#Promise the other request is longer than this by *quite* a large margin

[smolbeandrabbles]

Kiss Me Quiet - Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

GIF Credit: X @wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​ 

‘Tell me something good’ is fantastic line context for later... FYI.😏😏

Author’s Note: Requested by @slurpin! Thank you SO much for your request! Especially as it’s Nolan 🥰🥰🥰

Well if there’s one good thing to come out of my slight writing (and life in general) spiral, it’s the first few paragraphs of this fic!

Also this went through three songs before I landed on this one, by accident on youtube as ever, and I loved it *so* much that it had to be the one I used. Kiss Me Quiet - Jess Moskaluke

Disclaimer: RPO naught to do with me / Of course we’re referencing Lacero again / gifs & lyrics not mine Premise: There’s been a lot weighing on your mind recently, even though you’re on holiday. Nolan Sorrento wants to cheer you up, and he’s got a good bottle of wine... Words: 2727 Warnings: sexual connotations / some sexy shenanigans / dirty talk / swearing / drinking.

____

You're laying back chill, biting your tongue Taking it in, looking like you love Listening to me run my pretty little mouth And the sweet soft sound as the words fall out

Oh it's a sexy little dance You watching me talking with my hands Oh and you know I won't quit That look like you're trying to resist my lips says

Tell me what you want, where you wanna go Tell me who you are, what you think Yeah you're smiling like you wanna know All my crazy friends, boy I'll make you laugh Talking 'bout Panama City, best spring break I ever had Baby I know what you want When you crank my favorite song So I'll sing along, yeah, sing along Sing up a riot 'Till you kiss me quiet I'll keep going on and on until you kiss me quiet

Can you keep a secret, I'll whisper in your ear Boy, I'll make you hang onto every word you hear I'll keep spilling it, you keep listening till you can't hold back no more

I'll tell you what I want, where I wanna go Tell you who I am, what I think Yeah you're smiling like you wanna know All my crazy friends, boy I'll make you laugh Taking 'bout Panama City, best spring break I ever had Baby, I know what you want When you crank my favorite song So I'll sing along, yeah, sing along Sing up a riot 'Till you kiss me quiet

---

“How are you feeling?” Was such an odd question to be asked when on top of a hill, in the quiet, in sunshine, looking out over the serene view of Sorrento and the sweeping bay. Gorgeous sapphire blue sea stretching out towards the rest of mainland Europe. It wasn’t that he was asking you how you were feeling, but the tone Nolan was asking it in.

“Hmm?” You looked up at him, the way his blue eyes studied you with careful interest. There was a lot of concern there too. But he stayed sitting where he was; he didn’t want to get closer, didn’t want to smother you if it wasn’t needed or wanted. “You’ve been quiet for a while, nearly all holiday.” “I’m fine.” And you meant it, “Nolan you know me, I just... have quiet spells.” “I was starting to think it was me.” He murmured his thought almost guiltily. And you shook your head. No, no it wasn’t. It was just he, nor the view, could really cheer you up right now. You were fine, that was true, but you couldn’t say you’d raise it above that. Not quite yet anyway. Nolan Sorrento could probably change that around if he wanted; it was already clear by the fact you were up here that he was putting the effort in. Nolan always did. He knew how to break through that, so he could get to hearing the sweet sound of your voice again. Which was certainly one of his favourite things – something he could associate with the comfort of home, calm and welcoming after a long work day, soothing and delicate as you’d hold him and tell him it was all going to be okay, how loud you got when you talked a on and on around something you were passionate about, or when you got mad, or drunk… the way you laughed. That slight waiver you always tried to hide when you were sad that he could pick up on immediately to quiet your fears, or work on making you smile again. Luckily it wasn’t present right now, but Nolan was afraid of hearing it. Then that shake… a delightful thing to be able to draw from you: beside him, on top of him, pinned under him… it didn’t matter where; just that moment. And how it sounded over the phone, how you’d make the tone of your voice sweet, sultry… sexy - everything you would say when he was a little too far away from you for a little too long… Nolan shuffled uncomfortably for a moment where he was sitting and cleared his throat – painfully aware he’d thought on that for a little too long.  All he had to do was get you talking about something that made you happy, something that would bring you back to life. Pull you from whatever had got you so far gone… Maybe he could flirt with you, maybe he could even get you blushing. Nolan knew that he’d have to be careful with that one though; one false move and you’d be driven away, or you’d snap at him. That was a fine line, he’d just have to be careful and coax it out of you. Luckily the planned date was a picnic up here, so, admire the views all you want but cracking open a good bottle of wine was going to change all that; even if your only thought was put to teasing him about it. As you heard him rummaging around you couldn’t help be curious: Nolan muttered to himself - in Italian you had to note - as he uncorked the bottle, and although your first thought was ‘I hope he isn’t expecting us to drink the whole THING?!’ you couldn’t help but tip your head. Okay, you knew what he was doing, but you’d bite. “Let me guess, that’s Sorrento made?” “Sorrento?” God damn him for rolling the r’s like that, “Close…” He pulled out a glass and skilfully poured it like you might see a mixologist do behind a fancy bar. Party trick? You guessed he’d probably picked it up somewhere. “And what, it’s 1999?” “Oooh…” He smirked, “She’s close, once more.” He held the glass out to you, “But no dice.” “Then what!?” You took it and Nolan showed you the bottle, “Oh. My birth year? I thought it was only good if it was ’99.” “Usually. But, it’s not about me. This time.” He gave a gentle wink, and poured himself a glass before placing the bottle back, “So, to you. And trying to cheer you up!” For a minute your stare at him was blank, before you blinked slowly, “You are… infuriating.” “Ah, so it’s working?” “NO.” Although you couldn’t help but smile into the glass as you sipped. “Look whatever it is, you know I’d do anything to fix it. You do, don’t you?” “Nolan…” you sighed gently, “It’s not you. It’s just… a mood I get into sometimes.” “I know you might not think so,” His head tipped, blue eyes soft, “but I’m a good listener too. Like for like, you listen to me enough. About time I did the same.” You were quiet, staring back at your glass, the reflection of yourself in the red liquid – before you took a deep breath: “I don’t know. Work, I guess.” “Mm?” He raised an eyebrow. “You put in effort and, either no one recognises it or they just take the credit, then you wonder why you bother or… Is this it? Is this the life I’m going to live?” “Well, not everything’s bad right?” You could hear that slight hurt that you would do anything to take back. “N-No. Oh, Nolan, yes I have you! But… I can’t pin all my happiness on you. That’s not fair.” He very nearly tipped the whole glass back, “Fuck ‘em. Come work for me.” You immediately snorted, “Oh no, no no no, I’m not working for IOI.” “What!? Why?” “No way. I couldn’t!” You shook your head vigorously. “You’d be a damn sight better than most of them!” He sounded more desperate than persuasive. “Oh no, I’ve heard so many horror stories!” “Really?” “Yeah, especially about their CEO.” You couldn’t keep a straight face, and began to giggle. His eyes narrowed, smile knowing, “Is that right?” Then you couldn’t help but laugh, “Yes. Can confirm-” “Confirm?!” You waved your hand, laughing at his outrage, “-None of those rumours are true.” “You are on such thin ice!!” Nolan shook his head at you, but was grinning, then indicated to your glass, “Well?!” “Oh,” you looked to it, “you really don’t need me to tell you how good it is, do you?” “Eh, I dunno, feed my ego.” “It’s delicious. I wouldn’t trust anyone else to pick wine for me in a million years.” “That’s my girl!” He smiled, pouring himself another glass, then held it out to toast with yours, “Now I’ve got a smile back on your face, c’mon… let’s talk about something a little nicer!”

So, talk started to turn to other holidays, you’d both been to Sorrento before, both together and alone. In fact one year you’d come out here with your friends and explored the Amalfi coast before heading up to city areas like Rome and Milan; your ‘little’ Italian road trip. Apparently, that didn’t compare to being here with him – and you noticed that smirk – or your ‘best spring break ever’. He’d met your friends and each and every one of them was crazy: it’d been a lot to take in for him at once but once they’d broken through the play-it-straight businessman they all seemed to really like him. He’d never got vibes they didn’t, although Nolan knew why they were protective of you, and you’d never had the inclination to tell him they didn’t like him. But the stories about your adventures together? Downright hysterical. You’d been fairly lucky growing up in ways that Nolan hadn’t. He’d surely worked very hard in a very short period of time to become who he was. You’d always lived fairly comfortably; you at least had no complaints. So, Nolan lived all his wild spring break adventures through you. Much more likely to have spent his own fixing up old gaming and projection systems, or looking after his little sister. You’d had a lot of near misses and dodged bullets and you were the fairly careful one of your friends. Pretty soon you were both crying laughing and Nolan had to ask you to stop for just a second so he could catch his breath. He wasn’t averse to talking about some of his favourite things either, even if they were more recent memories. Even if some of them were just travels he’d got to take with IOI. Even just something he was building or planning for the OASIS. Nolan often had the imagination, but no means of execution. Even with the millions IOI made, he was fairly restricted by the happiness of his shareholders and the board of directors. You’d read his little book of plans that he’d kept ideas in ever since his earliest day of interning with Gregarious Games, and one day you hoped he’d be able to put all of these things into production. For now, Nolan was content and that was all that mattered to you. And all yours on weekends, and holidays. He was not allowed to bring work home with him and, on the rare occasions he did, Nolan always asked your express permission – not that you were going to say no when he was giving you that face. Although by this point, he had his tablet out and was shuffling through your playlist. You weren’t all alone up here, but other visitors to the site were far enough away for it not to disturb them. Nolan nudged the conversation back to you though, so that he could hear your voice, talking about anything and everything, now you were focused on Sorrento, on the view before you. Your tone dreamy and far off; his favourite person talking about one of his favourite places on earth. With fine wine and good Italian food, it was altogether a perfect mix. Nolan was focused so much on your body language, the way you moved, the sounds you made, every nuance of your face that added so much colour to what you were saying… whatever you were saying, because he wasn’t hearing words. But you were clearly talking to him, and asking him questions because the next thing he knew you’d turned your beautiful eyes on his awaiting an answer. “-Nolan!?” “W-what, I’m… I’m sorry I-” You folded your arms with a gasp, teasing, “You weren’t even listening to me?!” “No that’s not it… I was… listening so hard that I didn’t hear a word.” “…That- doesn’t make sense!” “Admiring… the way you say things, not… the what. Who you are. It’s- it just makes me happy. I guess I’m just thinking about you… a lot.” “Oh…” Your voice got quiet for a minute, and you looked to the blanket with a small blush. Ah… there was one…a perfect moment. And a good first chance. “I mean… I can’t figure out whether I like you best on top of me, beneath me, or next to me. What do you think?” Your eyes widened for a second, before flicking back up to meet his. The single beat you missed was to work out if Nolan was being serious, but it was obvious by the glint in his eyes. “I don’t really care, but I do know if these people weren’t around, I would jump you right now!” The slight shock on your face turned into a very pointed smirk. “If you were quiet I’m sure no one would notice…” “I have no intention of being quiet if I’m going to rip through the buttons on your nice shirt, Mr. Sorrento.” “This shirt was pretty expensive. You’re lucky I could cover the cost.” But he winked, “I hope you’ve eaten enough, because trust me you’re gonna need all that energy. I think I’ll go with beneath me. I’m sure there’s a tie somewhere I can bind your wrists with…” The blush across your face deepened and your body immediately latched onto that with an oh! that you were glad didn’t make its way out verbally. “Now I just want you to come over here and fuck me.” “Don’t care who’s watching?” “No.” “Imagine that one in the Columbus papers tomorrow…” Nolan breathed deep, “It’d almost be worth it!” You whined, tipping yourself back onto your hands with a pout. Nolan had this look in his eyes like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he wasn’t wrong; he was succeeding in turning you on. “God, I just want my hands all over you.” “Finish the bottle and I’ll consider it.” He sipped gently at his glass again, “I’m not wasting a vintage this good.” “Just pour it on me then.” “Red wine?!” He looked repulsed for a second, “Honey, there’s plenty of things I would lick off your body but red wine is not one of them. I do have a little bit of class.” “Nolan-!” Your protest of his name was breathless. “If it were Champagne, I’d consider it.” “You’re fucking killing me.” “Or just fucking you…” He smirked again, watching the way your chest rose and fell heavily, he could bet on the sweet ache between your thighs right now; touché, Nolan had one of his own that he was trying to control behind that façade. He pulled the bottle out of the basket again and studied the level in the sunlight, “Half glass each aughta do it…” You held yours out eagerly, making Nolan smirk a little harder as he turned to pour it, but his pour was agonisingly slow and he left the bottle tipped as he finished the measure. “C’mere…” He coaxed you gently; he’d been holding back what he really wanted to do all day, Nolan wasn’t about to now. And you weren’t about to resist him, as he pulled you into a wine-soaked kiss. You immediately grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer to you and hardly caring that you were probably spilling a good amount of this glass everywhere, even though Nolan himself had managed to carefully place the bottle back down, drawing your body closer his hand travelled beneath your skirt and he brushed his fingers delicately over your panties. This time your moan was into his kiss. Nolan pulled back with a chuckle, but his fingertips lingered there and he continued to tease you, “Mmm… I thought so. You’re already so wet, for me.” His voice was husky and you couldn’t help shiver in pleasure. “Nolan…” Your face was red and he wasn’t sure if it was the wine finally getting to you, or your blush was just that deep, but you looked gorgeous, and your voice was at a needy pitch. Yes, it was getting hard to control himself… He allowed you to kiss him again; and that wine tasted even better from your lips. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this on holiday but can we go back to our hotel room?’ Your voice was quiet, and your hands were steadying your body against his as he continued to touch you. Nolan’s smile was soft, as if you were sitting across from him at a fine restaurant and he was being an absolute gentleman, “Ab-so-lute-ly.” He circled your sweet spot with every syllable and you bit back your whine this time. “Will you speak Italian to me all the time too?” If there was one other thing that could get you off, it was that. You couldn’t trust him to speak Italian in anything less than the sexiest manner possible with his only intent to get you to push him against a wall, or beg him to find a quieter place at the party to get a little quick and dirty. He smirked deliciously once more, “Va bene.” And you cursed, shivering as Nolan leant forward to kiss your neck. Your stomach gave a flutter as he removed his hand from between your thighs – not for long… Soon your clothes would be strewn all over the floor of your hotel instead…

---

Thank you for reading my lovelies! 😘😘

[bailey-reaper]

I've said it a few times already, but you write one of the best Baroks I've seen :) he's deceptively hard, but you nail his nuances, and his "in love" version is so cute ❤️ I also love a lot your take on Klint, in my mind your interpretation has become canon. Can I request something slightly different? How do you imagine Barok and Iris' first day as uncle and niece? How would they spend the day, how would they treat each other? :>

Headcanons (Barok's your Uncle, Fanny's not your Aunt)

Notes: 🥺😭 Thank you so much, @beevean! I'm so touched and grateful for your lovely compliment! And I'm delighted that you enjoy my Klint & Barok portrayals! :D ♡ Thank you very much for the request, I hope you enjoy it!

Content Warnings: GAA spoilers

Unlike any arrangement she has with Sholmes (who's always late), Iris is delighted when Barok arrives promptly and even has the courtesy to bring her a gift – of high quality tea leaves. She gratefully takes them and promises to make him a fitting special blend in thanks (he insists she doesn't need to trouble herself, but she's having none of it).

Barok's surprised when Iris presents him with an itinerary of the things they'll be doing – including a visit to London Zoo, afternoon tea and a balloon ride over Hyde Park. Still, he had promised her the entire day and he has no qualms about the events she has in mind. Of course, he insists that he'll be paying even when she politely suggests they split the cost of the day.

They start the outing at a cafe near London Zoo, where Iris has lavender tea and a jam tart while Barok has a cup of drinking chocolate. At first, they're rather... polite, almost wooden, with one another - because it's very odd for both of them to accept that they're no longer the orphans they once perceived themselves to be; they're a family, bound by blood, albeit there's much time to catch up on.

