#mediterranean is close enough to indian that i like it well enough

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

the amount of effort that goes into figuring out what to cook and eat every day is RIDICULOUS. i used to think people were so weird and boring for eating the same thing every single day but it truly does make life so much easier

[alatismeni-theitsa]

To answer a few of your rhetorical questions: there are actually Hindu deities portrayed as Chinese, because the Chinese follow a religion started in India. Also, you could portray Lakshmi with a Greek actress, because she’s generally portrayed with golden skin, which is found more among Greeks than Indians.

Thank you for taking the time to read these questions. I imagine you refer to deities who are common between China and India, right? It might have been a slip on my part but this situation is not similar to a modern American making Zeus a Chinese or a Congolese.

India and China are next to each other and the Indians who live close to China look more Chinese than Indian. All that in generalizations of phenotypes. Of course Indians in that region look Indian because they are Indian. And because there are many Indians on the Northeast side of the country who look "like Chinese people" the slight change in the appearance of the Hindu gods in China - whose presence in the area is centuries-old - makes sense. And the Indians don't seem to have a problem with it for the last centuries so we're good xD

Also, from what I know, the deities are not exactly the same, they are more "versions" of Indian deities on the Chinese pantheon. But correct me if I am wrong!

Nevertheless, how people look is a spectrum and it is not decided by borders. There are millions of Indians who look East Asian. There are not millions of Greeks looking Chinese and Congolese. This US division of race is really doing us harm here.

Still, you can generally understand when someone is South Asian and when someone is North Mediterranean, and the difference would be noticeable enough in a movie. That's why I don't think it would be suitable for a Greek to play an Indian deity. If there were Indian actors available or ready to be found, I wouldn't even think about casting a Greek. In fact, many Indians would probably see this as a racist move (and if you combine it with the colorism in India the matter gets worse).

There are enough Indians with that golden hue you are talking about. And I also don't think that this skin undertone is found more in Greeks because Indians are so many that we could fill two Greeces with light-skinned Indians with that specific hue.

I understand what argument you were trying to make but I don't think it's applicable because the situations and the geography are kind of unrelated to the Greek pantheon and the social issues of Greece.

Addition: There are Greeks who "look Indian" and vise versa, as well as Greek Indians and Indian Greeks, but I assume the ask was made with the average and broad appearances in mind. I don't think anon thought this through in the first place so I just went along

[dwellordream]

“...First, let’s talk about materials. We can rule out a Steppe Nomad inspiration for any of this right off. The Eurasian Steppe is very large and covers a range of arid climates (that is to say, parts of it are colder, parts of it are warmer), but they all have spinning and weaving technology, by which the supple hairs of woolly animals, or plant fibers like linen, or cotton, or even natural protein fibers like silk can be fashioned into fabric which is more flexible, comfortable, breathable and temperature controlled than the raw leather we see in the show.

...there is a distinct lack here of lots of leather, except in the sort of things that lots of cultures use leather for (boots, fittings, saddles, bags, tents). Instead, clothing is mostly made out of nice, comfortable, breathable textiles, because of course it is. That is not to say, to be clear, that leather or hides or fur were never used – fur especially was used; merely that they were generally used to supplement clothing primarily made out of textile.

...Now Plains Native American clothing does make much greater use of animal skin as a clothing material, but there is an important distinction to be made here. The problem here is with the plasticity of the term ‘leather’ which can technically include a wide range of products, but in practice is understood to mean exactly what the Game of Thrones costume department and literally every piece of official artwork of the Dothraki understand it to mean, which is the product of tanning processes.

I am not an expert, but as far as I can tell, Native American clothing was not made in the same way; animal products were used in a process I have seen described as ‘brain tanning’ (rather than using chemical tannins) and the final product was then smoked. The result – which is often called ‘buckskin’ regardless of the animal source for the hide – is very different from the leather we see in the show.

This is, in terms of material, very clearly not what the ‘vests’ the Dothraki in the show are wearing. Buckskin would also be used to make trousers, as opposed to the “horsehair leggings” of Martin’s wording, which also strike me as deeply improbable. Haircloth – fabric made from horsehair (or camel hair) – is durable, but typically stiff, unsupple and terribly itchy; not something you want in direct contact with your skin (especially not between your rear end and a saddle), unless you just really like skin irritation. It is also a difficult material to get in any kind of significant quantity – and you would need a significant quantity if you intended to make most of your trousers out of it.

...Well that’s for materials, what about patterns? Once again, we can quite easily rule out anything steppe inspired. Again, the Eurasian Steppe is big and has lots of variety, but relatively long robes are generally the norm in terms of dress; where long robes were not worn (see our Scythian above), the common pattern was heavy sleeved garments and trousers with very complete coverage. A common example of the type of long robe-like garments is the Mongolian deel, a long sleeved robe or tunic which provides a lot of protection against the elements. In the case of elites – and Daenerys is, initially, mostly around elites – these could be made of expensive silk or brocade – but poorer versions might be made of wool.

...And there is good reason for these relatively high-coverage garments. Plains or Steppe peoples naturally tend to live on, well, plains and steppes – that is large expanses of semi-arid grasslands. The very nature of that terrain configuration produces fairly extreme seasonal temperature variations (that is, very hot summers and very cold winters) as well as extreme daily temperature variations (that is, hot days and cold nights) because such places are far from large bodies of water and also don’t have tree-cover, both of which serve to moderate rapid temperature changes.

Consequently, as anyone who has lived in a plains state in the USA (or on the Eurasian Steppe, though that is fewer of my readers, but for my brave handful of hits from that part of the world, hello and welcome!) can tell you, you need clothes that can be layered and which can be both warm in the winter and cool in the summer. For us moderns, we mostly do this by owning multiple season-specific wardrobes, but clothing is expensive in pre-modern societies, so multi-purpose garments, or garments that be layered, to turn a warm-weather outfit into a cold-weather outfit are important!

There’s no reason to suppose the Dothraki Sea would be any different: it sits at about the same latitude as King’s Landing so there is little reason to assume it would be warm all-year-round. Parts of the Eurasian Steppe stretch decently far south, sharing a latitude with northern Italy and Spain; nevertheless they do not enjoy the same Mediterranean climate because they don’t have the same exposure to the weather patterns created by the sea. The southern end of the Great Plains stretches down all the way into Texas, but still gets properly cold in the winter with temperatures regularly dipping below freezing in the winter despite the latitude. For a people who are camping and working outside all of the time, warm clothing is going to be a must.

...There is tremendous variety here, but I don’t think any of it could be aptly described simply as “Men and women alike wore painted leather vests over bare chests and horsehair leggings.” Now, if you looked hard enough could you find something that resembled Martin’s leather vests, bare chests and horsehair leggings somewhere in the clothing of Native Americans across two continents? Probably, but among the specific Native peoples that Martin cites as inspiration, it does not seem to be at all common. And if that description was wholly unconnected to anything in the real world, we might well stop there and conclude that, well this is just the ‘dash of pure fantasy’ that Martin was talking about (although as we’ll see, it is going to be quite a bit more than just a dash). But I don’t think we can stop there, because (removing the medallion belts) Martin’s description does adequately describe something that exists in the real world: Halloween costumes purporting to depict Native Americans.

...The vest-and-pants style of Native American Halloween costume seems to be rather rare now, but it was, at least to my memory, much more common in the 1990s, when A Game of Thrones was written (initial publication date of 1996). You can see them, for instance, on many of the background extras in the famous Thanksgiving scene from Addams Family Values (1993) and that vest style was also a part of the outfit for the also-quite-unfortunately-branded YMCA Indian Guides/Indian Princesses program (rebranded as the ‘Adventure Guides’ in 2003 after decades of Native Americans complaining about it) which was also fairly popular in the 1990s.

Now, I am not saying that Martin planned to construct his Dothraki out of Native American stereotypes and bad Halloween costumes. In fact, I am fairly confident he intended nothing of the sort. But in the absence of doing some effective research (and it is going to become increasingly apparent that at least effective research was not done) there was quite possibly nothing else to inform the effort other than what was ‘in the air’ of the popular consciousness. Of course the danger of those often simplistic public stereotypes is that people often do not know that they have them, assuming instead that the vague impression they have is essentially accurate (or at least, close enough for a regular person). And that’s a real problem because it reinforces the popular stereotype, especially given Martin’s reputation for writing more ‘historically grounded’ fiction. And that is a problem because…

The clothing that the Dothraki are described and visually shown wearing is clearly intended to convey things about their society. Returning to our visual comparison above, it is easy to see that the actual clothing of both Eurasian and American ‘horse cultures’ was often bright, highly decorated and generally eye-catching, featuring complex patterns and shapes. It was both nice looking, but also spoke to the humanity of the people that made it and their very human desire to look nice and have nice looking things. By contrast, the clothing of the Dothraki is presented as simple, rugged and unadorned.

...I want to stress this to make the point clear: people in the past liked to look nice! Much of the popular perception of pre-modern clothing assumes lots of dull, drab colors, undecorated or merely adorned with rough pelts, but this is almost entirely a Hollywood construction. The Romans didn’t exclusively dress in white (indeed, the toga candida, the white toga, was an unusually formal thing to wear, like a politician’s suit-with-flag-pin), medieval peasants didn’t wear drab brown (they dressed in bright primary colors mostly), and as I hope the historical pictures for this essay show, both steppe nomads and Plains Native Americans wore nice clothing with lots of patterns, color and decoration. These men next to Khal Drogo are his elite guard of ‘bloodriders,’ the companions of a ruler who wields tremendous power and wealth! And yet they have opted to wear mostly undecorated bland brown leather.

Just to underline this point, think about what a fine set of clothing communicates to an observer (for instance, one of Khal Drogo’s thousands of mounted warrior retainers who are present at this event). Imported goods, like metalwares (which nomads won’t generally be able to make themselves) or fine imported fabrics demonstrate not only trade contacts but also often that the leader has useful ties to foreign leaders (since such things were often gifts or tribute from foreign courts). Garments whose production, due to fine patterns, complex weaves, intricate beading or quillwork, would take many, many hours of production demonstrate that the leader has a lot of subordinate people in their household (in many cases, that would mean women), which both implies the ability to give these people as gifts (either in marriage or because of their non-free status) and also the access to resources (in this case herds of animals) needed to sustain so many people – in short, the sort of leader who can reward faithful warriors richly.

And of course a leader who outfits his closest retainers – his bloodriders, in this case – with such wares (especially expensive foreign metal military equipment) demonstrates both access to military capital and also the ability to reward his trusted lieutenants. In short, the Khal whose person and immediate retainers are decked out in finery looks like backing the winning side, which is a very important thing to assess as one of his warriors. So even if not one of Drogo’s men cares about their personal appearance at all, it is still politically important for them to dress for success.

Which then demands the question, looking at the very fine clothing of historical horse cultures that supposedly provided the inspiration for these Dothraki fellows: Where is the exquisite bead work? The fine quillwork? Where are the carefully made fringes? Where is the silk brocade? Where are the detailed, complex patterns?”

- Bret Devereaux, “That Dothraki Horde, Part I: Barbarian Couture.”

[an-apocalypse-of-magpies]

On the world of Mortal Engines, class, and the metaphors of consumption

This is less an essay and more a collection of thoughts. Basically I just saw a video on the Mortal Engines film and its being a civilisation too stupid to exist. I got fed up, mainly because so many of the criticisms amounted to ‘the book did it better’ with little elaboration but also the arrogantly grating voice of the presenter got on my nerves, but I cannot deny the points made and in fact wanted to elaborate further on the worldbuilding of this series and, while unrealistic, look at why the books were so engaging.

Some background to start off - Mortal Engines is a four-book series (and three-book prequel sub-series) written by English author Phillip Reeve, and depicts a bleak post-apocalyptic world. North America is uninhabitable and lost to the sands of time, irradiated, poisoned, and flattened by war. Eurasia is mostly barren plains. And, of course, the central premise - towns and cities have raised themselves onto mobile platforms and trundle about. Well, mostly. A major antagonist to this system is the Anti-Traction League, a collective of nations hiding out in old east China, the Indian subcontinent, southeast Asia and some of Africa. They are seen as barbarians and heathens by much of the world for refusing to mobilise, instead hiding in stationary citadels behind their mountains. The Traction Cities near-universally engage in a philosophy of Municipal Darwinism, a savage system of bastardised pseudo-biology where cities literally predate each other and ‘consume’ each other for resources. Cities eat towns, towns eat smaller towns. Some towns and cities deliberately adapt to cheat the system and make themselves a less appetising target, or for that matter a more aggressive and efficient hunter.

THE TRACTION CITIES

The first three books tend to focus their action on one or two cities, whereas the last is a bit more of a road trip. The other consistent thread is multiple characters’ stories running concurrently, usually reconnecting near the end. This allows the books maintain an open, almost global scale - you’ll nearly never not be moving, even sitting still on a city, which reinforces the theme of unnatural life. The first book focuses on London, which has been sulking in what was once Britain (by sheer happenstance on their part and pure irony on ours), and is suddenly running at full pelt back into Europe and eastward as fast as her engines can carry her. Why? London’s not the biggest city around, and the vast expanse of Eurasia is now the Great Hunting Ground - it’s where the big boys play, and by play I mean ‘savagely predate each other’. It’s dangerous territory for a little city. But over the first book, it becomes increasingly apparent that Traction Cities are increasingly non-viable option for existence. Fuel is scarce, prey moreso, and what morsels London can confidently snap up will not sustain it for long. There is an ecosystem at play here - static settlements can farm resources, but are universally seen as food, either by small bandit settlements to raid for supplies or for larger towns to just straight-up eat. Small towns too small to hunt tend to be miners or gatherers, either mining minerals to use or trade, or gathering resources like wood from natural deposits or sifting through the waste heaps left by bigger cities. Most cities bigger than that are ‘urbivores’, or hunter towns, that hunt and eat smaller prey or opportunistically scavenge the ‘carcasses’ of dead cities. I mentioned specialisation earlier, and like in nature, species and cities can occupy a niche that gives them an advantage and thus increased chance at survival. Airhaven, for example, is a politically-neutral city in the air that floats around Eurasia seasonally and serves as a rest stop, fuelling station and trading exchange for airship pilots the world over, Tractionist or no. Tunbridge Wheels is a pirate-run town that has a lightweight wooden chassis and flotation devices to hunt amphibiously in a world where many small towns escape threat by setting up on islands.  Panzerstadt-Bayreuth is a conurbation of four massive cities, too big to survive long without prey, they banded together to take down the biggest of prey (it’s unclear whether they achieve this through sheer size or whether they decouple and become a pack hunter). Anchorage, the last American city, neutered its own jaws to increase mobility, skating around the frozen north too fast for threats to catch up with, and survives on trade. Brighton is a pleasure city that paddles around the warm Mediterranean, technically still a predator but with no real agenda and about the only city left that can be called a tourist city (it’s run on the back of brutal slave labour). And these are just the major ones. Throughout the books, cities are treated like living things ... like mortal engines.

And like living things, they need resources to survive.

A DYING WAY OF LIFE

The books are inconsistent on the origins of Traction Cities, as it turns out deliberately - history is written by the winners, after all. But it’s all closely tied to the ‘apocalypse’ part of the post-apocalytic I mentioned earlier. Long ago in-universe, long into our future, was a terrible event known as the Sixty Minute War. This war tore the world asunder with nuclear and quantum energy weaponry. America, the epicentre, is simply no more (it turns out there are some fertile areas in Nova Scotia, but for the most part America is dead). Entire new mountain ranges were born, notably the Tannhäusers in East Asia that shield the heartland of the Anti-Traction League. There was a long period of geological and tectonic instability. According to legend, Traction Cities arose to escape these instabilities. In other words, like animals will flee a volcanic eruption, cities first became mobile to escape and survive. Trade was likely facilitated by towns literally being able to park next to each other. Ironically, London was also where everything changed. After Nikola Quercus conquered (static) London with his mobile fortresses, he decided to upgrade and raise London onto wheels to become the first fully-mobile city. And he did it for war. After all, there’s no better comeback to ‘you and what army’ then literally rolling up with your entire city. By the series present, the idea had caught on and grown into the ideology described above. But herein lies the problem. Early Traction London was a tiny little thing. Now it’s not even the biggest fish in the pond, but it’s still HUGE. And, as we all know, big things need lots of energy to go. London is described as having a top speed of about sixty miles per hour at the height of a hunt. So, you need fuel. There is still oil in this world, mainly because they now have no qualms about mining Antarctica, but if you think there’s nearly enough crude oil to run a world full of cities like London you are sorely mistaken. Wood’s not much better off. And, of course, Traction Cities tend to run on some form of internal combustion engine - it’s only at the very end of the traction era that science has advanced enough for a town to experiment with magnetic levitation. So what do they burn? Well, bits of other prey towns. Do you see the problem? Use fuel to hunt towns, burn those towns for fuel. What next? And it’s not just fuel. London captures a little salt-mining town called Salthook at the beginning of the first book to introduce us to the concepts at play, and we see what goes on in the Dismantling Yards - part of a system literally called the Gut, in case the metaphor wasn’t clear yet. Everything is recycled. Bricks, mortar, steel, wood, everything. Because the state of technology is so weird in this world, Old-Tech (technology from before the SMW) can be incredibly valuable to history and/or science, and London is keen to snaffle that up too. The people are interred into refugee camps, though if you know anything about how real-life Britain treats refugees you can probably see where that is going. And it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Food is an even more pressing concern. Unless you’re very rich (more on that in a mo), food is mostly algae-based, then hardy vegetables that grow quickly like cabbage. And it’s running out fast. And London’s a big city with a lot of resources at its disposal. Most cities don’t even have that. A lot of cities are starving on the wheels, city and populace alike. A lot of cities run on slave labour, and feed those slaves as little as they can get away with. Shan Guo, home of the Anti-Traction League, is a green and vibrant land only because it doesn’t have cities running over or eating its farmlands every other day (and, again, city folk generally don’t know this - they’re given endless propaganda that Anti-Tractionists are barbarian warbands a la Mad Max). A lot of the A story is told from the point of view of Tom Natsworthy, who until the events of the book had never left London. He’s never seen bare earth or walked on mud before. He’s never seen a horse. The idea that you can survive, much less thrive, outside of a Traction City is alien to him. But on the city he came from, everything is rapidly running out, and some cities are turning to desperate measures to survive, including Arkangel openly bribing pilots to sell out the locations and courses of nearby cities. A chilling scene in the first book even has Tom see, from the safety of the air, the corpse of Motoropolis, a city not unlike London that literally just starved to death, running out of fuel and helpless as the scavengers closed in. It’s been weeks since the city stopped, and the narrative description evokes the grotesqueness and sadness of a whale carcass. Sheer Jingoism is about the only thing keeping Municipal Darwinism alive - Traction good, stationary bad.

