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neopuff · 17 days

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title: demand me nothing chapter 1: the green-eyed monster word count: ~5043 ships/characters: holiday/bishop, holiday/six summary: Rebecca Holiday meets a strange, charming man named John Bishop. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58777651

Another symposium, another speech, another few hundred thousand dollars raised for Providence to continue working towards their as-of-yet unexplained cure. The questions were piling up faster than she or White Knight could answer them and Holiday was under strict orders to be as vague as possible until Rex was ready to be seen by the world.

It was exhausting, honestly. And she hated that it was exhausting, since the work Six was doing (monitoring and training Rex and Bobo) was certainly much more exhausting. Nevertheless, she wished she was back at HQ with them.

"Is it true?"

The sudden question surprised her, and Holiday turned her head to find a tall, dark-haired man pulling out the chair next to her. He looked vaguely familiar - she'd noticed him in the crowd during her speech, she was pretty sure. She almost didn’t notice him, his features and outfit weren’t exactly unique at an event like this. But he was very good-looking.

Broad shoulders, sharp jaw, clean hands, and a deep, gravelly voice that sent shivers down her spine. He reminded her a little bit of Six, though Holiday was going to ignore that thought and just focus on the handsome man paying attention to her instead.

"I'm sorry?" she responded, having forgotten what he asked in the first place.

"What you said in your speech. About Providence's new cure." The man sat down and smiled at her. "Is it true?"

Holiday smiled back, though she didn't really want to. "Of course it is. The future of Providence is containing and curing. No more killing."

"Well, that's wonderful to hear," he answered, sounding genuinely interested. "Killing EVOs always seemed like such a waste to me." He held out a hand. "Special Agent John Bishop, EPF."

"EPF…?" Holiday wracked her brain for a moment. "Earth Protection Force? What are you doing at an event like this?"

"Although we've acknowledged that the nanite threat doesn't appear to be alien in origin, we're still allocating resources to help contain EVO-related threats wherever we have active agents," Bishop answered quickly, like he'd practiced his lines before he arrived. "Protecting the Earth is a shared goal for everyone here, after all."

She smiled at that, meaning it this time. Providence didn't have any sort of formal relationship with the EPF, so Holiday briefly wondered if he was going to attempt to initiate some sort of business deal with her. It wouldn't be the first nor the last time it'd happened, but she'd give him the same line she gave everyone else: that's White Knight's department.

Instead, he smiled back at her, then turned around to motion towards a nearby waiter. After getting two glasses of champagne from the young man, Bishop placed one in front of her and one in front of himself. “How long have you been Chief Research Officer, Dr. Holiday?”

“Not long.” Holiday stared at the champagne, thinking about how Six would tell her not to drink it if he was with her. Too bad he wasn’t, then. “Just a few months.”

“I remember meeting Dr. Fell a few times,” Bishop added, taking a sip from his drink. “He wasn’t quite as nice to talk to.”

She let out a shaky laugh, turning away from him, unsure of how to take the compliment. It sounded a bit like flirting, but she was still figuring out the differences between genuine flirting and let’s-do-business-together flirting. She was pretty sure that was regular flirting. “Yes, well…he was never very good with other people.”

He chuckled. “That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. So you worked with Dr. Fell, I take it?”

“For over three years,” she answered sourly, knowing she had no reason to hide her disdain. “I worked as his assistant, despite my PhD in biomechanical engineering which he sorely lacked.”

That specific piece of knowledge seemed to catch Bishop’s attention, and he leaned forward onto the table. “Biomechanical engineering is very specific. What made you choose that field?”

Holiday paused for a moment, soaking in the idea that a man might actually have some interest in her as a scientist rather than just another potential sexual conquest. She didn’t know Agent Bishop, nor did she have any reason to think he wasn’t trying to get in her pants, but at the very least…he was taking his time to get there. So she decided she’d go along with his questions for as long as it took to get to something else. “That was my second PhD, actually. Between mechanical engineering and nanotechnology.”

He took another sip of his drink. “It’s almost like you knew what was coming.”

She shook her head, though he wasn’t the first person to comment on the coincidence. “If I could see the future, I’d have done more to stop this from ever happening in the first place,” she responded dryly, though her voice wavered as if she had found some way to blame herself for the world’s (and Beverly’s) situation.