As such, the initial talk is mostly small talk: how Iris tolerates living with Sholmes, confirmation that he has been a reasonably able guardian, etc

Barok makes for intelligent and engaging company, much to Iris' delight, and she says he simply must come over for dinner one day as she believes he'd be a wonderful dinner guest. He accepts, albeit with the caveat that Sholmes has no part in cooking the meal. She assures him he knows the kitchen is out of bounds.

Gradually, as the day progresses, they start to soften toward one another and become more comfortable – not that they mistrusted one another, it's just been such an odd time and at last those earth-shattering events are starting to become part of the past rather than the present.

Iris does notice, however, that Barok is continually glancing over his shoulder and paying particular attention to shadowy backstreets or side roads. Eventually, she asks him about it and Barok confesses that he had his reservations about meeting with her due to his infamy as the 'Reaper of the Bailey'.

Even if that spectre has been largely put to bed in his mind and those present at that closed trial – London's criminal underbelly has no idea about the reaper's true identity and as such they continue to target Barok (despite there being no further murders since then).

She asks him why he allows the Reaper to continue to exist, and he replies that the best thing he can do moving forward is be a deterrent to the criminals of London – "If my being mistaken for a demigod makes life even marginally easier upon the people of London, and reduces the crime that plagues this city, then I believe it is worthwhile even with the risks it poses."

It's rather sad to hear him say such a thing - because it implies, as far as Iris can see, that Barok continues to be at peace with the idea of being hated and feared by most, and ultimately risking being killed at the hands of brutes who don't know the truth.

Not to mention, it means he has no choice but to continually watch his back; and he can't even relax during this outing, which should be a fun affair - "It sounds all together too sad as far as I'm concerned... wouldn't it be better to be 'Barok van Zieks' and... my uncle?"

It's the first time she's actually called him that since she learned the truth, and it's a tentative attempt to see how he responds.

". . . ." at first he's not sure what to say, because it would be much better to be part of a family - of course it would. He smiles, slightly, "... Your uncle, hm? For such a long time I thought I had nothing left in terms of family, and now I'm blessed with an intelligent young niece thanks to my older brother... yes, Iris, I do want to be your uncle and support you in whatever way I can, but, I also intend to continue to fulfill my duty to the public at large as a Crown Prosecutor. Even if I weren't known as the Reaper of the Bailey, my work would still attract hostility as it did for my brother."

He has no delusions about how vile the criminals of London are and the lengths they'll go to in order to continue their enterprises. Strong law enforcement and effective legal procedures make their lives harder, so they would always target anyone in such office -- as they had Klint, and him in a bid to get to his older brother; this had always been a part of his life, ever since he was young.

"So, pray, forgive me if I continue to look over my shoulder..." he'll then turn the conversation to lighter things, like the animals at the zoo, and ask her which is her favourite while picking her up so she can pet a curious giraffe.

By the time the day is over, Iris is fast asleep and Barok dutifully carries her home and tucks her into her bed. Of course he bought her a stuffed toy from the shop at the zoo, and she's cuddling it tightly as she dreams. It's... a heartwarming sight, one that brings a genuine smile to his lips.

"I say," Sholmes will say as Barok closes Iris' bedroom door over, "Who'd have thought the Reaper of the Old Bailey was also the Pied Piper? She seems utterly charmed by you, sir."

"Clearly she's been wanting for intelligent company," Barok will remark pointedly, provoking Sholmes to laugh and heartily agree-- but, he can't quite permit himself to be so cold, "Thank you," he says, quietly, "For taking good care of her. She's becoming a splendid young woman."

Sholmes will simply smile and offer a small bow. No words are needed, after all Iris is a special young lady who has saved them both in different ways.

[luvlyrv]

Duel | Seulgi x F!Reader | Knight!AU

Request: Okay so I have a request 👀 you don’t have to write it if you want want to, but the idea came to my head and I thought why not request it from one of my favourite writers! 🥺

SO, knight!seulgi. Or basically Seulgi with a sword and being bad ass 🥴 maybe a small bit of enemies to lovers, who knows? But just Seulgi. With a sword. 😳🥵

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: i hope you like it! i'm not big on action scenes so they were kind of rushed, sorry :( also sorry that it took so long my dear!! hope you're doing well <3

Date: 4/11/21

You uncomfortably roll your shoulders back, a phantom pain gradually enveloping your body. Somehow the mere sight of Seulgi was enough to send shudders down your spine as your body recounts the sensations of the many fights you've had with her. Maybe defeat has already etched itself into your muscle memory.

You let out a quiet breath as you observe her sparring session with a fellow damoiseau, a knight-in-training. Your mind feels a bit torn by the sight in front of you. On one hand you are entranced by the fluid motions and contortions that Seulgi managed to make her body do. On the other hand you struggle to not make an obviously unsettled face. Your mood sours at the disappointment you feel when reminded of the fact that despite how much you try to observe and study her, you have never bested her in a duel.

Besting the people around you had always come easy. You've enjoyed the pain of your training, knowing that it would be proven a worthy investment of your time when you see a pitiful body laying on the floor in front of you. When you get to see the face of defeat, hear the admittance of it. For all you know you are the perfect warrior. A noble knight worthy to serve the monarch.

You're better than everyone. You know it. Except for her.

What was it? What did you she have that you didn't? Every time she bested you in a duel it dealt a bastardly blow to your ego. The words 'second best' would make your eye want to twitch. For all your strength and endurance, your familiarity with the motions of battle, Seulgi just seemed to understand it more.

You recount the many times your body would strain itself after being dealt with many sharp thwacks. The throbbing pains from falling and rolling, again and again. The sense of hope and excitement as you pushed yourself to take on a stance and seemingly deal a final blow, only for Seulgi to easily and gracefully step away, just to kick you back to the ground.

You hate her. You hate the weaklings underneath you too. You swear you can hear them snicker when you lose to her, that treacherous woman.

You stop your thoughts when you suddenly hear the booming voice of your master calling for you. Your grip strengthens around your training sword as you slowly make way towards Seulgi. It's time for the two of you to repeat the process. This time though, you are determined to win. Certain of it. Seulgi, the best apprentice in your regiment, would not longer make a mockery of you.

Your jaw hurts as clench, barely containing your anger. You try to calm down and refocus on the situation at hand. You look at Seulgi as she stands in her own battle-ready stance in front of you. You wonder how her blows deal so much power when her frame looks so delicate.

Focusing on calming down your breathing, you slowly advance forward. Your opponent does the same and soon enough you're circling around each other. It's the same story again. The same beginnings.

You want to end things quickly and dive in for the first blow. One blow should be all you need, you think to yourself. You force yourself to go as quickly as possible, everything around you a blur except for your target herself. All of a sudden though, she disappears and suddenly you feel your training sword facing resistance, threatening to escape your grasp.

You grunt in frustration and reorient yourself to find Seulgi. You spot her and balance yourself waiting for another opening. She is always on the defensive it seems, but you are never one to wait. As the seconds go by you deem it the right time to go for a slash. It feels as if your body is moving through molasses as you watch Seulgi glide out of your weapon's way in horror. You see her sword and a painful thwack is given.

It's the same story again. The same middle.

You repeat and repeat these motions. You going in for a hit only to be countered. Sometimes you'd get one in, but like you your opponent is hardy and gets back up. After a brutal pummeling you must resign yourself to defeat, as much as your heart hates it. The same ending as always.

This time though you can't seem to hold your tongue back.

You storm up closer to Seulgi and roughly hold onto the collar of her training attire. "What the hell is it? What's your secret?" You shake the woman a bit until her hands come up to your wrist. She pushes them down and you decide to let go. "Rematch tonight. I'll prove my worth." The words come out viciously but quietly. They were a promise both to her and yourself.

The crowd of spectators around you stay quiet after your outburst, and Seulgi doesn't say anything either. Not bothering to look at anyone's faces you leave the grounds to change clothes. They stuck to you with sweat and the gritty dirt that covered it bothered you

You can't think much for the rest of the day. The thoughts of your failure prevents you from enjoying training or beating other people. Soon enough you find yourself looking at a bowl of measly soup and bread in the mess hall all by yourself.

The warm soup makes you feel marginally better, but you don't pay much attention to it. Instead you take in your surroundings. This scenario is routine. You sit by yourself somewhere among the crowds of people interacting and enjoying their meal together. Even if people were nearby you simply would not speak. Why waste your breath on them?

In contrast to you though, you notice how hordes of people flock around the number one apprentice. Vying for her attention. Are you jealous? You can't tell. You just wonder if people would act that way towards you if you were the best.

Soon enough you hear the familiar yelling of a commander telling you all to return to your bunks. You quickly put away your bowl and utensils before hanging back from the line of people walking back towards the measly barracks that housed you all. Through the large body of people you see the crowd finally thin out as people their respective barracks. As you get closer to yours you finally spot Seulgi towards the entrance of the building. Coming up behind her you speak out.

"You didn't forget, did you?" She takes a moment to think before huffing.

"I suppose I should humor you after all."

You turn without letting her speak further. There's a silence between the two of you as you go to retrieve your training swords. You'd expect to hear loud padded footsteps behind you, but surprisingly Seulgi's footsteps sound faint. Nearly nonexistent.

The night sky of course makes it hard to see things, but your years of training has ingrained the layout of the entire area into your heart. It also helps that the moonlight allows you to see just enough as well. You make it to your destination with ease, picking up your weapon you watch as Seulgi grabs hers too.

"Where are we going to fight?" She questions you tiredly.

"Out in the field." Your answer is curt as you once again lead Seulgi, this time to the middle of the field you had fought in earlier in the day. When you arrive you distance yourself farther away from her and take your stance.

"You ready?" You ask her as you plant your feet into the ground and focus on your breathing.

"Mhm." Seulgi, unlike you, decides to stand there. She seems uncommitted, like she doesn't care about the fight. How dare she do that when your pride is on the line? When you're taking this so seriously?

Frustration builds up inside of you as you take her attitude as disrespect. You move in to give her a quick jab. Extending your arm, you feel your weapon graze her before she moves out of the way. A popping noise fills the air as she strikes down near the hilt of your weapon, trying to make you loosen your grip. It almost works but you quickly readjust your hands. You force up your sword in retaliation, breaking away the contact between your two swords.

With your sword so high up you decide to go for a horizontal swing towards Seulgi's body. In the early moments of your swing though, Seulgi ducks down and gives you an upwards jab towards your chest.

You heave as air forcefully leaves your lungs, a pain exploding around your chest.

"God!" You wheeze out loudly. Seulgi stands in front of you while she lowers her sword. You get down to your knees and look at the ground. Your breathing normalizes quickly but you try to get your bearings before rising again.

"I still... don't get it." As quickly as your breathing returned to its normal state, your voice quivered as your eyes felt hot. The disappointment that you seemingly always felt around Seulgi had made its reappearance. This time it hit harder than normal. Hard enough to make you start crying.

As your breathing began to become more uneven you finally raise your head and stand up. The form of your opponent gets closer to you. The only sounds between the two of you is the noises escaping your throat as you broke down again.

"How can you manage to fight like that?" You notice Seulgi has put both of her hands out to you. Your hesitance to take them spurs her to speak.

"I'll show you." Her voice touches you somehow. How have you never noticed how angelic she sounded? How gentle she was being with you right now? "Just take them."

You allow her to take your hands. She carefully clasps her similarly calloused hands around yours and begins to move. Her body sways, you don't quite understand why but you try to follow suit.

"I don't get it." You say as you try to mirror her movements. You fumble in embarrassment as Seulgi moves with confidence and grace. You're like a fawn who hasn't learned how to walk next to her.

"I'm a dancer, don't you see?" She momentarily lets go of your hands and walks backwards. You miss the feeling of her hands but you're entranced by the short show she puts on.

She performs for you, the dance itself was beautiful as she created curves and angles with her body. The moonlight enhances it, bouncing off her body and allowing her to glow.

Why have you never noticed how delicate her features looked? How it looked as if she was hand sculpted by the gods?

She returns back to you, taking your hands in hers and leads you back to dancing. You focus harder on trying to mimic her correctly. Eventually the both of you are gracefully dancing across the vast field. You're calmer now, happy even.

"See?" Seulgi says after a while of silent dancing. "The battlefield is my dancefloor, and I'm simply dancing around your blade."

"You're an incredible dancer, Seulgi." Seulgi has brought the two of you closer now. You notice how her lips tug up a bit as you pay her a compliment. That was the first time you've complimented her, perhaps even anyone here. It was the first time you said something without malice to her.

"I try." She laughs a bit. "I wanted to be a professional dancer at first actually. My family wanted me to go into a more noble field though, for the sake of our reputation. I protested at first of course. As I thought more though I decided I wouldn't mind protecting people. I still try to dance everyday though."

"Oh." Shock is laced through your voice. Listening to Seulgi was a humbling experience to say the least. You had wanted to become a knight for your own honor, to attain glory and recognition. You hadn't paid much thought towards protecting other people.

It was also strange to see Seulgi treat you like this. Her kindness was unprecedented. Was your hatred and spite one-sided all along?

"Hm?" Seulgi is curious to your shock as she quirks her eyebrow.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"I've..." It hurts you a bit to say sorry, let alone apologize correctly. You force yourself to do it though. Maybe, just maybe, you need to change. "I've certainly acted coldly towards you and others. My actions have been... conceited." You here a soft giggle before Seulgi speaks again.

"You're cuter when you're not being awful, you know?" You're glad that the sun has set and that Seulgi can't see the embarrassment on your face. Seulgi hums a tune as you continue dancing together.

"Try smiling more and scowling less. You'd be more approachable that way, along with some attitude changes of course. Aren't you lonely?" She tries to advise you, and normally you'd lash out if anyone made comments about your behavior, but you can't help but to listen to the soothing voice of Seulgi.

"...I can try." You whisper. "I think, if I may speak frankly, I would be okay with being second best under you." Seulgi laughs again.

"Oh? Was dancing with you all it took to make you earn some humility?"

"Maybe... can we dance again another time?" You ask with hesitance before you quickly elaborate. "To get better at fighting, like you! Of course. Only if you want to."

"If this would effectively make you learn your lesson, then sure."

This was the first time you could talk to someone like this, and you like it.

"Thank you, Seulgi, for your patience."

You understand why she's the best apprentice out of all of you. Why people flock around her. Who wouldn't want to be near the giving soul of Seulgi?

[tchallasbabymama]

M’Baku’s Love-Chapter 1

Hey y’all, sooooo this is inspired by Sylvie’s Love. It was such a sweet movie that made me feel all the feels, so I felt the need to write a love story for our Thicc Kang. Seriously, go watch it on Prime if you can. Let me know what y’all think, and check out my masterlist if you haven’t already! I have a few one shots and a series for both our king and our prince. 

This one’s on the shorter side, but enjoy!

Word count: 2992

When M’Baku integrated the Jabari into the rest of Wakandan society he had some concerns about there being some cultural friction. Having been separated for centuries, M’Baku assumed his people would have a hard time with adjusting to the new union, but as it turned out he didn't have to worry. Above all, he was worried about lowland Wakandans possibly subjecting his people to their prejudices, but it turned out that they have a pretty similar society to the Jabari and they meld really well. The different tribes of Wakanda all live in their separate provinces and have their own ways of living just like the Jabari, the only difference being that they interacted with the larger community that included the rest of Wakanda as well. 

The chief’s misconceptions and prejudices about the other Wakandans were soon wiped out and replaced with a love of his country. The whole of it, as opposed to just his domain. He even began to enjoy his trips to the city, still finding the advancements unnecessary but amazing nonetheless. Over time, he grew curious of the outside world after befriending Prince N’Jadaka. The prince would regale him with horror stories of life on the outside, some were personal others were from around the diaspora. 

However, M’Baku still couldn't understand the outside world, so King T’Challa decided  it would be best if he get to experience it for a while. At first, he was against it. Why would he want to experience such a horrible place? After much effort, T’Challa was able to convince him to spend three months in Oakland at the Outreach Center. At first, M’Baku thought the time span was excessive. He was Chief of the Jabari and had important duties to attend to, after all, he couldn’t just go galavanting halfway across the world just because he couldn’t grasp the concept of white supremacy. 

