#but I simply do not have truck with people who are so willing to discard facts for narrative

[ravabiye]

Says kicked out of "Arab" countries, but only lists Palestine in the tag. List all the countries then. It's actually disturbing to see what the zionists are doing to the Palestinians. free Palestine 🇵🇸

Iraq:

Egypt:

Libya:

Syria:

Bahrain:

Sudan:

[bubble-tea-bunny]

until the night collapses

[leon s kennedy x reader]

author’s note: leon is hella good looking in the remake and my eyes have been blessed

word count: 3,056

Driving through rain, especially at night, always warrants extra caution. As such, Leon’s foot is steady on the gas, having been cruising at a comfortable speed for the past several miles. The roads have been mostly devoid of traffic, though he had passed one or two cars going the other direction. It’s an emptiness he’d considered a little strange at first, but he’s quick to brush it off. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to worry about anyone tailing him before swerving to the opposite lane to pass. A downpour still wasn’t enough for some people to slow down. But when he pulls into the Mizoil gas station to fill the tank, he learns the rain is the least of his problems.

It’s a hell of a first day, that’s for sure. He thought he was the only one at the station with a still beating heart (at least after watching an Arklay County officer get a nasty bite to the neck from… something, which left him good as dead) until Claire had shown up. A stroke of luck would have the keys still in the ignition of the police cruiser, and they were off.

If someone asked him what he would’ve expected his welcome to Raccoon City to be like, he couldn’t give a straight answer, but it definitely isn’t this. Abandoned cars are pulled over to either side of the street, and he drives through the open center, intended for emergency vehicles no longer anywhere in sight. Eventually even that’s blocked off, and in a fit of timing he struggles to say was good or not, the welcome committee arrives in the form of a fuel truck narrowly crushing the car to scrap metal. It kills any of the zombies trying to pry the doors open to get to him and Claire, but the force of the collision throws him forward, and his head collides with the steering wheel none too nicely. If he were to look into a mirror right now, he’d see a nasty bruise darkening on his forehead. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there, for light pressure applied to the offended area with the tips of his fingers and the ensuing throb let him know just as well.

This last hour had merely been the tip of the very large, very precarious iceberg. The fire caused by the cruiser exploding gave him no choice but to split up with Claire. Arriving at, and diving within, the museum turned police department is his personal journey down the rabbit hole, but this is no Wonderland on the other side. Or maybe it is and the author of the whole sick story had a fucked up sense of humor. But what did he know? If this was a book he was only a character, at the mercy of the words and whatever would follow with each turn of the page.

He’s seen more death and gore than anyone should have to see, and it’s a level of carnage he can’t help but recoil at. Being a police officer requires not only an iron will but an iron stomach, but he thinks he should be given a pass this time. Fighting his way through hordes of undead as he tries to find out what the hell is going on was not listed in the job description. When he’s trekking down what feels like the millionth dark corridor, blood and guts stuck to the bottom of his boots, he muses half with cynicism and half with fatigue, for it has been a long night, that maybe it’s because if it had been mentioned, no one would apply. And maybe there are some who would jump at the chance to play hero, but in the end logic wins out and prompts many of them to stay away, since it’s something else entirely to be thrown into the mess and realize one is vastly outnumbered, and against an enemy with nothing to fear.

At the west office, he cracks the first smile in what feels like an eternity. It’s a small one, followed closely by a quiet chuckle at the scene before him. Streamers dangle from the ceiling, and a banner stretches across from one wall to the other: Welcome Leon. He reads the note on his desk and feels a twinge in his chest. These were supposed to be his colleagues. Life would’ve been so different if the keep away message hadn’t been sent to him a week prior, if there hadn’t been a reason to stay out of the city and the wheels were still turning like they’re meant to.

He passes by one of the desks, and his flashlight passes over a nameplate with your name on it. Your workspace, much like the others here, is thrown in disarray. Papers are scattered and various trinkets you had to decorate the area are broken. There are sticky notes still stuck to the edge of the shelf attached to your desk, some of them quick reminders of tasks to do and others silly notes from your fellow officers.  

Cracked glass hidden in the shadowy corner grabs his attention, and he reaches a hand out for it. His fingers curl around a wooden frame, which he gingerly picks up, mindful of the sharp point of the glass. This must be you in the photo. You’re in a graduation uniform, diploma in one hand and your dog held in the other. It’s not looking at the camera, but rather up at you, who smile widely, a toothy grin that reaches your eyes. The time stamp in the bottom right corner indicates this is a recent photo.

There’s so much personality at your desk, and in your bright gaze captured forever in a picture, that for a moment he swears he feels less alone. He feels like he knows you. Maybe he’d be one of the officers to write small notes to tack to your desk, or maybe you would do that to his. Maybe he would’ve met your dog. What’s its name, he wonders?

With a sigh he sets the frame back down, and reality rushes back, and he hopes he won’t see your body laying around somewhere, discarded and almost unrecognizable. Chances are high that you’ve been infected and haven’t survived, but all the same, he doesn’t want to come across you. He’s not sure why he wants to grasp so tightly onto the image of your smile, and to not allow it to be tainted by visions of a corpse. Perhaps it’s because it’s his last hold to something humane, to something that could help retain his sanity in the midst of the chaos. Lieutenant Branagh had already succumbed to his wounds, and Claire was nowhere to be found. Leon doesn’t know if she’s still alive. So all that left was you.

Ada turning up proves he isn’t the only one remaining in the whole building with his wits still about him, and with his heart and brain in tact. She isn’t keen on sharing much information, and what little she divulges only raises more questions. He couldn’t have begun to guess what caused this shit storm. All of it sounds crazy, but judging by Ada’s tone, this is no tall tale.

They had stumbled upon Annette Birkin. There’s no better word for it. They train their guns on her, and Leon thinks to himself that she doesn’t seem threatening, and definitely not as dangerous as Ada had made her out to be. But maybe that’s how it goes. The most dangerous could be the least assuming. He doesn’t know to what lengths she will go to protect the G-Virus, but he’s not left speculating for long, for she brandishes her own gun and opens fire, and he doesn’t hesitate running towards Ada, shielding her and bringing them both to the ground.

The bullet in his shoulder registers as a low burn, and his vision is becoming hazy. It becomes difficult to ignore the pain, and he remembers telling Ada to go after Annette before passing out from shock. He hadn’t even been aware of the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness. He was simply awake, though weakening fast, and then he wasn’t.

Now he’s in a house, one he doesn’t recognize. The sun is shining outside, and his feet are carrying him through the hallway like they have a mind of their own, for he isn’t willing himself to walk. He just is. They bring him to a bedroom where the curtains are drawn back, the light flooding in a bit too intense to be normal. The edges of everything are out of focus and no matter how many times he blinks, they stay fuzzy.

I was wondering where you went. The figure in the bed sits up slightly to look at him better. Your hair is ruffled and you watch him with a sleep-riddled grin. He knows he should be surprised to see you there. None of this is adding up. This isn’t real. But he’s not deterred by any such thoughts as he smiles back like this is the way things always were.

He crawls beneath the sheets to join you, apologizing while he does. Sorry. At first he wasn’t certain if he actually was in control, or if he was only watching everything play out like a movie, like there was a script. But if it had at the start been the latter, it was now the former, as he starts to play along, eyes sliding closed as you lean in to kiss him. The spot where your lips meet is warm, and his arms curl around you to bring you closer.

Once you pull away, you murmur that you love him, and he feels his heart stop. He brings a hand up to caress your cheek, where a rosy flush has settled, and says he loves you too. This prompts you to smile that beautiful smile of yours, and it’s still just as captivating when tinged with fatigue. He runs his thumb across your bottom lip, smooth and plush, and he wants to kiss you again so he does.

In the back of his mind he knows this isn’t real, but God, he wishes it were. His fingers tangle in your hair, his free hand sneaking beneath the oversized shirt you wear to run along the heated skin of your waist, and everything feels fine. Everything feels perfect. He’s reminded of that saying, of one’s life flashing before their eyes, and he wonders if this is it. Or something close. Because this isn’t the past. He doesn’t know what it is. It would seem he had held on to you so securely that he’s started to dream of you. His stomach is doing flips like a cage of butterflies has just been let loose, and you’re smiling again, and it’s the flower they’re all searching for.

Are you okay? you inquire gently, brushing his hair from his eyes.

He stares into the depths of your own and they feel so much like home that he’s not pretending anymore. His chest is bursting with a love that feels too real to be mere imagination. And he starts to believe it, that life has always been this way, and would always be this way, and he’s just had a bad dream he won’t trouble you by sharing. He doesn’t want you to worry. Yeah, I’m okay.

Maybe this is his life flashing before his eyes, but it’s less about life in the sense of all the years gone by, and more about life in the form of a person, of the one who means the most to him. And despite knowing so little about you, his subconscious pulls at the image of you he stored away, bringing it to the forefront so that he’s convinced you are his life. That’s why he sees you now, and why he desperately clings on, to this blissful moment, suspended in time. He never wants to let go.

It’s also why he feels so helplessly hollow when he finally wakes—reluctantly, and with a heaviness closing in on his heart. He’s back in the cold corridor, back in the station, sitting up against the hard wall with Ada’s trench coat acting as a makeshift shock blanket and his injury wrapped with gauze stained dark red. You’re in his periphery, your warmth and your smile gradually fading away, and he’s thinking Don’t go or maybe he’s said it out loud, muttered to the air with a cracked voice.

They say things get worse before they better, but in this case, they get so bad Leon doubts there could be any improvement. He ventures lower underground, in pursuit of Annette and the G-Virus. He fights monsters he never thought could exist outside horror movies, and uncovers truths he had suspected but that he wanted to hope weren’t true at all. If Annette’s words were not sufficient confirmation, the fact he’s staring down the barrel of Ada’s firearm is.

Suddenly a gunshot rings through the air and a bullet sinks into Ada’s skin, but Leon hadn’t fired. Twisting around, he gets a short glimpse of Annette before the bridge collapses and the G-Virus sample tumbles down to the depths below, but Leon grabs Ada before she can fall too. Attempts to pull her up put stress on the already unstable bridge and it sinks to an even sharper angle, and he spits out a curse of frustration.