CLASS, CLASSISM, AND OTHER SOCIAL OPPRESSIONS

In a world so starved as this, compassion is hard to come by. Cities still exist mainly by virtue of rigid social stratification, and often that stratification is literal - most medium-to-large cities have tiers, and will generally arrange those tiers based on social class. London, for example, has seven tiers. The bottom two tiers are dominated by the Gut, the engines, and homes and communities of the workers who keep them running. Tiers 4 and 3 are miscellaneous proles of increasing social standing. Tier 2 is mostly what I’d call ‘tourist London’ - lots of the nice bits and the establishments that London likes to be proud of. Because of his work at the London Museum, this is the quality of life Tom Natsworthy was most used to. Tier 1 is High London, where all the rich live and have their amenities and nice parks (and even that doesn’t last - London’s food shortage means even the High London parks are eventually, begrudgingly, turned over for food production). Katherine Valentine, the hero of the first book’s B plot, lives here. Finally there’s Top Tier, which is purely administrative. The only buildings are the Guildhall (the seat of government), St Paul’s Cathedral (which the Engineers’ Guild have secretly been installing a deadly superweapon in under the guise of ‘restoration’ work) and the headquarters of the Guild of Engineers, the most powerful of London’s Guilds. Social stratification is nearly non-existant, and people are shown to get very uncomfortable when out of ‘their space’. Tom is sent to work in the Gut during the capture of Salthook as a punishment before the plot ejects him from London, and he notes being actively intimidated by the claustrophobia, the dirt, the rough and burly labourers, and the noise. But despite Tom’s relatively privileged life - he lives near High London, above the heat and noise and smoke of the engines, in the care of one of the top four Guilds of London - he is of very low social status. Tom Natsworthy is an orphan; his parents were Historians, but were killed when an accident occurred and part of Tier 3 collapsed, crushing anything on Tier 4 beneath. Even before that, the Natsworthys were middle class at best, but being orphaned meant being left to the care of an orphanage run by the Guild of his parents, the Historians. The Historians were Tom’s only source of education, and eventually they would employ him, but with no parents or money, Tom can only afford a Third-Class apprenticeship. He has no upwards mobility within the Guild, and with no money he can’t leave and train with another. His dream of being a pilot trader, or better yet adventurer, will never come true under normal circumstances. The rich live in a completely different world yet. Katherine Valentine, daughter of the Head Historian and the Lord Mayor’s ‘right-hand man’ Thaddeus Valentine, has a positively bougie lifestyle with not a care in the world. Ironically, though, it is through Katherine’s eyes that the horrors of London’s class system are revealed. Trying to find information about her father’s would-be killer, Katherine finds herself regularly travelling to the Gut, eventually befriending an apprentice Engineer who witnessed the attack. But in the Gut, life is very different. It’s not just a life of hard labour and smoke - petty criminals and the aforementioned ‘refugees’ are tasked with working dangerous and sickening jobs like managing the city’s sewage. And by that, I mean ‘harvesting literal faeces to be converted into food and fuel’. The foreman overseeing their work admits they feed such criminals nothing else. And he has the gall to be annoyed that they keep dying of diseases like cholera and typhoid! These people are denied medical care, denied treatment, denied even basic food other than being told to literally eat sh*t. And when they inevitably die? They get sent to the Engineerium to be turned into robotic zombies that can never get sick, tired or unhappy. And, eventually, they’ll be put right back to work. The crimes these criminals did to deserve this, remember, include petty theft, criticising the Lord Mayor, and living aboard a town that got eaten. The foreman literally cannot fathom why Katherine would care about these people’s wellbeing - after all, they’re just criminals. The Engineerium’s end goal in all this is, again, to staff the entire lower tiers with robot zombie workers who will never grow tired, get sick, complain or protest their lot in life, and will never disobey orders, and just enough human overseers to keep things running smoothly ... because that’s what these people are worth to London, cheap, unending labour. Katherine can’t even bring herself to tell her high-class peers about what she learned down there, because it’s such a different world that they would never empathise, much less care. Again, slave labour is common in this world, especially child slavery - Brighton runs on it to maintain its image as a floating Caligula’s Palace, and in Arkangel slavery is so normal that we watch a rich man beat a slave nearly to death for the crime of bumping into him. In the second book, we see the logical end-point of this. Anchorage’s social structure has completely fallen apart due to a plague in recent years that turned to once-proud ice city into a ghost town manned only by a skeleton crew. The margravine, Freya, is only 14, but with her parents dead, she finds herself in charge of the whole city. She has no household staff, apart from Smew, who finds himself constantly juggling outfits to adopts the roles of steward, chamberlain and so on. His official role before the plague was ... erm ... the Dwarf. He was there in a manner similar to a court jester, for the amusement of the margrave due to being a little person. But the head navigator is just ... the woman who kept the maps. The head engineer is going half-mad, seeing his dead son staring at him from the shadows, and the only reason the town’s still going is because his systems are the best on the ice and can mostly run on automatic. They have no doctor. The only other people of consequence in Anchorage are the Aakiuqs, the Inuit couple who run the air-harbour. The common workers of Anchorage number in the mere dozens. And yet, because they’re so fixated on their traditions, nobody will drop the formalities and just admits that they’re trying to uphold a class system that doesn’t work anymore. No, that’s not quite right - everybody realises it’s pointless to maintain the artifice of Anchorage’s social heirarchy, but nobody wants to be the first one to say it out loud. Much like Municipal Darwinism, nobody want to address the elephant in the room, that the system is broken and that people hold onto it because it’s comfortable in the face of uncertainty. Only in Anchorage’s darkest hour, when everything has been turned upside down and the conquerors are on their doorsteps, do the agree to drop the formalities, drop the artifice of class, and address each other as people, say what they think, and work to save what they have left. And of course, there’s the racism in the world. Life on mobile cities has made cultures smaller and more insular, considering we mainly see this series from the point of view of culturally-English towns. Throughout the first book there is a clear west vs east divide - the Traction Cities are generally English-speaking or multicultural enough that English will get you by. The Anti-Tractionist League, meanwhile, are south or east Asian, or else African, and are commonly understood to be ‘those brown people’. The only ethnically white Anti-Tractionists are from ‘Spitzbergen’ (likely Scandinavia/Finland and northwest Russia) and Hester Shaw’s family, and the latter lived on a town that floated out to an island and gave up running from predators forever. The way Tom reacts to this attitude calls to mind the way racists might refer to ‘race traitors’. There’s even an in-universe slur for people who live in static settlements; ‘Mossies’, because ‘a rolling town gathers no moss’. However, when Tom is taken to Shan Guo itself, he realises that all the propaganda he’d been fed his whole like is exactly that - propaganda. Shan Guo is described as beautiful - an endless patchwork of rolling fields and farms, colourful, bright, vibrant, heaving with life and energy. The Anti-Tractionists aren’t vicious savages, they’re just ... people. Tom can’t understand it at first. He wonders how people can live without the hum of engines or the vibrations of deckplates - he subconsciously equates city life with, well, life, and the absence of that makes him uneasy. But he can also see this culture before him, thousands of years old, outlasting even the end of the world, and he realises there is another way. The next time he sees London, he sees it from outside, from the side of the hunted, and he realises it’s not beautiful or efficient, just dirty, and huge, wrapped in its own waste smoke and driven only by destruction. For the rest of the series, even with the rise of the radicalised Green Storm (Anti-Tractionists Lv2), large Traction Cities are consistently the enemy. Tractionism as a culture is understood to only represent imperialism, destruction, and consumption, literally and figuratively.

SCIENCES SANS FRONTIERES

It should be noted that science and technology are not universally reviled by the series. As a dieselpunk series, a certain degree of technology is fundamental to the series existence. But this is a very different world than the one we know. On the one hand, engines exist that can drive entire cities. On the other, computers basically do not exist. The rare few that still exist are not in working condition, and nobody knows how to restore them. Heavier-than-aircraft don’t really exist - the third book introduces some, but they’re small, experimental ... barely more than short-range toys designed for flashy air shows but not real travel. The main form of personal locomotion in this world is by airship, and this world’s airships are far beyond anything we’ve made in our time. But lost technologies are heavily associated with the hubris and destructiveness of the Ancients. Until now. Like I said, the most powerful Guild in London is the Engineers’ Guild. And they got that way under the leadership of now-Lord Mayor Magnus Crome. It should be noted that Crome genuinely loves his city and wants it to survive no matter the cost. But under Crome, the Engineers began to dabble in sciences considered unethical to downright taboo. Most notable is the MEDUSA Project. Through Thaddeus Valentine, London came into possession of an energy weapon from the SMW ... and, more importantly, the working computer that runs the thing. In terms of Darwinist Evolution, this is like giving a monkey a gun and teaching it how to use it. MEDUSA exhibits a level of power no other force on Earth can match, and London is forced to deploy it early in a crisis. Originally, the plan was to march up to Batmunkh Gompa, the Shield-Wall that represents the only break in the mountains around Shan Guo big enough to permit a city, and blast it to cinders. Unfortunately, London attracts the attention of a bigger, hungrier city about halfway there, and is forced to fire MEDUSA at it to save its own skin. The sheer terror of what that weapon represents is revealed then. Panzerstadt-Bayreuth was the fusion of four massive cities, each one bigger and more powerful than London. MEDUSA killed it dead in one stroke - the energy beam set the entire city ablaze and ignited its fuel stores. Her engines nearly immediately exploded. When the fires go down enough for an Engineer scout ship to investigate, the people had been almost flashed into glass. The flash of light from the attack is so bright that, hundreds of miles to the south, Tom and Hester see the sky light up like a new dawn. The people of London are relieved, of course, that they didn’t all die that night, but more than that the entire city become suffused with the excitement of just how easy it would be to kill ... well, anyone they like, really. London doesn’t even stop to devour Panzerstadt-Bayreuth, as the Engineers can’t afford for the Shield-Wall to prepare for their arrival. Appropriately, and karmically, the finale has an accident lock down the computer lock down, with MEDUSA unable to fire but unable to stop gathering energy, and London melts under the heat of MEDUSA’s glare. But that wasn’t the only scientific sin committed by London’s engineers. I’ve already mentioned London trying to repurpose faeces as food, but we need to talk more about the Stalkers. Stalkers are kinda like discount Cybermen from Doctor Who - dead bodies, threaded with weird old machines and coated in armour, their brains hooked up to simple computers. Originally conceived as soldiers, they were believed long dead. However, one survived to the modern by sheer survivor instinct - Shrike. Through negotiations that are not the purview of this essay, he allowed the Engineers of London to take him apart and figure out how he worked, and hoo boy they did. The Engineers figured out how to manufacture their own Stalkers. The first batch are used as law enforcement like the Worst Robocops, but, again, the plan was to have Stalker workers all over Low London. Katherine, learning this, likens it to London ‘being a city of the dead’ (Apprentice Engineer Pod, to whom she is talking, grimly notes that the Deep Gut Prison is so awful, so callous with human life, that it already feels like that). Logically, the end-point of this idea is to have all workers in London be the resurrected dead, with just enough living to keep things in order ... oh, and they’d all be loyal to the Engineers, because remember, no Freedom of Speech here, and you can be sent to do the worst form of prison labour for dissenting against the Lord Mayor. With Crome being both Lord Mayor and Head Engineer at once, the Engineers’ creed is as good as law - traditionally, London Lord Mayors forsook their former Guild allegiances to show their representation of all of London, and Crome’s refusal to do that caused a bit of a stir. The Engineers are also keen to arm their security teams with some form of energy pistols, despite guns being outlawed in London and the police are only allowed crossbows. Crome’s rationale is the same as every two-bit mad scientist villain, of course - that science should not be held back by moral restrictions, and that progress for progress’ sake is essential for London’s survival. Really, it’s the Engineer’s survival, as they’re rather loathe to share these advancements except to exert power on those around. London isn’t the only example of technology being used to leverage control and benefit the ruling classes. Grimsby is a sunken wreck of a city somewhere in the north Atlantic, yet due to a complex series of airlocks the interior of the city is a secret hideaway of the Lost Boys, a society of children stolen from aquatic towns and trained to be thieves under the watchful eye of the mysterious Uncle. They will then take submarine walkers, attach to passing towns, steal whatever tools, fuel, food and riches they can carry, and vanish back into the depths. Uncle, naturally, takes the lion’s share of the haul. But Uncle maintains his power by careful access to technology, only letting the Boys have what they need and juggling the power structure by choosing team leaders, and punishing insubordination harshly and publicly. Uncle sees and hears everything in Grimsby with his surveillance network, and can address any give Boy in a heartbeat, training the Boys to never expect privacy from him, so that when he demands a progress update from a mission, they never question him. He rewards Boys who do well on burglaries, but more importantly than that, he chooses team leaders according to apparently inscrutable whims. The Boys believe it’s a mark of favour from Uncle, and thus social status, to be trusted with the limpet command and all the tech that comes with. Really, Uncle carefully give command to people he can trust to remain loyal to him, even if that means passing over a more talented Boy who might get a bit uppity. Even in a more mundane way, higher status in the Lost Boys means you can move closer to the heart of Grimsby, where you’re less likely to wake up and find your bedroom wasn’t as watertight as you thought and flooded in the night. Uncle, naturally, doesn’t care if a few Boys drown, so long as he doesn’t lose anything useful. Technology, and in particular access to unusual technology, is the dimension on which power is really decided.

THE END OF AN ERA

We’ve already established that this world is not a sustainable one. There are only so many cities. The inherent entropy of Municipal Darwinism is really showing. Once upon a time, big cities could ‘reproduce’, creating little satellite towns that could grow and become independent - even London had some - but those are no more. In a greedy desperation to keep moving, the predators are not reproducing, and static settlements can’t spread and grow fast enough to count there. The attack of London, and MEDUSA, turned staunch opposition into outright war, with the Green Storm being willing to doublethink their way into using the weapons of the Traction Cities in their fight to stop the Traction Cities, even recruiting ex-London Engineers to make weapons and stalkers for them, and eventually even seeking out another ancient superweapon - an orbital laser called ODIN - without a hint of irony. The Green Storm eventually face internal resistance, from Anti-Tractionists who disagree with the outright terrorism angle, and eventually crumbles. The last great Traction Cities stop. The last mobile city is New London, no longer a hunter but a trade platform, and even that probably stopped hovering about at some point. The ending is told by the great survivor, Shrike, who has cheated Death again and again, who outlived Tom Natsworthy and Hester Shaw, Valentine, Magnus Crome, and a thousand other heroes and villains. When he awakes, long in the future, Traction Cities are not even ancient history. They’re a dream, a fantasy, too incredible to be true. But Shrike remembers, and he teaches people the story of London and Anchorage, Arkangel and Airhaven, Brighton and Harrowbarrow. Did they learn the right message from Shrike’s story? Did they learn that ruthless imperialism is like hunting faster than the food can come back, and that you will starve before you have everything you ever wanted? Did they learn that hoarding resources, gatekeeping knowledge, will lead to ruin? Did they learn, or will the repeat the same mistakes of the greed and gluttony of the Traction Era? Well, who knows.

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Russia is probably going to invade mainland Ukraine in 2024. Not only will it be the 10th anniversary of the annexation of Crimea, it’s also an election year; Zelinsky will run against a far-right Russian backed candidate who will lose in a landslide, and Putin will use that as an excuse to call the election illegitimate. He’ll invade Donbass under the guise of providing military aide to ethnic Russians, as he did with Crimea, and annex big swathes of the southeast.

He won’t even need to march on Kiev to overthrow Zelinksy, he could have he people do that themselves with another Orange Revolution. Just look at the disinformation campaign and election meddling he’s done in the United States, now imagine how much more effective it would have been if he was our next door neighbor. Ukraine will become another Russian puppet, like Belarus. I used to think Russia would annex Belarus, but it makes more strategic sense to maintain another iron curtain of satellites than to extend their border into Europe. They won’t annex Belarus, but I can see them marching troops through it to help “pacify” Kiev once the anti-Zelinsky protests start. And while they’re in Belarus they may as well neutralize Lithuania to reconnect with Kaliningrad.

Lithuania is part of NATO, so an attack on them could trigger WWIII, which Putin isn’t stupid enough to do. He’ll work to undermine NATO before then so it’ll be too weak to fight back. American Republicans already want to leave, so it won’t be long before UK Conservatives hold another Brexit referendum, NATO Brexit, Nexit. Then there’s Turkey, the second largest military in NATO behind the US. Putin and Erdogan are already chummy, so it wouldn’t take much to get Turkey to withdraw and realign itself with Russia instead.

And don’t get me started in the Caucasus Mountains. Russia could annex Abkhazia and South Ossetia, occupy the rest of Georgia, and sell out the Armenians to the Turks and Azerbaijanis. Russia is pretty much the only think stopping another Armenian genocide; if Putin sides with Erdogan, the Armenians will be completely defenseless! It makes strategic sense for Russia to ally itself with Turkey because then they have total control of the Black Sea; if Turkey is an enemy, they could close off the Bosporus and Dardanelles Straits and landlock Russia, but as an ally Putin would have uninhibited access to the Mediterranean. Next he’ll butter up Egypt to access the Suez Canal and suddenly Russia’s in the Indian Ocean. Gulf War III, Russia blockades the strait of Hormuz (this part is more speculative/worst case scenario, because it would probably be easier to build a pipeline through the Caucasus than to sail all the way around the Arabian peninsula and risk naval war).

This is a big game of chicken, and the United States is gonna blink first; Republicans love Russia, and Democrats are too scared to stand up against them, so no matter which party is in power Putin gets to do whatever he wants. Big countries don’t go to war with each other anymore, so it would all be done via proxies like the Cold War and the War on Terror. Biden or Harris wouldn’t want to commit troops to any more overseas conflicts because it would hurt them in the polls, so Putin has carte blanche.

Nothing lasts forever. When Stalin died, Khrushchev at least TRIED to reform the USSR, so maybe when Putin retires (he’ll absolutely step down before he dies; he cares about his image, and will retire as soon as his faculties start to go) maybe just maybe his successor will try to reform Russia. That said, he’s probably already started grooming a handpicked successor, so it’s unlikely they’d turn 180 and undo their mentor’s work. Putinism is here for the long run, he’ll be remembered fondly for decades, like Reagan in the United States.

[lumassen]

Kinda dumb au but pirate Monaco (im thinking Francis' first mate who really like booty ;)) and Mermaid (or siren) Seychelles. Love your writing thanks for reading my ask

Hiya! Thanks so much for your ask, I LOVED writing this little AU! It ended up being a little longer than I wanted it to be, and the end might be a little abrupt, but I really enjoyed writing Monaco (Lucille) as a pirate! Hopefully you like it! :) If anyone else would like me to write them something, drop me an ask!

The waves parted along the bow as The Elusive finally broke into calmer waters. The South Atlantic could be unforgiving and had claimed many a ship in its history, but over the past few days it had been no match for The Elusive.

Magnificent sails cracked in the wind and the sea foamed in the wake of the great ship as it slipped through the water, now making good time and perfectly on course, thanks to its Captain. She was as beautiful as her ship was. There were many ships that sailed the seven seas, but hardly any compared to Captain Lucille and her crew. At first she’d been looked down upon, sneered and spat at, and outright ignored simply because she was a lady. But a skilled swordsman she was, and soon most rival ships around the globe had come to fear her. Dressed in the finest silks and feathers that gold could buy, at first glance one might only see elegance, grace and beauty, but underneath all the decadence was a true pirate, so much so that many swore instead of blood, it was saltwater ran through her veins.

Long, braided hair the colour of barley ran down her back as she stood proudly at the helm and took in a deep breath of the sea air she loved so much. Now that The Elusive was safely out of the storm that had engulfed the South Atlantic in the past hours she could finally relax after bringing her ship and her crew to safety once again. The deck was an inch or so deep in saltwater, clumps of seaweed and driftwood debris strewn everywhere from the 10 foot waves that had crashed up the sides of the ship. The Captain could only hope that too much hadn’t seeped below to the quarters or the hold. She was soaked to the skin as she had stayed at the helm all through the night to ensure that they came out of the storm in one piece. Her wide brimmed ostrich feather hat and velvet breeches the colour of deep wine were no doubt ruined, but such things were replaceable whereas a valued crew was not.

Lucille would bet her life that she had the most formidable crew on the sea and each member of the ships company had proved themselves worthy and pledged loyalty to their Captain in many ways. Her Gunners were her best men, some of whom she had stolen from a rival ship that had abandoned their previous captain just for the chance to serve Lucille after she had plundered them and looted all of their riches in a single attack.

Her Sailing Master was known across land and sea for his extensive skills when it came to route plotting, navigation and co-ordination. She had sailed all the way to England and paid a pretty penny to persuade him to come aboard The Elusive. The day he finally bowed beneath her heeled boot and pledged to serve her was one of her greatest triumphs.

Finally, her First Mate and Quartermaster was someone who she trusted with her life, and that was hard to do if you were a wealthy and strong Captain with such a strong ship as she was where even your crew mates might slit your throat in your sleep. Francis Bonnefoy was the closest person that Lucille had to a family. Dragged up on the streets of coastal Cannes, France as an orphan, Lucille had to fight her way to glory and Francis had been by her side every step of the way. Although he was 8 years older than she was, Lucille and Francis had always been equal.