M’Baku made his way through the hallways of the royal palace and when he arrived at the large ornate door to the king’s office, the guards saluted him before parting and letting him pass. He raised his fist to knock when T’Challa spoke up from inside.

“Enter.”

M’Baku cautiously opened the door and looked at the king with confusion written all over his chiseled face.

“How did you-”

“The heart shaped herb gives me enhanced hearing among many other things. Come, sit down. How has the tour been so far?”

In addition to his time in the outside world, M’Baku had chosen to learn more about the tribes of Wakanda. He had spent one weekend a month with a different tribe to understand their way of life. He only just started but so far the river tribe was in the running for second favorite.

“It is going well, umhlobo wam. You all are not too different from Jabari, aside from the frivolous gadgets.”

T’Challa smiled at his stubborn friend’s unwillingness to accept their technology. Getting him to wear Kimoyo beads was harder than bathing a cat, but he eventually came around but only for communication purposes. Some Jabari, especially the younger ones took right to it, but most were still living their traditional lives. 

“I noticed the same thing when I stayed with you...the second time, clearly.” 

The two chuckled at the now fond memory of the king almost dying at the hands of his newly beloved cousin. 

“Clearly. So have you decided on a departure date yet?”

“Yes, I will be leaving with you and staying for about a week to check on the centers myself and help you acclimate. Obviously N’Jadaka will be there as well but I figured you’d want someone with you that’s a little more…”

“Level headed?”

“N-, well, yes, but also no. He is doing well at the Center, but he is still...himself.”

The prince was a wildcard. One you want to have in your hand, but a wildcard nonetheless. M'Baku  needed someone with a slightly longer fuse and a calmer disposition to show him around. 

“Well I would not have it any other way, he is quite entertaining at times.”

A grin creeped up the king’s face as he thought of how his cousin’s progress had allowed for the parts of personality that aren’t rooted in anger to shine through. 

“I agree. So, since I’ll be accompanying you we have to leave tomorrow.”

“I will alert my council.”

——————

The heat in California was marginally better than Wakanda, but still too high for M’Baku’s liking. He would have preferred to visit in the middle of their winter when the temperatures were milder, but anything over 60 degrees felt like a sauna to him. He also wasn’t used to having so much unprotected skin showing, but the weather called for his arms and legs to be free from fabric. His size and physique made him hyper visible and he noticed several of the volunteers doing double-takes as he and T’Challa walked through the halls of the Wakandan Outreach Center. He knew some of the attention was because the king didn’t visit often, but when he would catch eyes lingering on him he’d smirk and keep on moving.

T’Challa took him on a tour of the Center that ended with N’Jobu’s memorial in room 1401, which was preserved like a museum exhibit. The room stood as a reminder of Wakanda’s dark past, and a promise to never repeat it. M’Baku walked around the memorial, silently paying his respects to the murdered Wakandan prince and taking in the scene. The small plaques around the room gave visitors information about Prince N’Jobu, his family, his mission, and his death.  

“Why did you go with these instead of virtual pages? Or whatever they are called...” M’Baku asked.

“Holograms. I felt it would take away from the feeling of heaviness this room invokes on you when you enter. This memorial needs to be both seen and felt for it to be effective.”

M’Baku nodded slowly, eyes still roaming around the room.

“Come, my friend,” T’Challa clapped him on the shoulder. “You will have plenty of time to come back here if you wish. For now, let me show you to your office.”

“Office?” The two walked down yet another hallway and headed up to the top floor.

“Yes, you didn’t think this was a vacation did you?” The king chuckled.

“Well, no but I assumed it would be more study than work.”

“It is both. You will be our Jabari Ambassador while you are here. I would like for you to come up with a skillshare program that will allow for the kids here in Oakland to learn your ways. One of the purposes of our Outreach Center is to bring about cultural understanding between us and our diaspora siblings, who we are now referring to as the Lost Tribe at the prince’s request. For now, we just have Oakland but eventually I plan to expand the program. Shuri is over the STEM program, Nakia handles social outreach, and N’Jadaka keeps the whole thing running smoothly, and you will make sure the Jabari are represented in our curriculum.”

“It would be my honor to bring Jabari ways to the Lost children.”

“I’m glad, now here is your office,” T’Challa pointed to a corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of the bay. “It is not a throne room, but it is quite nice.”

The king then took the time to show him the basic technology he would need to use and some of the more advanced technology at his disposal he knew he would probably never touch.

“You will have plenty of time to settle in tomorrow, for now I will show you your apartment,” T’Challa led the way back through the center and out to the car which took them about 10 minutes away to an apartment building. 

“Our buildings are much more impressive,” M’Baku remarked.. It warmed T’Challa’s heart to hear his friend refer to Wakanda proudly instead of just his own corner of the country, and he let out a chuckle. Things really can change…

“I completely agree, my friend.”

The apartment turned out to be a loft that was the perfect size for the large Jabari Chief. The high ceilings, the open space, the floor to ceiling windows, the exposed brick...M’Baku actually liked it. 

“Worthy of a chief?” T’Challa asked.

“That it is,” M’Baku said, walking around and taking in the space. The restaurant style kitchen was fully stocked with all his vegetarian favorites and some soon to be new favorites as well. He picked up a square package and stared at it in confusion, never having seen the meat-substitute before. “What is this to-fu?”

“It’s a very popular protein source made from soybeans.”

M’Baku nodded then moved to the living space, surprised to see a television, but the king explained he would need to stay up on current events, or maybe even watch a movie every now and then.

When T’Challa showed him the thermostat, he was so ecstatic he immediately put it on the lowest setting.

“I should leave before you freeze me out. If you need anything I’m just a kimoyo bead aw-,” T’Challa cut himself off when another, more important thought occurred to him. “Oh, I forgot to mention you’ll be getting an assistant. I sent three files to your beads, take a look and hire whichever one fits you best”

“Thank you, brother.” The two shook hands and saluted each other before the king left to give M’Baku his space. 

The chief admired the Jabari wood furniture and the furs on the couch, plopping down to try to figure out how to work the television. After some time, he found a news station and only lasted about 5 minutes before he needed to turn it off. Instead, he accidentally switched to a thing called HBO Max and clicked on a show where the main character looked familiar somehow.

“In West Philadelphia, born and raised,” the theme song played over and over and over as M’Baku binged his first tv show, laughing the whole way.

A few hours passed and he was brought back from tv land by a rumble in his stomach. Not in the mood to cook, he decided to explore the neighborhood and look for food instead. 

After just a few minutes M’Baku came to a stop in front of a place called Cafe V. He stopped to take a look at the menu in the window when he felt a small, or regular sized, person bump into his side. His eyes travelled down to see who would dare shove Lord M’Baku, Chief of the Jabari, when his eyes landed on a caramel-complected goddess with a bright teal fade. His face immediately softened as she stammered through an apology.

“I-I am so s-sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I got a text and, it doesn’t matter, are you ok?”

He struggled to find the words.

“Yes, are you? That was quite the impact.”

She was surprised by his kindness and gave him a smile.

“It was, wasn’t it?” The two shared a quick laugh. “I’m sorry, I’m running late to meet a friend...literally.” 

“Well I would not want to keep you, but please be mindful of your surroundings. I am sure everyone is not as nice as I am.”

“That’s for sure. Oh, and by the way,” she leaned in as if to tell him a secret. He leaned in to listen to whatever she had to tell him. “There’s a Black-owned vegan restaurant around the corner there.”

M’Baku’s eyes lit up, “Two things I love.”

“Black people and vegan food?” 

“Precisely,” a grin overtook his face and she couldn’t help but stare at his adorable gap. 

“Well I really have to go, nice meeting you stranger!” 

And with that, she was off before he could even get her name. The best he could do is hope she’d crash into him on the sidewalk again one day.

“I really hope she is more careful,” he said to himself as he rounded the corner to The V Spot.

——————

Monday morning, M’Baku arrived at the outreach center full of nervous energy. He had wanted to look nice for his first day, but his tunic felt like it was cutting off his circulation the closer he got to the building. When he finally arrived in his office, he found it full of royals. 

“Nigga you look uncomfortable as hell in that,” N’Jadaka was, naturally, the first to call out the obvious. Thankfully, the Queen came to his rescue.

“Stop it Daka, you’d look uncomfortable in Jabari attire,” Nakia said as she undid his top button. “There. Better?”

“Much. I did not want to ruin the look.”

“Turning blue ruins the look, genius,” Princess Shuri chimed in. 

“Sister, he wasn’t blue...yet. If we hadn’t gotten here when we did the Jabari would’ve been out a Chief,” the king added. 

“Ha. You all are very funny. Are you done?”

“We’re just fucking with you, man. How you liking the loft?”

“It is wonderful. I am almost embarrassed to say I have watched the television for several hours. Have you ever seen the Fresh Prince of Bel Air? It is hilarious!”

“Aw hell yeah, that’s like thee funniest show hands down. You know what? While you’re here, I’m introducing you to alllllll the Black entertainment. You’re gonna love it, niggas stay laughing at something.”  

“Speaking of, I thought… that word-“

“You can say nigga. You’re a nigga too, my nigga.” 

T’Challa leaned over to M’Baku, “It is an adjustment, but the reclaiming of slurs can be a powerful thing for oppressed peoples. And it’s just so versatile.”

“What an interesting language…”

“Are we teaching an English class or are we meeting about curriculum…?” Shuri asked impatiently before her brother pinched her arm.

“Ouch! I’m telling mother.”

“Go ahead, I’ll tell her you’ve been sneaking out at night to hang with your little friends.”

Shuri shot her cousin a deadly glare, making him put his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t say shit. He’s a walking lie-detector, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Nakia and M’Baku snickered at the situation they had no part in. Nakia, because she knew her husband had known for quite some time and would never snitch on his baby sister, but always had Dora following her at a safe distance. M’Baku enjoyed the moment because he and the Princess had a love-hate relationship and seeing her in “trouble” tickled him. 

The moment passed and the five of them moved to a conference room to discuss the upcoming summer. Shuri advocated for a nanobots workshop on weekends and Nakia laid out her plans for summer programs. The king and prince listened closely and N’Jadaka gave his input here and there. T’Challa mostly nodded along, as this was more so his cousin’s job than his. He just signs the checks. 

“...and Monaé just hired three new dance instructors because our classes are so popular with the community. She’ll discuss it in the Department Head meeting later-“

“Is that not what this is?” M’Baku asked, genuinely confused.

“If anything this is more of an executive meeting. We each oversee our departments, but have help running them. That’s who we will meet with in about 15 minutes.” Nakia responded, checking her beads for the time.

The executives finished their meeting just as other people started to roll in. Kitchen staff brought up some breakfast for everyone, and as soon as M’Baku stood to grab a bagel his knees nearly buckled. There she was, Miss In A Hurry herself. He tried to play it cool and keep his smile under wraps, but when she caught sight of the blinding whiteness from the other side of the room she recognized him immediately and waved. 

“Friend of yours…?” T’Challa asked quietly with a raised brow. The man had only been here 24 hours…

“She ran into me on the street the other day and recommended an amazing restaurant. I should go say thank you…”

“Yes you should...why aren’t you?”

“I-“

“Mhm,” T’Challa said before turning to the rest of the attendees. “Everyone, please welcome Lord M’Baku, Chief of the Jabari. He will be here the next three months integrating Jabari culture into our curriculum. As many of you know, the Jabari-“

M’Baku tuned T’Challa out, staring instead at the girl with the teal fade. The look on her face when the king introduced him made him want to go hold her. It was painstakingly obvious that she was embarrassed to have almost run over royalty. 

“-until we started the integration process a year ago. Now, Lord M’Baku you may have the floor.”

M’Baku cleared his throat and shook himself from his daydream. 

“Uh, hello. I am sure it will be a pleasure to work here with you all. I would like to meet with each department head at some point this week to discuss how to make your programs more inclusive of Jabari customs. We can start scheduling those after we are finished here.”

The meeting went on for about an hour with M’Baku and the department heads furiously taking notes. M’Baku was pleasantly surprised that he wasn’t the only one using a physical notepad and pen. He looked to the stranger from earlier and noticed her bright notebook with a multicolored neon leopard cub in the middle. The name on the side read “Lisa Frank”, but he wasn’t sure if that was her name or the artist. She used several different colored pens to take her notes, and the red cat eye glasses he didn’t see on her face the other day kept slipping down her nose. She was a colorful one, that was for sure.

By the time the meeting ended he still hadn’t caught her name, but he knew she was head of the Arts department and that he would meet with her the next day. He could wait until then.

Next Chapter

[alexhandersenx]

There’s no one to save me

Ivar/Reader (Modern AU)

A/N: Hi everyone! First and most important thing, HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!💕🎉🎂 @flowers-in-your-hayr I want to wish you all the best on this day, I hope you enjoy this day as much as possible and hope this can make it a bit better! This year may not have been our best birthdays but next year we’ll celebrate them twice! You know I really admire your work but much more as a person! Thank you for always being so so nice, you’re great!💖

Second, here it is, me and my shitty writing. This is the first time I ever write anything (you’ll see) but a lovely little bird came and told me about this amazing surprise (@maggiescarborough​ 💖) and I couldn’t refuse. This is the moodboard I chose bc when I asked Gabi about it, I wrote more of a mini fic than a request (sorry about that, honey😅) so I thought it’ll be easier since I already have an idea.

And finally, to say that this can be considered as the first chapter of a small fic???, Idk,  if you want to read something else, I will continue it and if not, it can stay as a imagine. (Any feedback you want to give is always welcomed and will help me in the future!)

Okay that’s all, I think. Now I'll shut my mouth and let you guys read in peace😊

All credits to this amazing moodboard for the birthday girl @flowers-in-your-hayr​

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: First time writing (biggest warning), mention of death and suicide, cursing, drug dealing, a bit of angst, English not being my mother tongue. (I’m not sure if something else😅).

There you were, (Y/N) (Y/LN), facing the most important case you had encountered in your professional career, which, to tell the truth, was not very long. You were 24 years old and you were a policewoman at the local police station on a small island called Samsø, which together with some others as Læsø, Anholt and Sjælland were known as the 'Kattegat Islands'.

You started there when you were 22, with a lot of effort and after years of dedication, yes, it may sound like a joke, since you were very young, but since your father passed away, you decided to follow in his footsteps. He had become chief of police and worked in what was now your office. His death occurred unexpectedly, one day he went to work and didn't come back, your mother and you didn't know anything, but he had been working on a drug-related case for a long time, and they didn't clarify anything for you after his death either, justifying that it was a case of high danger and a secret file.

When your father died, you were given the belongings he was carrying on the day of his death. You didn't find anything out of the ordinary, just his watch, which had his initials on it, the car keys and his wallet, in which he carried the usual: some money, credit cards and a picture of  your mother and you as a child. From one of the compartments of the wallet, a small fragment of a photo was sticking out. It was very enlarged, only a small part of the face could be seen, it looked like a man, but his face didn't sound familiar to you and besides the fragment was very damaged, so you didn't give it much importance. Although you were intrigued to know the reason for that fragment in your father's wallet and you wanted to know the identity of that person, unfortunately you couldn't do anything about it. You put the items back in the bag and kept it in a drawer that you knew you wouldn't open often since it was with the rest of his belongings.

After this incident, you and your mother faced a difficult time when living at home without him was almost impossible. After a not very long period, you were able to return to your daily life and continued, but however, your mother did not get back on her feet, she went into a great depression. You tried psychologists at first and slowly it looked like she was getting better, but it seems she only did it to fall into an even bigger black hole.

From then on, you contacted a psychiatrist, after a year watching your mother was consumed with sadness you couldn't stand it any longer, even though she was resistant to taking medication you couldn't do anything else. She had been going to the psychiatrist for some time and the truth was that it wasn't going as you expected, your mother had a very negative attitude. She tried to avoid medication when you didn't force her, and for that reason none of the treatments worked.