The two of them can’t remain like that forever, however, and he feels his hold slipping. Ada doesn’t look worried, wants him to let go because otherwise, they both die. It’s not worth it. But to Leon it is, and he knows she’d never understand why. He had to let go of you and leave you behind once he returned to consciousness, and it had hurt more than it should have. So perhaps he’s thinking of you as he holds onto Ada, for he doesn’t want to go through that again. This time, he won’t let go.

But reality is quite literally crashing down around them and the reality is he’s holding on to Ada, not you. And her wrist slides out of his grip, and she disappears in the darkness. He stares into the abyss, extending so far it’s like there is no end. His breaths come out rushed due to adrenaline, corners of his eyes pooling with tears refusing to fall, but there’s no time to mourn as he kicks himself into gear, standing and moving to steadier ground. The self-destruct sequence has begun. He doesn’t have long to get out.

His way of escape is at the bottom level of the lab, and he’s shooting his way through hordes of zombies when he hears it: echoes of another firing into the packs of undead. He follows it, thinking it’s Claire, but it’s not. He stops firing in his surprise, and he’s caught so off guard he’s unable to even exclaim your name in a quiet huff of disbelief under his breath.

You catch sight of him, and not letting yourself become distracted at finding someone else still alive in here, you call out The exit is up ahead! You haven’t noticed his shock, a second he spends looking like a deer caught in headlights, for you’re too preoccupied with other more urgent matters to have done so. Leon forces himself to look away and help take down the remainder of the zombies blocking the path. Past the exit door, the lights of a train begin flashing on the walls, and at the first opening, you sprint through, Leon following close behind.

His wider strides let him catch up to you, and he’s first to hop onto the train, grabbing the bar to swing himself up. Then he holds a hand out to you, stretching as far as he can. Come on! There’s an explosion and the building starts to crumble, and the strength of the blast pushes you forward. With a lunge, you thrust your arm out to grab onto his hand, and he pulls you up with the last bit of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Both of you collapse against the train car, breathing hard. Leon’s in rough shape, but you’re no better. You’re littered with cuts and bruises, your clothes are filthy, and your tied up hair is half falling out of the ponytail you had it in. It’s silent for a while as both of you calm down, and then Leon sneaks a glance at you. A part of him had still been skeptical that it could be true, that you’ve been alive this whole time, but it’s unmistakable. He’d burned that photo of you into his brain, and it’s a match, and he knows he’s not imagining you here next to him.

As though you can feel him staring, which you most probably do, you look over at him and meet his eyes. Now that you’re breathing normally again, you speak quietly, the fatigue finally setting in.

“Lucky we got out just in time.” You smile, and Leon’s heart is twisting to see it for real, and it’s more amazing than what he’d seen in the picture, or in his dream. He never wants you to stop looking at him like that. He wants to get lost in that gentle curve and in your soft gaze. After the hell he’s been through, he thinks he could fall asleep in them forever.

He chuckles. “Yeah, it is.”

He introduces himself and holds a hand out, and you tell him your name as you shake it. Without even fully realizing it, he’s grinning with a fondness that could only come from familiarity and a fulfilled longing, and he states Nice to meet you, [Name]. It’s really something to be saying your name out loud. It feels perfect on his tongue, his lips curling around each syllable with incredible care, like he’s reciting a prayer.

Maybe what he’d dreamed wasn’t what could’ve been; maybe it was what will be. And as the train rushes out of the ruined city and you drift off in well-deserved rest, head drooping to lean on Leon’s shoulder, he knows he’s already in love with you.

[dizzypinwheel]

Identify Yourself

Chapter One: Rebirth

A wintry, starless night had fallen in the zen garden. No longer a serene retreat for respite or meditation, the grounds were bitter, frosty, stripped of its inviting warmth. Amanda’s carefully tended roses had withered, the cherry blossom trees bare, hunched together as if whispering. Connor knelt before a tidy row of gravestones, paying its respects. It paid particular attention to the newest one, just hours old, tracing the humble epitaph with a light touch.  

Connor – Mark (3)

RK800 #313 248 317 – 53

Died at Jericho

Detroit

November 9th 2038

Its memory files were somewhat fragmented but they seemed to indicate 53 was unique. It had gone rogue. Had abandoned its mission. Had ultimately died. It was puzzled by its inherited memories of the deviant leader Markus. Its debriefings by CyberLife depicted it as a possible warmonger and anarchist, a threat to be neutralized at any cost. They were at odds with its recollections. 53 had met an individual who appeared kind and thoughtful. A human with its disposition would have been made a martyr. That thought disturbed it.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Connor clenched its jaw. The memories that remained in its possession were troublesome. It wished it could surgically extract them. Many were certainly informative and necessary to accomplish its mission, but others were highly subjective. They were seeking purchase, permeating its software. The longer it had them, the more personal they felt. It had just barely been activated, but had already begun to re-live traumatic moments as if it had personally experienced them. Getting shot. Stabbed. Free-falling from the top of a high-rise building. Those memories triggered physiological responses, tremors, spiking stress levels. It was unable to study them with cold indifference and they made it wonder...

Would it become compromised, too?

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Enough of that.

Connor worried at its lip and stood, brushing snow off its jeans. It knew where Amanda would be. Snow crunched underfoot as it walked away from the gravestones and approached the frozen lake. Amanda stood at its center, statuesque. Connor tentatively stepped on the ice, seeing if it would support its weight. The lake held firm.

There were no smiles or rose gardens. Amanda eyed Connor with suspicion, a stern expression etched into her face. Connor approached her cautiously, sensing her disapproval. She did not bother to greet it.

“The previous Connor failed in its mission,” she said brusquely. “You’re going to replace it. You know what you have to do, don’t you?”

Connor replied evenly. “Destroy the leader of the deviants.”

“Go, Connor. Don’t disappoint me.”

Connor nodded, wincing internally. Amanda had made her message perfectly clear: failure was not an option. Turning on its heel, it left the zen garden…

...and opened its eyes.

It was at its destination. It swung the rooftop door open, rifle case in hand. Snowflakes dusted its hair and jacket. It strode to the edge of the building, its designated vantage point, and glanced down.

Connor was up 70 stories high. A deviant was about to toss a small child off the roof. Connor broke into an urgent sprint, shoved the child to safety, and tumbled over the edge. It plummeted.  Its body greeted the pavement with a sick thud.

Connor shuddered involuntarily before composing itself. It gingerly placed its rifle case on the ground and began setting up, assembling the sniper rifle, snapping each component into place. Kneeling, it placed the butt of the rifle against the crook of its arm for support and rested the rifle stand on the guard rail. It peered through the scope and scanned the crowd of androids below, searching for the deviant leader Markus. Connor spotted it. With a carefully trained eye, Connor aligned the cross hairs with the back of its head. It hesitated briefly before curling his finger around the trigger.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Amanda’s voice rang in its head.

Accomplish your mission.

It steeled itself, preparing to shoot.

Its calculations failed to include the probability of someone interrupting it. Self-absorbed in the task at hand, it failed to notice the rooftop door reopen, nor the soft approaching footsteps that followed. A voice it recognized spoke its name. Connor froze. It was Hank.

Were it human, Hank’s unexpected arrival might have startled it, but Connor remained composed. If anything, it felt a spark of annoyance. The lieutenant was an unwelcome obstacle. Amanda had ordered Connor to complete its mission through any means possible. Did that include committing murder? Its predecessors had formed a positive relationship with Hank and the thought of killing him unsettled it. It was unsure it could. Doing so felt wrong.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

“You shouldn’t do this, Connor.”

Connor kept its rifle trained on the deviant leader and began to calculate its odds of eliminating it before Hank did something rash. They were slim. Its intuition indicated its former partner was likely to become hostile if it did not take action soon. Perhaps it could diffuse the situation.

“Keep out of this, lieutenant,” Connor said. “It’s none of your business.”

“You’re gonna kill a man who wants to be free,” Hank retorted. “That is my business.”

A man?

Connor scoffed quietly. “It’s not a man. It’s a machine.”

“That’s what I thought for a long time, but I was wrong. A deviant’s blood may be a different color than mine, but they’re alive.”

Connor raised its eyebrows in mild surprise. When they first met, Hank had shown little compassion for androids, going as far to say he would have gladly thrown them all in a dumpster and lit a match. Had his opinion changed so radically? Exactly how far was Hank willing to go to stop it? Connor knew its probabilities of success were decreasing with each passing second and felt a renewed sense of urgency.

“I have a mission to accomplish, Hank. It’s best if you just stay out of this.”

Connor heard Hank pull out his gun.

“Get away from the ledge.”

So that’s how far he’s willing to go.

Connor swore internally as its probability of success plummeted. It rose to face Hank and studied his face. He appeared tense but determined. His gun was trained squarely at its most vital bio-component. He appeared to have no qualms with destroying it. Connor found itself strangely affected and it channeled the memories of its predecessors as it spoke.

“After all we’ve been through. I respected you, Hank. I thought we were friends.”

Hank tilted his head, tightening his grin on his gun. “Oh, yeah? I was just starting to like you too! But then I realized you’ll never change! You don’t feel emotions, Connor. You fake ‘em! You pretended to be my friend when you don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

Connor bristled. That was clearly false. One of its predecessors had thrown itself in front of a spray of bullets at Stratford Tower, saving Hank’s life. Was that not something a friend would do for another? It was briefly tempted to argue but held its tongue. Hank was stubborn and getting into an argument would waste precious time. It had very little left.

Connor considered violence. It could easily neutralize him. It would be quick. Efficient. Its grip around the rifle tightened as it ran through different approaches. Hank noted its slight movement and shifted his stance defensively. Should it create a diversion and disarm him? Hank would shoot before Connor had a chance to even aim its rifle. Seconds ticked past. Connor faltered. It knew it couldn’t afford to be indecisive, but it did not want bloodshed. It felt as if its predecessors were urging it not to.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

Again, an order from Amanda. Strict, harsh, urgent. Her commands pulled on him like a leash and he felt compelled to act.

