#and like the rest of the fucking labour administration

[pebblysand]

i need y'all to understand that as someone who knows waaaay too much about the war in iraq, alastair campbell's comeback to the forefront of public life with his Goddamn Podcast is making me sick to my stomach.

that's all.

[fanaticsnail]

You Kissed the Clown? Part 8

Part 8 you guys! Here as promised, and only at just after midnight this time!

I've also uploaded everything to my Ao3, just in case you prefer that platform over the formatting here.

Word Count: 6,528

If you like my work, please leave a comment. I love hearing your thoughts about this series! ❤️

Part 7 back here.

You were cursed.

That was the only logical explanation that was presented before your mind as you sat beside the incapacitated swordsman who was now donning a gaping wound in his chest. You cradled one of his hands within your own as he slipped somewhere flittering between life and death.

You assumed you would’ve been nursing back Usopp to the land of the living, holding his hair back as he regurgitated in the bathroom due to his intoxication from last night’s over-consumption of alcohol. Staying well out of the way of the administrations of the head chef of Baratie as he placed fish skin over the weeping wound after performing a well-practiced stitch routine, you allowed soft tears to spill slightly from the corners of your eyes.

You paid no attention to the others in the room, focussing only on the steady rise and fall of the swordsman’s breath to note any inconsistencies or irregularities in their movements.

“He’s got one foot in each world right now, caught between life and death,” you finally brought your ears to focus in on the conversations taking place in your surrounds. Your orbs snapping to meet the eyes of the retired pirate Captain as he continued. His eyes softened slightly, still baring and air of authority.

“You have to find a way to keep him tethered to our world,” he continued, causing you to hang on his every word. “Talk to him, tell him stories, sing him sea shanties for all I care,” he added with a tone of authority, “he may not reply but he will know his crew are still with him.”

You all moved him into Nami’s quarters, the most well organised and least dangerous of the rooms; noting the many sharp objects in Zoro’s room and the volatile chemicals you use for maintaining and polishing antiquities.

“I’ll take first watch,” you notified the crew, “you all get some rest.”

There was no protestation with your crew, exhaustion overcoming them as the many drinks, sleepless night, manual labour – in Luffy’s case – and anxiety from the anticipation of the fight.

“Nami,” you added, “take my room. Less messy than Zoro’s and the majority of items in there already belong to you.”

She nodded, glancing one last time in sadness at the body of your fallen swordsman, before removing herself from the room. Once she closed the door behind her with a small click, you returned your gaze on Zoro as he lay unconscious atop the table.

“Mihawk,” you growled in a low tone, “you had to fight Mihawk?”

You walked around his body and snarled at him.

“Dracule fucking Mihawk,” you uttered again through clenched teeth. You reached for a chair and dragged it over to rest beside him, placing your hands on the vacant place beside his head.

“And here you are hanging shit on me for simply kissing a clown,” you angrily spat at him, “as you go so candidly up to pick a fight with one of the most fearsome warlords of the sea.”

You thumped your fist beside his head in anger as warm fresh tears threatened to spill again from your eyes.

“And you call me stupid,” you growled before allowing a soft whimper fall from your lips. You reached your arm down into the bag attached to your belt, finding a broad concealed flask and swiftly opened the tin lid. Taking a swig and feeling the burn to calm your nerves as you began your next tirade.

“You listen here, you stupid, stupid boy,” you threatened Zoro, “you are going to hear every word I am going to give to you, and you are going to hang on every syllable.”

You stared at the swordsman, focussing on his expressionless face as he began to steady in his unconsciousness.

“I am going to tell you everything,” you whispered into him, “and it is going to absolutely bore you so much, you will have no choice but to wake up just to get me to shut the fuck up.”

You slapped your back into the back of the chair, slumping down and taking another sip as you focussed on the events that just transpired, thinking if there would have been anything different you could’ve done to change this fate.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” you spat to him, making yourself comfortable as you began to relay your past, your present and your future to him while continuing to reflect of on the battle that occurred moments ago.

----------------------

You slept through the night relatively peacefully before being rudely shook awake by a heavily intoxicated Usopp as he spluttered over his words. You couldn’t comprehend anything he had to say as he continued actively shaking you. You caught a few words like, “fight,” “battle,” “warlord,” and “big ass sword,” before you managed to break yourself free of his grasp.

You shoved him off you, recoiling slightly at the smell of stale, day-old alcohol lingering on his breath. Sheets flung unceremoniously from your form, revealing your night-clothes to the crewman before you; you shoved his body through your door and slammed it in front of him. You rapidly peeled your clothes from your body, changing into a light dress and fastening your belt in place, you flung the door open to reveal Usopp attempting to stabilise himself against the wall before you.

“Get up, Usopp!” you barked at him, “fill me in, damn it. Annunciate your words!”

“Hawk-eye,” Usopp panted, clutching his chest, “Mi-hawk.”

Your eyes widened as you began to sprint past him towards the upper deck where you saw Zoro with his black bandana atop his brow, marching toward the make-shift dock of Baratie with Luffy behind him.

You widened your eyes as you clutched the rigging before hurdling your way towards your Captain and his First Mate, noticing the dark form of the swashbuckling warlord you knew to be Dracule Mihawk. You couldn’t make out what conversation they were engaging in, not quite understanding the entire situation Usopp neglected to relay to you. For all you currently understood, Zoro and Mihawk could simply be sharing tips on how to polish their blades more efficiently; but from their stance you assumed something more sinister was currently in play.

“Enough,” you heard Zoro utter, “let’s begin.”

Mihawk reached to the small clasp at the back of his neck and removed the chain from its place fixed at his scruff. He tossed the material to the side heeding it no mind as he unsheathed the smallest blade you had ever seen pass for a sword. The blade looked similar in style as one of your large scalpel tools you used to cut through leather in your antiquities.

“What the hell is that, I’m here for a sword fight,” Zoro uttered to him, insulted at the production of such a small weapon.

“I don’t hunt rabbits with a cannon,” Mihawk rebutted carelessly, unblinking in his hawk-like gaze.

“Dracule Mihawk,” you said with a small curtsey, bringing his intense eyes to rest on your form. You bowed your head in greeting with a sweet smile falling over your face.

“Ah,” he purred slightly, “the Artificer’s daughter,” he addressed you with a slight sinister smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

“It has been so very long since the last time I laid my sights on you, sweet thing,” he added.

A burning, fixed beam of sweltering fury bore into you at that moment; the source being from the green-haired swordsman at your side.

“You are fucking with me,” he uttered in a voice low enough for only you to hear with an upturned snarl. You chose to pay his words no mind as you took a step forward towards the warlord.

“It has been long indeed, my lord,” you addressed him, “and in absence, fondness blooms in its stead. Shall we to the bar and enjoy a glass or two of Sangiovese while we catch up on the years that has stolen away from us.”

He narrowed his eyes, not entertaining your words in the slightest.

“You flatter me, little mouse,” he quirked his brow at you, “your mother taught you well.”

Your sweet façade fell from your face at her mention before you collected it back again to your face. Mihawk studied your every movement like a hawk fixated on a helpless little hopping mouse caught in the clutches of a wolf-spider.

“I learnt only from the best, my lord,” you smiled, “what say we leave this place and take that drink now?”

“As tempted as I am, sweet thing,” he turned his gaze back to the green-haired swordsman as he watched this interaction with absolute disgust, “I am a little hung up with this rather insignificant rabbit at the present.”

“I’m no rabbit,” Zoro snarled darkly while unleashing two of his three swords.

“That remains to be seen,” Mihawk taunted.

You side stepped to remove yourself from the equation as the two sword wielders engaged in single combat. You could not bare to watch your friend in their inevitability to be cut down by Mihawk but stood strong yourself to hold firm your sights on the battle commencing.

----------------------

“-And that is how I came to be the oldest of fifteen children,” you concluded your incredibly drawn out tale. You snickered slightly, knowing the tale of how your parents fell in love and held onto it throughout the years would’ve bored Zoro so much he could cry.

“Now, shall we move onto something more juicy?” you snickered slightly, knowing he would absolutely not want you to continue your absolute mind-numbing experience of relaying insignificant events from your childhood.

“I have a confession,” you said, swigging from the brass flask once again, “and you’re going to kill me when you wake up.”

You leant in close to the tri-pierced ear of the unconscious swordsman, bringing your lips to the lobe as you closed your eyes and whispered without more than the breath it was required to speak the words.

“I am in love with Buggy the clown,” you spoke slowly, so he could catch on to every word that was relayed to him. You held your face close to his, focussing on the fact that this was the first time you had passed that information (willingly and knowingly) onto another person. The person in question being the first individual you had grown unwittingly closest to aboard the vessel. And the person likely to die in the next upcoming moments, to which’s limited time in the land of the living was spent pondering something as insignificant as a love confession from a crewman.

Pushing your body from the almost intimate proximity, you sat back in the chair again and almost pitied the swordman at his absolutely unwilling participation in hearing your confessional words. You reached for his limp right hand and laced your hand within his and gave it a small squeeze to comfort him.

“And if you continue to remain in this state,” you squeezed his hand again, this time more threatening and raising your voice to a regular speaking voice now, “I will actively do everything I can to seek him out, bring him into this room and desecrate your resting place with sounds so absolutely illicit, you would need to seek exorcism to rid your soul from the memories and images conjured to you every time you close your eyes.”

You laughed at your threatening words, knowing they were absolutely untrue in all shapes and sizes as the door began to swing wide. You looked over to your captain who had a forlorn expression adorning his face.

“Captain?” you asked him, semi-horrified that he may have caught the final words you uttered to the resting swordsman, “are you unable to sleep?”

“I just-,” he began, shrugging his shoulders forward slightly and avoiding eye contact, “I just wanted to-.”

He paused his words as they caught in his throat. You released Zoro’s right hand from your grasp and stood to walk over toward him. You maneuvered your head to retrieve his gaze from the floor, while placing your left hand on his shoulder.

“He will wake,” you said, finally catching his eyes, “I am sure of it.”

His eyes searched yours as his brows upturned, deepening his shaken and depressed expression.

“How can you be so sure?” he questioned you, his signature grin nowhere in sight.

“He has no choice, Captain,” you smiled broadly at him, patting his shoulder in comfort, “he has too much to achieve in this life to welcome the next so suddenly.

Luffy attempted to relieve you from watching over Zoro; but you absolutely disregarded those notions and was adamant in your refusal.

“Captain, with all due respect; each time I find myself away from you all, something far more sinister occurs. I refuse to be apart from Zoro in his recovery. I will not miss this,” you said firmly with a ferocity that had not graced your face for the entire time you had ventured.

Luffy sighed through his nose with a frown on his face. You watched as his jaw softened, indicating he had relented this battle with you.

“Go and get some rest, Captain,” you said again, “I will be here when he wakes up.”

And you were. You remained in these quarters, tinkering with the same piece Nami gave you to work on several days earlier. You endured your position while each member of the crew took turns in addressing Zoro; relaying information to him in stories from their individual travels. You listened as Nami read to him children’s stories before she went and picked a fight with your Captain.

You remained silent as Nami continued to lay insult into your Captain, flinching slightly at the disrespect she posed to him.

“I didn’t think he was going to lose,” Luffy said in absolute belief in his First Mate.

“you could’ve tried to change his mind-,” Nami began, only to be cut off by Luffy.

“I would never do that,” he said lowly.

“So you’d rather see him like this?” she gestured to his resting form, “he might die, Luffy.”

“And I’d do anything to save him. Anything,” he said with a small, tight-lipped smile coming to his face, “except stand in the way of his dream.”

You bit your lip at the words your captain disclosed, squeezing your eyes shut to make yourself as invisible as you could as your entire body seemingly quaked with emotion. Your Captain’s words sang to your soul; his innocence and absolute ignorance was a beautiful combination to your mind.

“We all have dreams, Luffy. But we outgrow them-,” Nami began, to be once again cut off by Luffy.

“Is that what you really think?” he asked her with a shrug, “don’t you have a dream?”

You finally opened your eyes to gaze on Nami before pulling your sights over to the rise and fall of Zoro’s breath.

“Yeah, for right now it’s to not have Zoro die in my bed,” she shouted, a small almost undetectable quiver slightly hidden in her voice.

“But isn’t there something that you want? Something more?” he said, his former grin returning to his face as his eyes beamed at her, “more than anything else in this world?”

Nami paused her words before quietly uttering: “not everyone gets to follow their dreams.”

She left the room without anymore words exchanged between the two of them, leaving the three of you alone once more in Nami’s bedroom.

Luffy turned to meet your eyes for a moment before resting on Zoro’s form, which continued to remain in their unmoving state.

“You have a dream, don’t you?” Luffy uttered quietly to you. You jumped slightly at the words, not thinking he was to engage with you so suddenly after the heated discussion with Nami. You paused before collecting yourself.

“I do,” you said in a low tone, standing again and making your way to stand at Zoro’s side.

“And what is that?” he prompted you, taking a small step towards you and halting to stand at your side, bringing your gaze to rest on Zoro.

“Call it an intermediate agenda,” you quirked your lip up slightly at the corner of your mouth, “several small plans to achieve a larger goal.”

Luffy laughed slightly at your response, nodding his head at your words; “care to disclose it with me?”

“My dream-,” you began, words halting slightly in your throat as you rifled your mind to seek the appropriate words, “is to be like my mother.”

“Oh?” he asked you in response, attempting to prompt you on.

You sighed with a warm fondness at her memory.

“She was kind,” you began, “and incredibly intelligent. She lead first with her heart, searching later for the appropriate means to achieve that end.”

You smiled, nodding while staring at the floor; “and she was loved by all who met her, most of all by my father.”

“And you wish to be like that?” he continued to prod, “to lead with your heart?”

“Not quite,” you smiled at him, bringing your eyes to meet with his, “she was also a tinkerer. She worked with harsh metals, precious gemstones and crafted some of the finest pieces known throughout all corners of the world. She was the one that crafted several pieces for-,”

Your words halted in your throat as you again gazed down to the fallen swordsman below, “-for Mihawk. I was more in my youth when I first met him. Young and stupid, as I like to call it.”

You chuckled slightly at the memory before shaking it from you to not lose your thoughts.

“That is my dream,” you held on tight to the words as they formed, “to become the greatest finery smith in the world; to create something worthy for the King of the Pirates.”

You nudged Luffy’s shoulder slightly with a warm smile before adding, “and I will make you the most beautiful piece, it will be the finest item in the entire collection. This I swear.”

Luffy grinned wide before placing his hand atop your shoulder.

You dwell in that moment together before he left you alone to be with the swordsman, watching over him as he slept.

You chose to not sleep through the night, willing yourself to remain awake at his side to not only be with him as he awoke; but to not miss any other stupid situation your crew dug themselves into. If you were being perfectly honest with yourself, you weren’t much better – smithing a weapon some nights ago that was intended to claim your life at its hand.

You witnessed the dawn rise, your crewmen coming in sporadically to check on Zoro. You noticed the blonde waiter was alongside them, who offered a mug of scorching hot coffee into your hands with a warm smile.

“You look as if you could need it, Miss,” he offered with a smirk playing at his lips.

“Are you saying I look a little worse for wear?” you toyed with him slightly, accepting the mug into your fingertips and cradling it slightly.

“Not at all,” he quickly added with a small widening of his eyes, now a slightly nervous smile adorning his face.

“I’m messing with you,” you reassured him with a small laugh before bringing the mug to your lips.