You were desperate, time was passing, and you didn't know what to do anymore, until one day when you came home and you found your mother breathing very lightly and not responding to any kind of stimulus. She had decided to take her own life with a bottle of pills, yes, how ironic. When she was taken to the hospital, the doctors told you that her vital signs were very bad, the intake of medication had to be over six hours ago, and this had already affected a large part of the system. It was very difficult for her to survive, so much so that she couldn't.

21 years, just 21 years when you were left alone in the world, when everyone was getting drunk and having a hangover and throwing up the next morning, you were there struggling to get where you were today.

Although you couldn't have reached that point without the unconditional support of your father's great friend, Officer Heahmund. He had been like a second father to you, the only one you could lean on when these events occurred. Both he and his wife Anne and their little twins always had a place for you.

You could say you'd been investigating the case for a year and it was huge, really huge. Both you and your colleagues had reached an impasse, you couldn't get anything new, so you decided to take the reins and make a proposal... raid the shelter where the organization was hiding. You had managed, after a long time of tracking them down, to find out that every Thursday at 11.30 p.m. they went out to do business. If you calculated it perfectly, you could set up an ambush, surround the perimeter with your agents strategically, and force your way in, so you could examine the interior for clear, incriminating evidence and wait for them to come back and finally catch them and finish the damn case. From that point on, the game would begin.

Ivar Lothbrook, or also known as Ivar the Boneless, was the person you were chasing. Known to be the leader of the organization. Information about him was quite scarce, the son of a bitch knew how to remain anonymous, you didn't even know what he looked like. Although he also took part in the weekly excursions, he never got out of the vehicle they were in and you didn't dare get close enough to the shelter to see them leave, just as a precaution, so as not to spoil the case. All you knew was that the nickname he had earned was due to a disease he suffered from that made him unable to walk, Osteogenesis Imperfecta.

But you did know something else about his brothers, who were in charge of leading the band when they were doing field work and his brother Ivar was not there. There were three more brothers, the elder Ubbe, the second Hvitserk and the last Sigurd. You had pictures of them, which you had studied to a tee, and they didn't have any kind of background, something that caught your attention because in all these bands it's something common, but it seems that they were playing clean.

Tomorrow would be the big day and you had no margin for error. You decided to leave it at that, not think about it anymore. You opened a bottle of wine and ordered dinner at your favourite restaurant. You were going to enjoy that night quietly before going into action.

That night you practically didn't rest, your head didn't stop thinking and you were fighting against it for a long time, until finally you were victorious, being able to sleep. You promised yourself that it wouldn't be the only thing you would be victorious in.

The sound of the alarm woke you up, it was very early, although there were still hours to go, you had to be ready and needed to do certain things before preparing. You had arranged to meet at 8pm at the police station, you would go over the plan and wait until 10.30pm to put the plan into action. The day went away, you had gone out to buy some things that you needed, you had done some sport to clear your mind and you had taken a bath for an hour and a half which helped to relax each of your muscles that had been in constant tension for several days.

You got out of the shower, you started to fix yourself and for a moment you looked in the mirror, from bottom to top, and you looked into your eyes, you saw your father, you saw him in you.

- “Ivar, Ivar, what little freedom you have left” - You said in a defiant voice as you kept looking at yourself and feeling sure that everything would go as you planned.

What you didn't consider at the time is that in a game you don't always win, and even less when you don't know your opponent.

A phone call took you out of your thoughts, you hesitated for a few seconds before reacting, you went into the kitchen and picked up the phone:

- “Hi, (Y/N) here”.

- “Hello, sweetheart, how are you?” Your boss asked with some concern in his voice.

-  “I'm doing good, getting ready to leave soon. Anything happened?”

-  “No, nothing, I just wanted to remind you, that you still have time to stop this, I can send another partner, I don't want you to do this out of obligation” - said Heahmund, with some hesitation.

- “Heahmund, we've talked about this a million times, I'm gonna take care of it. We've gone over the plan every day; we've looked at alternatives in case the first option doesn't work out and you have an expert in infiltrating other people's homes in charge of the plan... What can go wrong? Trust me, before you can tell, we're in your backyard drinking beers with Anne and the girls, celebrating together as a family, while Ivar the Boneless is rotting in jail” - You said with certainty

- “Ever since you were a little girl I've always admired that about you: Determined, brave and a fighter, which has always made you achieve everything you set out to do - he answered with a broken voice” - I just wanted to wish you the best of luck in the world now that no one is around. See you in a bit, Agent 007.

As he spoke you noticed some concern in his voice, was Heahmund afraid of the mission?... Impossible, he was known for his courage and dedication but in this situation,  you could not avoid that this insecurity that you did not feel for a long time will hit you again.

Since the death of your father you had changed, you had become steel, as you said, you had no heart for anyone, you had focused so much on getting ahead and getting what you had in mind that you had forgotten one very important thing, being a teenager. And now that time was gone.

Still, you burst out laughing when he called you Agent 007

- “Thank you, Jack Bauer” - you said, playing along, referring to those movies and action shows you loved to watch together when you were younger.

You hung up and then felt a sense of emptiness and… fear? No, you weren't going to let that happen. You certainly knew that you had to occupy your mind at that moment, or you would go crazy. So, you connected your phone to the speaker and put on your favourite playlist and time passed with you getting ready until it was time to leave. You took the bike keys, a beautiful Harley-Davidson and got going.

When you arrived at the police station your colleagues and Heahmund were already there, you went over the plan and waited for the exact time to start.

It was 11:15, the game had begun. You were about to head for the first stop on your mission. The aim in this phase was to park in the surroundings of the main highway, where Ivar and his people had to go through, so you could check that everything was in order, and that the usual Thursday trip would take place. You arrived before time, it was night and the highway was slightly illuminated by distant lanterns. The place had been carefully chosen as there were certain points where you could wait in stealth.

As time passed, you became more and more nervous and couldn't help it. There was something in your head that wouldn't let you concentrate. Heahmund noticed it and said:

-  “What's going on in that little head, (Y/N)?” - He said in a sweet tone.

-  “Hmm...nothing, I'm fine” - you whispered as you looked for his glance and smiled.

-  “Come on, (Y/N), I know you too well to know that something is bothering you”

- “Ugh, I hate you Heahmund… what if they don't come, if for whatever reason today doesn't happen” - you said losing your nerve a little

-  “Hey, hey, hey and this? Where's my little fighter? They're going to do it, you'll see, and before dawn they'll all be behind bars”

- “How can you be so sure?”

- “I just know” - he said with confidence and came up to you kissing you on the head

You needed it, you needed someone telling you that everything would be fine, with your 24 years you were tired of playing grown-up, strong and lonely. You had always needed that love, but that side of you was known only by Heahmund and he had always been there to give it to you.

You did not have much more time to get melancholy, it was happening, Ivar and his people could be seen from afar. They were organized in three black armoured cars and four motorcycles guarding the sides. You saw how they passed before you, in a heartbeat everything you had feared had happened, the only part of the plan that did not fall on you had worked. Now everything depended on you. You waited a few minutes and both of you, along with several patrol cars, set off. Some of your colleagues stayed in the place so that they could control when they returned and thus warn those of you who were going to the shelter.

Second stop on the mission, the shelter. Ivar and his people owned an apartment building where they used to stay permanently, it was on the outskirts of town, in the middle of nowhere. You had left your vehicles a few meters behind, also hidden, so as not to cause any noise. You found yourselves walking quietly in the dark with your guns in hand, towards an old building. When you reached the right distance, you appreciated the immensity of the building with enough housing to accommodate several families. The facade was neglected, yellowish-coloured, and you could see the doors of each house, white and many of them peeling and battered. Plus, right next door was what looked like a big warehouse. Everything was surrounded by metal fences.

Your companions began to take their positions as you had planned and you and Heahmund continued to approach, until you reached the side of the fence so that you could climb without attracting attention.

You looked at Heahmund and nodded just as you turned to move forward alone you noticed how he grabbed your arm, your heart racing as he said:

- “I'll keep an eye on everything that happens, the moment I hear something out of the ordinary, even if you don't say the code word, we'll get in and get you out”

- “Damn, Heahmund, you scared me... yes, I know, don't worry” - you said losing your patience a little

And now it was time, holding your SIG Sauer firmly in your hands and checking for the last time that the microphone you were holding in the middle of your bra was properly placed, you were ready to move forward. You approached the front door of the warehouse. If there was anything interesting to look for, it would be there. You pulled the lock pick out of your pocket and picked the lock easily. You opened the door a couple of inches, at that moment your heart felt like it was going to come out of its socket. You checked that the light inside was off, you continued to open it completely and you went inside quietly. It was all dark, you stood still for a few seconds to pay attention to all the sound around you. You could only hear the “tick tock” of a clock. You looked at the wall for a light switch, found it and turned it on. Several fluorescent lights illuminated the big warehouse, some of them failing and blinking making the place even more scary. For a few seconds the light blinded you because of the contrast of the dark night to which your eyes had been used so far. You took a quick look, ducked your head and whispered into the microphone:

- “Clear”

You raised your head and for the first time you stopped to look around. It was immense, the walls were covered with high shelves where there were pots of all kinds, some were full and some were empty, there were boxes, masks, safety goggles, gloves and all kinds of chemical devices. There was a long table on the side with many chairs, some lying on the floor, others on top of the table... that place reminded you of a typical high school lab from which the most you could do was decant a mixture. You were surprised... they were cooking drugs there... "Well, what a dump" you said to yourself; you thought everything would be much more careful and not such a messy place as that.

And in the middle of all that mess, at the end of the room you found a big wooden desk and a big black leather armchair behind it, it seemed that that little space didn't belong in the room, it was all tidy and on the table the only thing that was there was some papers, small pictures and office material. You approached and saw some maps with certain points marked... What were these points? You thought that it could be some meeting place or points of sale, you took out the PDA and uploaded the photo to the police station network.

- “I think I found something, I just uploaded it to the network” -You said in a whisper

You didn't have any answers, nor did you notice much of it, since you got caught up in a huge painting right behind the desk. In it appeared a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair. It was just a painting, but you could feel the elegance of that woman in it. Next to her was a taller man who looked slightly older, shaven and with a long beard with white locks. He was in a suit and showed a great presence just like the woman. But there was something that caught your attention, the look of him, his intense blue eyes seemed to pierce you as if you were seeing them in person. The wrinkles at the corner of his eyes betrayed his maturity. You stared for a while, curious, until you came back to reality, took a quick look again to see if anything could be useful, but nothing. So, you retraced your steps and headed for the door. You tried to communicate with your colleagues again:

- “Guys, nothing else around here, I'm going back to my starting position” - You whispered again.

And at that moment you froze, you were listening to yourself double and your "double" was coming right out the door. Time stopped for you, you didn't understand anything, and the only thing you could think of was to hide behind the door. This one opened little by little and you started to listen how people came in... one, two, three... you were counting the steps to be able to calculate the number of people, you lost the count to the fifth since such a quantity would be impossible to face and come out victorious.

- “SHHHH, shut up... do you hear it?” - said a male voice you didn't recognize.

What you could hear was your breathing shaking through a walkie... at that moment the world fell apart. A police walkie in the hands of those assholes, something hadn't gone right, and you didn't know what.

- “Yeah, it smells weird too, doesn't it?” - said another male voice, but this one sounded much more ironic.

- “I don't know Ivar I don't smell anything... what do you smell?” - Said a third voice, the closest so far to your position.

- “Mmm I don't know it's a disgusting smell, something like... police”

At that very moment they closed the door, leaving you exposed. You saw five men, but you didn't have time for much else as the one closest to you, that you came to recognize was Ubbe, grabbed your arm and made a quick movement blocking it, causing your gun to fall to the ground. He drew you to his body by placing your back to him and holding your neck with his arm, doing a lock around it to immobilize you. You looked ahead, saw a young man slowly approaching you and examining you from bottom to top until your eyes connected, deep blue and intimidating gaze. To tell the truth, he was a very attractive guy, but that idea was automatically erased when you remembered who he was. Something stirred in your stomach, you didn't know if it was fear, hate or a mixture. Slowly a cynical smile appeared in his mouth. Definitely, it was disgust what you had noticed in your stomach seconds ago. You could have tried to get out of that grip, but you didn't see the point, they were five men over six feet. It was impossible, to get out of there. Ubbe kept pressing his arm against your neck, causing your senses to slowly fade away.

- “Well, well, and I thought this wasn't going to be fun" said the boy in front of you in a hesitant voice. - Nice to meet you, I am Ivar Lothbrook - he said extending his hand

That was the last thing you could see and hear before you lost total control over your body and thus your senses.

The game had started... like a shitty one.  

[kitmon]

Keys Are Under the Mat {1/?}

Llewyn Davis x OC

Summary: Struggling singer/songwriter, Llewyn Davis, has faced the rough and tumble world of the music industry as well as the callous hand of life. When an up-and-coming folk singer makes a trip back home and finds herself at the hands of the battered down couch-surfer, her first thought is to offer him a bit of compassion.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of sexual activity

“Hold me, while I cry into your coat

Tie the rope round my throat, why don't ya?

Did you even read the note I wrote ya?

Boy, you're my antido-o-o-o-ote

Baby, it's only you I dote"

Her delicate fingers danced along the strings of her amaranth-colored acoustic. It was a fairly new guitar, given to her by a rather close colleague. She used to play at the Gaslight Café exclusively in the late fifties, not because she particularly liked that venue, more so because they were the only ones who gave a fraction of a fuck about her shitty guitar with a few broken strings and a makeshift capo that was made in the bathroom 10 minutes before a show using a sharpie and a rubber band. The crowd was always friendly; never hostile or awkward, just... supportive which was always appreciated on her part. Having people enjoy or at least pretend to enjoy her music was comforting at the time. As of right now, she was only visiting for old times sake, nostalgia purposes.

The new guitar was a testament to the amount of shit she'd been through. I mean signing a record deal is a pretty big deal, right? Having people know your name and buy your album. I mean, she was no Bob Dylan but she'd get stopped in the street from time to time which was unquestionably a step up from the loogies and cat-calls sent her way. Even now, her appearance at the usually humdrum populated café has drawn more attention than anticipated. The seats were all taken and the rather small building held far more people than the fire marshal recommended, but what a turn-out it was.

The audience hummed the chorus, cautious to not tune out her newfangled voice as it continued, nonchalant as ever as if there were only a few unamused patrons sitting in the crowd, but there wasn't. The populace of Greenwich Village loved her. She made a shit-hole like Greenwich something for people to keep their eyes on. And she didn't disappoint.

Her eyes remained lowered as she rather curled into herself and let the song end with a guttural reverberation. There was a silence as her eyelids lifted marginally, letting out a few pants of air to recover. Then an uproar, a surge in applause! She glanced up and flashed a charming smile, one that only showed the top row of teeth and caused her childish eyes to crinkle as she let out a giggle, concealing her laughter from the large array of eyes with her dainty hands. She adjusted herself and lifted a hand to reach the microphone.

"Thank you, you guys are a lovely audience, much nicer than Queens," the crowd let out a dispersed chuckle at her humor and she smiled again at their enthusiasm. She loved this, the feeling of having immense support. It made her feel... alive, to say the least.

"Okay, I'll be back in 20, take it easy while I'm gone." She waved off the crowd, unfurling herself from her guitar strap and handed the instrument to the stagehand, thanking the man afterward. She smoothed out any puckers or creases found in her dress as she stepped down from the stage, heading towards Pappi and another bystander, one who looked as if he'd been sleeping on the floor for days. Poor sucker looked as if he didn't even own a winter coat.

Pappi's arms extended out towards her, inviting her into his embrace. "You did great, kid," her eyes brightened at the compliment as she wrapped her arms around his torso and pressed her rosy cheek flush against his chest. The action should have been far more intimate than the two adults interpreted it, and most others would have perceived it that way as well. In fact, most familiars thought Pappi was fucking her most of the time.

Which he wasn't and neither one had ever considered it. Just business partners with an intimate brother-sister bond. Nothing more, Nothing less. The taller man, gripped her by her upper arms to gaze at her, with a gentleness, "Really, gave em a show."