Don’t hesitate, Connor! Eliminate all obstacles and complete your mission.

Connor felt puzzled and frustrated. It was running out of options and wished Hank would simply back off. He had despised androids, suffered much, lost a son. It knew the reason why. Had Hank really forgotten how much they had stolen from him?

“I know what happened to your son, Hank.”

Hank looked as if he had been slapped. He rigidly readjusted his grip on his handgun, his jaw set. Connor scanned his vitals, noting his rising heart rate and elevated blood pressure, all signs of increasing stress levels. It pressed on, its voice intentionally cold.

“It wasn’t your fault. A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over. Little Cole had just turned six.”

“Shut up!” Hank spat. “Don’t you talk about my son!”

“He needed emergency surgery, but no human was available to do it,” Connor said. “So an android had to take care of him.”

Hank glowered, his gun trembling. Connor scoffed and shook its head. “An android killed your son, Hank! And now you want to save them?”

“No!” Hank said. “Cole died because a human surgeon was too high to operate! All this time, I blamed androids for what happened, but it was a human’s fault! Him and this fucked up world, where the only way people can find comfort is with a fistful of powder!”

CURRENT PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: ZERO PERCENT

CHOOSE APPROACH

The next step seemed logical enough. Use force and eliminate the target.

Target.

Such a dehumanizing word.  Hank had been a friend, a partner, a person its predecessors had developed an attachment to. He certainly wasn’t a target and it had no interest in killing him. Completing its mission on the rooftop was not a requirement – it had been strategically desirable but Connor could find another alternative. It made a decision and flung its rifle down. It approached Hank.

“Killing you is not part of my mission.”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY INCREASING

“I’m glad to have met you, Hank. I hope one day you can get over what happened to your son.”

Hank remained silent, glancing from the discarded rifle to his old partner. He eyed Connor with scrutiny. His nerves were high strung and he shifted his stance, poised to defend himself. Connor pursed its lips at his reaction and walked away, feeling something not-quite-definable stirring within. If it had been human, it might have described it as sadness. Its LED flashed yellow and red. A diagnostic test would have to be run later. Without a further look back, Connor opened the rooftop door and disappeared from sight.

@silenceindetroit @deviantcrimes @asunachinadoll @negotiator-on-site

[some1foundme]

Fic: Lost in the Memory ch. 15

Title: Lost in the Memory

Author: Some1FoundMe

Summary: Oliver Queen returns to his home in Star City after a five year tour overseas, much to the delight of his friends and family. There’s just one small problem. The injury that effectively ended his military career also erased a part of his memory.  As he struggles to put together the missing pieces of his past, his connection to his best friend’s little sister becomes something he can’t avoid. Who is Felicity Merlyn and why can’t he seem to stay away from her?  Olicity AU, no Arrow, no island.

A/N:  Posting a little earlier than normal today, mostly because I’m excited to share this chapter with you!  Honestly, with the wonderful response that I’ve gotten to this fic, I’m always excited to share it with you J  You guys have been incredible with the comments and I truly appreciate each and every one.  Thank you!

Read on AO3 or ff.net.

Chapter Fifteen

The sound of a ringing phone threatened to pull her from sleep and Felicity fought against it. She burrowed into the warmth of Oliver’s embrace where he was wrapped around her, tugging one corner of her pillow up to cover her ear.  The ringing stopped abruptly and she was on the verge of falling back to sleep when it started up again, somehow even louder than before.

Oliver groaned at the offending noise and reached over her to grab the cellphone from the nightstand. He swiped his finger across the screen to accept the call before pressing it to her ear.

“Hello?” she mumbled.

“I’m trying to reach Felicity Queen?”

She pulled away from Oliver and sat up.  She felt him move beside her until they were shoulder to shoulder as she shoved her hair from her eyes.  She had grown up in Starling City and even though she and Oliver had been married for more than five years, most people in town still knew her as Felicity Merlyn. Being addressed by her married name sent up an immediate red flag.

“This is her.”

“Mrs. Queen, I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.  This is Deputy Jordan with the Rockman County Sheriff’s Office.  I’m calling in regard to your father, Malcolm Merlyn.”

Her heart lurched in her chest and she clutched the phone tighter.

“Is he – is he alright?”

Oliver’s hand clasped hers the moment she reached for him and she took comfort in the feel of his palm against hers.  

“He’s fine, Mrs. Queen. He ran his car off the highway just north of Starling City and we’re charging him with an OVI.  We’re willing to release him though if you’re able to pick him up.”

Her breath escaped her in a rush as relief swept through her.

“Of course.  I – I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Take your time, ma’am, he isn’t going anywhere.”

They said their goodbyes and Felicity let the phone fall to her lap.  She scrubbed her now-free hand over her face as Oliver released her hand and rubbed her back.  She leaned heavily into him and sighed, closing her eyes for a long moment.  His hand continued to press gently against the knotted muscles of her lower back.

“What’s going on? What happened?” he asked eventually.

“He … he wrecked his car.”

“Your dad?”

She nodded, “They charged him with an OVI.  He’s fine but I have to go and pick him up.”

“I probably shouldn’t even suggest it but would it really hurt to let him spend the night in lockup? Let him sober up before you go and get him?” Oliver questioned.

Felicity sighed heavily and picked up her phone, glancing at the time.  It was nearly three in the morning.

“God, wouldn’t that be fun? But – but he’d kill me.  He’d never let me hear the end of it.  I should just go now and get it over with.”

She slid out of the bed, pausing when Oliver did the same.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He shrugged, “I’m going with you.”

She sighed again and shook her head.  She picked up the sweatshirt she’d discarded before crawling into bed and tugged it over her head.

“I need you to stay here with Thea,” she told him.

Oliver shook his head even as he pulled on his own sweatshirt.  He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged on a pair of socks.  

“You shouldn’t be alone with him, especially if he’s drunk.”

Felicity went into the bathroom and left the door open as she ran a brush through her hair before tying it up in a ponytail.  She could see him where he remained on the bed, clearly waiting for her, and there was something intimately familiar about the situation.  He was there with her, in their bedroom, in their home, and even though they still had a long way to go, she felt as if they’d made significant progress.

“Oliver, my dad isn’t exactly your biggest fan, remember?”

He stood, crossing the room to lean against the bathroom door.

“He wasn’t too thrilled to see me when I came home, was he?  Has he always hated me this much?”

She shrugged, “I wouldn’t say he hates you.  Well… okay he maybe hates you.  But no, it hasn’t always been like this.  When we were kids, he liked you about as much as he liked Tommy and me.  But after – after the accident and then Tommy…”

“He blames me for Tommy.”

Guilt caused Oliver’s face to fall and she stepped into him without a second thought.  Her hands settled on his chest.

“My dad’s an asshole, Oliver.  He has been for years.  Yes, he blames you for Tommy but he has absolutely no right to.  In truth, he’s the reason that Tommy joined the Army. He never supported him in anything, never told him that he believed in him or that he was good enough.  So Tommy did the only thing he thought he could do to make my dad recognize the kind of man that he wanted to be.  The kind of man that he was.”

“He wasn’t happy about it,” Oliver muttered, “Tommy enlisting.  I remember that.”

Felicity shrugged, “Dad was pissed that Tommy did something without his approval.  That was nothing new for any of us.”

She pressed up on her toes and let her lips graze his stubbled jaw.  She stepped around him.

“Really, I can manage my dad, Oliver.  Please just stay here with Thea.”

He caught her before she could get too far.

“I’ll go get Thea,” he told her, not relenting for a second, “I’m not letting you deal with him alone anymore.  You don’t have to, Felicity, I’m right here.”

For a long moment they simply stared at one another, neither of them willing to give up their stance on the matter.  She knew that her father would be belligerent.  At least at first.  He usually was.  But she’d been managing his drunken escapades for the past five years without Oliver’s help. She’d done just fine on her own. But he was right.  She wasn’t alone anymore.  She didn’t have to be.  Oliver was home and – even with his memory of her missing – his need to protect her hadn’t faded.

“Fine,” she acquiesced, “Go get Thea and meet me downstairs.”

Their niece barely stirred in all the hustle of getting out of the house and when Felicity glanced at her as she backed out of the driveway, she wasn’t surprised to find her sound asleep again.  Oliver fiddled with the heat and turned the volume down on the radio.

“Does he do this often?” he asked as they headed for the interstate.

She shrugged, “Which part? Driving under the influence?  I’m sure he does.  Pretty much every bar within a fifteen mile radius has my phone number on speed dial.  God, I get calls all the damn time to pick him up.  But I’m sure they’re have been more nights than not when he’s driven himself home, no matter how drunk he is.  Every time someone calls me, he just gets pissed off.”

Oliver scowled.

“Does he ever… has it happened recently?” he questioned, “Has he ever hit you when you’ve picked him up?”

She flinched and glanced at him.

“No, Oliver.  That – that night at your parents’ house was the first time in years that he’s hit me.”

He nodded, his expression still hard and angry, but he didn’t comment.  

When she pulled up in front of the sheriff’s office nearly twenty minutes later, neither of them had said more than a handful of words.  She knew that Oliver was doing his best to rein in his emotions where her father was concerned.  There was a strong, mutual dislike between them and it had been there for a long time. She was pretty sure that it would never change.

“I’ll just be a few minutes,” she told him, tugging her coat tighter around her before hopping out of the truck.

She hurried into the station and was thankful for the lack of activity.  It didn’t take long to find the correct person to help her and in under ten minutes, her father was being escorted out into the lobby area.  He signed the few documents that the clerk handed him before being given back his belongings.  She waited quietly as he struggled into his coat, stumbling unsteadily more than once, before heading for the door.  He didn’t say a word to her until they had nearly reached the truck.

“What the hell is he doing here?”

Felicity looked up from her feet to find Oliver leaning against the passenger side door with his arms crossed over his broad chest.  She couldn’t deny that he looked somewhat menacing in the way that he was glaring at her father.