Francis was cunning and clever, and could always manage to swindle his way out of paying for bread at the bakery so that they could fill their stomachs, and Lucille was brave and had her wits about her, somehow managing to get away with hitching rides on the back of a horse and cart to save their aching feet or swipe some jewels from an unsuspecting rich man’s pocket in a crowd. Francis had taken Lucille under his wing, expecting nothing in return from her apart from her company. She was a pretty girl and as they were growing up as nothing but sewer rats he could have done anything he wanted with her. He could have sold her away as a slave or chambermaid, or forced her to marry him and they could have crawled through society together, but instead Francis had let Lucille lead him, and he followed in her every footstep. The belief he had in her strength had paid off when the young girl grew into a young woman, and one day she tricked a fisherman into giving her his boat in exchange for a night with her. The two of them had stolen away in the night out into the open sea after leaving the fisherman with a good blow to the head out cold in a run-down brothel somewhere.

Some 15 years and a lot of trading, clawing and plundering later, they were now wealthy pirates in charge of the Mediterranean.

“Mon trésor, I can man the helm for a while. Manon has lain out some dry clothes in your chambers for you.” Francis spoke up from behind Lucille, and she looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze.

He looked at her as salt water sprayed up the side of the ship and her hair blew in the sudden gust of wind that the wave brought with it, her eyes shining and her face alive with the thrill of being out on the water at the helm of her ship. Francis had always known that he’d loved Lucille, and just looking at his Captain as she stood before him, the trying sun shining through the breaking storm clouds casting rays of light onto her, he felt that love now more than ever.

Quickly she took one hand from the wheel and removed her sopping wet hat from her head and took her braid out, shaking her hair free.

“But we’re out of the thick of it now, and we’re so close I can smell it. I’ll soon dry in this breeze.” She said with a grin, then turned back to the helm and gripped the wheel with both hands, steering starboard slightly. Francis smiled at the back of her and shook his head, bending down to pick up her discarded hat from where it lay on the desk at her feet, its feathers’ sea soaked beyond repair.  

The Elusive and its crew had set off from the coast of France a few weeks ago in search of an island somewhere in the Indian Ocean that sail master Arthur had overheard some scallies talking about in hushed tones over a pint one evening. He’d sat in the pub for hours and worked out a map, listening as best he could to their talk about how to apparently find it until he’d been shooed out into the night once the pub closed its doors. Whenever they were docked and on shore, Lucille would send Arthur out to scope out as much information as he could about riches and treasures that were there for the taking if you were brave enough. As well as being a skilled sail master, Arthur was resourceful and could force words right out of a person’s mouth, even if he had to hold a dagger to their throat. He was ruthless, sly, and quite frankly strikingly handsome, not having any trouble taking people to bed to entice them to reveal any secrets that they knew.

Judging by the tropical storm that they had passed through, Captain Lucille and her crew weren’t far from their destination. If Arthur was right and the scallies from the pub weren’t talking nonsense, then an undiscovered island of riches and otherworldly wonders were in their wake.

Francis hung Lucilles hat on a hook in the mast pole in an attempt to dry it out in the warm breeze, then tied his blond hair back with a ribbon before peering over the edge of the ship. The waters that lapped against the hull were clear and blue, a mighty comparison to the cold and dark waters of the Atlantic that had stretched around The Elusive as far as its crew’s eyes could see for the past few weeks.

“Land ahoy, Captain!” the watchman called from his station atop the mast.

“Francis! Man the helm!” Lucille shouted, already half way across the deck by the time Francis had turned away from the edge of the ship.

She swung herself up onto the forecastle deck at the very front of the ship in a swift motion, using one of the loose sail ropes to pull herself up and unclasped her telescope from its sheath at her hip. Raising it to her eye, the Captain looked out over the ocean in front of her, and sure enough, there it was. Land, at last. Wonder began to well inside of her just as it always did when she had made another successful voyage, and she never tired at the thrill of the adventure. All they had to do now was land ashore. Her polished leather boots hit the wooden lower deck hard as she jumped down and made her way back over to the helm.

“Bring her in steady Francis; we’re only a league or so from shore.” Lucille said with a grin, and then turned her attention to three of the gunners who had emerged from below deck as a result of the cries of land ahoy, ready and waiting for their Captains orders. They worked on lowering the sails and slowing down The Elusive as they neared the shore, and Lucille took a good swing and hit at the large gong the ship used to signal to any other rival ships of their arrival.

“Captain Lucille, you’d better take a look ahead!” the watchman called again from atop the mask, waving down at Lucille and pointing to the shore ahead of them as it grew nearer. Leaning over the side of the ship, Lucille brought her telescope to her eye once more, her breath hitching in her throat as the lens focused on what she could only imagine the watchman intended for her to look at.

“What is it? What do you see?” Francis asked as he hurried to her side, peering at the shore before them. Lucille didn’t say a word and just slowly passed the telescope to Francis in a stunned silence. It took a moment for him to focus, but Lucille could feel him tense beside her once he’d spotted it.

“Mon dieu, is that really a… siren?” he choked out, hardly believing the words that left his own lips as he lowered the telescope. It was unmistakeably a Siren, lain out on a rock only a few feet from the shore.

Every pirate that had ever sailed the seas knew the legends and myths about Sirens and Merfolk, and every pirate knew that they were dangerous and were probably the last thing you ever saw if you came across one. Lucille’s mouth had gone dry and her voice rasped as she cried out for the crew to lower the anchors and stop their course for shore at once, and she watched as calmly as she could as her men got to work. If the tales and legends were true, then the company of The Elusive were in trouble. As far as Lucille knew, she was the only female Captain that sailed the Mediterranean at least, and possibly the majority of the seven seas, and she and her galley maid Manon were the only women on board. In the legends there was never any mention of Sirens effects on a woman, but that could simply be because Lucille was not meant to be aboard a ship, let alone be its captain according the tradition and society and so women had never been included in the tales.

“Captain, we’re surrounded by them,” the watchman said as he jumped down from the ladder on the mast, his expression full of concern.

Lucille looked to Francis for guidance, even though she had a plan that was forming in the back of her mind.

“I have an idea, and you have to trust me.” She said, looking deep into his eyes. She could see the fear in them despite him holding his head high. Francis shook his head,

“I’ve always trusted you, but now you’ve made me nervous.” He said, his voice hesitant.

Hearing the commotion, most of the crew had come up from below deck, and they all stood around their Captain, too scared to even cast their gaze over the side of the ship should it fall upon a Siren.

“I’m not going to let my ship and my crew sink at the hands of these creatures we all thought to be a myth until now,” she began, tying her hair back into a ponytail and away from her face, “so unless any of you boys have a better idea, I need you to hoist me down in the rowboat.” Lucille finished, trying to remain as absolute as she could when her crew gasped around her and Francis grabbed her arm.

“You can’t be serious. I know that we’re pirates and you’ve fought many enemies for us, but those foes have been human.” Francis pleaded, realising what it was that Lucille planned to do, and the crew nodded and murmured in agreement.

Lucille sighed heavily in exasperation as she shook Francis’s grip from her arm. Her heart was in her mouth, and she was terrified of what creatures lay beneath the waves, but she couldn’t reveal that to her crew. She was their Captain, and she was going to save them.

After much persuasion and the raising of her voice, Arthur and Francis finally began to lower the ropes that held Lucille and the wooden rowboat that she was sat in to the hull of The Elusive. They kept their eyes averted away from the ocean as they did so for fear that they would catch the eye of a Siren in the waters and throw themselves overboard if it was so much as to will them to. Even if Lucille’s plan didn’t work, they were probably going to die out here in the middle of the Indian Ocean anyway, but they would have rather died with their Captain at least, as they were bound to do as her crew.

Francis’ hands were trembling as he held the ropes, and he wanted to do nothing more than to pull his Captain back up on deck, but he couldn’t. He had allowed Lucille to go down to greet the Sirens in an attempt to make peace with them and spare their lives on one condition, which was that if anything seemed to be going wrong she would signal to him and he would dive in after her. To Lucille, it didn’t seem like a good plan or a good rescue attempt at all, because as soon as Francis hit the water he would likely be lured to his death by the sirens anyway, but she couldn’t refuse his request. If she were going to die, she wanted to die with Francis by her side.

Clutching her crossbow to her breast, Captain Lucille tensed as the boat hit the sea and rocked a little in the wake of the waves that crashed back and forth against the hull of her ship. Hastily, she un-hooked the ropes that connected the rowboat to it, then grabbed an ore and pushed away from the shadow of The Elusive before she could have second thoughts. Looking out across the vast waters that now surrounded her as she rowed out, Lucille’s eyes narrowed, searching for any trace of movement from the depths below. Heart still drumming in her chest, she could feel how her pulse quickened at every sound, every call of a gull in the sky above, every creak that the boat made beneath her.

Then, all of a sudden, a Siren emerged out from under the water just inches from the boat, and stared up into Lucille’s face as she scrambled to reach for her crossbow from where she laid it down beside her. Compared to Lucille’s rugged beauty the Siren was otherworldly, and she was transfixed. Its hair was as dark as jet, as were its eyes as they bored into the blue of Lucille’s. Her body felt as though it had turned to stone as she took in the angular features of the Sirens face as it clutched the side of the boat, pulling itself up so that it was now only inches from Lucille’s face. She noticed the darkness of its skin and scales, and the gills that opened and closed on either side of its neck. As it gazed at her, Lucille found that she couldn’t look anywhere else, her muscles refusing to move and her eyes suddenly unable to blink even as a scaled hand reached out to grasp her hair. Perplexed, the Siren ran Lucille’s long hair through webbed fingers, the tip of its tail rising out of the water, curling in curiosity. Although Lucille knew that she was caught under the Siren’s spell, something about this being in front of her didn’t seem like the tales she’d heard of ugly, half human half fish creatures that would sing sweetly whilst pulling you under the waves to your death.

Without warning, it suddenly felt as though an invisible bubble had burst around her, and her body slumped forward as she quickly regained control over her muscles again. Hastily, she looked over her shoulder and back to her ship, waving to Francis and Arthur and her crew who all hung over the sides, signalling that she was okay. Then she felt the boat jolt and clung onto the oars to steady herself. The siren had grabbed hold of the edge of the rowboat and was pulling Lucille toward the shore and out of the deep water.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?” Lucille asked, panic rising in her chest a little, but she tried to swallow it back down again, knowing that the Siren probably couldn’t understand her. More of them had appeared now, their heads just breaking the surface of the water as they swam alongside the boat.

“You are not like the others,” One of them said, its voice soft and melodic, “We will not harm you.”

Lucille thought she must have imagined it, but then the Siren who had first approached her that was pulling her in the boat spoke,

“Many have sought our treasure, yet none have ever been worthy of it.” It said, and the boat came to a halt a few metres shy of the shore. Lucille watched as the other Sirens gathered around the darker haired Siren who had last spoken and they all reached out toward it, placing their hands over any part of its skin that wasn’t already covered by another’s until a ring of bright light began to glow around them. Lucille shielded her eyes from its intensity as it grew brighter and brighter, and once it had faded and she opened her eyes again she saw that the Siren now had a pearl necklace in its upturned palms, holding it out towards her.

“We Sirens can be found in all of the seven seas, just like you pirates. But you are not just a pirate, you are like us. To protect yourself and your crew while exploring our seas, wear this necklace. Your crew is made up of men, and most Sirens will not be as understanding as we are, but if you wear this your ship and its crew will be protected from our wrath should you ever stray too close again.”

The pearls were cold and smooth as the Siren pressed the necklace into Lucille’s hands,

“They call me Seychelles, and we are the Sirens of this isle. May we now part as friends, for you are like us.”

Lucille closed her fingers tightly around the necklace as she grasped it as a tear rolled down her cheek. Although she loved her crew, most men of the sea were not like they were. She’d been plundered many times just because other ships and their crews thought her to be weak or an easy target, but it was more at a loss to them as each time she rose again even stronger. She had often considered cutting her hair short and trying to disguise herself as a male but every time fought against herself. At a loss for words, Lucille didn’t have time to speak or say anything to the Sirens before the disappeared back under the waves as quickly as they had appeared, leaving her sat aboard her little rowboat.

She was a woman of the sea, just like the Sirens.

[descendantofthesparrow]

Daughter of the Honorable thief - Harry Hook x reader - part 3 - threat and games

Harry Hook x Daughter of Robin Hood!Reader

 key

 h/c- hair color

 e/c- eye color

 h/l- hair length

 s/c- skin color

 y/n- your name

 clothing reference:

  ---

Harry gave a tired sigh as he entered History of pirates and wood, he and Gil had gorged themselves on ice cream and candy all night and now he was suffering from not enough sleep, a sugar crash, and a stomach ache.

Glancing up he paused, there was (y/n), sitting in the seat next to his, her sketchbook open and her pencil flittering around on the page.

Harry smirked, plopping down next to her, and rose his brow flirtatiously, leaning in close to her.

“Hello, lassie~ I thought yeh sat in the back of the class? didn't know ye were meh seatmate now, were yeh just that into meh that yeh had ta switch seats to be next to meh?”

(y/n) snorted and shoved his face away gently, grinning back at him.

“nah, you and I were the only ones without a seatmate, and the teach asked me if I would be willing to move next to you, nothing like what you’re suggesting hooky~, by the way, I like the jacket”

Harry snickered, quickly grasping her hand and bringing it to his lips, making (y/n) giggle at the sensation.

“sorry, I couldn’t resist teasing such a pretty face~ and thanks, evie made it for meh, since I can't wear my long red one all the time, so she made me this one”

“Mr. Hook, Ms. Loxley, if I could begin my lesson please?”

Henry Turner, the class teacher, called out to both of you, making harry drop your hand and grin sheepishly at him.

You snickered and rolled your eyes, nodding at the teacher. He rose his brow and turned to the whiteboard.

“Alright today, we are talking about the brethren court.

Now, who can tell me the last king of the brethren court's name?”

Harry furrowed his brow, he felt like he should know this, being a pirate and all, but his brain drew a black, but in the corner of his eye, he saw (y/n)s hand shoot up.

“yes, Ms. Loxley?”

“Elizabeth Swan sir”

“good, now how is the king chosen?”

Once more (y/n)s hand shoot up, Mr. Turner pointed at her with a smile.

“they are chosen through a vote, though it usually ends in an impasse, as pirates only ever vote for themselves.”

“correct! And very educated Ms. Loxly, now how did Elizabeth become the king?...go ahead Ms. Loxley”

“Elizabeth voted for herself and jack sparrow also ended up voting for her.”

“correct! Now extra credit to who comes up here to name all the pirate lords from Elizabeth swans reign”

Mr. Turner had written on the board numbers, from 1-9.

(y/n) stood up and made her way to the whiteboard, Harry had been staring at her in awe the entire time, jaw dropped.

(y/n) quickly wrote down the names on the board, along with the areas of the sea and oceans they command over.

1. Ammand - Pirate Lord of the Black Sea

2. Hector Barbossa - Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea

3. Chevalle - Pirate Lord of the Mediterranean Sea

4. Ching - Pirate Lord of the Pacific Ocean

5. Jocard - Pirate Lord of the Atlantic Ocean

6. Jack Sparrow - Pirate Lord of the Caribbean Sea

7. Sumbhajee Angria - Pirate Lord of the Indian Ocean

8. Elizabeth Swann - Pirate Lord of the South China Sea

9. Eduardo Villanueva - Pirate Lord of the Adriatic Sea

(y/n) grinned and tossed the marker to Mr.Turner, strutting back to her seat.

“all correct Ms.Loxley! impressive!”

As (y/n) sat down, Harry turned to her with wide eyes.

“Lassie where did yeh learn all that?!” (y/n) grinned and tapped her finger on Harry's nose, giggling.

“hehe I had a pirate phase when I was younger and I researched everything about them, and I simply retained the information after that~”

Harry snickered back, softly smiling at her in awe, this girl was just surprising him left and right.

The two chatted as class continued on, easily answering the teacher when he questioned them.

As Harry made his locker, he noticed (y/n) trailing behind him, smirking he turned around, now walking backward, licking his lips.

“now-now lassie~ do yeh like meh that much that yeh havta follow meh everywhere I go~”

(y/n) rolled her eyes and snorted, shaking her head. “no you doofus, my locker is right next to yours, that’s how I saw you being cornered by the lost boys”

Harry hummed and spun around, stopping at his locker. (y/n) stopped as well and locked hers, putting her books away as Harry grabbed his English books.

As they chatted, Happy’s son, Henry, walked up with a shy smile on his face.

“Hello, (y/n), um I was wondering if you would like to hang out today? Have some pleasant company?”

Harry caught the meaning behind the boy's words and rolled his eyes, of course, yes get the filthy pirate away from the maiden!

But once more, (y/n) surprised him.

“you’re about as subtle as a shit stain on white carpet, get lost”

Henry squeaked and bolted, figurative tail between his legs.

Harry and (y/n) glanced at each other before they burst out laughing

“HAHA oh my god lassie!!” Harry spoke through his laughter, tears spilling out of his eyes, “ yeh just continue to surprise meh! Haha!”

(y/n) chortled and winked, giving him finger guns, before turning back to her locker and digging into it for a couple of seconds before pulling back and tossing him a long blue plastic package.

Oreos. Harry smiled and nodded his thanks, (y/n) nodded back and shut her locker, backing away slightly. “I gotta go, it's my free period and the archery range is always empty at this point. See ya hook!”

“see ya, lassie!”

Harry turned and started to make his way to English class, while also opening his oreos, sticking his tongue slightly in concentration.

Looking down at the plastic packaging, he wasn’t watching where he was going and therefore didn’t see as someone walked down the hall and harshly slammed into his shoulder, Harry winced, thankfully not dropping his snack, but continued on, determined to open this dammed bag of oreos.

“filth like you should be sent back to the isle”

Harry stopped and slowly turned, his face dark.

“wha did yeh say yeh arsehole?”

Aaron, son of Esmerelda and Phoebus, stood several feet away from him glaring at Harry.  “you heard me filth’

Harry growled, but restrained himself, the vks cant fight rule was only lifted yesterday, and it only counted when they were provoked, so he turned his cheek and continued on. Ignoring the other boy's taunts.

“Hook”

Harry groaned but turned and rose his brow, “wha’?”

The tanned skinned boy sneered and glared at him, an odd glint in his eyes, “stay away from (y/n), she’s mine.”

Harry snorted and gave a sly grin, his knuckles cracking at the possessive claim. “oh really? She never mentioned yeh been the time been chilling with each other, yeh sure yer that important to her, or even on her friend?”

Aaron snarled and spit at Harrys feet. “just stay away from her pirate, you'll regret it if you don’t.”

Aaron turned and stalked away, Harry rolled his eyes, please, this boy was less intimidating than lefou’s son.

But...Harry frowned, what was concerning, was the boy's obvious obsession with (y/n).

Hearing the bell for English class ring out, he sped up into a sprint and resolved to tell Uma after school ended.

---

Later after school ended, Harry sat with Uma and Gil, doing his math homework,  gritting his teeth over a particularly hard question.

Oh wait he wanted to talk to Uma about Aaron and (y/n), lifting himself off of Gil's lap slightly, he turned to Uma.

“Uma” the teal haired black girl hummed and glanced at Harry, but the stern look on his face made her sit up from leaning on Gil's arm and realize this was going to be a serious talk between the two of them.

“Harry? What's up?”

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his fluffy brown-black hair, thinking of ways to convey his concern for (y/n).

“so I was making my way to English class and someone bumped me and said; “filth like yeh should be sent back teh the isle”.”

Gil and Uma glared at the words, Uma grit her teeth, but stopped herself from going on a rant, she could tell that wasn’t what was bothering Harry.

“well,” Gil mumbled, scratching the side of his face, “that’s a really rude thing for an Auradon kid to say isn’t it?”

Uma shrugged, at least it was just words, it wasn’t as bad as the dudes here who felt that just when a girl looked at them, the girl owed them a relationship or sex.

“nah, but that’s not all, he threatened me, over (y/n)”

That made Uma pause, “(y/n)?? as in (y/n) Loxley?”

Harry nodded and continued “aye, he claimed (y/n) was ‘his’ and told me to stay away from her and id regret it if I didn’t”

Uma took a breath, thinking over the implications of what the boy said.

“so, there is a boy who is obviously obsessed with (y/n) and probably dangerously so”

Harry and gil stared at Uma as she muttered to herself.

“alright” the two boys sat up, Uma used her captain voice, when she uses that voice, you pay attention. “im going to ask (y/n) about this, she needs to know, so maybe she can put out a report on him or something like that.”