"Aw thanks, Pappi, but I've got to admit that I'd still be singing songs on my back porch if it weren't for this dump." She jested, her hands hanging from her hips. Pappi let out a deep chuckle which was softened by her one-off laugh that wasn't exactly delicate or poised but was attractive in an unorthodox sense. The banter played out until somebody approached Pappi and tugged at the sleeve of his button-up to get his attention. She looked with furrowed brows and a curious expression as the man whispered in Pappi's ear with what appeared to be urgency. Pappi muttered a quick swear under his breath, and looked up at her with an apologetic frown and the same knitted brows she once wore.

"Sorry, kid. There's a few thugs out back making a mess," he patted her on the arm and told her he'd be right back after taking care of the 'mess'. Her head bobbed in understanding as her eyes watched as Pappi followed the man outback and into the fray. Her stare lingered on the door, but it was the serendipitous turn of her head that allowed her to acknowledge the ragged man sitting at the bar. His eyes fixated on the golden hue of the whiskey in his glass. She was almost certain he hadn't moved an inch since she came over, only stayed staring at the same glass of whiskey for at least five minutes. God, he looked like hell. His coat was hanging on by a thread, quite literally. Holes in miscellaneous places, unruly hair that looked like it hasn't been combed in days, shoes that looked soaked by the snow just outdoors and a runny nose that looked like the result of an oncoming cold. His wardrobe fitting flawlessly against the backdrop of the monochromatic greys and tans that made up the scene of New York in the Sixties. He looked familiar, she was sure of that. It was likely he'd played a few gigs at the Gaslight, same as her. Then again there were dozens of scruffy looking musicians who sidled into the Gaslight to perform, this one was hardly any different.

She sucked in a breath through her nose and ambled towards him, "So, you a friend of Pappi's?" Her elbows supported her weight against the hardwood bar, her fingers interlaced with each other as she peered down into the swirling rings of the once tall-standing oak. It took him a bit longer to register that she was speaking to him, "Oh, um, yeah, I guess..." His hand slipping up towards his face to rub at the skin, waking him up. His hooded eyes look over to her and away from that untouched glass of whiskey. Her laugh startled him, unexpected as it was. Her giggle was an unfamiliar sound. It shattered through the blaring car horns outside, the chatter of the audience, even threw the bullshit that spewed out of the radio sitting on the counter across from them. He just stared at her, unaware of just how ignorant someone would have to be to notice all the shit that's taking place everywhere around them and still have something to laugh about. It was selfish, but who wasn't these days. Everyone wanted others to be as devoid of joy as they were. Of course, there were a few stragglers who managed to keep a pep in their step and a smile on their faces. Those are the ones who get broken. They break down so quickly in a place that loses hope quicker than a bucket with gunshots loses water. But, she wasn't ignorant, and he knew this. She just decided to not take anybody's shit. And when nobody gives a fuck whether your dreams are accomplished or not, you learn to say fuck off right back. I guess that's what separates the losers from the winners. Her demeanor and the way she carried herself, with the balloon-sleeves and ruffled collar of her dress shirt, the way it was neatly tucked into her pinafore, it gave the impression that she was... incapable. But she was ten times more capable than almost everyone in that Café.

"If you don't mind me asking," she lifted her hand to wave down a bartender, not making eye contact with him until she knew someone was coming to attend to her request. "Got a name?" Her bright brown eyes locked with the gray and muddied irises of his own and it ignited a raft in his brain, making him adjust his position in self-consciousness.

"Um, yeah. Llewyn,"

Llewyn, Llewyn... she's heard that name before. She takes a sip from her glass of red wine the bartender had passed to her not to long ago. She takes a sip and contemplates why that name sounds so familiar.

"... Llewyn... Davis?"

It had slipped from her lips before she could even register it. And it surprised him, far more that she knew who he was. He couldn't remember meeting her or introducing himself to her before but then again, he was a performer. Not a very popular or reputable one mind you, but a performer none the less. She'd probably seen him at the Gaslight once before or something.

"Uh..., yeah... Hey, how'd you, um?"

"Oh, um I think I might own one of your albums. Inside Llewyn Davis, right?" The mention of his less than successful solo artist debut was a bit upsetting but he just dismissed it and looked away. "Yup... that's the one." His voice sounded disappointed and beaten but who could blame him. Chasing a dream so far that it only leads you to a dead-end can be frustrating.

"You know, I really enjoyed it," she mused, much to his disbelief but it must have only been out of politeness. "That makes one of us," he mutters, his frown dropping a millimeter or so. She couldn't decipher what he was referring to, but she could tell that whatever it was, it had sucked the rest of his joy and drive out of him. The business will do that to you, take a starry-eyed kid and promise them a dream only to drop them on their ass and tell them they'll never be more than a stand-in gig for a bunch of nobodies.

"I really loved the song— oh, how'd it go?" She pondered, the way her thick eyebrows scrunched up in concentration giving her the wonders of a child. The same way her determination to prove the potential the album had was childish. But it was the truth, she did enjoy the album and even recommended it to a few friends back when she bought it, now it just sits in a blue milk crate next to her record player, collecting dust. He gazed at her expectantly waiting to hear her utter at least a single lyric from his album.

"Oh!" She snaps her fingers in triumph, startling Llewyn once more. "It goes," and she readied her voice with a clearing of her throat and sang what she could remember. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," his eyes widened a bit at the surprise of her actually acknowledging his music, and the fact that she enjoyed it, no less. "Hang me, oh hang me, I'll be dead and gone," the lilt in her voice echoed through the Café and a few patrons stopped their chatter to cherish her sweet voice. The silence stuck around for a beat and her eyes fluttered open after her display.

"Yeah, that's it!" Her outburst wasn't expected and nearly knocked Llewyn out of his seat for about the fifth time.

"Yeah," he muttered, letting his eyes linger on her form a moment longer than he'd like to admit, brows furrowed in thinking. "Whad'ya say your name was again?" He questioned, curiosity getting the better of him. And there was that damn giggle again, opening his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities where you can giggle and laugh about things without having to feel sorry about the lack of a difference it makes. She answers and it's just nothing special but at the same time it feels like... a novelty. "Dorothy.”

[jtk1009-772-blog]

Australia’s Media Landscape Overview

[Nine Entertainment Company Logo] (Annual Reports)

Overview of the media landscape:

The most powerful media companies:

There are two major news media companies in Australia. The first major media company is Nine Entertainment Company, which provides Australians with all different types of content, such as news, lifestyle, entertainment, and sports (Nine Entertainment). In 2018, Nine Entertainment merged with Fairfax Media which created “Australia’s largest locally owned media company with investments spanning television, video on demand, print, digital, radio, and real estate classifieds” (Nine Entertainment). Before the merge, Fairfax media had popular programs such as The Sydney Morning Herald and The Australian Financial Review (Nine Entertainment). Although these popular shows were acquired by Nine Entertainment, they will continue to be reviewed independently (Digital News Report). The second major news company is News Corp Australia, which is one of the world’s leading media and informative outlets (News Corp). Furthermore, more than 16 million Australian’s subscribe to News Corp, making it the most viewed media company in Australia (News Corp). 

Most popular social media platforms:

In Australia, the most popular social media outlets, in order, are Facebook, YouTube, Facebook Messenger, Twitter, Instagram, and WhatsApp (Digital News Report). Facebook is in the lead by a large margin of 17% (for news) above its next closest competitor, YouTube (Digital News Report). 

Non-commercial media companies and commercial media companies/how news is consumed:

The strong non-commercial media company in Australia is the Australian Broadcasting Corporation, which is funded by direct grants from the Australian Government (Wiki). Although the Australian government funds ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation), the programs are independent of the Australian government and partisanship (Wiki). The corporation is paramount in Australia’s Journalistic independence (Wiki). The popular commercial companies that are active in Australia include Facebook and YouTube, as previously mentioned above (Digital News Report), although they rank third behind TV and internet in regards to how Australians attain their news (Digital News Report). Similar to other countries, the newspaper is on a decline in Australia, while social media has stayed the same for quite some time, and television continues to be the main resource regarding the medium in which news is viewed (Digital News Report).

Broadband internet access:

Australians avidly use the internet throughout their country, as it was recorded in 2016 that 78.8% of households have internet access (Population Experts). The top internet providers are Telstra, Optus, and TPG (WhistleOut). On another note, the Australian government funds satellite telephones and internet connections in rural areas (Freedom House). 

The public’s trust in media: 

Around the world, the public’s trust in media has fallen 2%, but since 2018, Australia’s trust in the media fell 6% from a high of a 50% trust rating (Digital News Report). Within the country, 44% of people trust the overall news and 51% of people trust the news that they particularly choose to consume (Digital News Report). Additionally, 18% of people trust the news they acquire from social media. 

Press freedom and challenges to journalism:

Legal protections regarding freedom of the press in Australia: 

In Australia, freedom of press is not promised in the constitution, although the constitution does imply freedom of expression, in which the government often recognizes (Freedom House). The issue of freedom of the press is different in each state of Australia. An example is the state of Victoria, and how their laws explicitly protect the freedom of the press in their Charter of Human Rights and Responsibility document (Freedom House). 

Legislation that has changed these protections overtime: 

In the past decade, there have been multiple instances in which the Australian government has added, intervened or altered laws regarding freedom of press and protection. To begin, The National Security Legislation Amendment Act, which was approved by Congress in 2014, has made it so anyone who releases special intelligence operations information can be put into prison (Freedom House). Additionally, The Evidence Amendment Act, which was passed in 2011, protects the identity of journalists’ sources as well as the sources of bloggers and independent media organizations, however, the protection only applies to Federal cases (Freedom House).

Furthermore, In 2014, the Australian government restricted media coverage at immigration detention centers (Freedom House). If you were a journalist who wanted to cover these detention centers, you would have to sign a document that requires you to comply with all and any of their rules, regulations, and requests (Freedom House). In addition to immigration restrictions, Scott Morrison, the Prime Minister, announced that the Australian government would no longer be providing journalists with press briefings regarding border control (Freedom House). 

After the Christchurch terrorist massacre in New Zealand in 2019, the Australian parliament passed laws that took violent extremist content displayed via social media much more seriously (Digital News Report). 

Challenges that limit journalists' ability to access and report on information: 

There are two specific challenges that journalists face in Australia today. To begin, as previously mentioned, there has been a decline (6%) in the public’s trust when it comes to the media as of 2018 (Digital News Report). It is believed that because of this decline and because of a “fake news” wave in the world, over 100 journalists for Fairfax Media have been fired (The Guardian). When people have a distrust in the media, it creates an obvious problem that journalists must adapt to.  The second challenge that journalists have to face is the rise of platforms such as Google and Facebook, who have taken away the opportunity for journalists to make money (The Guardian). Advertisers would now rather have their product within a social media advertisement rather than a newspaper (The Guardian), thus having no need for journalists anymore in the first place.  These two challenges come together and create a bigger problem overall, which is the problem of unprofessional journalistic tendencies which will be spread around Australian media due to the rise of citizen-journalism (The Guardian). When it comes to economic problems regarding Australian journalism, in 2014, the Abbott government stated that it would cut funding to the Australian Broadcasting Corporation by over $175 million (Freedom House). In doing so, a number of positions in the regional programming would be eliminated (Freedom House). 

Challenges and debates around journalism in Australia:

One particular instance of debate in Australia around journalism is regarding the random firing of Michelle Guthrie, the Managing Director of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (Digital News Report). The man who fired Guthrie, Justin Milne, the Chair of the ABC, resigned after receiving a great deal of criticism for the firing of Guthrie, as much of the critics believe that he fired Guthrie because she was “unpopular with the government” (Digital News Report). It is clear why the public would be upset with these allegations, and the Australian government began to look into the relationship between politics and the ABC how that relationship may hinder the integrity of the ABC as a whole (Digital News Report). After Prime Minister Scott Morrison looked into these allegations and this subject in general, he hired Ita Buttrose to chair the public broadcaster in 2019 (Digital News Report). Buttrose is an Australian journalist, businesswoman and public personality (Wiki). In doing so, the Morrison hoped to win back the trust of the Australian public, as Ita Buttrose is considered an icon within the Australian media (Digital News Report). This has been one of the most recent incidents of debate circling journalism within Australia. 

Another subject of debate is the standards of journalism within Australia (Digital News Report). For example, the popular site BuzzFeed was involved in a defamation case for targeting a government official by ‘slut-shaming’ her (Digital News Report). Another situation was when over 30 journalists were brought to court for reporting on a religious child sex abuse case (Digital News Report). It is clear to see that these situations have a grey area, and it is something the journalists in Australia have to keep in mind while they conduct their business. 

In Australia, physical and verbal attacks on journalists are rare (Freedom House).

Hopeful future:

As there are clear problems regarding journalism in Australia today, the future seems hopeful for a few reasons. To begin, the Australian government has started giving out funds for local news initiatives (Digital News Report). Along with giving money to the local news companies, scholarships for students who are interested in journalism are also being given out by the government (Digital News Report). Not only is the Australian government giving out money to help journalism in the country, but the Judith Nielsen Institute for Journalism and Ideas, a philanthropic body, was created to help journalism prosper in Australia, with both money and encouragement (Digital News Report). Furthermore, a media brand, Crikey, also launched a journalism program that helped people in regards to investigative reporting (Digital News Report). 

Media and populism:

Populists figures and media:

Pauline Hanson, a popular populist figure in Australia, is a big fan of social media, and this is because the platform gives her the ability to skip over the long-established media which previously had been paramount in her decline of popularity (Sydney Morning Herald). Although this is true, it can also be understood that the long-established media also may have helped her case at the beginning of her popularity, as “her ability to launch a new party in her own name [had] been facilitated by the enormous media attention she [had] received” (Deutchman, 1999, 35). For Hanson, some believe that her rise and her decline can both be attributed to the traditional media. Steve Lillebuen, a journalist for the Sydney Morning Herald, believes that Hanson knows how to use social media to her advantage, and how she knows how to use the power of social media to directly connect to her constituents (Sydney Morning Herald). One example of the way that Hanson is about to directly connect with her supports is the use of live streaming (Sydney Morning Herald). Hanson uses this particular technology to answer questions that her supporters may have, look at what the response is to her ideas instantly, and share moments with her supports via the live stream (Sydney Morning Herald). Pauline Hanson also uses her Twitter account, which has over 55,000 followers, to spread her ideas (Twitter), as well as her Facebook page, which has over 250,000 likes (Facebook). 

Bob Katter, a veteran in Australian politics and controversial populist, also uses social media to spread his ideas. On his Facebook page, he has around 53,000 likes (Facebook) and on his Twitter profile, he has around 20,000 followers (Twitter). Clive Palmer, the Leader of the United Australia Party, also uses social media in the same manner as Hanson and Katter. On his Twitter page, he has around 80,000 followers (Twitter), and on his Facebook page, he has around 200,000 likes (Facebook). 

[fanfic-collection]

The Locket: Loki x reader

So a while ago I said I’d write this and here it is. I have a migraine right now and I feel kinda crummy so Loki is a bit out of character I think and it’s just kinda a silly drabble (but really long) and I figured I’d make it into 2 parts but felt like sharing so hopefully it’s not as eh as I feel like it might be. Just somethin’ somethin’.

"So the mission at hand." Steve interrupted the quiet chattering of the group. He stood up, walking to the large projection screen at the opposite end of the room. "I was instructed to remind everyone that Loki has agreed, as per his punishment, to assist the team. This particular mission was brought to our attention thanks to our two Asgardians, so Thor, Loki, I'll let you take it from here."

"Thank you, captain." Thor boomed, clapping his hand on Steve's shoulder as he stepped in front of the projector. Loki nodded at Steve, previous missions ensuring a margin of trust that he would do his job.

Thor looked at the projector until it slowly flashed, revealing a beautiful glimmering necklace. A large gem sat cased in entwined silver and gold and any number of other precious metals.

"A necklace?" Clint asked incredulously.

"Not just any necklace." Loki interrupted, "this gem was a gift to a mortal family line, passed down countless generations from a royal and powerful magical family on Alfheim."

