as easily as she could. He's a soldier.

As you stated, soldiers are conditioned to follow orders, many have done worse things under Tord's command, even if they wanted to change things, they can't. Even Yuu can't break the mindset of a soldier, not at his age, despite loving Tobi so much. He's taken a beating for speaking up, but he didn't have the mental strength to push it far enough for a change to happen. A.k. has tried, he's tried so hard, and only wants to protect Tobi. A.k knew Anya, he knew how much she loved her baby, and has wanted to try and protect him for her, but he's stuck.

Penny on the other hand has no such conditioning. Soldiers are loyal to their commander, Penny is only loyal to Tobi. Everything she has done has been for Tobi. All her love is focused on Tobi. She became a monster, so Tobi wouldn't have to. You can call it an obsession, but she calls it love. Penny has had an outside perspective, she's seen Tobi at his worst, she's seen him get worn down and still stand up. She's not the type to try and fix things from the inside, that never works. She breaks rules, defies Tord, to make sure Tobi can vent, can make it through each week without crumbling, sometimes she fails, but she never stops trying.

Tord doesn't show enough love, pride, or kindness to Tobi, and without his mother, he's been alone ever since Tord started pulling away. He's felt lonely, but Penny made sure he was never alone.

Everyday, she shows him how much she loves him, tells him how proud she is of him, but she's no substitute for the mother he never got to know, or the father who keeps a 5 foot distance.

Penny loved him since the day she met him, even as a toddler, all she wanted was to keep Tobi safe and happy. She watched as things changes, recognized when Tobi stopped smiling like he use to, watched him slip time and time again, but never let him fall. She pulled him up again and again, because she decided that was her job.

If Tobi ever tried to stop the pain, the only reason it never worked would have been because he'd change his mind at the last minute. Maybe because he remembered his friends, because he thought nothing would change even if he did, or maybe because he didn't want it to end without getting everything off his chest.

In a situation where it happens and he makes it out alive, you better believe he wouldn't keep quiet. For once in his life, he'd scream at Tord, for once he wouldn't be worried about disappointing his father. He'd scream and shout, and demand answers. He'd cry until he was drowning in his own tears, screaming till his voice gave out, he'd make himself be seen. FOR. ONCE.

How would Tord react?

He'd be speechless.

He'd be reminded of the night Anya left, because it was the exact thing she did before leaving.

Would Tord change? Maybe. Maybe not as much as anyone would like. But there would be a shift at least. Tord is neglectful, and he's abusive, but deep down he does love his son.

Anya would be sad. Her baby being close to death would left her feel him, feel his pain, feel his pulse, feel his warmth, but couldn't find any joy being so close to her baby. Odd are she'd be the only reason someone would find Tobi before it was too late. She'd be angry at Tord. She'd make sure he couldn't numb this out. She'd make sure he stood still, and listened for once.

Their lives are messed up, and it would take a lot to fix, maybe a full lifetime. But they are fixable with a few pieces needing to be replaced.

[thestalkerbunny]

Well, this is it, I finally did it. Behold. My Tiefling Druid Marigold’s 8 OTHER BROTHERS. In game I think she has mentioned she has older brothers-but I don’t think she’s fully mentioned she has 8 brothers all together

Most of the brood is only a year or so apart with the exception of Cedar who isn’t 18 quite yet and Rowan who is still a little LAD. I’m not sure where Marigold lands in the order of the brothers yet.

The entire brood is known as ‘The Hateful 8′ locally as all of them strongly dislike the local Druids under their father’s strong influence (as well as usually if there’s a fight in town, one of the Blackcoat boys started it or they’re going to END it.) They all work for their Father’s Sawmill Business as Lumberjacks and take great pride in their work.

And if you think having a clan this large is impossible for just two people to do-as a person whose mother is actually from a family who had 9 brothers and sisters growing up-it is indeed VERY POSSIBLE. And it makes for very crowded family gatherings.

Read more below for a little bit about each brother

Hickory is the oldest; He and Elm look exactly like their father. He's not that outgoing,  mainly because as a child he was frequently bullied by other kids his age not just for being one of the only tiefling in town-but because he developed a skin condition called 'Sectorial Vitiligo' that made his skin two very constrasting colors and has expanded over the years. Although he doesn't get bullied about it much anymore-he does tend to try and cover it up as he puts it 'is not a Penny Circus to be gawked at.' Hickory basically does his dad proud by being the model woodsman just like his old man and sharing a strong distaste for Druids like him as well.  Hickory wood is used primarily as kindling in curing meats and making Bows.

Elm is Hickory's Twin, younger by a few minutes, although Elm is the one who was the more aggressive and was the one who for most of their childhood chasing away anyone who tried to harass Hickory. Elm doesn't say much of anything. Ever. And is regarded as one of the creepiest of the BlackCoat Brood-just as he is very vocally quiet, he is very good at sneaking up on people and scaring them. He rarely smiles and when he does it's unsettling. Ironically, out of the brood, Elm is the most popular with the local women in town and people unjokingly refer to him as a casanova. Elm Wood is primarily used in the making of Coffins.

Oakley is the Third sibling and rather pessimistic. He's the kind of the guy in the bar who frequently looks for someone to debate with and argue with-even if he doesn't even believe what he's arguing about. However when he's right-Oakley is RIGHT and he will make sure you know it and everyone in TOWN knows that he's right and YOU'RE WRONG. He makes model boats in bottles as a hobby and is well known for having a bit of a temper when his personal time is disrupted. Oak trees are primarily used in construction-mainly in the building of boats and furniture

Maple is the Fourth Sibling-and he is noted to look more like Mother Blackcoat. While Oakley always looks for a fight and is grumpy-Maple is friendly and a social butterfly. Most people find it hard to believe Maple is even related in anyway to the three siblings previously mentioned. He's much more popular with people and is basically the brother who has to go knock on the door when their baseball goes into a stranger's backyard because Maple just has the people skills and the CHARISMA. Maple trees are best known for producing the ever iconic Maple Syrup

Spruce is the most 'intellectual' of the brood and although he is content with the Lumberjack lifestyle, he has committed himself to at least being a very well read one and applying to mail in collages and schools to become a scholar. His tail often drags on the floor because as a child there was an accident where his tail was crushed by a fallen tree and the nerve damage was bad enough for the end of it to be sort of.....floppy. He often keeps it tucked in his belt loop or simply holds it close to himself so nobody steps on it. Spruce is the tree that is frequently used in Pulp to produce paper.

Dogwood-also known as Puppy-is the shivery timid brother, much like a chihuahua. With 4 out of 5 older brothers being rather other bearing and their idea of bonding is just impromptu fighting and wrestling, you can imagine why Puppy is skittish. Puppy is a bit paranoid about injuries and especially since the increase of lumber mill accidents occurring of late-which the paranoia does pay off and make being a medic a useful skill for him. Dogwood is traditionally used in medicine to ward off fevers, treat wounds and even soothe menstrual cramps and repair nerve damage-although there's no strong scientific proof behind it.

Cedar is the often disgruntled teen of the brood. On the cusp of adulthood but trapped in Teendom in a family with 6 older brothers to live up to; Cedar is voted most likely to buy tickets to an MCR concert and unironically like Hot Topic. He's at the unfortunate age where he feels like the whole world is against him and everyone is out to get him and nobody understands him. Cedar often felt like Marigold was the only one who really understood him and she ran away from home with no notice and Cedar feels rather betrayed and abandoned by that act.  Cedar is prominently used in making furniture and is noted for it's pleasant smell.

Rowan the youngest of the massive brood and the baby of the bunch-being the littlest means he often gets away with whatever he wants. But he fortunately doesn't really abuse this power. He does often try to tag along after his brothers in an attempt to be included only to be aggressively sent home as he's not old enough to come to work with them. Rowan was a very sickly baby and there was some concern when he was much smaller that he wouldn't live or be able to walk. He still exhausts rather quickly, but he's been trying to build up his endurance to keep up with the rest of the pack.  Rowan is used to carve walking sticks and tool handles.

[sometimesiwrite]

Sick of This

 A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss. 

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt. 

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other. 

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra. 

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?” 

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝” 

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?” 

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way. 

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.  

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that?  “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?” 

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking. 

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer. 

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals. 

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with. 

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round. 

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did. 

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers. 

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.” 

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.” 

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.” 

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over. 

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’ 

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.” 

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder. 

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap. 

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone. 

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could. 

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?” 

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward. 

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial. 

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.” 

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats 

@just-a-sad-donut 

@oxenfurt-archives 

@thirstyforred 

@titaniafire 

@belalugosisdead 

@lonelygayz 

@awkward-turtles-world 

@iloveyouyen 

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus 

[cleverwordsandotherstuffilike]

Britain's child slaves: They started at 4am, lived off acorns and had nails put through their ears for shoddy work. Yet, says a new book, their misery helped forge Britain.

The tunnel was narrow, and a mere 16in high in places. The workers could barely kneel in it, let alone stand. Thick, choking coal dust filled their lungs as they crawled through the darkness, their knees scraping on the rough surface and their muscles contracting with pain. A single 'hurrier' pulled the heavy cart of coal, weighing as much as 500lb, attached by a chain to a belt worn around the waist, while one or more 'thrusters' pushed from behind. Acrid water dripped from the tunnel ceiling, soaking their ragged clothes. Many would die from lung cancer and other diseases before they reached 25. For, shockingly, these human beasts of burden were children, some only five years old. Robert North, who worked in a coal mine in Yorkshire, told an inspector: 'I went into the pit at seven years of age. When I drew by the girdle and chain, my skin was broken and the blood ran down … If we said anything, they would beat us.' Another young hurrier, Patience Kershaw, had a bald patch on her head from years of pushing carts - often with her scalp pressed against them - for 11 miles a day underground. 'Sometimes they [the miners] beat me if I am not quick enough,' she said. The inspector described her as a 'filthy, ragged, and deplorable-looking object'. Others, like Sarah Gooder, aged eight, were used as 'trappers'. Crouching in the darkness of the tunnel wall, they waited to open trap doors which allowed the carts to travel through. 'I have to trap without a light and I'm scared,' she told the inspector. 'I go at four and sometimes half-past three in the morning, and come out at five-and-half-past … Sometimes I sing when I've light, but not in the dark. I don't like being in the pit.' His master threatened to 'knock out his brains' if he did not get up to work, and pushed him to the ground, breaking his thigh. Eventually, bent double and crippled, he returned to the workhouse, no longer any use to the brute. Most were exhausted by their working hours - they were often woken at 4am and carried, half-asleep, to the pits by their parents. Many young trappers were killed when they dozed off and fell into the path of the carts. Ten-year-old Joseph Arkley forgot to shut a trap door, allowing poisonous gas to seep into the tunnel. He died along with ten others in the resulting explosion. But coal mining was just one industry in which children worked during the 18th and 19th centuries. The Industrial Revolution brought immense prosperity to the British Empire. Not only did Britannia rule the waves, she ruled the global marketplace, too, dominating trade in cotton, wool and other commodities, while her inventors devised ingenious machinery to push productivity ever higher. But, as a new book by Jane Humphries, a professor of economic history, shows, a terrible price was paid for this success by the labourers who serviced the machines, pushed the coal carts and turned the wheels that drove the Industrial Revolution. Many of these labourers were children. With the mechanisation of Britain, traditional cottage industries, which had employed many poor families, went out of business. Consequently, more and more poverty-stricken workers were driven into the major cities and factories. The competition for jobs meant that wages were low, and the only way a poor family could fend off starvation was for the children to work as well. These were the real David Copperfields and Oliver Twists. Beaten, exploited and abused, they never knew what it was to have a full belly or a good night's sleep. Their childhood was over before it had begun. Using the heartbreaking first-person testimony of these child labourers, Humphries demonstrates that the brutality and deprivation depicted by authors such as Charles Dickens and Thomas Hardy was commonplace during the Industrial Revolution, and not just fictional exaggeration. She also reveals that more children were working

than previously thought - and at younger ages. As British productivity soared, more machines and factories were built, and so more children were recruited to work in them. During the 1830s, the average age of a child labourer officially was ten, but in reality some were as young as four. Many child scavengers lost limbs or hands, crushed in the machinery; some were even decapitated. Those who were maimed lost their jobs. In one mill near Cork there were six deaths and 60 mutilations in four years. While the upper classes professed horror at the iniquities of the slave trade, British children were regularly shackled and starved in their own country. The silks and cottons the upper classes wore, the glass jugs and steel knives on their tables, the coal in their fireplaces, the food on their plates - almost all of it was produced by children working in pitiful conditions on their doorsteps. But to many of the monied classes, the poor were invisible: an inhuman sub-species who did not have the same feelings as their own and whose sufferings were unimportant. If they spared a thought for them at all, it was nothing more than a shudder of revulsion at the filth and disease they carried. Living conditions were appalling. Families occupied rat and sewage-filled cellars, with 30 people crammed into a single room. Most children were malnourished and susceptible to disease, and life expectancy in such places fell to just 29 years in the 1830s. In these wretched circumstances, an extra few pennies brought home by a child would pay for a small loaf of bread or fuel for the fire: the difference between life and death. A third of poor households were without a male breadwinner, either as a result of death or desertion. In the broken Britain of the 19th century, children paid the price. One young boy, Thomas Sanderson, went out to work when his family was reduced to eating acorns they had foraged after his soldier father had been demobilised without a pension. Children were the ideal labourers: they were cheap (paid just 10-20 per cent of a man's wage) and could fit into small spaces such as under machinery and through narrow tunnels. But while parents sent their children to work with heavy hearts, the workhouses - where orphaned and abandoned children were deposited - had no such scruples. A child sent out to work was one mouth fewer to feed, so they were regularly sold to masters as 'pauper apprentices'. In exchange for board and lodging, they would work without wages until adulthood. If they ran away, they would be caught, whipped and returned to their master. Some were shackled to prevent them escaping, with 'irons riveted on their ankles, and reaching by long links and rings up to the hips, and in these they were compelled to walk to and fro from the mill to work and to sleep'. Orphaned Jonathan Saville was sold as a pauper apprentice to a master in a textile industry. His master threatened to 'knock out his brains' if he did not get up to work, and pushed him to the ground, breaking his thigh. Eventually, bent double and crippled, he was returned to the workhouse, no longer any use to the brute. Robert Blincoe - on whom Dickens' Oliver Twist is thought to be based - was sold, aged six, as a 'climbing boy' to a chimney sweep in London. Forced to scale the narrow chimneys, only 18in wide, he would scrape his elbows and knees on the brickwork and choke on coal dust. It was common for the master sweep to light a fire under them to make them climb faster. Many climbing boys and girls fell to their deaths. After several months, Blincoe was returned to the workhouse. Then, aged just seven, he was sent along with 80 other children to a cotton mill near Nottingham to work as a 'scavenger' - crawling under the machines to pick up bits of cotton, 14 hours a day, six days a week. In return, he was given porridge slops and black bread. Weak with hunger, at night he crept out to steal food from the mill owner's pigs. Many child scavengers lost limbs or hands, crushed in the machinery; some were even decapitated. Those who

