#how come someone with so much access to education still turn to something so cruel?

[kimjongdaely]

Escape [Chapter 3]

Superhero!AU/Villain!AU

Pairing: Kai x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, torture

Summary: All your life you were caged and tortured, a never-ending cycle of pain. You no longer remember a life beyond that. All you wanted to do was escape this cruel fate. But finally finding your escape and being saved by a masked criminal was just the beginning of your nightmares. Can you ever really be free?

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3│Chapter 4│Chapter 5

I jolt awake, roused by nightmares. I take a moment to breathe, to compose myself. I take in my surroundings, hyper aware of everything, making sure I’m safe. 

I relax slightly when I remember where I am. I breathe, reminding myself of what happened so far, recounting my steps to reassure myself that I’m not in the lab anymore, Dr. Walters can’t touch me here.

I shiver, noting how cold my body has gotten. It’s still dark out, but the sky had begun to turn red-violet as the sun begins to rise. 

I rub my arms, hoping to get some warmth back. Perhaps I should move around for a bit and stretch out my limbs. 

I pace around the empty building, my steps kicking up dust which makes me cough and sneeze. Okay, maybe that’s a bad idea. I stop my movements, hand over my mouth and nose as I try not to breathe in the dust. The sky is brightening a little more. Since daytime is approaching, it’ll probably be okay to go outside. People will be out and about in no time, and I’ll be hidden among the crowds. 

I look down at myself and wrinkle my nose, wondering if there’s any way I can get clothes that aren’t in terrible condition.

I miss Kai’s apartment already, but I shake my head. I’ve gone my separate way, and I must rely on myself. I still need to figure out who it was that paid him to save me in the first place. 

I sigh, heading towards the door. I hope no one pays me too much attention. The last thing I need is to catch unwanted attention, like painting a big red target sign on my back. Dr. Walters is looking for me, I know it. I have to be careful with where I go, who I talk to. I must find a way to disguise myself, and this jumpsuit must be the first to go. He probably has trackers on this thing, even in its tattered state.

I step out just as the first rays of morning appear. The warmth is comfortable and very welcome on my freezing skin. It’ll get warmer from here, which I’m looking forward to. 

I quicken my pace past the streets, trying not to look at the people sitting and sleeping in the shadows. Some reek of alcohol with sunken eyes, shaggy hair and unshaved faces. Some have grey skin, looking much too thin to be able to function properly. Bottles, cigarette butts and needles are littered everywhere. A woman with two young children huddle together to my right.

My heart aches for them, feeling their pain and suffering. I wish I could do something to help, but I an barely look after myself as is. 

A man who looks intoxicated by drugs or alcohol eyes me lecherously, a grin appearing on his cracked lips. I shiver at the unpleasant attention, breaking into a run in hopes me won’t follow. If he does, he’ll be disappointed to find his strength is no match for mine. Still, I don’t want him to start a scene.

As I leave the slums, I notice how the streets are cleaner now. There are a few people present, shop owners chatting as they begin to open their stores, joggers running past, someone on a flower-filled bicycle.

The quiet murmurs of conversation comforts me, the chirping of birds giving me a sense of unprecedented freedom. I take a deep breath of the fresh air, the temperature becoming warmer and warmer. I no longer shiver, my arms falling freely to my sides, and I forget about my strange appearance.

For once, I feel human. Normal. Alive.

I notice glances towards me, conversations change from idle chatter to curious speculation. Who is this young woman, wearing tattered clothes? Is she from the slums? Could she perhaps be a new criminal?

I keep my head down and quicken my pace. Soon there will be even more people, and I hope they will be too busy to pay me any mind. I wander down the streets, scanning my surroundings and noting anything worthwhile. I pass by clothing stores, looking in through the windows and frowning at the prices. 

I sigh. Surely there isn’t anything at the grand price of free for a penniless girl like me.

I continue walking, ideas churning in my mind. Is there any way I can acquire a job? But I’m not sure what the standard requirements are, and it would be troublesome if they ask me for any form of identification. Based on government records, I don’t even exist. So honest, lawful jobs are probably out of the question. A hopeful part of me wonders if anyone is nice enough to provide shelter for an odd-looking stranger. 

Most likely not. Oh well, onto the next idea.

If honest jobs are not going to accept me, perhaps my only option is something illegal. Or sketchy, at best. I wonder where I can acquire a job like that. The red-light district is always an option. I shiver at the thought, wondering if it’s really worth the risk. They might have jobs that don’t require selling my body, like cleaning or cooking. Frowning, I find myself silly.

I could probably find a labor-intensive job, like at a construction site. Yes, that’s what I’ll focus on. 

I pass by an internet café, still closed since it’s too early for them to open. I peek into the dark store, eyeing the computers they have lined up on long coffee tables. If I could access the internet, I would probably find more jobs for hire, but I don’t have the money. Everything boils down to money, a never-ending loop. Where else would jobs be advertised? Magazines? Newspapers?

It’s worth a try, I suppose. 

I walk down the street for a while more, looking through windows as they slowly open, and manage to find a convenience store that’s open 24/7. The sliding doors ding when I walk in. 

The cashier, a young girl chewing gum and blonde hair tied into a ponytail, looks at me oddly, but doesn’t say anything. I know how awful I look, and she probably thinks I’m some sort of drug addict. I ignore her and sidle into the magazine and newspaper section. I scan through the covers, searching for something that might include jobs for hire. I pick up a few and start flipping through them. 

From the corner of my eye, I see the cashier begin to work nearby me, putting things on shelves and checking items. Does she think I’m going to steal something? I roll my eyes and turn my attention back towards the pages. My concentration wanes as I flip through the seventh magazine, not finding anything suitable for me. 

I begin to grab an eighth magazine when the cashier clears her throat behind me, plastering on a polite smile. “Hello, may I help you with something?”

I swallow a sigh and turn to her, trying not to look as dead as I feel. “Hi, sorry, I’m just looking through some magazines.”

She nods slowly. “Are you looking for anything specific?”

I sound more snappy than I meant to. “Job advertisements.”

Something changes in her expression and it becomes more sympathetic. I don’t like it. I smile again as best as I can without wanting to kill myself or her, “Sorry, I’ll be quick.”

“Sure.” She shrugs, then slinks away, but I can still feel her eyes on me—you know, just in case I do steal something. I flip through the magazine mindlessly, not even really paying attention to what’s on the page anymore. Some fashion trends, fancy car models, idol gossips…something catches my eye.

I flip back, searching for that page. It’s a job advertisement from Happy Greenbottles, a company that strives to create environment-friendly packaging for all kinds of products; from food products to beauty products. They’re looking for factory workers, and promise free housing and meals. Seems too good to be true, but something about this advertisement screams at me, something odd, something inexplicable. 

I doubt they would hire someone like me, but I take my chances. I don’t know why I’m so adamant about this job, but I swirl around and find the cashier who takes a step back in surprise. I hold the page up to her, determined. “Can I borrow a phone please? I really, really need this job.”

“Um.” She looks unsure, eyes darting everywhere as she slowly pushes the magazine away from her face. “Sure, I guess.”

I run to the shop’s phone sitting in a corner on the counter. She watches me as I dial the number on the advertisement, my heart racing when I hear it ring. Three rings is all it took for someone to pick up, a pleasant female voice greeting me, “You have reached Happy Greenbottles. How may I help you?”

“Hello.” I answer, voice squeaking. “I saw your advertisement for hiring?”

“Ah, yes.” She chirps. “We’re in an urgent need of someone right now. Are you thinking of applying? Is it okay if we do a phone interview right now?”

“Sure, that’s no problem.” Oh no, I have no idea how interviews work. What do I say?

“Alright then. First things first, what’s your name?”

I begin to sweat already. “I’m…” I pause, catching myself before I could make a mistake. “…Eve. My name is Eve.”

“Nice to meet you, Eve. I’m Susan. Do you have any previous work experience in a factory or other labor-intensive jobs?”

“Ah, no.” I swallow. I wrack my brain, wondering what kind of answer would be acceptable. What would a normal person say? “I just graduated from college so I don’t have any job experience yet. I’m very strong and have high stamina so I have no problems with labor-intensive work.”

There’s silence on the other end and my stomach drops. Did I screw up? Was that not the right thing to say?

“I see. That’s okay, it’s very difficult for graduated students to find jobs immediately. Trust me, I’ve been there. Where did you graduate from?”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. I don’t know any colleges or any sort of educational institute for that matter. I come up blank, unable to answer or even make something up. 

“Hello? Eve, you still there?”

I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. This is obviously not going to work. “To be honest I didn’t graduate from college.”

Silence. Yeah, totally screwed.

“So,” Susan starts, her voice sounding strangely interested. “Knowing that you don’t have the necessary qualifications for this job, why did you still call? Surely you were expecting to be rejected.”

“I need this job.” I say, trying not to sound too desperate. “I don’t have anywhere to stay and have no money. I just…I just need to do something.”

“And you expect us to give you the job? Even though we’re a startup company, we have high standards and expectations for all our employees. Why should we hire you, who has nothing to offer us and nothing to back you up? Why are you interested in our company in the first place?”

I frown, having no answers to any of her questions. I shrug, already giving up. “I don’t know, honestly. All I can offer you is hard-work and my best efforts. Your advertisement caught my eye and I reacted. That’s all.”

Here it comes. I sigh, closing my eyes as I wait for the impending rejection. Susan is quiet for a moment.

“Alright, you’re hired.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“I said you’re hired, Eve.” She says merrily. “Congratulations. You can come in for work right away. Do you have a way for jotting down notes?”

“I, uh…” My eyes dart around the counter, wondering if I could use any of this stuff without paying. I’m already using their phone for way too long. The cashier hands me an old receipt and a pen wordlessly, and I thank her vigorously with hand gestures for her help. “Yes, I do.”

“I’m going to read you our address, so make sure you write it down.” I fumble to write down what Susan says, wondering if I’m spelling it correctly. She repeats the address just in case I missed anything, and then bids me goodbye.

I am ecstatic when I hang up, my body feeling light as if I just ascended onto a new level.

“Congrats.” The cashier says with a smile. “Hope it goes well.”

“Me too.” I beam back, stupidly excited. “Thank you so much. If I get paid, I’ll treat you.”

She laughs, waving her hand. “Nah, that’s alright. Jobs are hard to get, I’ve been there. You should go treat yourself, yeah?”

I look down at my tattered jumpsuit and nod. “Yeah, okay.” I thank her again as I leave, a skip in my step. 

I search for a street sign, wondering if there are any pointers on how to get to the address. I ask a few people for directions along the way (quite a few actively avoided me and gave me weird looks, but some were very kind). Some even generously searched it up on their phones and showed me a map. 

It seems to be quite far, about an hour or two by car, but I can catch up by running in no time. I try my best to stay off the streets and under the shades of buildings or trees as I break into a run, going much too fast for a normal human. I go through any alleyway I can find to hide from the general public, focusing on the direction I need to go so I won’t get lost. 

I leave the populated parts of the city, reaching the outskirts where it’s much more secluded. There are lots of big factories here, chimneys blowing dark smoke into the sky. Trucks are littered about, busily transporting cargo to and fro. 

I quicken my speed when I see the giant Happy Greenbottles company name on the side of a grey building. Their logo is of a bottle with two leaves poking out from the top and a cute smile plastered on the glass. Cute.

I catch my breath as I slow to a walk, shaking out my nerves as I approach the entrance. I try not to be too self-conscious with my awful appearance. They might turn me away immediately after seeing me.

The glass sliding doors open for me, and I walk in sheepishly. Some workers dressed in protective uniform, bouffant caps and face masks turn to look at me before moving on with their work. I glance around, wondering who I should talk to or where I should go. The clacking of high heels makes me look towards the left, where a woman in a black suit approaches me. Her wavy brown hair reaches her bosom, figure tall and slim. She smiles, “Are you Eve?”

“Ah, yes.” I blink. “Are you Susan?”

“That’s right.” She gestures for me to follow her. She leads me to a man who looks like he’s in his thirties, also dressed in a black suit, his posture more casual and relaxed than Susan, but confidence radiates off him. There are several workers surrounding him, seemingly deep in conversation. Susan taps him on the shoulder, then clears her throat when he turns. His hair is dark with strands of grey hair, his features sharp with striking green eyes. “Sir, this is our new hire, Eve. Eve, this is the founder of Happy Greenbottles, Mr. Gregory Miller.”

He beams at me, shaking my hand heartily and clapping me on the shoulder. “Ah, welcome, Eve! So glad you could make it. You really helped me there—we needed someone urgently to take care of the new batch.”

“Glad I could help, sir.” I manage a small smile, surprised by his friendly attitude. 

“Susan, please, show her the basics and have her start immediately. We need to have these out tonight.”

“Yes sir.” Susan turns towards me, her eyes scrutinizing. “Let’s get you a uniform. Follow me.” She heads towards a door to the far back, taking me to what seems like a change room. She grabs some cardboard boxes from tops of lockers, searching through the contents. “Hm…you look like a medium.” She pulls out what seems like clothes folded neatly inside a sealed plastic bag. She hands it to me. “Go ahead and change. If it doesn’t fit, just grab a new size. I’ll be waiting outside.”

It’s a simple t-shirt and black pants, a protective covering worn over them like an apron. It’s easy to move in for any sort of laboring work I might need to do. I step out of the changing room, Susan nodding at me and hands me a bouffant cap and a face mask. I hastily put them on, tucking my hair into the cap. Once I’m done, she’s pulling me along again.

“Alright, your work is in here.” She opens another door, leading me down a long corridor. The wall to my left is made of glass so I can see into the room filled with intimidating machines, conveyer belts, and countless workers busy at their stations. Susan holds the door at the other end for me, letting me pass through first. The room is cool, AC blasting through the air vents. The sounds of the machines whirring is loud, and to me, almost deafening. I wince, itching to cover my ears but that would look like an overreaction for a normal person. I struggle to look neutral as I follow Susan to my station.