"Think the tesseract, its power rivals a lesser infinity stone." Thor interjected, "it attracts wealth and influence when activated at its ceremony. The family in possession no longer remembers its origin, nor the reason for the ceremony, but the pact is still alive and well as they continue to follow through on the original promise."

"What now?" Tony interrupted, squinting at the necklace, "I Think I spaced out."

"It's a miniature infinity stone." Steve muttered, "great, at least it won't draw as much attention as the tesseract." His eyes flickered to Loki.

Loki chuckled, "intergalactic attack isn't our concern this time, no. But it's no less imperative that this necklace remain safeguarded with this family."

"Normally it's kept under immense security." Natasha spoke softly, studying a computer screen. "We're talking top of the line Stark level technology, its defenses could give SHIELD weaponry a run for its money."

"Astute observation, spy." Loki said.

"So where do we come in?" Steve asked.

"Every so often, a new generation comes of age and to continue the pact, the necklace must be removed from its vault and worn on public display by the next heir. This always happens at a massive ball, or gala type event." Loki answered.

"And I assume that's tomorrow?" Tony asked, raising his eyebrow.

Thor responded, "you assume correctly, metal man. I have declared myself guardian of Midgard and as such, it is my duty to make sure the ceremony goes smoothly. I request my friends and fellow Avengers to help me with this excursion."

"Aside from massive power potentially falling into the wrong hands, what's the worst that could happen?" Clint muttered.

"There is a treaty with Alfheim and Midgard. Interrupting this ceremony would break the treaty and a massive ransom would have to be paid, else all out war." Loki answered Clint.

Tony interrupted, "some family made a bargain with an alien race and now we all have to pay for it?"

"It would seem so." Thor replied, "So what do you say?"

Steve stood up as he spoke, "Not like we have much of a choice, let's go."

-

“Thanks Wilson.” You smiled at your personal bodyguard.

“Of course, princess.”

You pursed your lips, “I'm hardly a princess.”

“The title stands, as heir to the massive wealth of your family, I'd say you deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes, standing in the mirror as you gazed at your reflection in your new dress. The dress was styled in your favorite color, cinched at the waist, and billowing out massively to the floor. It had a low cut v-neck, perfectly designed to accentuate the famed family necklace that you would be wearing at the gala tomorrow.

“Really, you look beautiful.” Wilson Harris, your personal bodyguard who had been on hand since your birth more than two decades ago, larger than the average body builder and built like a truck, truly an angel at heart and always had time to care for you. “Have you heard from the doctors recently?”

You sighed, glancing down at your hands sadly. “Both still in comas. I keep hoping that by some miracle they'll wake up for the ceremony, is that foolish?”

Wilson shook his head, “Not at all. The car accident was so long ago, it's hard not to have hope.”

“Mother, would she be proud you think?” You looked back at your reflection, so similar to your mother's appearance.

Wilson squeezed your shoulder gently. “Without a doubt. You come into your adulthood tomorrow with this ceremony. Your mother went through it, and your grandmother before.”

“And her mother before and the mother before that.” You recited knowingly, “Yep, so it continues.”

“Are you going to look at the paintings before the ceremony?”

“Of everyone who's been a part of it?” You snorted, “No, that would take far too long, I already sat through that lesson once, I'd rather not while I'm supposed to be excited for tomorrow.”

“Just wear the necklace, reveal it to the party and everyone attended.”

“State officials, heads of state, politicians, celebrities, everyone who's anyone. No pressure.” You breathed out heavily.

“You'll do marvelously.”

“Even if I don't want to continue the family line?”

“Not have a daughter?” Wilson blinked.

You shrugged, feeling the fabric of your dress, knowing better than to pick at it. “Just not sure I'm up to it. Every guy I've met has been so disappointing.”

“I'm sure you'll find someone, who knows, maybe it'll be at the gala tomorrow?”

“You'll help me keep an eye out for someone, right?” You laughed.

Wilson chuckled, “Change into your regular clothes, the servants should almost be done with dinner.”

“Do you want to eat in the lounge room? That old dining table always makes me sad.” It reminds you of your childhood, both parents there eating with you at that massive table, scrunched together in one corner so you could hear each other. The massive dining room table was just that: massive, able to seat twenty people easily, but with spaces for more if your parents had ever really felt like entertaining. Without them around, the mansion just felt quiet and empty.

You went to your lessons, for the family business, went to public school trying to feel normal while you could, even managed some time at a public university. But now... you'd finally come of age. For some reason 'of age' was older than most societies, but that's how it stayed in your family.

When the eldest female came of age, following the long list of daughters in your family line, there would be a christening date. A huge gala would be thrown in her honor, famous, powerful, and wealthy people (usually all three) would travel from all over to celebrate on her behalf. Midway through the party, the famed family necklace would be presented, placed around her neck and she would show it off to everyone. The heir would travel among the party guests, thanking them for their presence, and whatever the family connection was – donations, publicity, what have you – and then the evening would end and the necklace would be whisked away once more to one of the safest vaults in existence. The manor was abuzz with security, always top of the line, better than money could afford. This part always confused you, but you never questioned it, you weren't in charge of the party, the president of your parents' company was. Normally your parents would plan the party, but since they were both in a coma from a mysterious car accident, it fell upon a close family friend to set everything up.

“Sounds good.” Wilson pulled you from your thoughts and you waved him off. Tomorrow was the big day.

-

“I don't like this at all.” Steve grumbled, sitting in the back of a surveillance van, disguised as a catering truck.

“It's the best we've got.” Natasha muttered into her earpiece, milling in the line towards the front of the famed manor, their mission objective.

“Bruce, how's air visual?”

“All clear. Granted I can barely make out the manor from this height, but I'm ready whenever.” Bruce muttered from his vantage in the quinjet, peering out the window before returning to his laptop's work.

“At least you're not stuck in a small truck with captain no fun.” Tony grumbled, scowling at Steve.

Loki sighed, “Metal man, you're too noticeable for under cover, Banner is most useful when he can raze the manor so he is our last resort, the captain is also quite famous, as for the two spies, they're several people behind me in the queue, anymore bickering?”

“Why does Thor get to be inside?” Tony complained.

“He's on the kitchen wait staff.” Natasha replied, looping her arm through Clint's as they moved forward.

A muffled chewing sound came through their collective headsets and Loki groaned inwardly, only just avoiding pulling a disgusted face. “Brother, you're assisting with the food, not to be eating it.”

“The vittles are so scrupulous!” Thor replied through a mouthful of food.

“Alright, alright, but still why the set up? Why do you and Thor get to be inside?” Tony continued.

“Because I am a master of magic and can blend in anywhere, should I so choose, and I do. Thor is burly and looks similar enough to the other laborers here. Plus, having your strongest fighter closest to the target would be wise.” Loki replied stiffly.

“I hate when he's right.” Tony growled to Steve.

Steve shrugged, “He's a master tactician, I'll give him that.”

Tony crossed his arms tighter and slumped down, “Wake me if anything happens. Is there any booze in here?”

-

At the base of the two massive spiral staircases in the manor's entryway rest a massive ornate chair. You were loathe to call it a throne but if you were honest, that's what it was meant to be.

Staying at the top of the staircases, hidden in the shadow of the upstairs hall, you tried to peer down at the many guests arriving. Your parents' company's president stood in the entryway, greeting guests and thanking them for arriving on your parents' behalf. You sighed inwardly, wishing you didn't have to go down and mingle, it would be so much nicer to just stay in your room and browse the internet or read a good book. The last thing you wanted was to sit on that throne and greet everyone as though you were some sort of princess.

Appearing at your side, Wilson smiled warmly, “Are you ready princess?”

“Honestly, no.”

“You can go back to being a shut in after this gala is over. Just mingle with the crowd, see if you can't find someone who catches your eye.”

You rolled your eyes, “I really doubt it. I swear everyone that was invited is married or dating someone equally rich and famous. Besides, shouldn't you be protecting me from someone who might try and steal my innocence?”

Wilson grinned, “Oh I'll threaten to hurt them if they hurt you, but that's after you pick someone out. I have a job to do after all.”

“You're the closest thing I've had to a father these last few years, thanks for that.”

Your bodyguard wrapped his massive arms around you, embracing you in a warm and comforting hug. “I'm glad, now let's go.”

You slowly wound your way down the stairs, a roar of cheers and applause filling the air as you walked. Smiling and waving, just as you had practiced countless times, you made your way down to the fancy chair and finally sat.

People from all over the world, now spread throughout the many rooms of the first floor of your manor, slowly made their way over to you, congratulating you and generally sending well-wishes. You thanked the blur of faces, everyone blending into everyone else and tried to keep up.

Until...

-

Loki's eyes widened when he saw the princess descend the stairs. He had found you initially attractive upon studying you as a person, but the pictures hardly did you justice and he felt his heart flutter if only briefly. Centuries of control had him quickly quelling the feeling, yet still it lingered. Loki watched from the corner of the room, studying the crowd and just generally surveying.

“This place is teeming with security.” Natasha muttered.

“I wish I had a better vantage point.” Clint replied.

“Too much attention if you try and sneak to the upper floors.” Steve interjected. “Gotta stay grounded.”

Clint sighed, “I hate this, I feel too exposed.”

“What I don't like, is the number of additional security. Too much and you start to get leaks,” Natasha spoke, looking around the room as she sipped a glass of expensive champagne. “Loki, where are you at?”

Loki hummed thoughtfully pulled back to the present, “Oh me? I'm around.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes, scanning the rooms for some sign of him. “You better not be getting side tracked.”

“I'll have you know, I'm perfectly focused.”

Natasha's mouth fell open slightly, snapping shut as she shook her head and turned away to regain her composure.

-

A tall raven haired man approached you, bowing low. You smiled at the archaic gesture, others had done so, but it felt different coming from this person, though why you couldn't quite place. The man held his hand out expectantly and you slowly offered yours. He raised your hand to his lips and delicately brushed a kiss on them. Unbidden, you giggled as a slight flush touched your cheeks.

“And who might you be?” You managed to ask.

“I am Loki, my lady. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Wilson furrowed his brows at Loki, attempting to stare him down.

Loki glanced at your bodyguard and his grin merely widened. “And this talkative fellow?”

“Oh that's Wilson, he's a dear friend.”

“Not too dear, I hope.” Loki turned back to you, green eyes sparkling.

“I'm the princess's bodyguard, sir, I will not hesitate to remove guests that cause trouble.”

Loki looked around, “I should hope no guest causes trouble, on a day like today? That would be dreadful.”

You found yourself laughing, his sincerity and easy going nature, not to mention his attractive appearance, setting your heart alight.

Wilson finally grunted, looking back at you and seeing your smile. His face softened and he finally contented himself to crossing his arms and scowling at the colorful man.

“That is a gorgeous dress you have on, princess.” Loki smiled, turning back to you. “I particularly like the neckline, it accentuates some of your lovelier features.”

Now you really blushed under his compliment and Loki's grin widened. “You're too kind. Your suit is quite handsome as well.”

Loki looked down at his three piece black suit, turning slightly so you could see the back. “I chose it myself, I'm glad to hear that it does not disappoint.”

“Princess,” Wilson began softly, leaning down, “There are other guests to greet, you are spending a great deal of time on this one.”

You slowly frowned, disliking the idea of sending Loki away.

“I can always return, fair one, or perhaps...” He trailed off.

You perked up, “Yes?”

“Perhaps I might stand beside the fairest woman in the room and keep her company, I know how terribly dull these greetings can be.”

“Do you now?” You pursed your lips, mulling it over and not wanting to appear to eager. “Do you speak such flatteries to every girl you meet?”

Loki placed his hand over his chest, looking offended, “You accuse me of such indecency? I've been known to be called the silver tongue, but such slander.” Loki trailed off.

You burst out laughing. It felt strange, talking with someone in such a way, his accent so foreign yet so familiar. Even if he was merely making pleasant conversation and not actually flirting with you, you found yourself wanting to know him better. Falling into the part, you laughed, “Good sir, would you be so kind to stay by my side, I dare say you might be able to save me from the tedium.”

Loki bowed low, “I should hope to try, fair lady.”

In between greetings, you and Loki talked and laugh.

“I'm not actually a princess,” you muttered as another guest walked away.

Loki raised his eyebrow, “You could have fooled me.”

“And I don't think you're actually the court jester you're trying to appear to be.”

“Now that is a falsity I won't allow against my name.”

You laughed again, “Honestly Loki, I've never even heard of you, who are you?”

“A prince from a far away land.” Loki winked.

You raised an eyebrow skeptically, yet if he had been allowed in, surely he was harmless and fit the bill of wealth, fame or power. Just as you opened your mouth to say more, Wilson leaned down.

“Princess, it's almost time. They're bringing the locket out.”

Loki seemed to hear for he turned his attention to the top of the staircase.

“Would you care to join me, and Wilson of course?” You turned to Loki.

Loki blinked in surprise, stepping back. “Truly?”

“It would be nice to have a friend at my side, could we be friends?”

“I would love for that.” Loki answered.

“Is that wise, princess?” Wilson asked dubiously.

“I think I can tell who is trustworthy.” You smiled reassuringly, “It'll be fine.”

Standing up slowly, you gratefully took Loki's offered arm, leaning on him for support as he guided you up the stairs. Wilson walked slowly behind you, casting furtive glances around as a thick metal case was wheeled to the top of the balcony where the two staircases met. Two guards you vaguely recognized from many years ago stood on either side of it, barely concealing their weapons.

The party below grew hushed, everyone falling silent as they watched you kneel down before the case.

One of the guards guided your hand to a scanner, a series of clicks sounding as the case opened ominously. You straightened up, turning around as the beautiful locket was clasped around your neck.

Loki had stepped back, allowing space for you to stand before anyone, glancing around warily.

As you began to smile, stepping forward to the front of the balcony, the lights flickered once, twice and went black. Then all hell broke loose.

[cultofzac]

YouTube’s Monster: PewDiePie & His Populist Revolt

Felix Kjellberg, known to his fans as PewDiePie, is by far YouTube’s biggest star. His videos, a mix of video-game narration, humorous rants and commentary, have cumulatively been viewed billions of times, and more than 53 million people subscribe to his channel. He has been called “the king of YouTube” and countless variations thereon, and he has remained unchallenged on that perch for years, making millions of dollars and leveraging his popularity into outside ventures.

But Monday night, The Wall Street Journal reported that the Disney-owned Maker Studios, a longtime partner of Kjellberg’s, would no longer have anything to do with him; later, YouTube announced that it was canceling a show developed with Kjellberg, and removing his channel from its lucrative “Google Preferred” advertising program. At issue was a series of recent comedy videos. In one, he found performers on the freelance site Fiverr willing to dance and hold up a sign of the client’s choosing. He asked them to write “Death to all Jews,” and they did; in his subsequent video, he expressed shock that the request had made it through. “It was a funny meme, and I didn’t think it would work,” he said, mock-begging news outlets not to make too much of his stunt. “I swear, I love Jews,” he said, “I love them,” before playing a few notes on a kazoo.

As he anticipated, plenty of news outlets saw a story in his antics. Others saw something more. A post on The Daily Stormer, a neo-Nazi site, marveled at Kjellberg’s performances, and wondered in disbelief if they might signal sympathy for its ideology. “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, since the effect is the same,” the post said, “it normalizes Nazism, and marginalizes our enemies.” As the controversy mounted, Kjellberg denounced the “hate-based groups” that had taken notice of his videos. “I was trying to show how crazy the modern world is, specifically some of the services available online,” he said in a Feb. 12 Tumblr post. “I think of the content that I create as entertainment, and not a place for any serious political commentary. I know my audience understand that, and that is why they come to my channel.” This explanation, unsurprisingly, did not satisfy Maker Studios, or, for that matter, Google.

It’s tempting to write off this scandal as an inscrutable product of a teen subculture, wrapped up in layers of irony and the peculiar language and aesthetics of YouTube. It is likewise easy to frame the episode as an isolated collision between offensive speech and careful sponsors. But it’s most useful to understand Kjellberg’s meltdown in the context of the vast platform on which it took place — YouTube — and the nascent strains of politics that could come to define it.