“That you are,” he confirmed with a slight nod, eyeline to the ground being caught off-guard by your confidence. His tongue darted out to dampen his lower lip, which you noticed his teeth began toying with a small silver-balled object between them. “A piercing? Interesting,” you thought to yourself.

He turned on his way, leaving you alone once more with the unconscious swordsman. You heard some commotion engaging above the deck, but your absolute stubborn reluctance to leave Zoro held to you like a tight leash to a firm, wooden post.

You remained behind; continuing to tinker with the circular, clock-compass item in your hands. You spent some time with it, placing it on the small space available to you next to Zoro’s unresponsive head as you turned several screws and aligned cogs upon its face. You resolved to not utilise the several desks near the window, as you were determined this time to not miss a single moment with your crew; especially at the side of the wounded swordsman who continuously found himself in dire situations, often engaging in battle.

You clicked a screw in a different direction, accidentally activating something within the face of the compass. It began ticking, something you did not account for; especially in its proximity to Zoro’s head. As a tinkerer; ticking usually meant one thing. That thing was a bomb.

You immediately sprung to your feet, cradling the small object in your hands and rushed over towards the window in an attempt to find an exit to cast the item into the sea. The ticking hastened its rhythm, prompting you to release several expletives from behind your lips as you attempted to shimmy the window open. The windows were thick, meaning you would need to return back to where Zoro was resting to retrieve your hammer to smash one open to throw it into the deep water ahead. As the ticking held a rapid beat, you flinched as you had no choice but to embrace your impending doom. However, it never occurred.

The object opened, revealing the most beautifully crafted creation you had yet seen in your life. Two figures holding one another in an embrace enchanted you as they danced in a circular motion with one-another. A metallic melody ignited a memory from within you as you sighed out a small laugh in surprise. You focussed your sights on the dancing figures, noticing how they were painted and allowing a single tear to escape from your eyes.

“Mother,” you whimpered slightly before laughing at the music box, “Zoro, this was my Mother’s. This was hers.”

You rushed over to his side and placed the now truly identified music box beside Zoro’s shoulder.

“This melody,” you said to him, “she use to sing this to me – to us – when we were children.”

You hummed along to the tune before you placed the words as you could best recall them to the melody. You swayed yourself to the music while half-laughing alongside the lyrics, your entire being fully overcome with a mixture of many emotions.

Your thoughts were brought back into the present as you heard several splashes in the water, assuming someone decided to go for a cool plunge to shake their form from over consumption of alcohol. You almost laughed at the thought, before sitting down at Zoro’s side once more.

“Now,” you began, “how do I turn this off?”

You knew exactly how to shut off the music, now knowing that it was not only a clock, a compass and a music box – the additional cogs made sense within your mind at how it truly fit together. You just wanted to get one final rise from Zoro to see if he would get angry enough to join you back in your reality.

After several minutes of Zoro enduring your humming along to the tune, you decided to finally shut off the music with a small flick of the switch to end his suffering.

“If that wont wake you, I’m afraid nearly nothing will,” you uttered sadly, gripping Zoro’s hand again and squeezing it, “he needs you, Zoro. Come back to us, but especially come back to him,” you said again in a voice just above a whisper.

You barely noticed as your Captain returned to you, this time an unreadable expression falling over his features. His hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he had a bath recently; prompting you to quirk your head to the side.

“Captain?” you asked him, “something the matter?”

He walked over to the hanging bed Zoro was laying on and hoisted himself up to sit at his legs. He ignored your questions, choosing to smile at you before fixing his attention on the unconscious swordsman.

“Hey, Zoro,” Luffy began, “you sure missed a big fight.”

Your eyes widened at the knowledge that you had also missed the aforementioned fight. You indeed, as you concluded earlier yesterday, were continuing to remain cursed in your misdirected absence. You elected to not speak up, hoping your Captain would disclose any further information to both you and the First Mate.

“Those fishmen guys were tough,” he said with a small smile, “you would’ve loved it.”

You stifled a gasp, hoping Luffy would continue to bare his soul to Zoro as so you could be privy to his innermost thoughts also.

“And we all had a pretty great dinner, all of us sitting around and listening to Usopp’s stories,” he turned to look at you for a moment, “with the exception of your guardian who protested to be removed from your side.”

You hung your head, knowing how you argued with Luffy earlier to remain with Zoro to again not miss out on anything. He chuckled at your reaction slightly before again returning his gaze to Zoro’s, his eyes hardening.

“Only I kind of messed it up,” he added, staring ahead at the vacant wall in front of him, “and now I lost Nami. I lost the Grand Line Map.”

He held a large pause before speaking once more; “And maybe I will lose you too.”

“I didn’t know what to say before,” he continued on, “but I know what to say now, and it’s so simple.”

You felt almost as if your presence in this moment was an invasion of a greater connection between two friends, but opted to remain in the room for a moment longer.

Luffy closed his eyes and furrowed his brows in passionate resolve, before strongly uttering: “I need you, Zoro.”

“I need you,” Luffy continued, “to wake up.”

You too closed your eyes as you willed those words into fruition, holding strong your own resolve.

“Are you going to keep talking or let me get some sleep?” you heard the swordsman utter from beside you. Your eyes flittered open to reveal the moment Luffy leapt onto the wounded torso of Zoro, wincing yourself in empathy as you thought of his large wounds.

“Zoro!” your Captain shouted in glee with a loud laughter, “Zoro, you’re not dead!”

He pressed his entire body against Zoro and gleefully held him in a friendly embrace. You grit your teeth as you watched Zoro writhe in pain at the pressure from the body above him.

“Right now, I’m wishing I was,” he groaned out in pain. Luffy leapt off him to sit at his lefthand side, prompting you to rise from your feet and sit to his right.

“I had the strangest dream that Nami left,” Zoro uttered with his eyes held closed.

“She did,” Luffy confirmed with him, “it’s my fault.”

Zoro opened his eyes and gazed at the roof, brows creased in thought.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Zoro reassured him in a monotonous voice, “you acted like a Captain.”

“But our crew is falling apart,” Luffy said, shaking his head slightly

“No it’s not,” Zoro again added his reassurance to the Captain.

“I, Roronoa Zoro,” he began a vow in the presence of both you and your Captain, “vow to stand by your side.”

He turned his gaze to the best of his pained ability to meet the eyes of his Captain as he continued his vow.

“From now until the end,” he added, emotion displayed slightly on his face now, “until we find the One-Piece, or die trying.”

The faces of your Captain and his loyal knight joined together in smiling with determination.

“So bring on the Marines, or Pirates or Sea Beasts,” Zoro raised a closed fist and placed it against the heart of his Captain, “you’re my Captain, Luffy. And I’m your first mate.”

Luffy clasped his right arm over Zoro’s left enclosed fist against his heart and held it to seal their promise together. You smirked at their display of affection for one another, all the more determined to aid your Captain in his dream of acquiring the One-Piece.

“Zoro!” you heard Usopp’s voice call from the hallway as he hurried into the room, “I wasn’t worried for a second.”

“He’s,” Luffy thrust Zoro’s left hand into the air, “alive!”

Zoro groaned in pain as you held out your arms in defence, cringing at the pain Luffy inflicted upon his First-Mate.

Usopp began relaying moments you knew did not occur from your exposure to the variety of his tall-tales prior and chose to laugh at his fighting moves imitating the movements. Zoro also joined in laughter at Usopp’s boldness.

“So, what do we do now? Plot a course for the Grand Line?” Usopp suggested after halting his combat display of recollection.

“Nope,” Luffy shook his head, holding his lips in a firm line.

“But I thought we were going after the One-Piece?” Usopp added with a slightly puzzled tone.

“We are,” he began, looking to his three remaining members of the crew, “but we can’t do it without our whole crew.”

“First, we’re going after Nami,” Luffy said, placing his straw hat atop his head and adjusting the hanging toggles on the side for it to fit him comfortably.

You nodded your head to him, agreeing at chasing the orange-haired navigator and bringing her to join once more with your crew. Zoro turned his head to meet with your own.

“You really didn’t leave my side?” he uttered, furrowing his brows in confusion slightly.

“I didn’t want to miss anything,” you shrugged, “and it really turns out no matter what I do, I always seem to miss the action.”

“That’s a good thing, given the way you fight,” he laughed slightly, “going in mouth first and all.”

You groaned and flung your head back in agitation before joining him in his chuckling.

“Luffy,” you addressed your Captain, “do you think the chef you had in here earlier may be interested in preparing something for Zoro?”

Zoro looked as if you had just said he had achieved his dream of becoming the world’s greatest swordsman, a glimmer in his eyes at the mere mention of something to eat.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, “I’m definitely keen on getting some more of the meat we had earlier.”

You laughed at the notion before moving yourself to grasp Zoro’s right arm. Usopp trailed behind him, excited at the thought of eating at Baratie again.

“Do you have strength enough to stand?” you asked Zoro. He looked down at his torso and tested himself against the weight of his body, wincing at the pain.

“Lean your entire weight on me,” you uttered in a low tone, “I may be smaller in size than you, but I can take it.”

You had a slight aura of mischievousness, prompting him to chuckle at your comment.

“Keep it up, tinkerer,” he almost playfully warned you while placing his arm around your shoulder to enable you to lift him, “we really need to have a chat about your words.”

“Oh?” you said, hoisting him up to rest against you. He sighed out a low rumbly chuckle.

“I,” he paused, “heard everything.”

You halted your lifting, pausing at what exactly he was telling you.

“I’m not embarrassed about anything that I’ve said to you over these past few days,” you shrugged, pulling him to his feet to stand, the yellow and gold blanket falling from his legs to pool at the foot of the bed.

“You should be,” he jested before adding, “again with the clown? It’s always the clown with you.”

You laughed at his comment before leading him out of the door, down the hallway to his bedroom.

You searched the room for some attire to place over his chest, shielding his wound from the air, settling on a light blue and navy collared shirt. You wordlessly maneuvered the material over his right arm and over his shoulder before inching it down to keep his other arm moving as little as required to be brought into the other side. You reached your hands behind his neck and pulled the material up to rest on his shoulders, smoothing your hands over the creases before adjusting the material to comfortably cover his back.

“Thank you,” he murmured slightly, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“For what, Zoro?” you asked him, a tight-lipped warm smile coming to your face.

“I dunno,” he said with a shrug, wincing slightly at the movement, “mothering me, for lack of a better word.”

You tilted your head at him before finding your place at his lefthand side and maneuvering his arm over your shoulders to hoist him up once more.

“Even the strongest of us need support sometimes,” you shrugged slightly, hoisting him up once more.

You brought him to the deck, as he leant on you for support in his movements. You sat him down close to the ship’s steps, just as Sanji made his way alongside Luffy to come aboard.

“Are you fine if I leave you here for a moment? I haven’t changed my clothes for the past few days and I’m in desperate need of doing so before we cast off,” you asked him.

“You do look a little worse for wear,” he jested, acknowledging the fact he was processing some of the words uttered around him in his unconsciousness.

You scrunched up your nose at him before dismissing yourself to your quarters.

Placing the newly discovered to be a music box atop your desk, you shed yourself of your clothes and began to ready yourself for a new voyage to collect Nami from what you assumed to be Fishman Island; a theme park commonly known as Arlong Park being the major port.

You rolled your shoulders, slight exhaustion overcoming your features; the toll of being awake for a multitude of days finally hitting you. You shook those thoughts away from yourself, knowing you were able to find sleep once you were cast off.

Searching your draws for some fresh clothes, you placed a light blouse on your upper body while you found a skirt to hoist over your hips to settle on your waist. You also found a pair of light under shorts and shimmied them up your body to settle below your skirt.

Once fastening your pouch of many mechanical tinkering tools on your waist, you made to search for your crew and seek instruction from your Captain as best to aid them as they set sail.

As you approached the deck, you noticed the ship had already embarked on their journey out to sea; leaving the beautiful restaurant-ship behind on the horizon as you embarked on your journey to collect Nami.

After looking around, you noticed none of the crew were above deck currently. Your brows were momentarily perplexed before you heard a flurry of raised agitated voices coming from the ships kitchen. You shrugged before making your way to the location of the elevated voices.

As you reached the kitchen, you almost clashed into the looming form of the injured swordsman as he exited the kitchen. He firmly clasped his left hand around your right wrist and spun you away from the door.

“You,” he grunted out, wincing slightly in pain as he maneuvered you away from the kitchen door, “are forbidden from entering that room until I otherwise command you, you hear me?”

Frowning in anger at his sudden orders, you whipped your wrist from his grasp and searched his aggravated expression for explanation.

You heard loud voices again from the kitchen, prompting you to turn your gaze from Zoro to the space the arguing voices were arising from.

“Don’t,” Zoro warned you, bringing your gaze back to his momentarily, “don’t go in there, I mean it.”

“You haven’t given me valid reason not to, swordsman,” you spat your rebuttal at him, still angry and confused by his sudden mood shift from earlier.

Zoro strung several expletives together, almost poetically as he again reached for your wrist and more gently clasped it this time.

“Control yourself this time,” he warned you in a low tone. Your anger shifted to puzzlement, your eyes flittering between his to find any hidden meaning behind them.

“Zoro,” you added before gently bringing your other hand to his and kindly unclasping his grip from your wrist this time, “I am always in control.”

He groaned slightly at your words before turning to follow the source of the noise.

Upon silently entering the kitchen, your eyes settled on the blonde chef who dutifully prepared you a coffee earlier in the day who alongside Usopp and Luffy seemed to be arguing with something loud atop the felt-lined hanging table attached to the rafters in the kitchen.

Something spherical: hues of blue, white and red seemed to be hopping slightly atop the table and hurl insults at the troop. You trailed your eyes over the form as it gruffly taunted your Captain with some kind of jest you couldn’t make out.

“You said you would cooperate,” Luffy warned the object as it halted its jumping and fixing it’s gaze on him.

“And I will, just as soon as I-,” he halted its speech as he turned again with a small jump, fixing his tourmaline eyes to rest on your form. All speech was removed from his thoughts as the very breath from within him was stolen away.

Your eyes met with his, your mouth became partially parted in shock at the sudden meeting of the current occupant of your fixation. His eyes flittered between your eyes and triangulating down to stop on your lips. You focussed on his gaze, noticing he seemed to be as bewitched by you as you had become by him somehow. You noticed a barely visible whimper hiss out shakily from his lips as he slowly blinked his eyes up to focus on your eyes once more.

Although initially incredibly frightened by the fact there was a severed head plopped unceremoniously atop the ships dining table, as soon as you noticed the figure the head belonged to, and the lack of gory blood and bits, you deduced this to be the detached head of the infamous clown captain, Buggy. You were entranced by the way he was looking over you with a combination of insatiable desire laced with desperate hunger, and the apprehension of a puppy being scolded for destroying a prized shoe while searching for forgiveness.

“Gee, if we knew all it took to shut him up was to bring her up here, we should’ve done it ages ago,” Usopp commented with a shrug. You snapped out of your moment, bringing your attention to focus on Usopp and shooting him with a slight disciplinary frown, scolding his words.

You brought your gaze back to focus on Buggy’s as he opened his mouth to speak again.

“I-,” he said in a serious tone for the first time, keeping his eyes locked on your own, “-will cooperate.”