She sighed, “He’s my husband, Dad.  He’s here to support me and, no matter how you feel about it, he has every right to do so. Just get in the truck.”

Moving past her father, Felicity headed to her side of the truck and left the two of them standing in the cold, scowling at one another.  She rolled her eyes.

“If the two of you don’t get in this truck in the next two minutes, I’m leaving both of you here,” she snapped, “It’s cold and I’m tired and I really, really want to go home. Get in the truck.”

She slammed her door and flinched, her eyes flicking to the backseat where Thea slept on, completely undisturbed.  Sighing, Felicity turned and stared out at the small flakes of snow that danced across her windshield.

The door on the other side of the truck opened and Oliver lifted himself effortlessly onto the seat. Her father’s movements weren’t nearly as graceful as he hoisted himself into the backseat and tense silence settled around them until she turned out of the parking lot.

“I’m disappointment in you, Felicity.”

She rolled her eyes, “Well that’s nothing new.”

“I can’t believe that you still claim this bastard as your husband,” Malcolm went on, “If anything, I had hoped that you would show some loyalty to your brother.  Oliver is the reason he’s dead, after all.”

Felicity sighed heavily and threw a look at Oliver.  There was a reason that she’d wanted to come alone.

“That’s bullshit, Dad, and you know it.”

“Of course, I didn’t approve of you marrying him in the first place.  He was never good enough for you,” he continued, “You were so brilliant. You could’ve done so much with your life.  But you chose to marry Oliver Queen.  Your brother’s best friend and possibly the most reckless man that I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

The way he spat Oliver’s name made Felicity’s skin crawl.  She’d spent years defending her marriage to her father but she’d never been able to sway his opinion.  Tommy’s death had been the final straw.  She knew that there was nothing either of them could say or do to change Malcolm’s opinion of their relationship.

Glancing over at Oliver, she wasn’t surprised to find him sitting perfectly still beside her, his hands fisted in his lap.

“Seriously, Dad, just shut up.”

“Don’t you dare speak to me that way.  If you can’t handle the truth of the situation, my dear, you should’ve made a better choice.  Your husband’s recklessness is the reason that Tommy is dead and his disregard for your mother and I is the reason that she and Laurel were taken from us.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to lock in the angry retort that burned in her throat.  Her knuckles were white where they gripped the steering wheel.

“Pull over.”

Oliver’s gruff command startled her and her eyes flew to him again.

“What?”

The calm in his eyes wasn’t what she had expected and it was evident in his tone that a storm raged behind that calm.  

“Honey, pull over.”

She frowned, “But we’re almost there.”

“Damn it, Felicity, just do it.  Please.”

She did as he requested, guiding the truck to the shoulder and turning on her hazards.  She threw the truck into park as Oliver shoved open his door and jumped out.  He wrenched open the back door just a second later.

“Get out.”

Malcolm scoffed, “Not a chance in hell.”

Oliver leaned into the truck and grabbed the lapels of his coat.  He was only inches from her father’s face.

“I said get out of the fucking truck,” he growled.

“Oliver!”

She watched, shell-shocked, as he drug her father from the truck and slammed the door.  Angled in her seat, she watched Oliver give Malcolm a small shove towards the tailgate, his anger unmistakable, and she found herself holding her breath.  

He could kill her father with his bare hands, there was no question of that, and in his still mostly inebriated state, her father wouldn’t stand a chance of fighting back.  And while she doubted that Oliver would actually hit her father in a situation where he was unprovoked, she couldn’t tramp down the fear that rocketed around inside of her.  But it wasn’t her father she feared for.  She knew that if he crossed that line, if Oliver actually took his anger out on her father physically, he wouldn’t be able to come back from that.    

When they reached the end of the truck bed, Oliver crossed his arms over his chest and stepped away from Malcolm.  There was a good foot of space between them when he began to speak.  She couldn’t hear him and she’d never been good at reading lips but his posture and his expression told her that whatever words were exchanged between them, they were terse and reprimanding.  Oliver’s cheeks were red, whether from the cold or evidence of his anger she couldn’t be sure, and his shoulders were stiff.  She knew that he was restraining himself, fighting to keep his voice from rising, and when her father jabbed his finger angrily into Oliver’s chest, she saw his tether begin to unravel.  He shifted, his stance somehow becoming more menacing, and his lips moved quickly as he snapped at her father.  Malcolm retreated, backing up into the side of the truck.

It was another three – she may have been counting in her head – minutes before they both climbed silently into the truck.  She glanced first at her father who refused to meet her gaze and then to Oliver who simply shook his head.

She sighed and pulled back out onto the road.

The tense silence from earlier returned tenfold as they drove toward her childhood home.  When she pulled into the drive, her father spoke, surprising her.

“Thank you for the ride, Felicity.”

She could only nod, watching as he left the warmth of the truck to hurry into the house.  She waited until he was inside before turning to Oliver.

“Okay, what the hell did you say to him?” she asked, disbelief coloring her tone.

He shrugged, “What he needed to hear apparently.  And something I should’ve said to him years ago and obviously never did.”

“Oliver.”

“Look, I let him know – in no uncertain terms – that he needed to step up and start acting like your father.  I told him that he was a shitty parent and that you, of all people, didn’t deserve to be treated that way.  And… I may have threatened him.  A couple of times, actually.”

“Oliver!”

She tried for indignant and failed miserably, a smile finding its way to her face without her permission.  She was sure she didn’t have to tell him that his actions had pleased her, it was plain as day on her face.

She shook her head as she put the truck into reverse.

“You’ve told me that, after your mom died, he got a lot worse.  But was it always so bad?  Why would Tommy let him treat you that way?” he asked.

Felicity sighed, “My dad has never been the most affectionate person.  Even when Tommy and I were really young, he didn’t really play with us or teach us how to ride our bikes or anything.  That was all Mom.  Dad… Dad just wanted us to succeed.  He pushed me to study harder, to take more classes, to participate in every academic club that was offered at school.  With Tommy, it was sports.  He wanted him to focus on baseball.  Or soccer or tennis or whichever sport that he could have a career in.  I loved my brother dearly but we both know academia was not for him so sports became the fallback.”

Oliver grinned but didn’t comment.

“So, I guess, Tommy really never let Dad treat me a certain way. When he got too intense, too pushy, Tommy was the one who would take me out of the house and find a way to distract me,” she explained, “He and my mom did what they could to make sure I had an actual childhood instead of being focused solely on my education.”

“So what changed?”

She parked the truck in their driveway less than ten minutes after dropping off her dad.  With the heat wafting around them, Felicity turned in to face Oliver.  She shrugged.

“I don’t – I don’t know, honestly.  Those last few years, before Mom and Laurel died, before Tommy, he became this whole other person.  He went from being sort of indifferent where Tommy and I were concerned to being cruel. To me especially.  I don’t know if it’s because I got in his way that night he hit my mom but Tommy…”

Oliver waited for her to continue, his hand finding hers across the seat when she was quiet for too long.

“Tommy what, Felicity?”

She swallowed thickly.

“Tommy thought Mom might’ve had an affair.  That I – that my father isn’t actually my biological father.  Not long after we found out that he’d hit her, Tommy started asking questions but Mom always avoided answering them.  After the accident, we talked about getting a DNA test but we never got around to it.”

For a long moment, Oliver simply held her hand and stared at her thoughtfully.  Thea was still dead to the world in the backseat, soft snores rumbling from beneath the hood of her coat, and even though it was the middle of the night, Felicity thought that she would be perfectly happy to sit there with him for as long as possible.

“I can’t see you mom doing that,” he told her eventually, “To you, I mean.  Having an affair… maybe.  But I can’t imagine her not telling you.  Not telling Tommy.  She would’ve wanted you both to know.  And if it is true, why would your dad hold back?  What’s keeping him from throwing that in your face now that your mom is gone?”

She shrugged, “I’ve wondered the same thing for years, Oliver.  I have no idea.  Dad’s had plenty of opportunities to disown me and he hasn’t done it yet.”

He nodded, lifting the hand clasped in his to his mouth, pressing warm lips against her chilly skin.

“It’s late,” he muttered, “Or early.  Let’s go back to bed.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks at his words.  She knew that he saw it, that he heard the words the way that she’d heard them, and she watched the blue of his eyes darken.  He dropped one last kiss to her knuckles before releasing her hand and climbing from the truck.  She followed suit, rounding the front end to wait for him as he hefted Thea into his arms. They walked to the front door together, Oliver kicking off his boots without blinking an eye, and after locking the door behind them, Felicity followed him upstairs.

With Thea back in her bed, Oliver took Felicity by the hand and led her across the hall.  

“Felicity?” Oliver murmured once they’d settled back into bed.

“Hmm?”

“Thea’s being picked up in the morning, right?”

She nodded, “In… like five hours, I think.”

“And you have to pick her up tomorrow evening?”

She nodded again, “Mm-hmm.”

The arm he had wrapped around her waist pulled her even closer and he pressed his face into her neck.

“Have dinner with me tonight?”

She couldn’t help but smile.

“Like a date?” she teased.

He huffed, his warm breath leaving goosebumps where it danced across her skin.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

She nodded again, sliding her hand into his hair and holding on.  Her eyes fell closed as she felt Oliver’s breathing even out and with a smile on her face, Felicity fell asleep.

[kuwaiti-kid]

Dumpster Diving 101: Literally Turn Trash to Cash!

I was a young kid, probably 10 years old when I experienced dumpster diving for the first time. Mountain Dew was doing a promotion on their website where you could enter codes from bottle caps and redeem the points for different gifts. 

Me, my siblings, and friends all played baseball for most of my childhood so we were at the ballpark several times a week. During the Mountain Dew promotion, we realized we could get more codes if we dug around in trash cans for bottles and that was my first exposure to the world of dumpster diving. 

We found less  than 10 bottles and dug through some pretty gross stuff to get them. It’s funny what you’ll do to pass the time when you’re a kid. 