With more than a billion users, YouTube has become not merely a platform but almost a kind of internet nation-state: the host of a gigantic economy and a set of cultures governed by a new and novel sort of corporation, sometimes at arm’s length and other times up close. It’s a system Kjellberg has spent recent months antagonizing in a broader and less-inflammatory way, even as he continued to thrive within it. He bemoaned its structure and the way it had changed; he balked at its limits and took joy in causing offense and flouting rules. Over time, he grew into an unlikely, disorienting and insistently unserious political identity: He became YouTube’s very own populist reactionary.

In December 2016, Kjellberg’s account was about to pass 50 million subscribers — a milestone, and a record. But in his videos, he seemed to be ending the year on a pessimistic note. “It’s time for me to complain about YouTube,” he said in a video. “Again.” The platform, he suggested, had changed in a way that he found worrying, and maybe punitive. Subscriptions are the fundamental organizing principle of YouTube – akin to a Twitter feed, they deliver to users exactly what they’ve signed up to see – but, Kjellberg said, they were becoming less important to the way viewers found videos. What YouTube was doing instead, he claimed, was packing people’s feeds with material they didn’t care about, from channels they’d never subscribed to. His viewership numbers had suffered as a result, he said. His rant spiraled on from there, swerving among resentment and self-deprecation, grievance and absurdity, toying with both revolutionary and reactionary tropes, and ending where it had begun: with a threat to close his account.

It might seem hard to believe that anyone would want to watch a YouTube video complaining about YouTube’s internal economic politics, but more than 20 million people did (the video’s title, “DELETING MY CHANNEL AT 50 MILLION,” surely helped). For years now, in fact, YouTube has been one of Kjellberg’s most-addressed subjects, second only perhaps to video games. In September, he even collapsed the distinction between the two, releasing a smartphone game called Tuber Simulator. The object is to become a famous YouTube star. Players begin their careers in a dank, windowless room and scrounge for views and cash, with videos like “Bikini Wax Your Pets” and “GO Outside – Walkthrough,” the latter a play on a common form of video-game vlog. It’s both an extended joke about making money online and a functioning, moneymaking app. “If the intention was to make a biting critique of late capitalism, Pewdiepie and Outerminds have wildly succeeded,” Gita Jackson wrote for the gaming site Kotaku. “But if not,” she continued, “the game still gets there by accident.”

For product reviewers and gamers, for the unboxers and the how-to teachers, for the interchannel drama analysts, the bloggers, the makeup artists and the pranksters, YouTube looms large not just as a context but also as a character. The daily exigencies of life on YouTube are perhaps the only subject that cuts across every major YouTube category. Showbiz loves to make movies about showbiz, and television loves to make television about TV. YouTube has simply democratized this impulse.

It makes sense that YouTube would become home to such a performatively self-aware economy. It is, after all, one of the most mature of the major social platforms. It is extremely culturally productive, and can claim genuine stars as its own. Above all, it pays. And in the people who depend on the platform to pay their bills, it inspires a peculiar mixture of paranoia, desire, gratefulness and disdain that shows up clearly in their work. YouTube’s peculiar relationship with the economy within it is fraught, promising and poorly understood. It’s also unique among social-media platforms — but maybe not for much longer. For now, most of the biggest internet platforms are understood as venues for communication, expression and consumption. YouTube has given us a glimpse at what happens when users start associating social platforms with something more: livelihoods.

Watch enough YouTube programming on any subject and you’ll gradually come to understand the struggles of starting and maintaining a channel. You’ll become familiar with the mementos Google sends creators at subscriber milestones — a silver “play” button at 100,000, around which time your favorite YouTubers might start talking about quitting their day jobs, and a gold one at a million, when they are more to likely have done so. You’ll hear plenty about conversations with YouTube support, many of which contradict one another. You’ll develop opinions about YouTube’s copyright rules, age restrictions and advertising policies. You’ll get an intuitive sense of the YouTube attention marketplace and how people try to take advantage of it, and you’ll hear about advertising rates. You’ll hear conspiracy theories — some rooted in daily shared YouTube experience, others rooted in less visible fears, desires and resentments — some of which gain considerable traction.

And why shouldn’t you? YouTubers are not employed by YouTube, but they are paid by YouTube, because it matches their videos, automatically, with advertisers. The platform and the video-makers share a clear and common goal: to persuade audiences to watch more videos in order to make more money from ads. But even with a unifying cause, creators inevitably discover smaller ways in which their goals and YouTube’s are at odds. It is in YouTube creators’ interest, for example, to understand the best practices for getting the most YouTube subscribers, or the best strategies for making videos that YouTube might algorithmically recommend. But it is in YouTube’s interest for the inner workings of its platform — including recommendation algorithms, the way it calculates advertising rates and the precise locations of its boundaries — to remain at least somewhat secret, to prevent creators from gaming the platform’s quirks at the expense of either YouTube’s user experience or its bottom line. Criticism from its creators is one of the many things YouTube tolerates to maintain this arrangement, which is otherwise clearly working to their benefit.

Emergent politics of social platforms differ in scope and character and sit along peculiar axes, some familiar, others new. On Twitter, which does not pay popular users, they revolve around matters of speech and harassment; the platform hosts a range of progressive movements as well as an extremely visible and openly racist reactionary movement, and they have been at war. On Facebook, which is bigger and less combative, they focus on censorship and governance. But on any major platform, they tend to grow from the same fertile place: the gap between the structures built by the company and what users are allowed to do within them. Inevitably, this leads users to fundamental political questions: Who gets what, and why? Who gets to do what, and why?

Kjellberg’s December video drew responses from other YouTubers, debunking or explaining or affirming the claim by YouTube’s biggest star that the platform just wasn’t what it used to be, some gathering millions of views of their own. In retrospect, though, one brief moment in the original video was especially notable. As he wound down his rant, he hinted at a different sense of victimhood, drawing from the same sense of umbrage but directing it in a startling direction. After criticizing the platform for not understanding the realities of working on YouTube and wondering aloud if he was being punished, or somehow demoted, he affected a sincere voice and said, “I’m white.”

“Can I make that comment? But I do think that’s a problem,” he continued, before a smash-cut and a return to a mocking rant about not letting YouTube win — another assurance to viewers that, as always, he was just kidding, and that the offensiveness of the prior claim was the reason he’d made it.

Here, again, it is helpful to situate Kjellberg properly. He initially rose to popularity within the video-gaming subculture, which, beginning with the “GamerGate” movement and continuing through the American presidential election, became surprisingly and darkly politicized. His core audience is young, and his sensibility clearly appeals to a masculine teenage impulse to shock and provoke. The YouTube platform plainly incentivizes such attention-grabbing behavior, right up until the point that it becomes a liability to its operators or their other partners — a familiar dilemma in the entertainment world, sure, but one that plays out quite differently on YouTube, which is considerably and deliberately less hands-on with its talent. It’s telling that YouTube’s biggest star portrayed the platform as distant and capricious. It’s alarming that following his performative hostility led him to where it did: attempting to rationalize the use of anti-Semitic speech under the guise of transgression.

Kjellberg had, either instinctively or intentionally, constructed a political identity as YouTube’s insider class-traitor, raging against a system that’s — trust him, but also he’s just joking, but he would know — totally rigged. Now he is sketching out what a far more toxic YouTube politics of ressentiment might look like, under the threadbare cover of ironic bigotry, the recent history of which is worryingly instructive. In the meantime, the self-identified real racists are laughing along heartily, even as Kjellberg strenuously attempts to distance himself from them.

Maker Studios, which seeks to create a sort of auxiliary production apparatus for YouTube, has less of a connection to the platform than any of the YouTubers it has partnered with, who belong much more to their audiences, and to YouTube. Its severing of ties, in the bigger context of YouTube, amounts to a disavowal. YouTube’s reaction, and how it follows up, is the thing to watch. As, of course, is Kjellberg’s. His most recent video, posted after Maker Studios and Google made their announcements, was a lighthearted play-through of a gag video game called “Genital Jousting,” and did not reference the scandal. His commenters, on the other hand, did, asking almost uniformly that he not apologize for anything.

The full character of the burgeoning politics of platforms remains to be seen. But right-wing movements have found early traction and see opportunity. Even as farce, Kjellberg’s performance has been illustrative, and a small number of eager observers say they hope that, as backlash mounts, it will be galvanizing. “If Pewdiepie wasn’t #AltRight before,” Vox Day, a former video-game designer and an alt-right leader posted on Gab.ai, a private, Twitterlike service popular with the movement, “he is now.”

[linabrigette]

Bitcoin’s Price Is Nearing $10K On a Single, Troubled Exchange

Cryptocurrency exchange WEX continues to see prices well out of step with the broader market amid a near-total freeze on customer withdrawals.

As BTC News Today reported, customers of WEX – a kind of successor to the now-defunct cryptocurrency exchange BTC-e – have been on tenterhooks since July 12, as they’ve largely been unable to get outbound payments processed.

The only exceptions have been for the crypto assets tether and zcash (along with lower-volume, lesser-known alternatives like namecoin and novacoin) and the price disparities suggest that some WEX users are utilizing these tokens as a way out. The normally dollar-tied tether, also known as USDT, is currently above $2 and WEX’s price for zcash (against the US dollar) is $440, or more than double the prevailing rate on the broader market.

Those looking to convert their money held on WEX to zcash or tether just to get it out of the exchange must pay a steep price, according to one customer.

“If you buy zcash on WEX, you will have to sell it somewhere else much cheaper, losing up to 50 percent, as the USDT rate is now $2.195 on WEX,” Grigory, a systems administrator from a town in Russia called Ivanovo, told BTC News Today. Further, the ability to make withdrawals has become unavailable again from time to time, he added.

In the absence of word from WEX staff, users have taken to social media and the exchange’s chat box to wonder aloud about the story behind the delay.

Cryptocurrency prices have risen on the site as well, with the value of bitcoin exceeding $9,600 as of press time, or more than $1,400 above the price recorded on BTC News Today’s Bitcoin Price Index (BPI). Prior to the withdrawal issues, prices on the exchange had notably spiked above $9,000.

WEX representatives have not responded to multiple requests for comment.

Waiting game

The situation on WEX has been brewing for more than a week, the exchange’s own statements show.

On July 12, WEX announced on Twitter that withdrawals of fiat and cryptocurrencies were blocked due to the “database migration and other maintenance.”

Later that day, it was said that maintenance had been completed, and some coins, including zcash and tether (as well as lower-volume coins like namecoin and peercoin), were available for withdrawal. But larger crypto assets like bitcoin, bitcoin cash, ether, litecoin and dash were to remain unavailable until July 22, according to a post on July 16.

The last public message via Twitter was posted on July 19, saying, “Maintenance has finished successfully.”

However, when July 23 came, exchange customers kept complaining that withdrawals were still blocked.

“No Withdraw is working. It is 23rd now. Maintenance fail can happen, but no information is worst. After BTCe now WEX?” said user @Pete11240362.

“Administrators, if you can’t resolve the problem right now, say: maintenance works in process. Get smart, give some feedback,” demanded Russian-speaking user Sergey Ionkin, who goes by the handle @dear_enman.

Some of the affected users took to Telegram to discuss the situation. One of the groups was promoted and possibly created by Dmitry Vassiliev, an official owner and CEO of WEX, who previously told BTC News Today that he lost control over the exchange due to the intervention of some people he declined to identify.

On Monday, a user in one of the channels claiming he is Dmitry Vassiliev – using two similar usernames, (Dmitry Vasiliev and Dmitry wex.nz) – wrote that he had agreed to register the exchange in the name of the new beneficiaries who are already de facto managing WEX.

The user claimed that the deal is going to take place on Thursday, and promised to reveal the names of those beneficiaries if they don’t fix the situation on that day. Vassiliev stopped answering BTC News Today’s inquiries after a brief exchange on July 12.

No easy ways out

According to Grigori, avenues for actually taking money off the exchange exist – but at a price.

Grigory told BTC News Today he has had 0.1 BTC waiting in limbo on WEX since July 12. He said he started using WEX in the end of 2017 because he liked that the exchange didn’t require ID verification.

For the most of time everything had worked fine, he explained: he had been able to withdraw coins within an hour or less, and fiat-denominated funds would appear in his e-payment account in several hours after the withdrawal transaction.

But that changed earlier this month, he told BTC News Today. The tech support on WEX has provided no reasonable explanation and only recommended waiting until the maintenance is over, Grigory contended.

Fiat withdrawals were ceased in that period, too, though the ability to withdraw funds via so-called WEX codes remained for a time. Users would generate a special code with their accounts and then exchange those codes for fiat currency on specialized websites, which would sent a corresponding amount of dollars or rubles to users’ accounts at Russian payment services like Yandex.Money or Qiwi.

But this is no longer a viable solution, according to Grigory.

“At some point, the offers to buy WEX codes disappeared from those exchange websites as there were enormous numbers of people who wanted to sell them,” he told BTC News Today, adding:

“Now people who wanted to quit at any price have already quit, but the exchange rate is still bad.”

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[legit-scam-review]

Bitcoin’s Price Is Nearing $10K On a Single, Troubled Exchange

Cryptocurrency exchange WEX continues to see prices well out of step with the broader market amid a near-total freeze on customer withdrawals.

As CoinDesk reported, customers of WEX – a kind of successor to the now-defunct cryptocurrency exchange BTC-e – have been on tenterhooks since July 12, as they’ve largely been unable to get outbound payments processed.

The only exceptions have been for the crypto assets tether and zcash (along with lower-volume, lesser-known alternatives like namecoin and novacoin) and the price disparities suggest that some WEX users are utilizing these tokens as a way out. The normally dollar-tied tether, also known as USDT, is currently above $2 and WEX’s price for zcash (against the US dollar) is $440, or more than double the prevailing rate on the broader market.

Those looking to convert their money held on WEX to zcash or tether just to get it out of the exchange must pay a steep price, according to one customer.

“If you buy zcash on WEX, you will have to sell it somewhere else much cheaper, losing up to 50 percent, as the USDT rate is now $2.195 on WEX,” Grigory, a systems administrator from a town in Russia called Ivanovo, told CoinDesk. Further, the ability to make withdrawals has become unavailable again from time to time, he added.

In the absence of word from WEX staff, users have taken to social media and the exchange’s chat box to wonder aloud about the story behind the delay.

Cryptocurrency prices have risen on the site as well, with the value of bitcoin exceeding $9,600 as of press time, or more than $1,400 above the price recorded on CoinDesk’s Bitcoin Price Index (BPI). Prior to the withdrawal issues, prices on the exchange had notably spiked above $9,000.

WEX representatives have not responded to multiple requests for comment.

Waiting game

The situation on WEX has been brewing for more than a week, the exchange’s own statements show.

On July 12, WEX announced on Twitter that withdrawals of fiat and cryptocurrencies were blocked due to the “database migration and other maintenance.”

Later that day, it was said that maintenance had been completed, and some coins, including zcash and tether (as well as lower-volume coins like namecoin and peercoin), were available for withdrawal. But larger crypto assets like bitcoin, bitcoin cash, ether, litecoin and dash were to remain unavailable until July 22, according to a post on July 16.

The last public message via Twitter was posted on July 19, saying, “Maintenance has finished successfully.”

However, when July 23 came, exchange customers kept complaining that withdrawals were still blocked.

“No Withdraw is working. It is 23rd now. Maintenance fail can happen, but no information is worst. After BTCe now WEX?” said user @Pete11240362.

“Administrators, if you can’t resolve the problem right now, say: maintenance works in process. Get smart, give some feedback,” demanded Russian-speaking user Sergey Ionkin, who goes by the handle @dear_enman.

Some of the affected users took to Telegram to discuss the situation. One of the groups was promoted and possibly created by Dmitry Vassiliev, an official owner and CEO of WEX, who previously told CoinDesk that he lost control over the exchange due to the intervention of some people he declined to identify.