were maimed lost their jobs. In one mill near Cork there were six deaths and 60 mutilations in four years. Blincoe was lucky: he only lost half a finger. A German visitor to Manchester in 1842 remarked that there were so many limbless people it was like 'living in the midst of an army just returned from campaign'. A doctor who observed mill workers noted that '… their complexion is sallow and pallid, with a peculiar flatness of feature, caused by the want of a proper quantity of adipose substance [fatty tissue], their stature low, a very general bowing of the legs … nearly all have flat feet'. The average height of the population fell in the 1830s as an overworked generation reached adulthood with knock-knees, humpbacks from carrying heavy loads and damaged pelvises from standing 14 hours a day. Girls who worked in match factories suffered from a particularly horrible disease known as phossy jaw. Children in glassworks were regularly burned and blinded by the intense heat, while the poisonous clay dust in potteries caused them to vomit and faint. Supervisors used terror and punishment to drive the children to greater productivity. A boy in a nail-making factory was punished for producing inferior nails by having his head down on an iron counter while someone 'hammered a nail through his ear, and the boy has made good nails ever since'. But despite the growth of cities, agriculture remained the biggest employer of children during the Industrial Revolution. While they might have escaped the deadly fumes and machinery of the factories, the life of a child farm labourer was every bit as brutal. Children as young as five worked in gangs, digging turnips from frozen soil or spreading manure. Many were so hungry that they resorted to eating rats. Children in glassworks were regularly burned and blinded by the intense heat, while the poisonous clay dust in potteries caused them to vomit and faint. The gangmaster walked behind them with a double rope bound with wax, and 'woe betide any boy who made what was called a "straight back" - in other words, standing up straight - before he reached the end of the field. The rope would descend sharply upon him'. Another favourite gangmaster's punishment was gibbeting: lifting a child off the ground by his neck, until his face turned black. And yet, many of these children showed extraordinary resilience and lack of resentment. Children who worked six days a week spent the seventh at Sunday school, determined to better themselves. But whenever anyone sought to improve children's working conditions, they encountered fierce opposition from the proprietors whose profits depended on exploiting them. They argued that any interference in the marketplace could cost Britain her manufacturing supremacy. Even when regulations were eventually passed to improve working conditions, with only four inspectors to police the thousands of factories across the country they were seldom enforced. In 1840 Lord Ashley, later Lord Shaftesbury, set up the Children's Employment Commission, interviewing hundreds of children in coalmines, works and factories. Its findings, reported in 1842, were deeply shocking. Many people had no idea that coal was excavated by young children. But it was the immorality rather than the cruelty of the mines that shocked them most. An inspector described how, 'The chain [used to pull the carts] passing high up between the legs of two girls, had worn large holes in their trousers. Any sight more disgustingly indecent or revolting can scarcely be imagined … No brothel can beat it.' An Act was passed, prohibiting women and children under ten from working underground. Two years later, another Act was passed prohibiting the textile industry from employing children younger than nine. But it was not until the mid-19th century that children were limited to a 12-hour day. In 1880, the Compulsory Education Act helped reduced the numbers of child labourers, and subsequent laws raised their age and made working conditions safer. But it had come too late for the little white slaves

on whose blood, sweat and toil our great railways, bridges and buildings of the Industrial Revolution were built. https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1312764/Britains-child-slaves-New-book-says-misery-helped-forge-Britain.html#ixzz2ZKkYXGMW

[benchgenderstudies]

An address of the similarities to Beauty Pageants and use of women as cultural capital.

Opening/

Introduction to Regulating of the Fashion (Model) and Casino/Luxury Industry

By Michael Bench, MEP WGSGC

Exercise Physiology Masters, Gender Anthropologist

Author of Native Supremacy.

In calling for the regulation of the fashion industry and fashion model sizes; there is a freakish pushback by the victims themselves:the models The models still believe they are indebt to a talent agency network. The talent agency has signed them on, sent them to events with a positive initial experience to remember.. and subsequently start charging them outrageous fees. Fees that ultimately keep a model quiet about the unhealthy conditions of the industry. She's mistaken that her earnings are somehow supposed to be diverted to the talent agency instead. The fashion industry borrows a common strategy used by Russian and illegal immigrant sexshops; confiscating their girls' passports and identity until they 'pay off' visa costs and other miscellaneous compounding expenses.

The talent agencies are further bold in their exploitation of the models that they would start sending her to unpaid events while holding substantial debt against her. They would send her to accused rapists and molesters in the photography/marketing industry for it is the photographer that holds the industry bottlenecked no matter what abuse he might choose to visit on his lesser known clients.

Very little research is conducted on measuring fashion model, porn actress, or pageant model intelligence. Definitions of intelligence are hotly debated to rid Science of once accepted credentials of the First World, the Third World and Civilization spheres as they were known to the Early British Empire. I will here address this debate in brevity: the pageant models and runway fashion models are a multiracial collective. Those who have previously experienced lives devoid of privilege tend to reward and guard their modeling experiences with higher levels of positivity than her Anglo coworkers. This does not mean (she) also regards modeling more positively than her coworkers. I propose across the board those with suspicious objective perspectives as underprivileged/oppressed races and ethnicities before new academic challenges will be much better educational prospects in quality learning environments.

In a Google Scholar search, no declared IQ research had been conducted on fashion models. I then searched for pageant model education levels with the same level of results. They appeal to girls working on a bachelors degree or younger. What material I could find revealed that one could not ask a fashion model or pageant model how smart she was. Her answer would reveal a skewed proposition that her model experience was a type of specialized skill This is first a paradox since females only enter pageants as temporary affirmations hoping to build from it. Some want to go to veterinary colleges, others still dont know. They just know they love the attention (Tonn) A Narcissist does love their attention. They make facts bend all around what they want to do.

The model and the abuser share this in common; In order to not sound foolish for justifying global attention at the expense of their health, safety and sans protection from financial crime and perverts.... she avoids admit the industry is a craven fraud scouting out young people to steal their commercial identity profits. Less so in the pageant environment where parents have a watchful eye on their children. In fashion modeling the parents try their hardest to avert their eyes from the quo sexualization of girls as young as ten. Thylane Blondeau's mother was already in modeling and celebrity culture. Its norms skewed her sense a photographer like Tom Ford could instruct her child to assume poses of actual adult erotica in posture and manner. The pictorial was displayed in Vogue.

The first pageants were meant to extend tourist season. Tourist season tends to revolve around hotels and casinos; the only venues large enough to have a pageant. Pageants like Most Beautiful Girl in Nigeria(MBGN) have a mission statement to be a competitive event on the global stage. Silverbird, the managing company of MBGN, admits it grooms female contestants in all aspects of the competition (Balogun). The grooming isnt only about the pageant competition but of contestants gender roles and sexual norms for conquest. “They are the virgins of newly found cultural capital”. Predators observe 'fresh (unrefined) meat” for their own; the casino's high rollers.

Mr. Oke, a staff member at Silverbird, commented, “I’m always scared of these girls. They are powerful. That’s why I’m always nice to them. They’re all going to dump their boyfriends after this is over. You’d be surprised, one of them might be the future wife to a minister [head of national ministries]; they might just be the one to make that phone call to make or destroy a deal.” Newly formed relationships with business leaders, celebrities, and politicians were touted as signs of emergence into new elite circles centered on transnational culture and capital to which most contestants would otherwise not have access. ( Balogun)

This quote simultaneously exposes the pageant staff starting the courting process of the upper class and defending the experience as an opportunity. The pageant presents celebrities as the appropriate bachelors to set them back in their traditional roles as housewives. Business executives, actors, and politicians are of the few occupations that can sustain a single earner household. If a pageant is the updraft for young females to bridge their social network with the social elite, then pageants are nothing more than a sterilized abonne meeting area along side the European ballet. Males of the aristocracy would solicit select ballerinas with sexual advances in return for funds to afford her ballet costumes, slippers , makeup ; her career. What makes anorexia such a common place norm in ballet is females of the aristocracy are not allowed in the backstage area of the ballet. Conclusively to shield ballerina mistresses from suspect infidelity with married men, her extreme thinness intends to stop her menstrual period and so too any chance of pregnancy. The waif is an invitation of sexual solicitation and harassment left over from European tradition.

Mr Oke is not the only pageant staff to approach contestants with sexual and relationship comments.Donald Trump is the target of many accusations. One, walking into his Miss America Pageant dressing rooms without concern to the contestants' privacy. Contestants were either naked or topless “ theres a man in here”. Again, intelligence lacks see the narcissistic pervert. Tasha Dixon reported that Trump's pageant staff were encouraging the girls to get Trumps attention.An all too common occurrence in fashion modeling photography sessions. Assistants normalize and enable the sexual/erotica/perversion repertoire of their boss while the models protest or question his professionalism. Male and female fashion models are expected to submit to photographers 'to get ahead in the industry”. This is covered in much better details with names named in the External Motivations of Anorexia Nervosa paper.

Dixon presumed Trump stayed in the pageant business because there was no one that could limit or prosecute his behaviours.(Revesz) On separate occasions Trump would approach 10-14year old girls telling them that he would one day be their boyfriend. (Zimmerman) He was so into himself that he wouldn't hesitate to tell the press he would be his then 16yo daughter's boyfriend too.(Winthall) Pageants/ couture designers feel they are the creator spectacle over models instead of aiding them. Mere contestants seem to require their favors and services to groom them and culture them. Toxic persons can't help temptations to elaborate the model's empty stock worth as a marionette puppets to their sexual lusts. What agencies are not coldly brothels exercise a minimizing collection of exercises.. including severe diets just to keep the models loyal and working for pennies. Alexia Palmer, a model from Jamaica sued Donald Trump's model agency for not finding her enough work and being underpaid. She “felt like a slave”. (Mosk et al) Allegedly dignified contests such as those run by Cory Quorino in the Philippines choose a role as what could be described surrogate philanthropy.”Beauty in Giving” The Models advertise charities and get credit for the sums of money they raise.(Alzaga) this is a clear difference between the two realms. Pageants value women as spokespeople while luxury fashion dismisses its models only by its choice not to advance the gender role of the model to be a brand spokesperson. This is partially out of a selfish spotlight hoarding by the head designer taking a lot too much credit in fear of sewing around curves of whatever plus size statures he feels are label relevant. Haute Couture is selfish of its credit toward the feminine by restricting it from the female.

Haute couture designers of the fashion industry don't register that their homosexual male preferences and recontexting 'phemininity' is not healthy for young women to sustain for themselves. Male and female couture models are said to equally oblige an androgynous look. The female is still required to be smaller than the male in order to be a suitable to simulate heterosexual relations in ads. In a true androgynous circumstance the females would be larger and butcher than the males. If Androgyny was truly nonbinary the females would be fortunately advantaged in muscling her earnings from the corrupt agency system overseen by the Council of Fashion Designers of America (Tom Ford ,president) and the New York Department of Labor. An agency system that wont protect the female employee force from norms of the waif and “Parisian Androgyny” is an agency that injures female consumers. Shaping the young female into a mold of frail vulnerability is the industry's asset of exploitation. Their return to tradition and nod to sexual coercion. A girl cant stand up for herself if her unfit legs snap in ankle breaker heels.

And lets not ignore even if Dolce & Gibbon’ah or Chanel could argue elite athletes are just as small as the runway waifs; same body mass index; their perspective is infantile at best. The elite athlete requires an offseason to recover. Athletics is not a form of health even if it provides some measure of ideal vanity. If a female distance runner chooses not to have an offseason, she does so at the expense of her bone density and emotional health. Both influence race day competition. If a ballet dancer chooses to maintain the same size from age 15 to age 27 , she is malnourished. Sport does not recontext the abuses to the body as 'fair'. Elite ballet is not a functional skillset for the real world. Flexibility can have a posterchild like yoga that doesnt require eating disorders for its practice.

Second, the paper mathematical Body Mass Index (BMI) chart comparing only height to weight is not a clinically relevant definition of body mass index or body composition; AT ALL. It should not be used by general physicians to deduce patient health statements. At the very minimum skin fold measurements and hydrostatic weighing are two representative standards of truly investigating what a persons real lean body mass is. New clinical means of deciding body composition also recruit specialized radiology. The only group that can be easily spotted are the underweight. A female underweight for her size has not adequately resistance trained her body for strength. Without strength her bones become weak without enough tension on the tendon insertions. Without enough muscle built (hypertrophy) her metabolism and immune system are damaged. The normalcy of the waif to females (models) is an abuse of their body whether they sign on for it or not. Ergo they are damaging the public to allow diet and sport supplements to broadly advertise the thin look as an all encompassing good thing. Its not. Disinformation hurts a nation. Eventually it leads to unnecessary antidepressant use; a spectacular racket also assaulting the female American public.

The homosexual male designer relies on his photographers to emphasize his clothes. His imprint on the Waif. .. the cult of personality around Dior and Balenciaga is body modifications (ie piercing,tattoos).. not merely shape. Christian Dior started his fashion fame trying to bring back the waspwaist. Body Modification , not merely body sculpting. Body abuse, not merely the pyramid of haves and havenots. Would an industry profiting on the most rare of female body types of its stars be so cruel numerous times to sexually abuse, verbally abuse, minimize, and ignore her safety? They dont care about the models image for she is a product of misery. Very young models of 14-17 are sent over oceans without any chaperones only knowing if they dont oblige the event or photo session they'll have to buy their own ticket home. They'll be stranded. Embassies should know of every contest involving Americans and make themselves available to the industry workers so they know all their rights.)(The contracts are not legit) .