“Your job is simple.” She points at a hatch on the back of a machine. “When the machine beeps, lift the hatch and use this—” she holds up an iron rod-like thing, “—and stir the liquid. These are what we use to make the packagings. There’s only a 30 second window, so make sure you don’t slack off and miss the beeps.” She hands me the rod, raising a brow at me, a hand on her hip. “Any questions?”

I shake my head ‘no.’ 

She nods, looking pleased. “Good luck on your first day.” Then she leaves, and I watch her walk back down the hallway through the glass. 

Special thanks to the wonderful Ayla @ninibears-erigom for being a sponsor! This chapter was made possible by you! 💛

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A/N: Anyone else have a bad feeling? 👀

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[annikasafternoonread]

An Absolutely Remarkable Thing (by Hank Green) -- Part 2

Hello! Welcome to part 2 of the intro post for An Absolutely Remarkable Thing: Annika-has-feelings-about-Hank-Green-and-celebrity-culture edition. This post is less focused on the book itself and more just exploring general themes and ideas; you can find the post that looks more at the book specifically here. 

So. An Absolutely Remarkable Thing is one of the coolest and most detailed explorations of celebrity that I’ve ever had the pleasure to experience. And it really is a pleasure. Not always fun, but so so good. It makes sense that Hank Green would have insights into that sphere of things, as someone who, well, started out as a normal (if comfortably wealthy) guy and then suddenly found himself accidentally skyrocketed into fame from making some fun videos. He was lucky, in that he was able to harness that attention and power and become stable and successful in his newfound role as an internet creator. But he was also lucky in that he had the right mindset or support systems or such to realize what he had, and the possibilities and drawbacks and responsibilities it came with.

Hank very much has a unique view into this, for several reasons. First of all, he was quite early to online fame -- VlogBrothers was started in 2007, and took off later that same year. For reference, YouTube itself was only two years old at that point; it started in 2005. So in the almost 15 years since, Hank has had the opportunity to see a lot of different stories play out among creators -- to see them explode in popularity and then fuck up spectacularly, or see them grow steadily and then burn out painfully, or see them take their fans for granted or even take advantage of them. Occasionally everything goes right, but it’s hard, and honestly it’s kind of rare. It’s hard to handle that kind of attention and numbers and power, hard to remain kind and humble and open, hard to listen to criticism without letting it break you and to not step too far out of line before you know better.

But another advantage he had was -- he was old. Not old-old, of course, but he was 27 when VlogBrothers exploded. When so many celebrities popping up these days (especially through social media) are teenagers, or early twenties at the oldest, 27 feels ancient. It meant that he had already lived in the world, already knew who he was and who he wanted to be, already had a strong self-image and strong values. And he had a strong support system around him through his family and friends -- including, of course, his co-VlogBrother, John Green. Having the responsibility and power of their work shared between them likely made a huge difference, as everything they did wasn’t just about one of them but about their shared brand, and they realized that and respected it and each other.

They recognized the power they wielded. They knew how easy it could be to misuse. They were very conscious of their status as role models. They cared about their community and their relationship with it. And there have been times where things were messy, where they made mistakes or said things they shouldn’t have or were mixed up in someone else’s mess. But they’ve always listened and apologized and learned and changed when they needed to. They’ve always encouraged kindness and compassion and hope and education, trying to provide it and nurture it in others around them. Hank has also talked about how he often reaches out to creators who he has heard rumours about or has concerns that they may be on the edge of abusing their power, to try to explain to them what that could mean and who they could hurt -- and hopefully to make them aware and cautious of those potential harms before things go too far.

Fame can be dangerous. That might or might not seem profound, but it’s very true, and it’s not talked about a lot. When I see famous people -- especially young people -- acting selfish or foolish or hubristic or uncaringly, yeah it makes me angry sometimes, but it also makes me sad. Because, think about it -- if you were 13 years old, and suddenly the world was laid in front of you... if you had more money than you could ever imagine, access to anything or anyone you wanted, if no one ever told you no and you had no one to keep you grounded... you’d probably get lost too. Think of how many child stars have flamed out, have lost themselves in subtances or had mental health crises or turned cruel and uncaring to the people around them or even their fans. It’s still a problem, to be sure, but the path from point A to point B is pretty clear. And I feel bad for those kids, who lost their way, who weren’t protected.

Social media has also had a huge impact on this stuff, of course. It’s so much easier for things to happen so much faster -- someone is nobody one day, and then the next day the world knows their name. It also means celebrities feel more accessible to their fans, and we often know a lot more about their personal or day-to-day lives. But sometimes fans can feel entitled to this information, or to the attention of the people they follow. It’s also easier for someone to say something offhand, without really thinking about it, and for that error to spread around the world in seconds. And you know as well as I do that internet culture is Not Great at accepting apologies or giving second chances. This also comes into play with how social media is almost a repository for all the dumb shit we said before we knew any better, and the internet loves digging up five year old mistakes that don’t represent someone now. I’m not excusing saying those kinds of things, and I don’t really have the patience to tease out the nuance of how “cancel culture” as a concept has been corrupted and twisted and used for a wild variety of things, but suffice to say there’s a lot of range between concepts like “I’m no longer buying work from an author because they turned out to be a ranging transphobe” and “anyone who likes this person’s music is terrible because the artist used a word they shouldn’t have five years ago when they were fourteen” and “this person got fired for discriminating against queer people” and “I’m not going to family Thanksgiving because none of my relatives are vaccinated and I have a heart condition.” 

I’m starting to lose track of what I’m saying, so I’m going to wrap it up here. TL;DR is that Hank Green is super smart and has really unique insights into and experience with internet and celebrity culture, and I love seeing his takes on those concepts through this book. It’s a fantastic book, with complex and important ideas and themes but also a truly captivating story, and the story and the themes feed and nourish and grow each other so well. It’s just great. 

I can’t wait to get started... but probably on Monday. I hope. Maybe Tuesday. 

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 3: a young fellow

SUMMARY: Obadiah is back from Washington and surprises Maria with a belated birthday trip abroad. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 2 [3] 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

November 16, 1959 – Bronx, New York, Obadiah’s Apartment

“Surprise, darling! Happy belated birthday.”

The door swings open, the jangle of keys alarming me, and I run to put his engagement ring back on, tossing the dirty apron back in the hamper. I greet him at the door, with a perfect smile, the image of everything he would want from me. I put the thick folder in the back of my mind, trying not to think about the bookshelf I shoved it behind.

Obie takes me into his arms. My face barely comes up to his collarbones. It was normally a sensation I craved after a long, stressful day, but when the person holding me is the source of my stress, the effect is not the same.

He takes a step back and takes my face into his weathered hands, his cold, tired eyes peering into mine. I try to keep eye contact and return the peaceful gaze. The pressure gets to me, so I reach up and pull his head towards mine.

We haven’t kissed in three months, and it’s almost like we’ve forgotten how. At least, I had forgotten how to enjoy it. His lips feel foreign between mine, like a stranger’s. Like someone I couldn’t trust.

When we break apart, his smile is as wide as his head. “I’ll take that as you missed me,” he says. “I got something for you.” He reaches down to the paper bags he had set at his feet when he arrived. He pulls out an envelope and two small, wrapped packages.

Obie leads me to the couch in the living room and sits me down, pushing the envelope in my hands first. He sits beside me, eager for me to open my gifts.

“Already? I didn’t even get to ask you how your flight was yet.” The envelope felt heavy with unknowing in my hands.

“My flight was uneventful. Please…” He gestures impatiently towards the gift in my lap.

I open the envelope gently. Inside, is a simple card, lilac with the words “Happy Birthday” written in a cursive script on the wrong. From within the card, two tickets fall into my lap.

“We’re going to Monaco?”

“Surprise again! I thought it would be a nice break from New York, get away before the holidays. And I feel terrible for leaving you alone for so long right after our engagement. From here on out, I will be an attentive partner to you.” His joy is so thickly spread across his face, it’s all I can do to smile in return and stare down at the tickets in my hands.

“Thank you, Obie, I-”

“You hate it.”

“No, love, I love it, and I love you,” I’m fumbling for my words, and I hope he doesn’t notice. “I’m just tired. It’s hard sleeping alone, and I’m still surprised that you’re here, let alone going taking a trip with you… Tomorrow?” I read the date on the tickets.

“Why wait? Then we can be back in time for Thanksgiving with your parents.” He kisses me on the forehead, content with my reaction, and stands. “I’m going to unpack my clothes from DC, then start repacking.”

-

November 20, 1959 – Monaco, France, The Hellfire Club

Obadiah was not a betting man, but he seemed at home at the Hellfire Club & Casino like a Protestant in church. He “enjoyed the company of the machines that controlled men’s fates,” but I imagine he enjoyed thinking he had more willpower than the men who squandered their paychecks and had to return home to their wives with their head between their tails, lying about the state of their finances.

It turns out he had business in Monaco, and surprising me with a late birthday trip seemed easier than leaving me for work again. I was left to my own devices again, but this time it was in a foreign country. I had studied abroad in France my junior year of college, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t talk to anyone here, but rather I have no desire to even leave the room.

Obie would meet me back at the hotel room at night, and we would often play a game of chess before bed. Playing chess with him was one of the best ways to pass the time. It keeps him quiet from rambling on about things I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about, details about materials and manufacturing and marketing. I did the accounting for Stane International, as that’s what I had studied in school, and as long as the numbers added up, I was content. And for every chess game I won, Obie paid me what we had bet, fueling my addiction to the finer things in life. I purchased more purses and linens and dresses and shoes than I would care to admit, but as long as the numbers added up – and as long as I hid the packages at Peggy’s – he didn’t complain.

The Hellfire Club is unusually classy for Obie’s taste; I’ve already started to resent his cheapness and penny-pinching, and we hadn’t even set a wedding date yet. I should have noticed that sooner. Here, gold decorates every pillar and billiard ball, marble fountains and silver pens, a gratuitous buffet and generous décor around every corner. Whoever the owner is has taste and luxury in excess. I am a girl with champagne taste engaged to a cheapskate.

Obadiah had spent the last four days in meetings from sunrise to sunset, and I am bored out of my mind. I have no interest in day-drinking, I’ve already read every book the front desk has to offer, and the pictures playing down the block don’t spark my curiosity. I feel like a tiger pacing its cage in a zoo, and I am ready to pounce.

Touching up my red lip and pinned curls, I leave the room and exit the elevator. I feel the turn of men’s heads like a gravitational pull, the clack of my heels leading the charge, and I’m embarrassed to admit how much I miss that attention. I know how this dress fits, I know how the color complements me; just because I’m an educated woman doesn’t mean I’m not a human one.

I have hours to kill before Obie will direct his attention to me again, so I stride right into the room full of betting games and tables. I pause in the doorway, taking in the sight – and cigar smoke – of men shuffling cards and chips like it means something, until I recognize one of the tables.

I had learned baccarat in my time in France, and despite never fully grasping the French language, I played their game very well. Like all of the casino’s games, the house has the edge, but my host family had taught me their tricks, and I could keep track of the location of every card once I saw it. This casino plays the punto banco style, which is where I excelled.

The first three hours, I did very well. I did so well that the waitstaff came to watch over my shoulder to assure I wasn’t cheating. I had almost doubled Obie’s entire investment portfolio, at least the one I had access to, using his information to start the hand but relying on my winnings to keep me afloat. But after three hours, I got – as I often do these days – bored. Keeping track of the calculations of the face value no longer keeps me entertained. So I start losing. Maximum bets net maximum losses.

I don’t know why I find so much joy in draining Obie’s savings, linked to the banking information from his hotel reservation. I don’t hate the man, but I don’t think I could ever love him. He has done nothing cruel to me, nothing unjust, or even unkind – but I don’t think he loves me either. I am comfortable and convenient; I straighten his ties and predict his chess moves and shake the hands of men he so desperately wants to impress. When you come from money, you learn to smell desperation a mile away, and Obadiah reeks of it. Every privileged man he meets can smell it, too, and until he can mask it, Stane International won’t become that international.

He’s just so boring. He fixates on the most minute details of his plans, his inventions take priority, and I think if I hurt him here, he would finally pay more attention to me than his baubles.

The chip pile, once mountainous, dwindles, replenishing when I transfer more funds, then drain once again. The staff look at me puzzled, wondering what happened to my blaze of glory, and I ask myself the same question as I feel myself go robotic and glassy-eyed. Twisting the probability on its head, I play the moves in the house’s favor, leaving nothing behind but a tray full of cigarette ash and empty champagne classes.

It dawns on me that this game of baccarat reflected Obie’s and my relationship. I feed his ego, his business deals, and checkbooks, and what did I have to show for it? A cheap steel ring, a prolonged engagement with no date in sight, and still living in my childhood bedroom with my parents in Southampton.

As I drain my last glass, several tall men in nice suits approach me, stern looks on their faces. I straighten in my seat.

“Ms. Carbonell?” one of them asks to confirm my identity in an American accent.

“Is there a problem?”

“You’ve attracted our attention with your gameplay. What are your intentions here at the Hellfire Club?”

I blink at the empty glass in my hand, just a hint of the red wine remaining on the bottom swirling at its base. “To win.”

“Looks like you’re not doing much of that now.”

“Winning got boring,” I shrug.

“Please come with us, Ms. Carbonell.”

“I’d rather stay here and keep losing.”

One of the men places a hand on my shoulder. “You’ll come with us now. The owner of the Roxxon Corporation would like to speak to you.” I’m suddenly on my feet.