Harry nodded and reached over from Gil's lap, sneaking some of Umas coveted soda flavored jelly beans, snickering when he narrowly avoided a slap of his hand from Uma.

Drawing back he stuffed the beans into his mouth. Giggling at Uma slapping his shoulders.

“well~ you sure look comfortable~”

Looking up, Harry saw (y/n), staring down at him, grinning down and giggling.

Harry smirked and sat up slightly, grasping (y/n)s hand “im even more relaxed now that yer here darling~”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, withdrawing her hand from Harrys and plopping down next to Uma, who offered her coveted jelly beans.

“flirt, anyway I just came by to ask if yall wanted to play some video games with me?”

“sure,” Uma nodded, before remembering that she wanted to ask (y/n) about Aaron. “one question tho,” (y/n) hummed around her jelly beans and gestured for Uma to continue “do you know of a dude named Aaron?”

(y/n) groaned and flopped on her back, “yeah I know of him, he's a fucking creep, did he threaten one of you?”

“yeah, harry”

“uggg! Im guessing he claimed me as ‘his’, next time he does that shit, smack him for me.”

(y/n) had obviously dealt with Aaron before, and was tired of his shit.

Gil, sensing the tension in the air decided to cut it with bringing up the offer (y/n) made moments before, “so video game?”

(y/n) perked up, oh yeah! She sat up and grinned at the three teen pirates, “its called super smash bros, it’s a brawling game, its super fun! Do ya guys wanna play?”

The three glanced around at each other, before (y/n)s exited grin turned to a sneaky smirk

“winner gets to smack the loser with a plate full of whipped cream~”

The three teens jumped up from their spots and quickly packed up their stuff, eagerly following (y/n) back to her room to play.

An hour and a half later, (y/n) was filling a plate Uma was holding while Gil held Harry down as he screeched.

“Uma cheated!!! She cheated!! Im not letting her smash cream on meh face let meh go Gil!!”

Gil was just laughing as you topped off the plate and Uma grabbed the can and sprayed some into her mouth, before grinning down at Harry.

“nonononon AH!”

The three of you burst out laughing as Harry's face and hair was covered in the white substance, he made as ‘eeugh’ sound as he wiped his eyes and flicked his hands to remove the cream.

“yeh all suck”

“nah” (y/n) giggled, squirting some cream onto her finger, “you agreed to the consequences of losing and you lost! Fair and square!”

“whatever” Harry mumbled as he rolled his eyes, grunting he stood up from the ground and walked into the bathroom to clean up.

“so (y/n)” Uma asked, (y/n) smiled and hummed, looking over at Uma. “how long has Aaron been acting like that?”

(y/n) rolled her eyes and huffed, “since middle school, he had this idea in his head that we were made for each other. “

Uma nodded before something came to her mind.

“one more question,” (y/n) nodded, tilting her head “why are you being so nice to us, no one else is?”

(y/n) looked down at the floor of her dorm, before staring right into Umas eyes, speaking loud enough for gil and harry to hear her.

“I guess its because I know you’ve all had a shit life, and you deserve some kindness.”

Uma stared at the (h/c) girl for a moment, before she broke her gaze and looked down at the floor.

“Um, thanks…I guess”

(y/n) smiled and bumped Umas shoulder with hers. “no problem”

A few moments of silence, other than harry using the sink int the bathroom, then (y/n) spoke up once more.

“umm, I know we've been hanging out, but I was wondering if you guys would be willing to be friends?”

Harry poked his head out of the bathroom, the whipped cream now clean from his head. The three pirates looked at each other before a smirk overcame on Umas face.

“sure, but you can only join our group if you do one thing.”

(y/n) tilted her head, raising her brow “and that is?”

Uma cackled, the boys smirking, knowing what was going to happen.

“prank mal.”

…

They thought (y/n) would deny the deal, but once again she surprised them.

A devious smirk spread on (y/n)s face, already having a million pranks going through her brain.

“deal, when do you want me to do it?”

Uma cackled, ah they found they best Auradon kid ever.

“as long as it's within the week”

“I got one already, it'll be done by tomorrow morning”

“can't wait to see what yeh do lassie~!”

--end of part 3--

Comment or message me for part 4

[spellbounding-slytherin]

So, talking about my Novels a bit more....

Hey there its Vira!

Thought I would talk about my novels a bit more, just so you guys know what you all would be getting into.

So, lets talk about Novel 1.

The Rings of Gallilea: Sworn to Rebirth

(Aka: TROG/ TROGSTR)

So here are the main plot points of the novel:

It is the sacred duty of the Celestial Trinity (the Sun, Moon and Earth) to protect the life in their solar system from outside alien threats

An imperial speciest race known as the Cantillians dub Humans inferior to them, thus sparking a war between them the Celestial Trinity.

The nine planets ally themselves with the Celestial Trinity to protect themselves from a God-destroying weapon created by the Cantillians known as the Catalyst.

The Rings of Gallilea are formed in an attempt to protect the solar system.

The goddess of the moon utilizes their influence on humanity to create a re-birthing curse. As long as humanity shares legends of the gods they will not die.

During a battle with the Cantillian emperor (known as the Serpent) Earth is hit by the Catalyst, destroying his physical form.

One-by one the Rings of Gallilea and the Celestial Trinity fall.

Eventually it is only Mercury The god of knowledge, Moon, the goddess of magic and Pluto rhw God of Alchemy left

In order to save humanity, Moon forces Mercury to give her an "unforgettable" curse so she will retain her memories as a goddess.

Moon uses what is left of her magical power to trap the Cantillian emperor in a diffrent dimension, before she is killed.

Moon falls to earth taking on the form of a human infant.

She is found by the son of a former cult leader and raised moon aware of her godly identity.

Out of gratitude, moon grants her new father figure the "Power of The North Star" and shares a magical bond with him

Their mission now, is to locate the fallen Gods and prepare them for the fight against the looming Cantillian threat.

In summary:

The Rings of Gallilea is a magical Sifi adventure, with sub themes of romance, and drama. The message of The Rings of Gallilea is self-sacrifice, defying fate, humility and mercy along with second chances.

Lets meet our cast!

Luna Abyss- our female lead, Luna is the Goddess of the moon and Magic. Before what Luna refers to as "The Fall" she was regal, elegant and refined. Growing up on earth with her drunkard guardian Victor, and running from government officials who seem to pick up on Luna's signals wherever she goes changed her quite a bit. Luna uses her twin blades Artemis and Frigga to fight off the Cantillian forces sent by recon forces. Luna likes dancing to loud music at ungodly hours, getting fast food at midnight, dogs, and exploring places she probably shouldn't.

Terra Greenwood- Our male lead, Terra is the God of Earth, Nature and humanity. Terra grew up with his Grandma after his dad walked out on his drug-addicted mother. Terra is a member of the Apache Indians, and lives on a reservation in Greenville New Mexico. Terra, despite struggling with depression and minor anger issues, dreams of living a normal life. Getting a good education, a well paying job, taking his grandma and moving far away from Greenville....that Is until Luna shows up. Terra fights with his magic spear Gia, and can command Earth and Nature on a whim. While his abilities are still weak, with some training there is no doubt that Terra can return to his former Glory. Terra enjoys driving his old pickup truck down town, while listening to the hard rock radio station, helping his grandma take care of her garden, and hanging out with his best friends Mitchel and John.

Stella Brighton- our rich mean girl archetype. Stella is the goddess of the Sun. Stella grew up in her mother's mansion sheltered away from the middle and lower class, until one day she forms an unlikely friendship with Terra. An Unlikely friendship turns into an unlikely crush and an unlikely romance. That is until Stella's hopes and dreams are crushed when she discovers her mother and Stepfather have planned an arranged marriage for her. Stella breaks off her relationship with Terra and keeps her head held-high. Stella fights with her fiery bow, Apollo, and can spark a wildfire wherever she pleases. Stella enjoys shopping, traveling, taking selfies, and flaunting her status as Student Council President.

Mitchel James- the Nerd boy archetype, Mitchel is the God of Mercury, Knowledge and Communication (arguably revenge as well) As a young lad, Mitchel idolized his dad, who was in the military. Oftentimes it would be him and his mom while his dad was on deployment. Mitchel took a liking to computer science and technology, because thanks to that he was able to keep in touch with his dad even when he was far away. When Mitchel was 8 years old his dad died in active duty, and it wasn’t long until his mom took to a Sugar Baby lifestyle to try and provide for Mitchel without having to get a job. Mitchel is bullied at school for being the scrawny nerd boy, and takes revenge on his bullies by hacking into their computers and leaking their search history. After Luna rolls into town Mitchel's world is flipped upside down. Suddenly he isn’t armed with just brain-power but physical power. Mitchel fights in a way that is unique to the Rings of Gallilea. Mitchel can create Angels to fight as champions for him. He also uses a Chackram named Athena. Mitchel enjoys hacking into local security cameras to see whats up around town, exploring the dark web, arguing with radical political activists on-line.

John Kingsman- The play-boy Archetype, John is the God of Jupiter Kings, and lightning. John lives what is arguably the best life of anyone in the rings. His parents breed police dogs. Meaning his house is always full of puppies. John's dad is a former military officer, and both him and his mom are current police force members. John is the baby in his family, but is held to high standards. Be home before 7, get good grades, and take care of the dogs. John fights with his Claymore Sword, Odin, along with special abilities like lighting and psychological manipulation. John, obviously enjoys taking the dogs for walks, playing basketball, and going to the shooting range with his mom.

Hotaru Kawaguchi- The goth archetype, and Goddess of Saturn, Time and Death. Hotaru's parents immigrated to the United States after the death of Hotaru's older brother, Hikaru. They came here to give the intellectually gifted Hotaru better opportunities as she grew older. To help support her, the family opened a restaurant in the down town area that quickly became one of the most popular spots in town. Hotaru never really got over Hikaru's death, and took comfort in the macabre. Over summer, Hotaru picks up a second job to earn enough money to afford her dream car, working in an occult shop. She also finds herself involved in an unlikely summer romance. Aside from being able to freeze time and communicate with the dead, Hotaru fights with her staff, Hades, that can transform into a scythe. Hotaru loves books and quite sunny spaces, she likes painting, meditation, watching Elvira specials, and helping her mother and father learn better English.

Aries Vailakis- the Jock archetype, God of Mars and war. Just like Stella he too grew up with rich parents. His family comes a from proud Greek heritage, and own a chain of Mediterranean style restaurants. Aries is a star member of the football team, and is expected to take over the family business when he gets out of college. Most people think there isn't much to Aries other than food and football, sometimes Aries thinks that too. But being a competitive teenage god, can lead to some intense shenanigans. Especially when family, love and blackmail are involved. Aries fights with some seriously thick brass knuckles that spit fire. His brass knuckles can also transform into a large shield, Neiro. Aries likes cooking, working out, watching horror movies with his S/O, and very secretly likes looking at minimalist homes in the Greek countryside in homeowner's magazines.

June Smith, the flip Archetype, Goddess of Venus beauty, seduction and battle. June's mom divorced her dad to be with another man when she was young. Years later June would find out she died of cancer without telling her or her father. Needless to say June had a rough start in life. Given that her dad was the high school principal, she couldn't even act out and punch some nerd in the face. In the day light June masquerades as the nerdy turtleneck loving teacher's pet kinda girl. At night June flips ditching her turtle neck for something low cut and preferably leather. Sneaking out under the ruse of sleep or studying, June slips out to hang out on the edge of town with the local biker gang known as the Black Cat Bikers. Junes got the best of both worlds, her dad wrapped around her finger, and her legs wrapped around the back of her boys bikes. June fights with the sword Atalanta, and can change into any weapon June sees fit. June can also manipulate peoples hormones, making them fall for her or anyone. June will never admit it, but she likes wearing pink fluffy sweaters, she also loves getting fucking drunk, going out to see drag shows, sleeping in until noon, and playing with makeup.

Serena Paisley- The hippy archetype- Serena is the Goddess of Neptune, the ocean and family. Serena is the younger twin sister of Heath. Serena grew up close to her mother, who was somewhat of helicopter parent. Serena’s mother owns a brewing company, and is heavily involved in the Greenvile political scene. growing up in a spotlight Serena wanted to use her spotlight to encourage others to do good, and can often be found doing charity work. One big secret Serena has, is that she is a big fan of smoking weed. being a politicians daughter was a stressful job after all. Serena, can command any body of water and has great people skills. Her very loyal weapon is her trident, Namaka. Serena’s hobbies include Yoga, smoking weed, collecting crystals, playing the pan-flute, and thrift store shopping. 

Heath Paisley- The rich boy archetype- Heath is the God of Uranus, Ice, Snow and Vengeance. Heath, is the polar opposite of his sister. He grew up chasing the affections of his long-distance father, who is an actor in Hollywood. Heath has a cold demeanor, and takes a some-what sadistic pleasure in controlling others. He is the student council president at the private school he and Serena attend, Hayden Heights Academy. Heath is secretly insecure about his sexuality, and is in denial about being attracted to men. Heath spends a majority of his time covering for his sisters ‘distasteful shenanigans” in student council meetings, or following in the footsteps of his politician mother. Heath has the power to control Ice, and cold temperatures, he can also force criminals to admit their deeds.Heath fights with twin sickles Poli’Ahu and Endymion.His hobbies include: casual business luncheons, bossing his underclassmen around, and he secretly likes it when his S/O leans over his shoulder while he is trying to work. 

Romeo Barns- The rebel archetype- Romeo is the God of Pluto, Alchemy, and Transformation. Romeo has always felt like a social outcast, specifically because he discovered his godly powers at a young age. Romeo lives with his overly preachy preacher uncle, who believes in only one good god above. Romeo, being a sarcastic little shit, decides he needs to be everything his uncle isn't. Romeo sells weed for the Black Cat Biker Gang, his true "Family". Which is how a filthy little grunge rat like him became friends with Serena Paisley. Roemo's godly body grows organic blade-like structures which he can use to defend himself. His clawed-gauntlets, Thanatos and Cerberus add an extra punch. In his spare time Romeo can be seen around town riding his motorcycle. At night he is out spraying unique and vulgar messages on billboards. At school he likes to read the "boring unpopular books" like Catcher in The Rye and Lord of The Flies, and strumming along to his favorite songs on his base guitar

And thats just novel number 1! I'll make a second post about novel number 2 since this is already a quite lengthy post.

Let me know what you guys think, and if you wanna see more.

See ya later

- Vira!

[radi0active-thoughts]

Ghost, Chapter 4 – “Safe and Sound”, pt. 2

A/N: The chapter is inspired by the song “Safe and Sound” by Taylor Swift and The Civil Wars and this is the part 2 for the last chapter. Hope you like it and sorry for taking long to post. English isn't my first language, so forgive my mistakes.

Summary: After a week, the team is ready for their undercover mission. What reader didn’t know is that she’d find someone worth her protection.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, reader being super protective, Loki annoying the shit of everybody, violence, death, Google Translate conversations (sorry if it’s wrong, people. I tried.).

Word count: 3.883

Y/N: your name | Y/LN: your last name | Y/E/C: your eye color

Catch up here

Roquetas de Mar, Spain A week later The views of the safe house’s balcony in Roquetas de Mar were inspiring, to say the least. The Mediterranean Sea was there, blue, calm and beautiful; and this was a view I could spend my life admiring while feeling the maritime air caressing my face in a pleasurable way.

But admiring the view as I sharpened and polished the knives and guns I’d use in the mission while listening to Vivaldi’s “Spring” was almost the reason of a tiny arousal I felt.

I might be near my period, I thought to myself.

“Y/N?” I heard Brunnhilde calling me and turned around. She was wearing a plaid blue shirt and a pair of jeans, her hair was up in a ponytail, revealing the sidecut in both sides of her head. “Steve wants everyone in the living room.” “What for?” I asked while I polished my silver colored guns. “He wants to review the blueprint of the castle and discuss strategies.” She answered. I sighed and put my weapons in their cases before entering the house and meeting the team in the living room.

“Haven’t we already discussed it yesterday, Steve?” Nat asked. “Which is the necessity of doing it over again?” “It’s just a recap of the plan.” He answered with a sigh. “Nothing special.” “That’s why we’ve got something, a gadget, called earpiece.” I retorted with sarcasm and crossed my arms. “We can communicate through it during the mission, you know that, right? It’s waterproof even.” “Ha ha, very funny, Y/N.” He said. I shrugged and sat by Bucky’s side. “I didn’t mean to be funny, Fossile.” I said. “I’m actually pretty serious here. You’re overreacting.” “She’s right, Punk.” Bucky commented. “Soon we’ll be dressed to the nines and then the mission is over. That’s all.” Nat said. “Then why do I still feel that something is going to do wrong?” Steve asked and we all could tell he was uneasy for some odd reason. I looked to my side to see Loki eating an apple as if Steve’s uneasiness wasn’t making him tense. He was actually having fun about that. “Brother” Thor began and Loki looked at him. “Are you really going to play that card?” “What card?” Loki asked and shrugged soon after. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Are you sure you don’t know, Bastard of Mischief?” I asked and took one of my knives. The razor shone as I moved it carelessly with my right hand. “’Cause I’m sure you do,” “Don’t call me Bastard of Mischief, pet.” Loki said while his green orbs burned over my figure. The “cute” nickname Loki gave me was annoying the shit out of me.

And I already was standing on the edge of my patience with it.

“But that’s what you are.” I said. “A simple trickster, an April Fool’s Day apologetic joke that’s not appreciated by anyone in this room… excepting your brother, I guess.” “Sometimes.” Thor confessed and shrugged. “And you’re just an unworthy little pet who insists on showing some strength when you have none.” Loki retorted. “A little unworthy and weak huma-”

Loki couldn’t finish his sentence before I threw my knife at the green apple he was eating. The fruit collided with the porcelain floor in a heavy but low thud.

“Don’t call me weak ever again.” I said and got up. I took my knife and the apple from the floor, biting into it before returning the fruit to the Asgardian shitty cheater. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

That was my cue to leave the living room and going to the bedroom I settled myself in. I closed the door; put my weapons on the glass table there and looked to the black like night, full of shine and transparent Zuhair Murad I’d wear for the mission before lying on my bed and drifting off to sleep.

Hours later “All the earpieces are on and operating?” Steve asked as soon as we parted ways inside the enormous hall of that castle.

There were people of all the places in the world – multimillionaire people as sheiks, businessmen, and owners of illegal prostitution schemes, wearing their trophy wives and undercover securities as accessories; and dressed in ‘oh-so-expensive’ gowns, tailleurs and jewelry.

All I had as accessories were my knives, two loaded guns and four full cartridges. And that seemed enough for the moment.

“I’m listening, Captain.” I answered. “Me too.” Nat answered. “I’m at the bar, punk.” Bucky answered and I looked at him; he had a shot of Scotch and looked real hot while sipping on the glass. 

Damn PMS, I thought.

A waiter passed next to me and I took a champagne glass from his tray, sipping on it while looking at Bucky. He seemed to feel my eyes on him and we exchanged looks; he smirked and nodded, and I did the same.

“Barnes. Y/N.” Thor began. He wore tuxedos, scars and an eye patch very well. “Can you stop looking at eachother as if you’re about to fuck in public?” “We all can feel the tension through this earpiece.” Brunnhilde said. She was next to Loki, who was making acquaintances with a few men who were traders.

Now it was Steve’s turn to open his mouth. “Can you focus on the mission here?”

“Can’t do nothing if I’m the legit definition of sex with legs, Oldie.” I retorted with a smirk and began to walk confidently. There was a purpose on Nat making me choose for a dress with open back and a big ass slit on my left leg – showing myself to distract the men, and women, of the place.

And man, I loved the attention they were giving me.

“Here our bait goes.” Nat smirked while watching me walking as if I owned the place. “I have to admit, pet.” Loki began. “You’re good at being the main focus.” “I’m good at ripping hearts out as well, Loki.” I said while I approached a man who looked like a true Norse God. “You better remember that… I’ll enjoy a treat here, my recorder is on.”

Another waiter passed through me and I took two glasses of champagne of his tray. My target was a beautiful ginger to look at; he had blue eyes, face perfectly painted with freckles, well groomed hair and beard, muscular and tall but lean body and wore British tailleur from what I could see.