Surprise limo rentals and clerical/courier fees are sprung on her. Services anyone would presume are complementary are actually extra charges and not optional. That alone is grounds to call on state and federal government to investigate the industry. Agency services operate as such: You order a single gift basket from Harry & David . Harry and David take your credit info and data mine your Facebook account and charge you for and send gift baskets to your whole friend list. This is not a Harry and David practice. All I'm saying is Harry and David's product push is unnecessary while ordering. Unlike the seasonal gift firm the fashion agency health negligence against its staff and its financial dealings are criminal and embezzling.

If the model is raped behind the scenes or dies from dieting the public asks the family and industry, why didnt you say anything? If a model is having all her earnings withheld by her agency the public asks “ Why didnt you report it to IRS or US LABOR?” The very short answer is... the fashion and pageant industry attract unsuitable examples of females who choose fame before substance. The temporary state of that transaction seems as cheap and unbecoming as the credit she must lack to stand against them. The short answer is, the pageant and fashion models are not intelligent, know very little about the business or her rights before she arrives to the business and see the pageant or modeling only as a temporary stepping stone. She should always have a lawyer and first read the contract for conflicts with state and federal law. If pageant contestants find themselves in as ruthless a pit as fashion.. they protect the pageant for short term humiliation for long term benefits of advancement. This also means models enable zero-integrity pageants, designers, and agents to prey on new entrants financially and sexually in their silence. But are they smart? Considering the sizable preparation and expense for a pageant contestant to be touring or out of school, the trueyoung  intelligencia would be at home studying knowing she was preparing for an academic future rather than get-rich/famous-quick scams that only selectively privilege the obedient marionettes of a pageants/genre's grooming.

I should not be misunderstood that any contestant in a beauty pageant represents the lowest of intelligence in the community. They are not all one demographic. Pageants tend to feature the middle class specimens of a society on the presumption they have some cultural capital appreciation and enough education to be spokespeople of the campaign. The middle class are prone to believe they can become the wealthy class in good circumstances. Being middle class is one most important stigmas the pageant models want to overcome.

What would separate this new model from her old middle-class origin?

Feeling they are respected/ envied.

Are a contribution of upward movement for her family(Alzaga)

“The wife should be both parent and supporter”(Wu)

“Goal Oriented, Independent , Committed to Individualism, Assertive (Larsen)

“(According to Williams) In this way women's bodies stand in for and manage difference in a nonthreatening way”(Crawford)

'(About Texas pageants) Big Hair, flashy jewelry, wry wit, shoulder pads, artificial fingernails, confidence, (Mosel-Talavera)

What I found tying most contestants together is the belief public speaking with poise and confidence (as the pageant trained her) is the equivalent of having intelligence. Its not all bad a belief. People are not good at public speaking. Most could tolerate the tasks of directing their child's birthday party, telling a story at a campfire or summarize a prewritten essay. Public speaking before a live TV audience or academics asking to be impressed by 20-40 minutes of supported keynote address is very difficult. It's objectifying but it's objectifying uniformly. The audience hears the word choices, speaking tone, the speakers body undulations, quirks , the moles his neck or chest hair peaking out of his polo shirt. Do his clothes fit well? does his scalp have a full fill of hair? Did he shave? Did he use teeth whiteners? Are his shoes cool? Do he have bow legs? Is his ass firm while he turns around explains the powerpoint graphic? The objectification of the male body is as unspoken of as the females is abundantly. My explanation for objectification and especially censorship of the breasts sits with the immaturity of male based community standards to still sexualize his relationships through his relationship with his mother. Freud didn’t get it. The Male regards the breasts as a service instrument the same way traditional females are called Betty Homemakers. He hasnt grown up even if there’s too damn many missing dish towels balled up in the house corners .. surprisingly holding their pleats and reeking of salt deposits.

Opponents of pageants believe that females are being sexually objectified by the swimsuit contest or the ball gown event or softball questions like “ Are cats soft? Support your answer with three points. ” I feel objectification happens to everyone especially in cases of academic keynote speaking. Simultaneously, there is nothing perverse about sexual evaluation. All good things face defilement and misuse by bad people. The confidence that pageant contestants correctly identify is that they are not victimized by the circumstances and spheres of objectification because they chose the event. They endured the experience because they were prepared to see and evaluate their attention instead of being blindsided. As for the Miss New York pageant contestant exclamation “ Its all so fulfilling. For the first time people were asking me for my ideas. I liked the attention.” Indeed. The attention included in the pageant entry fee,huh? Perhaps pageant contestants don't connect being in front of crowds as a test and more of a 'gathering for their attention. “Its so Pageanty” N.A.R.C.I.S.S.I.S.T.

Observers of pageants rely on the pageants mission statement to validate a so-called finest mix of brains and beauty. The observers and TV audience are the precultured hinterlands pageants hope to save their contestants from. When very young girls are imprinted with pageant themes, they mistake their own dreams of being a beauty queen as a long term event. Pageants and modeling are not a lifelong career. Strike Two: The intelligencia would be working toward a career directly and not be misdirected by shallow endeavors; especially ones with negative reviews, accusations of sexual harassment, and limitations on her speech.

In my Equal Employment Opportunity correspondence to the US Department of Justice during the Obama administration I addressed the problem in the Fashion industry. No real female could be hired because all woman exercising responsibility for their wellbeing would not diet herself to a size she was last at age 14. What females are hired are vulnerable to victimization because they already cast their lots for fame at any cost. The thinness standards in the fashion industry for international models are not a legitimate middle ground for anyone. Androgyny is not a middle ground between male and female when male can parade it as a fetish while females must oblige an abusive tactic to become perpetually young. Perpetually young is what couture is selling retail patrons. Buy our clothes and you will be young too.. Buy our face cream and you too will be ready for our dress. The face cream doesnt stop the aging nor does models diet to flat concave chests for the 'predeveloped' look suppressing the aging process. She's actually aiding deterioration. Is the fashion model smart? No. She's constructively ignorant to become famous.

My EEOE correspondence also relates to the clamp pageants have on women's behaviors and promotion of their personal beliefs. A Miss Michigan candidate was stripped of her title for defending then Vice President Mike Pence on Twitter. A tweet consisting of “ STOP KILLING BLACK PEOPLE!!!” directed at the Vice President caused Kathy Zhu to respond in kind “Did you know the majority of black deaths are caused by other blacks? Fix problems within your own community first before blaming others”.(McClaughlin) If this is a cause to dethrone a current pageant winner then the Miss Michigan pageant should probably spend more time in the interview section vetting the political biases and outburst potential of their contestants. Even if Zhu had promoted disinformation, it would be her lack of composure/delivery that made the tweets sub-beautyqueen-standard. “Dear Sir.Madam, The seriousness and sorrow for Black people's losses also must face their own in-race exploitations among many types of daily criminal victimization. I'd like to talk with you more about it. Sincerely Kathy Zhu. ,Miss Michigan. Tra la la deedah.” There's a difference in delivery here.

Zhu is not the first pageant winner to be stripped of her title and probably not the last. Vanessa Williams was crowned Miss America in 1994. Her title was removed when it was found the African American singer had nude unauthorized photos of her sent to and purchased by Penthouse magazine. The title was given to Miss New Jersey. A scandal like this in the pageant business is unsurprising. Allegations of sexually exploitive photography surround Terry Richardson. The fashion industry claimed Richardson was just being a scapegoat. If he is, that means of rigging pageants are as simple as which photographer the pageant staff send each contestant. The also-rans get sent to the molester so he can create a pool of unfit evidence for the smut mags or tabloids.

Compensatory beliefs motivate some contestants to enter pageants. One respondent said her interest in pageants is she was mocked by her family. She was treated as though not beautiful enough and instead nurtured to be a geek. She was sent to quiz bees instead of pageants(Alzaga) For youth attention has a quicker reward than good grades or college acceptance by her 4th-9th grade peers. Out of frustration she sought out pageants because their marketing supported her affirmations she was as beautiful as she was smart.

A detriMENTAL circumstance when the overly smart become attracted to pageants is they can be excessively competitive to destructive ends. Said destructive ends come of any competition being about narcissism which is not always 'nerds' strong suit in displaying, controlling or suppressing. This could well explain archetypes like the “librarian nymphomaniac.”

“Miss American represents the highest ideals. She is a real combination of beauty, grace, and intelligence, artistic, and refined. She is a type which the American Girl might well emulate”. (Larsen)

In the fashion world, the overly competitive female will choose to race to be the thinnest girl available for ad shoots. “Even if it kills her'. It will. So far its the model forced to take blame for her voluntary choice to be thin. But is it actually voluntary? No. The fashion industry welcomes the girl in the door, starves her down to size to get working (she is the industry while conforming to the industry) and then she is stolen from while in a dizzy state of malnourishment and physical fatigue. Fatigue: 16-20 hour work days without food/breaks so the photographers can snort oodles of cocaine, have a scone and yell at them “ You're not giving me enough!!”. In a month or so , the model is working on 15% of her real earnings holed up in a crusty apartment with either 10 more models or the agent himself as his live-in burlesque show; at best. At worst she might die of starvation a day before or after Elite Models Gerard Marie rapes a live in model next to his own sleeping daughter. And she might not even have the strength to report it let alone fight it off.

Is the pageant model smart? There's no sure answer but she is an opportunist. She an opportunist invited to a cultural framework where she is near or distant to the pageant industry's Caucasian tradition and norms. “I think this is a problem within European society because to make themselves fit, thin, and lean they take lots of medicine and so on which really does no good to the body. “ Said a Nepali resident of Kathmandu. (Crawford) . So without being Secretary of Health and Human Services Azar or US Labor secretary, or a George Washington University Professor in Public Health like David Michaels or a New York State Commissioner of Labor.. a Nepali adult living in a part of the world regarded “backward” finding transparent clothing hard to digest for ad consumption still identified drug related crash dieting and Western themes of thinness unhealthy.

Former US LABOR OIG legal counsel Howard Shapiro could not. He would not adopt the Body Mass Index as a health standard from the CDC/HHS because the 1970s document founding OSHA and NIOSH made no mention of regulation of industry by Body Mass Index. In fact the goal of OSHA is to accept and enforce all and any health standards arising from NIOSH and HHS so that the industry is made safe for all Americans of any status of employment. In the market today Americans are concealed from safety behind walls of contracts (or as nonemployee contractors) instead of employees. Employees privatized and subjected to informal harassment, threat, assault, exploitation and intimidation. This situation is illegal. Americans in any form of employment must be protected from illegal and unhealthy work environments. Former OSHA director Edwin Foulk Jr believed I should be calling the Council of Fashion Designers of America... as if I hadn't considered their lack of regulation wasn't a fit enough reason to ask them to start now. I called the government and the US government protected the ongoing abuse of women under George W Bush.

Another respondent from Nepal is quoted “ To get a good figure [some teenagers] go for starvation, thats anorexia as far as I know. I dont think it should be really promoted actually, yeah. Um if they want a good figure, they should really work hard, they could exercise instead of starving themselves. (Crawford) This Nepali has noticed that the sense of beauty is absent in the results of starvation and when people exercise and develop muscle tone with a healthy relationship with food; they look better. Amazing. So far Nepali peasants have more credible public health policy than the past three US Presidential Administrations, including Obama.

Locals observed the effects of the Kathmandu beauty pageant event in girls from 10-12. Suddenly they were very obsessed with their appearance. In other research about Pageants events in Chinatown, San Francisco and among Latin Americans came to identify some polarizing differences. Larsen raised an observation in the first thirty-five years of Miss America pageants nonwhites were banned from participating. “Latina characters in television and movies are lusty and hot-tempered objects of desire.” In this frame the pageant wants to downplay sexuality as a component of beauty.

“dressmakers modified the design of the Cheong-sam to emphasize the cleavage area, creating the “poured-in look” so high desired. Furthermore, the slit up the side of the dress was increased “to endow the basically simple Cheong-sam with a touch of intrigue..., a tantalizing suggestion about the beauty of its wearer. (Wu) The Chinese American researcher felt that beauty and sexuality are entwined correctly in race -tradition contexts. It seems objectified as the west's definition of beauty invaded the Chinese culture's traditional dress. In my valuation the Latina represents the intimidating female forceful of her will. She's obedience to misogyny. The Chinese female is profiled in western terms no greater than Vietnamese village teens/ preteens some of the US military took indulgence in raping between 1955 and 1975.

Cynthia Gouw investigated the pageant field with the intent to deconstruct and criticize it from a Leftist Feminist Viewpoint. ( Wu) Having entered the pageant as a contestant she remarked “I didnt feel exploited at all. I want to show people I can be very articulate and assertive as opposed to a stereotypical beauty pageant winner.. What I want to represent to the Asian population is that I am very concerned about the community. “One benefit pageant contestants have in events distant from western norms is they are protected by their community's unique priorities and cultural norms. Pageants in Nigeria had abusive staff that heavily enforced classism. If a contestant wasn't walking with the elegance per his commands they would accuse contestants of being mere “market women”. The Queen Nigeria pageant didn’t want their female contestants at all comparable to market women, a slur for rural laborers having stereotypes as 'rough and brash”. (Balogun)

I took a moment to type in “brash” to the Google search engine to see what definition it would offer.

Brash

self-assertive in a rude, noisy, or overbearing way.

“he could be brash, cocky and arrogant”,

Strange, the pageant believes it is helping young Nigerian girls to be empowered but suppressing and denouncing parts of the Nigerian culture that are already assertive. In the west we tend to understand this brash concept as 'a ratchet bitch” of low class. In the pageant's sense of empowerment , the female is empowered to simply be a better mate but kept from being so confident and wordsmithed that she could tell off a guy in terms on an even turf of vulgarity, insult, belittling, aggression and verbal abuse.

Chaperones affiliated to the Queen Nigeria pageant remarked of contestants”Each year she comes back cleaner and cleaner”. The comment was investigated for its inner meaning. “ Each time (contestant) returns to audition her skin looks fairer” and was to mean a physical change in the condition of the contestants skin from makeup treatments. (Balogun) Balogun found other research suggesting that this skin change was also a lightening to improve chances of upward mobility. I reference this quote especially because it is an absolute parallel to the arrogance haute couture designers and runway specialized model agencies have in objectifying their models as a property of creation rather than the individual within of blood, bone, estrogen and diet coke. Maybe the fashion model has never been an individual and why all the reason more she chases having a meaningful identity. She takes the pageants brand, is milked for her camera appeal, moos a few times for the question/answer bit and heads off to slaughter as an aged and spent heifer short of the aristocrats desires. The fashion industry has value because it attracted contestants in magazines and television to make it a goal in their lives; A superfluous goal too often.