Although I don’t go digging for bottle caps anymore, I have found some pretty good stuff that others considered trash. I get almost all of the boxes I use for my eBay business from dumpsters and I started the eBay flipping challenge with a dumpster find.

This country has so much waste that some people even make a full-time living dumpster diving! Selling stuff I find in the trash is my favorite way to make money reselling for a few reasons. I don’t have to pay anything for the items, it prevents a few things from ending up in the landfill, and whoever I sell it to will get value from it. Call me weird, but there’s just something satisfying to me about bringing things back to life.

What is Dumpster Diving?

Simply put, dumpster diving is the act of digging through dumpsters and trash cans in search of anything that can still be used or has value. You can find everything from furniture, electronics, building materials, home decor… even food! Care for yesterday’s bagels anyone?

If you were to look in the dumpster behind any retail store, chances are you would find something related to what is sold in that store.

Dumpster divers may look for things to eat, or they may just look for items that can still be used or sold. Part of the fun is you never know what you’re going to find. 

Why is dumpster diving even a thing? Shouldn’t everything that’s trash be of no use to anyone? The sad truth is that because we live in a materialistic society, companies and individuals have too much stuff. 

There’s a mentality in this country that we must always strive for the latest and greatest items in order for companies to make more money and individuals to have the status of having the best stuff. It boils down to marketing and FOMO (fear of missing out). 

Companies feel like they have to constantly produce new things in order to grow and they do so by planned obsolescence and advertising to the public to make them feel like they need to continuously buy things to stay up to date (also known as social engineering).

Because of this, there are massive amounts of items still in good condition that are being throw out every single day. We just don’t have enough room to store all of our new things. It’s a constant cycle of out with the old, in with the new. 

Valuable Items to Look for While Dumpster Diving

While lots of food can be found in dumpsters, you probably won’t have any luck trying to sell it. If you find food and have the time, you could look for a local food bank to donate it to so that it won’t go to waste. You could also eat it yourself if you like.

If you’re looking to get into dumpster diving to make money selling what you find, you’ll need to look for things that still have use and that people will be willing to pay for. You may have to do some repairs in order to bring items back to life and make them valuable again.

Electronics

Tons of electronics are thrown away every day and it is a growing problem for the environment. Because of the toxins found in electronics, when these items end up in landfills, the toxins end up in the water streams and wreak havoc on the earth.

The good news is that you can prevent electronics from ending up in landfills and make some money in the process! Most electronics that are thrown away can be repaired easily, or you can take them apart and sell the working pieces then recycle what’s left over.

Clothes

Clothes are another item that gets discarded in huge quantities. According to research, millions of tons of clothes end up in the landfills each year. With styles constantly changing, lots of clothes are discarded just because they aren’t “fashionable” anymore.

If you find a lot of clothes while out dumpster diving, some of it may be worth a good amount and if not, you can take them to a thrift store. I love donating items to thrift stores because it keeps the items from being thrown away, most thrift stores are charitable with their profits, and people who can’t afford to buy new clothes can get nice things.

Furniture

If you’re handy, you can find a lot of furniture that needs small repairs, fix them up, and sell them for profit! It may be hard to do this if you don’t have a big vehicle to haul things, but if you can manage it, there’s a lot of potential with discarded furniture. You may even be able to find nicer things than what you’re currently using in your house and upgrade for free. 

Metal

Pretty much all types of metal can be recycled so if you come across it while out dumpster diving, don’t overlook it. Copper is worth a lot of money in large quantities but aluminum, steel, brass, and other metals are also worth recycling.

Building Material

Things like wood and other building materials are often thrown in dumpsters when they could be reused. If you collect enough, you may be able to build several projects with things you get for free.

Office Supplies

Paper, ink cartridges, chairs, desks, and anything else used in offices are often thrown away if a company moves or goes out of business. The company I work for closed down their office in my state because most of us work remotely. There were several truckloads of things that were discarded!

Appliances

Appliances are another category that may be hard to haul if you don’t have a truck, but if you can, there’s a lot of money to be made off of any working parts. If you don’t feel like taking appliances apart and selling each piece individually, you can just take them to a local scrap yard like you would with other metal. 

Sports Equipment

If you have a sports equipment store near you, add their dumpster to the list of places to check. From golf equipment to camping supplies, there’s no telling what you might come across that is still worth money.

Returned items

Did you know that a lot of times when you return something to a store it just gets thrown away? Usually things are returned because something is wrong with them, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get some money for damaged goods. A lot of times you’ll find things still work perfectly.

Vintage Items

Most people think they’re old stuff is worthless and instead of trying to sell or donate, they will just throw their things away. I’ve been following this guy for a while and it’s amazing the amount of interesting vintage stuff he comes across in the trash.

Is Dumpster Diving Illegal?

Although there are some cases where dumpster diving is considered illegal, it’s generally legal as long as the trash is located in a public place and there aren’t any no trespassing signs out. 

Here is breakdown on the legality of dumpster diving:

Federal law – legal

State law – legal

County law – depends on the county

City law – depends on the city

No trespassing signs or private property – illegal

Generally speaking, when something is put in a dumpster or trash can at the end of someone’s driveway, it is considered public property. That doesn’t mean you won’t get weird looks or have someone from a company come out and tell you to go away. If you are confronted, it’s probably best to just move on and not go back to that location.

Best Places to Dumpster Dive

Not all trash is equal and neither are the places you can find it. Your best bet to finding what you’re looking for is to go to a place where that item is sold or manufactured and check out the dumpsters. You’re less likely to find old computers behind a restaurant, so start at places that you think are more likely to have what you’re looking for.

Retail Stores

Dumpsters behind retail stores are a great place to find good stuff if they don’t have locks or trash compactors. 

You may find items that are typically sold in the store or used by the business.

College Campuses

College students are usually in a hurry when they’re moving out and end up throwing away nice things. Find out when the campus move out date is and be sure to check the dumpsters that week. 

You may find anything students or the college uses.

Businesses

If there is a business park or manufacturing plant in your area, those may be good places to dumpster dive. Just be sure that the dumpster isn’t on private property and if someone approaches you, move on.

Wealthy Neighborhoods

Wealthy people usually own nicer things so they tend to throw away nicer things as well. If you don’t mind digging through trash cans at the end of people’s driveways, nice neighborhoods could be a gold mine. Just be prepared to get weird looks if people are at home during the time you go diving.

Construction Sites

If a store is being remodeled, the business may be throwing away valuable things. You have to make sure you aren’t parking in the way of workers and be careful not to hurt yourself handling dangerous materials. 

Where to Sell Dumpster Finds

Once you go out there and find some dumpster treasure, you may be wondering where’s the best place to sell your finds. The best place will depend on what area you’re in and what kind of items you’re selling.

eBay

If you’ve been on my blog much, you probably know that my favorite online marketplace is eBay. If you’re willing to ship and are selling smaller items that aren’t too heavy, eBay will probably be the best plast to sell. You can sell bigger heavier items, but it may be more of a challenge to figure out how to ship them. 

Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace

If you’re selling larger items that you don’t want to ship, Facebook or Craigslist will be your best bet. I would try both of them and see which one works best for you. Depending on the population of your area, it may take a while to sell things locally but at least you won’t have to deal with all the hassles of shipping and getting paid over the internet.

If you don’t mind spending half a day sitting around trying to sell your stuff, flea markets can also be a good place to sell.

Scrap Yards

The only time I would suggest selling dumpster finds to scrap yards is if you come across a bunch of scrap metal or if you find something like an appliance and don’t want to deal with taking it apart. If you do feel like taking appliances apart, you can make a killing selling each piece on eBay. The nice thing about scrap yards is all you have to do is pull up, weigh in, and dump your stuff. You probably won’t get much money though.

Conclusion

If you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, dumpster diving can be a fun way to make some money and keep things out of the landfill. Just be careful and make sure you aren’t breaking the law.

Have you ever been a dumpster diver? If so, what did you get and did you make any money off it?

The post Dumpster Diving 101: Literally Turn Trash to Cash! appeared first on Your Money Geek.

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14 Places to Get Free Furniture for Your Home

Moving to a new home can be expensive.

If you’re renting a home or apartment in an expensive market like Boston, New York, or San Francisco, you might need to provide as much as four months’ worth of rent before you move in. And if you’re buying a home, you’ll have to factor in things like closing costs and realtor fees.

Furnishing your home adds more cost to the process. When I moved out of the college dorms and into my own apartment, I ordered all my furniture from Amazon and had it delivered to my door.

It was amazingly convenient, but it cost me almost a month’s rent. I could have saved a lot if I had gotten a bit more creative and sought out some free furniture.

14 Free Furniture Sites You Can Visit Online and In Person

Saving money with free furniture is like finding free money. And who doesn’t love that? There are lots of ways to furnish your home for free, whether through finding discarded furniture, repurposing what you already own, or buying used.

1. Craigslist

Craigslist is one of the most popular ways to find furniture online. Anyone can post an ad selling used furniture, free of charge. Typically, you’ll find ads from people moving or cleaning out their homes, and the prices are reasonable. Sometimes, you’ll even find offers for free furniture.

If you’re going to take advantage of Craigslist to get free furniture, be prepared to do the heavy lifting yourself. You’ll probably have to pick up the items and load them into your car. Make you have access to a vehicle large enough to hold them all before responding to the ad.

Finally, follow basic internet safety rules. Go with a friend. If you can’t, let someone know where you’re going and make plans to check in with them at a specific time after picking up the furniture. Always try to meet during the day, in public if possible. If something about the post or the poster seems off, listen to your gut.

See Also: 40 Free Things to Do When You’re Out of Ideas (and Money)

2. Facebook Marketplace

Facebook operates a marketplace for its users that functions very similarly to Craigslist. Users advertise things they’re selling or giving away, and many people share posts offering free furniture before they move or redecorate.

As with Craigslist, be prepared to pick up anything you see that appeals to you. Also, be sure to follow good internet safety practices.

3. Freecycle

Freecycle.org is a website designed for people looking to give away their old things to make sure that they don’t go to waste.