“It looks like you’re in need of a drink, handsome.” I approached him and caught his attention with my beautiful and revealing dress, and body language. “You think, sweetheart?” He had a heavy Welsh accent and I have to admit that my legs quivered a little. “I do, actually.” I answered with confidence and handed him the glass, which thank God, he accepted. “Reyna Fuentes, my pleasure.” “Why do I think you’re lying, Reyna?” He asked. Oh, shit. “Because never a lady was bold enough to approach you the way I did.” I answered. I looked at his neck to see a tattooed rose, something told me that that detail would be important. “Indeed.” He answered. “And how do I know, doll, that this champagne isn’t poisoned?” “Because this is my second glass and I didn’t die.” I was quick on answering. “Prove me.” He handed me the glass I gave him and, with no hesitation, I took a generous sip of it while looking into the cold blue of his eyes. He smiled and gave me his left arm. “This is my invitation so we can take a walk and have a talk, perhaps.” “Invitation accepted.” I answered and laced my right arm to his left and muscular one. “So, what do you do for a living?” “I’m a trader as great part of the men in this room.” He answered. “You seem to be one of the trophy girls of the men here.” “I might be a trophy girl, I might be a daughter into family business,” I said and looked at the man. “I also might own something, who knows.” “Won’t you tell me?” He asked with a naughty smirk. I mirrored the same expression. “I like the mystery.” I answered. “So do you.” “Indeed.” He remarked. “The trade is about to begin, look.”

A men entered the runaway, wearing an expensive tuxedo, as the most part of the men in the room. He was received by a round of applause.

“Good night, everybody” he began. “And welcome to the first auction of the year. Tonight we have plenty of interesting products for everybody's delight. Shall we begin?”

Said that, a girl with brown sugar skin, wearing a all-diamond lingerie, entered the room. Her face was stained by tears, she was afraid and I could tell.

“We have this exquisite and beautiful young woman.” the man began saying. “She is Indian, speaks British English and French. Unfortunately not a virgin, but is a great delight in bed. We begin with 5.000 dollars? 5.500 for the gentleman in front of me. We got a 7.500? Okay, this value to the lady in my right…”

The man sold that girl as if she was the cheapest thing in the room and my blood boiled inside me, with rage and want to see that room all covered in blood.

“Calm down, Y/N.” Brunnhilde said through the earpiece. “I can sense your rage from where I am.” “We can see what you’re seeing aswell.” Steve said. “This man you’re flirting with is very dangerous. He’s one of Morningstar’s men. Keep your eyes open.” “I’ll try to enter the back as we discussed earlier.” I said, above a whisper. “I just need to dump him.” “Did you say something?” the mystery ginger asked me. “No, I just” I began saying. “I just need to go to the toilet, very quick.” “I’ll buy that girl for my boss, what do you think?” he asked me. “If your boss is a british man, he’ll enjoy her.” I told him. “Great point.” he answered. “By the way, have you ever been with a British man before?” “Never.” I answered. He smirked. “Wanna try?” He asked and when I was about to answer, somebody left their wine fall on my dress. “Hey man, look at what you’ve done!” “I’m very sorry, Sir.” I looked up to see Loki holding an empty glass. That was my cue to leave. “I didn’t see where I was walking, and…” “And your clumsiness left your wine fall into my lady’s dress?” the handsome ginger asked calmly. “I already dealt with men like you before.” “Why are you so sure of it?” Loki teased him and silently I left the great hall to go to the ladies’ restroom. “Thanks for the escape, Loki.” I said through the ear piece. “It doesn’t mean we’re even at all, I still would like to know how to kill a God.” “You hurt me this way, Lady Y/N.” Thor retorted. “Not you, sunshine.” I said and found the door for the ladies’ restroom.

I looked at the mirror and checked myself out: my guns and knives were perfectly in their places, makeup was still beautiful but I smelled like Italian wine.

“Oh, great” I mumbled.

“Y/N, I’m waiting for you at the subterranean floor.” Nat said through the comms. “Meet you there.” I said.

Since everyone at that event was focused on that gruesome auction, it was easy to find Nat at the subterranean hallway, where there were medieval cells filled with scared woman and men, comforting even more scared child.

“Now this is a carnage.” I whispered to Nat. “I’ve seen lots of villages in captivity situation, but never seen anything like that.” “Barnes” Nat said through the comms. “How’s it going up there?” “The auction is still happening.” Bucky answered. “I need you to know that Interpol forces are working with SHIELD to this mission.” Steve said. “Hill just let me know.” “Fucking Interpol.” I hissed. I sighed. “Captain, what can we do?” “There is a secret passage that goes to the back of the castle. Interpol and Shield agents, with Hill, are there waiting.” “Musaeada!” (Help!) a woman shouted from inside one of the cells. “Min fadlik, nahn bihajat ‘iilana musaeada!” (Please, we need help!) “They are asking for help in one of the cells.” I told Nat, who nodded. “I’m gonna check it out.”

I walked to the cell and a arabian middle aged woman, whose eyes I knew really well, were there to greet me in more desperation and panic than in our last meeting.

“Fadilah?” I asked and held her hands. “Kayf wasalat ‘iilaa huna?” (How did you arrive here?) “Alqayid Y/L/N.” (Commander Y/L/N) Fadija was breathing heavily. “Baed ‘an tarakt ‘ant wal’uwbira, waeuduna bihayat jayidat, bwzayif jayidat wataelim jayid li’atfalina.” (After you and The Cobras left, they promised us good life, with good jobs and good education for our children.) “Min hawla’?” (Who are they?) I asked her and I could see in her eyes that she knew something and that she wouldn’t tell me. I changed the question. “‘Ayn abnatak?” (Where is your daughter?) “Laqad baeuha balfel.” (They already sold her) Fadilah answered, tears were staining her face. “Kaebad jinsiun, lirajul suidyin qaluu li… abnataya alhulwa…” (As a sex slave, for a swedish man they told me… my sweet daughter...) “Sa’akhrijukm jmyeana min huna.” (I’m going to get all of you out of here) I said and turned around to face Nat, to see Bucky and her there. “Where is that secret tunnel Steve talked about?” “I don’t think we have enough time to…” Bucky began but I cut him off. “Yes, we have and we will.” I said and began to formulate a plan. “Most part of people here might know how to speak French, so I’ll talk.”

I sighed and my head began to gather the words to say to those people. Suddenly I was the only glimpse of hope they had. And I didn’t know if I was okay with that situation, but I had to be brave enough to do the right thing.

“Écoute s’il te plaît.” (Listen, please) I began. “Nous ne sommes pas l’ennemi. Nous sommes là pour vous sauver tous.” (We’re here to save you all.) “Comment faisons-nous confiance à trois personnes que nous ne connaissons même pas?” (How do we trust three people we don't even know?) A man in one of the cells asked. “Avez-vous confiance à ceux que vous connaissez?” (Do you trust the ones you know?) I said after a heavy sigh. “Ceux qui vous mettent dans cette situation misérable. Avez-vous confiance en eux?” (The ones that put you in this miserable situation. Do you trust them?)

My questions didn’t have answers from no one inside those cells. I presumed that the answer they had would be a negative one.

“Y/N, the auction will soon be over.” Nat said. “Brunnhilde will meet us outside.” “Nous vous relâcherons et vous nous suivrez dans un tunnel.” (We'll release you and you will follow us through a tunnel.) I said and looked at Bucky, who was releasing those people and organizing them in a line. He had tied a rope on his left wrist. The people were holding it, so they wouldn’t get lost. “Soyez silencieux.” (Be quiet.)

We began to release people cell by cell, and they played along with us, fortunately — they’d hold the rope by the time we’d release them. In a voice that was barely above a whisper, men, women and children would thank us. My heart filled with joy, somehow.

I opened the last cell and people began to come out, hold the rope and follow Bucky. That was when I heard a sob inside one of the cells and went to check it out. A little and skinny girl were there, sobbing on her knees.

“Hey.” I went to her and she looked up to reveal big green eyes and olive skin. “Can you understand my language? Understand what I’m saying?” She nodded. “Where is your mommy or your family?” I asked. “Did they come with you?” “The Morningstar.” The little girl answered, her voice was quivering and she had an arabian accent. “He killed my father and took my mother with him.” “I won’t leave you here.” I said and she was looking towards the cell’s door. I turned around to see two guards pointing their machine guns to me. “Oh, hello boys.” “Leave the girl alone.” One of them told me. “Why should I?” I asked. “So I don’t fuck your head with a bullet in it.” The other answered, pointing his gun at me. “Do you trust me?” I asked the girl, who let out a “uh-huh”. I slid my hands to my legs slowly, grabbing my knives. “When I say it, you jump on my back and hold on, okay?” “Okay.” She whispered and I sighed. “Now!” I shouted and in a skilled movement and pure luck, my knives cut two necks and the girl jumped on my back, lacing her tiny arms on my neck and her skinny legs on my waist. “I might have to kill a few bad guys if you don’t mind.” “O-o-okay.” She said in a trembling voice. I took my knives, cleaned them on my dress and put them on the leg case. I took my guns and began to run out of the place. “Watch out!”

I got scared with her scream, but if wasn’t her we’d both be dead: there were five guards and I killed them all quickly.

“You don’t know how to shoot, do you?” I asked when I grabbed two loaded mini-machine guns. She didn’t answer. “I’ll take that as a no.”

I began to run again, trying to find a way out of that castle. “Y/N, where are you?” Steve asked through the comms. “You were supposed to be with Natasha, Bucky and Brunnhilde.” “Change of plans, Cap.” I said while running. “They discovered me.” “They who?” He asked. “Morningstar’s men?” “You can say th — FUCK!” I shouted and I was surrounded by a few guards. “Y/N?!” Steve said. “Well, hello miss Fuentes.” the ginger man who was trying to win me where there. “Unfortunately I still believe in pretty girls with (Y/E/C) eyes.” “Women like me are your weakness, I know.” I said in pure sarcasm. “Give me the girl and I’ll let you go.” He said calmly. “Why do you want her so bad?” I asked. “She’s just a child.” “A child and my property.” He stated and pointed a gun at us. I sighed. “I won’t give her to you, you fucking Fireballs.” I said. “Fireballs?” He asked and laughed. “That was low, even for you.” “Usually the carpet matches the curtains.” I shrugged. “Usually women don’t resist my charm” He said while approaching and my first protective instinct was shooting him on his leg. “You fucking bitc — FUCK!”

I didn’t let him finish to shoot him once again, on his shoulder this time. I began to shoot all the guards there, fought with a few and when one of then tried to take the girl from my arms, I went berserk and shoot all the men there while screaming and her reaction was what made me really loose my shit: she emanated a purple light, that looked like a force field.

“You’re a mutant.” I whispered more to myself than to her. She looked at me and the green in her irises were now purple. When her eyes got back to normal, her body trembled and I could see she used a lot of energy to do that. “Let’s focus on running away.”

I ripped the dress off and used the tissue to wrap her around my body. That moment I thanked God for wearing booty shorts. I was about to run again when I felt somebody grabbing my ankle. The ginger.

“You won’t go out that easy.” He said and I looked at him. “Oh, I will.” I said and while one of my Louboutain heels pressed his wounded shoulder making him scream in pain, the other one entered his right eye with all its 8 inch glory.

I had just killed a man with stilettos. And it felt awesome.

“Y/N?” I heard Bucky ask through the comms. “Doll?” “How those people are, Buck?” I asked. “Already safe?” “Interpol and SHIELD are taking care of it all, Y/LN.” Steve answered. “We’re in the quinjet.” “Where am I right now?” I asked. “East wing.” Nat answered. “Can you guide me to the roof, Nat? I had an idea” I asked and she began to give me the directions to the roof. When I got there, the girl in my arms were breathing calmly. She was asleep. “Hey, um… wake up.” “Hmmm…” She rubbed her eyes from sleep. “Where are we?” “We’re about to do something really dangerous here.” I answered. “I need you to be awake so we decrease our chances of dying. Are you okay with that?”

She nodded and suddenly she was wide awake.

“Steve.” I called through the comms. “Where is the jet?”

My question didn’t need answer at all since I had seen the jet from afar, took the high heels off and began to run on the roof. The quinjet began to open the ramp and with all the force I had in me, I jumped. Fortunately, I escaped a mortal fall and held the girl in my arms.

When we fell, I realized we had collided and rolled in the jet. My hands went instinctively to her head, protecting her. She fell above me and I opened my eyes when my brain sent me that “open your eyes, shithead” sign.

The team was all above us, the ramp was already closed and the jet was already taking us to the compound.

“Hello, guys.” I said. Bucky and Steve sighed in relief, I heard Loki talking about burials, Thor and Brunnhilde thanking the Gods I was alive. “You’re the most insane bastard I’ve ever met, Y/N.” Nat laughed. “I know, right?” I laughed and Bucky smiled at me. Steve, once again, looked like a disappointed father.

I began to move my body, with the little girl above me. What I didn’t know was that my movements would scare her to death. She began to scream, squirm and cry in my arms.

“Mommy!” She’d scream to the top of her lungs and hold me tighter than she had moments before. “Give my mommy back to me, please! Mommy! Mommy!”

I sat down and crawled to the nearest wall so I could comfort and cradle her in my arms. I looked at the team, Brunnhilde and Loki included. Their faces were pure worry about the scene. Bucky and I looked at eachother and all I could remember was of how he’d comforted me in my first night at the compound.

“Shhhh…” I whispered loudly, while rocking my body and caressing her thick brown hair. Her tears made my shoulders wet and I was feeling the pure terror she was feeling in that moment. “You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Tags (some aren’t working/list open): @witchymarvelspacecase @annabella789 @ladylustitia @theseldomseenkilljoy @wicket-master @purrrcrastination @coal000 @parisss-lilli @luv-what-you-do @s-killian14 @wowspideyholland @curlyhairedlolita @personwhoisntquitesureimalive @barnesdeservestheworld

[alatismeni-theitsa]

(1/2) I know this is some controversial topic and that you sometimes cover US politics, but what do you think the american left needs to improve to reach to more people and be taken more seriously?; It's unbelievable that in the very 2021, apolitical folk are still fallin into the whole "the leftist are a bunch of crazies" narrative, we may do some pushback the last three years against conservative politics.

(2/2)  But it's still not enough; on your personal opinion, what fundamental core value needs to be changed to engage to these apolitical people and that leftist want politics to improve the quality of life of the population without being labeled as a "petulant, whiney children" There's some greek-flavored advice that we can apply to our discourse? Thanks in advance :)

========================== END OF ASK ======================

Ooooo… Great question! And by “great” I mean “Do you want me to go down in flames and get cut a thousand times with pitchforks??” xD But it’s very interesting so I will answer it! And you will be subjected to an essay of 3.200 words 😘💅 (I want to be meticulous, don’t come at me)

Please assume the tone is light and conversational. I am not in a very serious or dramatic mood, and I don’t want to estrange any group by assuming the role of an all knowing tutor or someone who always has the high moral ground. This is just 1am blabbering.

I am not against leftists. On the contrary, I know their side so well that I think I have a solid opinion on its flaws. (I have friends who are left- okay I’ll stop xD) Needless to say, the right side also has flaws and the two sides often share flaws. But right now, we are only talking about the leftists. And of course, #notallleftists xD I recognize that leftists are ordinary and diverse people with empathy and capability of critical thinking and problem-solving (Did I mention I have friends who ar--) Jokes aside, I think my following is quite left leaning and I am not bashing them here. I am criticizing the movement as a whole and trying to see where it can be improved.

***** Anyways, I will generalize the bad traits for the sake of everyone’s time, it’s what I am saying! So, when I say “they” I will probably mean “some” or “the bad apples” etc.  *****

To begin, US leftists don’t want to, but they are accidentally imperialist xD Unfortunately, they don't know much about other countries, and they don’t usually have knowledge of countries they are talking about if they don’t have an immediate connection to them. Not knowing things is fine, but when people on this site are like “ugh Americans” this points to an ignorance and a sort of entitlement that doesn’t occur this often in other countries. My internet cycle is overwhelmingly leftist and yet I continue seeing willingness for ignorance all around - and when I check it’s not by conservatives.

Leftists think their (social and not) politics apply to every country and culture, that people in different countries classify themselves as they do in the US. And when people from those countries talk about their problems, there is always an American that wants to give input based on American politics, and without knowing the situation in this other country they want to talk about. Ironically, the last one is a behavior of conservative politicians. Conservative politicians and citizens sometimes think it’s fine to intervene in other countries for “the greater good”. Well, leftists do the same but on the internet. It stalls conversation and makes it messy and force foreigners to apply to American standards.

Because leftists don't understand social differences between countries, they project their own politics, and that can make them seem obsessed with skin color and blind to cultural diversity. They act like only Americans or certain countries have every lived through colonialism and suffered slaughter and slavery. (Because they don’t feel the need to study and learn further.) To an American that might not be the case, but when Americans converse with foreigners about foreign issues, they seem to have a blind spot.

They act as if only white, cis, straight people can be perpetrators of imperialism. Booyyy I have news xD Yes, of course white, cis, straight people can be perpetrators of imperialism, but the attitude that they are the first to blame, always, it’s faulted. I have many experiences, but let’s start with a very simple one, of an Indian American young woman who thought only a lota can clean you with water in the toilet, and that Europeans haven’t heard of bidets or any other means of cleanliness (or that they have the bathtub RIGHT THERE xD) One of the highlights was a Black woman insisting “Medusa was Black because my grandma told me” despite what Greeks were telling her.

Another thing that stuck with me was the case of a Greek who wanted to write about the people who happen to be a minority in the US (you would call them poc I guess). Many people from those countries were enthusiastic about the project and aided the writer as much as they could, sharing culture and realizing how many things in common they had. But it was from same populations in the US that the writer found people who blamed them for daring to write something outside of their culture. (To explain, most US Americans were fine, but only in the US were some who were hostile). Or, I have seen Chinese Americans being offended by a certain thing (I think it was something about fashion) saying “this is an offense to Chinese culture” meanwhile Chinese people from everywhere else in the world (99% of Chinese, I’d say) said “I don’t understand… this is fine!”

Many US American poc categorize all light skinned Caucasians of the world as White Americans and the rest are the “cultured” Black or Brown people. US Americans are now learning that Slavic cultures exist and it’s… something else to watch leftists realizing light skinned people can have great embroidery and they are not actually stealing Mexican traditional clothing xD (reference to an obscure “calling out” comment on tik tok).

I don’t specifically target US poc here, I am just mentioning that everyone conveniently forgets them as if they are untouchable and never said anything ignorant, while they are as active on social media causes as other Americans. In fact, if most poc are aligned to a side, that would be the Left. They are a very big part of the progressive movement – and that’s why I am giving so much space here for them – but then it seems they can’t have a share of the “bad” things of the leftist movement, only the good. Which is humanly impossible, to be always correct.

That’s one of the problems of leftism, that in a way pardons certain minorities and by doing that it not only lets the problematic bubbles grow but also infantilizes those minorities because it passes the message that “they can never do anything wrong”. While background matters when having an opinion, I see that skin-color goes ridiculously above opinion on these matters, which is not very egalitarian. When I argue with a person, the last thing I see is the person’s skin color. When someone says “ancient Greeks were actually a Black nation ad then they became White” I don’t care how this person looks like. No matter your skin color, you must take responsibility for the misinformation you are spreading. I won’t assume that because someone is a poc that they can’t study and learn more about the matter of discussion.

So… the “issue” doesn’t come from being white, cis, straight etc but from being raised as a US American. I don’t imply by any means that being a US American is bad. The last thing I want to do here is enforce guilt. (If you are feeling guilty already I must be mistaken in my wording so I am sorry for that). I am talking about certain beliefs that come with raised as a US American. Similarly, many beliefs a Greek can have are because of their environment. Everyone is affected by their background in one way or another. 

American leftists believe that even the piss poor British farmers benefited from colonialism – and still benefit perhaps on a systemic scale. So, with the same logic, even the lowest layers of the US American society benefit from imperialism and war crimes overseas. (Truth is the quality of living in the US is great and extremely progressive compared to most of the world, because of the US’ politics. I had analyzed this in a previous post). But American leftists never mention that when it comes to THEIR case, because it doesn’t give them an advantage.