The female icons in magazines like Vogue must then be empowering too. Said of a magazine with Emma Watson on the cover:”Like in Neon you have some inspiring series . But when I look through women's magazines I dont have a role model for my life (Informant A). (Put) Ellen Put's research on womens magazines revealed some other criticisms about the periodicals. Informants regarded them “flat and uninspiring”, “it was bullshit”, “it was boring when they say this is all about makeup and what to buy..”, “sometimes I read it just for fun just wondering what they are saying”, “Men are always dark, taller, though” . Ellen Put's article revealing these views was titled “ They Think We're Stupid”. We can dovetail the pageant social effects on Nepali teens, the magazine reactions, the whitening and sterilizing of the ethnicity from Ethnic specific beauty pageants and reveal a tame appealing factory of creating the ideal woman out of real women's dreams and then normalizing the ideal woman as a public health nightmare. By creating an international norm among pageants and modeling, the luxury market announces it is deaf to the anthropological heritage, biome, diet and geography that appreciates and carved out natural beauty of each continent's peoples and subgroups. There is no similar basis of lifestyle to normalize a common shape. Ever. The commonality is as the pageants product of “Female in a Can” nested on shelf among all other pageant's new talent.

What can be shown here is if the ideal female of poise and elegant, confident public address can also be trained to be shallow then she will be an ideal elite mate to be whisked away by a dominating male , possibly of a dark complexion. What could a dark complexion signal if the ideals of beauty are Caucasian-Western centric? Perhaps the fashion media have found a new way to wear Black face. I'd say they signal to ladies their obligation to the marketed Caucasian gender role rewards them with an ideal males lust and African Americans large..Luh-arge penis stereotypes. A proper pageant contestant, such as those in Nigeria, and frequenters of upperclass cultural norms are required to retire secondhand and counterfeit clothing/accessories that flood the market. Only authentic (Nigerian) couture is allowed while they are representing the pageant as winner or groomed contestant. (Balogun)

Winners of the Nepal Pageant were not allowed to marry for one year , the year representing the pageant in Miss World and at events ( Alzaga). For a pageant that allegedly“empowers women”, taking away her right to relationship seems a premium failure in respect of their freedom. (Crawford) A premium failure by contestants to oblige as well. Standards in Texas pageants also had stipulations against marriages, against having children, tolerance for annulments and further expectation that the contestants would be in high school.(Mosel-Talavera) Not all requirements related to the same pageant.

One author was also a Texas ex pageant model. She recounted her experience,.

“I am standing on stage in my highschool auditorium wearing the most expensive dress I have ever bought from Foleys, waiting for the announcer to call my name. Everyone told me I was a shoo-in to win the title. I was not even nervous as she called out the runners-up, still thinking my name would be next. “ And the winner is … What? Not Me?” Texas is also known for its biased education dept materials, being an origin of many christianity inspired sex cults and race supremacist camps. For a female to believe her high school preparation is the best source for speaking in any form to the intelligence of all women, especially here, is bald faced mockery.

A highschooler of a single mother saw pageants as a means to get money for college. Through her experience contacting attorneys and other professionals for sponsorships, building a website, and being visible to the public she was contacted by teachers to speak to their classes about her experience. “Emma” as the article infers her name.. said

“ Now I work for two different attorneys. I didn’t expect that you know. All kinds of things people messaged me about my platform and how they feel about my on-stage question, my website got a lot of people to notice it. So, I had teachers that went and saw my website and messaged me about coming and speaking to their classes and like I wish I knew all this stuff going into it. It was like I really set a foundation for myself for next year I think. It’s pretty cool. And I know that sounds cheesy or cliché but

it is honestly the truth and basically pushing myself because once I found

myself around other females who were just as ambitious as I was or as I am.” (Bowers)

The concept these females are experiencing is known as habitus. By meeting other contestants who have found meaning in pageants they too have a common vocabulary and ladder of goals neatly set before them. For women who feel baffled and smothered under the weight and anxiety of being objectified, pageants do have experiential benefits along with the potential among bad actors to be experientially sexually assaulted. That a female knows and can identify a ladder of goals may be a model of education that can be implemented elsewhere and more productively. If pageants have a credible impact on a females life, that impact is offset so severely with removing ethnic markings and norms. The pageants really just brand their contestants for events further up the hierarchy like Miss World, Miss Universe, Miss Infinity and beyond.

What I've concluded from these readings is that pageants reward the Grant Cardone proverb “ Best Known Beats Best”. A former pageant contestant working for an attorney makes the legal field seem beautiful. Wealth and fame is not just wealth , its vanity. If the lifestyles of the wealthy were papered over with ugly people, nobody would want it. Why is a good speaking 'broad' an appealing take for the Hollywood and Vegas bruno's? They need a good girl who'll manage a maid to clean the house good, sound intelligent in public, have some loyalty to criminal organizations, and announce her husbands name for all sorts of functions, awards and novelties her pride can glow alongside. Meanwhile the crowd can either respect her poise or be among the low classes remaining low class regarding the guest of honor's subtle associate. ' yeah , I'm banging her”. Perhaps its more the audience needing poise. Donald Trumps association with First Lady Melania spoke clearly of his personal codependence on her first as a White House nude centerfold. How pageants are accepted in a community is an age, state , local and national chaos of sexual maturity imbalances and education gaps.

On another angle I have captured the subtext of the pageants brand. Pageants are a measure of the females acquisition of themes from the community that are specifically dedicated to making her a good mother. “Critics from the political right, on the other hand, tend to focus on what they view as a loss of women’s purity, submissiveness, and modesty, virtues identified with nationalistic representations of ‘traditional’ cultures”(Crawford) The conservatives have made a complaint about their own side far behind the lines of rhetoric. The female is still submissive with shallow appreciations of her luxury stake. She is surely kept modest with abusive manners training and remaining under the thumb of pageant officials or talent agents for the remainder of her career. The rhetoric doesn't match the reality. Conservatives conceal that norms of oppression are not absent from the gender roles of rich couples either For each class a different type of submissive female for tradition.

Pageant and fashion event locations are hand in hand with the promotion of luxury and recreational items like sports cars, wine, cigars, yachts, boxing/mma fights, These items are considered to have high cultural capital relative to the western world. Wealth is often presumed to have high cultural capital.. Wealth is also presumed to have privileges.. like raping a girl and then threatening to humiliate her with a tabloid smear and a legal battle she couldn’t afford. Ask NFL lawyers what services their players require when police reports surface. Wealth has such cultural capital that the justice system allows criminals out of lockup based on their word to return to trial. The pageant is an advertisement of women inviting them to feel impressed by their changes when the most extensive modifications are still very above her awareness.

The only advantage a female has from the pageant developed microphone skill is to be free to say whatever wise viewpoint elevates her credibility and by whatever lengths she finds necessary to bring down anyone else.. Her voice of empowerment must be on her own terms and not under anyone elses by contract, marriage prenup or otherwise. Well, as long as she's making good decisions and prioritizing the public health ahead of her own vanity and fame. If she chooses to trade even the smallest of her rights of federally guaranteed self protection and safety then she has traded the entirety of her dignity and her own respect of being a female.

Citations

Alzaga R J B (2015. June) The Lucky One: A Constructivist Study on Pageant Women's Conceptualization of Empowerment. University of Philippines Manila.

Balogun O M Gender & SOCIETY, Vol. 26 No. 3, June 2012 357-381

Bowers E(2016) Social Stereotyping and Self-Esteem of Miss America Pageant Contestants. Walden University. Thesis

Crawford M, Khati D, Regmi A (2008.Feb)Globalizing Beauty:Attitudes Toward Beauty Pageants Among Nepali Women. Feminism & Psychology.xx

Fredrickson, B.L., Roberts, T. (1997). Objectification Theory. Psychology of Women Quarterly.,

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Larsen D (2011-2012.Winter Spring) Miss America Beauty Pageant. pg31-33

Concientización: A Journal of Chicano & Latino Experience and Thought Vol 7 (1 & 2)

Matthews, Brook. (2003). Miss America Contestants and the Self: Evidence for Empowerment. Ronai,

C.R., Zsembik, B., Feagin, J. (1997) Everyday Sexism in the Third Millenium.

Routledge, U.S.A

McLaughlin EC (2019.Jul 22) Ex-Miss Michigan says pageant dethroned her for conservative views.CNN

Mosel-Talavera KM(2006)Growing Up Female In Texas:The Importance of Beauty Pageants In Texas Communities.A Woman's Touch Folklore Kenneth L Untiedt. University of North Texas Press

Mosk M, Ross B, Kreider R(2016.Mar 10)Trump Model: Felt Like 'Slave' Working for Donald's Agency.

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https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/trump-model-felt-slave-working-donalds-agency/story?id=37313993

Put E(2017)”They Think We're Stupid”. Jonkoping University.Thesis

Revesz R(2016.Oct12)Donald Trump boasted about meeting semi-naked teenagers in beauty pageants.IndependentUK,https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/donald-trump-former-miss-arizona-tasha-dixon-naked-undressed-backstage-howard-stern-a7357866.html

Tonn M B(2003)Miss America Contesters and Contestants: Discourse About Social “Also-Rans”Rhetoric & Public Affairs6, no. 1 (2003): 150-60. doi:10.1353/rap.2003.0037.

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https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/us-politics/donald-trump-ivanka-trump-creepiest-most-unsettling-comments-roundup-a7353876.html

Wu J T-C (1997.Autumn) "Loveliest Daughter of Our Ancient Cathay!": Representations of Ethnic and Gender Identity in the Miss Chinatown U.S.A. Beauty Pageant. Journal of Social History, Vol. 31, No. 1, , pp. 5-31

Zimmerman N (2016.Oct 13) Trump told 14-year-old girl he'd be dating her soon. The Hill. https://thehill.com/blogs/blog-briefing-room/news/300928-trump-told-14-year-old-girl-hell-be-dating-her-soon

[sadclownkingg]

A Scene-by-Scene Joker (2019) Analysis: Part 1/?

The first part of what I wrote in my Cursed Notebook™ instead of sleeping/doing my schoolwork a month ago. Basically what I did is I watched the movie one time through, then started it over from the beginning and stopped after every scene to recap and infer what Arthur’s inner thoughts/motivations are. I went through an entire pen writing all this down and I was also very sleep-deprived so prepare yourselves. (I’ve also seen this movie 12 times now so I’d like to think I know what I’m talking about, but if you have any concerns, just message me!)

Before the Movie (+ Diagnosis):

Arthur Fleck is completely alone in this world, with no one to lean on except for his mother. And he is forced to take care of her due to her old age and fragility, all the while facing near-total isolation and societal backlash for just trying to do his job or his neurological condition/mental illness.

Given the abuse he faced as a child, at the hands of his mother's boyfriend, and the head trauma explicitly mentioned later in the film, that could be the origin of his Pseudobulbar affect (pathological laughter). Pseudobulbar affect (PBA) "is a condition that's characterized by episodes of sudden uncontrollable and inappropriate laughing or crying. Pseudobulbar affect typically occurs in people with certain neurological conditions or injuries, which might affect the way the brain controls emotion," and has "traumatic brain injury" as a common cause. The way I see it, the "severe trauma to his head" he experienced as a kid is the direct cause of his pathological laughter, meaning that he has spent the vast majority of his life dealing with this condition and it is mainly his own mother's fault. This makes the fact that his "mother" is the only person he has left even more frustrating and tragic. Pseudobulbar Affect is also known to cause/amplify anxiety, depression, and social isolation, meaning his obvious depressive symptoms may stem from the rejection he feels due to his laughing condition.

Also, although I know that even the writers behind the film say that diagnosing Arthur is pretty much useless, I still feel it is important to mention some possible diagnoses. Due to his severe depression throughout the majority of the movie, one could assume he simply has Clinical Depression. However, when paired with his transformation into the Joker at the end of the film and his obviously manic state, this leads one to believe that Bipolar Disorder could be the culprit. But then there is also his hallucinations and delusions, which suggests the presence of some type of schizophrenia. Psychosis, or loss of touch with reality (exhibited by the aforementioned hallucinations and delusions), is a symptom commonly linked with schizophrenia and similar disorders, and is typically caused by trauma and extreme stress. The psychotic episodes we see in the film, from his relationship with Sophie to the audience reactions we hear when he's practicing for the Murray Franklin Show, all center around either erotomanic delusions or grandiose delusions. Erotomanic delusions are when the disordered person believes someone is in love with them with no real evidence (Sophie), and grandiose delusions are when the person believes that they have much greater worth and power than they do, and that they may be famous with a bunch of adoring fans (the Joker persona).

With the presence of psychotic episodes, this narrows the amount of possible diagnoses. It is unlikely that Psychotic Disorder or Paranoid/Hebephrenic Schizophrenia are responsible due to their explicit tendency to completely disrupt the sufferer's life and negatively affect communication/speech patterns (which isn't noticeable in Arthur's case). Delusional Disorder seems likely, but he meets too many of the criteria of another disorder for it to be his sole diagnosis. This disorder is Schizoaffective Disorder, and is "a chronic mental health condition that involves symptoms of both schizophrenia and a mood disorder like major depressive disorder or bipolar disorder.” This diagnosis seems much more apt for Arthur, due to the heavy emphasis on his depressive and manic states and the delusional/hallucinatory symptoms. Schizoaffective Disorder is also likely caused by extreme stress (which Arthur faces a lot of) or structural brain issues (head trauma can cause structures in the brain to be damaged).

Sorry for the long tangent, but I felt it was necessary to set the scene for how Arthur processes the events that happen to him throughout the film.