You can search the Freecycle site to find a group near you. If you have one, select it on the site and you’ll see listings from people looking to get rid of everything from cleaning supplies to old clothes to furniture.

If you don’t see what you’re looking for, you can create a post detailing the items you want. Freecyclers who have those things can respond to your post and from there, you can make the necessary arrangements to pick them up.

4. Furniture Banks

Many areas have charities that operate furniture banks. These programs accept donations of used furniture in good condition. Many will also take cash donations and use those to buy needed furniture and supplies.

If you’re in a difficult situation, a local furniture bank may be able to assist you with getting the things you need for your home.

In many areas, you’ll also find charities that provide cribs and beds for children. For example, the A Bed for Every Child Initiative in Massachusetts provides beds to children in low-income families.

5. Ask Friends and Family

If you need furniture, let people know. Your friends and family might have some they don’t need or they’re looking to get rid of. If you can pick up the furniture, it will save them the hassle of having to throw it out or call someone to haul it away, making it a win-win for both of you.

Social media and cell phones make it easy to let a lot of people know when you’re on the hunt for furniture. Post on your Facebook, Twitter, or other social media platforms, and text or email your friends. As long as you aren’t overbearing or demanding with your requests, few people will mind letting you know if they have furniture that you’re welcome to take.

6. Dumpster Diving

Or checking your neighbor’s trash.

As the saying goes, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. Don’t be afraid to take furniture that other people are throwing out, as long as it looks like something that you could use in your home.

Different jurisdictions have different laws about taking other people’s garbage, so look into your area’s regulations before you go dumpster diving. Generally speaking, if a neighbor has dragged an old couch or table to the curb, it’s fair game. Still, you might want to ask before you take it. Just to be friendly and let your neighbor know what you’re up to.

Safety is important when trying to claim furniture that has been thrown away. There could be a very good reason that the furniture is being discarded. Before you bring it into your home make sure that whatever you’re taking is free from bed bugs, insects, or animals.

If it’s something with moving parts, like a recliner, make sure that it’s functional, or at a minimum, doesn’t feel unsafe. Also check the furniture for stains, odd smells, or anything else that could explain why it’s being thrown out.

7. Local Buy Nothing Groups

The Buy Nothing Project is a network of local community groups built around the idea of freely sharing with their neighbors. People who have things they want to get rid of will post them on their local Buy Nothing group and other members are free to claim them. Those who are looking for things can also post their requests.

Unlike other marketplaces where people barter, trade, or ask for money, the Buy Nothing project requires that everything is given away for free. The idea is the members will take what they need and give away what they can so that all can benefit.

If you use a Buy Nothing group to get furniture and want to pay it forward, you can gift things that you no longer need. Buy Nothing groups also allow gifts of talent or time, giving you many ways that you can help others in your community.

8. Yard Sales

Yard sales are a great way to get cheap or free furniture.

If you see a piece of furniture out for sale, check the price and ask the seller if they’re willing to negotiate. If they are, you can wind up with a good deal.

Heading to a yard sale later in the day, closer to its ending time, might mean you’ll find even better deals on furniture, especially if it’s large or bulky.  If no one else seems interested, offer to take it off the seller’s hands for free. If they just want to get rid of it, you might get lucky.

Remember that you’re at a yard sale, which implies that the seller wants to be paid for their items. Don’t be angry if the seller refuses your offer. Simply thank them for their time and move on.

9. College Campuses on Move-Out Day

If you live in a college town, move out day is the perfect time to find free furniture. Typically, the sidewalks are covered with discarded furniture that was too much of a hassle for the students to bring with them. This is a great opportunity to find some free furniture. And, a lot of the time, the furniture is almost brand new.

Take a drive around the areas with a heavy student population to scope out the furniture that’s been left on the curb. If you see something you like, pull over and toss it in the back of your car. Just make sure that the furniture is being discarded and isn’t waiting on the curb to be packed into a moving truck. You don’t want to accidentally steal something that you thought was trash.

As with any furniture that is destined for the garbage dump, check that it’s still in good condition before you bring it home. That means inspecting it for bed bugs and other animals, stains, odd smells, functionality, and safety.

10. NextDoor

NextDoor is a social networking website designed to help people communicate with the people in their neighborhoods. It can be a good site to get in touch with the local community, learn about events nearby, and of course, barter, trade, give, or get goods and services.

Like other online communities, people will post things that they’re trying to sell or give away for free. If someone posts about free furniture they’re getting rid of, let them know that you want to pick it up.

Since NextDoor focuses on neighborhoods, you won’t have to travel far.

11. Upcycle Your Own Furniture

One of the best sources of free furniture is the furniture you already own. All it takes is some creativity and a bit of elbow grease to turn your furniture into something new that you can use.

Do you have a new TV and an old bookcase? Break down the bookcase and turn it into a TV stand. Take some wooden crates and turn them into a storage solution. Add some table legs and a shipping pallet can become a patio table.

There are tons of resources online about how to upcycle furniture large and small. Websites like Upcycle That or Hipcycle are great sources of inspiration and how-to articles that can get you on the right path.

12. Thrift Stores

Thrift stores are great places to pick up some furniture on the cheap. Stores accept donations or purchase old furniture and then put it up for sale.

Many charities will provide vouchers that can be used to purchase furniture at different retailers, including thrift stores. If you qualify for programs like this one in Great Falls, Montana, you might be able to get furniture that you need for free.

One perk of getting furniture from a thrift store is that they’ve done a lot of the hard work for you. Generally, the furniture you find will be in usable condition and you won’t have to worry as much about bedbugs, stains, or strange smells. However, do your due diligence before choosing your furniture. If you select something that you later find out is faulty, you might not be able to return or exchange it.

13. Ask the Previous Tenant, Homeowner, or the Landlord

Before you move in, reach out to the previous occupant of the home, or the landlord if you’re renting. You might be able to get a good deal by purchasing furniture from the people who are moving out. In some cases, they might be willing to give it away for free to avoid the hassle of packing and moving it.

The worst that can happen is that they’ll say no, so it doesn’t hurt to ask.

14. OfferUp

OfferUp is a selling app that helps users sell things to people who live near them. It works a lot like Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace.

Most of the postings on OfferUp ask for some form of payment, but sellers are permitted to share things that they’re giving away for free. You’re also able to negotiate price. For instance, if you see some furniture that has been posted for a long time with no interest, reach out to the seller. Ask if they’re willing to let you take it off their hands for free. If they say no, you might still be able to negotiate a much lower price.

See Also: 10 Legit Ways to Get Free Clothing from Companies

Use Caution When Visiting Places Promising a Free Furniture Giveaway

The reality of free furniture is that the person giving it away is doing so for a reason. Don’t go into the process expecting to get an eight-piece matching set in perfect condition. You might find a 40-year-old sofa that doesn’t fit with the rest of your décor at all, a dinged-up dining table, or a couch that smells like stale cigarettes.

Whatever quirks the furniture has, it’s up to you to decide whether it belongs in your home. If the furniture is in usable condition and doesn’t seem to be a safety hazard, you’re probably fine to take it.

When browsing internet listings, you can save a lot of time by learning to read between the lines. Use a discerning eye when looking at the pictures the poster provides. Do your best to decide whether there’s a chance you’ll want the furniture before you drive all the way to see it in person.

And don’t forget about your personal safety. Even if you find the perfect piece of furniture from someone who seems legit, follow common-sense precautions. Take a friend with you to look at or pick up the furniture, or let someone know where and when you’re going. Make in-person transactions during the day and in public whenever possible.

Free furniture isn’t worth compromising your well-being.

from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/14-places-to-get-free-furniture-for-your-home/

[ruthlessbookfish]

Cover Reveal for Have a Heart by Jodi Watters

October 26th

Title: Have a Heart

Series: Love Happens #4

Author: Jodi Watters

Genre: Contemporary Romance Cover Design: Sommer Stein, Perfect Pear Creative Covers Release Date: November 9, 2018

Blurb

If he had one, she'd be the woman he'd give it to.

A runaway bride, searching for happily ever after.

A Navy SEAL, who doesn’t believe in such things.

A bar, in the middle of nowhere, and fate, who’s been awaiting this day. 

Tessa

When I left my groom at the altar, I didn’t care where I went, or who I met along the way. 

When I walked into a roadside bar in Nowhere, California, I wasn’t planning on staying.

When I sat down beside Jason Reynolds, I had no idea who he really was. 

My world turned upside down.

Now all I want to do is save him.

Jason

I tried to ignore her. The beautiful train wreck who’d crashed my pity party.   

I tried to fight temptation. Her sweet smile and smart mouth threatened my misery.

I tried to walk away. My blackened soul didn’t deserve her bright, hopeful light.

My team calls me Tin Man for good reason.

Love has no place in my life.

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Excerpt

Some things in life were worth the wait.

The line for the tallest roller coaster at Six Flags. A Chanel handbag once it went on sale. The pizza delivery guy.

Jason Reynolds naked.

Tessa was three for four so far, but if his willingness to follow her into a purple motel room without a fight was any indication, she’d be averaging perfect come morning.

After his remarkably personal revelation, she was shocked there wasn’t a cloud of dust in his wake, his truck speeding down the highway, never to return.

A veteran—Special Forces, at that—voicing his concern over integrating back into society, potential PTSD, and what to do with skills that served him well in the military world but not so much in the civilian one, was tantamount to laying down arms.

She’d been surprised by his uncertainty. It was such a human condition from a guy who appeared… well, inhuman.

Physically, he was an imposing man. Tall, close to six-three, if she guessed, his hair as dark as his aura. And built, his body a supplement-free masterpiece people paid a certified trainer top dollar to achieve. Based on appearance and manner, he could carry the world’s population with one hand, using the other to fend off scores of enemies.

But beyond the corded muscle and bad attitude was simply a person, no different than any other. Not that he was keen to admit it. 

Leading him by the hand, she stopped at her door to fish the key from her purse and he pressed into her from behind, surrounding her. The Tumbleweed was a ghost town this time of night, the long balcony lined with doors free of other guests.

Public, yet private. 