Part 9

Tag List:

@thesadvampire @a-phan-of-youtube @multifandombtch @plan3t-plut0 @tiredemomama @tfamidoingwithmylife @bimboshaggy @plan3t-plut0 @vixnicknacks @tesha-i-guess

[hussyknee]

hi, i hope i am not crossing a line, please ignore if this is bad question. i am just curious

in one of your posts u said your caste is karava. this is the first time i am hearing a sinhalese talk about caste (i speak tamil and never really felt confident in my sinhala to make sinhalese friends)

can you explain about the castes or tell me where find information about it

Caste is a fucked up concept across the board, obviously, but Sinhalese castes are different from Tamil Hindu in that they involve the cultural and socio-political organisation of the Sinhalese community, and has no connection to religious scripture.

There are thirteen castes that still exist today. We used to be a chiefly agrarian society, so the majority of Sinhalese are Govigama ("Govi" means farming) and they're the kind of "bourgeoisie" of the social order in that few are above them and anyone else is below them. Those that rank below them are castes like Bathgama and Kinnara (who are meant to be agricultural labourers) Vahampura (something to do with making cinnamon or treacle) Navadanna (artisans, especially makers of jewelry) and Rada (launderers). Radala is the caste of the nobility, and afaik the only one above Govigama. They're all from highlands of Kandy, the last Sinhalese holdout against the Europeans for about 200 years. There's no nobility among the lowlanders (between the Portuguese, Dutch and British, they were either killed, assimilated or fled to Kandy) so the Govigama caste is the highest one everywhere else. This means Govigama used to be the only one that was qualified to join the Theravada Buddhist priesthood* and also receive education and job opportunities as government servants—right up until the mid-20th century, when the karava gentry turned into robber barons under the British Empire's demand for cash crops.

Karava people are the majority inhabitants in the Southern coastal lands, which are predominantly Sinhalese Buddhist, as opposed to the Tamil lands of the Northern coast (Eelam really) and the proliferation of sparsely-populated Muslim communities in the rest of the coastal belt. Karava is called the fisherfolk caste by the rest of country, despite their own strong objections. Caste is reckoned patrilineally. I'm Karava through my Dad and I married into a Karava family. Nearly every Karava person I know insists that we're actually the warrior caste and were given the coastal lands as reward for our service to the king. I'm sure there's a legitimate case to be made for this, (this site keeps being referred to me) but I don't care enough to find out because the Karava insistence that being called fisherfolk is a Govigama conspiracy is incredibly funny. I mean, it could be true, what do I know, but so much of the cope and seethe stem from our lingering inferiority complex and resentment at having been treated as inferior until a few decades ago. After being ground under the Radala and Govigama feet along with the rest for ages beyond record, suddenly us lowlanders were rolling in money from our toddy, coconut and rubber plantations, matching or surpassing the wealth of the nobility. We were chasing off Tamil and Muslim minorities to establish our own lost cultural capitals in Anuradhapura and Pollonnaruwa that predated the Kandyan kingdom and making our own sect of the Buddhist priesthood (Amarapura Nikaya) that would ordain Karava people. The robber baron types also got very chummy with the British colonial administration and were awarded cushy jobs in government over the Govigama, who still disdained industrialization and commerce. (To this day my mother's family looks down on business people no matter how rich. Merchants are considered grasping and untrustworthy.) By the time of Sri Lanka's independence from the British in 1948, we had two varieties of equally rich, snooty, virulently ethnonationalist Sinhalese elites who had gotten ahead by selling us out to the British, but with the highland Radala still believing they were too pure-blooded to mix with the hoi polloi and the lowland Karava resentful at being considered the polloi no matter how hoi they'd become. Post-independence, Sri Lanka's adoption of free education and free state universities saw masses of lowlanders, Karava, Durava and Salagama all, sending their kids to university to attain upwardly mobile careers in engineering, medicine and teaching. "If the boy is Karava he's probably in engineering" is a common joke. It's a clear shift away from our rural agrarian roots into urban sprawl and high socio-economic competition in place of social stratification.

We also have a caste of Untouchables called the Rodiya. In ancient times, you and all your family being stripped of their lands and titles and banished into the Rodi Rahaya was one of the punishments reserved for the noble houses that ran afoul of the monarchy. It condemned your entire lineage forever. This was such a dire fate that some would have favoured execution.

Rodiyas were not permitted to cross a ferry, to draw water at a well, to enter a village, to till land, or learn a trade, as no recognised caste could deal or hold intercourse with a Rodiya [...] They were forced to subsist on alms or such gifts as they might receive for protecting the fields from wild beasts or burying the carcasses of dead cattle; but they were not allowed to come within a fenced field even to beg [...] They were prohibited from wearing a cloth on their heads, and neither men nor women were allowed to cover their bodies above the waist or below the knee. If benighted they dare not lie down in a shed appropriated to other travellers, but hid themselves in caves or deserted watch-huts. Though nominally Buddhists, they were not allowed to go into a temple, and could only pray "standing afar off"

(Source)

Allegations of witchcraft and cannibalism aside, the Rodiyas themselves were known to be a proud folk that considered themselves the pure-blooded descendants of the royalty that were punished this way. Here's a Reddit post that expounds on them more, along with photographs. It seems that the strictures against covering up had fallen away between the turn of the 20th century and the '70s. Not much is known about their current living conditions, but I believe that, like India's own Untouchables and the low caste of Eelam's Tamil Hindus, they must have converted to Christianity to escape the stigma.

Casteism is still somewhat of a problem in the Sinhalese community, but it's lessening every generation. My maternal grandparents weren't entirely happy about my mother marrying my Karava father but conceded because he was an engineer with a stable career. My older cousin had to fight his Karava family to marry his school sweetheart because she was both poor and Bathgama caste (I think "Padu" might be a derogatory name for it). The fact that he succeeded is noteworthy because it would have been a huge scandal in my parents' time. The Radalas are still a bunch of insular dipshits who try to keel over and die if one of them tries to marry out. But many of them are also migrating abroad so Idk if it's too much to hope that they leave the caste shit behind when they assimilate into Western society. It certainly hasn't worked for the Brahmin Indians. But the outlook is better for the rest of us.

*There is no caste system in Buddhism. The Buddha in fact was an egalitarian social reformer who advocated against the Vedic caste system and ordained Untouchables as well as women. So obviously the Theravadin priesthood of Sri Lanka, that bastion of the Buddha's Word, would make sure that only high caste men could ever be ordained. Love the fact that the Karava social revolution just made sure they had their own sect instead of, y'know, pushing for anything more equitable. I always say that if we really want to protect Buddhism we have to abolish the Sinhalese.

[dead-generations]

it is interesting that the global trend of young men being not just right wing but more right wing than older men is playing out very differently in the context of australia

It feels like the liberal party is being pulled apart. the young liberals are constantly captured by the most fringe right position. women voters and politicians, especially affluent and white ones, are defecting for the Teals (Fiscal conservatives with environmentalism as a priority, and general social "progressiveness" especially towards women). Dutton clearly has no idea how to campaign and others within his own party are making moves against him even in the middle of the federal election campaign! Fairly openly even!

The right faction is gaining more power and momentum and going further right, but the rest of society just isn't. It seems like theyre hemmed in on multiple sides. Their most energised voters/members want them to go in against the environment and they tend towards a boys club, which drives many to teals. A lot of women liberal politicians are just straight up defecting to the Teals.

If they go too hard against China like the right faction wants to it alienates a lot of Chinese voters who are otherwise fairly sympathetic to the Liberals. And being hawkish on defense against china no longer plays well; they lost a ton of credibility there during the last Liberal government over Darwin, the sailing of PLAN ships into Sydney Harbour (which the government either did not approve or failed to give public notice of), among other things. And the new liberal government would be composed of people who had power over such matters in the last liberal government. Australia has a short memory but it's not quite that short, mostly.

They want to go in against muslims but muslim communities form significant portions of marginal seats. For some reason they are going all in for Israel right now which just makes no sense, basically no one cares except for a very vocal but very weak zionist lobby representing a very small fraction of australia's population. 90% of australians simply do not care and resent being asked to care, and 9% are stridently pro palestine (or in the case of many lebs, anti-israel).

On immigration, the overwhelming majority of australians feel, more or less, that there are too many immigrants coming in with too little regulation, and that it is having negative impacts on multiple aspects of the economy and standard of living. Notionally youd think a right party would do well here - but again they lost credibility on this issue. Only the most ardent Lib1 voters think that the LNP will do fuck all about immigration. There are twofold barriers: if they go too hard they will alienate Indian and Chinese voters (and others) and on the other hand the business interests that back the Libs are absolutely pro immigration because they want cheap labour and high housing prices.

Here some of the issues are less to do with the party's stability and more to do with this specific campaign being done terribly. Dutton is on tape telling indians he wants more indian migrants and chinese businessmen that he will bring back Gold Visas, he has voted consistently against migrant caps, and he has taken only two strong positions: visa/citizenship tests requiring questions about opinions on Israel and deporting dual citizens (!?). Which appeals to very, very few people.

Back to issues at the party headquarters: there has been shocking, democrat-levels of incompetence in so many state and local level administrations. Victoria Lib and ACT Lib have both taken their endless loses as a chance to go further and further right, despite the fact that Vic Lab are at the tail end of a long and deeply troubled administration. The knives are constantly flashing and flashing fairly openly. NSW liberals failed the basic task of putting their party members on the docket in time for several council elections before deadlines passed. There have already been 4 major scandals among liberal candidates this election, scandals that make you question the basic competence of the campaign managers and those doing checks on people.

And in most of these cases the issue is again that younger and farther right people are making power plays with very little regard for what policies will actually get them elected.

Im not counting my chickens before they hatch, but it is really telling that 2 weeks out from election the stories in the papers are about liberal factions sparing to find out who will reign if they lose.

So unlike the trend in other countries there isn't an existing or emergent political faction which has captured successfully the increasingly right wing sentiments of young men. Instead it appears that the increasing leftward trend of women, even affluent and white women, is becoming the new power in australian politics.

part of this is helped, i think, by the fact that right wing young men are very emotionally motivated and emotive and rhetorically bombastic. And in australia I think that tends to read as more embarrassing than in most cultures. Being a political activist is a bit like being an elderly nudist.

Now there's a fair chance lib-lab collaboration to crush the teals will be successful. If that happens I suspect Labor will regret it more than the Liberals, down the line.

[grossillygirl]

Not you reblogging a pro-Biden/Harris post like this administration hasn’t been directly complicit in the genocide in Gaza 😞

Yes that's awful but like, it's kind of the lesser evil compared to the other most likely to win/ popular party .. does that make sense? Like again genocide is obviously awful and inhumane and gross and all of the rest of it and i DO NOT AT ALL like or endorse them as individuals or anything Ike that. The point is that theyre SLIGHTLY less bad than the other party.

Like in the UK, both labour and conservative are openly complicit in the genocide.. but loads of people were like "labour is fucking awful but slightly better than conservatives plus no other party is likely to win at all"

Do i think the green party shouldve won? Yeah but like thats mot the point. Is labour shit and do i like them? No but its better them than conservative realistically. I only mentioned the uk politics to be able to show a recent real life comparison and the logic of it, so that if u disagree ill know i explained my understanding fully at least!

By the way, please correct me if im wrong but dont be rude to me cus im not here for that 🫶🏽 i support human rights and everything, i am just under the assumption that the lesser evil (which unfortunately is still fucking insanely evil cus of the genocide in Palestine) is better than the other option- am i wrong?? Lile im open minded so please lmk

[ere-the-sun-rises]

I've got a bone to pick with the dude in the screenshot. Here's some of the reasons his words reveal he's a chode:

He "runs a school", does he? That means he's a high-end administrator, either in the school itself or in the school board (if its a public school) and does not actually have direct interaction with students on a consistent basis (or at all).

When he says that, he's implying he oversees teachers or students or both. If he was a teacher or had been one, he would know that being a teacher is a fuckload of work and would not be dismissive of them. If he had interactions with students like teachers do, he would know students generally don't shirk their work. If he's referring to both, he's a douchebag who looks down on his colleagues and their pupils.

A school (of any kind) is arguably the LAST place you would find workshy layabouts. Teachers, even shitty ones, work incredibly hard to do their jobs for a comparatively small amount of pay, especially considering the amount of work they do which they don't get paid for (clubs, after-hours tutoring, at-home grading, etc).

Students are not lazy. They intake a deluge of information on multiple subjects for 6+ hours a day, do work and homework and have to time-manage it. A lot of them also have extracurriculars they balance against the workload and exhaustion. They are also children, forced into environments that are not usually overly pleasant, possibly with people they don't like, for prolonged periods of time where they can't move around and are required to concentrate all the time. An adult forced into an equivalent of that work would crack under the pressure.

"The human impulse to not do anything" Really, my good man? So where did you find all this spare time to observe the unwashed masses of you were so fucking busy all the time, hmm? Tell me why you were at the Devil's Sacrament, Austen.

Also, actually, yeah! Humans do need downtime! We're a predator species - we're meant to lay around when we're full and content and nap in the sun. Every other top or near-top predator does this: big cats, wolves, whales, sharks, they all have time off where they just mess around. Go ask a biology teacher, if you can summon the spare time to do so.

Human beings, when given sufficient rest and free time, will find things to do. Tribal culture is a perfect example, go ask the history teacher aboit it. Native American tribes would do all kinds of maintenance work in their downtime - fixing things, weaving baskets, creating/mending clothing, teaching others these chores, passing down oral histories, blending paints, making beads, you name it. Nothing but necessity and desire compelled these activities ans if modern humans were given a chance, they would do the same.

An attitude like this one only comes from privilege. Anyone who's been raised poor or working class knows how fucking much of your life is taken up by work, chores and maintenance labour. Someone has to make money, do laundry, make food, clean the house. None of this goes anywhere if you don't do it. You don't have the money to pay for it to be done ot support a spouse who will do it instead (and they're working too, just not for pay). You get to sit up there, away from the daily toil, and pontificate on how the masses laze about when given enough leave to do so. How dare they?! How dare they not turn themselves into the meat grinder for a few more pennies?! What use is a family and friendships and hobbies if they haven't got excess money laying about?

That's what it's all about, right, Austen? Pleasure and leisure are for the rich and the rich alone. The poor should indenture themselves and praise the opportunity to work until they drop dead for the scraps they are given. They do not deserve to know human interaction outside of their coworkers and bosses, so see their job less than they see their home. What use do children find in play when they could be shackled to their desk for the entire daylight cycle? Are you peasants not thankful?

Oh? Is that not what you believe? Then why is that what you're saying?

My least favorite things about anti- UBI discourse is always the techbros whining that "nobody is going to work anymore! People will just watch Netflix all day!" and I have 2 responses:

1) Who the fuck cares. Who the fuck cares what people do with their time! That's kind of the fucking point!

2) People aren't going to stop laboring. Housework (look, it's right there in the word!) will still need to be done. So will maintenance on our homes and personal spaces. Children will still need carers, as will the elderly and disabled. There are millions of examples of ~work~ that we do all the time, uncompensated, that won't suddenly stop because we aren't forced to sell our labor to provide corporation's profits.

I'm not surprised that what is traditionally women's work is invisible to these dipshits, but it never fails to anger me.

Anyway. Join the IWW.

[raincitygirl76]

I just realized something. Hillerska must provide a fair bit of employment in Bjarstad. That bus stop can’t only be there for non-boarding students. There would be administrative staff, cooks, cleaners, groundskeepers, maintenance people. Plus occasional extra labour (from local catering companies, presumably) whenever Hillerska is having a special event like Parents Day or the jubilee.