His mental illness and condition make his life incredibly difficult and emotionally draining. Even his job, which is something he seems to really enjoy, only causes more problems for him, and pushes more people away. And even though he loves his job, he dreams of being comedian rather than just a party clown, probably hoping for more respect while still doing the thing he loves: making people laugh. His sense of humor is rather off-beat, focusing on self-deprecation, dry humor, and sometimes revolving around morbid subject matter, so he instead changes it to better fit what style of humor is generally accepted by those around him. He really tries to do what he wants to do in life, but everyone around him seems to just want him to sit and stay quiet. No matter what he does the people around him are never satisfied. He's doing too much and too little at the same time. He's trying to gain recognition, and people stop that from happening, then he just tries to lay low and let life happen and people look on him with disdain, as he's just another poor person who "isn't trying hard enough" to escape his current life of near-poverty. His job pays the bills, and is the sole source of income as Penny is obviously to ill to work.

No one wants to stop and give him a chance. He feels as though the world is getting more and more incompatible with every aspect of who he is. The city he's lived in his whole life is getting buried in trash from the garbage strike. His mother is getting sicker. The therapy he’s getting is sub-par and the social programs he relies on are gradually being defunded, another way people are shoving him aside. His dreams are as far away as they've ever been, or maybe even further away, and it feels like he is going nowhere but down. He's grown disillusioned with the idea of socializing in order to solely get to know someone because no one ever does the same for him. People ignore his existence, and his mother, the only person he has, is only there because she's too old and sick to have a choice. He's trying so desperately to be happy but it's painful. 

(Next Scene: Opening)

[fugandhi]

Joker’s Odyssey

“Joker’s Odyssey” (A Film Review) by Adam Wękarski

“Joker” is one of the most psychologically complex & artistically provocative films ever made. Todd Phillips directs his best film to date (commonly known for his work in directing comedies) in a staggering contrast to his typical work. This film is undoubtedly Phillips’ masterpiece. This film takes a gigantic leap forward in the direction that Christopher Nolan & Heath Ledger’s Joker had initiated 11 years ago in “The Dark Knight.” This movie is an enigmatic tragicomedy that pulls no punches.

Joaquin Phoenix deserves an oscar for his performance as the lead character. Count on Joaquin-frikkin’-Phoenix to be the only other actor who could not only meet Heath Ledger’s ground-breaking performance, but challenge it with a bold & fearless flair. This is the best picture of the year and absolutely deserves an oscar for directing, writing & cinematography.

Phoenix plays Joker a.k.a “Arthur Fleck”, a struggling Street-Performer/Comedian/your all-around Party-Clown who lives in a bleak and morally-crumbling fictional Gotham City, USA (set in 1981). Highly reminiscent of New York City in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s (apparently where the director Todd Phillips grew up), there is an overwhelmingly oppressive structural presence of the city throughout the entire film (with some of the most breath-taking wide shots) - which has the ability to create a legitimate sense of isolation (and claustrophobia).

Immediately into the story, we know that Fleck clearly has some form of severe emotional instability (while struggling in a post-vaudevillian world which is a creaky ol’ memory fading of a bygone era of performers & entertainers). Despite the overwhelming struggle that is Arthur’s existence - Arthur trudges on, beaten down, and continues dancing his dance and putting on a show for everyone & no one. The only times that Arthur Fleck appears to have any form of happiness is when he is performing & dancing as “Carnival” The Clown working for an entertainment agency known as “Ha Ha’s”, and when he is at home spending time with his mother. Arthur Fleck’s journey throughout the story is not only about his life’s struggle, but his eventual demise and fall from grace.

While Arthur climbs the seemingly infinite stairway each day in his life, the weight of his problems become clearly visible on his shoulders - as he resembles the factory workers in Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis” striving upwards with futility. Fleck has literally been taking a beating in his life, and he does eventually transform (due to a tremendously slow-burning tension that carries throughout the entirety of the film) into the larger-than-life villain at the end of the story (which is the crucial moment Joker truly becomes a symbolic figure of anarchy).

Technically-speaking - this film is shot perfectly (with a heavy tone reminiscent of a graphic novel). From larger-than-life exterior wide shots that truly showcase just how small Fleck is in the grand scheme of the city to extremely tight interior shots that allow access to intimate moments with one of the most twisted & insane characters of all time (perfectly portrayed by Joaquin Phoenix). The story, an original, was written by Todd Phillips & Scott Silver who had made the conscious effort to bring an entirely fresh take on one of the most celebrated (and revered) characters of the comic book world (and now film world) to the big screen. In terms of the story - it is the best origin story of the Joker by far, successfully achieving a level of sophisticated storytelling to the point that it actually transcends the genre and becomes a truly remarkable artistic effort of genius that has cinematic elements similar to the likes of Kubrick, Scorsese & Malick (particularly in terms of artistic bravado).

Speaking of Scorsese, “Joker” has the uncanny ability of concealing it’s influences while simultaneously paying homage and informal tribute (I suppose more of an artistic ‘tip of the hat’ to a plethora of cinematic influences). There are plenty of hints & clues for any familiar film-lover (especially a few obvious nods to Heath Ledger’s Joker, although more of a precursor of where that Joker could have possibly originated). For instance, anyone who has seen “Taxi Driver” will automatically draw parallels between the slow, yet inevitable, unwinding & downward spiral of the protagonist (of whom lives in a city that is slowly unraveling at the sociological seams, so-to-speak - which, in turn, is a reflection of the mental stability of the main character as he continues his journey) - Especially when Zazie Beetz’s “Sophie Dumond” encounters Fleck in an elevator and points her fingers towards the side of her head, which Fleck later does to himself (an obvious nod to De Niro’s character “Travis Bickle” in “Taxi Driver”).

Robert De Niro (one of the finest actors of all time) even appears in the film as a very important character by the name of “Murray Franklin” of whom has his own live late-night television talk show. Arthur Fleck is a huge fan of the Murray Franklin show and even fantasizes about being on the show and interacting with Murray Franklin on live television for the whole world to see. Arthur Fleck is obviously obsessed with the notion of becoming famous and celebrated and adored - something he certainly is not in his real everyday life. De Niro’s performance of Murray Franklin is an ironic nod (and inversion) of his performance as “Rupert Pupkin” from Scorsese’s “The King of Comedy” in which De Niro had played the overtly-unrealistic stalker of a late-night TV personality (played by Jerry Lewis) - which is, of course, a brilliant full circle moment for De Niro now playing the big shot entertainer.

Arthur Fleck’s obsession with Murray Franklin is one of many story arcs within the psychologically-labyrinthian tale of how the Joker was born. While portraying Fleck, Joaquin Phoenix has a look reminiscent of the killer “Scorpio” in “Dirty Harry” (played frighteningly by one Andrew Robinson) with the 1970s-friendly shaggy-locks and brown slacks and large-collared attire. This entire film is a herculean psychological character study on Joker and it’s without saying that this is in no way a family-friendly version of the character. The Joker kills three men on a subway in self-defense (after the three Wallstreet men harass a woman and then physically attack Joker). This film lives and breathes in the proverbial gray area of right & wrong and good & bad (which is a part of it’s terrifying genius).

The film’s music also appears as it’s own character (in a way) throughout the film  - acting as a spiritual extension of Joker’s mental & emotional state (as Joker appears to have music consistently flowing from within and exuding outwards with each crucial moment that happens in the story). After Fleck’s first murder in the subway, he runs and hides in a public restroom and begins to dance to his own symphony of psychosis as he stares into his reflection (as Joker; his split personality; his other half, alter ego, etc.). The musical score is just as unsettling & schizophrenic as the Joker, and the film perfectly embodies all of the most defining attributes of what makes Joker so very fascinating (and frightening).

Joaquin Phoenix’s powerhouse performance stands alone, mighty on it’s own two feet, while Todd Phillip’s care for the character and his dedication to present the character as a real human being is unmatched in it’s sophistication & artistic bravery (with exception of perhaps the Nolan trilogy - God, if only this version of Joker was in the third installment for The Dark Knight trilogy - could you imagine Joaquin Phoenix opposite Christian Bale? - OH My - or perhaps even see where this Joker storyline would dare venture if given the opportunity for more exploration). Joaquin Phoenix had allegedly stated that in researching psychological disorders and real-life behaviors that people actually have - he did not want anyone who is educated in the field of study to be able to pin-point Joker’s psychological “condition” or “symptoms.” Phoenix successfully accomplishes such a feat as Fleck/Joker due to the character’s ever-changing (and constantly-developing) madness amidst his life in this origin story.

This film is a very, very intense tragedy whose psychological depth goes well beyond the screen.

Arthur Fleck/Joker is a care-taker of his own mother, Penny Fleck (played very well by Frances Conroy). Penny begins the story as a seemingly sweet-hearted mother who is ill and in need of some form of help or assistance - of which Arthur does his best in providing (as her only family). As the film progresses, we find that Penny had been a former employee working on the estate of one Thomas Wayne (played very well by Brett Cullen) and she expresses her assurance to Arthur that Mr. Wayne wouldn’t allow them to live in their current conditions had he been aware of their struggle.

Arthur loves his mother very dearly (in a Norman Bates ”Psycho” kinda way), and despite his efforts to nurse her - her condition gets worse, and then the story truly takes a dramatic left turn into an unsettling reveal of the hidden, murky depths of not only the Joker’s life, but his overall psyche. Specifically, when Arthur discovers the truth about his life and the harsh trauma he had experienced as an adopted child with a psychotic mother, who carelessly stood by while Arthur was severely abused (while also discovering he had been an abandoned orphan before Penny adopted him) and would apathetically allow the abuse to thrive.

Arthur Fleck’s psychological abyss is interwoven within Arkham State Hospital (a mental institution primarily focused on abnormal psychology and psychiatric rehabilitation). The emotional and mental state of Arthur is at the forefront of the film, as Arthur frequently discusses his mental & emotional well-being with a social worker (played very well by Sharon Washington), who eventually loses her job as well as her department due to government cutbacks and lack of funding. The loss of all of his medication gives Arthur’s unusual condition(s) of uncontrollable laughter at any given time (which comes handy with a card to address anyone of said condition) a significantly more off-putting presence. This is especially true due to the reality that his unique condition merely scratches the surface of what is looming underneath (which appears to be an eclectic & deadly combination of a potential variety of psychological disorders including: post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, paranoia, delusional disorder, manic depression, schizophrenia, in addition to possibly having some other forms of personality disorders and/or possibly even a form of undiagnosed autism).

In one of the most iconic moments in cinema, the Joker dances down that same infinite stairway as before (with a Ray-Bolger-like air of arrogance), now in full Joker fashion, experiencing a complete liberation of the weight he once carried on his shoulders as Arthur Fleck. This is a moment that not only represents Joker’s infinite dance of madness, but also symbolizes Arthur Fleck’s tragic descent into hell.

This film is more disturbing than it is violent. What’s so disturbing is that this is the most realistic depiction of the Joker and how a human being could become a product of one’s environment (in the worst way). I think this film has successfully struck a chord with contemporary society (worldwide), despite the film being a complete fictional story based off of a comic book character, set in another time - there is a significantly realistic undercurrent of honesty shouting loudly in the film in a tone very similar to Howard Beale’s epiphany in Sidney Lumet’s astounding masterpiece “Network”(1976); albeit a bit more deranged (especially once Joker actually goes on live television and scolds Murray Franklin regarding his continual debasement of Arthur Fleck for the sake of entertainment). Joker speaks openly on live television about how he had been the one who murdered the three Wallstreet men in the subway. It is at this point in the journey that Joker is viciously taunting not only the host Murray, but also expressing the cold & harsh reality of the overall system being an institutionalized failure. The Joker has no political agendas, nor financial, or even ambitions within show business anymore after the onslaught of life experiences that have transformed him and tragically removed his innocence.

Joker was once a man who genuinely wanted to bring joy & laughter to the world and perhaps if someone was there to hand him a book or a guitar instead of a gun in those crucial “in-between” moments in life, or if he had someone in his life who actually loved & cared for him and would be there for him - maybe it could have all been prevented. If Arthur Fleck had positive reinforcement in his life, and perhaps Faith, maybe he would have turned his frustration into inspiration rather than a maniacal form of self-destruction. The same could be said about any one individual in our very own reality (especially considering the highly unusual rate of violent, self-destructive behavior in America as we know it).

It is after the Murray Franklin Massacre that the Joker is truly “reborn” as he has officially become an abstract figurehead for the downtrodden of society. The same part of society which has had enough of the ugly side of the system and the overall tragedy of humanity’s indifference & ignorance towards the ones who struggle with the weight of the system on their shoulders (while looking up at the ones who have been riding upon humanity’s shoulders for far too long). Joker’s “birth” comes from a symbolic “death” so-to-say of Arthur Fleck as he’s in a severe car accident and carried out by his followers and attains a distinct level of martyrdom. Joker’s tragic destiny is to reign in hell rather than serve in heaven (which is the symbolic dilemma of humanity; hence the inception of Batman in the film, as a young Bruce Wayne’s parents are murdered due to the chaos Joker has sparked - a moment that successfully calls back to Tim Burton’s “Batman” flashback with the movie theater & flying pearl necklace and all).

“Joker” is a highly visceral artistic statement that has a brutally honest hidden social message: society must not fail the very humanity that fulfills it. The madness of one can spark the madness of many - and in any case - we may need to create a better way to heal our sick & our poor, and we should consider better methods to mend the broken (in mind, body, and spirit) rather than feed into chaos and self-undoing (as individuals and as a whole). If we are capable to view such a mirrored fantasy which has created such a social controversy due to it’s violently philosophical conclusion - are we also capable of improving ourselves, as a society, for the betterment of our very own collective reality?

I give “Joker” a Perfect 10 out of 10. 

Joaquin Phoenix gives an awe-inspiring performance as the most celebrated comic book villain of all time. Todd Phillips has successfully captured lightning in a bottle with “Joker” - A fascinating, brilliant, and highly disturbing character study that places a focus not only on the madness of one individual, but the inherent madness & trivialization of western civilization in modern times.

[nbapprentice]

[this is a compilation of information on the artist Saffron, previously known as Asif. Due to the size of the document we can’t easily change name and pronouns through the file and images.]