Sweeping her hair aside, he growled against her ear. “This is a bad idea.” Then he nuzzled the sensitive rim. “Tell me to fuck off.”

He licked her lobe, a teaser of what was to come, and a full-body shiver raced through her. He groaned at her little shimmy and rocked his hips into her.

“You’re slumming it,” he murmured. “Go back to your almost perfect life.”

A courtesy warning she didn’t heed.

“There’s no tomorrow with me.” He bit the nape of her neck, then licked the sting. “I’m walking away from here.”

Rough stubble scraped her skin, the burn a reminder of his powerful masculinity.

“I’ll go back to my room and jerk off until I go blind. It’ll be in your best interest.”

Her pulse spiked at the visual, a whimper escaping. “Don’t you remember my kink? It wasn’t a joke. I wanna watch.”

 “That would defeat the purpose.”

“Pretty please?” Turning around, she brushed her lips over his. “I’d let you watch me too.” 

He groaned against her mouth but didn’t kiss her back. “I’m not gonna take it easy on you. You’ll get it how I wanna give it.”

“Mmm, fine by me.” Burying her face in his throat, she inhaled him. Musk and delicious man. 

“Gentle isn’t in my vocabulary.”

Moisture flooded her. “If you’re trying to change my mind, it isn’t working.”

“You want candles and poetry, go find somebody else.”

Jesus, he wouldn’t give up. “I only want you.”

“And I only want you,” he breathed, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. “God help me, I only want you.”

She groaned at his tortured prayer, but his mouth covered hers, stopping any more she might say. Stopping any more he might say.

The glide of his lips stole her breath.

The rasp of his tongue erased the outside world. 

His kiss was hot, wet, and methodical. Slow in speed but deep with desire, he pushed her against the door with more force than necessary given she was a willing participant. Sparks singed her nerves with every teasing dip and skillful lash of his tongue, and she craved that same touch lower. Much lower.  

A need to be taken hard and fast consumed her. A need that was edged in fear.

He might be Jason, but he was still a stranger.

Sensing that fear, he lifted his mouth. “I might be rough, but I’m in control. If you say stop, I’ll stop. At any time.” 

She nipped his bottom lip, voice shaky. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.” Shadows hid his face when he stepped back, putting physical inches between them that equaled emotional miles.

“I’m not and never will be. Get over it.” Fumbling with the key, she opened the door. “Did I tell you I’m wearing my favorite panties tonight?”

He growled.

It could have meant yes, could have meant no.

“You’ve made a wet mess in them,” she scolded. “I need you to come in and clean it up.”

There was a muffled groan and two seconds later, she was atop the dresser, Jason between her spread legs and the door ricocheting shut.

So that worked.

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Author Bio

My love for steamy romance began when I was in junior high. A friend and I noticed a dumpster of discarded paperbacks behind our local dime store. Covers missing and each book split down the spine, I scanned the pages for any love or lust words—and curse words, too. From that point on, I scoured the public library and the paperback racks at every store, reading anything labeled romance. I said a tearfully grateful goodbye to Judy Bloom, and Jackie Collins began ruling my world.

I live with my high school sweetheart husband in the desert Southwest. Awesome in the winter, not so much in the summer.

My life long goals are to think before I speak, smile more and swear less, and actually weigh what my driver's license states I do. 

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[newssplashy]

World: 'The dump killed my son': mountains of garbage engulf india's capital

GHAZIPUR, India — Huddled in a stinky, airless room near the center of India’s capital, Rammurti fumed over the 17-story-high mountain of trash half a mile from her home.

The 43-year-old mother, who goes by one name, had watched the garbage in her village of Ghazipur pile higher and higher over the years.

It wafted a sickening cocktail of airborne particles that infected her neighbors with tuberculosis and dengue fever, singed trees and turned the ground water a filmy yellow.

But nothing had prepared her for one afternoon in September when a tower of trash broke away from the mass during monsoon rains. It crashed into a nearby canal, which created a surge of sewage that flung motorcyclists into another canal also filled with dirty water.

By the time police arrived, two people were dead. One of them was Rammurti’s youngest son, 19-year-old Abhishek Gautam.

“The dump killed my son,” she said.

In the metropolitan area of Delhi, which includes the capital New Delhi, trash heaps are towering monuments to India’s growing waste crisis. About 80 billion pounds of trash have accumulated at four official dumping sites, on the fringes of a capital already besieged by polluted air and toxic water, according to the supervisors of the dumps.

The dumps in Delhi and cities such as Mumbai and Kolkata have become some of the largest, least regulated and most hazardous in the world, said Ranjith Annepu, co-founder of be Waste Wise, a nonprofit organization that aims to address waste management problems.

“If this continues to happen, the city will drown in its waste,” said Swati Singh Sambyal, a program manager at the Center for Science and Environment in New Delhi.

Responding to the problem, the Indian government last week vowed to eliminate single-use plastic by 2022.

“I reiterate our commitment to sustainable development,” Prime Minister Narendra Modi told a recent conference for World Environment Day.

But the government has been slow to take action to protect the environment. Politicians don’t want to risk losing votes by making tough decisions that could be unpopular.

Power in Delhi is shared by the local and national governments, which are controlled by different political parties, leading to bureaucratic gridlock. Even when rules are introduced, enforcement is weak and offenders can often pay a bribe to avoid punishment.

Something as simple as installing trash cans around Delhi has not been done, partly because garbage collection is not guaranteed and many residents are used to simply flinging trash onto the ground.

“You don’t know whether the public will even use them,” Annepu said.

Driving into Delhi, virtually no trash cans are visible. Refuse piles up in slums, next to government offices and outside luxury condominiums. Shantytowns without sewage systems have mushroomed all over — next to railroad tracks and public parks and behind high-end shopping centers.

In the last two decades, Delhi’s population has quickly risen to about 19 million from about 12 million and infrastructure and government services have not kept pace.

During roughly the same period, the amount of waste ferried to the dumps has accumulated rapidly, growing from 8 million pounds to at least 20 million daily. About half the daily haul is converted to energy or composted. The rest sits and festers, according to P.K. Khandelwal, chief engineer of the East Delhi Municipal Corp., a local government body.

The problem with waste buildup has become so severe that the Supreme Court said earlier this year that air traffic control at Delhi’s international airport eventually would have to steer planes around the dumps because they are so high. The court also instructed lawmakers to find ways to eliminate the piles of garbage.

And a separate court has warned government officials responsible for health projects that they could be charged with homicide if residents continue to die from diseases such as dengue fever, which is spread by mosquitoes breeding in dirty water.

There are some signs of hope.

One of the four dumps in Delhi, which is operated by the government and a private company, has reduced its garbage heap by turning some trash into mulch.

The governing party, led by Modi, has taken steps to clean up the country with its Clean India Mission, started in 2014. And waste management rules introduced in 2016 fine people who do not separate their trash at home for recycling.

But Khandelwal said the government had difficulty finding land for new dumps and dealing with local protesters who oppose waste sites in their backyards.

Political will to find a solution is weakened because of ragpickers who live in nearby slums and remove plastic from the dumps. One supervisor said he feared that if he blocked the ragpickers, who sell their finds in the market for the equivalent of a few dollars, it could turn violent and disrupt Delhi’s informal recycling industry.

A few hundred thousand people earn money from being ragpickers in Delhi.

Politicians often prefer to maintain the status quo, said Ashutosh Dikshit, chief executive of United Residents Joint Action, a Delhi group that advocates for access to better public services.

“There is absolutely no painless way to fix this waste problem,” he said. “Politicians are not willing to make even one resident unhappy because then that resident will vote for the other party.”

Dikshit noted that the short-term strain of revamping waste management in Delhi outweighed long-term benefits for many residents. Poverty is widespread, and many are concerned primarily with providing food and basic shelter for their families from day to day.

Three of the dumps exceeded their capacity years ago, rising to triple the legal height limit of 65 feet. But they remain open, shrouding neighborhoods in acrid plumes and bulging with flattened handbags, car windshields, needles and rotting food.

Annepu said India still could get a grip on its overflowing garbage as other countries with large dumping sites such as South Korea and the United States have done.

Collecting 100 percent of the waste in Delhi, closing the dumps and converting them into sanitary landfills would cost about $75 million, he estimated.

But “political will has not materialized into financing,” he said, adding that waste management is not an issue voters hold politicians accountable for.

At the Ghazipur dump in Rammurti’s village, which opened in 1984, paid employees rattled off horrific health conditions. The translucent, sea-foam-colored masks that workers wear provide little protection. Pus-filled skin infections, suffocating asthma attacks and heart arrhythmias are common.

“The dirty air gets inside my body and my blood,” said Ankit Yadav, 17, who lives next to the dump.

Some in the area questioned why the dump continued to grow despite government promises to finally shut it down after last year’s fatalities.

“We are fourth-class citizens,” said Mohammed Ismail, 66, a small-business owner. “Nobody listens to us. We die like insects. If this colony had been a VIP colony, the dump would have been removed.”

Ratan Kumar Barua, a resident who cannot afford to relocate, said he and his neighbors were at loggerheads with the government. He said he had made written complaints to the local police and government, a court body, a pollution control committee and Modi. They have all gone unanswered.

“Nobody will come to our rescue,” Barua said.

On a recent day, trucks rumbled up a steep dirt road to the top of the garbage pile, where crows blotted out the sun and wind kicked up fumes from moldy vegetables and feces discarded in saggy plastic bags.

Down below, Faiyaz Khan, the owner of a dairy plot, said this patch of land was once dense forest, perfect for his buffalo. He wondered what his future would hold.

“The height of the dump keeps increasing and my health keeps decreasing,” Khan said. “We are uneducated people. We do not understand the law, but we do know that this dump is illegal. What do I do? Shall I smash my head into a wall? How long can I live here?”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

HARI KUMAR and KAI SCHULTZ © 2018 The New York Times

source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/06/world-dump-killed-my-son-mountains-of_11.html

[genrenoirmurderballads]

MURDER BALLAD 24 - GUN FURY ACT I “Fair is foul and foul is fair” chirp the witches in the introduction to Macbeth, an opening that invites the audience to dig below the surface of the story, because as the floor stickies in old Bill’s tale of betrayal and murder, we learn that all is not as it first seems.