[aiylakcplan]

[ credit for the graphic template goes to @translunaer ❤️ ]

( SIMAY BARLAS. SHE/HER. CISFEMALE ) Did I just see ( AIYLA KAPLAN )? This ( TWENTY-THREE )YEAR OLD ( DANCE TEACHER ) has been living in Chicago for ( ONE YEAR ). Some say that they are ( INDEPENDENT and DETERMINED ) as well as ( STUBBORN and A PERFECTIONIST ). If they had a theme song, some might say that it would be ( JUST STAND UP BY ARTISTS STAND UP TO CANCER ). All I know is that I can’t wait to see what they bring to the Windy City. ( @hocstarters )

[ trigger warning: house fire & death ]

her basics

Name: Aiyla (pronounced as aye-lah) Kaplan

Nickname: Ai (pronounced as aye)

Gender: Cisfemale

Date of Birth: October 11, 1997

Age: 23

Family: Aslan & Abigail Kaplan (parents, deceased) and Atesh Kaplan (twin brother, deceased)

Education: Bachelor of Fine Arts in Dance (2020), Juilliard University, Magna Cum Laude

her background

Fairytales are more than true

In the year 1993, Aslan Kaplan travelled to Chicago, United States in hopes of making his family’s hotel company go global. After he made the deals he needed to do so, he visited the landmarks that was recommended to him. A cafe near the Willis Tower was where he met a pediatric surgeon named Abigail. She was in a rush, causing them to bump into each other, and he ended up spending the rest of his trip and of his life with her. In the year 1996, three years into their relationship, Aslan and Abigail got married then moved to Turkey.

In the year 1997, Abigail gave birth to twins, Atesh and Aiyla. They brought a different kind of joy to the Kaplans’ life. Despite the Kaplans’ hotel company thriving and how busy both Aslan & Abigail were with their respective careers, they provided the boy & girl with all the love and attention they can give, and Atesh and Aiyla did the same. Their home wasn’t perfect but it was close.

not because they tell us that dragons exist

Atesh and Aiyla were raised to make their own decisions and do whatever they wanted to do as long as  they would be responsible while doing it. The twins made the most out of that freedom and were able to balance having a good academic life & a good social life. In terms of their careers, their grandparents may have pressured them to follow in their father’s’ footsteps and take on a big role in their family’s prestigious hotel company or follow in their mother’s footsteps and pursue a career in the medical field but their parents told them to do neither if they did not want to. Aiyla was planning to do exactly that.

Growing up, Aiyla found a love for dance. It’s just a hobby, her grandparents said, but it was so much more to her and her parents supported her pursuing that passion. That is why she was quick to accept her dance scholarship that Juilliard offered her. Everything was going perfectly for her but, unfortunately, life wasn’t ever meant to the stay that way.

Shortly after Aiyla and Atesh’s highschool graduation, the Kaplans chose to spent the weekend in their family’s beach house to celebrate that milestone in the twins’ lives. After spending their day on the beach since after eating breakfast, the Kaplans turned in for the night and prepared for their dinner and karaoke. Now, as they were preparing, a fire started somewhere in the house and the fire grew too big, too fast. The four Kaplans were all rushed to the hospital but only Aiyla was saved. There were numerous questions about what started the fire, some even had a theory that it wasn’t an accident, but the eighteen year old was taken of Turkey before the press would get the chance to harass her with their questions and assumptions.

but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten,

Losing the three most important in her life on the night that she was supposed to be. celebrating unsurprisingly took a toll on her mental health. It didn’t help that someone might have planned for this to happen and that her parents might have saw it coming. Why else would they have left a letter addressed to Aiyla and Atesh in case something bad happens? In that letter were the security codes she needed to gain access to the money they saved up for her future, the explanation of why they chose to put her aunt who lived in Chicago as her primary guardian and the request that she doesn’t live the rest of her life trying to piece the puzzle together. Of course, that was easier said than done but she was committed to doing so for her parents and for her brother who did not get the opportunity to fulfill his dream of being a film director.

Aiyla still accepted the scholarship to Juilliard and during her first year of college, it was difficult to not completely lose the spark but she had the photo of her family on their last day together in a frame on her bedside table, reminding her of the source of that spark. For the rest of her life, she carried her losses with her, her grief, and as unbelievable as this sounds, it kept her going.

and Aiyla is not going to stop until the dragons in her life are beaten.

some tidbits about her

Aiyla believes that no one deserves to be treated unkindly so she never treats the people in her life that way, not even those who caused her harm. This makes her vulnerable but she does not see that as a problem.

She tries her best to find the silver lining in things even if that’s not the easiest thing for her to do anymore.

She is a hopeful and she liked to believe that things will get better

She has the tendency to cares too much when a person is very important to her.

After losing her family, she became more fragile and it does not take a lot for her to be affected by something.

Knowing that someone planned to kill her family, she believes that there are a lot of cruel people out there so trusting people is something she doesn’t do often. While she is kind to everyone, it takes a lot for her to let open up and let people in.

[appleasing]

Light Observations as an Art Student in Quar

It’s strange being interested in art right now. With a great deal of the world (rightfully) panicked that they will be getting a potentially-deadly disease, it feels selfish to be wondering, “but what will happen to Art?” However, as it has it I’m an art student who was removed from her studio due to school closings, who wants to work in the field upon graduation, and I can’t help but be curious. 

While art schools were closing and galleries were postponing events, there was speculation that corona would be great for creation. Quarantine was supposed to stimulate artists, with no shortage of uncertainty fueling creation. 

Since quarantine has started, I have had little to do besides observe what has happened to the art world, and think on what all of this means for the status quo. 

Observation 1: No one was ready for this, and inconsequentially so, especially not my college.

Back in March when higher education began to close, art students were deeply concerned about rounding out their semesters. There was a hesitation in the air, with students and faculty being left in the dark over plans for studio and equipment access.

Sub-observation 1: Art professors are notoriously bad with technology, and hate answering emails (Deeply challenging in an online course).

While online classes are a valiant effort by professors trying to salvage their curriculum, there is little to be said for the value of online art learning. Students were left without the equipment they are promised when enrolling in an art program. 

Sub-observation 2: I am tired of people telling me it is exciting for me to be making work in this way, right now. Art is not making me feel excited, it is making me feel useless. 

Imagine you’re a carpenter. You have all your necessary tools in front of you, and you are told to build a box. Suddenly, someone comes in and tells you it is not safe to stay in your woodshop. You may not re-enter the shop until we can guarantee it is safe, and we have absolutely no clue as to when that will be. You have some tools, but one of them breaks. You cannot go to the store, and the Amazon employees are striking. You do not cross the picket line. You decide not to search for tools. 

Now, everyone is very excited for the carpenter. “Aren’t you so excited to make the box? No one has ever made a box under these conditions! We are in completely unprecedented times, you should be excited to make this box.”

The carpenter is not excited, they do not learn to make a box in these new circumstances, the carpenter instead spends the next two months learning to make sourdough. 

Observation 2: Cancelling everything and creating a world where I have no schedule doesn’t make me want to fill my time with making art, it makes me want to binge Saw movies. 

The halting of opportunity surrounding corona is not exactly the inspiration we were all waiting for. This void of creation is not as freeing to the artist as we hoped. In fact, according to some galleries, artists are having trouble making art at all. 

With the world being separated by circumstance, there is a disconnect that has formed in the arts community. In the contemporary, collaboration between artists is huge. Artists inspire each other to make art, and become invigorated by each other to make new work. 

Quarantine is the antithesis of community. With no one to tangibly share work with, there is little motivation to create. Art is inherently developed to be shared, and this sharing has been completely stunted. 

Observation 3: I have no idea how bad anything is, still.

At times during quarantine it is hard to figure out exactly how dire things. Turns out, mass isolation is a big deal, life-altering really,and we are having a much harder time recovering from it than certain other emergencies of yore. 

In an Art Basel panel discussion, Lisa Spellman, founder of 303 gallery in New York, describes the difference between how COVID-19 is affecting art versus previous tragedies. She describes the aftermath of 9/11, and how art communities responded in its wake. She described how public officials were begging galleries to continue to host events, to retain some sense of normalcy in the city. The thing that healed New York was the sense of togetherness which brought communities back together.

In this new type of tragedy, the arts are in the fourth and final phase of New York’s reopening plan. This choice makes sense, with art being low on the list of priorities for keeping anyone healthy. However, it does mean much longer of a wait time for our communities to be able to experience that same sense of togetherness.

Observation 4: I don’t like quarantine art.

Two months into the nationwide calls for self-quarantine, there have been a slew of works being made about staying at home. Some artists are photographing themselves bored in their living rooms; some are documenting empty streets, and storefronts with signs that say “closed due to COVID-19”. Honestly? I think it’s mostly boring.

Back in 2016, when Donald Trump was first elected to office, there was a light consensus that Trump would spur a quality increase in political satire. In a matter of months, there were men painting themselves orange and adorning blonde wigs on television screens across the world. A few months after that, seeing even the bonafide Trump face on television felt like a tired, cruel joke. 

In a similar way to the Trump comedians of 2017, COVID-19 art has the potential to quickly grow stale. The work is simply too surface level to be sustainable. Though potentially therapeutic to view for a moment, the audience quickly moves on as they are unable to dig deeper into work that is only observational, with no punchline.

Plus, we all know what is going on, and a dozen photographs of empty streets aren’t going to make us feel any better about it. 

Observation 5: I like Instagram more than I thought I did. 

It has been a delight to watch everyone try to figure out how to transform their physical presence into shareable online content. Some have done great, others are struggling a bit, but I have enjoyed the growing pains. Something is nice about seeing formal institutions being forced to figure out Instagram live. 

In order to not be left behind, online programs and workshops have been developed en masse by galleries across the US. Due to this, programs that used to be sheltered in galleries are now on view through Instagram stories. In a strange way, galleries are now creating more accessible content than ever.

This forced accessibility is the most groundbreaking thing the art sphere has managed in quarantine. One thing art spaces have always failed to grasp at is how to get the everyday person into their galleries. Art has simply never been commonplace in the mind of the working class, and is dismissed as high society nonsense. Which, honestly, holds true in the old way of doing things. 

Suddenly, since no one can access anything, everyone can. Anyone is able to click through a digital gallery, with institutions as big as the MOMA putting their exhibitions online for free. It makes art attainable, with no cost or intense time investment, and no need to leave the house. Maybe now it is about putting it in front of the right (new) people, but it is certainly an improvement.

This shift in attainability is game changing, and should cause museums to think long and hard about returning to their old practices. Just because quarantine is lifting, does not mean everyone has the same ability to participate in art spaces. Accessibility to a general public is something artists and galleries have been striving for for years. We are now, in a bizarre way, the closest we have ever been to that goal, and it would be a shame to see galleries reopening be the thing that shuts people out.

Closing Observation: I am not sure if the novel coronavirus will be good or bad for art but I am not even certain if that matters if we all perish. 

[porchwood]

ToastedTHG: Does Katniss (protectively) infantilize Prim?

[I may revisit this post later in light of CF and MJ, but it’s ridiculously long already and I really want to stick with THG for the moment.]

I don’t mean this as harshly as it sounds, simply that, to my way of thinking, Katniss depicts - and likely perceives - Prim, especially early on in THG, as a much younger child. I find with older siblings (my own sister and friends that have little sisters), the younger sibling sometimes gets “stuck” in their head at a certain age/stage, and it stands to reason that Prim would be locked in Katniss’s mind by the trauma of Mr. Everdeen’s death, Mrs. Everdeen’s neglect, and the girls’ near-death by starvation as seven-year-old “sweet tiny Prim, who cried when I cried before she even knew the reason.”

When I first started reading THG fic, it bothered me that Prim always came across as so much younger than she’s supposed to be (though I found myself doing the same with her character when I first started writing THG fic). She always seemed to be about eight years old, whether Katniss was twelve or eighteen. And then I went back to THG and really looked at how Katniss presents her:

She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. 

My little sister, Prim, curled up on her side, cocooned in my mother’s body, their cheeks pressed together. 

The community home would crush her like a bug. 

Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. [...] Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?

I reach out to Prim and she climbs on my lap, her arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. 

“She’s just twelve.” (not that age twelve isn’t still childhood, but this reads to me like “She’s just seven years old...”)

The woods terrified her... 

...Prim, who’s scared of her own shadow... 

In this way [Rue’s] exactly the opposite of Prim, for whom adventures are an ordeal. 

I’m not suggesting that any of this is negative or untrue, and as I’ll explain in just a moment, as the story goes on, Katniss paints quite a different picture of her sister between the lines. But as I revisited each of these passages (not to mention the “little duck” references on reaping day), I couldn’t help feeling that Katniss is still seeing and describing a sweet, frail, starving seven-year-old. And it’s not hard to see why.

I protect Prim in every way I can, but I’m powerless against the reaping. The anguish I always feel when she’s in pain wells up in my chest and threatens to register on my face. 

Katniss is an exemplary protective older sister - the only thing she wanted in all of this is to protect Prim :_( - and I would never find fault with her depicting Prim as a tiny frightened thing who needs shielding from the world at all times. But there’s a whole lot more to Prim that her sister eventually lets slip out (intentionally or otherwise):

Sweet tiny Prim...who brushed and plaited my mother’s hair before we left for school, who still polished my father’s shaving mirror each night because he’d hated the layer of coal dust that settles on everything in the Seam. (This is that same tiny vulnerable seven-year-old taking care of her adult mother and tending to her dead father’s memory - every single day, even while she’s starving to death! I can’t think of anything I did that consistently at age seven, let alone taking care of another person!)

On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. Prim’s gift to me on reaping day. (As @ghtlovesthg pointed out - this means Prim must have been up before Katniss!)

“I’ll be all right, Katniss,” says Prim, clasping my face in her hands. “But you have to take care, too. You’re so fast and brave. Maybe you can win.” (Prim reassuring Katniss at the Justice Building! I’d forgotten about that one!)

...When she sells her goat cheeses at the Hob... (Prim is a businesswoman, not just a sometime-trader! Discussed a smidge more in this post.)

Prim milking her goat before school. (Again, uniquely responsible in a child, because this is an every-single-day responsibility, not something you can skip if you sleep in or rush if you’re running late. At least, not if I understand milking correctly.)