And big regular orders to Bjarstad supermarkets, not to mention local tradespeople being called in whenever there’s a specialist problem the regular maintenance staff can’t fix. They’re old buildings. There would inevitably be plumbers, electricians, carpenters needed from time to time.

Adults Simon and Sara run into on campus would also be adults they’d run into in town. Which must have gotten seriously awkward for Simon after August leaked that fucking sex tape.

Also, while the housemasters and housemistresses would obviously have to live on campus, I doubt Hillerska would have room to house every teacher. Particularly the ones who have families of their own. And even if there was room, many teachers might prefer to have separation between work and the rest of their life. So they would live in Bjarstad.

Presumably teachers with families could send their own kids to Hillerska as non-boarders for free. That might even be a perk of teaching there. I wonder if the non-boarding kids of Hillerska teachers are treated with as much contempt as Simon and Sara.

Please note, I have discovered from helpful Swedish watchers of the show that none of the Hillerska students pay tuition to attend. It is illegal in Sweden to charge for schooling. Private boarding schools gets around this law by charging exorbitant amounts of money to the parents of boarders, theoretically for their room and board only. In practice, for the experience of upper class solidarity and an exclusive education. So non-boarders like Simon and Sara are seen as freeloaders by many of the boarders.

Please note, though, that Hillerska would receive revenue from the state for educating each and every student. I highly doubt those payments would cover all the fancy extras Hillerska offers. But Linda Eriksson is a taxpayer, and her taxes are helping to cover the expense of educating her non-boarding kids.

Also, private Swedish boarding schools can pick and choose which non-boarding applicants they will accept, unlike public schools which have to educate everyone. So I guess they’d pick the cream of the crop of Bjarstad locals, kids who stand out in some way, and will enhance the school’s standing.

Simon presumably for his musical talent, Sara probably for her grades. Or maybe on compassionate grounds, since she got bullied so unmercifully for years at the local public school. Hillerska could pat itself on the back for rescuing the poor girl from the scourge that is public education.

The above is my understanding from what I have picked up on Tumblr from Swedes. It’s entirely possible I didn’t get it all right. I’m just a Canadian, after all! If I misunderstood anything, please let me know and I’ll edit.

[chrisbitchtree]

Goin’ to California

They were laying in Steve’s bed one night, six months after Starcourt, cuddled under a pile of blankets, when billed announced that he had to go home. “Of course,” said Steve, confusion furrowing his brow. “But I thought you were staying the night? It’s cold out.”

“Not Susan’s,” Billy said quietly, “California. I can’t do it anymore, man. Everything in me aches. I need the sun and the warmth.” Steve knew it too but was selfishly denying that anywhere could be better than Hawkins. He’d spent his whole life there. The kids were there. Joyce, Hop, and Robin. It was everything he knew.

He knew that Billy was right though. It would be better for him there. Steve could see that just talking about it was reigniting a light in his eyes that had been extinguished a long time ago, before everything that had gone down last summer. Life had beat that spark out of him, and Steve was going to try his best to light it back up. “Then we’ll make it happen, baby,” Steve said, pulling Billy in for a kiss. “Whatever we need to do to get there, we’re goin’ to California.”

They had no clue what they’d do once they got there, but a plan was set in place. Thankfully, they’d both been setting money aside to get an apartment in Hawkins, Steve from his job at Scoops, and Billy from the administrative job he’d taken at the Hawkins police department, after Flo had retired to spend more time with her grandkids. But they needed more.

Steve didn’t want Billy to have to do any more physical labour than he had to, so he started waking up well before dawn, telling Billy he was out jogging, when he was really working a second job as a snowplow operator, borrowing Hop’s truck every morning at 4am to get the job done, putting every penny from it away to expedite their plan. It was exhausting, but so worth it when he saw the number in his bank account add up. It brought so much joy to Steve to see the look on Billy’s face when he told him they could afford to go to California four months earlier than he’d been telling Billy they could. He fucked Steve senseless that night, both of them overflowing with happiness and love.

The next part of the plan was harder. They had to tell everyone that they were leaving. Hop knew, because he had a lot of questions when Steve had come around one evening, asking if he could borrow his truck five mornings a week, to go out in the cold and plow snow, when he was already working at Scoops full time, but he’d been keeping it from everyone else until absolutely necessary.

He started with Dustin. Steve took him out to the diner to break the news. How upset could the kid get with a plate full of fries and a chocolate milkshake. Turns out, very upset. It took a full five minutes for him to move from shouting at Steve about abandoning him to just crying into his fries. Finally, Steve calmed him down with the promise of a bus ticket to visit Steve and Billy in San Diego next summer.

Next was Robin. She whined about having to suffer through her shifts at Scoops alone, but she knew this was what Steve and Billy needed. Plus, she was planning on applying to plenty of schools out west next year.

Telling the rest of the party was marginally easier, with Billy, Dustin, and Max, who Billy had let in on their plan at the start, by his side, but it still broke his heart. He’d miss Will, Lucas, El, and somehow, even Mike. He’d miss D n’ D campaigns, long days spent out at the pool, the movie nights. Everything that had finally made his giant, empty house feel like a home.

Finally, the big day came. The Camaro was packed to the gills with all their worldly possessions, a ton of snacks, and a pile of mixed tapes that Steve had made for the journey. Everyone had come to see them off that morning. They all ate donuts and passed around teary hugs in Steve’s driveway. The kids and Robin gifted them with a Polaroid camera, so they could document their journey. Both Billy and Steve were left speechless by the love they felt.

They waved goodbye to everyone, and drove into the cool morning, the light of dawn barely lighting up the sky. Steve popped in the first tape, the first track making smiles light up on both their faces through the tears. Steve grabbed Billy’s hand, gripping tight.

“…made up my mind, making a new start, goin’ to California…”. And they weren’t just going to California. Even for Steve, who’d never left Indiana, he knew he was goin” home.

[keys-to-the-kinkdom]

i see medical/examination kink on your list 👀 maybe someone (take your pick) examining ciri? perhaps she's a sex slave they're getting ready to sell??? - 👽

Aiden was at the slave market under contract. Despite his reputation, he did tend to prefer his partners consenting, but a grieving widow had put out a contract on a slaver and Aiden had been too much of a bleeding heart to say no. Lambert was going to laugh himself sick when he heard. The problem he was having was that his target was back at the slave pens. The public weren't allowed access to the slave pens without being a buyer. Aiden didn't want to buy a slave, not even to kill one of the slavers. 

He was leaning against one of the pillars in the auction room, trying to look dangerous and unapproachable while he worked out how to fulfil his contract. He was barely paying attention to the stage, just enough to spot a threat if one was to emerge. A flash of white caught his eye. His first thought was that Geralt was here chasing the same or another contract. A closer look showed just how wrong he was. 

Ciri was standing, tall and regal in the middle of the stage. She was completely bare. Even with her cunt out and her nipples teased to stiff peaks, she radiated serene regality. Aiden adjusted himself subtly in his breeches. Like all the slaves, her hands were tied behind her with sturdy rope and there was a thick leather collar around her throat. The leash was held by the auctioneer. 

'Our next lot is a young woman, approximately twenty five years of age, healthy and strong. She would be suitable for any work, including manual labour and bedsport. She is not untouched. I'll start the bidding at 300 crowns,' the auctioneer called. 

Aiden’s hand was in the air before he had a chance to think. Ciri was a Wicher in all but mutations. She’d be able to help him fulfil the contract. He also owed it to the wolves to rescue their youngest from a situation that she probably didn’t want to be in (although she looked comfortable enough on the stage). Those were the reasons he’d have given if anyone had asked him what he was doing. The reality was though, that in that moment, he saw her and he wanted and he had the means to take. 

The bidding spiralled up from 300 to 500 to 700 and Aiden began to sweat. He’d had a good season on the Path, starting out with new gear from the caravan and picking up a few very lucrative contracts early on, but he wasn’t made of money. Not like some of these people were. Just as he really began to worry, Ciri bared her teeth and snarled at the greasy, portly man that was attempting to outbid Aiden. Her sharp teeth glinted in the light and the glare was as feral as anything Lambert could have produced. Aiden’s dick twitched in his smalls. His opposition on the other hand, shrank back, put off by the sight and he missed his chance to bid. 

‘Going once! Going twice! Sold to the man with the red hair!’ the auctioneer called. He handed Ciri’s leash off to an attendant and the next slave was dragged out. 

Aiden made his way through the administrative process as quickly as he possibly could. The attendant that led him back gave him an indulgent smile. 

‘She really is something to look at, that one, isn’t she?’ he said conspiratorially.

Aiden swallowed and nodded, ‘Yeah.’ His voice was raspy. ‘I can’t wait to find out what she’s like in bed. Seemed to have some fire in her.’

Of course, he knew Ciri’s fire well. The idea of it leashed under his control was doing things to him that he didn’t really want to admit to. He was learning a lot of things about himself very suddenly. 

The slave pens were in a large warehouse at the back of the auction building. There was an open space in the middle where the sold slaves were tied to hitching posts, waiting for their new owners. Aiden’s eyes snapped immediately to Ciri’s white blonde hair. He walked towards her like he was the one on the leash. 

When he reached her, a lean, rat-faced man stepped forward and took the token that provided proof of sale. 

‘Watch for this one,’ he sneered, ‘she’s a feral little thing.’

He reached out to tweak a nipple but froze when Aiden clamped a hand around his wrist.

‘She’s mine,’ he hissed, ‘and you will not touch her.’

‘Quite right, Sir,’ the man said with an oily smirk, stepping back. ‘Will you inspect the goods before you leave?’

Aiden had heard of the practice, of course. As a Wicher it was impossible to not be introduced to the seedier sides of life. As a Cat Witcher who was less picky about his contracts than schools like the Griffins or the Wolves, it was expected that he’d have contacts in the underbelly of society. As such, he knew what he needed to do here. He knew he should feel reluctant, but all he felt was desperate. He wanted to get his hands on that pale, creamy flesh and show her who she belonged to. 

‘Yes, I’ll inspect her,’ he said, stepping forward.

They were nose to nose now. He could feel her little puffs of breath hitting his chin. Her warmth was intoxicating. He leaned closer, placing his lips by her ear.

‘Hello there, little pup,’ he whispered. 

She shivered, very lightly, but enough that he noticed. 

He stood back and looked her over. 

‘Good. She knows to hold position at least,’ he said, eyes flicking to the slaver.

He reached out and tilted her chin up. Her skin was soft and warm. It wasn’t the first time they’d touched. He’d helped train her after all and spent several winters in the wolves’ keep with her where they all wrestled and sparred. This deliberate touching of her naked skin was different though. Electricity sparked along his fingertips which felt like they suddenly had a direct line to his cock. 

‘Where did you get her?’ Aiden asked. 

As he waited for an answer, he lifted first one eyelid and then the other. Her eyes were clear and bright and she didn’t waver under his hands. He burned with the trust it implied. He ran his fingers down over her cheeks, stroking her hair back from her face and coming to rest cupping her jaw. She blinked once, slowly. 

‘Found her running around in Ebbing, asking questions she shouldn’t have been. Didn’t take much to shut her up,’ the slimy arsehole crowed. Aiden longed to silence him. Permanently. 

He focused on Ciri. Her light, sweet scent filled his nostrils and calmed him. He was where he needed to be to fulfil the contract. He swore to himself there and then that he would kill this odious man before he left. How dare he think he had the right to touch Aiden’s Ciri? She deserved better than his disgusting hands on her sweet, perfect body. 

He lifted her top lip and slid one finger in, running it around her teeth. They were all in place with no cracks or other damage. He breathed a little easier. Ciri didn’t have the same mutated ability to grow new teeth if her original ones were damaged. Her training had focused a lot on protecting her face. He pulled his finger back and hooked it across her bottom teeth, pulling her mouth open. She allowed it and he swallowed hard at the sight of her little pink tongue, sitting there so innocently. He imagined it licking at his cock. He slid two fingers in, as deep as he could. She breathed deeply around them but didn’t otherwise react and Aiden felt himself beginning to leak. Her mouth was warm and soft and he wanted nothing more than to push her to her knees and sink his cock in. He couldn’t though. He had to keep his cover. He had to hope that Ciri knew what he was doing and that she wouldn’t hate him afterwards. 

He pulled his fingers out and dragged them down her throat, spreading the wetness and making it glisten. As he trailed over the collar he felt her breath hitch and he paused to tug on it a little. Her scent deepened, ripening with arousal. He tugged harder and she whined. He considered teasing her some more, but resisted, instead moving to slip his hands down her arms, checking her muscle definition. He tested the rope around her wrists and subtly loosened it enough that she could slip out if she needed to. He desperately hoped she’d stay where she was, but at least she now had the ability to leave if she wished. The leash was looped around the pillar but it wasn’t tied. A good pull would have it free in seconds. 

His fingers skimmed from her wrists over her ribs where he frowned over how clear it was that she hadn’t been eating enough. She blinked at him again and relaxed into his hands. 

‘Did you not bother feeding her?’ he asked, venom dripping from his voice.

‘She’s alive, ain’t she? She ate enough.’

‘I prefer my partners to feel less like I may break them the first time I throw them down to fuck them properly,’ Aiden spat. 

Ciri’s moan was almost certainly too quiet for anyone else to hear. It was barely audible to Aiden’s Witcher enhanced ears, but it was audible. He smirked at her. He could see a muscle jumping in her thigh where she was clenching her legs. He preened at the knowledge that she was turned on by him. 

From her ribs, he slid his hands up and cupped her breasts. He paused with his thumbs hovering over her nipples, which were still taught and peaked in the slightly chill air of the room. 

‘Are you sensitive?’ he asked her, his voice dripping like dark honey between them. He should be kind to her, but there was a beast inside him, rising up and screaming for her ruin. 

‘Yes,’ she whispered. 

‘Yes?’ he asked, giving in all at once to his basest instincts, ‘Yes what?’

‘Yes, Sir, I’m sensitive,’ she replied, louder now and more confident with something to push back against. 

‘Hmm.’

He pinched them, quick and hard and she arched back and wailed. Each breast was barely a handful, but they were soft and round and tight. Her nipples were small and he applied himself to teasing them, alternating sharp pinches and light brushes in an unpredictable pattern. He could see her struggling to stay still, wanting more. Her back was bowed into an arch as she pressed forward into his hands. He thumbed over both nipples, gave them a sudden hard twist then let go entirely. Her voice rose in a reedy wail. 

‘You are sensitive,’ he purred, ‘Does that apply to everywhere, I wonder.’ She opened her mouth to answer him, but he interrupted her. ‘You only need to speak when ordered to. Otherwise, keep your mouth shut unless you’re moaning on my fingers.’

She closed her mouth and nodded. He pulled the leash rope free from the low railing it was attached to and tugged her forward. She fell into him, off balance. He used the opportunity to grab a handful of her tight little ass which she wiggled. He pressed his hand between her legs and found that she was soaking. Slick dripped freely from between her folds and she moaned as soon as he touched her. 

‘Eager little thing, aren’t you,’ he murmured. ‘So wet for me. You’re going to make such a good slut.’

He spun her around and pressed one hand to her hip and the other between her shoulders.

‘Bend over and put your hands on the rail,’ he ordered. 

As soon as she complied, he kicked her feet wider, exposing her most intimate places to his view. She was flushed red and dripping. The scent of her arousal wound around him and intoxicated him. He had to have her. He wound the leash around his fist and pulled it, forcing her head up and her back to arch so that she was presenting to him. 