Asif is not the kind of person he has been leading everyone to believe.

this post has honestly been a long time coming, and we have been sitting on it for quite some time while collecting sources, and trying to figure out how best to approach it. while we did that, more and more information about the kind of person asif is has been brought to us. and there’s a lot. what started as an initial worry about asif’s hypocrisy, guilt tripping, and general blasé attitude towards being okay with pedophilia and incest apologists, among other things, led us to learn more and more as time went on.

we started this post before Asif admitted that he is fully and completely endorsing The Arcana and making fanart of it, pretending that this isn’t basically free advertising and support of it, and consuming fetishistic and racist content by playing it. this is also not shocking to learn, as he has already openly apologised to dana rune and implied that incest fetishism is ‘an opinion’.

we do not take any joy in what we have learned. it has been disappointing and outright horrifying to learn that someone we trusted and supported, and whose game we played, enjoyed, and defended, turned out to be like this. we are also not the only people aware of what he has been doing, but we are the only ones Asif has not managed to intimidate into silence. if we had not, none of the people mentioned in this post would have been able to say anything, and many others who we have spoken to and shared information about asif would have also been kept quiet.

asif’s main claims are:

only white people are against him, particularly because he is muslim

he’s never exploited anyone

blair is the one who wrote all the racist lore in Gehennam

there’s an age power dynamic at play in criticism about him

he has never exposed minors to nsfw

we have proof of all these being lies and manipulations, starting with the fact that multiple poc (including those who are muslim) have been involved in the creation of this post, of which include:

Mod N/Neo (mixed romani)

Rosie/thornyflesh @ tumblr (mixed race puerto rican)

Jewel/beserkerjewel/spellboundotome @ tumblr (black, muslim)

Akira/mexicanarthur @ tumblr (black, mexican, asian)

Maria/nataliesewell @ tumblr (pakistani canadian, muslim)

preface: any names shown, and any posts shown, are used with permission. names that are blurred out are this way on request, for the person’s safety. while the bulk of the writing of this has been done by mod n and mod nba, it has been contributed to by multiple others, as shown above.

asif @souratgar has exploited people and not paid for around $1k worth of work, one of whom was 17 at the time (while he himself was 20 years old). This is money they could’ve used for rent or other necessities, such as treatment for Blair’s depression.

this post will also touch upon his mistreatment of his friends during the making of Gehennam and another briefly planned visual novel, and his current lying and extremely flippant attitude regarding NSFW in his game’s blog when he knows he has minors following him, as well as apparent ableism, fat phobia, racism and xenophobia.

because of how screenshots would stretch the post, we have compiled all receipts and transcripts in ❗THIS DOCUMENT ❗. We strongly recommend going through its entirety, but for clarity’s sake we have also included summaries of the main points in this post. in order to more easily navigate the doc, there are some searchable tag terms related to the main points made in this initial post. please use the search function (ctrl+f) to search for the appropriate tag you wish to find.

on his refusal to pay a minor for their work, and his foul treatment of them

search tag: (#.n.a) Asif invited Noah, 17 years old at the time, to participate on a previous project of his, another VN. Noah accepted on the condition that he be paid back once the game was out in full and being sold. Noah then produced about $500 worth of art before Asif disbanded without paying him a penny, and has calculated that by the end of the project the worth of what he could’ve produced would’ve been around the $2k mark.

Through this process, Asif was extremely picky, demanding Noah re-draw and re-paint sprites several times.

search tag: (#.n.b) Asif belittled Noah because of his age, claimed Noah’s art made him “feel bad” about his own, and acted like Noah weighing in on a group effort was unreasonable.

Asif also claimed he “didn’t consider himself a boss” despite the fact that he was the creative head of the project, and was the one who kicked Noah out and dissolved the group on a whim.

on his taking $1000 dollars from Blair and mistreating them during the making of Gehennam

search tag: (#.b.a) For the making of Gehennam, Blair gave Asif $1000 dollars. Asif gave no details as to how this money was spent, nor did he ever give any of it back.

Blair never felt comfortable in the group, fearing that speaking out would get him shut down or even kicked out of the project.

search tag: (#.b.b) Asif would routinely humiliate Blair in the public chat over minuscule mistakes, or things that wouldn’t even qualify as such (such as Blair telling a friend, in private, the project might be picking up a new writer).

Asif would express jealousy over Blair receiving any praise for his work on Gehennam, including praise from his own boyfriend.

search tag: (#.b.c) Asif’s abuse hurt Blair’s mental health so badly it pushed him back to drug use, and to a dangerously suicidal state of mind.

search tag: (#.l.a) Once Gehennam disbanded, Asif lied and claimed he was still friends with all except one person from the Gehennam group.

search tag: (#.l.b) Later on, Asif claimed Blair was the one responsible for all the racist lore (while claiming the rest of the lore was all his doing). More on that below.

From Blair: Image link; google doc transcript

on naz, who participated on gehennam, and francey, who participated in both Gehennam and the unnamed project Noah worked on

search tag: (#.f.n) two people who worked on gehennam, and one of whom later worked the other vn, naz and francey respectively, can also be considered at the very least complicit in asif's behavior.

naz was present during the development of gehennam and witness to how asif treated blair

francey was a part of the team later on, and he was present for the second vn and saw how asif treated noah, a minor.

neither of them have called out asif for any of this (as far as we are aware), and had not attempted to put a stop to it. francey is also shown a few times in this post, and is one of asif's more staunch supporters/defenders.

we have not been contacted by or been able to contact any others involved in either vn, although from what we can gather, only francey and naz are (openly) associating with and supporting asif still. whether or not others involved were also complicit, or perhaps victims, is unknown.

on asif’s xenophobia and anti-black racism

search tag: (#.r.a) Blair reports Asif would routinely use xenophobic slurs in the main chat and in his (now deleted) Ifritah roleplay blog

He would speak derisively of Arabic people, and has used the k slur for Jewish people.

search tag: (#.r.b) This is also reflected in his lore of the lotogh, who are based on Arab and Romani people. The original lore includes speaking of lotogh as if they were animals (only some would “show signs of intelligence”), who would resort to survival cannibalism to the point of eating their own children, and who would have an “alpha” according to the myths of how wolf packs work. Lotogh are also said to become slavers, with an emphasis on selling slaves into sex work.

search tag: (#.l.b) Asif claims this racist lore was written by Blair, but in the google docs where they were both working, Asif wrote the lotogh lore at the same time as Blair was typing lore for Vali.

search tags: (#.a.b) (#.a.c)He repeatedly has implied or said that mod n is white, and creates the impression that the only people against him are white

search tag: (#.r.c) He jokes about being black and having “a black card” because he has a black friend who humours this. Along this line, he makes jokes about “black on black crime.”

He has repeatedly reblogged posts with the n word in them.

He misuses AAVE.

on asif’s fatphobia

search tag: (#.v)  Asif boasted Gehennam as inclusive and containing many body types, but he was remarkably incapable of drawing Vali, Blair’s character, to his actual size, to the point that Noah was not even aware the character was fat when making fanart.

Every character of Asif’s is skinny. Vali, Blair’s character, is the only character in Gehennam who was not stick-thin.

on asif’s disregard of the boundaries and safety of his minor followers

search tag: (#.a.a) Asif has repeatedly posted, and is still posting, sexual content on his main and the official 1001 Days blogs. He often does not tag these posts, but even if they were tagged it is already wrong to put this content where minors can get to it.

He often jokes about Sinbad in sexual ways, including talking about nipple and genital piercings he may have, or how he personally wants to get “spitroasted” by Sinbad and Alibaba.

He has also said he would consider putting 18+ optional content in the game, as if it being optional would keep it away from minors.

When questioned about this he straight up claimed it was untrue and laughed it off, and says his blogs and game are minor-friendly.

He posts NSFW drawings without tagging them.

(#end) some final words

we're doing all of this not to tear down someone who's producing diverse content, but because we believe that content creators in our community need to be held to the same standards as anyone else, and their fans deserve accountability and to be made aware of the actions of the person/people they are supporting.

we would also like to emphasise that all of us supported gehennam at the beginning (we all met in a Gehennam fan discord server, in fact), nor is asif the first content creator that we have called out (The Arcana game and WTNC teams among others).

post the exposure of the arcana game devs, we have tried to make people aware of problems with VN devs before they get too attached to the VN and the creators, or at least inform them after the fact, and encourage them away from it. we do this as it's too easy to form parasocial relationships with a 1k+ follower blog and believe that 100% of what they do is beyond reproach, because we are all so desperate for content that represents us, and that it feels good to be acknowledged and treated with familiarity by our favourite content creators.

the reason for this entire post being put together is to give those hurt by asif at the very least, some closure, and to expose his behavior and lies, so that those who are unaware and supporting him can learn the truth. it has been made with the hope that he will not be able to hurt others in this way, and that those reading it will also now be able to see the signs of a boss who is manipulative and exploitative, and also the signs of a person who utilises their fame and online persona to create a false narrative about themself, and uses it to avoid accountability.

[prorevenge]

The neighborhood remembers. The neighborhood punishes.

This is a story I've been sitting on for a few years now, and having discovered r/prorevenge a couple months ago, I decided it's finally time to let the world know what happened to a sociopath who dared to cross The Neighborhood.

To set the stage, I used to live in a big but not huge city, lets call it palmville. I lived near the corner of a dense suburb nestled between overstuffed apartment buildings, a river that smelled like diesel when at low tide, and two busy highways. I was a minority in this neighborhood and I caught a lot of heat for it, people didn't really like white people there, but enough of our neighbors were accepting of us that aside from a few disagreements between families and the beatings that came with them I didn't feel like I was in danger when leaving my home. It was a rough neighborhood, but it was my home, and it protected its own.

The Community Center was like a temple, and...lets call her A.M. was the priestess. In our neighborhood she was respected like a living deity, and her calm and understanding reflected her status. I never once saw her behave without a strong moral code.

And the final piece to set this stage, our former landlord. Short asian lady in all the stereotypical ways, kind and sweet. Our house was above my parent's pay grade and she knew it. She went out of her way to find house repair and maintenance jobs for tenants that were having money problems. She'd pay them by taking chunks out of their rent, often times a bit larger than how much the work they did was worth. Looking back, that was probably illegal, but that's irrelevant because she died. The circumstances surrounding her death were suspect, but none of the suspects play a part in this story so there's no need to go into detail on it.

Her sons, who wanted nothing to do with real-estate, took over the business. They couldn't make heads or tails of how she managed to float books with so much red in them and began dumping properties, ours was on that list. I harbor no ill-will towards them, and still wish them the best, but the guy who bought the house...enter the sociopath and today's victim.

This guy wasted no time in making our lives hell. His first action was to raise the rent. Apparently when the account changed hands, he was allowed to update the rent to modern pricing. We'd been there for several years and were paying below market even from the onset, so this was a huge blow by itself. The second blow came when he said that the rent had to be ready, in full, on the first of every month, no partial payments, no work to reduce it, no extensions. Full rent on the first of the month or an eviction notice on the second. This was hemorrhaging our savings, but we were surviving for the moment.

Meanwhile, A.M. had lobbied hard for the city to co-fund a revival project to renovate the entire aging suburb and she succeeded. One street at a time had conga lines of work trucks almost every day and people were getting old leaky pipes replaced, sinkholes in yards patched, fences repaired, paint renewed, it was an amazing thing, and an enticing thing for The Sociopath.

Being at the corner of the neighborhood, our house was on the last street on the list, and Sociopath wanted us out so he could relist the house after renovation. He never said this directly, but multiple conversations made his intent clear even for 10 year old me.

Random inspections, overhyping of minor problems with the house, even so far as trying to bring us up on completely false animal abuse charges because our cat was attacked by what we believe was a raccoon and he tried to claim we did it, yeah, because a vet can't figure out the difference between knife wounds and a mauling.

We read the writing on the wall and began preparations to move. We decided to move in with my oldest brother in a place I'll call banjoland. Most of us had moved except my other brother, who stayed behind because he still had a lot of social ties in Palmville and his new job meant if he cut corners, he could keep paying sociopath's inflated bills.

Well, despite his best efforts, he came up $20 short one month and sociopath jumped on it. he had 30 days. We made the 400 mile trip from Banjoland to Palmville to get the rest of our stuff and I can't say as I approved of my brother's living conditions, but I guess that's beside the point. The month passed rather uneventfully, I guess Sociopath figured he'd won so there was no need to burn the gas to drive out and gloat.

The neighborhood had learned what was going on and that was the first time I'd ever been back in that neighborhood where I didn't get a single callout, a single glare, a single racist remark. Everybody behaved reverently, it was kind of disturbing in all honesty, I guess people in lower incomes all know what eviction means and felt like I was having a bad enough time already.

Well, 20 days later he says it's time to leave. We still had a week left, but it didn't matter, we didn't have the money to try fighting it with a lawyer. A.M. descended from the heavens and bought us a couple extra days, but it was evident he really really wanted us out, possibly because the work trucks were now one street away.

The last time I ever saw the house I grew up in, workmen were throwing my childhood possessions into a large bin when we supposedly still had three days left to leave. Everything that follows is a collection of information I got through the grapevine and phone calls with people present at the events.

Immediately, Sociopath moved into the house himself. Why you may ask? People who owned the homes they were living in were getting the full cost of renovations comped by the city. He figured that by moving in himself, he'd be able to get this house he bought at liquidation price renovated for free and flip it.

A.M. was having none of it.

She explained to him that at the time the revival project was approved, that house was a rental lot, and they can't change the budget now. She then explained to him that the partial cost coverage that had been approved for the lot was in our name, not his, and he wasn't eligible for partial cost comping either.

He'd have to pay every penny himself, and since the entire neighborhood was getting a facelift, he was required to at least renovate the exterior, otherwise she'd see the house condemned as an eyesore or dilapidated or whatever the legal term is. He went really cheap on the renovations, basically put in new carpets and a coat of paint, this would later come to bite him in the ass.

He then began trying to sell the house in earnest. The neighborhood remembered what he'd done. There were vandalisms when nobody was there, and loud noises from the neighbors when people were there to look the house over, and anytime a prospective buyer asked around, they got the full stinkeye from anybody they talked to. They made sure he simply couldn't get that house sold at market value.

After three months of this, he lowered the listing price. Then a month later he lowered it again and finally got a bite. A.M. personally made sure he had to file every. single. piece. of paperwork before it changed hands. Every single part of the house had to be inspected thoroughly.

And that's when Karma herself caught up with him. In his hasty and cheap renovations, he'd somehow damaged the pipes.

Black. Mold.