What’s funny was, Prim, who’s scared of her own shadow, stayed and helped. (With that miner’s awful leg wound)

That’s another thing about my mother and Prim. Nakedness has no effect on them, gives them no cause for embarrassment. Ironically, at this point in the Games, my little sister would be of far more use to Peeta than I am. (I’m almost 40 and I’m still squeamish about male nudity! It’s part of why I love Katniss so much! And I love Katniss’s admission of sweet, tiny, vulnerable Prim being useful to a mortally wounded Peeta.)

Something that’s only faintly nodded to (and that in CF) is that Prim has been dealing firsthand with pregnancy/labor/delivery, probably alongside her mother - I’d hazard she’s something of an apothecary apprentice at this point - but certainly with Lady, her goat. Lady was a gift for Prim’s 10th birthday (just over two years before THG begins), which means she’s been tended by Prim through at least two pregnancies, as well as the mauled shoulder. I belabored this a bit in WtM, but this also means that Prim had a small side business in goat kids, either trading them back to the Goat Man for the stud service that keeps Lady in milk, selling male kids to Rooba for meat (which would probably break Prim’s tender heart a bit), and/or selling females for a tidy sum as future dairy goats.  

What’s more, if Prim hasn’t gone through menarche herself by the start of THG, she’s surely intimately aware of it (between close living quarters, limited “sanitary supplies,” and her mother’s patients). This is something else I’ve touched on (and will belabor in the near future) in the Mooniverse, but I think menstruation was both a hopeful and a terrifying thing to the women of Twelve. (On the one hand, they would certainly experience irregular/absent periods, delayed menarche, etc due to malnutrition, so the appearance of a steady cycle would mean joy for those who dearly wanted to get pregnant, but there would also be something of Katniss’s “terror as old as life itself” at the prospect of those children who might result.) We never get a chance to see this, sadly, but I’ll bet Prim had a crush (on Peeta’s oldest brother, who was crazy about her in turn). Did she share Katniss’s fear about bringing children into the cruel world she lived in, or was she looking forward to being a mother one day? 

To wrap this up, for a little perspective, let’s take a quick peek at another example of a twelve-year-old female character. Say, an intelligent one with an ugly yellow cat...

(yes, I know Crookshanks comes along a smidge later, but I’m not crazy about movie!Hermione and this gif was too perfect!)

At the beginning of THG, give or take a few months, Prim is the same age as Hermione in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. 

Please tell me this gives someone else a wee start (and I don’t mean the gif of Captain Kirk)!

Now, I’m not trying to equate these characters by any means, though there are similarities between the two (and I’ve been wondering for days now: if Prim was Hermione, Rory Hawthorne would be Ron, for so many reasons, but who would be Harry??)...The Grangers are dentists, Mrs. Everdeen is a skilled apothecary; both girls have a heritage looked down upon by some of their peers (though it’s interesting that, at least from Katniss’s perspective, Prim is universally adored rather than scorned as a “Seam brat” - and she’s got to look the tiniest bit Seam in some way!). I would hazard that Prim knows the plant book cover-to-cover at this point - and heck, Katniss even describes Prim (and their mother) as “work[ing] magic” in their healing! :)

I freely admit that Hermione had loads of advantages Prim could only dream of (relative affluence in the Muggle world, 20th-21st century conveniences, access to superior education from the get-go, not to mention real magic), but one would expect - and I think, will find - a similar emotional maturity in Prim at that age, if not more weighted to Prim's side, since she's living in a brutal post-apocalyptic dystopia where she lost her father (in terrible circumstances) at a very young age and works alongside her mother to tend sick/wounded/dying coal miners - surely a harrowing experience for even a seasoned healer.

Anyway, I found it interesting to compare the two, however briefly, and consider just how competent Prim totally is may be behind the scenes. I mean, she should have a Time-Turner by CF, at the very least. :)

[hufflly-puffs]

Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows

Chapter 1: The Dark Lord Ascending

Without checking, but I think this is the only book that I own that is dedicated to me. And well to everyone else, who stuck with Harry until the very end. It might be just a small thing, but I remember how much it meant to me, the first time I read Rowling’s dedication for her final book in the Potter series. Reading those books had felt like a long journey for me; read the first one with 11 and the last one with 18. Those books were my childhood/youth. And speaking of journeys: I started these chapter notes over a year ago, so this feels like another journey is ending soon.

We start the book again from an outsider POV, though with an omniscient narrator. The only other chapter written like that was “The Unbreakable Vow” (book 6, Chapter 2) and both chapters revolve around the Death Eaters, and especially Snape. Given the ambiguous nature of Snape, and that his true loyalty is meant to remain a secret almost until the end, it makes of course sense we don’t get to see inside Snape’s mind, don’t know what he is thinking or feeling. Rowling remains an observer in this chapter, never commenting the events.

What we get is a great insight of the hierarchy Voldemort has built around him. His followers live in constant fear of him and see each other as competition for his approval. The moment one of them fails, one of them shows only the slightest weakness, they all turn against him or her. They remind me of a group of school bullies, letting out their own fear and anger on someone weak, an easy target, although of course the Death Eaters are far more dangerous.

We can already learn so much from those first moments when Snape and Yaxley arrive; their first instinct is to attack each other before they recognise who the other one is. They are both anxious because they are late, knowing that only good news will justify their lateness. Yaxley even says he hopes Voldemort will be satisfied. Clearly his cult is built on fear and punishment and the constant need to do better than the others, to show no weakness, to be no failure.

“‘He always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks …’ Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.” – Ok, the fact that the Malfoys own a snow-white peacock is like something straight out of a fan fiction and how everyone imagined the Manor would look like, but that I never expected to be true.

“As their eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light they were drawn upwards to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside-down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated underneath this singular sight was looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed unable to prevent himself from glancing upwards every minute or so.” – I wonder if Draco did know who the woman was? Did she look familiar to him? Obviously he wouldn’t have taken Muggle Studies, but still she was a teacher at Hogwarts, so it is possible he recognized her. Draco’s behaviour shows a clear difference between him and the rest of the Death Eaters. The others know to show no interest in that woman, no curiosity, or perhaps even pity. This might not be the first time Voldemort brings a “guest” so they already know what will happen soon. Draco though had a hard course of reality check lately. He knows that Dumbledore was right in saying he is not a killer, knows that he is not as cruel and sadistic like the other Death Eaters, but also in what kind of danger this puts him and his family, because in the eyes of Voldemort this is a weakness. And by the way Voldemort taunts Lucius and Draco he is fully aware of that.

“‘Severus, here,’ said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. ‘Yaxley – beside Dolohov.’ The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape and it was to him that Voldemort spoke first.” – It is very obvious that Snape is pretty high in this hierarchy. He is allowed to sit directly next to Voldemort, he is addressed first, and all the attention from the other Death Eaters is on him, because they know Voldemort favours Snape. Snape of course has been one of the most valuable spies, with access to the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore, and of course ultimately he is the one who killed Dumbledore. Of course for Dumbledore’s plan to succeed Voldemort needed to trust Snape and therefore Snape had to sacrifice almost everything. He needed to give Voldemort important information about the Order. It is possible Snape is the one who gave the Death Eaters information about Emmeline Vance, resulting in her death, sacrificing her for a greater plan. He now will give Voldemort the right information about the date Harry will leave the Dursleys, obviously putting Harry (and everyone else who tries to protect him) at risk. He has to in order to remain Voldemort’s most trusted follower; it is a very calculated risk.

“‘Saturday … at nightfall,’ repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon Snape’s black ones with such intensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved into something like a smile. ‘Good. Very good. And this information comes –’ ‘From the source we discussed,’ said Snape.” – First of all we never learn who that source is. We later learn that Snape knew about the right date because Dumbledore (or rather his portrait) had told him, but I doubt he told Voldemort that, so he had to find someone else to present Voldemort as a reliable source. Second, short appreciation for the badass-Occlumens Snape is, never revealing to Voldemort his true motivation/loyalty.

Yaxley gives Voldemort a different date for Harry’s departure from the Dursleys, but it is obvious that Voldemort favours Snape and trusts his information more, or perhaps he thinks Snape’s source is more reliable than Yaxley’s. We also learn that the Death Eaters have by now infiltrated the Ministry of Magic and plan to overtake the Ministry. This will obviously give them much more control over the Wizarding World, as it gives them more tools of surveillance and the ability to change the law. Obviously Voldemort does not care if what he does is illegal, but it still makes a difference if you can rule your terror regime within the law. Fascist parties will always be more dangerous if they act legally, if their power is supported by the law they created. Because even though not everyone is as radical as Voldemort and the Death Eaters this new regime will have enough followers who share enough of the mindset of Voldemort to tag along. And yet Voldemort will never be in the open. He does not make himself Minister of Magic, but instead uses marionettes to do his work for him. He does not need to be in the open, because the whole time he is in the one in power. He knows that people fear him, but also the outright hate he creates. As long as he remains in the shadow people can silence their conscience because after all they don’t follow Voldemort.

Also, while Snape gives away the correct date of Harry’s departure (he has to for Voldemort to trust him) he does not reveal which member of the Order will take Harry in until his birthday. Of course it is possible he simply does not know, but maybe it is again calculated risk. Give away one vital information but keep another a secret. (And as we later learn, the plan to protect Harry – the seven Potters – came from Snape as well)

“Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed; his neighbour, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.” – Awww. I think this the closet kind of affection we will ever see between two Death Eaters.

“Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, ‘I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors, than to his triumphs.’ […]‘I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those wreckers of all but the best laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.’” – It is interesting that Voldemort blames himself, that he makes his own errors responsible for the fact that Harry still lives. But obviously the only reason why he would admit failure is to lessen Harry’s impact. Harry did not survive because he might be the better wizard, because he has powers Voldemort does not, but simply because Voldemort made mistakes. The only way he could survive was because Voldemort had been careless. There is no other way Voldemort can explain to himself why Harry is still alive, a teenage boy who is not even fully educated compared to the greatest wizard of all time. It seems like Voldemort by now has heard the full prophecy (perhaps Snape told him, because by now it does no longer make a difference), because he insists he is the one to kill Harry. But it also seems like he ignores the part where the prophecy says Harry has a power Voldemort does not know about, because to Voldemort that simply is not possible.

“The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms. ‘No volunteers?’ said Voldemort. ‘Let’s see … Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand any more.’” – A lot of book 7 revolves around wand lore, the importance of a wand and the ownership of a wand and how it can change. It is very obvious that none of the Death Eaters wants to give away their wand voluntary – without a wand you are defenceless, powerless, in short no longer a wizard. Demanding Lucius’s wand is the ultimate humiliation for him. Voldemort insists Lucius has no longer a need for a wand, therefore saying he no longer sees him as a wizard – he is worthless. The low standing of the Malfoy family is symbolized by the fact that during the following year they will all lose their wand (Lucius’s wand is destroyed, Draco’s taken by Harry and Narcissa gives hers to her son).

“Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale as he was, her long, blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red eyes, examining it closely.” – Let’s be clear here: Narcissa is without a doubt the strongest, most capable of the Malfoys. She is the one holding this family together. She will be the one who has ultimately the nerve to lie to Voldemort just to save her son. We stan.

“‘I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late … what is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?’” – I think Dumbledore was right in assuming Lucius was safer in Azkaban than he is now, even though he is free. Using the Manor as a base is yet another punishment for the Malfoys. And I always liked the fan fics who would later explore the idea of Draco being unable to return home because of what happened there, how tainted the place became he had once called home.

“She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanour; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned towards Voldemort, for mere words could not demonstrate her longing for closeness.” – I don’t think it has ever been addressed if Narcissa had been a Death Eater as well, but I don’t think so. Of course both her husband and her son are, so she is in this mess as well regardless. But while she shares the thought that Muggleborn wizards and witches do not belong in the Wizarding World, she has never been as devoted as her sister. She only cares about the well-being of her family, especially her son, and she does not care on what side she has to be in order to protect him.

“There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The great snake, disliking the disturbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the Malfoys’ humiliation. Bellatrix’s face, so recently flushed with happiness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.” – As I said, the Death Eaters use every opportunity to turn against one of their own, the weakest link, the easiest victim. And especially Bellatrix used to brag about how close she is to Voldemort, how deep her devotion is, so to see her humiliated by Voldemort himself is greeted with a lot of spite and malice.

“‘What say you, Draco?’ asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. ‘Will you babysit the cubs?’” – I admit I have a soft spot for fan fics where Harry and Draco babysit Teddy together. And I do wonder if after the war Draco had contact with Andromeda and Teddy, and Narcissa as well, trying to heal some old wounds.

“‘Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,’ he said, as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring. ‘You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.’ ‘Yes, my Lord,’ whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. ‘At the first chance!’” – And this is the reason why Bellatrix became so obsessed with the idea of killing Tonks. She makes her responsible for her falling out with Voldemort, believing that if she cuts away the rotten part of her family she can redeem herself.

“Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again. ‘Severus … please … please …’” – Which of course are the exact same last words Dumbledore said to Snape.

“‘Silence,’ said Voldemort, with another twitch of Malfoy’s wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. ‘Not content with corrupting and polluting polluting the minds of wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defence of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the pure-bloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance … she would have us all mate with Muggles … or, no doubt, werewolves …’” – Isn’t it fascinating to listen to those words, knowing that Voldemort’s mother ‘mated’ with a Muggle, that Voldemort himself grew up like a Muggle, so he as well ‘stole’ knowledge. Yes, he is the heir of Slytherin, but he did not grow up in a wizarding family, he did not know about the Wizarding World until he attended Hogwarts, he is more familiar with the Muggle world than all those pureblood wizards sitting at his table. Following his own thoughts he himself would not have to right to be part of the Wizarding World.

[tansypoisoning]

💀🐇🔥💚🗡🔨 for Bucky and Steve please?

Yandere asks

Bucky

💀 What are they like in their cruelest moments?

At his worst, when he’s at a lost of what to do with his SO, he will control their access to things to help them with their most basic needs. He doesn’t want to hit or restrain his SO, but hurting them in other ways is not off the table.