On Monday, a user in one of the channels claiming he is Dmitry Vassiliev – using two similar usernames, (Dmitry Vasiliev and Dmitry wex.nz) – wrote that he had agreed to register the exchange in the name of the new beneficiaries who are already de facto managing WEX.

The user claimed that the deal is going to take place on Thursday, and promised to reveal the names of those beneficiaries if they don’t fix the situation on that day. Vassiliev stopped answering CoinDesk’s inquiries after a brief exchange on July 12.

No easy ways out

According to Grigori, avenues for actually taking money off the exchange exist – but at a price.

Grigory told CoinDesk he has had 0.1 BTC waiting in limbo on WEX since July 12. He said he started using WEX in the end of 2017 because he liked that the exchange didn’t require ID verification.

For the most of time everything had worked fine, he explained: he had been able to withdraw coins within an hour or less, and fiat-denominated funds would appear in his e-payment account in several hours after the withdrawal transaction.

But that changed earlier this month, he told CoinDesk. The tech support on WEX has provided no reasonable explanation and only recommended waiting until the maintenance is over, Grigory contended.

Fiat withdrawals were ceased in that period, too, though the ability to withdraw funds via so-called WEX codes remained for a time. Users would generate a special code with their accounts and then exchange those codes for fiat currency on specialized websites, which would sent a corresponding amount of dollars or rubles to users’ accounts at Russian payment services like Yandex.Money or Qiwi.

But this is no longer a viable solution, according to Grigory.

“At some point, the offers to buy WEX codes disappeared from those exchange websites as there were enormous numbers of people who wanted to sell them,” he told CoinDesk, adding:

“Now people who wanted to quit at any price have already quit, but the exchange rate is still bad.”

Image via Shutterstock

The leader in blockchain news, CoinDesk is a media outlet that strives for the highest journalistic standards and abides by a strict set of editorial policies. CoinDesk is an independent operating subsidiary of Digital Currency Group, which invests in cryptocurrencies and blockchain startups.

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[topicprinter]

Where would you be if you did not have your 9 to 5 job? On a sun-bed underneath a palm sipping water from a cracked coconut? Or in Chile visiting the Machu Picchu? Or just home with your family?This book will show you how to become more productive and how to optimise your resources to generate a passive income. The book is divided in 4 main “steps”:D – DefinitionE – Elimination A – Automation L – LiberationDEFINITIONThe author describes the “New Rich” as the typical wealthy person in this era.The large majority of people on this planet, think that it does not matter that much if you do not like your job or your life right now. All the sacrifices will be entirely paid off when you finally reach the retirement age. The retirement age!! Seriously?? Are you 100% sure you are going to be alive tomorrow?The “New Rich” does not accept this way of living. New Rich are now able to live a comfortable life without the standard, boring 9 to 5 job. Are they millionaires to do this? The answer is NO. Some yes to be fair, but most of them, although not millionaires, have an income that can sustain themselves and respective families. Income that was unimaginable just few years before they started their new adventure.That is right, to have more time in doing or being where you want, you do not need to be a millionaire.The key to this freedom is to put yourself in the position to be flexible and not tied to the same office desk 8 hour a day. How do you achieve this? You achieve this by generating passive income that you can handle anytime and from anywhere in the world.In today’s economy, it seems like there is no room for something new. Everything is invented already. The New Rich never follow others’ rules. On the contrary, they design their own ones ignoring the naysayers’ comments.You need to adopt this mind-set and do not listen to the noise around you.Norman Vincent Peale said “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”Aim high because everybody aims to great! Think about this: what is the worst thing that can happen if you fail? This is how New Rich think, they jump straight into it, because, worst case scenario, they will still be alive! Most people live in their comfort zone with the illusion that someday something will happen. Stop procrastinating and take action today.It is normal to feel fear. Living the life you want requires taking risks. Start by doing something uncomfortable every day. It could be as much as stopping a person on the street and ask for direction.What if I am doing A 9 to 5 job? Here is the good news: you can still achieve the life or a New Rich. The first thing to do is to make yourself indispensable for the organisation you are working for. The moment you become indispensable, start a negotiation with your boss. Your aim is to work remotely. If not the whole week, part of the week could be a good starting point. Most of the bosses will not like the idea, therefore suggesting a trial period to start will give you an advantage. Once agreed, prove to be more effective and productive than ever. When the trial is over, re-discuss with your boss and aim for a longer period of remote work.ELIMINATIONBe effective and productive. Is it better to work hard or to work smart? New Rich like working smart.Focus on the tasks that will help you achieving your goals. As a principle, use the Pareto rule: 20% of your efforts are going to produce 80% of the results. Hence, do no spend too much time on less important tasks.Time is money. Get rid of all the news reading, social media browsing and TV-shows watching. Stick to what is relevant to achieve your objectives. If you cannot commit to total information diet, allocate weekly time slots to watch your favourite series and do not make any exception. Avoid meetings where your presence is not strictly necessary. Start saying no to catch ups for a coffee. “10-minute coffee” can easily become a 40-minute long discussion of useless stuff. Have you ever heard the term “selective ignorance? Selective ignorance is defined as the practice of selectively ignoring distracting, irrelevant, or otherwise unnecessary information. Do it!Rate by importance the tasks you need to accomplish. Aim to finish the most important ones before lunch. Emails are time drainers. They never stop coming. Plan to read them twice a day. Once before lunch and the second time before finishing work, that’s it! Create an auto response that advises senders about your packed schedule. Hence, your response could take some time. Also, make sure people are not calling you over useless topics or requests. Disable phone and computer notifications, there is not worst thing than being interrupted when fully focused on your important tasks.AUTOMATIONNow that you are more productive and on top of your routine, if you want to earn a living by working a few hours per week, you need to create an automatic source of income. In other words, you need to make other people doing the job for you.In today’s world, learning how to set up a business that can operate without much involvement is as far as a Google search away from you.A lot of services can be outsourced. There are organizations offering services such as drop shipping, call centre and virtual assistant just to name a few.India for instance, offers a huge number of virtual assistants that are specialised in different areas of the business. You need to find the right one and make he/she work for you.As a general tip, make sure the communication is clear, be as responsive as you can and let them do the job. You will be surprised of how many good ones there are out there.Now it is time to find a product or a service that can generate your income.The easiest option is to sell a product that already exists. The downside of this option is that the potential profit is limited. Creating a new product is easier than what people think. This option is more time consuming than the first one but the return of investment is much higher. The author recommends creating an info product.You need to do your due diligence before you start manufacturing it. At the end of the day you can have the most amazing product idea but if there is no market for it (aka customers buying it) your idea is going to fail.Testing the market is a great starting point. You can create a fake website (or Facebook page) with a proper “Buy Now” button to analyse how many customers are willing to purchase your product. You can also create a fake advertising campaign with different versions of the same ad to test the response. The author used the same technique to find the best title for his book.It does not matter what kind of product or service you want to sell. You must be credible. Customers must trust you. Academic titles are always a sign of reliability. You can also prove your experience by writing articles and reviews on topics related to your product. For instance, if you want to sell health products, make sure you become a health master first.Additionally, give the impression that your company is bigger than what it is. Potential customers tend to trust big organisations rather than small ones. A good tip is to provide different emails based on the area you want the customer to interact with. For instance you can use: info@yourcompany.com, admin@yourcompany.com or sales@yourcompany.com. The person reaching out would think that there is a different department per each email. Hence, thinking that the company is big.Use the Pareto rule also to choose your customers. 20% of the customers will generate the 80% of the income. Avoid trouble makers and nurture the 20%!Once you have the right product you must be able to offer great benefits. If you promise anything you would better make sure you keep the promise at any point in time. Furthermore, your customers need to be able to buy your product in the easiest possible way. The most profitable customers are the ones that are willing to pay a premium price for your product. Hence, create a premium version of what you are offering to generate greater margins. The higher the margins the fewer products you need to sell to achieve your objectives.LIBERATIONAt this stage you found the magic formula. It is time to negotiate again your time working remotely. Extend it as much as you can. Enhance your performance remotely rather than in the office.If your level of freedom is not up to your standard, be ready to quit your job but do not do it before you have an alternative. If you urge to quit, make sure you review all your expenses and minimise them to the bone.The author also suggests going on a trip for 6 months (as a mini retirement) to “experience” rather than “seeing” a different country. There are a lot places where you can live great experiences with a fraction of the money you would spend in US.CONCLUSIONThe 4 Hour Workweek by Tim Ferris is one of my favourite books about aiming to do the life you always dreamed on. Tim Ferris is a great example of what a powerful mind can do. Read a bit of who he is and what he is doing here. Simply amazing. Tim has also a popular podcast. In each episode he discovers tactics, tools, and routines of extremely successful people. This includes favourite books, morning routines, exercise habits, time-management tricks, and much more.This book can give you plenty of suggestions on how to initiate the journey on passive income. I highly encourage you to purchase the book. It includes several links and suggestions that will help you to set up your 9 to 5 freedom.I believe some of the principles are not actionable to everybody. However, you can adjust them to your own needs. Do not underestimate the power of a side business. All current successful organisations started from zero sometime in the past. Internet is plenty of successful stories, Tim Ferris is one of them.If you enjoyed this summary, you can download a PDF version with pictures from here.

[newstfionline]

America’s new tobacco crisis: The rich stopped smoking, the poor didn’t

By William Wan, Washington Post, June 13, 2017

MARTINSVILLE, VA.--After decades of lawsuits, public campaigns and painful struggles, Americans have finally done what once seemed impossible: Most of the country has quit smoking, saving millions of lives and leading to massive reductions in cancer.

That is, unless those Americans are poor, uneducated or live in a rural area.

Hidden among the steady declines in recent years is the stark reality that cigarettes are becoming a habit of the poor. The national smoking rate has fallen to historic lows, with just 15 percent of adults still smoking. But the socioeconomic gap has never been bigger.

Among the nation’s less-educated people--those with a high-school-equivalency diploma--the smoking rate remains more than 40 percent, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Today, rural residents are diagnosed with lung cancer at rates 18 to 20 percent above those of city dwellers. By nearly every statistical measure, researchers say, America’s lower class now smokes more and dies more from cigarettes than other Americans.

This widening gap between classes carries huge health implications and is already reshaping the country’s battle over tobacco control. Cigarette companies are focusing their marketing on lower socioeconomic communities to retain their customer base, researchers say. Nonprofit and advocacy groups are retooling their programs for the complex and more difficult work of reaching and treating marginalized groups.

As inequality in America continues expanding by many measures, smoking is a growing aspect of that divide that is a matter of life and death, with wealthier and more-educated Americans now largely spared the cost and deadly effects of the vice.

Advocacy groups say funding for smoking cessation is dropping, and they worry that the attention and political will needed for tobacco control are also waning as America’s upper and middle classes see smoking as an already solved, bygone problem.

“If you’re educated and live in a well-off area, the smoking problem we’re talking about these days is now largely invisible to you,” said Matthew L. Myers, president of the Campaign for Tobacco-Free Kids. “In some places, you can go days without bumping into a smoker. So you start to hear the question, why push more resources into this? Meanwhile, the need is getting even greater, because the people left smoking are the ones who can least afford to.”

Debbie Seals, 60, has fought on the front lines of this new class battle for the past six years from her home in the rural foothills of Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains.

She has driven her tiny blue Fiat to the farthest corners of southern Virginia and West Virginia to hold classes aimed at helping smokers quit. Her cessation clinics are often the only ones offered for miles around.

“It’s like there’s two worlds now,” Seals said.

Every month, she travels to Northern Virginia to visit her grandchildren in the D.C. suburbs. In Alexandria, she sees couples jogging on the streets and buying expensive organic groceries at Whole Foods--and not a single one smoking.

But in her home town of Martinsville, Va., cigarettes are ubiquitous. People smoke on their morning drive to work and on weekends mowing their lawns. Tobacco stores line the strip malls, and cigarette ads are in the windows of every gas station and convenience store.

The smoking is a symptom of deeper problems here, Seals said on a recent afternoon as she headed out to check on three former students from her cessation class.

Martinsville was once known as the “Sweatshirt Capital of the World,” a booming center of textile mills and furniture factories. Now it is littered with abandoned factories and vacant storefronts. So many families here live in poverty that all children in elementary and middle school automatically qualify for free and reduced-price meals.

“People down here smoke because of the stress in their life,” Seals said. “They smoke because of money problems, family problems. It’s the one thing they have control over. The one thing that makes them feel better. And you want them to give that up? It’s the toughest thing in the world.”

Seals--who retired years ago from a career with Girl Scouts of the USA--began teaching her classes as a volunteer for the American Lung Association. After seeing the desperate need, she began working full time on cessation for the nonprofit.

She’s taught many classes in recent years at the handful of furniture factories left. Many of the participants attend her clinic over and over, unable to stop smoking. She is careful not to make any of them feel like failures.

“If they manage to quit for a week or even a day, they succeeded,” she said. “I tell them if you were able to quit once, you can do it again.”

Meeting up with three of her former students at a diner last week, Seals probed gently, asking how much they are smoking these days.

“I’ve slid back,” admitted Victoria Cassell, 57, who has attended Seals’s seven-week program every year for four years. “There was just too much going on in my life last year.”

First, Cassell’s sister died. Then her husband started having heart problems again. On top of it all, her daughter and grandson moved back in.

The last time Cassell tried to quit was three months ago, after a doctor’s test gave her a lung cancer scare. “It was like losing my best friend,” she said. “My cigarettes have kept me company for 40 years, longer than just about anyone in my life.”

She ate lunch alone at the factory where she works, because her friends all smoke. She tried coloring while watching TV, just to keep her hands busy.

Three days in, an argument with a co-worker pushed her over the edge, she said. She ran to a friend at her first chance to bum a cigarette.

Pulling out her pack of Winstons, she tried to describe the feeling of that first cigarette after a hiatus. “It makes you feel like you’re floating,” she said. “You get lightheaded like you could just lay down and sleep. It almost gets you a little bit drunk.”

Seals, sitting nearby, said: “I’m proud of you for holding out as long as you did.”

It wasn’t always this way.

When smoking first gained popularity in the early 20th century, it was a habit of the rich, a token of luxury dusted with Hollywood glamour. Then came the 1964 surgeon general’s report on its deadly effects, and during the next 3½ decades, smoking among the nation’s highest-income families plummeted by 62 percent. But among families of the lowest income, it decreased by just 9 percent.

“There’s this tendency now to blame the ones still smoking,” said Robin Koval, president of Truth Initiative, a leading tobacco-control nonprofit group. “The attitude is: ‘You’re doing it to yourself. If you were just strong enough, you’d be able to quit.’”

What isn’t taken into account, Koval said, are the vast resources tobacco companies are spending to hold on to their last remaining strongholds.

“Poorer people don’t smoke because anything’s different or wrong about them,” Koval said. “Their communities are not protected like others are. They don’t have access to good health care and cessation programs. If you have a bull’s eye painted on your back, it’s harder to get away.”

Tobacco companies have also invested considerable resources in recent years lobbying against smoking restrictions and taxes, especially in poorer, rural and often Southern states, where smoking remains highest.

Several major tobacco companies did not respond to requests for comment on the socioeconomic disparities related to the use of their products. The country’s largest tobacco company--Altria, based in Richmond--said it uses the same marketing approach across rural, suburban and urban retail locations and makes sure its signage follows legal limits.

“But the frustrating thing for folks in the public health community is we know from research exactly what would make the biggest difference,” said Brian King, deputy director for the CDC’s Office on Smoking and Health. “They’re just not being implemented at the policy level. It’s bread-and-butter strategies like getting states to pass smoke-free laws, increasing cigarette taxes and funding tobacco cessation and prevention.”

As Seals’s visit with her former students came to a close, Cassell--the factory worker who has now tried quitting six times--said she measures her victories these days in smaller increments: cutting back to a pack every three days, holding out until after her morning cup of coffee to light up.

“Do I ever think I’ll be able to quit?” she said. “No.”

Seals responded with a smile, unfazed. “Well, are you going to be at the next clinic?”

“I’ll be there,” Cassell promised. “I don’t know if it’s ever going to take, but I’ll keep trying.”