‘I’m going to touch you now and you’re going to come on my fingers like the greedy little slut that you are,’ he told her. ‘If you’re good, I’ll give you my cock, but you have to earn it. I want to hear you scream, do you understand?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ she whimpered.

‘Good girl.’

His finger circled her clit and she whined. He laughed, low and a little cruel. It wasn’t going to be that easy. 

‘Have you ever been fucked before, little slut?’ he asked her.

‘Yes, Sir,’ she replied, gasping for breath as he pushed two fingers into her without pause. He wanted to wreck her. He wanted to own her, to possess her so utterly that she would never look at another man again. The intensity of his own feelings overwhelmed him and he pushed another finger in, leaning forward. His hard cock pressed against her arse and he thrust, groaning at the friction. He leaned forward, draped half across her back so that he could hiss into her ear.

‘Look at you,’ he growled, as deep and resonant as any Wolf, ‘You were made for this. You were made to be my little slut.’ He dropped his voice to a quiet rumble so that no one but her would hear. ‘What would Geralt think if he could see you like this?’ he asked. ‘His precious daughter spread out on my fingers, whimpering for more. What would your Uncles say? Do you think they’d be disgusted to know that you’re nothing but a little slut? Or do you think they’d want a turn?’

Ciri gasped and moaned at that, slick leaking out around Aiden’s fingers to drip onto the ground. He pushed the fourth in and reached down with his thumb, circling her clit with a lazy, light pressure that did nothing more than frustrate. 

‘Oh, you like that idea, do you? You like the idea of your father and your uncles lining up behind me, ready to take their turn with my precious little slut? Is that what you want? I can make that happen,’ he growled twisting his fingers and pressing down with his thumb at the same time.

Ciri came apart with a wail, loud enough to turn heads in their direction. Aiden preened, knowing that everyone could see how good his little slave was. She shook apart under him, cunt clenching and fluttering around his fingers. He hooked them forward and pulled, twisting and pressing as she came. Slick gushed out, running down her thighs and soaking his hand. He purred at the feeling. 

‘What a good little slut,’ he whispered. ‘So good for me.’

‘Thank you, Sir. Thank you,’ she whimpered. Her voice was scratchy from the screaming. 

He drew his fingers out and pulled her up. Her knees were shaking and she fell back against him. 

‘You’ve made a mess,’ he said. ‘I think you should clean up after yourself.’

He offered her his hand and she stuck her tongue out, darting little kitten licks to clean it of her slick. She moaned as she did so and he couldn’t help but grind forward, pressing his cock against her pert little arse. She pressed back. The friction was both delicious and terrible. He wasn’t going to come in his braies like a kit. He wasn’t. If she didn’t stop that though, he might not have a choice. He pulled his hand away. 

‘Enough now,’ he said. He barely recognised the sound of his own voice. 

‘Are you happy with your purchase?’ the odious little man asked. Another man had joined him while Aiden had been distracted and he barely resisted the urge to curse. This was his target. The slaver that he had been sent after. Before he could react, Ciri had shrugged out of her ropes, ducked down and pulled the knife out of his boot. Her throw was textbook, exactly as he had taught her, and it embedded itself in the target’s eye. 

All hell broke loose as his body hit the ground.

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

rosesrevolution

The Roses Revolution was a spontaneous movement that was set up by matriactivist Jesusa Ricoy with the help of a creative agency called Cuatro Tuercas who designed the logos of the movement. It was initially created as a reply to the incredibly offensive cartoons that the Spanish Society of Obstetricians and Gynecologists had in their medical journal in which they humilliated their own patients, their conditions and births. However the movement was widely embraced and on every 25th of November (day against violence towards women) we try to add our voice to talk about obstetric violence, to be able to name it and shame it, doing this together as women, mothers, midwives, obstetricians and doulas

And with all these interventions they still fuck it up becasue they have no idea what the fuck they are doing ... like if they are so scared you'd think they try to do something kompetend ...

But they have to go to methods (Epidural and cesarian) and that is all they will try ...

And sometimes they will throw their weight on the person giving birth, becasue they are to uneducated to understand how to do a kristella correctly aka with the mother UPRIGHT and not with the mother lying down ...

Like dude ... there are ripped argans wenn you throw yourself bodily on the pregnat stomach of someone?

No shit!

Wen my sister went in to labour she had one continous contraction for like half an hour or longer

And her midwife just sat on her stupid ass and told her to breath

No one did anything until she was beging for an Epidural administration

And the thing is ... I know squad about giving birth ... but I feel like between sitting on your stupid ars and ramming a needle in someone spine there are inbetween steps one could try

Like, the Epidural administration is a great thig and very helpfull (if done competently ... and if neede becasue it alos can just stop the contractions all together ... ) and maybe it was the only thing that would have helped ... but they didn't really try anything else ...

And IMHO that is at least neglect if not abuse ...

-> I mean, just the other day I listened to a mother who for the rest of her live will suffer health issues becasue they ripped her pelvis muscles to shred like the butchers they are

Becasue they couldn't take 5 minutes and an ultrasound to see, why the fuck the baby was stuck

You know why it was stuck?!

Tiny little hand had goten stuck between the mothers pelvis and the babies head ... so if they had just very carefull pushed the baby back, gotten the hand tetangled, all wouldave been fine ... instead they used blund force, jumbin on her bely until she threw up ... and untilher tissue just ripped

AND THEN, they just shrugged wenn she could no longer empty her bladder ... like she, barely days after she had given birth had to find HERSELF a specialist to get a diagnosis, becasue apparentyl hospital is the last place where you get some kompetent medical help ...

I mean ... not that I am suprise ...

"You can control people when you have fear." Dr. Fischbein on why childb...

[luna-eclipse2000]

Shingeki no Danganronpa

Chapter 1, part 1

So I started this story last year when the Danganronpa craze happened but I still wanna post it because I think it’s a pretty alright take on the game. I put a hashtag of the name of this series so the parts are easy to find. (ie. Shingeki no Danganronpa Chapter 1)

——————————————————————————

Hope’s Peak High. A school so large that it towers over all the other buildings in this bustling urban area. Some people say that the school is like it’s at the centre of the world, which I agree to. Except, it is at the centre of the entire world. Everyone knows about this school and how prestigious it is. Anybody who’s anybody dreams of getting that fateful acceptance letter from administration. They say that if you come here and manage to graduate, you’ll be set for life. I’m not the most interesting person in the world, so it was a complete shock when I got a letter saying that they want me to attend. The only award I’ve ever won was a runner’s up ribbon in a fishing tourney. My letter told me that I’m the ‘Ultimate Lucky Student’, which sounds like complete horse shit in my opinion.