Forget your contact with the outside world; he won’t let you leave to have basic human interactions - why would you, when you have him? But, oh, lest we forget, he’s too mad to be talking to you right now, so I guess you will have to be a little lonely for a while. You want to sleep? Good luck doing that with the intense spotlights that are placed all over the room he’s locked you in. Food will come with as little frequency as it must to keep you alive and be as bland as possible (he will feed you intravenously if he has to). There is no bathroom access, and no bucket for you to relieve yourself; you can soil your clothes and he’ll clean you just to ensure your health.

When you’re so desperate you’d do anything for things to go back to what they were before you pissed him off, he’ll be waiting with open arms.

🐇 What is their ideal way to care for their crush?

Bucky’s admiration for the SO is so great he sometimes feels bad about himself when he’s near them. Even though he will demand their attention, he won’t do it as often as he would like (read: all the time) because he doesn’t feel worthy of their affection.

His ideal way to take care of their SO involves mostly being out of view; watching over them as they go about their day, buying things they might need and leaving them somewhere convenient for his SO to find; cleaning their house when they’re away; secretly installing softwares in his SO’s tech so he can always keep an eye on them. You know, little things.

🔥 Any secret kinks?

You know how we read stories about characters being obsessed with the reader? Bucky would love to do the same, only in reverse. He trembles just thinking about the person he wants wanting him back so much they’ll just jump him. The thought of his SO being as in love with him as he is with them? So hot.

Be forceful and take what you want; so long as what you want is him

💚 Best way to calm them down?

Be veeer-ry gentle with him. Talk to him softly, run your fingers through his hair, kiss his forehead, and just let him work through whatever is bothering him on his own. As long as his SO approaches him with the clear intent of comforting him, they should be fine.

🗡 Are they sadistic?

Never! Bucky hates to see his SO suffer, and all the punishment he administers has strictly educational purposes (whether they’re efficient or not is another matter). Seeing his SO cry tugs at his heart in the worst of ways, but if he’s convinced they have to go through the pain, he’ll soldier through. Remember, it hurts him more than it hurts you.

🔨 What is an instant turn on for them?

Just be happy and relaxed: Bucky loves to see his SO happy and stress free. Seeing them in a stated of relaxation really does it for him, because it means he’s doing his job well. Of course, given how intense his affection is, his SO will hardly ever be totally at ease.

Jump his bones: If his SO approaches him for any kind of intimacy, he’ll be immediately hard. All he ever wanted is for his SO to want him back, and when they do? He can barely contain his joy. Just saying that you like him will do the trick, tbh.

Play with his hair: I don’t have any explanation for this, I just get this vibe from Bucky. Touch his hair and he’s happy as a clam.

Steve

💀 What are they like in their cruelest moments?

He will systematically destroy the things that are important to his SO, from least important (favorite book or a trip they wanted to go on) to most important (their career or loved ones). He will play it coy too, acting as if he didn’t do anything or as if, yeah, sure, he did do it, but it was an accident/he was just trying to makes things better.

Steve can be very cruel, but his wrath is calculated, as he wants to keep some plausible deniability, if not for his SO and not for the outside world, at least for himself.

🐇 What is their ideal way to care for their crush?

Steve wants to help them with anything they struggle with. Even if he’s not any good at it, even if he’s worse at it than them, he’ll learn and practice until he becomes and expert to help his SO with whatever it is they need. He prides himself in being needed, and doing something his SO can do easily doesn’t drive the point home quite as well as doing things they can’t to.

🔥 Any secret kinks?

Honestly, just worship him. He’s too ashamed to ever bring it up, but to have his SO willingly kiss every inch of his body, resting their head on his thigh while they look at him adoringly and hanging onto his every word is just

He would also be super happy if he managed to get his SO pregnant, but that’s not much of a secret.

💚 Best way to calm them down?

Be pregnant?

Failing that, ACT LIKE EVERYTHING IS FINE. Sure, he might just have destroyed the kitchen wall after throwing the stove at it, but he’s still your Stevie, right? He wants to be in a normal relationship, and the surest way to quell his anger is to act like that’s what you have. If he threatens your loved ones, answer as if he disagreed about what flavor of pizza to order; If he flips a table, act like he drummed his fingers against the top in mild frustation. If you can distract him from the real nature of your relationship you should be set.

🗡 Are they sadistic?

Not tipically, but he can be. Steve doesn’t want to cause pain for the sake of pain, but if he’s angry at something his SO has done (or not done) he will savor the suffering he causes them because “they deserve it”.

🔨 What is an instant turn on for them?

Needing help/protection: Listen. This man is the biggest giver. If you need some having he’ll be there to do the giving - whether you want him to or not. It’s not that he wants someone who needs to be protected at all times, but if he spots someone cute in a tough spot, his heart automatically goes doki doki. (That said, he might like some amount of helplessness, but he doesn’t like hopelesness. Try your best, he’ll do the rest)

Showing interest/concern for him: He might be the one who’s taking care of his SO, but it sure would be nice to know they care for him. Ask him about himself with no ulterior motives and he’ll be rubbing up against you in no time.

Hips/butt/the pelvis in general: There’s a definite way of letting Steve know it’s on (yes, even if you don’t mean to; no such thing as accidents, darling). If he his SO is moving in an enticing way he’ll take that as permission to get his hands on them. He’s so into it, surely they must be too!

[mysticandskepticmuses]

MEET Rori LuAnne* Dearing.   ( Altered Carbon based original character. )

                *Please note.  Any use of her middle name in character will result in her losing her shit because who the fuck names their child LuAnne in the 25th century it’s so 400 years ago….

                 First things first, OOC, yes, this is the same face claim as I use for Saori; it’s intentional / for plot purposes w/ certain characters where that holy shit it’s like looking at a ghost trope is lots of fun so…  Also, I think it’s particularly interesting in a world where bodies can be custom made and DNA is literally just a playground for scientists for there to be this freak natural repetition / recreation after 250 years.  It is something that family members remark on from time to time, but it’s not something that a lot of them really pay that much attention to, it’s the oh you look so much like so and so, but since none of the living family members even met Saori they don’t realize just how identical the resemblance is.  And most people that meet her wouldn’t know enough about her history / lineage to know though so.  She’s just a pretty, long-legged, pierced and tattooed cutie pie.    [ Any of those rare survivors from Envoy era that were at Stronghold or on Harlan’s World, or any that might have VR’ed in to a conference or something w/ Saori are totally free / encouraged to notice and react of course !!! ]

                  Yes, Rori is the great-great-great …. whatever many great-granddaughter of my other / latest original character, SAORI DEARING, an uprising sympathizer who lived on Harlan’s World during the Envoy war / during the time of the destruction of Stronghold.  [ the battle of stronghold is widely known as the battle where the Protectorate finally defeated the evil Envoys, murderers of children and women and whole families, terrorists who used sabotage, infiltration, mass murder, torture, bombings, wide spread terror attacks, etc. etc. etc. to try and overthrow the protectorate who wanted to do nothing more than keep the peace in known space etc. ] Rori and her older sister, CLAIRE DEARING, currently know nothing about their ancestor’s involvement with / support of the Uprising – which is probably for the best because Claire would probably die of mortification and Rori would loudly and proudly blast the news from the rooftops.  

                   Claire, written by Liz @magicandsciencemuses, is a (mostly) upstanding citizen who works earnestly to better her way of life and has a great amount of respect for the law and a more than healthy respect / knowledge of what the Meths are capable of; she is one of the directors of the Bay City branch of Psychasec as well as being a well renowned scientist in the field of genetics and body mods, cloning, synth, etc. etc.  She is very much the model child, works hard, works long hours, pays her taxes, follows the rules, tries very hard to keep out of trouble and avoid drama.    ADDITIONAL NOTE:  CLAIRE IS 200+ YEARS OLD.  Rori is in her forties (even though she appears in her early twenties) – in Meth years, Rori is practically a BABY.  

                   Rori, on the other hand, is pretty much the exact opposite.  While she is also intelligent and well educated, she was the wild child from the get go and was always the one that came home with the scraped knees and the bloody noses and the torn clothes, whether it was from actually just falling the frack over her own feet or getting into a fight with someone twice her size in defense of someone else or because they offended her with some smart ass / ill thought out comment that provoked her short-fused (but typically short-lived) temper.  She was almost always involved in some form of protests, some form of protect the planet, protect the species, protect the people, protect the sleeves movement, and became more and more focused on protecting the equality (or what is left of it) as she got ‘older’.  

                   She believes that a lot of what is acceptable and norm when it comes to the treatment of sleeves when it comes to the prison system and victim restitution as a whole is beyond fucked up   She believes that the whole essence of the prison system, stacks in storage, etc. is a huge step backwards and one that just does no good to anyone except those profiting financially from the system.  Ripping someone out of their sleeve and sticking them into storage seems entirely opposite of helpful to her.  There is no longer any opportunity for reform in the penal system.  Being on ice doesn’t give you time to think.  It doesn’t give you time to reflect on your life choices and realize what you’re missing.  It doesn’t give you time for soul searching or to learn methods in which to cope, it doesn’t allow you to better yourself in any way – literally the only thing that it does it rip you out of one time and then toss you back out into the world in what was just a blink of an eye to you.  Nothing changes.  Worst case scenario, you’re in a stranger’s body, a hundred years later, maybe you’ve got a family member or someone that was told about you enough to show up and give you a place to crash for a few days while you get your shit sorted but.  

                   Now you’re a stranger, with no working knowledge of the world, the politics or laws that have changed, the events in history that might have been world shatteringly important that you missed, no relevant job history, no contacts, no resources, and depending on what field of study or what kind of job you had, you might be entirely irrelevant plus - you’re a convict so what does that do for your likelihood of finding gainful employment - especially while in whatever broken down sleeve they give you on release ???  It pretty much guarantees the only life the newly released have to go back to is – crime.  

                And that’s not even getting onto the topic of renting out people’s bodies and how that just feels inherently wrong to her – they don’t even bother to try and use it as a deterrent tactics, it’s just a WAY OF LIFE and it just seems cruel and unusual to her.  There have always been accrued costs of prison, one way or another, sticking a body on ice / suspending it / cryogenic storage or whatever is WAY cheaper than actually housing criminals used to be.  And how easy is it for someone that’s corrupt to play that system ???? Want a particular sleeve for yourself or your partner but they won’t sleep with you?  Get them convicted and rent it for a week.  Have a Neo-C that you need out of the way at your job or that’s married to someone you want to pursue or that you have a grudge against and want to see them suffer / their family suffer?  Set them up for even the smallest crime, because once they’re yanked out of their sleeve that’s it, bye-bye.  

                   And it’s not just punishing the criminals! Seeing someone else walking and talking in the sleeve of your lover, your brother, your mother, your best friend and knowing it’s not them - it doesn’t matter how tough you are or act like you are, that hurts – knowing that that body is being used for god knows what and you can’t keep it safe / protect it ???  Knowing that the person’s sleeve is out and about because you couldn’t afford the mortgage payments to keep it hanging out empty until the person’s time was up and they can get put back in it ? That is brutal and cruel and unusual punishment to people that did nothing wrong but care.  

                   So… yeah.  Human rights / sleeves’ rights activist.  Has had the occasional brush with the law in terms of protesting, the occasional riot or act of vandalism, threats against particular organizations or Meths or whomever it is that she’s up in arms against at the time but, generally low level stuff that hasn’t gotten her in a ton of hot water legally speaking.  She actually does have a semi decent relationship with some of the beat cops or a detective here or there, she’s happy to turn over intel and information she finds about acts of actual violence or terrorism that she catches wind of and is especially happy to turn over anything she hears that deals with corrupt cops, politicians, Meths influence on anything with policy or wrangling positions of power for their chess pieces in law enforcement or political circles etc.  

                   She does dabble in some drug use, she drinks, she smokes, she swears, she sleeps around, she has tattoo and piercings that fluctuate a lot - she is still in her birth sleeve (though second clone after an airtram derailment a few years back).  She gambles, she shoots pool, she gets into the occasional fist fight, she has no problem calling anyone out on their bullshit but – she has a good heart and does her best to help out people in trouble around her whenever she can.  She drifts through a lot of circles; she has friends in all manner of walks of life in the underworld and legit circles, she makes it pretty clear she doesn’t have any interest in being involved in drama outside of her choosing and tends to usually manage to keep from pissing off the wrong people (she’s way more likely to have enemies among the politicians, the Meths, the policy makers than get caught up in a turf war etc).  

                   She has a loft apartment in Licktown, but she also has four or five other roommates and it’s very crowded and busy so she tends to prefer to crash at her hookup’s place when an option and also makes a semi regular habit of showing up at Claire’s in the middle of the night and crashing on her couch for a few days.  Despite their glaring differences, the sisters are actually pretty close and as much as they rib on each other, they would not hesitate to come to the defense of the other if necessary, in a heartbeat.  

                     Rori does come from a family of Meths.  Her lifestyle choices, her behaviour, the fact she lives on the Ground and in Licktown are all huge sources of embarrassment for the majority of her family.  The only reason she isn’t actually just cut loose and written off as the black sheep of the family is because Claire wouldn’t stand for it.  Rori does have access to a large stipend, which she does live off of at times but in general she prefers to make her own way - she works as a bartender, a tattoo artist, odd jobs here and there.  Whatever she doesn’t use of her monthly allowance, though, she does pull out every month and donate to a number of different activist groups, shelters, etc. - wherever needs it the most at that time.

[azdoine]

Writing under a pseudonym, “Vicki” introduced herself as “a 14 year old boy who wants nothing more out of life than to be a girl.” While she had already come out to her father, “he is not understanding” and had withheld his consent for her to see a doctor in Columbus. In her first letter she asked Wollman to write back to try to convince her father to let her see the doctor—or perhaps, she wondered, could he just mail her a prescription for estrogen? Vicki also narrated an overview of her day-to-day life, mentioning that she was afraid at school “because the kids are cruel,” that her grades had been slipping, that she had to be on a diet because of weight gain from emotional eating stemming from deep depression, and that she had tried to commit suicide at least once...