A.M. remembered how he'd treated us and she decided to pay him back in kind. I never heard how exactly she pulled it off, but she managed to delay him getting the news about the black mold being discovered for several days, long enough that by time he did get the news he didn't have enough time left to try getting it cleaned or make a last ditch effort to save the house.

The house was condemned days later.

In their final act, A.M. and members of the neighborhood filed every single complaint and injunction they could and arranged for him to be compelled by the city to demolish the house immediately. A cost he had to pay out of his own pocket.

He tried to destroy a family and broke laws just to make some quick cash, and instead was left fighting a year long legal battle and ended up losing thousands.

The neighborhood remembers. The neighborhood punishes.

(source) story by (/u/TanyaSapien)

[prevaricatcr]

‹ TARON EGERTON, HE/HIM, CISMALE, BISEXUAL.  ›  ELLIOT GALLAGHER is the TWENTY SIX year old from SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said,  ❝ MIGHT AS FUCKIN’ WELL, RIGHT? GONNA HATE MY LIFE EITHER WAY, MIGHT AS WELL DO IT WITH SOME SCENERY. ❞ they claim FUNNY GAMES is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would TAUNT THE KILLER AND GET WHACKED FOR IT. their fears include DRIVING A CAR, WRITHING SNAKES and PUPPETS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE’S PAID OFF MULTIPLE WOMEN WHO HAVE HAD HIS CHILDREN. hope they enjoy their stay.  ‹  MUSE A from HOLLYWOOD’S BLEEDING penned by, Z, 25+, CST.  ›

- - - - - - - BASICS.

Name: Elliot Rian Gallagher. Pronouns: He, him. Nicknames: n/a Age: Twenty-six. Birthdate: April 18th. Zodiac: Aries sun, taurus moon, gemini rising. Ethnicity: white, his father's grandparents were second generation irish and his mother always stated that her parents came from Sandusky, and didn't know more than that. Nationality: American. Birthplace: Santa Monica, CA Gender: Cis Male. Sexual Orientation: Bisexual.

- - - - - - - BACKGROUND.

Parents: Craig Robert Gallagher; 58 years old, alive. Teresa Dawn Shwitzer-Gallagher ; 52 years old, alive Siblings: 2 older siblings, a boy and a girl, and two younger sisters. Spouse: n/a. Children: 3 by different mothers, whom he sends monthly allowances to. He makes it his business not to know any more. Current Job: out of work musician. Dream Career: to be back on top of his game, winning grammies like he used to. Schooling: Attended Crossroads in Santa Monica on and off, eventually graduated with lots of monetary assistance. Income: Receives pay from royalties from the band he was in as a teenager that kicked him out.

- - - - - - - PHYSICAL.

Height: 5'8". Weight: 160 lb. Eye Color: Blue. Hair Color: Dark brown. Hair Length: Fairly short. Hair Type: On the thinner side, with some wave. Body Type: Fairly skinny, with small hips and waist. A little thicker around the midsection with his short stint of sobriety. Clothing Size: Medium to large. Shoe Size: Size 11 Complexion: Very pale, freckles fairly easy, burns very easy. Scars: scars and calluses on his hands, a puckered scar on his temple half hidden by his hair, and a scar on his right hip from a bad car accident, his knees are assessed as much older than himself because of how poorly he treats them combined with genetics, and a long scar on the left side of his back.

- - - - - - - PERSONALITY.

Positive Traits: adventurous, charming, direct, passionate, sociable, competitive, creative, lively, versatile. Negative Traits: volatile, extravagant, defensive, envious, juvenile, wasteful, unreliable, vulgar, pessimistic. Mental Condition: Currently drinking again and using cocaine along with a few prescription pills after attempting out-patient rehab and tapering down his drinking, which he's been addicted to since age fourteen. No officially assessed disorders or conditions besides his alcoholism. Struggles with intimacy while sober. Emotional Condition: Fragile, filled with guilt and self loathing after relapse. Sees trust as more important than love and is very guarded with what he considers his innermost self. Likes: All black outfits, sunglasses, a tall glass of boulevard when he's drinking to taste it, people that make him laugh out loud, old school SNL, the fine tuning of behind the camera work, treating the people he cares about to nice things, arguing about oscars prospects for any given film, penny slot machines, jokes that make people groan loudly. Dislikes: lazy jokes about addiction, late night talk shows, people who look at him and see his misdeeds and not who he is as a person, "lizard people" conspiracy theories, elevator music, plastic covers on mattresses, the concept of an all seeing, all knowing god, TMZ, the smell of industrial cleaner. Strengths: intelligent, ambitious, sincere, passionate, generous, philosophical. Weaknesses: reckless, impatient, cowardly, detached, foolhardy, irresponsible. Fears/phobias: sobriety, letting someone see every single part of him, allowing himself to be vulnerable when sober, having hallucinations, driving a car. Hobbies: little to none as his primary hobby has always been drinking, mostly reading and watching movies. Quirks: fiddling with his glasses, biting the inside of his cheek, humming any song that comes through his mind out loud when he's distracted or concentrating hard on something.

- - - - - - - HISTORY.

!!! possible triggers in the following biography: drug use, alcohol abuse and alcoholism, driving while intoxicated, car accidents, parental neglect of children !!! You are two and a half when you land your first commercial. Your younger sisters managed their first roles before you, but it was a little easier for them as they were infant twins; far more in demand than just a tiny toddler boy. This is how your family eats and keeps themselves in an apartment in Santa Monica that's meant to house three when your family eventually grows to hold seven in total. A lot of mouths to feed. Thankfully you don't remember a lot of this, as the small time work you and your siblings do is enough to keep your family afloat. You make your way into middle school; pissed and stand offish and looking like a cherub; which insures that no one takes you seriously. The friends you make, you hold tightly to, and you kick around in your best friend Boston’s basement, just fooling around on his parents drum kit, their guitars that aren’t actually supposed to be touched. It’s all just for fun, the band and the EP you slap together; just trying to impress each other, until one of Bos’ parents finds someone who wants to sign the band. Everyone tells you over and over again, that this is the deal of a life time. That this will make sure you work in Hollywood for the rest of your life. This is both true, and untrue. The EP is an unmitigated success, and every review has something to say about you, the kid on bass with backup vocals who’s face looks barely legal but plays like he’s planning a murder. Almost everyone remarks on how much older than your few years you seem. Which at first makes you feel special, important. Makes you seek out big words to use when you're sitting on the couch as a guest. The audience really loves that. Of course, this also spawns those times when you end up at wrap parties and after parties, your mother schmoozing whatever producers and execs she can find, your father nowhere to be found, and a sea of adults getting high and wasted around you. None of the vices of Hollywood have ever been all that strange to you, though. Your parents have always had a very blase approach to the innocence of childhood, and didn't much care to shield you from anything. It’s still all fun and games, really. The five of you have too much fun, and everyone wants to treat you to everything, so. Somehow the option you end up choosing most often is the bottle in your hand. The bottles that are so readily available, everywhere, that get pressed into your hands and put into the end of the night goodie bags your mother always takes three of. You think that waking up in an unfamiliar bed every single night of a week is something the rest of your bandmates are doing. It’s all a laugh, we all drink and we all smoke and it’s kid shit, right Boston? You learn that it very much is just a ‘you’ thing when you come to rehearsal (late, as usual) one Thursday afternoon and they’re all somberly waiting for you, hands in their lap and silent. You are being released from your contract with Cthulhu Rising...but the band has elected to move on and create their debut album. Unfortunately at this point you are eighteen and very, very deeply entrenched in alcoholism. The press has been playing you as a party boy who enjoys simple teenage excess for a very long time, but it's starting to wear thin. TMZ is growing a lot less glowing in their articles. You try not to pay attention even as you get yourself thrown out of clubs and tossed into drunk tanks and bailed back out again by whichever assistant your mother has hired this week. As long as you can find a way to make music, you can keep breathing. But with your growing notoriety, offers start to dry up. Those late night shows that loved your precociousness take pot shots at you in their opening monologues. Kimmel's pre-taped Lonely Island style sketch about 'you' endorsing a brand of gin in the style of I Love Lucy gets over a million views on youtube. All of Hollywood, and by extension all the world is laughing at you. It get a little less funny when you ram your matte black Lamborghini Aventador into the median taking the exit for Interstate 10, pinball off of it and into the car in the lane next to you, back into the median hard enough to flip your car into a roll, tumbling side over side across the lanes into the ditch. Your blood test results at the hospital show your blood alcohol content was nearly triple the legal limit. The accident doesn't kill you, though it's a close thing. You're convinced the recovery is worse. The total at the end adds up to a fractured pelvis, six broken ribs, safety glass embedded in your left temple, lacerations all over your arms and face, bleeding in your lungs and swelling in the brain that leaves you in a coma for the better part of two weeks. The most pathetic part of it all? All of that, the things you don't remember from that day coupled with the bursts and flashes of what you do remember, the year and a half you spend in recovery still isn't enough to make you put the bottle down forever. And doesn't that just make you fucking hate yourself?

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Thirty-Nine: Pure ___ ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: We’re Not in Konoha Anymore... ] [ AO3 Link ]

“GET OUT!”

Gasping for breath, Hinata bursts through the door, feet tangling and collapsing her into the snow. Cold quickly bites at her exposed skin, clothed only in a gown and shawl, boots barely laced as her father rages behind her. The warmth of her breath plumes in the frigid Winter air, curling like steam as she tries to find her footing. Gathering up her skirts, she stumbles from the manor toward the stables. There was no time to grab any supplies, but she’ll be damned if she leaves her horse.

Shaking fingers work at the latch of the stall door, the mare within snorting at the commotion. “Easy,” Hinata murmurs, trying her best to calm the beast. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Not even bothering with tack, too afraid to linger any longer, Hinata simply hops up bareback and urges her mount from the barn. Once clear of the door, she kicks heels into her side, earning a gallop into the swirling snow.

She doesn’t look back.

Clinging to the palomino’s cream-colored mane, Hinata buries her face into it to hide from the cold. For now, she has no goal, no destination...beyond leaving home as far behind her as she can manage. No longer can she abide the anger, the disappointment, the abuse. Let Hiashi have his perfect second daughter. She’ll find a way.

...she has to…

Through the night she rides, the horse slowing to a trot as the estate fades behind them. The frosty breeze is pervasive, slipping through her garments with ease. She wasn’t exactly dressed for a midnight ride through the snows, but...there’s no helping it now. If she can just make it to town...find someplace to stay...come morning...she’ll…

Thoughts seem to congeal like ice in her mind, slowing and sluggish as her body loses warmth. Struggling to keep her eyes open, Hinata’s last sight is the blur of the forest as she topples from her mount and into the snow, oblivion taking her into darkness.

“...mngh…”

Eyelids pinch, orbs beneath them flickering as if plagued with visions. Beyond, she can see flickering warm colors, like...fire?

Struggling to drag them open, she realizes she’s...no longer out in the snow. The previous night plays slowly, fragmented through her mind. Her father’s anger, her desperate flight, her fading energy, and now…?

Laid upon her side, she’s before a large hearth, crackling and roaring with flame. Rough stone frames it, the rest of the room dark and cold as she hovers near the heat. Struggling, she props herself up atop an elbow, attempting to look around. Her clothes are a touch damp from the melting snow that clung to them, boots removed and settled near the fire to dry. She’s in...some kind of sitting room. It’s large, filled with furnishings and utterly black beyond the halo of the firelight.

Where on earth…?

Grunting as her body protests - still sore from her tumble from horseback - Hinata forces herself to her feet. A torch within a sconce is taken, gingerly held to the fire until it lights. Holding it aloft, her free hand gathers up her skirt to better walk unhindered.

Time to investigate this place.

Gingerly navigating the room, she finds more and more evidence that this is a place of someone hoarding decent wealth. Bearskin rugs, fine tapestries, graceful furniture...but some is toppled over, all of it covered in thick layers of dust. Wherever she is...it hasn’t been properly lived in for quite some time. An abandoned manor, perhaps…? A tentative story shapes in her mind. Someone must be squatting here, using the empty halls as shelter from the cold. They must have found her, brought her here...but to what end? Was it generosity? Or with far darker purposes in mind?

Given her clothes, her unmarked skin, and other features, it’s not hard to guess she’s of the gentry. They may have her here for ransom, figuring someone will be willing to pay a pretty penny for her back.

How disappointed they’ll be.

Once she’s gleaned all she can from the immediate room, she moves to a heavy oak door. Carefully, she pulls at the steel handle, flinching as the hinges protest. A crack lets her peer through. Beyond seems to be the main hall of...wherever she is. The only light streams from a glass atrium along the two-story roof. Open, with a sweeping staircase leading to a second floor, it’s nearly barren. And beyond, to the other side, great double doors that are surely the entrance, closed and barred. Above, a partially-broken chandelier still hangs, several strands broken and the entire thing askew as support lines have snapped.

...perhaps this is more than just a manor. It’s almost big enough to seem like…

Still curious, Hinata pulls the door further, ignoring the screeching metal and stepping out. The stone floor is cold against the bottoms of her feet, but goes largely unnoticed in the wake of her eagerness to see more. But where to go from here…

“...you’re awake.”

A sharp breath disappears down her throat, spinning around. In the large, echoing room, it’s hard to know where the voice came from. Decidedly male, it seems to dance around her. “...I...I am. Where am I…?”

“In the ruins of a place long forgotten...that died with those who inhabited it.”

Turning slowly, torch lifted as she tries to see, Hinata attempts to puzzle out the voice’s meaning. “...people...died here?”

“Many. All but one. And he who remains...is cursed.”

That earns a pause. “...cursed…?”

“He begged a witch to save his brother, one afflicted with an illness unrelenting. But the magician’s wording was vague, the promises two-sided. In the end...rather than save his brother, he doomed his family. And he was left to wander the ruins of his kingdom as little more than a monster…”

In her chest, Hinata’s heart quickens. A monster…? Kingdom? Then...is he…? “...and what will become of this...monster?”

Silence falls, and just as she assumes she’s been left alone, answerless, Hinata hears, “...there is no hope for him. As it should be. This is his penance.”

“Was it you who saved me? Pulled me from the snow?” Her question redirects the tide of conversation, fearing it may end before she learns what she must.

“Foolish to be so lightly dressed in the bowels of Winter. What were you doing…?”

“...fleeing a father who no longer loves me. I was headed to town, trying to escape. But then...I collapsed. Did you save me…?”