“We all would’ve,” Bishop suggested, staring down into his flute. “I’ve watched more of my men die in the past few months than in the last five years. It’s a bloodbath out there.”

Holiday sighed miserably.

“Good thing we’ve got scientists like you to work on fixing things,” he added, holding his drink out towards her.

She glanced at his glass, then down at her own, and finally grabbed it and clinked it against his. Holiday took a long sip and decided that she was going to be optimistic and choose to enjoy their conversation. “We’re doing what we can. I’m sure the scientists at EPF are working on their own ideas.”

Bishop smirked almost deviously. “There’s always projects in the works. Nothing I could talk about, I’m sorry to say.” He took another sip, then put down his finished glass. “Though I’m jealous Providence got you first, we could use someone like you at the EPF.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the scientists,” she answered half-jokingly, surprised to see another two champagne flutes placed in front of them. Still on her first, she put it down for a moment and studied the look on Agent Bishop’s face. “Really, though, Providence is the best place for me right now. I’m not sure I have the right experience for the EPF.”

There was a small part of her that wanted to comment on the EPF’s reputation - their obsession with saving the world from alien threats was seen as a huge waste of money by many people in the scientific community. Holiday would count herself among those people, if she was being honest. Though alien life wasn’t unthinkable, there were much more present and active threats that those resources could be used for.

Knowing that he was helping with EVOs was nice to hear. There was at least one sensible man working at the EPF.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Bishop answered, leaning onto the table a bit more into Holiday’s space. “Your paper on the potential applications of human cloning was surprisingly open-minded, considering the obvious ethical ramifications.”

She chuckled. “That’s such an old pa…wait. Sorry, um…” Holiday paused to think about his words, then before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “you’ve actually read my work?” She stared at him and wished she didn’t feel as embarrassed as she did. It was just strange. This man was definitely not a scientist.

Bishop raised an eyebrow at her reaction. “Of course. I’d heard you were speaking here tonight and wanted to learn a bit about you first.” He took another long sip of his champagne. “There was one paper about the composition of the human body, but taking into account our nanites and how we’ve changed internally…that one was very interesting.”

“A-and newer, too,” Holiday added, still feeling a little shocked. World-famous scientist or not, the idea that someone would put that much effort into learning about her was throwing her for a loop. “I apologize for being so shocked, it’s just that, um…the men who want to talk about my work usually aren’t…” The words fell flat on her tongue when she realized that she didn’t really know what Special Agent meant at the EPF. Maybe he was a scientist.

“…so muscular? Handsome? Charming?” he finished for her, smirking cockily.

Her cheeks turned red and she reached for her champagne, finishing off the first one and going straight for the second. “I, uh-”

“I may not be a scientist, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay up-to-date on the latest trends,” Bishop added, freeing her from her embarrassment. “It’s not every day that a man gets to read about his body’s current elemental composition from a beautiful scientist like yourself.”

The blush on her cheeks darkened at that. There was no room for doubt about his flirting anymore, and she felt more nervous than she should’ve. Years of celibacy followed by months of whatever the hell was going on between her and Six had left her feeling…dry. Holiday couldn’t remember the last time she was hit on by a man she was actually interested in. It was a very, very nice change of pace. “Um…thank you.”

Their conversation continued for a while, long enough for Holiday to completely lose track of time. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really care. Why couldn’t she have a flirty conversation with a good-looking man? She had no friends anymore. All her socializing was with a stoic, impersonal coworker and their grabby pubescent ward. And her sister, of course, was completely incapacitated. She could take a moment to enjoy herself, even if it was just one evening.

He had a lot of interest in her work, especially in her work with cloning technology. Holiday had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the reasons behind his interest in cloning, considering all she knew about the EPF, but at that particular moment, she was just happy to have someone to talk to that didn’t make her uncomfortable.

After a significant amount of time and about five interruptions from other scientists looking to ask her a quick question, their conversation died down enough for Bishop to check his watch and adjust his sunglasses.