Enclosed with this letter were two small photographs of herself, ostensibly dressed in boy’s clothes, to help illustrate the matter of her dilemma in stark visual terms. In a close-up shot, her face is weathered by visible pain and exhaustion that make her look much older than fourteen. In a wide-angle shot take in front of her house, Vicki is facing away from the camera but turns her head back to look at the viewer, as if she is both surprised by and guardedly expectant of connection...

Virginia Allan prepared a standard response for Wollman, which boiled down to one dismissive line: “Be patient, finish your education, and see how you feel once you are matured.” Undeterred, Vicki continued to write every few weeks to New York with various questions over the next two years: “Is it possible for you to get some kind of permit to let me wear women’s clothes?” “Could you give me a prescription for something for my nerves?”... At the same time, she kept Wollman apprised of her life. After coming out to her best friend at school in a written letter, she was publicly humiliated when the note was then passed around the class. “I was never so embarrassed in my entire life,” she wrote. Her peers were vicious: “They’re always hitting me and yelling at me. My arms are black and blue and I can’t help but not do anything.”

Vicki continued to write to Benjamin. By the summer of 1969 she had moved in with her cousin in Columbus and went out in public as a sixteen-year-old girl. By her estimation, “people have never questioned me. I’ve been in ladies restrooms, been whistled at, and even been helped with my coat.” She also felt certain that her father would now finally pay for her to see a doctor in Columbus. “The next letter I write,” she added enthusiastically, “will either be telling you I get the operation or that I was turned down.” To that end, she appended a further set of questions about trans children: “Who was the youngest female to become male? Who was the yougnest [sic] male to become a female? Can sex-changes have children? What does it take to be a true transexual [sic]? Who was the first sex change? When was the first sex-change preformed [sic]? Do you make all your patients having a sex-change live one year in their new sex before surgery?”...

“I read where someone was eating hormone cream and what it did to them,” she mentioned in May 1969. “Well, I have found a place where I can get it. It said that person was eating 2 ounces of 10,000 units of estrogen (a month). So I figured that I will only be able to eat 1⁄2 oz. of 40,000 units of estrogen. I am still hoping it comes, because I sent for it 11 days ago, and it was in New Jersey.” Perhaps the suggestion of her actually eating hormones was too much, for Benjamin... broke from his usual form response to say in no uncertain terms that she must not eat any hormone cream...

Her last letters in 1970... revolved around finally securing access to estrogen through a doctor in Columbus.

[bettsfic]

Guy in Your MFA outtakes

i found this when i was clearing out my notepad file -- i cut these scenes because they took the story in the wrong direction, but they’re not bad so i thought i’d share

from chapter 4:

A group of undergrads walked past them, chatting and glancing up surreptitiously at the portion of the conversation they’d just heard.

“Can we please go in my office now?” Bellamy asked.

“Yeah,” Clarke said, and followed him the remaining ten feet to his office, which he keyed open. There were four desks crammed into the closet-sized space, like Clarke’s own office on the floor above. Bellamy’s desk was covered in stacks of literary magazines and a handful of short story and craft essay collections.

Lexa’s desk was beside it, decorated much like her apartment. Bellamy tossed his clipboard and water bottle on his desk and took a seat. Clarke sat in Lexa’s chair.

Her realization weighed on her. She wanted to close the door and let him bend her over his desk. 

“I feel like you have a lot on your mind,” she said, which was cruel, to divert the subject to herself from dwelling on her own feelings.

He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “I just—I’m having...trouble, I guess. With this whole friend thing.”

“Best friend thing.”

“Yeah, that.”

“What’s the problem?”

She hoped it was the same problem she was having, which would be good, because the solution probably involved a lot of kissing.

“I’m bad at it.”

“Bad at—being a friend?”

“Yeah.”

His hand was resting on his knee and she put hers overtop of it. “Bell, you’re great at it. Just like you’re great at teaching, and writing, and everything else you attempt.”

“Then why is it so hard?”

“What’s hard about it?” She realized her hand had been on top of his too long and pulled it away. He glanced down at it and frowned slightly. 

“I can’t say what I want to say directly.” He took a breath. “I’m writing an essay. About prison. And how I got there. It’s for you. Because—because I can’t talk about it, but I can write about it. And if you want to be close to me, you deserve to know.”

“I appreciate that. I understand how hard it must be for you to write about.”

“That’s the weird thing. It’s hard, but it feels good. It feels right, like I’ve been waiting all this time to find someone I wanted to tell this story to. And now that I’ve found you, I can’t stop writing.”

She didn’t know what to say. She fought the urge to climb on his lap and kiss him.

“So that’s the problem I’m having. This gut instinct to show you everything versus this voice in my head telling me to shut up and pull back.”

“I don’t want you to shut up and pull back. I want to see everything.”

from chapter 5:

“But I’m not white, I’m not straight, I’m not rich, and I’m not educated. I don’t have much in common with anyone here but you.”

“So why do you care about rocking the boat?”

“Because I still care about the people here. I care about the community they’ve built and fostered. If something happened between us that might hurt that, I wouldn’t be able to live with it. I really would drop out.”

“I thought you were going to do that anyway.”

“I was. And then we got closer. And I thought maybe it would be worth it to stay. But now I’m not sure anymore.”

from chapter 8 (i think):

He typed with only three fingers, which Clarke thought was endearing at first, then annoying, then she realized his access to computers and learning how to use them had probably been limited in the detention facility, and that it was likely he’d only started using computers at the age of eighteen. These were the questions she wanted to ask him, but she couldn’t. It never seemed like the right time.

What felt like an emotional mosquito bite at first turned into full-body hives after a month living with Bellamy. She couldn’t look at him without wanting to crawl overtop of him and kiss him until she got oxygen deprivation. Something snapped in her near the beginning of February—she needed to encourage him to write more and faster, finish whatever he needed to finish so she could accept his past on his own terms and they could be together. 

She started masturbating multiple times a day to help ease the tension permanently coiled in her belly, took her vibrator into the shower with her. Once she had accidentally left it in there, and only realized it later when Bellamy went in to take a shower after her, and she realized with horror that it was still on the caddy next to her shampoo and leave-in conditioner. 

He didn’t say anything about it, so she kept it there. When he continued not saying anything about it, she was sure to turn it to its highest setting while she showered, and moan loud enough so he could hear her. 

She also began stealing his clothes. Like the vibrator, it was an accident at first. She thought she was being a good roommate by grabbing his laundry to make a full load, but then his shirts started getting mixed in with hers, and so she started wearing them. Since the weather had dropped to freezing, she mostly ended up with his hoodies. The first time he caught her wearing one, he was coming home from seminar, bag of groceries in hand for dinner, and stopped to stare at her.

“That’s mine,” he said.

She lifted her chin toward him. “I’m cold.”

Something seemed to settle in him, and he continued to the kitchen. 

She ate his food. Left dirty dishes around the house, books and papers piled on tables. Stole more and more of his clothes. Nearly screamed every time she came. He took all of it in stride: bought extra food and asked what she needed from the grocery, cleaned up after her without comment, stole some of his clothes back but only the ones he needed, and pretended not to notice the half dozen orgasms she gave herself every day.

But then she started walking around half-naked, and that was where he drew the line.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked. In her defense, he was shirtless per usual, a stack of student rough drafts in front of him on the dining room table. Clarke had come out of her room to get a glass of water wearing only a pair of teal boyshorts. She was grateful he kept the thermostat at seventy and put a lot of work into insulating the house, otherwise it would have been too cold. “What?” She looked down at herself. Her boobs looked great. “Oh this? Just getting comfortable in my new home.”

“You need to wear clothes in the house.”

“Why? You don’t.”

“I wear pants.”

“I’m wearing shorts. Seems like a double standard to me.”

“Please put on a shirt or bra or something.”

She stepped closer to him, close but not touching. “Make me.”

He looked her in the eye. “I’ve been living with Octavia for the past decade, Princess. Nothing fazes me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He let his gaze trail down to her chest, gave himself a good eyeful before meeting her eyes again. “Might be.”

That seemed to work, to finally shake the cage a bit, so she kept doing it. Letting him catch her naked, or almost naked. Keeping the door open a crack while she masturbated. Sometimes she moaned his name, just to be a dick.

[rkxhyunjin]

♥ KT ENTERTAINMENT’S SEPTEMBER EVALUATIONS: SOLO PERFORMANCE - IF THE WORLD WAS A PERFECT PLACE

hwang hyunjin’s vocal and rap performance of verbal jint’s if the world was a perfect place for kt entertainment’s september evaluations focusing on family

Standing on stage feels different this time �� nerve wracking in a way that he hadn’t experienced during the MGAs.

This evaluation brings many new things for Hwang Hyunjin. His palms sweat as he gets up on stage, taking the microphone and feeling oddly exposed without a dance routine to let him escape from his own head during the performance. A performance without a dance. A performance without sign. A performance with singing that lasted more than five seconds. A performance as a trainee.

Centre stage, he stops and bows to the coaches, introducing himself with stiff formalities. It doesn’t escape Hyunjin that he’s the youngest in the room, in the entire company even. The youngest who is experiencing everything for the very first time – all before he graduates high school. Some might feel as if this was an accomplishment to be proud of, and in a way, Hyunjin is proud that he of all people managed to make his way onto this stage. But he’s also keenly aware of the distance that separates him and other trainees. Then again, it’s not something that he’s ashamed of, in fact, it spurs him on to work harder and to push himself more. Another goal in a long line of many.

“My name is Hwang Hyunjin, a recent addition to KT entertainment after the Mnet Global Auditions Season Four. I primarily dance, but today I’ll be rapping and singing Verbal Jint’s If the World Was A Perfect Place for the September 2018 Evaluations revolving around family”.

More of a melodic rap than anything else, when he raps it comes with a newfound flow that he had yet to experiment with before this evaluation. There’s an ease to the rhythm that he finds comfort in. A raw emotion that doesn’t feel as if he’s pushing on the verge of desperation or anger as most other raps tend to lean into.

Singing has never been Hyunjin’s strong suit, but then again, he hasn’t put much effort into singing before this. Really, the only time he tried with singing before was during the final group performance of the MGAs. It was then he found, that in all honesty, singing wasn’t that bad. So he approaches this song with soft interest, quietly practising the lines one by one so as to develop that ease the original singer seems to posses. Of course, he doesn’t sing it in the original female key (although his singing has improved, it’s not that good) - transposes it down until it’s at a comfortable range for him. Maybe if this went well he would think about pursuing singing a little more than before.

If the world was perfect You’d be with me right now And all the bad things that happen to the poor people Would never happen at all

On his first day of school, Hyunjin cries. His mother frets and signs to him that she can’t stay as the teacher gently tries to pry him away. She has work today and while all the other children and their parents get to spend the first day together, Hyunjin has to spend it alone. (Simply taking a day off work isn’t an option when your household relies on you keeping the job).

Everyone here is so noisy and loud. He hates it. All he wants to do is go home and hide under the covers. At least at home it’s quiet enough that he can hear his own thoughts.

I’ve been going through some pains No matter how much I drink and sing In a corner of my heart Something dark takes place And it won’t get erased

Why must people be so cruel? Classmates call him weird and ask him why he can’t speak Korean. When he fidgets with his hands out of sheer habit, they stare at him like he’s grown a second head. They ask if his parents are bad people because their parents told them that only bad people are punished like that.  

Adults are even crueller. When they think you aren’t listening, when they think you’re deaf they think they can say whatever they want. More so than children, they have the vocabulary to hurt and even if Hyunjin doesn’t always understand everything they say, he knows. Murmurings of retard and halfwit fills his childhood vocabulary and when he asks his teacher what they mean she tells him never to repeat those words to another person because they’re very bad.

If they’re so bad, why do adults think they can say them to him and his family?

Like the cats that wander the streets I wanna avoid all people Hip-hop gets hard to listen to All the news in the media Makes me feel depressed is this the human nature

Every once in a while Hyunjin finds himself in a state where just the thought of leaving his room in the morning makes him want to hide away under his bed. Where the thought of being around people makes his skin crawl. All that nonsensical noise that surrounds the outside twists his stomach into knots. Nonsensical sounds that are meant to form sentences haunt him, reminding him of the environment he lives in – of the one he’s blessed with, but the one he can barely stand at times.

I did sing about the power of optimism But I’ve always been curious What is the reason for an unwanted sacrifice? When did anger start to making people criticize?

They live in a silent middle ground. It’s only been two years since Korean Sign Language was adopted as an official language with equal status to Korean. Almost one hundred and thirty years of history and only the past two years have declared Korean Sign Language as equal to spoken Korean. How is Hyunjin supposed to be optimistic in a society that only just recently acknowledged such a major part of his identity.

The order of life gets decided with the difference of class Lines are drawn between Gyeongsang and Jeolla, between female and male How many diamonds in the rough are losing their chance to shine brightly? I wish someone would answer me Why won’t the pho restaurant give me cilantro?

Lines were drawn long before Hyunjin was born, long before his parents were born. Dividing the hearing from the deaf, separating the two worlds and crowding the deaf into tight suffocating conventions defined only by those who could hear. One might be surprised by the amount of companies that lead with an unspoken rule that the deaf were un-hireable.

If the world was perfect You’d be with me right now And all the bad things that happen to the poor people Would never happen at all

I could only pray I could only pray I could only pray I could only pray pray for a better world

If the world was perfect, Hyunjin’s parents wouldn’t be limited by the fact that they couldn’t hear. They wouldn’t be limited when it came to accessing quality education, when it came to applying to universities, when it came to entering the workforce. Opportunities would be equal for the hearing and deaf alike.

If the world was perfect Corporal punishment wouldn’t be discussed among children But among immature adults

Hyunjin is forced to grow up faster than his peers – childhood innocence quickly stripped of the safety that came with blissful ignorance of the world. He’s turning seven this year, and if he sits at the very edge of his seat his feet just barely touch the floor. They hang loosely in front of him right now, kicking the air as he looks down at his grey socks peeking out from the gap between his shoes and uniform’s hemline. To his side sits his mother, in front of him, his teacher. It’s one of few parent-teacher conferences, but one of the first Hyunjin spends translating each and every word between them as if he wasn’t the very person they were talking about.