Another pause. “I couldn’t let an innocent perish in the cold. But you cannot stay. This place is a breeding ground for sorrow.”

It’s then she hears it: shuffling, up above her. Brandishing her torch, she tries to alight the banister above her on the second floor. A shadowy figure prowls just out of sight. “...and what of this curse?”

“...what of it?”

“Every curse has a key. A way to break it.” Though an echo of fear beats in her chest, Hinata has come too far, lost too much to be afraid now. This just might be her only chance. “...you’re him, aren’t you? The one who lost his brother, his family. You’re the cursed man.”

A growl sounds softly from above. “...there’s nothing you can do.”

“I’ve nothing left. No home, no money, just the clothes on my back. And...my horse…”

“She did not flee. A brave creature, withstanding what she saw.”

Following the figure with her eyes, Hinata asks, “...please, let me see you.”

“I’ll only frighten you.”

“I’ve very little left to be afraid of.”

More silence, stretching further and further until, “...very well.” Above her, she hears the shuffling footsteps. Moving to the center of the hall, Hinata stands in the halo of moonlight. Down the stairs the figure moves, tall and hunched. Hesitating at the light, it then lets slip a foot into the white.

A paw, shrouded in dark fur, with bends like a dog’s. Breaching completely into the moonbeam, a creature of legend looms over her, clothed only in a tattered, makeshift cape.

A wolven beast.

Pale eyes widen, but more in shock than fear. “...you…?”

“Am a monster. A wretched thing with a hunger and temper that gnaw at my insides,” he growls. “It’s not safe for you here.”

Not replying, Hinata takes a slow step forward, a hand daring to reach. He flinches, but in turn holds out a padded paw-like hand.

“...here is better than catching my death in the cold,” she murmurs, gently laying her palm atop is own. “As I said...I’ve nothing to return to. So tell me: do you know the curse’s cure?”

“...I cannot tell you.”

“Why not?”

“To do so would...sully the chances. As slim as they are. There can be no knowing, no...bias. Otherwise…the conditions may not be met.”

“...I understand. But...may I stay?”

“...if that is truly what you want, I won’t stop you. I have nothing to offer you…”

“A roof over my head is more than I had,” Hinata offers, smiling softly. “...may I know your name?”

“...Sasuke. Of the line Uchiha.”

Somewhere deep in her mind, the name rings a bell. “...and I am Hinata. Of the Hyūga. Perhaps we were meant to find one another - maybe...we can be each other’s keys.”

Dark, bestial eyes consider her warily. “...time, I suppose, will tell.”

                                                           .oOo.

     Welp, this is a day late, but yesterday was abysmal, so hopefully you can forgive me ^^; I'll get to today's two owed drabbles later. I'm slowly playing catch up, aha~      Anyway...in case it's unclear, the prompt I made this out to be is pure love: the condition for Sasuke's curse. Hence being unable to tell her, in case she tried forcing the feeling, which wouldn't work. Beauty and the Beast is my FAVORITE Disney movie, so I had to do something based on it once the idea hit me. I might do more when given the chance! But any continuations will likely have to wait until next year. This challenge, with SHM on top, has been veeery draining, lol - I love them both, but I'm going to need a break after this year over, and before I can make anything else xD      But yeah, here's...yesterday's entry, lol - I'll be back later with today's SMH and 365 day entry. Trying not to burn myself out~ Thanks for reading!

[shy-magpie]

RQG 66

I know it's a cheap bit,  but Hamid's eating as mood barometer is super effective Nice scene with Sasha bitterly replying to Bertie's suggestion that they consult their alumni only for Hamid to ask innocently where she matriculated from. Hamid seems to be taking charge well. His practical side makes him a natural tending to logistics. Besides  which do either of the others seem like they could handle the paperwork if they wanted to? Love the name, knew from the moment he said it that Bryn was sitting on that for ages. I'm worried about Sasha. There is no way Alex is just going to say "good roll on that health check! all she needs is a healer for a couple weeks to clear out the infection then she'll be fine.  Nothing deeper, no need to worry" Nice to see Bertie's prejudice against him, very nice that James agrees that he should have some consequence for being a bigot. Bertie you got these legitimately from a famous tomb: go to a museum or auction house, somewhere that pays extra for the origin; not a sketchy fence *sing song voice*Bertie is getting conned. For a man whose only friend  is from a banking family, Bertie has a hang up about who runs the world banks. Sasha is going straight to a healer! I was worried she would be too wary of strangers when she is vulnerable. Maybe since healers are a thing here she isn't as concerned as I feared. I suppose with gods running around and the relationship RPGs have with good & evil,  it's easier to avoid medical abuse. I like how all the clerics have their own look and attitude depending on their god Ooh is that Ben's voice I hear? Grisop oh good he's losing the squeak. I have trouble hearing in that range. What right magician? Board member - of the university? Corrupt university plot thread coming up? Franz Kafka? Like the turning into a bug author? Has a thing about burocracy? Might have to find a transcript this sounds like it was setting up plot but re listening isn't enough for me to catch all of it. Job what job? Was that the doctor Sasha is waiting to see? Is she about to see some kind of criminal. First impression of Grisop was getting long so I moved it to its own post. Lydia sounds like she is seeing a puppy not hearing about a goblin Sasha/Lydia sounds offended at the suggestion Grisop is faster than her. I love the worshipers of Artemis*, well their aesthetic as shown in this office. If Grisop is their cleric it might make for a more light hearted character than Zolf. Oh nice case on fighting healers Not sure why a spoiled leopard makes me trust the healer Is the spit necessary? I know the healing spell deals with the germs but you don't wipe your spit on people. Sasha self advocating! Good for her! Hamid lived in Prague? backstory given freely? no arrests,  deaths, or tragedy? Hamid has a sister! Bet it's an older sister, he is so a youngest child. His sister is an opera singer!?! Bryn, that line about forgetting Zolf wasn't with them /hurt/ It maybe admin but they forgot to get a sign they were working for the meritocracy and that caused trouble. Plus good leadership from Hamid to tend to the practical side ASAP. The name isn't going to get old any time soon. Having to be rescued from the person who healed you from your last major health problem is probably more relevant than "got squashed". People get squashed and healed without problem. Poor Sasha can't seem to get the problem with "bleeding everyday" through to this healer. "Botched resurrection" as easy to manage chronic condition is a weird thought OK fair Artemis is just the wrong school of healing for this. Knew Sasha was going to have to tell multiple people about her health. All roads lead to university Sasha:You're over-sharpening that blade. Healer: Yeah I'm doing it as a get out of my office thing. Alex: The timing is exceptional since I really hate splitting the party Kicked out? I know Hamid "made mistakes" but kicked out? Divided between "yay backstory" and "kick out my dragon? How dare!". Man I hope it isn't something that actually ruins my opinion of him. No becoming an adventurer to make up for past mistakes without said mistakes but please don't over shoot! As always love Alex's worldbuilding. The attention to detail and realism without using realism to justify being awful.  Of course teleporting loses its shine in a place it happens every few minutes. Only makes sense the teleporter is basically doing a customer service job and isn't paid enough to care whether Hamid is lying. Not entirely clear why Hamid lied though, they intend to do everything openly right? Can't exactly see sneaking up on an expert opinion. Plus his is usually so free with the gold that for a while I wasn't sure they were keeping track. (which is in character for someone of his background. Me and Sasha might note every penny but never met a someone raised with true financial security who didn't seem careless to me. The idea money actually runs out doesn't feel real to people whose next meal is as certain as the tides. People like Hamid and Bertie get extended credit not immediate consequences) Of course Alex ends on a mysterious scream. *while I am not a Greek myths geek,  I like Artemis more than Poseidon IRL, so I am probably a bit biased. The aro/arrow ace jokes on tumblr probably colored my view of her but I don't really see why I need to be objective about Greek gods. The ancient worshipers are beyond caring and the modern seem pretty relaxed as long as you aren't actively insulting.

[lesbeanshitposts]

Personal Emergency : I Really Need Help and I Don't Know Where Else To Turn . . .

I have never made a post like this in my life, and I'm not much of one to ask people for help. . .Especially not Financial Assistance.

I really don't know where else to turn though - My situation is very stressed and honestly confusing to me. I feel as if I have been stuck on a loop of bad things finding their way to me these past few years.

Since I haven't really formally introduced myself to Tumblr yet - I go by Yama, I am 22 years old. I live in an area that is very financially poor. . .I am a home own, I inherited my grandmother's old home which happens to be falling apart all around me. I also have a very stressed relationship with my mother and stepfather. . .My biological father passed away almost five years ago.

A rundown of my situation :

As I mentioned my house is currently falling down all around me - it is an old house built ( poorly built at that ) back in the early '60s according to my grandmother. I have asked for help in the area that I live from places that usually provide help for families with low incomes, but the problem is is that the majority of the home's issues aren't things that those services pay for. . .As an example, my air conditioning and heating unit officially bit the dust about two months ago - I called about getting it fixed and the man who came to take a look at the issue basically told me that he couldn't fix it because I needed an entire new unit, which happens to be about $5,000. I am not asking for that much, I know plenty of other people need help as well. . .but due to the box fans running most of the time and the windows in the house remaining open to try and keep cool this summer has drastically raised my electric bill to $1,018. . .If I don't have the money at the first of the month then my electricity will be cut, I've already called the electric company and spoken with them about working with me during this tough time - I recently lost my job going on a month ago due to them being over-staffed. I have been lucky enough to find a new job, but I don't start that job until next week and they do hold the first paycheck. . .I've resorted to donating my plasma since a clinic near me provides money for donors, but due to my own medical reasons ( anemia ) I can't always donate, and I've not been able to save up enough so far since it's only a small bit of cash here and there - so far I have $50.00 all together. . .

I'm mostly looking for help with paying this electric bill - I would like to raise at least $900.00 if possible, but I will take anything that I can get - every penny really does help, and I'm open to advice on things that I will describe down below. . . I do really need some advice and if anyone knows of cheap housing or anything that could help I would be interested if you would just message me anytime!

A little more about my situation. . . :

I mentioned that my father died about five years ago - Well, when he did my mother wasted absolutely no time in finding someone new. . .I was eighteen, fresh out of high school, ready to start college. . .After my father passed away I ended up deciding against college because my mother is "disabled", I wanted to stay at home to help her. Shortly after I decided against college to stay at home and care for my mother she found my new stepdad. . .She has never once considered my feelings or well-being since my father passed on, and I know for a fact that she is not "disabled". Yes, my mother had a stroke almost seven years ago now - it did mess her up pretty bad at first, but she was lucky enough to make a full recovery. I am the only one in my house that usually has any sort of income, and both my mother and stepfather live with me for the time being.

I love my mother, but she is very verbally abusive and sometimes I do find myself worrying about my safety. If she doesn't get her way about something it sparks an argument, and lately, it has happened more and more often since things are so stressed here at home with the house and my and her relationship these past few years. . .I often think that she sees me more as a slave rather than a daughter. I am always cleaning when I am home, I'm always fatigued because of this - I only live with her and my stepfather, and you would assume it wouldn't be that difficult to take care of, but my mother is also a hoarder who will part with nothing. . .You could say my home looks like a pig sty, and it's so bad to the point where it is becoming unlivable. The walls are still standing for the most part, but the ceiling in the kitchen is almost totally caved in, there are major electrical problems which could also be a reason why the bill is always crazy high, the floors are beginning to fall in, around the windows and outside of the home there is black mold beginning to really take over. . .Ontop of it all, thanks to the clutter and her hoarding. . .My mother and stepfather's disgusting lifestyle has attracted rats, and I mean we have a full infestation. I have been bitten many times, and there is no way I could go to a doctor if I had to with all of the other bills piling on top of me. Most of my clothes and things have been ruined by the rats, and I have seen an exterminator. . .The woman literally told me I would be better off tearing the home down and rebuilding because our infestation is that bad. If I were to guess at just how many rats we have lurking about tearing the house apart - I would guesstimate about 40 - 50 +.

My mother and stepfather do not pick up after themselves at all - I do everything from the cooking, cleaning, working - be that yard work, home stuff, or having an income coming in. . .I am in between a rock and a hard place here because I want to leave and get away from the abuse - this woman has literally told me things like "if you want to kill yourself then go ahead" and "you're my child, it's your job to pick up after me and your stepfather". . .There has been plenty of other things that she has said to me that we're abusive, some far worse than those that I mentioned, but to give you an idea of what it's like living with her. . .I really do feel more like a slave than anything here, and I would love to find a way out of here with some low-income housing, go to college and get my life back on track.

I really want to be happy again, and I've been able to pick myself back up lately - I'm just now reaching out to people again because my mother made me push so many people away. I do suffer from severe depression and anxiety - I was diagnosed with those two, but I haven't been able to see my therapist for nearly two years because of my mother. . . You could say that I am afraid of her. I often wonder if there is something more going on with me - If maybe I have some sort of PTSD because I am beyond scared of this woman. My mother hasn't hit me since I was in middle school, but lately, she has had the same attitude towards me that she did back then, and I think it is because I want to leave here and put myself in a better place in life. . . I don't want her knowing about my moving away and that is the issues as to why I can't sell my house. . . Least not immediately. I can't afford to live here alone, and my stepdad does get a small amount of money from family that he uses to pay their share of the bills which happens to be very small. I pay the most of them. . . I also would prefer to find a place elsewhere and either sell this to my mother and stepfather, or sell it after I move that way I know that I am safe and away from my mom - I do not want her knowing where I live once I move, that's why I want to do it so discreetly. . . I feel safer that way, and it eases my worries a little to know that she wouldn't know about it until it's done, that way it can't be undone and there's nothing she could do to me.

I know people will probably wonder why I don't just contact police if I feel unsafe - it's because she hasn't actually done anything. I do plan on the day that I move my things out of here to have an officer stand by in case something were to happen, and then make sure that she is kicked from the property unless she does happen to buy it somehow.

I could go on and on about my situation, but I'm going to end it here. If anyone has any questions for me or any advice at all please message me! Any donations to my PayPal would be greatly appreciated, I do really need to pay that electric bill before first of August, but I have till the third before they shut it off. I need at least $900.00, I have a couple of friends loaning me the rest - what I hadn't already saved.

https://www.paypal.me/mindfang22