I get good grades, sure, but nothing as skyrocketing as some of the people who get in for a purpose. I still accepted the opportunity because I’m not an idiot. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and there’s no way that I’ll give it up because I feel like I don’t belong there... which I definitely feel like. I would’ve just assumed that they got the wrong person but they don’t send acceptance letters to the wrong house, it hasn’t happened in the fifty years the school’s been running for, and I’m pretty sure that the name (f/n) (l/n) isn’t common in this area. So here I now stand, in front of the massive school. It’s even more impressive and intimidating in person. Before I arrived, I did a small Google search on who was going to be in my class and it ranges from more mundane things like the Ultimate Cleaner to the Ultimate Strategist. But, despite my uncertainty of my presence, I put on a brave face and walk through the entrance gates... only to start feeling dizzy and nauseous, like I’m in one of those crazy amusement park rides where you spin in a circle very quickly and the floor drops. No sooner do I start feeling this way, do I black out.

~~~~~

“The hell just happened?” I ask myself as I open my eyes and take a look at my surroundings. I seem to be in a classroom because of all the desks and the blackboard up front, but there’s no windows. Just big metal plates with even bigger bolts and screws holding them in place. “Huh. Weird. Maybe that just shows some new part of the school they’re building and they don’t want any one to see it until it’s finished?” I wonder as I stand up from the desk. I look around but don’t see any bags, even mine is gone. When I turned back to my desk, I notice a slightly folded piece of paper on it, so I pick it up out of curiosity.

Hey there, new kid! The next semester is about to start. Starting today, this school will be your entire world.

“Knew it was the centre of the world.” I think to myself and then place the card down. It didn’t look very professional as it was written in black and red pencil crayon, but it’s a high school so I doubt there are any kids. And if there were, I would have to report them to cops for child labour. I look up at the clock and see that’s it’s eight. “How long was I out for? An hour probably, maybe less. Wait, doesn’t this school start at eight? Where’s all the students? And the teachers? Maybe I read the time wrong on the letter.”

I then go out of the classroom and notice the weird magenta and purple look of the halls and cringe at the contrast. “Ok, what the hell is with this hallway? And, again, where are all the people? I know that eight am isn’t very early, at least not so early that it’s a ghost town. Oh, shit, maybe there’s an assembly!”

I begin to race down the hall and pass by a red door that feels too eerily out of place but I shake the feeling off and head towards the main hall. Once I arrive, I see that everyone else is already there. “Hey, look! Someone else is here!” Someone says. “So that makes fifteen of us.” Someone else points out. “So, you’re all new as well?” I ask them. “No, we’re here for shits and giggles.” A boy with black hair and sharp steel grey eyes rudely answers. I laugh awkwardly. “Who shoved a stick up your ass?”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance. “Anyways, I’m (f/n) (l/n).” I introduce myself. “Sorry I’m late. When I entered the school I just blacked out or some shit. It was really weird.”

“You too?” A short blonde girl asks. “That’s what happened to the rest of us! At first, I thought it was just nerves. But then everyone started to realize that we all blacked out.”

“Yes. This is rather a strange situation.” A boy with blond hair that’s tied back a bit and glasses says. “I’ve never heard of fifteen people blacking out at different times at the same place on the same day.”

“We were drugged!” Someone speaks up. Everyone goes quiet as we turn our attention to the person who spoke. She’s rather tall and has brown hair, and wears glasses. “Oh, come on! I was just joking to lighten the mood! And ease the tension that’s growing because it’s making me a biiiit uncomfortable.”

“So then how about we just introduce ourselves then?” A black haired boy with freckles suggests. “That way we can ease the tension without freaking everyone out.”

I immediately feel calmer after he speaks. He’s got some kind of... energy or something around him. The first person I go up to is the short blonde girl with blue eyes. “Oh, hello! I’m Krista Lenz.”

Krista Lenz. She’s the Ultimate Volunteer. She volunteers all of her free time to shelters, reading to kids, helping the city, going in to retirement/nursing homes, helping out in hospitals and keeping veterans company. She’s even gone abroad to help build homes. She’s known online as Angel, and I can totally see why. Not just because of her noble acts, but because she looks so pure and innocent. Like a little angel. “Well, it’s actually Historia Reiss but that’s hard for kids and seniors to pronounce and spell so I just came up with the fake name.” Krista explains. “No way, seriously?” I ask her. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re popular with a name that isn’t technically yours?”

She giggles cutely. “Singers do it all the time, don’t they? Katy Perry’s last name is actually Hudson but she didn’t want to get confused for the actress, Kate Hudson.”

“Oh, right, yeah.” I say awkwardly and then move onto the next person.

I decide to go up to the the boy who suggested introductions. “Hi! I’m Marco Bodt. It’s nice to meet you!”

Ah, yes. Marco Bodt, the Ultimate Peacekeeper. He tries to help different countries bring peace to them so no more wars break out. He’s also proposed that they follow England in having a special force of officers who carry guns while the majority only carry nightsticks. He’s also won a Nobel peace prize. “So, what are you here for?” Marco asks me. “Oh, nothing special. I’m not that important.” I say. “Nonsense! You were accepted, right?” Marco says. “I got chosen by chance to be the lucky student.” I tell him. “See?” Marco says. “Out of everyone in the world that they put into chance, you got chosen! Not Diana across town. And the letter even said you were the Ultimate Lucky Student as a result, that accounts for something, right?”

I smile thankfully and go to say something else but hear shouting instead. “What the fuck did you call me, you suicidal bastard?!”

“I called you a horse face, horse face!” The other person responds just as angrily. “Oh, geez.” Marco says. “Sorry, I’m gonna go break them up so there isn’t a murder or anything.”

Marco then heads off to go calm the two boys down. I roll my eyes. “Teenage boys. Why are they like this?”

I head off to another boy, but he doesn’t have any hair. Or at least very little, short, stubby hairs. “Hi, I’m Connie Springer!”

Connie Springer is the Ultimate Prankster. He’s pulled pranks on a various number of people, none of which were very tame. He’s pranked politicians and celebrities. He’s helped talk show hosts prank their audiences and even pranked a military general. I honestly don’t know how he got away with his life for that one, especially since I heard how strict and unforgiving the general is. “It’s nice to meet you, Connie.” I say. “How’d you even escape General Shadis after putting Veet in his shampoo and then switching his toothpaste for actual sewerage?”

“Not easily, I’ll tell you that.” Connie responds with a laugh.

I then move onto the next person. A girl with black hair and grey eyes standing beside a boy with brown hair and beautiful turquoise eyes that I’m honestly jealous of. “Hi. I’m Eren Jaeger and this is Mikasa Ackerman.”

Eren Jaeger. The Ultimate Freedom Fighter. He leads various protests to allow people more rights and be more free, and he also runs different projects that aid in getting people free from their situation. Mikasa Ackerman is his adopted sister and is basically known as his knight in shining armour because of her saving Eren from all the aggressive people he’s encountered. She’s the Ultimate Protector. She protects students at school from bullies, and protects her brother, Eren, from everything. She’s been known to intimated police and SWAT teams, who are already trying to get her to join their force. Marco’s even been seen with them from time to time when he knows it could get very ugly. “What you’ve been doing is quite admirable, Eren.” I compliment him. “It’s great of you to stand up for complete strangers.”

He bashfully puts a hand on the back of his neck with a light blush and smile. “Thanks. Everyone deserves to have freedom so I just stand up for those who’s voices are drowned out by every day noise.”

I turn to Mikasa. “And you’re pretty brave to tell SWAT officers off.”

She just shrugs. “I don’t see it as brave.”

I nod and then go to the next person. Well, group. A tall boy with dark brown hair who seems to be sweating a lot, a blond boy who’s pretty buff, and a short blond girl who gives off as much warmth as an iceberg in a blizzard. “Hi. I’m (f/n) (l/n).” I introduce myself to them. They all look at me and I see the blond smirk. “Nah, cute is what you are.” He says to me. I can feel my cheeks start to burn at his pick-up line. “Oh, well, uh, thank you.”

“I’m Reiner Braun. This guy here’s Bertolt Hoover, and this is Annie Leonhart.”

Reiner Braun’s the Ultimate Blacksmith. He looks much more like a sports guy but when you see what he makes, you know that his talents lie with making armour and weapons. He makes them professionally for people who want a real replica of what medieval knights had, cosplayers, and medieval dinner shows. He’s won more than fifty competitions for blacksmithing. Bertolt Hoover is the Ultimate Deceit. He’s gotten away with a bunch of different crimes because of his shy and timid nature that makes him fade more into the background. Annie Leonhart is the Ultimate Fighter. Her father put her into boxing when she was a kid and beat the instructor on her first day so she started to train professionally. “So, what do you think about us being a thing when school really gets started, huh?” Reiner flirts. “Reiner, shut up.” Annie orders her friend. “Thanks for the offer.” I say. “It’s really tempting, but I have to decline.”

I quickly leave the trio to go introduce myself to a girl with auburn hair tied up into a ponytail. “Hi! I’m Sasha Braus!”

Sasha Braus runs a successful food critic website and tries food from all over the world including octopus, fried spiders and escamol. She’s friends with a bunch of different famous chefs like Gordon Ramsey and Rachel Ray. She’s also judged on a number of cooking shows and won every eating contest she’s competed in which is why she’s the Ultimate Foodie. “So, uh, when do you think we’ll get to eat?” Sasha asks me. I think for a second. “Not sure. We’ll probably have the orientation meeting and then be given a tour of the school, which will take a while, so probably not until at least eleven.”

She pouts. That’s when I notice a smell. “What the hell is that?”

“Oh, it’s a potato.” Sasha says and pulls out a whole baked potato from her jacket pocket. “Where the hell did you find a potato?!” I ask her. “Well when I woke up, I was really hungry. But my bag wasn’t with me that carried all my snacks. So before I came to the main hall, I decided to go find the dining hall. The potato was just kind of... there. Like it was waiting for me to eat it.” Sasha says and then breaks off a piece. “You want half?”

I look at the piece and see that it’s more like a quarter but I’m not hungry anyway so I politely decline. “More for me then!”

I laugh at her and then turn and see the black haired male with the stick up his ass. “Let’s get this over with.” I think to myself as I make my way over. “Hi.” I greet him. His cold eyes land on me and I instantly feel like I committed a felony or something. “Levi Ackerman.”

Levi Ackerman, distant cousin of Mikasa Ackerman, according to tabloids, who’s the Ultimate Cleaner. Apparently he grew up in the shittiest part of the city where the rats are almost the size of feet, which is where his obsession for cleanliness came from. He cleans up any vandalism from the streets and enforces no littering. He’s run mass city, beach and ocean clean ups. I decide that it’s best to leave him alone so I turn to the brown haired girl beside him who’s wearing glasses. “Hiii! I’m Hanji Zoë! The Ultimate Scientist! Also I’m non-binary, just so you know.”

Hanji Zoë definitely lives up to the title. They found a new element when they were ten and they had to do their science work from home so a university chemist and biologist could come tutor them. They even created a new cell that can protect the body from diseases like TB, certain cancers, and certain joint problems. She also won a Nobel prize. “It’s nice to meet you.” I say. “Great job on getting that Nobel prize for your cell creation!”

“Thank you, but it was nothing.” Hanji brushes my compliment off. “I don’t need an award to tell me that I helped millions of people for me to know it. Sorry, did that sound cocky?”

“No, no! It’s ok! I understand what you mean.” I tell them and then go off to the blond boy with glasses. “Hi. I’m Armin Arlert.”

Armin Arlert. The Ultimate Strategist who came up with his first strategy to get out of the orphanage he was placed in and go completely unnoticed when he was eight. After that, he started working with the military and with him on their side, there are much fewer casualties for them... but not for the other side. “So, your strategies are pretty damn good.” I say. “How on earth do you come up with them?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It just kind of happens.” Armin says awkwardly. “You get nervous about speaking about your brain, don’t you?” I ask him. He chuckles with a small blush. “Was I that obvious?”

“It’s ok. I get it. You help the military to make sure that they don’t lose as many soldiers as the other side.” I say. He nods shyly, so I move onto the next person. She has brown hair tied back into a flat ponytail. “Hi. I’m (f/n).” I introduce myself. “Ymir.” She introduces herself.

With the lack of a last name, and not hearing about her at all online, I just nod my head awkwardly and go introduce myself to the final person. He’s talking to Marco and has interesting hair. It’s ash blond with a brown undercut. “Hi, I’m (f/n) (l/n).” I introduce myself. The boy turns around and I get bit startled by his amber eyes. Eren has pretty eyes, but this guy is a full on pretty boy. He gives me a grin and I can tell he knows it, too. “Hey, Jean Kirschtein.”

Jean Kirschtein is the Ultimate Equestrian. He’s been riding horses ever since he could walk because he grew up on a farm. He entered his first equestrian competition when he was seven and has won first every year. He helps take care of horses from his own to others and even helps beginners with picking out which horse they should ride first. He even runs riding lessons at the farms for said beginners. “So, I heard that you’re the Ultimate Lucky Student, eh?” Jean asks. “Could I have some of that luck to take you horse riding?”

“Keep it PG at school, horse face!” We hear Eren mock. “I don’t have a horse face!” Jean shouts at him. “And I wasn’t implying anything!”

He’s obviously a bit embarrassed and flustered. “Alright, alright. Calm down. He’s just doing it to rile you up.” Marco says to Jean. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think you look like a horse.” I tell him.

Just as I finish saying that, a bell goes off. “Ahem! Ahem! Testing, testing! Mic check, one, two! This is a test of the school’s broadcast system! Am I on? Can everyone hear me? Ok, well then...!” A voice speaks through the PA system. “Ahh, to all incoming students! I would like to begin the entrance ceremony at... right now! Please make your way to the gymnasium at your earliest convenience... That’s all. I’ll be waiting!”

“Is that voice not sitting well with anyone else or is my stomach feeling squirmy because of the potato I stole?” Sasha asks us. “No. It definitely feels odd.” Marco agrees with her. “We don’t have time for this, brats. Let’s just get on with this so I can clean. This place is absolutely filthy.” Levi says monotonously with a hint of disgust as he walks away from the group and towards the gym. I look at Jean and Marco and the three of us follow him, followed by everyone else. We all make it to the gym in a few short minutes. I see Hanji go towards the trophy case and look straight at this gold and purple katana. “Oo, pretty!” They exclaim and then touch the handle but immediately retract their hand. “Damn, that thing is absolutely coated in gold dust! My hand looks like El Dorado!”

“Um... anyone else find it weird that the hall’s are completely empty?” Krista asks as we enter the gym itself. “I haven’t even heard any other classes going in the classrooms.”

“Yeah, man. I’m getting weirded out, now.” Connie agrees with her. “And did anyone else notice that there were machine guns in front of the entrance which looked like a vault door?” Eren asks. “It’s probably nothing, Eren.” Mikasa says. “Why would they have machine guns in a school?”

He nods but I see him shift uncomfortably. “Hey there, howdy, hello!” The voice from earlier greets. “Is everyone here? Good! Then let’s get things rolling!”

We all look towards the stage which has a podium in the centre and the school crest above it, which are two wings; one white and one blue. As we await our headmaster to walk on stage, a black and white teddy bear pops up and lands on the podium. I hear Connie snort back a laugh. “A teddy bear?” Krista asks in confusion. “I’m not a teddy bear!” The bear says lowly. “I... am... Monokuma! And I am this school’s headmaster!”

I try to wrap my head around what’s happening. A teddy bear- er, uh, Monokuma is our headmaster who’s mouth doesn’t even move when he’s talking. I look around at all my classmates, particularly Connie, to see if this is a joke of his, but everyone looks just as confused as I am. Except Annie but she’s devoid of all of emotion. Hell, even Levi has an eyebrow quirked at the oddness. “Nice to meet you all!”

“Ok, Connie.” Reiner says. “This was hilarious, best prank you’ve ever pulled! But can you turn off the teddy bear now?”

“I’m not doing this, I swear! You guys can search me for a remote or whatever.” Connie responds. “I don’t think he has the intelligence needed to build that. No offence, Connie.” Armin says. I see Connie look slightly offended at the words. “I told you already, I’m not a teddy bear... I’m Monokuma! And I’m your headmaster!” Monokuma shouts angrily as he moves his arms up to display further emotion. “AH! It moved!” Sasha screeches. “No shit, Sherlock.” Levi mumbles. “Oh, calm down, everyone! It’s obviously just a remote controlled toy!” Hanji says. “How dare you compare me to a child’s plaything!” Monokuma says. “You’ve cut me deep. Deeper than the Mariana Trench... My remote control system is so complex, even the folks in the Military Police can’t recreate or even comprehend it! Then again, that place is full of nitwits! Now then, moving on! We really must hurry and get started... Everyone, stand at attention and bow! And... good morning!”

Marco does as he’s told. “Good morning, sir!”

“Marco, stand up.” Jean whispers and pulls the boy up from his bow. “Don’t fall for this shit.”

“Now then, let us commence with a most noteworthy and memorable entrance ceremony!” Monokuma says. “First, let’s talk a bit about what your school life here will be like. Now, ah, make no mistake- you few students, so full of potential, represent the hope of the world. And to protect such splendid hope... you will all live a communal life together solely within the confines of this school. Everyone will live in harmony together, and adhere to the school’s rules and regulations. Ah, now then... regarding the end date of this communal life... there isn’t one! In other words, you’ll all be here until the day you die! Such is the school life you’ve been assigned.”

“Until we die? What kind of fucked up bullshit is this?” Levi asks. “Oh, but fear not!” Monokuma assures us. “We have quite an abundant budget, so you won’t lack for all the common conveniences.”

“That’s still not very comforting.” I tell him. “You gotta be screwing with us!” Connie says. “I am not screwing with you!” Monokuma shouts angrily. “I am no liar, of that you can be 100% sure. Ah, and just for your information... you’re completely cut off from the outside world. So you don’t have to worry about that dirty, dirty land beyond these walls ever again!”

I feel my pockets for my phone. “They took our phones!” I announce. Everyone then starts to check themselves for theirs, too. “So, then... all those metal plates all over the school... they’re there to keep us trapped in here?” Reiner asks him. “That’s exactly what they’re there for.” Monokuma confirms. “No matter how much you may yell and scream for help... help will not come. So with all that in mind, feel free to live out your life here with reckless abandon!”

“Come on, what the hell is this? It’s not funny!” Eren asks. “You all keep saying this is a lie, or a joke.” Monokuma says. “A bunch of skeptics, all of you. But I guess you can’t help it, huh? You all grew up in an age where you’re taught to doubt your neighbour... Well, you’ll have plenty of time to find out whether or not what I say is true. And when that time comes, you’ll see with your own eyes that I speak the undeniable truth.” Monokuma answers Eren.

“I don’t want to live here forever! This is bullshit!” Jean shouts nervously. No one else looks pleased with the news. “Come, now. What’s the matter with all of you? You decided of your own free will to attend Hope’s Peak Academy, didn’t you? And now, before the entrance ceremony is even finished, you’ve already decided that you want to leave? Oh, but you know... I guess I did forget to mention one thing. There is one way for you to leave the school...” Monokuma leaves us in hopeful suspense.