"Look, Doctor…" Bishop said, putting his champagne flute down. "I don't want to presume anything, but this-" he continued, writing something on the back of a napkin, "…is my room number. I think we could enjoy one another's company tonight, if you're interested."

Holiday's cheeks flared even redder than they already were from the alcohol. She glanced down at the room number - 2903 - and cursed her brain for immediately memorizing it. She couldn't even pretend to forget.

Bishop slid the paper closer to her and smiled. "I'm closing out for the evening, so if you decide to join me…I'll be waiting."

Without another word, he stood up and walked away, leaving Holiday with quite the conundrum.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been propositioned by someone she was actually attracted to. And not only was he attractive, he was intelligent and worldly and genuinely interested in her work. He didn't dismiss her even once during their hours-long conversation, and if it was all just a plot to get her to sleep with him? Then it was a damn good one.

Holiday stared at that room number for another few minutes and sipped at her champagne. She took a long, long sip.

"Holiday."

Her eyes widened as Six's voice crackled on the comm in her ear. They'd agreed to only use it in case of an emergency, so her heart immediately started to race. She pressed on the center of the comm. "What's going on? Is Rex alright?"

"He's fine," Six answered quickly. "Just a cut on his arm."

She frowned. "Should I come back?"

Her so-called partner let out an agitated sigh that made Holiday want to strangle him. "It's nothing. I'm telling you now so you don't overreact when you see it tomorrow."

Six was a difficult man. As much as she really liked him sometimes, he also frequently pissed her off in ways that came across as very purposeful. Treating her concerns about their ward as overreactions was annoying her and reminding her of how often he dismissed her feelings like that. "Alright, fine. I'll try not to overreact, then."

He didn't respond and Holiday frowned deeper, squeezing the champagne glass between her fingers. She was out of the office, technically off-duty, with a tempting offer from a very handsome and charming man. There didn't seem to be any reason not to do it. Certainly Six wasn’t a reason not to do it, especially not at that moment.

Still, the thought of going to Agent Bishop's hotel room made her very nervous. So she continued drinking her champagne. And then drank some water to balance it out.

But shamefully, those two glasses of champagne turned into three, then those three drinks turned into four, and then before she knew what was happening, Dr. Rebecca Holiday found herself standing in front of Room 2903.

She'd never done something like this. Even in college, she just stuck to one or two boyfriends when she’d had time for them. The idea of a one-night stand with a handsome stranger was making her heart race and her face heat up. It was a bad decision. It was a terrible idea. It was going to have consequences. It was-

She knocked on the door gently, almost hoping he wouldn't hear it.

Less than a second later, the door opened wide, and Holiday was greeted by the sight of Agent John Bishop standing there in only a thin pair of black boxers.

She gulped and quickly moved her eyesight to his face, though that was hardly any less enticing. He was staring at her half-lidded, with an expectant smirk like she was the room service he'd been patiently waiting for.

"Hello, Dr. Holiday."

She tugged some hair behind her ear. "Um…you can, um, call me Rebecca. If you want."

His smirk grew. "Alright then, Rebecca." Bishop moved to the side and bowed slightly, inviting her inside. "Feel free to call me John."

Six didn't used to be such a busy man. He used to be able to come and go as he pleased, without the judgemental, watchful eye of White Knight keeping track of his every move. So with his busy schedule and his rush to get Rex trained and ready for action, he decided not to accompany Dr. Holiday to her latest event in Houston.

He assigned a capable soldier to drop her off and scan the area for any threats, which Callan did without a single complaint. Six also decided, however, that he'd relieve Callan of duty for their trip home, allowing the man to visit some family nearby before coming back to headquarters.

It was 7:16 a.m. when Six entered the hotel, satisfied that nothing bad had happened in the ten seconds between Callan leaving and his arrival. Holiday didn't answer her comm when he pinged her, but it wasn't unusual for her to sleep in after these types of events, so he decided not to fault her and just headed up the elevator towards her room.

On Six's request, she'd been placed in Room 222. It was far enough from the elevators for a threat heading towards her door to be noticed and had a large tree outside the window in case she needed to escape. And, of course, they had eyes on the tree all day and night just in case someone tried to get to her room by climbing it.

Six arrived at her door and instinctively straightened his tie before knocking once.

No response.