If the world was perfect Rappers who walk their own path would be successful Even without Show Me the Money

Sometimes his mother reminisces about how much fun she had had learning in school. The education system for the deaf is weak at best, often only offering meagre scrapings leftover by the rest of the school systems. Even in the school meant for the deaf, more than half of the teachers don’t know sign language – what type of positive education could that possibly provide?

If this place was perfect The brave tenants that saved the fly-infested streets Would be able to have a louder voice toward their landlords

One winter when Hyunjin is still small (smaller than Hyunjin can even properly remember), their heat doesn’t start working until mid-February. Despite his parents’ requests, the landlord doesn’t come around to fix the problem until Hyunjin has gotten used to wearing his winter coat indoors. The first thing he sees in the morning is his own frosty breath. Too small to understand his situation, it only occurs later to him that the landlord had simply taken his time to fix the problem because he could – Hyunjin’s parents weren’t capable of complaining to anyone, especially when no one was willing to listen.

If this place was perfect My father wouldn’t have given up due to financial reasons same old story

It’s in casual passing that his father tells him of his previous hobby of photography. A few years out of high school, his father had won a photography competition and initially, he had actually considered pursuing it. In the end, he didn’t. Even with photography, the limitations were astronomical. Without the artist able to verbally network and sell their own work, it made the photographer hardly marketable. The profession itself was unstable, and it was already hard for someone in the deaf community to find a job – he wouldn’t want to lose his spot as a photographer without any proper work experience to back up on. It was too risky.

I’m writing these lyrics in a not so perfect country You can call me a middle school emo I made a lot of money I don’t care if I don’t make it on the top of the charts

Progress is a hard thing to come by when you’re young. Constantly, Hyunjin is discounted because of his age, because of what they deem inexperience in life when he believes he’s long since well-versed in the fractured city they live in. Whenever he brings up an injustice, he is always too young to fully understand it. A child like him ought to sit down and focus on their studies, focus on learning that the injustice that he sees is in fact non-existent. The injustice that he witnesses is simply part of the system. A feature, not a fault.

If I was perfect I would’ve held onto her earlier But I’ve already come too far

It’s these condescending words that push Hyunjin to grow up faster. He wants to grow up faster so that people will listen to him when he speaks. So that people won’t call him a whining teenager when he tells them exactly what is wrong with their city. Lingering in his childhood was never an option for Hyunjin. It was never an option, yet it was also the path he had chosen for himself, and he was going to see it out until the end.

If the world was perfect You’d be with me right now And all the bad things that happen to the poor people Would never happen at all

I could only pray I could only pray I could only pray I could only pray pray for a better world Oh if the world was a perfect place

Instead of facing each other And pointing fingers with hate We would acknowledge each other’s beauty

pray the world was a perfect place I’m singing with a prayer I’m prayin’ and I know

If the world was perfect people wouldn’t say such cruel things. They take advantage of those that they think can’t defend themselves, can’t hear the insults that curl against their tongues in inflections of tones meant to hurt. But even if they can’t hear, those in the deaf community have long since found other ways to read someone. Body language gives away more than one could imagine. It gives away the snide curl in one’s lips when they insult a deaf person right to their face, thinking that they can safely get away with it if the person can’t hear them. It gives away the subtle roll of the policeman’s eyes when Hyunjin explains for the third time that his parents couldn’t have heard someone break in because they’re deaf. It gives away his father’s stiffened hand around his own as he notices his son staring up at the strangers waiting at the bus stop, clearly gossiping.

I’m not the only one I could only pray I could only pray I could only pray I could only pray pray for a better world pray pray pray pray pray pray

[itstimetowatch]

Welcome Wagon

Season Three! At long last!

This better be better than Season Two.

And the first thing we see is a Take Back the Night banner, just in case anyone thought this season wasn’t going to be all about rape. *sigh* This may be hard to get through. At least the show takes the subject matter seriously.

Veronica’s Criminology professor is played by Patrick Fabian who is renowned for playing creeps and scumbags. Is it too soon to say that he’s the Hearst Rapist? Probably. Maybe he’s just the scumbag of the week.

Um, that TA is definitely the same actor who played Lucky last season, wearing a, frankly, terrible wig and some quintessentially 00’s facial scruff. Which, I mean, other than the unfortunate hair things going on is good overall since he was good as Lucky. The reuse of an actor is awfully blatant.

Okay, so fuck this Tim guy! Sexist shithead! Your smug ass wouldn’t be here to be smart mouthing Veronica without Elementary Education majors, fuckstick!

BURN, TIMOTHY, BURN!

Yeah, I don’t like the remixed opening them. Lame.

Sooooo… Wasn’t Hearst meant to be a fairly exclusive college? And yet nearly the entire cast of last season (that are still alive and in Neptune) got in? Veronica, Wallace, and Mac I get, but Logan has never been shown to be academically minded even in the slightest. Dick gets in because of family connections, fair enough, but Logan has no family left (aside from Trina and no one has ever considered her a positive association) and what he did have was accused of murder shortly before being mysteriously murdered himself. (Which, btw, is that going to be followed up on? I assume not since we, the audience, already know who done it.)

VINNIE!

Oh, Veronica and Keith, I’ve missed these two!

Sorry, Veronica, Keith’s right on this one. That is The Chrysler Building, as notable by the street number visible behind them, 405. As in 405 Lexington Avenue, the address of The Chrysler Building, whereas The Empire State Building is located at 350 5th Avenue. “Fun” facts.

BACKUP! And he’s in charge? Great call Keith!

What? Veronica, first of all, how can you put Backup’s business out there like that? Secondly, if Backup has a lady friend, I need to know all about her. You can’t just drop that sort of nugget and cut to the next scene like that. This is cruel.

Stosh? What kind of white nonsense is that name? Also, Piz is not a name that a person would choose to go by. I mean, be honest, a person that chooses to go by the name Piz is gonna get called “piss” and “puss” and all related derivations thereof. That is just not something someone would subject themselves to willingly.

And here we finally have the mystery of the week. (Also, Piz is Bash on GLOW, so apparently this guy has a thing for characters with stupid names.)

And, holy crap, Veronica is actually getting paid for one of these things? It’s about time. As noted in the past she has been out a lot of money on a fair few of these cases with little or no potential of return. I’m glad she’s turned this into an actual business deal.

Jason Beghe, yet another actor who has a history of playing scumbags. He can’t be Keith’s bail jumper since he literally just walked out of a prison… unless he jumped bail in Mexico or something.

Mac’s back! And as predicted, Beaver seems to have successfully passed on his sexual dysfunction. And her roommate is the opposite. I’m guessing the new name in the credits to be this free-spirited lady. Does she have a ridiculous name too? Mulva?

So the Take Back the Night crew wants to shut down the fraternities? Has this been shown to help the campus sexual assault problems at various universities? Serious question. Like I understand the line of reasoning, that frats engender and compound attitudes and behaviors associated with toxic masculinity but has shutting them down helped?

Ski mask and Union Jack Speedo is Little Dick, right? Seems like a thing he’d do… actually, he’d probably do it without the ski mask... or the speedo.

So Jason Beghe is a Fitzpatrick? He seems kind of a lot older than Liam. Also, Liam is out to get Kendall now? Why? Because she couldn’t get the life insurance for both Casablancas boys? Or is it that she didn’t want to share? And if Liam is after her, wouldn’t it stand to reason that Cormac, here, could be as well?

Okay, well… that makes a certain amount of sense, I guess.

So Cormac saying that Kendall knows who she can and can’t trust means that she can’t trust him, right? Keith is unknowingly delivering Kendall’s would-be murderer to her hiding spot.

Parker, okay, not a terrible name.

So this kid with the info on the thieves who supposedly a townie from Neptune? Has this crazy thick Boston accent. It’s really weird since most actors on American TV have this trained, generic, bland Midwestern accent and now a kid who’s supposedly from Southern California is very obviously from Southie.

So the fat blonde girl isn’t actually fat, so she’s the sophomore Veronica was talking to when interviewing the other victims.

“The Needs Hosed Down,” is perhaps the aptest description of Little Dick Casablancas.

Donald Fagen? As in the lead singer of Steely Dan? That reference was too old for this show when it was new, much less Tumblr.

Yeah, I’m not sure what to think of Cormac’s quiet calm. Could honestly be that he’s learned patience in prison, that doing something is not always better than doing nothing… or it could be that Keith is the only person who knows where Kendall is and doesn’t want him to risk the desert for all the reasons he said.

So is Veronica honestly interested in the mentoring program or was this just a ploy to get into the files? Because she seems rather flush with extra-curriculars already, what with needing to help her father keep them fed and having a social life and all. But if she’s not, what’s the connection between this scene and the conversation with the other victim?

So Logan only barely got into this school and he’s chronically ditching class? Why go to all the effort to get in if you have no plans on actually doing anything?

Oh, Piz is wearing Duncan’s sweater! Okay. I was confused, because he clearly wasn’t, like, upset that Veronica was talking to another dude or whatever, but it took me a minute to work out what that look was.

AH! The Southie kid and his bros were a false lead! Okay. Veronica was not interested in the mentorship program. That was a misdirect to get this dude to admit that he knew and had access to juvenile offenders and their records.

Too soon, Piz! You are not a high enough level friend to unlock her tragic backstory! You know beyond a certainty that she has a boyfriend so fucking chill, my dude! Not even a little bit, huh? Not even a tiny drop of chill, eh? You should go to the store and get some, then, friend-o, because this is just coming on way too strong.

Yep. Cormac’s trying to kill her.

Scratch that. Killed her.

And now Keith is stranded in the desert. And Dick “messed up bad”… like Hearst Rapist Bad?

And Parker is the next victim… so not Dick then. That would be way too obvious. Serial rapists don’t knock on doors and linger far too long in hallways leaving themselves to be easily identified by a plethora of witnesses.

Again with the cliffhangers. This does not need to become a thing again this season. It gets old.

So this was a much better opener than was Season Two’s but then that’s hardly surprising, given that “Normal is the Watchword” was just a huge mess. Obviously, it’s benefitted by the Hearst Rapist story having already been set up last season, but the reintroduction of it here would have been a perfectly good introduction even if it hadn’t. The standalone mystery was a little thin, but that’s not surprising considering the show has to introduce two new main characters in the form of Parker and Boring Boy #4 (because Piz is a stupid name), as well as the professor, his TA, and the Take Back the Night team, all of whom are almost certainly going to be important as the season rolls on.

I’m not sure how I feel about Dick being turned into an actual character with actual depth. Like, on the one hand, all of last season he basically existed to show us the audience how much worse he is than Logan to make Logan more palatable a match for Veronica, now the show wants us to actually care about him. It didn’t work when they rebooted Jackie’s character, not sure this is going to come out any better. On the other hand, if he’s going to stick around past the end of last season, then I guess they should at least do something to justify the screen time he’s taking up.

Weevil’s still in the credits despite him being arrested for… they didn’t say, but conspiracy to commit murder is what he’s guilty of. Though I don’t think they could make that stick without also arresting and convicting the actual killers, The Fitzpatricks. So I guess it was just an assault charge, in which case, he could be out in time to still be part of the story… so where is he?

[nykhaela-ackerman]

QuaranThoughts: A Glimpse Into My 2020 Psyche

     It seems like it’s almost been a year since everything suddenly changed due to the global COVID-19 pandemic crisis. Overall, 2020 has been filled with one tragedy after another. Starting off with the eruption of the Taal Volcano, threats of World War 3, the pandemic crisis, issues of racism, government incompetence, and many more events that shook the whole world. As someone living through such seemingly historical events, I felt anxious of what the world will come to be in the future, as long as what could happen to me. There were even times wherein I felt so anxious and restless because not only did I fear for my own safety, but also for thinking about what the point is in all this.

     I felt sad and helpless for living in such a world wherein fighting will never stop, and that it only seems like a pipe dream for governments to be competent enough to deal with certain issues. Not just in the context of the Philippines, but for the world in general, it seems as though no matter what happens, humanity will always be at war with one another, regardless of there being weapons or not. “Humanity will never stop fighting itself until it shrinks to a size of one or fewer,” said Erwin Smith, though he may be fictional, I believe that his words hold the truth. Humans will always find something to fight about, no matter how insignificant a few things might seem and vice-versa.

     This world of ours is a dog-eat-dog world, you can’t really trust anyone, not even yourself at times. So, in times of global crises, who will you turn to? The government who seems to only prioritize maintaining the positions they hold? The church with their false promises of comfort? Your school or university that even rids students of scholarship opportunities due to fears of spending too much money despite being owned by a literal billionaire? Your family who you may or may not even feel comfortable living with, depending on your relationships with them? Your friends who you don’t even know if they truly care about you? Yourself, who’s not even sure about your identity or reason for being alive? All we know is that we don’t know, after all we’re just human beings who were suddenly thrown into this world and now have to deal with the chaos that comes with existence.

     Anyway, before I end up getting way too depressing or overshare too much of my personal existential crisis, let me go back to talking about the pandemic. So first of all, I would like to share my own personal experiences and sentiments about being in quarantine, before I delve deeper unto more meaningful thoughts in terms of its effect on society. As a lazy introvert who never liked going outside nor have never experienced going anywhere without any family members, I personally do not mind the thought of just staying indoors all the time. As a matter of fact, I even feel relieved that I don’t have to actually socialize or interact with anyone because of how socially awkward I am and how I just don’t feel comfortable with dealing with social cues and all that stuff. Also, one of the reasons why I prefer online classes is also because of my personal self-image and self-esteem issues.