To tie it up with how American leftists see the world, there is youtuber I like, who is a US American woc and one time she said “My country is bombing Brown people” in an annoyed tone and it just sounded so offensive I closed the video. It’s obvious the youtuber doesn’t support the bombing, but it was just the phrasing which left a bitter taste in my mouth the whole day. It was the fact that 1) she could make a statement in an annoyed/joking tone 2) people in those countries don’t identify as “Brown” outside the US (and you are talking about them now) 3) your country is indeed bombing them so maybe at least categorize them as they wish?? They have a certain ethnicity, so mention that and stop categorizing them like dog breeds! They already have the bombs, do you want them to hear Americans categorize them like that?

Moreover, many US leftists think they care about other countries while, in actuality, they don’t. They just want to make other countries have the exact progressive US politics - because that’s the only “correct” political system they know. That shows even in kind of superficial matters. In a movie about Greek mythology, they will make sure there is an American Arab, an American Black person, an American East Asian person etc (which would be a cast that would reflect American diversity, not Mediterranean) and are hesitant to cast Greeks or ask Greeks how the portrayal of the story and figures could be better and respecting.

Another thing, they take everything too personally. They think success and failure of a movement is highly dependent on them as an individual. It’s difficult for them to approach a harsh past or present situation in a levelheaded manner because they don’t realize this situation has been universal. So, they feel a special kind of guilt and that makes them over apologetic but also overzealous (like a righteous self-flogging zealot) and that is what drives people away. They combine that behavior with ignorance about the rest of the world, and you can see why a non-US American might want to keep their distance.

I had some Americans apologizing to me because their ancestors did something to Greeks and just… don’t. I know you have the best intentions, but it makes everyone – even me – feel bad. There is no need for apologizing because 1) you and your family did nothing wrong 2) it was centuries ago 3) this bad shit happens/happened literally everywhere. You might as well apologize for your people knowing how to cook. It’s FINE, really, it’s FINE. For instance, do you think I have a grudge on YOUR people running a slave trade six centuries ago while there was dozen active slavetrades in the area, and while Greeks of the Byzantine empire probably bought slaves some decades before they were sold to slavery themselves? Do you see what a mess this is? Not only it doesn’t fix anything, but you also put unnecessary weight on yourself, as an individual. It’s fine to be aware and trying to fix past mistakes - if it’s possible - but there is a certain delicate process that must be followed. Not… whatever this is.

To continue on the extreme individualism, leftists think it's the end of the world if they have done or said something controversial (and that's also because they have cultivated a culture where any small transgression is a potential danger to the whole society :p aka "the left eats itself"). Around them people feel they must tread on eggshells just in case they phrase a thing wrong or post something that could be linked to a person the Left doesn't like.

The left is also on the extremes, so I have to put 1000 disclaimers every time I say something. (I guarantee that the example with the Chinese people will be translated by some Americans like “Theitsa promotes Asian hate!!”) Do you know who doesn't annoy me if I don't put 1000 disclaimers? Certainly not Conservatives. I had more harassment from leftists than I had from actual nazis, even though my blog is not conservative or (god forbid!!) supportive of nazism or any type of supremacy. Even nazis completely understand my beliefs before they send hate. (It might be odd but I never had one not understanding my point xD) But the leftists who sent hate misinterpret stuff, or they don’t bother reading actual posts. The funny thing is that I usually agree with these progressives in 99% of issues but they don’t care asking or learning, they just decide our morals are opposite. I mean they don’t have to like me, but many leftists don’t even read the basics.

On top of that, leftists rarely want to have a conversation with a conservative. I don't say go and AGREE with a conservative, I say just talk. (see? I feel the need to clarify here because many leftists might say “Theitsa wants us to go and AGREE with conservatives! Does Theitsa want us to become nazis and homophobes???”) How does one feel they have to be sooo righteous and then cauterize every member of society who disagrees with them? Why do leftists rarely want to have a conversation? Some people were ready to attack me for referencing a meme which referenced Steven Crowder, as if that shows I am his supporter 😩 (Guilty by association is strong on the leftist side and it’s very reminiscent of authoritarian tactics, another thing that needs to be improved, to my opinion.)

I don’t support Crowder (I know Crowder has done awful stuff) but I shouldn’t be scared to admit I like the “change my mind” episodes. (Flash news, leftists, you might like a part from a person’s work and not 100% support that person!) I like the episodes because both sides are heard, the conversation is civil (for the most part xD) and I can see the thought process of the two speakers as they explain their worries and what solutions are out there.

Most of all, in those episodes I see how BOTH sides CARE about the SAME problems, it’s just the perspectives that differ. And those conversations highlight the issues the left hasn’t studied very well, so it helps the leftists understand what they need to learn in order to better society. But where the “immaturity“ of the leftist side can show is in the unwillingness to approach the “opponent“ as a human just like them.

(They might instead prefer to call Mexicans white supremacists and claim that “whiteness” has no color because quite a few poc voted Republican, as some leftist news sources have stated)

What is more, is it just my idea or conservatives understand leftists better than leftists understand conservatives? Of course both sides jokes about the other one but I am talking about the serious talks. Leftists just describe conservatives as horrible people who want all minorities to perish and we must not talk to them while, surprisingly, the conservatives are the ones who stereotype less the opposite side. (I am talking about the normal, moderate people). From what I have seen, most simple people who are conservatives DON’T want the US’ ethnic and sexual minorities to perish. They are worried about problems they don’t have a good understanding about. And the only way to make them understand it’s to… talk to them, show them what good the left to offer.

Some leftists think conversation is “emotional labor” but 1) that applies to actual labor as in… jobs, so stop invalidating doctors, nurses, teachers etc, 2) yeah, sorry, sometimes things get difficult and you have to explain your side. (As non US-Americans endlessly have to do for US-Americans). That was, is and will be life until the sun swallows us all. You can’t be THAT militant on social media with 100 posts per day and remembering 50 different campaigns about social issues but the moment someone genuinely asks you for directions on your side you shut them off with “why do you demand labor from me? Do your own research” (hint: most likely they have done their research, but they are stuck, and you don’t help them like this).

If you are very tired and don’t want to explain (as it is your right) you can be polite about it and not blame the individual about their circumstances when they are trying to learn. If you DO want to explain but you get tired, be more organized. Have posts and F.A.Q.s ready, or send them to someone else (a friend, a blog, a youtube channel, an article, whatever). Instead of leftists arguing their positions, sometimes they are like “Do more research and realize I am right.” Yyyeah the other person is not gonna do that – especially because you haven’t pointed them anywhere or supported your position with arguments. Moreover, leftists can have the attitude of “I stand for PROGRESS, how can I ever be wrong??” Weeell things are not black and white and me, you, everyone has the potential to not have a not that beneficial to society position at some issues no matter where we stand on the political compass.

For the “petty whiny children” thing, I believe a lot of people might think that because the youth is usually making noise about progressive issues on social media. It’s true that oftentimes in social media discussions their emotions get the best of them (it’s happened to everyone) but combined with the lack of life experience they may have about the world, the argument sounds silly. (I heard one leftist university student say that the US shouldn’t have borders because borders are bad but then they realized they don’t want people to come and go as they please in the US, so she said there should be SNIPERS in the borders to shot everyone who tries to get in…….)

And, as I mentioned, the leftists are very quick to cancel and attack for the slightest transgression so people prefer to deal with the conservatives who can, at least, take a slight misstep, than meddling with people who are going to cancel them for doing or not doing a small, insignificant, but not ‘woke enough’ thing. Leftists are constantly checking each other to see if they are doing better and better (even in silly issues) and that can be intimidating to someone who is new to politics.

Some leftists get REALLY turned on by righteousness (Frollo villain style) and instead of trying to unite the society, they aim to divide it further. They don’t want to create bridges but burn them and find themselves on the “right side“ of morals.

And, last but not least, they don’t realize leftist propaganda is a thing. Malicious people are EVERYWHERE and they don’t just magically avoid the left. Leftists are not automatically super virtuous people. There are some manipulators and bullies around, so one has to be cautious even with leftist sources. (Cross-examine stuff, always. You might have the best intentions but accidentally share something nonfactual because you trusted a source).

Ok that was all, I think. To anyone who comments, PLEASE keep the tones down, have a conversation, take it slow, remember it doesn’t help us being hateful towards each other. (And causing serious friction wasn’t the purpose of this post). Oh, and if you need a clarification on something I said, before gossiping with your friends about how awful I am, do me the courtesy of first asking me what I meant xD

[foundcarcosa]

ccv.

1. When you met the person you now like, what happened? >> I really wonder if most people see “the person you like” and immediately think of a singular human being. Meanwhile, me: “okay, first I’d have to quantify ‘like’, because I like a lot of people, all told, but do they mean like, romantically? but if that’s the case, I’d have to quantify ‘romantically’--” (Never mind trying to quantify “person”.)

2. What did you say when you first woke up? >> I didn’t say anything. I mean, I always have some sort of running commentary going on with Can Calah and whomever else is around, but as far as saying anything out loud, that’s just unnecessary.

3. What are your religious beliefs? >> I am a deeply religious individual, and therefore I cannot subscribe to any religion. A friendly word for me would be ‘syncretist', and sometimes ‘panentheist’, and sometimes ‘agnostic’ (’atheist’ in my colder moments), but I really do prefer ‘19 gods in a human trenchcoat setting out to form a cult of personality and constantly getting sidetracked’.

4. Did you realise anything today? >> I don’t think so. If so, it wasn’t anything huge.

5. What do you need right now? >> More money than I have, but not enough to put me into the 1% bracket. That’s an ugly place to be.

6. What’s your favourite food? >> Most Mediterranean and Indian cuisines are a safe bet with me. Or some sort of Asian -- Vietnamese, Thai, Korean.

7. How are you feeling today? >> In total I’ve felt: tired, bored, apathetic, curious, amused, impatient, hungry, vaguely annoyed, accomplished, and horny.

8. What do you want to do today? >> “Today” is pretty much in the bag.

9. What do you think people will say at your funeral? >> I assume that if a funeral is held for me, people will say how unique and singular I was, how much I cared for my [family/friends/insert social group here], how good I was at [insert some thing I’m good at here], and how much I will be missed. That’s the standard eulogy formula, if I recall correctly.

10. What is your biggest fear? >> Becoming prey to a fear that I cannot banish. That is my biggest fear. I fear fear, essentially. It’s all very circular and sometimes counterproductive.

11. What do you want people to do to you? >> In general, I don’t want people to do anything to or for or regarding me. I prefer some specificity in my interactions.

12. What are you thinking of right now? >> The answers to these questions, and whatever updates I see in Discord.

13. What’s your favourite colour? >> Impossible to choose.

14. Are you up-to-date with things? >> Some things. Not all things. The ever-changing nature of the world is impossible to be totally in sync with.

15. Describe your looks to us. >> I prefer to be described in Lovecraftian terms, which is to say, not described very well at all, and meant only to be experienced (occasionally to one’s detriment).

16. If I left what would you do? >> ...?

17. What’s the best advice anyone has ever given you? >> I have no idea.

18. When someone yells at you, what do you say? >> My most common response is to immediately walk away from them, or at least give them a chance to bring their volume down if they expect me to continue engaging with them.

19. What question do you want to ask someone? >> Again, too vague.

20. What do you think of people? >> I prefer not to give any thought to “people” as a whole, because it doesn’t make any sense. I have individual thoughts about individuals, and small groups on occasion.

21. What’s something someone can do that makes you melt? >> Oh, please.

22. Do you have a reason to smile right now? >> There is always a reason.

23. Have you ever woken up next to someone and wanted to puke? >> If so, it wasn’t related to the person next to me, but rather to gastrointestinal distress of the mundane variety.

24. What do you do when you need to relax? >> I don’t have any dedicated routines for this.

25. Do you like things in life to stay how they are or change? >> Change is the only thing that makes sense. Stasis is death.

26. If someone liked you, what would be the best way for them to let you know? >> By making it known to me in a way I would understand. Whether that be directly (”I want to fuck you”) or poetically (”my body is a temple and I have consecrated it to you”). --”I like you” is probably the worst way you could go about things. Leave that vague milquetoast human nonsense at someone else’s doorstep.

27. What are you listening to right now >> Nothing. But now that you mention it, some iTunes wouldn’t be a bad idea... So, to update, I’m listening to The Fundamental Alienation by Dimmu Borgir.

28. If you won a lot of money on the lottery, what would you buy first? >> I don’t know what I’d buy first, but I would definitely refrain from making any major purchases until we find and close the deal on our Garden District house. I’d rather all of the money go to moving to Her than anything else.

29. Can you honestly say you’d risk your life for someone else? >> I cannot honestly say that. I don’t know whether I would or not. I default to assuming I wouldn’t, which leaves the opportunity open for me to be pleasantly surprised by my own behaviour in a moment of crisis.

30. Could you forgive a boyfriend or friend who physically hurt you? >> Sure.

31. Are you afraid of death? >> What I am, is fundamentally disturbed by the idea of knowing consciousness and sentience and intense self-awareness (and self-dissolution, both, but always in the realm of some sort of overarching consciousness) -- only for that to be extinguished in the end. There are many paths to coming to terms with this, and I have utilised all of them at some point (and continue to); if I must die, I would prefer to be accepting of it as it comes for me. However, I also realise it just plain doesn’t matter either way, in the end. That 12th house Pluto is a doozy, all right.

32. Who was the last person you hugged? >> Sparrow.

33. Are you looking forward to anything? >> Not actively, as in being impatient for them or often thinking of them. But yes.

34. Write some lyrics from the song you’re listening to. >> “At five o’clock, they take me to the gallows pole. The sands of time for me are running low.” (Hallowed Be Thy Name. The Cradle of Filth cover, specifically.)

35. Do you open up to people easily? >> I don’t really know what that means. I have no problem telling people anything they want to know about me, but I think “opening up” requires more effort or investment or something. I’m not sure how “opening up” would look for someone like me. Unless we’re talking bodily. I definitely don’t open up to people easily in the carnal sense. This temple comes riddled with traps and tests and vault doors with puzzle locks.

36. What do your friends call you? >> By some name or another.

37. Has anyone upset you in the last week? >> No.

38. What’s the best thing about you? >> The fact that I have come to exist and persist in the first place.

39. Who was the last person of the opposite sex you had a conversation with? >> ---

40. What’s your favourite drink? >> I don’t know. The alcoholic kind. (I’m half-kidding.)

41. Do you miss anyone? >> No.

42. Is your room clean? >> The bedroom is passably clean.

43. What are you going to do tomorrow? >> Probably play GW2 or WoW, for the most part.

44. Do you take care of your friends when they’re sick? >> I don’t take care of anyone when they’re sick. Sparrow can get away with making me do stuff for her when she’s sick, if she really wanted to, but she’s the DIY sort anyway.

45. Who is your favourite person to have a serious conversation with? >> I don’t know. What even is a serious conversation anymore.

46. Who was the last person you held hands with? >> Sparrow.

47. Does any part of your body hurt right now? >> No.

48. Do you like coffee? >> Not especially.

49. Who was the last person that texted you? >> Sparrow.

50. What are you craving? >> An alteration of mind.

51. How did you sleep last night? >> Well enough, I imagine.

52. What was the first thing you thought this morning? >> I don’t know.

[bigzpoonblog]

On-premise or “cloud” kitchens — The restaurateur’s dilemma

“I’m thinking of closing this place down. People don’t want to leave the house in this weather. They want their food delivered.” Barry (name changed) spoke sadly as he watched the empty chairs and tables in the restaurant on a cold rainy day. Barry has been running this very popular Mediterranean food joint in Fremont, for the last four decades. Unlike a lot of his brethren, Barry had held off signing up with any of the online food delivery services. “It is hard to pay the lease and pay the employees as it is. Signing up would leave me with very little money” — he added.

Stories from a restaurant’s kitchen are hardly ever told. And so few understand that the food delivery services are actually hurting the restaurants more than you can imagine. Restaurants pay a hefty price for being on the map for any online food delivery service provider, thereby shrinking their already slim margins.

Then why do they sign up with them?

“No Maitreyee, what to do? If I don’t sign up with them, they will sign up someone else, xyz. And people will not buy from me. I will lose a customer”. Sunny gushed in a typical South Indian accent, an accent that defined him. He runs an Indian food restaurant in (funnily enough) Sunnyvale.

William (name changed), the owner of a pizza place in Santa Clara, was more expressive than most others. “I hate UberEats” he said vehemently. But they bring me so much business. And they do a very good job on delivering in very little time”.

Restaurant owners run their businesses on very short margins, if any. In the Bay Area specifically, rent and minimum wage squeeze out every penny from them. And the sneaky increases in produce costs are not helping. And if you ask them, they prefer customers coming to the restaurant and eating rather than delivery orders.

Today, most restaurants are seeing about 20% of their orders coming from online food ordering services. With the kind of promotions and subscriptions the delivery providers are offering, this percentage is likely to increase. Various research reports also have touted online ordering and delivery as the number one change that the restaurant industry will experience in 2019. Sure they are seeing an increase in revenue from the orders but at the end of the year the margins would be in the red.

The question then is how will restaurants survive the massive invasion into their margins by food delivery apps.

“I told those guys that my prices for their app will be higher than my sit-in prices”. Jorge (name changed) who runs a dainty little Greek restaurant in Sunnyvale shared his conversation with one of the food ordering apps. Truth be told, raising prices of their dishes, forms the perfect recipe to drive away customers from their restaurant.

Then there is the big elephant in the room — rents. Most restaurateurs I have spoken with, run on a month to month lease. Restaurateurs would be lying if they say cutting down on the sit-in space has not crossed their mind. They are very well aware of this possibility, but they are hoping that it will not be them.

But realistically speaking, the day is not too far, when restaurants will completely close the sit-in area and provide only food delivery. Why spend on a kitchen when you can rent kitchen space? Commissary kitchens anyone? Mind you, this is not just my imagination taking you for a ride. Travis Kalanick, the co-founder and ex-CEO of Uber has already started Cloud Kitchens, which enables restaurants to share kitchens to serve deliver-only orders. “Cloud Kitchens” is up and running in Los Angeles and infact are ready to spread to China.

So just like most business owners are debating whether to take their data to the cloud or keep it “on-prem”, restaurateurs are contesting whether to keep to serve food “on-prem” or in the cloud. At the end of the day, they have to think about what will bring home the bacon!

[hannahwayward-blog]

Four Days in Kochi: The End of India

The flight from Bangalore to Kochi on Monday afternoon was easy - just a little under an hour - but I’ve never been on a plane that smelled so strongly of body odor, so it was a bit brutal. The airport in Kochi is kind of adorable, much like the town of Fort Kochi itself. Rather than the crumbling palaces of Kolkata or the modern, angular buildings in Bangalore, Kochi has an almost Mediterranean feel. During my hour and a half bus ride from the airport into town, I saw plenty of the red tiled roofs and bright green palm trees that give Kochi its quaint, beachy vibe.

This is the problem with getting so behind on blogging - I have only a vague idea of what I did on Monday afternoon, but I’m fairly certain it involved a long nap after Bangalore’s back-to-back late nights. I settled into my bed and breakfast, which was conveniently located right in the middle of Fort Kochi’s modest downtown area, then I don’t think I did much of anything except sleep. The reasoning behind my visit to Fort Kochi, which is a bit off the beaten path, especially during the brutal summer months of monsoon, is that my sister is interning there this summer through a DukeEngage program, similar to what I did in Kolkata. After my three hour snooze, I walked down to her homestay, to which she had invited me for dinner.

Monday was Eid, so the family that runs her homestay was in full celebration mode. Over a delicious, vegetarian meal involving some sort of tortilla-like bread and a saucey potato paste, I got to know Sajir, the host, as well as the site coordinators and the other 11 students with whom my sister is living this summer. While we waited for dinner to be ready, we played a rollicking game of cards that I think was called “Mao,” and I taught them “Do You Want to Buy a Duck.” After dinner, we played “Contact” for a bit before I walked back to my hotel and slept even more. This trip has really been extreme in terms of alternating between lots of sleep and very, very little, and I definitely don’t bounce back from the late nights like I used to.