He knocked again. "Holiday?"

There was once again no response, so Six decided to enter the room and hope she wasn't changing and somehow didn't hear him. He used the key card that Callan gave him and opened the door slowly.

"Holiday? Are you awake?"

Light was pouring into the room through the windows and Six could very clearly see that she was not only not awake, she was not in the room at all. Judging from her perfectly-made bed, she'd not been in her room anytime during the night.

Six quickly pinged her comm again. "Dr. Holiday, respond. Where are you? Dr. Holiday?"

He waited a second before reaching out to Captain Callan, who was about to get his ass handed to him. "Callan, where the hell is Holiday?"

"She went into the elevator around 9:45 last night, sir!"

Six frowned. "And did you follow to make sure she got to her room?"

There was an awkward pause. "Ah…no, sir. She specifically asked me to stay in the lobby."

Six scowled at that. What the hell was Holiday thinking? If Callan made her uncomfortable, she'd had plenty of opportunities to let him know so he could assign someone else to the job. "She's not in her room. Stay on guard in case I need you to come back."

"Yes, sir!"

Deciding that pinging her communicator was a lost cause, Six pulled out his cell phone and attempted to contact her the old fashioned way. It rang five times before he got an answer.

"Mm…hello?"

"Dr. Holiday." He felt immensely relieved, but also immensely pissed off. "I'm here to pick you up. Where are you?"

"Huh? Uh…oh! Oh, God, it's after 7 already?"

"Who’s that?"

"I'm so sorry, Six, it was a long night. I'm in my room, just give me twenty minutes to get ready and I'll be right downstairs."

"…half-hour, instead…"

"Thirty minutes, at the most."

She hung up after that, and Six frowned deeply. He heard a man speaking in the background, albeit very softly, and he was unhappy about what he heard. Curious and angry that she'd lied to him so poorly, Six opened an app on his phone that allowed him to track Providence-issue communicators and clicked on Holiday's badge number. He didn’t want to do this, he didn’t enjoy invading her privacy so blatantly. But he was annoyed with her.

And it seemed she was somewhere above him.

Unable to fight the desire to make sure she knew that he knew that she'd lied to him, Six followed the signal up to the twenty-ninth floor, and suddenly found himself in front of Room 2903. He knocked on the door impatiently.

The door opened wide a moment later, and Six was suddenly face-to-face with a mostly naked man. He had a small towel around his waist and what looked almost like a lipstick stain on his neck.

"Can I help you?" the man asked unhappily.

Six matched his energy with a frown of his own. "Is Dr. Holiday here?"

The man smirked and glanced between Six and the bathroom next to him. "She's in the shower."

Of course she was. Six's frown deepened at the realization that he was going to have to stand by and wait for her while she had shower sex with this unknown man. "Can you let her know I'm waiting?"

"Sure," the man answered, shutting the door in Six's face.

Six was fairly confident that man wasn't going to tell Holiday anything and he leaned against the wall across the hallway. He was very, very unhappy.

Holiday felt a little bad.

She felt bad that she'd slept with a man she barely knew. She also felt bad that she was completely lying to herself and didn't feel bad at all about sleeping with him. But it was unprofessional of her, she couldn't deny that. She didn't come to scientific symposiums to meet guys, she was supposed to spread the new Providence gospel and leave.

Drinking too much with a handsome man was not part of that agenda. Sleeping with him was not part of that agenda. And then having another go in the shower when she was in a rush was definitely not part of that agenda.

It was difficult to make herself leave, though. They were very compatible. And she hadn't been compatible with anyone in a long time.

Holiday finally stepped out of the shower - hair unwashed but otherwise clean - and quickly grabbed a towel before John could start with her again. He was insatiable in a way that she found enticing instead of annoying and she didn't exactly know what to do about that.

"It's still early," he said, stepping out of the shower and locking eyes with her in the mirror.

"Not for me." Holiday turned away from his gaze and exited the bathroom, making a quick beeline for her clothes from the previous night. "My day usually starts between 6:30 and 7:00."

He leaned against the bathroom door frame, shamelessly nude. "Sounds like you work too hard."

Holiday scoffed and shook her head as she pulled her dress on. "That's an understatement if I've ever heard one.”