     During online classes, I don’t have to show the rest of my body nor wear an uncomfortable uniform whose buttons could burst anytime while worrying about the weird looks I get from people. In addition, I can express my thoughts easier during recitations or presentations during online classes because I do not have to deal with the social anxiety that comes with having to stand in front of a crowd and think about things like maintaining eye contact or monitoring bodily gestures and such. I could also sit however I want more comfortably, while also not having to worry about using the bathroom during class because I can easily do it at home while wearing Bluetooth headphones so I wouldn’t miss out on class. However, the fact that I can think about all these things is a sign that I seem to be privileged enough to actually be able to consider having to deal with online classes instead of face-to-face classes as a better situation personally. This doesn’t mean that I don’t acknowledge the plethora of issues that others are facing because of it, I was just sharing things from my perspective.

      Upon observing what my fellow students have been posting on social media, along with the many news articles out there, I have been dragged back into reality. Not everyone is lucky as I am to have WiFi and gadgets at home to be able to comfortably deal with online classes. Many are struggling to buy load for their cellular data so they can attend classes, others are also suffering from how the pandemic crisis affected their families financially, causing them to likely even drop out and work instead of pursuing their studies. In addition, there are also those who have to deal with balancing the already exhausting mountain-loads of schoolwork, along with helping out around the house with chores or taking care of their younger siblings or ailing relatives. I then realize that there’s more to life than academics, and that there are bigger problems out there in the world that take priority.

      Also, upon further reflection, I have realized that not everyone has access to such technologies required for online classes, especially for those who live in far-off areas; those who go to decrepit public schools, those who live in tribal communities, and those who live with a seemingly inescapable sense of poverty looming over them. As a citizen of a third-world country who has been more exposed to foreign media, there were time s that I have forgotten that the educational norm for the Philippines is way different than that of those living in first-world countries. I have remembered how there are many people in this country of ours who lack capabilities to enroll in academic institutions for high quality education, along with not even having enough finances to even survive living in the slums, and yet they are expected to have the resources to deal with online classes. Also, what about children who can barely even read or write? Do they expect them to be able to send emails at the ripe age of five?

     I think the heads of such universities or schools are forgetting that students and teachers are also human beings in need of breaks and that just because we’re at home doesn’t mean we have all the time and energy in the world to just do nothing but deal with academics. Even machines can overheat or explode due to overwork, there needs to be a time to cool down, so that we may spend even just a little bit of time to be just people, to just be ourselves and live our life beyond the confines of stressing over exams, quizzes, modules, grades, and such. There’s more to life than just slaving away and doing what you’re told to do, school shouldn’t be a medium to train people into becoming tireless slaves who will always bend to the will of those in power. As a matter of fact, because of spending almost all of my time dealing with academics, I barely have anytime to explore who I am and what I want in life; I don’t even see a future for myself beyond graduation, I can’t even see myself as not living as a student. Just because I have seemingly good grades does not mean that a bright future is automatically guaranteed for me; how am I supposed figure out how to survive in the real world while I further continue to lose the will to live as time goes by?

     While I sit comfortably at home as I pursue my other hobbies or stress over deadlines of activities, many people out there are starving and struggling to look for jobs, and many are fighting for their rights to be treated as human beings instead of yet just another number in the ever-growing mortality rate due to the pandemic or even because the government silenced them for speaking against those in power. The world is at war with itself, and yet there are many of us who act like frogs sitting in a tub of water without realizing they are slowly being boiled alive. We’re not in a sauna or in a relaxing hot spring, we’re in a living hell where of everyone is exposed to the same amount of fire. They may say that we’re all in the same boat, but we’re actually in the same ocean in midst of a storm; we’re all on different boats, some may be lucky enough to have yachts or cruise ships, while others are struggling to stay afloat on a piece of driftwood. Even if this pandemic crisis someday comes to an end, the struggles of humanity never will.

      This then begs the question, “Why do we even try so hard to survive in such a cruel world? What’s the point in living? Why even try if we’re all just going to die?” Personally, there are many times wherein I contemplated just taking the easy way out and I still do; I know I’m still young but it doesn’t invalidate how tiring it feels to be alive, and how it will just continue to get even more tiring and difficult as I continue to live. Well, as Mikasa Ackerman puts it, “the world is cruel yet beautiful at the same time,” so if we truly want to see how such a world can show such beauty, we must continue to try to survive in this world we were born into so that we may find what it means to genuinely be free.  After all, as Eren Jaeger puts it, “if we win, we live. If we lose, we die. If we don’t fight, we can’t win. So fight. Fight,” so that we may be able to see a world worth living in. Fight, so that we may be able to live someday in a world where we no longer need to fight, as illusory or delusional as it may seem.

     Before I bombard you with any more Attack on Titan references or depress you with my own personal issues, it may be time to end this essay of mine. Overall, whether it be a global pandemic crisis or any other issues surrounding human conflict, it cannot be denied that this era we’re living in will be a part of human history for future generations to read about. Even if it seems that humanity’s cycle of hatred, greed, and incompetence  will never end, we must still strive to make this world of ours somehow worth living in so that we may alleviate suffering, as we continue to grow and evolve as beings aiming to find the meaning of being. No one may know which paths we may take, nonetheless, we should still try to break down these walls, overcome these barricades, and dedicate our hearts so that we may proudly keep moving forward as we fly with our wings of freedom towards the scenery of true liberty. If we just sit here, do nothing and just wait for our corpses to start rotting, what’s the point in living?

Disclaimer: This is just an exercise for our Digital Publishing class submitted to @bertongbigtime​. Thank you for understanding!

[obsessedauthorchan-blog]

Shakespearean - Chapter 24

Title: Bruce Wayne

A/N Not gunna lie, this was a hard chapter to write…

Jason took a deep breath. After what had happened the last time he was here, he knew that Ra's' mansion was not a safe place for him.

Then again, that's why he was here.

He checked to make sure the phone in his pocket was recording and then walked up to the front door, knocking hard. The door opened to show one of Ra's' many goons. He man glared at him, but he didn't seem to recognize Jason. 

Jason wanted to smirk, but he made sure to keep a despondent, desperate expression on his face as he said in a quivering voice, "My name is Jason Todd and I'm here to see Ra's."

At the sound of Jason's name, the goon's eyebrows rose. After a second of hesitation, his eyes narrowed. The goon grabbed Jason's arm and dragged him into the house, slamming the door behind him as he went. The man's grip was strong, and Jason was sure his fingers would leave bruises in his bicep. Jason was also sure those wouldn't be the only bruises he would suffer today.

The goon continued to yank him through the house until they got to the same study that Ra's had been in earlier that day. Instead of sitting at the desk, this time he was staring out the large window, a mug of what was probably tea held comfortably in his hands. "You’re back already?" 

Jason wanted to slap the smug grin off his face, but he refused to let himself lose his control. He took a deep breath, allowing a small shake to make him seem even more upset. "You were right," he choked out.

Ra's turned around to face him properly and cupped a hand at his ear. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

"You were right!" He forced himself to say it louder, and he sank to the floor for dramatic effect. "My dorm, my job, GCU," he paused, made it sound like he was choking up, and whispered the last word of the sentence, "Tim. You were right."

Ra's gave him a wary look. "What about Tim, exactly?"

Jason made sure to be overly dramatic, with heavy breaths and a cold shiver and everything. "I thought you were bluffing, I- I went to his house, to tell him about my past, about being kidnapped. He-" Jason inhaled deeply through his nose, sniffing snot up his nose. "He wouldn't even... He wouldn't even look at me!" Jason was sat on the floor, his head in his hands, doing his best to make it look like he was crying. "Please, Ra's. Please, fix it. I'll do anything!"

"Fix it?" Jason looked up sharply to see Ra's looking down at him with a sneer. "How could I fix it? Did you tell him about our earlier conversation?"

Jason shook his head emphatically. "No! No, I swear I didn't. I thought if I told him then he wouldn't trust me anymore, but... I suppose it didn't really make a difference."

Ra's laughed. It was a truly cruel laugh, the cackle of someone who really enjoyed the suffering of others. "Oh, Jason. You poor, foolish boy. You should have just listened to me earlier." He set his mug on the desk and squatted down in front of Jason. With a cruel grin, he grabbed a handful of Jason's hair and yanked his head back. "If it was your relationship with the Drake boy that gave you access to the Waynes, and you no longer have a relationship with the Drake boy, then what use could you possibly be to me?" Ra's' cruel grin turned into a glare of rage. "Get him up," he snarled at his men. 

Jason decided to resist as much as possible, so it took two of them to actually get him on his feet, and even then, they had to keep holding him by the arms to keep him up. "No! No, please, Ra's, I'll do anything! Maybe I can make him like me again! Maybe-"

"No." It was short, curt, and final. It was quiet, and it cut through the room like shrapnel. Jason's face crumpled. "Do you know how long it took to get to this point?" Jason swallowed. "Do you have any idea how much I invested in you?" Jason shook his head, smart enough not to speak. Ra's took off his suit jacket and lay it on the desk. "It took years to collect my options, pick the best one. It took years to get you that education, to groom you into the right shape so you'd slide perfectly into the lives of the Waynes, so that little Timothy Drake would fawn over you the instant you met." He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and stepped closer to Jason, their faces inches apart. "Years," he snarled, then he swung.

The fist connected with Jason's solar plexus just right, and he doubled over, gasping for air. His gut roared in pain and his diaphragm spasmed as Jason scrambled to keep his wits about him. Ra's gave him no time to recover though, punching him in the face and sending him reeling backwards to the ground.

Jason hit his ass hard, and for some reason, in that moment of fear and danger, all he could think about was roller skating with Tim.

When Jason hit the ground, the phone he'd put only partially in his pocket slid out across the room. A goon picked it up and pushed the center button to turn it on. Still gasping for breath, Jason reached out a hand, barely managing to whisper a breathy, "No!" before the goon had the phone opened and saw the app running on screen.

"Boss," the goon said, "we got a problem."

Ra's rolled his eyes and looked over at the man. "What is it," he asked lazily, not realizing the depth of the situation. The goon turned around the phone and held it out for Ra's to see. Ra's only took a glance at it, but what he saw made his eyes light up with rage.

A voice recorder.

Ra's stomped over to Jason and grabbed his shirt by the collar, hoisting him up to be face to face. "How dare you? You thought you'd be able to record our little session and run to the police? Or perhaps you'd just show the young Drake and he'd run into your arms for saving his family? You're pathetic!" He threw Jason on the ground and grabbed the phone from the goon, talking as he went. "You'll never get out of this mansion alive, much less get this recording to anyone who matters."

He went to turn off the app, but he stopped suddenly as he got a good look at the phone. "Wait a moment," he muttered. "I know what your phone looks like, Jason. I bought it for you." Ra's looked up at Jason and held out the phone. "Whose phone is this?" Jason held his silence, steel in his eyes. Ra's looked him over, probably noticing for the first time that he didn't look at all like he had been crying or even that he was upset at all. He didn't look scared or worried about Ra's' threat to kill him. Jason was calm and quiet. And smug.

Letting out what sounded almost like a roar, he surged toward Jason and shook him hard. "Who does this belong to?" he yelled.

Jason smirked. "Bruce Wayne."

Ra's was still for a moment. But only for a moment. Then he threw Jason across the room. His head slammed into the desk as he fell to the ground.

He landed hard on his arm, and he heard a loud snap. Everything was foggy, and he couldn't really see that well. He felt his brain clouding up, and he was barely able to register the sharp pain coming from his left arm. Over the cacophony of his thoughts, he thought he heard Ra's' voice: "Grab him. Hold him on the ground."

He felt hands grabbing him. One jerked his left arm and he cried out in pain. The hands maneuvered him onto his back, until Ra's' voice rang in his ears, "On his stomach, you idiots."

The hands flipped him over, pushing his face into the hard wooden floor. A memory wafted to the front of his mind. He was eleven, and he was being held down by the men who kidnapped him. Their leader pulled off his pants, determined to teach him a lesson, and to show him what his life would be like for the next five years.

That was the first time he'd been raped.

And then it registered in his mind that that was probably what was about to happen now, too.

Sure enough, in his foggy state, he could feel hands jerking on his pants, trying to pull them down. He opened his eyes, cringing at the light, and he forced himself to seek out Ra's in the room. He was slowly unbuckling his belt, a sickening look of joy on his face.

Choking on air, Jason tore his eyes away from Ra's and looked for the phone. He found it on the ground a few feet away, where Ra's had dropped it when he'd thrown Jason into the desk. "Bruce Wayne," he choked out, hoping against hope that the phone was still on. "Bruce... Wayne," he said again, his mind clouding even more.

He knew he was losing consciousness. He wondered if that would be better, since he wouldn't be awake to feel Ra's shoving himself into him and taking even more from Jason than he already had. He could only hope that that the code words would work, that they'd be able to hear it over the noise of the room as he struggled to break free and Ra's yelled at his men to hold him more still.

Ra's had been so focused on the voice recording app. He had been too focused to notice the phone call being run in the background, too preoccupied to notice the call being made to Barbara Gordon, who was waiting on standby outside the house with a unit of police officers, ready to storm the house as soon as Jason said the code words.

"Bruce Wayne," he mumbled one last time.

Then everything went black.

A/N For those of you who are likely to think something along the lines of, “Why would Ra’s try to rape Jason, especially since he’s a homophobe? That doesn’t make sense,” or something along those lines, just remember that often times, rape is less about the actual sex or about being attracted to the person you are raping and more about the power and control that comes from the feeling. People who commit rape often get off on that control, and in Ra’s’ case, he’s also getting off on the pain and knows this will cause Jason, especially regarding his past. Ra’s knows how best to hurt an individual person, and I feel like he would immediately go for a punishment that would cut so closely to the emotional and physical turmoil of Jason’s past, especially since Jason probably thought that after he escaped and learned to fight and got into college he wouldn’t have to go through any of that again. Having relived through everything he went through multiple times to write that essay and then to tell Tim and Bruce and them, I think he would be even more sensitive to this as the wounds have sort of been reopened.

[douglasprince96]

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Can You Grow Grapes From A Grape

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Victoria Red Grape Plant

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