Kochi was a stark change from Kolkata: the streets were narrow and empty after dark and without the constant thrum of street salesmen and food stalls. The stores were all actual stores - no garage-door holes in the wall - and the few areas with stalls had large tables full of their goods as opposed to the sidewalk displays of the big cities. Fort Kochi had much more of a small town feel that was appreciated after so many days in big cities. The weather, however, was reminiscent of Kolkata’s insane heat that I’d briefly escaped in Bangalore. Each day the forecasts promised rain, but instead, the heat index climbed well above 100. Once again, I was a sweaty mess, but the ocean air made me feel less grimy at the end of the day than Kolkata’s smog.

On Tuesday, I slept until almost noon, then wandered around the small downtown to get my bearings. I visited St. Francis church, which is where Portuguese explorer Vasco de Gama was originally buried before his remains were brought home, and marveled at the grave stones from the 1600s when Kochi was still a Dutch colony. I also walked along the beach for a bit, but was getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, and tried to go to a church that was closed. A little frustrated, I decided that hey, this is my vacation, and ended up spending the rest of the afternoon reading and writing from the comfort of my hotel’s second floor terrace. Curled up on the divan (a cursory Google search could not confirm the spelling of that but you get the idea), I wrote my final Kolkata blog post and my Bangalore post and read on my Kindle while the blessed rain finally poured down outside, cooling the day off significantly.

 I wanted to get dinner with my sister, but my breakfast of small biscuits and snack of a candy bar somehow didn’t tide me over, so I ended up having a delicious, local fish dinner at a restaurant downtown. The dish is called meen moily, and involves fresh fish and rice in a sauce of zestily spiced yellow curry with plenty of veggies. After clearing my plate, I met my sister at her homestay and accompanied her and her housemates to dinner at a Thai place. Too full from my Keralan cuisine, I watched with a bit of disgust as they gorged themselves on every variety of momo and then walked with them to an art cafe near my hotel, where they all ate huge brownies and I felt slightly nauseous. I went home and, after reading all afternoon and all through dinner, I stayed up past midnight to finish the fifth Game of Thrones book.

Maybe because I stayed up so late, or maybe because of the deluge earlier that day, I had to deal with some uninvited guests that arrived shortly after midnight. At the risk of giving too much information, I was on the toilet when I heard a loud rustling above me, and turned only to see a HUMONGOUS cockroach fly toward me. I contemplated killing him myself, but he seemed bent on attacking me and wouldn’t stay still long enough to be smushed, so I went down and asked for help from the front desk attendant. Of course, when he came back up, we couldn’t find the rascal, so he armed me with a large bottle of spray and left me to fend for myself. Shortly after, the rustling started up again in the bathroom, but I had sprayed an offensive barrier around the door frame to dissuade the enemy from crossing into my bedroom. It seemed to have worked, and he was already in bad shape as he staggered through the doorway. A couple quick sprays finished the job, and I used the large paintbrush and dustpan the attendant had given me to put the corpse into the garbage can. Relieved, I got back in bed and continued to read.

Fifteen or twenty minutes later, I heard the telltale rustling again - but this time from right beside my bed! I looked down and saw another huge cockroach walking toward my nightstand. A chase ensued, and he ran under my nightstand, under my bed, then under my dresser, where I finally got him with the spray. I put his body in the trash can with his fallen comrade, but by then my room smelled so strongly of toxic spray that I was sneezing and coughing. I couldn’t open the door, though, because I was afraid more roaches would get in, and the windows didn’t open either. I decided that, if I died, I was at least going to die without the unwelcome company of the creepy crawlies, and finished my book (finally!) in peace before falling asleep.

After such a relaxing day on Tuesday (not including the chemical warfare I raged at night), I decided to be a good tourist on Wednesday and see as much of Kochi as I could. After a “quick” breakfast of toast downtown (India time), I decided to walk along the perimeter of the peninsula to Bazaar Road and Jew Town, two of the historic areas of the city. Although it involved a lot of fending off autorick drivers downtown who assured me they had the “best price, madam, fifty rupees only, two hour tour,” I was able to walk relatively peacefully. My first stop was Fort Hotel, where I booked a massage for the following morning at my sister’s recommendation, and chatted for a bit with a high school girl and her friend’s mom, who was Indian and chaperoning a group’s post-graduation vacation.

From there, I made my first cultural stop of the day at the Mattancherry Palace, which was built by the Portuguese, sometime in the early 17th century I believe, to appease the local Indian ruler. Different from Kolkata’s large concrete palaces, this building had long, low-ceilinged rooms with dark wood beams spanning the ceilings and seemed to be built of some more natural material. While the exhibit inside was a little underwhelming, I did see some interesting artifacts from the early colonization of Kochi (then Cochin) and from the ruling family’s daily life, including elaborate gowns, a palanquin, and a number of swords and daggers.

I left the palace and walked along Bazaar road, passing all the shops and doing my best to politely ignore (that phrase still feels oxymoronic) the hawkers, until I got to Jew Town. I learned while I was in Kochi that the area was home to one of the very early Jewish settlements, with the community’s history tracing back to something like 550 AD. Jew Town was cute, and I made my way through the small, shop-lined streets to the synagogue. Of course, I had arrived just after 1:00, and like most things in the warmer areas, the temple was closed between 1:00 and 3:00 PM. With almost two hours to kill, I sat in a nearby bookshop and enjoyed a fresh ginger lime soda while reading my next book, “The Girls.” Once I felt I’d overstayed my welcome, I walked back to Bazaar Road and had a bizarre snack of “chips and salsa,” which consisted of Dorito-esque chips and a very Indian-tasting version of salsa, and some more chips. This still left me with an hour until 3:00, so I walked to an antique shop and got a tour from one of the staff, a sweet lady named Dini who told me all about her daughter Didi and her husband, who had passed away a few years back. After getting the full tour of the antique store, which boasted all sorts of imports and also had an altar at which the staff prayed (it was odd), I had almost passed the full two hours. I walked for, like, a mile in search of a public restroom, convinced a guy at a flooring store to let me use theirs, and then was granted entry to the synagogue right at 3:00.

The synagogue was a little surreal, and not just because of its age. The floor was set with something like 11,000 tiles, each of which had been hand painted. Although they all had generally the same blue floral pattern, no two were identical. The ceiling of the modest room was hung with mismatched chandeliers, and there was an altar in the middle of the room. Wooden benches lined two sides of the room, with the Torah at the back and an entrance and foyer, full of commemorative plaques, at the front.

I was glad I’d waited and had gotten to see it, but I was getting pretty tired and my feet were hurting, so I headed back East toward downtown.After stopping at an ATM for some cash, I visited one last cultural site, the Santa Cruz Basilica, which was right behind my hotel. This place was also surreal, and reminded me of the church in Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet film, full of neon and LED lights and gaudy decorations. Pictures will follow, but the ceiling was elaborately muraled and every column had a glass-encased statue of some saint or Jesus at varying ages. There was also a small grotto-type thing outside dedicated to the patron saint of Portugal or something, which was also full of busy fabrics and loud colors and centered around a brightly painted statue.

In Kochi, I largely avoided much attention, aside from the autorick drivers competing for my business, but was approached in the Basilica by a group of Indian men, probably in their 40s, asking if I’d take a picture for them, then asking if I’d take a picture with them. Ugh. I tried to politely decline (not sure if better or worse than politly ignoring) but then felt like I had to leave. I was mostly ready to be home anyhow, so I schlepped back to the hostel to read for a bit. The power was out, so I walked down the street to what became my new favorite coffee shop (more on Oy’s later) and had a smoothie before walking to my sister’s house to pay her another visit. She had a birthday dinner that evening, so I just hung out while she worked on some visa paperwork before heading to dinner solo.

I ate at a rooftop place downtown, Rasa, that was a bit ritzy, but most of the local places, at which I would’ve preferred to eat, were closed because it was after 9:00. I had a weird, but good, green-sauced biryani, and once again ate to the point of nausea. Indian food is such a blessing and a curse - I love it, but I eat too much, and then feel sick for hours afterward. Clearly self-control is not my forte when it comes to eating all of the local cuisine. I stayed up reading for a bit but called it a fairly early night.

Thursday was my last day in Kochi, but my flight to Bangalore, through which I was flying to get to Doha then Paris, wasn’t until 10:30 PM, so I had a full day to explore. I had another quick breakfast of toast, and then went to Fort Hochi Hotel for my ayurvedic Keralan massage. While it was well-executed, I’ve decided that I’m more of a Swedish massage girl. The strokes were far too light and quick for my tastes, but I appreciate that I got the real Keralan experience. Of note is the fact that the type of massage requires complete nudity, which was a first for me. The masseuse was a young girl and very professional, so it didn’t feel the slightest bit odd, but it was definitely weird when she asked me to fully disrobe. The massage was a relaxing 60 minutes, at the end of which I showered and headed back downtown.

At this point, I’m not gonna lie, I was feeling a bit worn down. Being in India, as I’ve said in almost every post so far, is exhausting. Less so in Kochi, but the constant attention that comes with being a petite, Caucasian woman quickly gets old. I felt that I’d done all of the touristy things that Fort Kochi offered and didn’t have time to take a day trip anywhere. I also had checked out of my hotel, so after a brisk beach walk and a quick, very local (read: no utensils) meal of fish and rice at a little shop called Uncle’s, I ended up spending a large part of the afternoon at Oy’s Cafe. Oy’s is owned by a British lady and an Indian man, who met when she visited Kochi last year, and, in her words, “the rest is history.” It’s no secret that I love local coffee shops (I practically lived at Francesca’s in Durham and frequented Tryst in DC), and this place had what I’m sure the local beach bums would call a “killer vibe.” With handmade bamboo furniture, boldly patterned pillows, and eccentric photos and quotes on the walls, Oy’s street sign correctly describes it as the perfect backdrop for an Instagram photo. I’d had a mango and ginger smoothie the day before, so this time I got a blended coffee and set to work on finishing “The Girls.”

Oy’s seems to be kind of a hub for young travelers, and I saw the same group of French kids that I’d seen the previous afternoon. This time, two of them came over to ask me about a place to stay, and we ended up chatting for a while. I recommended the hotel that I’d just checked out of, and then we talked about travel and Kochi and India in general. After reading for a while and finishing my coffee, I went back to my hotel to charge my laptop for a bit on the terrace, and it the girls had checked in and were sitting there as well. It turns out their original hotel smelled of mildew, so I spent the next hour or so with Jeanne, Orvine (I think… she said her American friends just call her “O”), and Sarah. They’re all classmates studying business in Paris, but only Sarah is actually from the city. One of the other girls is from Bordeaux, and one is from a suburb of Paris. They had come to India to work with a business in Tamil Nadu, which marked Jeanne and O’s second visit to that area, and were now spending a few weeks traveling after the conclusion of their project. Despite my shame that their English was so good and my French is so bad, I really enjoyed getting to know them.

Each of the French girls had bought an anklet in Kochi, which seemed to be a local trend, so I went out in search of one in the couple hours I had left before my bus. After buying an anklet and some postcards, I went back to Oy’s (yes, again), and had a chocolate peanut butter banana smoothie, which was amazing, and finished up my book. Sad to leave Kochi, but also admittedly ready to leave India, I caught the 7:00 PM bus to the airport and arrived around 8:45, with plenty of time to spare before my flight.

Although we were supposed to leave at 10:30, the flight didn’t depart until after 11:00 PM, which was fine, since I had a four hour cushion in Bangalore. Upon my Bangalore arrival, however, I was greeted by a surprisingly long customs line. After changing into a fresh set of clothes and rechecking my pack, I waited at customs for almost an hour before a quick exit interview. With the hour I had before my flight, I had one last spicy Indian take on chicken soup. I had put myself on liquid restriction and had a window seat for the 3:40 AM four hour flight, and don’t even think I got a glimpse of India fading away before I fell asleep on the plane.

This is already a long post, and I’ve said most of what I can say about India. It’s rich and loud and mouth-watering and exhausting. I can also say with confidence that I’ll be back, and am almost certain that I’ll spend time living there as an expat someday. But until then, India will live in my dreams as a hazy, half-imagined country where nature and industry both collide and collude. India, ami tomake bhalobhashi, accha?

[noplanwithavan]

THE STUFF OF LEGENDS

Our voyage through the ancient world continues. Leaving behind the Romans, sailing East,  and journeying deeper into the Hellenic world. We’ve come ashore in Greece, and life is sweet here. I mean seriously sweet. Must be all the halva, honey and Easter eggs.

To get here, from Sicily we crossed the toe of Italy, arched around its instep, and arrived somewhere near the top of the high heel for a pressing assignation. We’d committed ourselves to the labours of HelpEx, having been accepted on a family small-holding in Mola di Bari. Yearning for a bit more interaction and social life, this seemed the perfect way to get under the skin - and into the kitchens - of Italian life. The girls bristled with excitement, keen to meet the family’s 8 year-old daughter named Fara. “Will it be like the olive farm we worked on in Spain?” they ask. Probably not, we say. It’s more domestic we think, not so much back-breaking work. “It’s kind of like the Roman times,” we explain “We offer to be slaves, and they feed us. Hopefully without the harsh punishment or threat of being thrown to the lions if we disobey.”

From the moment we arrived, there was a sense of familiarity, and it was clear we’d feel comfortable with Andrea, Angela and Fara. They welcomed us in to a large, round courtyard, an ancient gnarled olive tree at its centre, and a volley of yelping Italian children circling it by bike at the speed of charioteers racing the Circo Massimo. It soon became apparent the family had friends over, and Elsie and Lulu were immediately drawn into the melé, guided by the irresistible rules of play. As the sun went down the evening was warm enough to stay outside and enjoy focaccia, cheese and salad from their garden. It reminded Marcus of his family home in Pembrokeshire, Middlelands, in many ways. The same informality and open-house welcome. Throughout our week, as we worked in the garden this sense continued, people often dropping by, calling over. Meal times were sociable affairs, super-healthy and all vegetarian. There were no unhealthy snacks nor processed food of any kind in the house. So much so, they didn’t even possess a can opener. The girls responded well. They hero-worship Fara, following her lead in all things, even developing a taste for fennel, much to our surprise. During the mornings we’re left to get on with things by ourselves as the family worked and Fara went to school. Sometimes the girls would help us, other times they’d roam free, making up their own games, desperate for Fara to return home and lead the charge. At first it felt a bit strange, wandering around trying to find tools, or stopping for a snack and rummaging about in someone else’s kitchen. One morning I discovered a quote from Socrates pinned above a chalk-board. “Education is the kindling of a flame. Not the filling of a vessel,” it read. I had the simultaneous experience of agreeing profoundly, whilst at the same time wondering what to do if you suspected your kids needed a bloody blowtorch to get things lit. Nonetheless, it inspired me this quote, and I decided that incidental learning might be much less stressful. So they helped plant their own bed of wildflowers, and spent a morning in the vegetable patch studying and drawing the different shape leaves to identify which vegetables they would become. After a few days, we adjusted, found our pace, and fitted in with the family’s way of life. The work wasn’t hard - clearing plant beds, weeding paths, digging up trees which had self-seeded to replant elsewhere - but its the first physical work we’ve done for some time. Having thought this would be a breeze compared to olive harvesting, Marcus confesses he’s glad we’re only staying a week as he’s not sure his back can take much more. Trying to steer him on to lighter duties I volunteer his services in the cooking department, suggesting he make the family a curry. The idea gains traction, indeed becomes somewhat of “an event”. Despite the legendary devotion the Italians have for eating only their own, exceptionally local food, by the end of the week Marcus is consulting his brother’s “We Love Curry” pages. For come the weekend he’s headlining an Indian banquet for a gathering of our hosts’ close relatives and friends. Well, we all know he does love a dinner party, and we said we wanted to meet more people! The only complications being  a complete lack of Italian on his part, and little to no idea of how many close relatives and friends might turn up. Saturday arrives, and our hosts Andrea and Angela drift off, busily engaged in their own respective tasks. Marcus is left alone to make the final preparations. Guests begin arriving and filter through the kitchen, their curiosity piqued by such un-Mediterranean, unfamiliar smells. One by one they try and strike up a dialogue, but necessity dictates small talk is limited. Sensing familiarity as they watch him stretching out dough on the kitchen worktop, the dinner guests try a different tack: “Pizza?” they opine. “No pizza,” he demurs. “Focaccia?” “No focaccia” he emphasises, this time batted away with a definitive hand-swipe. “Panzarotte?”…and on it goes, with a list of about 20 Italian forms of bread, none of which are what he is making. “Chapatis,” he ventures. “Curry, with chapatis.” But this is an enigma, and the growing swell of puzzled faces signals they have arrived at a conversational cul-de-sac.

Thankfully, the delicious food does all the talking, and even the most hardened regional food purist has to admit it. One man takes Marcus aside, “Thank you for your curry,” he confides.  “Maybe I won’t eat again, but doesn’t mean I don’t like.” Then, continuing by way of clarification, “You see I only eat dishes from Bari. My wife is from Parma, but I don’t even let her cook food from her home town….unless we go there to visit her family.” Message received. In summary, partial success, but curry colonisation in Puglia remains far from complete.

Our time spent in the warmth of Fara’s family appears to have regenerated our social lives, and from Italy onwards we are constantly finding ourselves in good company. There is Ruth and Frank, the first campervanners we have met from Wales. The sight of the red dragon sicker on the back of their vehicle is such a surprise that we have to restrain ourselves from rushing out to greet them with open arms. We instantly take a liking to them, and within minutes of discussing where we’re from discover we have friends in common. A retired clown from Cardiff, Frank tells us he knows Tenby well, most fondly because of his pal there James Osbourn. From here, the conversation flows and I can’t remember quite how exactly but at some point it navigates around to toilets. (Probably something to do with it being Elsie’s specialist subject). Ruth offers to show the girls their loo.

“It’s a composting toilet, would you like to see it?” she beams. We all trail inside, fascinated to find out more. Is this even possible I think, and how does it not stink the place out in such a small space? Pulling out two large food recycling bins, courtesy of Cardiff City Council, from under the bed,  Ruth begins to explain. The couple are clearly very proud of their ingenuity and challenge us to a poo test. This involves opening up each container in turn, inviting us to have a sniff, and then guess which one contains the poo. It’s actually surprisingly difficult, and we have to admit defeat. Thrilled, Ruth goes on to explain that one box contains just sawdust and ash, and the other human excrement which has been covered with said sawdust and ash. “It takes away the smell entirely,” she says. “You wouldn’t even know. Amazing isn’t it?” And it is, and I love her obvious delight at the mastery of such an unpleasant problem. Strange too how you can find yourself examining a another’s most taboo bodily function within half an hour of meeting them.

Some days later, we are in Polignano de Mare, a seaside town set atop rocks, narrow balconies overlooking the caves eroding beneath. It’s dramatic and precarious position has led to it being picked as one of the Red Bull Cliff Diving locations, like Abereiddy back at home. While we wait to catch the ferry to Greece, we spend a wonderful few sunny days here. It’s a chance to dust off the canoe and explore the pretty inlets and coastline. It’s also our last opportunity to scoff pizza, try interesting gelato combinations like fig and ricotta, and drink good wine. And while we won’t miss the driving in Italy, we will miss the country itself. It’s fresh vegetables packed with flavour, the approach they have towards children - letting them run free, with trust and respect. And the people who seem to live life the way they coach their little ones to tackle obstacles - “piano, piano” (slowly, slowly). We park right by the sea, and the girls go scrambling over the rocks, in search of the blowholes they can hear snoring like dragons. They bring back a little blonde-haired girl called Poppy. And by sunset the girls are tucked up in her distinctive pink old-style VW campervan watching a movie, while we invite her parents Jane and Steve over for a drink. I guess its not that much of a surprise that a family who are doing a year out just like us, and having travelled much of the same route, would have met some of the same people. But it’s still heartening somehow to discover that they have. It fosters our sense of a community on the road when we learn that they too spent time with the wonderful Hilary, Richard, Jess, Chippie and Bonnie, whom we enjoyed Christmas with in Tarifa.