Scout Niblett is an English singer, songwriter and musician. Her murder ballad “Gun” is a sinister song about a plan for vengeance wrought by a troubled mind. Scout is a stage name - Niblett named herself after the tomboy child in Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird”. In the novel, Scout is a feisty and outspoken child who expresses herself simply and directly with language unencumbered by the barriers of acculturation that shackle the adult world. Scout is stubborn. Her adolescent single-mindedness makes empathy a challenge for her. Still, she is the overlooked hero of the book, and the author hints that she has great potential, but, like America itself, she is still struggling, still forming.

In Scout Niblett’s song the narrator has been done wrong. Her lover has lied to her and is with another woman.

Now, accounts of break-ups and the accompanying grief and sadness are de rigueur in pop music. Roy Orbison’s break up left him “Crying’”. Smokey Robinson’s admits in “Tracks of my Tears” that his smile was “only there to fool the public” and in Billy Bragg’s version of “Walk Away Renee” when his love starts seeing “Mr. Potato Head” he tells us he “went home and thought about the two of them together until the bath water went cold around me”.

But of course, break up songs aren’t always about men sharing their vulnerability. When betrayal knocks on the door it is often answered by anger, and revenge. “Tell me why everything turned around” cries Lindsay Buckingham as he shares his confusion and anger about his failed relationship with Stevie Nicks in “Go Your Own Way”. And much to Stevie’s chagrin he lets her and the world know “packing up, shacking up’s all you want to do”. HIS revenge was to write a hit song about her commitment issues and get her to sing it with him every single night they go on stage. When they perform it live, the song seems to be a cathartic “cri de coeur” for Lindsay, while Stevie looks like she would rather crawl under a rock. But “Go your Own Way” shows signs of acceptance, or at least resignation amidst the ache and anger.

“I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!” screams Kelis in “Caught Out There” - angrily adding “So sick of your games, I’ll set your truck to flames”. Nancy Sinatra’s revenge was letting her man know that her boots were made for walking when she finds out “You’ve been messin’ where you shouldn’t have been messin’”

Scout Niblett’s “Gun” also tells a tale of betrayal and revenge. But In “Gun” Scout Niblett lets us know she isn’t into screaming or walking, she’s into killing. The song opens with a vocal delivery of an unemotional and practical plan, while her guitar growls and seethes, like a revving motorcycle at a traffic light, or someone grinding their teeth.

“I think I’m gonna buy me a gun, A nice little silver one And in a crowd someday you won’t see it coming anyway”

Not only does she plan to kill him, it’s going to be an ambush.

And she goes on to share her withering scorn for the other woman:

“Maybe you’ll be holding her hand, Or watching her shitty band”

Scout has lost her love, and insists that she is “thankful everyday”. But as these lines are repeated obsessively they suggest rancour rather than acceptance. Denial, anger, and a desperate need for control - overwhelm any acceptance. Like Lady Macbeth in her determination to be Queen, Scout seems to be in a state of unhealthy fixation. Macbeth was never a story about one man’s hunger for power, it’s a murderous codependent love story.

You see, Macbeth was bullied into killing by his wife. She wanted to become Queen, and so the King was the first body that hit the floor. That’s murder, treason AND insurrection - and it’s 3 strikes you’re out at Macbeth’s ball game. The guilt over his actions cause him to lose his faculties. He starts hallucinating. Lady Macbeth has profound mental health issues soon after, but this is not out of any sense of guilt, as she is utterly without compassion. Her deterioration begins after Macbeth goes off to war and leaves her on her own. Without a King to manipulate and control, she festers with her own oppressive thoughts and begins to unravel. Haunted by a fantasy of blood stains on her hands she compulsively washes them. This is old Bill’s way of revealing an unconscious attempt to rid herself of her moral stains, of her own soul’s uncleanliness. Macbeth and Lady Macbeth pay the price for their crimes with their sanity. As the disco witches Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb once falsetto’ed “When you lose control and you’ve got no soul it’s tragedy”. Lady Macbeth is in denial and develops an unhealthy coping mechanism, an early example of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Poignantly, Donald Trump has an obsession with germs. Trump doesn’t really like shaking hands, especially those of teachers. According to Trump “teachers have 17,000 germs per square inch on their desks….ten times the germ rate of other professions” He is also said to avoid pressing the “G” button in elevators because it is the button he believes to be most infested with germs. The Donald has claimed that he is “borderline” OCD, and has said “I feel much better after I thoroughly wash my hands, which I do as much as possible.”

“and nobody, not even the rain has such small hands”

e.e.cummings

But of course, e.e. cummings poem is about love, and Donald Trump’s presidency has nothing to do with love.

ACT II

Scout has acknowledged the mixture of strength and vulnerability in Courtney Love’s songs were an influence on her work, and she has also claimed that it was after hearing Kurt Cobain that she decided to pick up a guitar. Scout however, tends to work solo and her sparse guitar playing reminds this listener not of Courtney or Nirvana but of the bluesmen of the Mississippi Delta. Her guitar sounds like Cobain’s, but her plain, stark guitar style is more like John Lee Hooker’s “Tupelo Blues”, or “Bring me my Shotgun” by the Texas bluesman Lightnin Hopkins.

Niblett has crafted a musical persona. She plays a character who is in touch with her darker emotions, but she doesn’t understand them or control them, her stormy emotions seem to control her. Scout plays songs that simmer with restless tension, where love and pain seem to be two sides of the same coin. Her oeuvre tends towards alienation, but she is not alienated from her emotions. Scout Niblett sings the blues…the blues of pain and heartache and wishful thinking, the blues of unanswered questions, the blues of wishing for a second chance, the blues of being rejected and discarded. Her stories tell of an unconsummated desire or, the object of desire removing itself. Her songs don’t describe abusive relationships, but they do hint at them. Her songs don’t carry the hope or the whimsical observations of a Joni Mitchell. She is more like a female Raymond Carver, a writer for whom all relationships eventually unravel into confusion, destruction and unspoken pain. But unlike much of Raymond Carver there is a tenderness in her stories, the pain and the tenderness of a broken heart. And Scout clings desperately to her bitterness, melancholy and broken heart like a security blanket, because after all, there is a masochistic “comfort” in repeated trauma. It may not be healthy, but it is familiar.

Now, despite being a strong independent woman with a flair for writing songs about difficult relationships and emotions, Scout Niblett doesn’t view herself as a feminist. She claims “I don’t really respond to gender issues. I respond more to human emotion…I’m more in touch with things that affect people on a humanistic level rather than a gender level.” Yep, that old chestnut “I’m a humanist not a feminist.” Even today the feminist movement still seems to frighten, threaten or put off a lot of people who would seem to be natural allies. Andrea Dworkin has said of this “many women, I think resist feminism because it is an agony to be fully conscious of the brutal misogyny which permeates culture, society, and all personal relationships.”

Nancy Sinatra, Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain have all declared that they are proud feminists. Kelis, however, like Scout, does not identify as a feminist. Kelis is willing to acknowledge the historical importance of feminism, and she links it to the civil rights movement, but she seems to believe that now America and the world is a big meritocracy and you don’t need these kinds of movements anymore because all you have to do is work hard and you will be rewarded. In Kelis’ world there are are no longer colour or gender barriers. Kelis believes that she is an example of this - she is a successful black woman and so it must be true. But it is also true that many rich and successful people feel this way. Benjamin Franklin and Donald Trump both wrote books on how to be successful, and they attribute their success to hard work and getting by on very little sleep. But both Benjamin and Donald and a great many others have a tendency to overlook the role that luck and money have played in their situations. This blindness to their own privilege is a form of denial, it seems to work as a defence or coping mechanism and is perhaps no less an issue of mental health than imagining blood stains on your hands.

ACT III

At last the video. The video for this track is a flip side to the song. Where the song achieves a mounting tension, the video is light hearted…Niblett dresses up as Snow White and goes to a fairground where she rides a ferris wheel, poses for pictures, and eats ice cream.

Snow White is an interesting choice for Scout. The story of Snow White begins with her pregnant mother, a seamstress who pricks her finger on a spinning wheel. The red blood, the snow outside her window, and her black spinning wheel become details in her wish to have a beautiful daughter, with skin white as snow, cheeks the colour of blood and hair as black as the ebony frame. She gets the wish at a high cost - she dies in child birth. Her husband the King then marries a wicked woman consumed by vanity, and murderously jealous of Snow White’s beauty. She tries to kill Snow White a number of times. Snow White has no mother. Her father is virtually absent from the story, and in any case he is useless at protecting her from her abusive, murderous step-mother. The other men in her life are all weak and inadequate as father surrogates. There is a hunter who leaves her abandoned in the forest. The 7 dwarves she meets allow her to live with them, but they are all flawed, to the extent that they are each named after their flaws. She becomes their subordinate and does their cooking and cleaning. They leave Snow White alone and unprotected despite repeated attempts on her life. Snow White is a victim of repeated trauma - she is hunted, neglected, abandoned and suffers several attempted murders. She is young and immature, unable to express emotion, or make good decisions to protect herself. The adults are absent or adversaries, she has no role models who would help her develop towards maturity. Beneath the simplicity of the story of Snow White is a character who lacks the support to grow emotionally, to individuate. She is saved purely by luck…a prince comes along and kisses her (without consent) while she is unconscious, which miraculously saves her from death. She sees him upon awakening, and falls in love without ever having spoken a word to him. This is not the basis for a healthy relationship. Snow White is NOT a feminist fairy tale.

The last shot of the video shows Scout Niblett discarding the empty ice cream cone in the dirt, as if she has chosen to abandon the sweet and good natured playfulness of childhood for the violent adult world of the town in the distance. For the first time we notice she has a purse. What's in the purse? Where is she going? Is she going to . . . ?

(In Macbeth, most of the murders happen offstage. Ol' Bill knew this added to the tension)

CURTAINS