“Spit it out, already.” Annie orders. “Ok, ok! Calm down!” Monokuma says. “As headmaster, I’ve crafted a special clause for those of you who would like to leave! I call it... the Graduation Clause! Now, let me tell you about this fun little rule. As I mentioned, in order to maintain an environment of harmony here, we rely on a communal lifestyle. And if someone were to disrupt that harmony, they, and they alone, would be allowed to leave the school. That, my students, is the Graduation Clause!”

“So by disrupting the peace, all we need to do is fling shit, literally, at people and we can just... go?” Levi asks with a hint of skepticism in his voice. Monokuma laughs. “No. Not exactly. But... if someone were murder another. (“Murder?!” We all repeat in shock) Stabbing, strangling, bludgeoning, crushing, hacking, drowning, igniting, how you do it doesn’t matter. You must kill someone if you want to leave. It’s as simple as that. The rest is up to you. Give it your all to achieve the best outcome in the worst way possible!”

The air goes suffocatingly thick as we all process the situation at hand. We’re trapped in here for life unless we commit murder. There’s no way to contact the outside world, all the windows are boarded up with giant plates of metal, and our headmaster is a complete psycho. No one wants to believe this. It’s something straight out of a horror movie or a TV show created by someone seriously fucked up. Monokuma’s laugh brings us all out of our stupor. “I bet that got your brain juices flowing! Beats the heck out of a human catching a salmon, huh? Like I said before, you guys are the hope of the world. But you know... taking that hope and seeing it get murdered creates a darkened shadow of despair. And I just find that so. Darn. Exciting!”

“You’re insane!” Krista exclaims as she starts to cry a bit. “You guys just don’t get it, do you?” Monokuma asks. “‘Let us go, let us go!’ You keep on saying the same thing over and over and over and over...! Listen. From this moment on, this school is your home, your life, your world. Got it? And you can kill as much as you wanna kill! So go ahead! Go on a kill-kill-killing spree!”

No one makes a move, or a sound, for a good few seconds until Mikasa walks up to the podium. She just stands there. “Eh? Well what do you want?” Monokuma asks her. When he finishes speaking, she grabs him by his little bear neck and lifts him off the ground. Monokuma waves his arms up and down. “I don’t know if you’re a toy, and, frankly, I don’t care, but you just threatened myself, Eren and everyone else here with murder. If it’s murder you want, it’s murder you’ll get.” Mikasa says and pulls out a pocketknife from her pants pocket. “Waah! Violence against the headmaster is in violation of school regulations!” Monokuma shouts. “You never said that before.” Mikasa says stoically. “And all we need to do is disturb the peace to leave, right? So all I need to do is pull out your stuffing and I’ll get to leave. And since you won’t be around, I’ll take everyone here with me.”

He doesn’t respond except for some kind of beeping. “Is he shutting down?” I question. The beeping then gets louder and more frequent. I then hear a gasp come from behind me. “Throw it!” Hanji instructs. “What?” Mikasa responds. “Throw the damn bear! He’s gonna explode!” Hanji explains. Mikasa immediately throws the bear away and then throws herself onto Eren so he doesn’t get hurt as Monokuma explodes.

I jump from the sudden sound and hear Krista squeak in surprise. “Well, shit. That really throws the reality of this situation in our faces.” Levi says with his usual emotionless voice, but there’s a hint of nervousness behind it. “Wait, guys, Mikasa still killed it!” I point out. “Yeah! The bastard bear’s destroyed!” Eren cheers. “Uh... I-I wouldn’t be so sure...” Armin speaks up as Monokuma reappears on the podium. “Nice try! But it’ll take a lot more than a silly explosion to kill me!”

“Oh, come on! What the hell is this?!” Reiner shouts. “So I was almost killed for nothing?” Mikasa asks. “Of course! You violated one of the school regulations, after all. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but you’d better be careful from now on. Any naughty boy or girl who violates my rules won’t get off with just a little swat on the butt.” Monokuma threatens. I swear I see a vein on his forehead pop out from the anger. “Wait... if you exploded... and you’re back... does that mean that there are more of you?” Hanji asks him. “Mhm! Yup! There’s also surveillance cameras installed everywhere so I’ll be able to see if you break the rules. Then it’s bye-bye birdie! Now that that’s out of the way, to commemorate your joyous entry into our school, I have a little something for you...” Monokuma says and then flat tablets appear before each of us from the ground. “This is your official student handbook! Pretty cool, huh? As you can see, it’s fully digital. So naturally, we called it... the E-Handbook!”

“Wow... I wonder how many brain cells it took to come up with that?” Hanji says sarcastically. “Ignoring that rude comment, this handbook is absolutely vital to a healthy school life, so don’t lose it! When you start it up, it will display your name. Always make sure you have the right one! Now, this is not your everyday notebook. It has so many more uses than that! Also, it’s completely waterproof. Splash it, wash it, drown it, it’ll keep ticking! And thanks to its space-age design, it can withstand an impact force of up to ten tons. It’s very resistant! It contains all of our school regulations, so make sure you review them thoroughly! You’ll hear me say this a lot, but any violation of school regulations will not be tolerated.”

“This is gonna get pretty fucking annoying.” Ymir groans. “Well, then, don’t violate the rules and you won’t hear it often, sweets. (“Sweets?! Why you-!” Ymir growls but refuses to move so nothing else happens.) Rules restrict, yes, but they also protect. Society, for example, would be utter chaos without laws. (“It’s got a point...” Annie agrees with Monokuma). The same thing applies here! Which is why it’s crucial that we have strict punishments in place for violators. Ok, well... that brings our entrance ceremony to a close! Please enjoy your abundantly dreary school life! See ya!” Monokuma says before disappearing.

With him now gone, we all have time to properly process what we were all just told. I can feel the fear lingering in the air. This school is wrongfully named after Hope. Like he said, the opposite of hope is despair... which is the state that all of us are currently in.

[chesterloaf-blog]

I don't know her real name

I don't know her real name, and I don't get the feeling she's willing to tell. We just talk about stripping and streaming sex, her chosen field for the past couple years. There's not much point in digging, anyway — Domino is, for my purposes, more a brand and personality than a fragile and finite person like you or me. But a thriving one. She describes herself as:"What can a member do to me? If he crosses a line or even if he is rude to me, I just click the mouse and stop it. And I can talk to the administrator on the website and they ban the IP address, so the guy can never enter again even if he changes his nickname. I mean, those people are thousands of miles away from me. They don't touch you - nobody touches you. You go online alone and you work online alone. This has nothing to do with prostitution.Entirely unsurprisingly, it's impossible to get in touch with any of the people who actually run these networks. None of the above entities from LiveJasmin, Streamate, or MyFreeCams responded to efforts to confirm that they do indeed exist and have some affiliation with the websites in question. All that's available is a semi-robotic technical support chat, which fields basic questions about how to use the site and credit card processing. These web cam kingpins might as well not exist. We don't know where the money goes.Heidi sells her underwear for $100 and has performed sex acts on other girls for her followers.

"He told me I just had to talk. That's all. But he was in the room with me, and we made pornography there.Today, things are different. After saving money and learning enough savvy to avoid continued exploitation, Anna is done with money-sucking studios, and so she works only about five days a month, from her own home. Five days of camming per month allow her to match the Romanian per capita income of roughly $US12,000 per year with a minuscule fraction of the labour. If she wants more money, she works more days.I'm definitely one of the cam girls who would hardly ever say no. I've always wanted to try new things, but that's not because I felt like I had to. It's just personally what I want to do. I want to tick stuff off my list, I want to try everything once especially when it comes to sex positivity. Even if it's something I'm not necessarily into, I'd still give it a go. If I didn't like it, I'd be like sorry, I'm not really into that. But there's a lot of people that would say no to a lot of stuff.For the unfamiliar, camming is where clients pay to either watch a livestream of or have an individual video chat with a sex worker. It can’t be pirated and watched for free because the whole point of it is that it’s intimate and personal—you’re actually interacting with the person behind the screen.

Since the dawn of streaming, the porn industry has been suffering financially. As people have started watching and uploading porn on tube sites for free, the days of big-budget porn and making a lot of money as a porn star are fading away. At the same time, though, streaming has also spawned a supplement to the porn industry that cant be replicated: camming.The young woman proudly boasts a menu when she is online – in the form of a whiteboard which shows her viewers what she will do and how much it will cost them. I get a mixture of emotions. Mostly people react positively because of the way I speak about it. It's so different if you're really shy and timid and quiet about it. It immediately gives off this idea of ‘oh they're not completely ok with it.' But if anyone ever asks me, I'd be like ‘fuck yeah I webcam, I love it!' I get to mess around at home all day and I get to be as open and as genuine to myself as I can possibly be, and there's a lot of people who aren't ok with that because I'm into some very unusual things myself. I don't have to hide and pretend that I'm someone else; I can really be my true self.This kind of money and naked fame is the rarest exception for a camgirl. The rest of the many thousands struggle to make any money at all under what appear to be demeaning, even dangerous conditions. After eight years of observation, Mila says, straight up, that camming is a criminal business on an international scale. CONTINUED BELOW...

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Styles Towers. || 10

Authors Note: Hello!! To celebrate the coming of a New Year, here is a New Chapter on Styles Towers. I am so excited to have finally managed to write this chapter and hopefully, I can keep it constant with my updating. No promised though. Happy New Year, as wel leave 2017 I hope you all have a lovely start to 2018. Be careful, my lovelies and gave fun ringing in the year! XX 

Thank you to my lovely BETA @lostinreality014 for helping me quite a lot with this series, if you get a chance please read her Niall Blurb, very fluffy and sweet. Also check out @haroldsflowerchild new series.

Rated M for Mature audiences.

Don’t forget the other links: The first book, Styles & Co, can be found on WattPad, HERE. And can be found on Tumblr HERE. Styles & Co. || Extras.

You can find my blurb Master list HERE

                                          || My Office. ||

Before we knew it, snow is settling outside and formulating a perfect blanket in our backyard, Logan and Harry have half a relationship— well, they don’t ignore each other as much— they have conversations every now and again; it’s November, I have regained access to the business with the strict orders of Harry; I am not permitted to spend too much time working, the second I yawn, Niall or Harry send me home. Oh, and I’m six months pregnant. While Harry has been on partial leave with the business due to the downfall, Niall has been interim CEO and with the go-ahead from Harry, bumped me up to Chief administrative officer. To sum up, what I do besides staying out of Harry’s way when he is pissed off at work, I manage daily administrative operations. I am part of the top executive team reporting directly to the CEO. At times, I find it hard to look at Harry with a straight face and say, ‘boss.’

Harry gave Logan the money he needed to pay off Charles, that was quite the dinner conversation we had. Harry came clean and informed me that his brother, Logan needed 125,000 pounds to pay off his debt and Harry managed to come up with it. I didn't ask too many questions, I trusted his judgment. He mumbled something about being responsible… Apparently, Logan had turned to Harry and Harry quite literally told him to fuck off. I guess deep down Harry does have some concern for his brother, even if he attempts to come off as a hard ass who despises him. I have attempted to convince Harry to bury the hatchet, but we aren’t quite there yet. He still has that bit of hatred in him, whether that be for Logan or their Father, I do not know. 

The audit for the business has been a bit of a hell-bent ride, the business accounts have been frozen for the last three months but besides from that, everything has been relatively well… As well as can be. I had thought this rollercoaster ride with the business would put a strain on Harry and I since he doesn't have an outlet to relieve his stress and anger, but to my surprise he has been calm. He does what he can around the office without stepping his boundaries and has been doing his physical therapy.

You could say things are going as smooth as expected.

At three in the morning when the birds have yet to wake and commence to chirping their favourite song and the sun hasn’t peaked from its resting place, I discover myself gracefully making my way around the penthouse in an attempt to tire myself enough to go to sleep.

I rest down at the small counter and open Harry’s laptop and log in on my account, deciding that I may as well put my time to good use while I am awake and apparently rather active. I read a few emails and reply to them, despite the ungodly hour before I unintentionally click the stocks section. “Damnit,” I grumble to myself as the screen shifts black before the stocks pop up and my screen is lit with essentially green streaks while the news of the stocks operates across the bottom of my screen. For a moment, I am astonished that there is so much green across my screen a positive outcome I hadn’t expected, at least not so soon.

—

I make my way downstairs to Harry’s office areas in an attempt to tire myself a little bit. When we stay here, I have made a habit of just roaming the main business floor at night. I have managed to find it soothing, for what reason I do not know. 

Sometimes if Harry doesn’t discover me missing by the time I come down here, I sneak into his office and relax in his leather chair while facing the window. The city is so impressive at night when it is meant to be sleeping… It is even more beautiful to watch the town turn from a darkened ghost town with the night sky washing a heather-purple to a busy city as the sun begins to rise and the afternoon sky becomes a cocktail-blue. There is just something about chords of soft light spearing down from above and through the large pane windows that is calming and peaceful. Now, since it is winter, the gravel-grey skies are bare, bleak and depressing.

I’m surprised when I discover Niall hunkered in his office, the door open with the light on. I peer in and he immediately looks up and flashes me a smile. His mariner-blue eyes peer at me and his laptop constantly they’re a-gleam with delight and the vigour of youth. They are soft, Irish eyes that always swim with delight no matter what ungodly hour it is. “Elise, why hello. What are you doing up at this hour?” He questions and my eyes instantly take notice of the moon that is shining brightly outside like a ghostly-silver disc in the sky.

His office views differently to Harry’s, it’s a varied scenery to see at this hour.

I step closer to his desk and give him a small smile. “I can’t sleep and Harry’s out like a light so can’t keep me entertained,” I notify Niall and he chuckles. “I saw the stocks increased, what’s going on?” I challenge, a bit on edge about the stats that I accidentally came across on Harry’s laptop. I am still learning my way around the business world and the stock market, to say the least, it is one hell of a learning process.

Niall clears his throat and flashes me a bright smile. “Well, in short terms, I’m out of a job.”

I cock my head to the side, “What do you mean?” The last time Niall thought he was out of a job was when Harry threatened to fire him when Harry was pissed off that he was stuck at home and not able to do business.

We don’t let Harry live that day down.

With a gregarious personality and a galactic smile he speaks, “As of three fifteen, Harry got his business back, I am no longer the interim CEO.” Niall informs me, “I am demoted, sadly. But this is great for you two.”

I stare at Niall for a moment, unsure of whether he is screwing with me or not. He has screwed with me a little bit over the last few months, he has this humorous side to him that he reveals every now and again and I haven’t managed to figure out when he is using it against me. “Elise, why do you look like you’re plotting my death in a very nonchalant way?”

“Are you screwing with me, Horan?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I am serious. Harry is back as CEO”

***

I make my way back upstairs to the Penthouse not bothering to be quiet as I let the door close behind me.

“Harry, Harry wake up,” I benevolently wake him and force him out of his slumber. He lets out a groan as his arm moves and he buries himself further in his pillow. “Harry, babe.. wake up.” I tenderly nudge his arm and he lets out another grunt.

“Leave me alone,” he grumbles in a somnolent voice.

I call his name repeatedly, shaking him with a little more force. His enrapturing, loam-grey eyes flutter open and he promptly swallows, “what.. what’s wrong? Are you okay?” He hurriedly sits up, “is it the baby? What’s wrong?” He’s very expeditious with his words as his voice is deep and laced with sleep.

“I’m fine, the stocks just went up,” I inform him in an attempt to express what exactly has occurred.

He grows silent for a moment as he rubs his eyes, “you woke me for the fucking stock market? I thought you were going into early labour or some shit,” Harry murmurs lamentably as he leans his back against the headboard and crosses his arms over his chest. “Unless you’re in labour or something, I’m going back to fucking sleep, I don’t care.” Harry drowsily and grumpily mumbles as he wiggles onto his back and pulls forcibly at his covers.

“Harry, get up.” I huff and tug at the blankets, causing him to sit up again, “I’m in labour,” I roll my eyes in frustration.

“Don’t fuck with me,” he grumbles into his pillow, “don’t be the boy that cries wolf.”  

I heavily sigh, becoming frustrated with him. “Harry, the stock is up.”

“Elise, shhh.”

“Harry, get the fuck up,” I benevolently tug on his arm. “We need to go downstairs. Get up.” I instruct, completely drawing the covers off of him, exposing him. His eyes fly open and he huffs heavily as he nonchalantly sits up and rubs his eyes.

I wander my way to the door and he gradually follows me with a confused expression painted across his lips, “what the fuck are we doing?” His voice is hoarse from being asleep, his hand yet again rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He pads through the room like a panther in slow-mo.

I grab his hand. “You’re coming with me.”

“That sounds so damn sexy, but baby, I’m tired.”

I flick my eyes to glare over at him before I roll my eyes a-flicker with curiosity over a genial smile. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he realises that our troubles are over and that he has his pride and joy back.

“Good to know you’re still perverted when you’re half asleep,” I mutter and he glances at me with a-glow with love and he flashes me an amiable smile.

I have to say that I am rather pleased that after all these years together that he still flirts with me. I love it.

I lure him downstairs and force him into Niall office where Niall grins as he glances up at the two of us.

“The fuck am I doing here?” Harry demands with a yawn and Niall begins to laugh, seeming unable to control himself.

“Nice attire and that hair, real turn on, lad.” Niall winks as he gestures to Harry who looks like he’s a bit of a mess. A pair of sweatpants, a wrinkled t-shirt and his usually lush, mother lode-brown hair he usually grooms so carefully has a rippling quality and is all over the place from being asleep.He has a mannish, designer stubble that I quite find to be a turn on. Quite the different appearance compared to what Niall is used to recognizing. Niall is used to a suit and tie of some sort and a very well groomed Harry.

I shoot Niall a glower and he immediately seizes his lips into a narrow line and stops chuckling. It isn't the first time I have shot him a glare and he has subsequently shut up relatively quick. I don't know what it is, when I give Harry the scowl he just rolls his eyes and laughs, when Niall is on the receiving end of my glare, Niall readjusts his tone and behaviour.

I am not quite sure if he's deathly afraid of me or if he is deathly afraid of what Harry will do if he makes a wrong move with me.

Harry sighs as he stretches his back and arms out, a few cracks in his bones sounds and sends shivers down my back. “Again, what the hell am I doing here?” he demands while crossing his arms over his chest, not too amused with either Niall or me.

Niall leans back in his chair in the same manly manner Harry does, “Congratulations, Harry. You’re the CEO again.” Niall informs Harry, “you’re now my boss again.”

He snarls to himself before frowning at Niall. “I’ve always been your boss you little twerp.” His derring-do personality and bass voice is a big part of his ambitious character and it never seizes to diminish when he is tired and a bit of a cocky prick.