From Bari, we sail to Petrás in Greece. From the ferry we sight the islands, craggy and wild, whetting our appetite for what this next country will have to offer. The almond trees have now been replaced by the bright pink blossom of Judas trees, yellow explosions of Broom, and the purple profusion of low-hanging wisteria draped by the roadside. Our first supermarket stop, near to the ancient sanctuary of Olympia, doesn’t disappoint. There is olive paste spread, an explosion of sesame goods in the forms of tahini and halva, a whole aisle dedicated to yoghurt. “What do they call Greek yoghurt here?” Marcus muses. “Just yoghurt?” And then there’s the filo pastry, a world of new cooking opportunities lay open before us! On reaching the meat counter we are momentarily overcome by the language barrier, indeed the whole different alphabet, rendering us clueless. Luckily, some improvisation prevails, and by saying, “Baaaaa!!!” to the man a few times, he soon catches on that I would like lamb. There are no small portions in Greece, and he hacks off such a large chunk, it keeps us going for 3 days.

But the best thing so far has to be embracing the whole incidental learning idea full tilt. This month its purely Classics. The girls are in their element - it’s all about stories after all, which they love, and everywhere you look there’s another reference to a legend, another piece of the historical puzzle which still resonates through our culture today. Our maths lesson before visiting Olympia was measuring distances. The girls had to mark out intervals of 1m until we reached the crucial 200m mark, the distance ancient athletes would sprint. Appreciation of the site itself taxes the imagination more than the ruins of Rome or Pompei. But from the layout and the thickness of some of the columns its possible to guess at how impressive it would once have been. As always the devil is in the detail, and we try and point out as much as we came to bring it all to life. The wide open space of the Palaestra where hey have a mock wrestle, the plinths lining the approach to the stadium which would have held bronze statues of Zeus, paid for by the fines of athletes who had cheated. The inscriptions still visible beneath bearing their names and city of birth. The cheap seats up high on Mount Kronos, filled by woman and slaves, which overlooks the track where the girls race. But it is one detail in particular that really tickles them - the fact that the ancient competitors would have all been naked. This steers Elsie’s mind back onto another of her favourite topics. In many ways an ancillary to toilets - that of winkles. And she enjoys a saunter around the museum gaping at all the parts of male anatomy on statuesque display. I can’t get over the impression of soft, see-through chiton material etched out of stone on the statue of Nike, or the perfect proportions in the face of Athena and Hermes. There is a whole room dedicated to the many small figurines, votive offerings, left at the temples of Zeus and Hera. Displayed, they look like an installation of battle, exquisite in their painstaking detail.

We have a book of “Greek Myths” for children (or Greek Miffs, as they pronounce it), which is our all important educational go-to-guide for this part of the trip. And it’s mind boggling how many places and sites we have seen which are referenced in those stories. In Italy the sirens in the story of Odysseus just off the coast of Naples, the cyclops in Sicily he defeats on Mount Etna. And here in Greece, the 12 labours of Heracles depicted on the Temple of Zeus in Olympia, the temples to the oracles on the wild Peloponnese, the beautiful town of Kardamyli (one of seven gifted by Agamemnon to Achilles in return for rejoining the battle of Troy), and finally the caves of Diros. Once we discover these caves are behind the tales about the River Styx, and the journey to the Underworld, we just have to go and take a look. Brushing up beforehand on the chapters about Pluto and Cerberus his 3-headed dog. Located on the Mani peninsula near the town of Aereopoli, they are an other-world experience, and its not hard to imagine why the Greeks thought they led to a different realm. Entering the caves from a stone beach, you climb down to an underground lake where a “ferryman” awaits to transport you through a network of waterways, a labyrinth of caverns and tunnels adorned with stalactites and stalagmites. Floating along on a narrow gondola, amid the humidity and drips from above, I’m sure it would have been quite a spiritual experience, if it wasn’t for the kids hassling us to change seats and let them have a go at taking pictures.

For the last week or so we have been winding our way down the central finger of the Peloponnese, from Pylos, Kardamyli, Stoupa, Agios Nikolaus, Aereopoli, and right to the tip at Porto Kagio. Free camping is no problem here, and we can pitch up right by a pebbled beach, string out the hammock and spend our days swimming, and eating outside. Our favourite dish is experimenting with home-made pastries. Using the filo Marcus has been trying out different filled parcels - savoury spinach and feta, and sweet combinations of apple and raisin, sesame, honey and pistachio. Over the last week we’ve met a few friendly German families at some of our camping spots, sharing breakfasts on the beach and relaxed mornings with time to teach the girls card tricks, and giving them responsibilities like the chance to be head chef and make lunch for us, or earn extra pocket money by washing up.

The further south we travel, the wilder and more remote the landscape becomes. The road curving inwards along the steep terraced ancient hillsides, carpeted with wildflowers and punctuated by clusters of soft grey Mani tower houses. A few weeks ago we were inside the van discussing our concerns that the girls reading wasn’t improving greatly. They were both outside lobbing up sticks and any objects they could find into a large palm tree. At that moment Elsie burst in to ask if she could have a bowl because they were harvesting dates. As we stepped out to have a look, I had to smile. Remember Socrates, I thought. They weren’t actual dates, but they looked very similar. The girls might not be great readers just yet, but they can spend hours studying the many different shapes and varieties of plants we find here, and they can identify wild asparagus and fennel much better than I.

Easter is an important festival here in Greece, and we spent it in Kardamyli, smashing the bright red boiled eggs that symbolise the blood of Christ, and following the processions to the sound of church bells tolling out the call to worship. On Good Friday Marcus received a phonecall from his mum to say his beloved Grandmother, Gassie, had died at the age of 101. It was news he had been expecting for some time, yet forewarned and prepared as he was, it is never easy to be away from family at such a time. But thinking back on her legacy, and childhood memories of this unchanging constant in his life, it reaffirms why we are doing this trip. The more the months slide by, the more aware we are how precious this experience is. Each photo, each place has a poignancy that wasn’t there at the start. To spend this time with each other, to experience ourselves close-up it almost seems, is our gift and legacy to our children. One we hope will endure.

[jesseneufeld]

30 Keto Recipes Ready In Under 30 Minutes

Thanks to Courtney Hamilton at Paleohacks.com for today’s recipe.

Have food ready and on the table in under half an hour with these keto-friendly weekday meals!

One of the hardest parts about sticking to any diet is the amount of time you have to dedicate to preparing food. Gone are the days when you could run through the drive-thru on a particularly crazy day—at least, not without ketosis-wrecking consequences.

The next time you’re in a pinch, forget the fast food and check out this list. If you have a well-stocked pantry, you’re guaranteed to be able to make many of these 30-minute, keto-friendly meals at any given time. In other words, you can feed yourself in the amount of time it would take to run through the drive-thru.

You’ve got options for every meal of the day. Whip up delicious keto breakfasts like bacon and avocado burritos or stick-to-your-ribs keto “oatmeal” first thing in the morning, assemble a satiating Tex-Mex salad or three-ingredient salmon zucchini pasta for lunch, make a Korean beef bowl after work and indulge in a creamy bacon and shrimp skillet for a post-workout dinner.

Whatever time of day, there’s a keto meal on here for you.

Psst: If you’re looking for low-carb munchies in between meals, look no further than these 23 keto snack ideas!

#1 PaleoHacks | Easy Low Carb Keto “Noatmeal”

Start your morning off right with a warm bowl of oatmeal without all the carbs. This version simmers cauliflower rice in coconut milk with hemp seeds and chia seeds for a cozy breakfast.

#2 The Nourished Caveman | Keto Creamy Shrimp and Bacon Skillet

Few things are more succulent than the combination of shrimp, bacon, and coconut cream. Bonus: This meal comes together in minutes.

#3 PaleoHacks | Keto Breakfast Burrito with Bacon and Avocado

This ketosis-fueling burrito is technically made for breakfast, but we’d scarf this down any time of day.

#4 Healthful Pursuit | 5-Minute Cream of Tomato Soup

If you only have five minutes to spare, look no further. This creamy soup gets its richness from a surprise ingredient: macadamia nuts.

#5 PaleoHacks | Keto Breakfast Burger with Avocado Buns

Looking for a way to jazz up your keto breakfasts? Make “buns” out of avocado! Yes, this is a fork and knife burger.

#6 I Heart Umami | Paleo Filipino Skirt Steak with Cauliflower Rice

If you’re craving Filipino comfort food, give this low-carb version of steak and rice a try.

#7 PaleoHacks | Easy Buffalo Chicken Salad

This creamy, bright and spicy buffalo chicken salad is wrapped in crunchy lettuce cups for a healthy lunch your coworkers will surely envy.

#8 Wholesome Yum | Crispy Pan-Fried Brussels Sprouts with Bacon and Balsamic Vinegar

How do you pack a ton of flavor into Brussels sprouts? You pan-fry them with crunchy bacon and top with tangy balsamic vinegar.

#9 PaleoHacks | Keto Turkey and Egg Breakfast Skillet

Ground turkey and eggs make for a quick and delicious breakfast any morning, but this recipe works for any time of day, too.

# 10 Wholesome Yum | Italian Marinated Artichoke Salad

This artichoke salad is super close to antipasto—go ahead and add some meat if your macros can take it!

#11 PaleoHacks | 15-Minute Pesto Shrimp Pasta with Zucchini Noodles

Put a spin on pasta night with these zucchini noodles, slathered in Paleo pesto and topped with succulent shrimp.

#12 Nom Nom Paleo | Paleo Sausage Egg McMuffin

Craving fast food? Opt for this ketosis-fueling version, which builds a “McMuffin” out of fried egg patties and nixes the cheese for creamy avocado.

#13 Keto Summit | 3-Ingredient Keto Salmon Pasta

Filled with satiating fats, this three-ingredient “pasta” requires only zucchini noodles, cooked salmon, and your favorite mayo. Top with your favorite seasonings, and dig in!

#14 Wholesome Yum | Keto Coconut Curry Chicken

Before you head out to an Indian restaurant to gorge on rice and naan, reconsider: Can you make a low-carb version at home? This recipe proves you can.

#15 PaleoHacks | Kale and Mushroom Sausage Patties

These savory sausage patties are so versatile—use them to make a sandwich with this keto bread, serve them alongside eggs, or dip in your favorite keto sauce.

#16 Wholesome Yum | Oven Roasted Mushrooms with Balsamic, Garlic and Herbs

You can serve this hearty side alongside a thick steak, but these mushrooms are meaty enough to work as a main dish all by themselves.

#17 The Nourished Caveman | Kale and Eggs Benedict

Skip the English muffin and top hearty kale and fatty eggs with a creamy, keto-friendly hollandaise sauce. Perfect for brunch!

#18 Wholesome Yum | Broccoli Cauliflower Salad with Bacon and Mayo

All you need is 10 minutes to whip up this hearty cruciferous salad with creamy mayo and salty bacon, and you’ll be fueled for hours.

#19 Diethood | Steak Fajita Roll-Ups

Here’s a fun way to serve up your steak and veggies: make steak wraps out of them!

#20 Bulletproof Blog | Low Carb Beef Stir-fry

This Asian-inspired beef stir-fry with zucchini noodles boasts tons of flavor with very few carbs.

#21 Little Spice Jar | Garlic Butter Baked Salmon in Foil

This easy-peasy, low-mess dinner cooks up quick and produces the most flavorful salmon, ever. Be sure to opt for grass-fed butter.

#22 Bulletproof Blog | Poached Cod in Tomato Broth

Looking to switch up your seafood intake? Try poached cod in a vibrant, fragrant tomato broth. The whole meal comes together in just 20 minutes!

#23 Eat Well 101 | 15-Minute Cowboy Butter Chicken with Zucchini Noodles

Grass-fed butter elevates the humble butter chicken in this 15-minute recipe.

#24 That’s Low Carb?! | Bok Choy Chicken Stir-Fry

It’s hard to beat a quick-cooking stir-fry, thanks to its ability to pack in tons of flavor in just a few minutes.

#25 Life Made Sweeter | Tex-Mex Chicken Salad

Packed with fajita chicken and veggies, this hearty and filling salad is always a safe bet!

#26 Primavera Kitchen | Shrimp Avocado Cucumber Salad

This colorful salad is just what you need on a warm day.

#27 A Sweet Life | Sheet Pan Chicken Fajitas

Grab a sheet pan for a super quick meal with easy cleanup. Then, grab some lettuce leaves and instead of tortillas and dig in!

#28 Happy Body Formula | Low Carb Korean Beef Bowl

Ginger, garlic, chili, fish sauce—while quick, nothing about this meal is boring.

#29 All Day I Dream About Food | Lemongrass Chicken with Cilantro Cauliflower Rice

Fragrant lemongrass gives this 30-minute keto meal a distinctive Asian flair. Use whichever keto/Paleo sweetener you’d prefer here.

#30 Physical Kitchness | Easy Paleo Greek Chicken Skillet

If you’re a fan of Mediterranean food, you’ll love this chicken skillet with Greek seasonings, lemon, olives, and artichoke hearts.

Thanks again to Courtney Hamilton from Paleohacks.com. Interested in seeing a certain recipe or roundup of a certain category—Primal or Primal-keto? Let us know below!

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[lauramalchowblog]

30 Keto Recipes Ready In Under 30 Minutes

Thanks to Courtney Hamilton at Paleohacks.com for today’s recipe.

Have food ready and on the table in under half an hour with these keto-friendly weekday meals!

One of the hardest parts about sticking to any diet is the amount of time you have to dedicate to preparing food. Gone are the days when you could run through the drive-thru on a particularly crazy day—at least, not without ketosis-wrecking consequences.

The next time you’re in a pinch, forget the fast food and check out this list. If you have a well-stocked pantry, you’re guaranteed to be able to make many of these 30-minute, keto-friendly meals at any given time. In other words, you can feed yourself in the amount of time it would take to run through the drive-thru.

You’ve got options for every meal of the day. Whip up delicious keto breakfasts like bacon and avocado burritos or stick-to-your-ribs keto “oatmeal” first thing in the morning, assemble a satiating Tex-Mex salad or three-ingredient salmon zucchini pasta for lunch, make a Korean beef bowl after work and indulge in a creamy bacon and shrimp skillet for a post-workout dinner.

Whatever time of day, there’s a keto meal on here for you.

Psst: If you’re looking for low-carb munchies in between meals, look no further than these 23 keto snack ideas!

#1 PaleoHacks | Easy Low Carb Keto “Noatmeal”

Start your morning off right with a warm bowl of oatmeal without all the carbs. This version simmers cauliflower rice in coconut milk with hemp seeds and chia seeds for a cozy breakfast.

#2 The Nourished Caveman | Keto Creamy Shrimp and Bacon Skillet

Few things are more succulent than the combination of shrimp, bacon, and coconut cream. Bonus: This meal comes together in minutes.

#3 PaleoHacks | Keto Breakfast Burrito with Bacon and Avocado

This ketosis-fueling burrito is technically made for breakfast, but we’d scarf this down any time of day.

#4 Healthful Pursuit | 5-Minute Cream of Tomato Soup

If you only have five minutes to spare, look no further. This creamy soup gets its richness from a surprise ingredient: macadamia nuts.

#5 PaleoHacks | Keto Breakfast Burger with Avocado Buns

Looking for a way to jazz up your keto breakfasts? Make “buns” out of avocado! Yes, this is a fork and knife burger.

#6 I Heart Umami | Paleo Filipino Skirt Steak with Cauliflower Rice

If you’re craving Filipino comfort food, give this low-carb version of steak and rice a try.

#7 PaleoHacks | Easy Buffalo Chicken Salad

This creamy, bright and spicy buffalo chicken salad is wrapped in crunchy lettuce cups for a healthy lunch your coworkers will surely envy.

#8 Wholesome Yum | Crispy Pan-Fried Brussels Sprouts with Bacon and Balsamic Vinegar

How do you pack a ton of flavor into Brussels sprouts? You pan-fry them with crunchy bacon and top with tangy balsamic vinegar.

#9 PaleoHacks | Keto Turkey and Egg Breakfast Skillet

Ground turkey and eggs make for a quick and delicious breakfast any morning, but this recipe works for any time of day, too.

# 10 Wholesome Yum | Italian Marinated Artichoke Salad

This artichoke salad is super close to antipasto—go ahead and add some meat if your macros can take it!

#11 PaleoHacks | 15-Minute Pesto Shrimp Pasta with Zucchini Noodles

Put a spin on pasta night with these zucchini noodles, slathered in Paleo pesto and topped with succulent shrimp.

#12 Nom Nom Paleo | Paleo Sausage Egg McMuffin

Craving fast food? Opt for this ketosis-fueling version, which builds a “McMuffin” out of fried egg patties and nixes the cheese for creamy avocado.

#13 Keto Summit | 3-Ingredient Keto Salmon Pasta

Filled with satiating fats, this three-ingredient “pasta” requires only zucchini noodles, cooked salmon, and your favorite mayo. Top with your favorite seasonings, and dig in!

#14 Wholesome Yum | Keto Coconut Curry Chicken

Before you head out to an Indian restaurant to gorge on rice and naan, reconsider: Can you make a low-carb version at home? This recipe proves you can.

#15 PaleoHacks | Kale and Mushroom Sausage Patties

These savory sausage patties are so versatile—use them to make a sandwich with this keto bread, serve them alongside eggs, or dip in your favorite keto sauce.

#16 Wholesome Yum | Oven Roasted Mushrooms with Balsamic, Garlic and Herbs

You can serve this hearty side alongside a thick steak, but these mushrooms are meaty enough to work as a main dish all by themselves.

#17 The Nourished Caveman | Kale and Eggs Benedict

Skip the English muffin and top hearty kale and fatty eggs with a creamy, keto-friendly hollandaise sauce. Perfect for brunch!

#18 Wholesome Yum | Broccoli Cauliflower Salad with Bacon and Mayo

All you need is 10 minutes to whip up this hearty cruciferous salad with creamy mayo and salty bacon, and you’ll be fueled for hours.

#19 Diethood | Steak Fajita Roll-Ups

Here’s a fun way to serve up your steak and veggies: make steak wraps out of them!

#20 Bulletproof Blog | Low Carb Beef Stir-fry

This Asian-inspired beef stir-fry with zucchini noodles boasts tons of flavor with very few carbs.

#21 Little Spice Jar | Garlic Butter Baked Salmon in Foil

This easy-peasy, low-mess dinner cooks up quick and produces the most flavorful salmon, ever. Be sure to opt for grass-fed butter.

#22 Bulletproof Blog | Poached Cod in Tomato Broth

Looking to switch up your seafood intake? Try poached cod in a vibrant, fragrant tomato broth. The whole meal comes together in just 20 minutes!

#23 Eat Well 101 | 15-Minute Cowboy Butter Chicken with Zucchini Noodles

Grass-fed butter elevates the humble butter chicken in this 15-minute recipe.

#24 That’s Low Carb?! | Bok Choy Chicken Stir-Fry

It’s hard to beat a quick-cooking stir-fry, thanks to its ability to pack in tons of flavor in just a few minutes.

#25 Life Made Sweeter | Tex-Mex Chicken Salad

Packed with fajita chicken and veggies, this hearty and filling salad is always a safe bet!

#26 Primavera Kitchen | Shrimp Avocado Cucumber Salad

This colorful salad is just what you need on a warm day.

#27 A Sweet Life | Sheet Pan Chicken Fajitas

Grab a sheet pan for a super quick meal with easy cleanup. Then, grab some lettuce leaves and instead of tortillas and dig in!

#28 Happy Body Formula | Low Carb Korean Beef Bowl

Ginger, garlic, chili, fish sauce—while quick, nothing about this meal is boring.

#29 All Day I Dream About Food | Lemongrass Chicken with Cilantro Cauliflower Rice

Fragrant lemongrass gives this 30-minute keto meal a distinctive Asian flair. Use whichever keto/Paleo sweetener you’d prefer here.

#30 Physical Kitchness | Easy Paleo Greek Chicken Skillet

If you’re a fan of Mediterranean food, you’ll love this chicken skillet with Greek seasonings, lemon, olives, and artichoke hearts.

Thanks again to Courtney Hamilton from Paleohacks.com. Interested in seeing a certain recipe or roundup of a certain category—Primal or Primal-keto? Let us know below!

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