Bishop stepped closer and took one of her hands in his. "Why not take a day off? I can take you back to Providence later."

She stared down at their hands, then pulled hers out of his grasp. "I appreciate the sentiment, but my work is important. I need to be there." She didn't need to explain all the details of her sisterly hostage situation, hoping John would get her point and give up.

Fortunately, he relented, giving her a weak shrug. "If you insist," he said, then walked to the other side of the bed and handed her the communicator she'd left on the bedside table.

Holiday took it from him, embarrassed. It was another reminder that she'd mixed her professional life with something very unprofessional, and though she didn't anticipate getting in trouble (or dealing with any professional consequences, really), she didn't like the reminder that she'd done something she shouldn't have.

They chatted idly as she finished getting ready, then kissed one last time as she headed out the door. It was an extended kiss, longer than she'd expected - and Holiday's body was halfway into the hallway when he finally let her go.

"Bye," she mumbled half-heartedly as he shut the door.

Holiday turned to the left so she could walk to the elevator when she was suddenly struck by a sight so humiliating and awful and terrible and anxiety-inducing that it could only have been conjured up by her own nightmares. Certainly what she was seeing couldn't have been real, because it was so comically timed and embarrassing that no deity would allow her to suffer such a tremendously agonizing fate.

Agent Six was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and staring directly at her.

She pinched herself subtly before speaking, needing to make sure she was awake before subjecting herself to the horror she'd encountered. "I-I, um…Six. How did you…?" She paused, realizing the question was stupid. He was Six. That was all the how she'd ever need. "What are you doing here?"

He stood up straight and moved his hands to his pockets. "Your friend was supposed to tell you I was waiting."

Her cheeks turned bright red at the realization that he'd been there long enough to have spoken to John, which meant Six was standing out in the hallway since before they got in the shower. She could feel sweat forming on the back of her neck. "Ah…um. He didn't. Sorry."

She started walking towards the elevator. Maybe Six wouldn't say anything and they could pretend nothing happened and move past the situation without any acknowledgement whatsoever.

"I'm sure he was plenty distracted," Six responded coolly as he caught up to her.

Holiday frowned, still blushing, unable to find an appropriate retort to that comment. Six didn't exactly sound jealous, which would've been nice but not very Six-ish behavior. He did sound judgemental, which was more expected but much less welcome.

"I guess he was," she answered, pressing the down button.

They stood next to each other very awkwardly as the elevator moved from 13 to 14 to 15, then sat there for a few moments. It was going to be a bit of a wait, that was for sure. Holiday didn't really want to stand around waiting with Agent Six, especially not when he knew what she was up to for the past fifteen minutes.

Since getting to know him a little better, she'd tried to flirt with him a bit. Tried to make it clear that she had an interest. But Six never returned the favor or reacted. So it wasn't like he had any room to tell her who she could or couldn't sleep with. She was an adult and she could do what she wanted.

Her mind repeated that sentence over and over again in preparation of Six making another comment, but he stayed completely silent as the elevator came and took them to her floor. He stayed silent as they walked to her room. And he stayed silent as she grabbed some clothes, went to the bathroom to change, then reemerged and packed up her stuff as quickly as possible.

Somehow his silence was just as agitating as any comment. She almost wanted to yell at him for it, despite knowing that she had no reason to be mad.

He was the one who waited outside John's hotel room, knowing full-well what was happening inside.

Holiday's face was in a permanent state of blush. She couldn't fight the embarrassment of her situation. She knew that the only way to move past it was to ignore it but goddamn was it hard not to think about it.

They got to the jet and started back towards headquarters. Still nothing from him. Until someone (presumably Callan) said something to him over his comm, and Six responded that he'd found her in a different room.

Humiliating.

Was it normal for an adult woman to be so embarrassed by sex? Holiday started to wonder if she was overthinking things. Maybe Six wasn't saying anything else because he truly did not care about that, he was just mad that she'd lied and kept him waiting. That wouldn't be unreasonable.

Needing something to focus her mind on that wasn't the terribly awkward situation with Agent Six, Holiday started going through her purse. Maybe she'd find a pack of mints she could read the ingredients label off of. Or maybe she could look at her cell phone and see if her mom had tried to reach out anytime recently.