“Harry, the stocks rose... You’re back.” I state for what feels like the hundredth time.

I was hoping Niall could get through to him since Harry’s tired ass is a bit slow and not functioning.

His voice is mellifluous as it leaves his lips. “No fucking way. You’re lying,” he gasps, finally clicking on what we’ve been trying to tell his sleepy self.

Niall gestures towards his laptop that is open to the stock exchange, “No, I’m serious... saw it fo’ myself. Look.” … “I’m out of a job. The stocks are up which means you’re back and the board can’t hold anything over you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Harry,” I gently nudge him for his use of language, he needs to watch his language before our child comes out stringing cuss words before it can even read.

Harry clears his throat and rolls his tired eyes, “sorry, bloody rubbish.”

“You’re CEO again.” Niall chuckles as he watches me huff in frustration.

Harry grows silent for a moment as he stares at Niall in disbelief. His eyes became a-glow with love and he flashes me an amiable smile. “I’m back!” His voice is like bottled thunder, a measure of his vitality. I stare into his enrapturing, loam-grey eyes and it is like Spring has arrived. Spring is merriment. It’s a fizzy tonic, like a leisurely overflowing bottle of bubbling pleasure. You know that bubbly, delightful feeling you exhibit when you take that first fresh breath of spring air? That is what I swear I feel when I gaze into his eyes— his nautical-grey eyes shine as clear as a summer brook.

He eased about the room with a balletic grace before placing his arms around me in a light manner, his arms curling around my waist, drawing me closer to him. “Congratulations, you have the business back.”

“We have it back.” Harry whispers, leaning down and kissing me tenderly.

“You do all the work, I just sit and look pretty,” I chuckle, wrapping my arms around his figure.

He shakes his head, “Nonsense,” he kisses my forehead affectionately.

Niall clears his throat, “can you two get a room…. That isn’t my office,”

Harry shoots Niall a glare and Niall in return gives him his lambent, meltwater-blue eyes that were a-dazzle with wonder with a friendly smile.

“Hey Niall, very kindly, fuck off.” Harry grins, “Go home.”

“Please, spare my office its innocence.” Niall sighs as he closes the lid of his laptop.

Harry rolls his eyes, “my office?” Harry caresses his lips to my ear and I let out a stifled laugh while considerately stretching away and swatting his chest ever so benevolently.

[hvforks]

“Thinking back to when you were aged about 14, which best describes the sort of work the main/highest-income earner in your household did in their main job?”

Arts Council England have introduced a new questionnaire for it’s National Portfolio Organisations in order to collect data on the socio-economic background of their workers which they hope will tackle the working-class gaps in their workforce. But this question in itself is problematic; for one, the question only covers contracted employees, it doesn’t include freelancers who make up a huge majority of creative labour or unpaid employees like internships, and it doesn’t question artists that organisations might work with either; but for me the biggest omission here is audiences. ACE’s slogan ‘Great Art for Everyone’ doesn’t really work when there is no compelling information on how the art it funds reaches the working-classes. 

Debate around class in the arts still draws on middle and upper-class stereotypes of working-class life. Just like the conversation around ethnic diversity, we are often talked about rather than talked to. People who are broadly working-class, those in households with the median income or less, are by definition not a minority. It’s only in the elite-dominated world of the arts that they are seen that way. Working-class people aren’t some tiny minority of our society to be managed and transformed; we make up around two thirds of England’s population - we are most of this country. 

In the first Blair administration, organisations were encouraged to think about the “social outcomes of their work”. Art organisations were complicit in the soft privatisation of education, health and community resources that charities, voluntary organisations and other non-state, non-private bodies led. Where social services had existed as part of a minimum social welfare contract, youth services, along with social services and mental health charities began to compete for funding on the grounds of delivering agendas in areas such as citizenship, community cohesion and crime prevention. Art organisations were part of this shift. The arts world turned working-class people into a problem to be solved rather than audience members, employees or artists to be developed. 

It isn’t just the working-class workforce that’s getting fucked here, it’s also the working-class artist and the working-class audience. In public museums and galleries there is a rising economic inequality which is bringing about deep-seated, systematic and sustained classism which extends beyond public funding cuts associated with austerity politics to a wider re-positioning of the arts away from the public sphere and towards elite private privilege. 

It’s no lie that there has been a concerted attempt to democratise exhibitions displays and public collections over the past two decades in order to make museums and galleries less ‘highbrow’, and to promote diversity, take on social responsibility and encourage a wider range of audiences to engage with art. However, even though democratising has been in effect, less attention has been paid to the way that the rise of the super-rich and the accumulation of wealth and capital has become a problem for artistic expression and curation. The contemporary art market is driven by the investment potential of art works for the super-rich, which then becomes dependent on super-rich cultures which may affect the capacity of art to act as a critical public good. With austerity cuts making public art institutions increasingly reliant on wealthy private collectors and big galleries (like Gagosian and the White Cube) for funds and loans of works to put on shows by major artists, it means that museums and galleries compromise their civic values as private donors push works by artists that they own or represent in order to increase their value. Private collectors or commercial galleries loan the art or support exhibitions in order to up the value of their own investments. We can see diversity being strangled before our very eyes, and perhaps we’re all too bougie to notice. The top galleries control the top artists and the top artists are in the top public museums. The art world, like the rest of the world, is controlled by the same people who control everything. 

With art now being so disgustingly intertwined with the dynamics of financial accumulation we can see that art prices literally reflect economic inequality. In Christopher Upton-Hansen’s essay titled ‘The Financialization of Art’ (2018) he tells us that art prices rise when income inequality goes up; that a one percent increase in the share total income earned by the top 1% triggers an increase in art prices by 14%. These dynamics in the art market have naturally had an impact on the kind of art that is highly sought after - the rich want their art in museums so to increase their value, and museums have to consider their wealthy patrons and donors because their backs are against the wall financially, so the blue chip artists get the gigs and the rest of us artists in minority groups or of working-class backgrounds, well, we don’t stand a chance; we’re just too much of a financial risk.

Many museums are under the thumb of austerity policies set out by government funding bodies. Cuts to the arts have caused museums resources to suffer, and they have come at a time when many institutions were attempting the costly business of reorganisation in order to better incorporate women artists, POC or LGBTQ+ artists into their collection. These public spending cuts have also had an effect on access by making it harder for schools or groups dependent on public subsidies to fund visits. Travel has also become more costly due to both fare increases, and in more rural areas, cuts to bus services (the village I grew-up in doesn’t even have a bus route to our closest city, if you can’t drive, you can’t get there). These public spending cuts have made it increasingly difficult for working-class people to visit public collections around England.

The population that is able to visit and work for museums is not representative of the wider population; they are primarily older, white, London-based and middle-class: a metropolitan elite. You have two-thirds of society excluded, or at least hindered to full access of the arts; you segregate two-thirds of society from being able to participate in culture, its production, reception, its making. It has become a very monotheistic and exclusive world. So how are museums tackling this working-class repression? They aren’t. It’s a worrying concern for museums since addressing economic inequality directly will be problematic because it can affect funding and patronage. This financial model tells museums to shut your mouth or bite the hand that feeds you. Museums recognise the seriousness of inequality, but act by creating outreach programmes, or by making their entrance and educational provisions mostly free; in a way completely missing the point. 

This renewal of cultural elitism that inevitably accompanies growing economic inequality, and this growing tension between public provision and private art that is being increasingly driven by elites and wealth accumulation has to stop. The arts are smothered in systematic classism and I for one am bored of it. The upper-classes continue to make the art world increasingly out of reach, which in turn makes it incredibly out of touch. Privileged people are curating a privileged art scene because they want it to be about middle and upper-class assimilation. This means working-class people are excluded. The language they use creates a barrier, the buildings make you feel unwelcome, the prices are alienating - they create a purposefully threatening environment. The upper-classes create castles and fortresses because, ultimately, they don’t want people like us to break in. We’re too disruptive, we talk too loudly, we touch things we’re not supposed to, we don’t play by the rules, and this frightens them and so we are excluded. The art world appears at face value to be ‘for everyone’, but to put it bluntly, it isn’t; it’s for the few, and unless its attitude changes towards working-class people it will continue to be a monolith of classism, ignorance and prejudice. 

I say, if we frighten you, good - you should be frightened. Let’s create working-class nepotism, let’s share platform’s and skills; let’s look out for one another. We need to stop romanticising the arts because it is controlled by the same people who control everything else. We need class solidarity. We need to burn these institutions down, metaphorically and physically, and start again on a true field of equality. 

Image: Laura Mason, 2020, courtesy of Working Class Creatives Network and the artist.

[alexsmitposts]

Ukraine Smolders: Greedy “Businessman” Father and Son Team! In recent days lots of people have been getting a crash course on what is going on in Ukraine, not because it spikes their interest but due to its nexus with the US presidential elections and how things are done by the US under the guise of helping. The Democrats are now accusing Trump of pressuring Ukrainian leader Volodymyr Zelensky to investigate the shady dealings of former US Vice President Joe Biden, and especially those of his son, Hunter. To cut to the chase, Trump has flatly denied any wrongdoing, dismissing the allegations as “witch hunt garbage,” designed to give the Democrats some edge they can’t get at the ballot box – all to block his bid for a second term. All that may be true – but too much has transpired in Ukraine over the past 10 years. For instance, the Obama Administration, the CIA and others, really did fund a bunch of anti-Russian separatists, Nazis, to take over the government. Then Crimea voted to join Russia out of fear and blowback, and some airplanes crashed and nobody ever talked about the truth. Most of what you have read about Ukraine is wrong, and that is an understatement, as described by Vladimir Golstein, Professor of Slavic studies at Brown University. He was born in Moscow, and emigrated to the United States in 1979. But there will be more of the same reporting by MSM sources, more brainwashing and justification for the missteps and mishaps of the US and its partners. How It Is To make a complicated problem simple, at least for an American audience: All that has transpired in Ukraine is related to the 2016 hack of the DNC emails, and a stand-up comedian being elected president. The Democrats, via some of their Pacs, want to use the Ukrainian card to deflect attention from their own failures, and for fundraising. The Republicans want to play the same card against the Democrats, and the average Ukrainian, “We the People”, is stuck in the middle hoping both of them will go away. Trump Cards The story goes back to the early 2014 telephone conversation between Fuck-the EU Victoria Nuland, then Assistant Secretary of State for European and Eurasian affairs, and Geoffrey Pyatt, then US Ambassador to Ukraine. Then Vice President Biden played a role in “midwifing” the US-backed overthrow of an elected Ukrainian government soon after that conversation. That’s the biggest crime in this story, but it isn’t being told—though well documented in the alternative media, the illegal overthrow of a sovereign government has been overlooked by all players. But suddenly, ‘Now that we know Donald Trump threatened to withhold military aid to Ukraine if their government refused to help him win re-election, more than three-quarters of the Democrats in the House have come out in support of an impeachment inquiry.” The timing of this knowledge of highly suspect, and how it was leaked and who leaked it—it was obviously an inside source within the White House. Such statements are not trustworthy, but that is a moot issue in light of the bigger scheme of things. It is the Senate which decides who is or is not impeached. When Democrats Turn Out is a movement to activate voters across the country to make sure Democrats continue to make history at the polls, but cannot decide an impeachment. It goes without saying that Trump deserves to get kicked out of office for various sins, the least of them being his BIG mouth and not keeping trusted staff who will not leak information like a sieve holding water. As for Ukraine, aside from the latest recriminations over Joe Biden and Hunter, his “businessman” son who could teach Trump how to make the “Art of the Deal”, it is only a PlayStation for the interests of others. Few want to openly acknowledge that Hunter Biden was hired by the Ukrainian gas company Burisma Holdingsk without any apparent publications to his name, after having been booted out of the Navy for failing a drug test. His new job started in April 2014, two months after Ukraine’s Russia-friendly former president was ousted by a US sanctioned and supported coup. Before, during and after the removal of Ukraine’s legal president, Hunter Biden’s father was very much involved in US efforts to support the newly installed American puppet government. Ukraine has lost much credibility due to corruption, its handling of the alleged shooting down by Russians of the Dutch passenger liner, shelling its civilians in its Eastern regions, etc. A Dutch source, who has been following the investigation of the shooting down of the plane, says: “Our investigation was a joint investigation with….Ukraine. There are a lot of uncertain issues. It is Russia who did the shooting down, according to them. I am convinced, however, that it was not the Russians; they would never act so stupidly. They [the media] blame Russia but do not show real evidence, only baseless allegations. They lie; all those who claim to know-Ukraine itself shot it down with one of its own airplanes.” Ukraine on Fire Much of what has transpired in Ukraine is well-documented, but as it does not paint the US or Ukraine in a positive light—it is soon dismissed by many in the West as merely Russian propaganda. That is far from the reality, as demonstrated by the world famous movie and documentary producer Oliver Stone. Stone’s Ukraine on Fire provides a historical perspective for the deep divisions in the region which led to the 2004 Orange Revolution, the 2014 uprisings and the violent overthrow of democratically-elected Yanukovych. Covered by Western media as a ‘popular revolution’, this was in fact a coup d’état scripted and staged by ultra-nationalist groups and the US State Department. What has transpired since has proved a bone of contention between East and West and made internal problems even more acute. These are further complicated by an all-out attack on the Russian language, and hyperinflation which has driven an already marginalised population deeper into poverty and forced the best and the brightest, and many in-between, to try their luck in the EU and beyond. The results of this have not been positive, and the subsequent brain and skilled labour drain will have long term consequences. The immediate consequences are not only being borne by the masses but the region as the whole. The element fits together only too well. First Obama and Joe Biden pressurised European nations to show solidarity with them against Russia and support all the US had done in Ukraine. Then Biden and the A team had to be rewarded, and so got themselves worked up like Palvov’s dogs over the thought of dividing up the spoils of another post-Cold War country. Somehow his incompetent and disgraced son got on the board of the major Ukrainian gas company. Of course this could not be a conflict of interest —even after Joe Biden bragged about getting rid of the Ukrainian prosecutor who had started to investigate Hunter Biden’s backhanded activities by linking a billion dollars in US aid to his removal. It is not uncommon for politicians to find their sons and daughters jobs with big companies if they don’t earn them on academic or other merit. It is one way of getting them out of the way. When William Kennedy Smith was accused of rape in 1991, his family found him a new job as a medical intern in Albuquerque, which is pronounced “Middle of Nowhere”. Smith was qualified for the role, but even as an acquitted rapist the similar charges laid against him by other women should have disqualified him from going anywhere near patients. Nevertheless he has been able to build his own career rehabilitating landmine victims, whilst his relatives and political fellow-travellers plant and sell them all over the world. The problem arises when these appointments are linked with aid, and therefore used to create or bring down governments. Hunter’s appointment in Ukraine, where he was less likely to embarrass his father and damage his presidential run, was the small print of also accepting aid. If Ukraine looked elsewhere for this aid, as it did, Hunter would have to come home and bring his problems with him. Hence the removal of Yanukovych, because the poor people there are only Ukrainians, not the sons of prospective US presidents. White Sun, Black Night The current ordeal over Ukraine and the zero sum game being played there are very reminiscent of a scene in an old Soviet Movie, White Sun of the Desert. “Do you want to be finished off right away, or prefer to be tortured a bit first? -Well, I prefer to be tortured first.” The film as a whole speaks to current debates on climate, politics and science—especially in terms of Ukraine. It is very bad for our survival to keep on electing greedy politicians and war-mongers and appointing their progeny to positions of power. Such folks only worry about their own bottom line, not seeing the dangers of pushing Russia and the rest of the world to the brink. The Red soldier from the film, the one who preferred (21:30) to be tortured first, as least used his time right, figuring out how to escape from the gang of nationalists and Whites who had captured him. But how will the civilized world and simple people escape from the mess that their leaders have found themselves in, in Ukraine and other hotspots? What has happened over one phone call, albeit taken out of context, does at least give us a bit of time, while we are being tortured, to plan our eventual escape. Trump may have given us both the torture and a dystopian wasteland to escape to, but we may not even have had those without his intervention. Assistance and democracy building, as delivered or promised by the US and its European partners, have not been very effective in Ukraine. They have not encouraged the government to take responsibility for its actions, including its criminal ones, or respond to the real needs of its citizens. The results are further divisions within the country. A country of inherent political and economic instability is made all the more unstable—and draws a larger region into that quagmire. All of which suits the US, even if it created the problem, because everything can be blamed on some inherent defect within the locals, as usual. It all goes back to the source of the problem, and what Ukraine and other marginalized states for, only as an instrument to inflict problem on others, like Russia, as the scapegoat for all what the US and its allies are doing by proxy: invading and interfering. The problem is that those like Biden or Albright or Clintons, or Blair, all know how it is done. They have western skills. They rose to the top of their professions in their own countries by hook and crook. That is why it should come as no surprise to anyone that they want to inflict their know-how with newly liberated countries like Ukraine, or Albania, or Iraq—as they have already done on countries such as Georgia. Is that what Ukraine is there for? Is this the role of any sovereign state? If we are going to talk about defects in the locals, in which country do those defects actually lie?