Immediately when she opened up her purse, she was greeted by a small, meticulously-placed business card sitting on top of her other stuff. It was very simple, just black text on a white background, and said: AGENT JOHN BISHOP, EARTH PROTECTION FORCE.

It also included his email, work phone number, and job title. Holiday was both surprised and embarrassed to discover that he didn't just work for the EPF, he was in charge of it.

She flipped the card over to the back and found that he'd scribbled another phone number there, likely his personal number. Holiday felt her face get hot again and quickly put the card back in her purse.

She wasn't going to call him. But maybe she'd send a text.

Maybe.

Six didn't understand Holiday.

Maybe he just didn't understand women at all.

She'd been Chief Research Officer of Providence Labs for a few months and he'd learned a lot about her in that time. He'd learned about her sister's situation, and her relationship with other members of her family, and he learned that she wasn't great with kids so they had to slowly figure out the best way to take care of Rex. She worked constantly, drank too much coffee, barely slept, and wore her hair up all the time because she "didn't have enough time to wash it."

But overall…she was professional. Even with White Knight, a man that she clearly, truly hated - she was professional. And Six expected that level of professionalism to extend to all Providence-related activities.

Never in a million years had he expected her to fool around with a strange man while at an important symposium. She was supposed to be promoting Providence and gathering more support, and instead she was…well.

He didn't really want to think too much about what she was doing. She was an adult and could make her own decisions. But she was also in the public eye, represented their organization, and was an easy target for a lot of bad people that didn't like Providence.

So obviously, when Six had stopped at the front desk to check Holiday out of her room, he also threatened the employee there until she revealed the name of the man staying in Room 2903.

John Bishop. Earth Protection Force.

Six wasn't familiar with the man, but he knew the EPF and was not a fan. They stirred the public into even more of a frenzy when the Nanite Event first happened - telling everyone that the mutations were caused by alien technology having made its way into our atmosphere. Providence was still fighting those rumors, even four years later, and Six wasn't happy about it.

Neither was Holiday, last time he checked. But he supposed she was more forgiving than he would've thought.

Six didn't plan on telling Knight what happened - didn't plan on telling anyone, if he could help it - but he'd need to keep an eye on the EPF to make sure Holiday hadn't willingly put herself in a dangerous situation.

She seemed fine, but in his line of work, Six knew perfectly well that looks could be deceiving. And the EPF wasn't an innocent, simple organization. They had influence and they had weapons and Six didn't want to see Holiday get hurt.

He stared at her from across the plane, frowning deeply. She was looking at a business card she'd gotten out of her purse, and Six could clearly see it was from Bishop.

There was a light blush on her cheeks. Normally he would've found that charming on her, but at the moment, he was too annoyed to feel anything else.

Hopefully, he wouldn't have to interact with Agent Bishop again.

#generator rex #tmnt 2003 #agent john bishop #rebecca holiday #agent six #bisholiday #holix #carrofics

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coochiequeens · 1 year

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Old article but worth sharing today for International Day of No Prostitution

October 5th is International Day of No Prostitution. In 2019 we are marking it by remembering the women who didn’t survive prostitution – including all the women whose disappearances and deaths were unmarked and unnoticed – as we resolve to not rest until the vicious system of prostitution is brought to an end.

Remembering the Void by Rebecca Mott

This is written to all the lost prostituted women, whether gone through death or disappearance. I write as one who was lucky enough to exit alive and relatively unscarred.

To write as an exited woman, is to be surrounded by ghosts and the knowledge of death being a norm. So if you choose to say “prostitution is just sex work,” never express that to exited women, most of whom have seen death in the raw, and know of many of our prostituted sisters who have been erased from existence.

To understand prostitution, we must look directly into this abyss and stop turning away from this genocide. Look with courage and fury into the void and show respect to our forgotten sisters by learning from their disappearances or deaths.

To start this journey, we must know and understand that the sex trade has had centuries to become experts at making the prostituted vanish.

The sex trade usually picks females they can easily isolate from family and friends. This may be because of previous abuse, because of being inside a natural or man-made disaster, or the isolation of poverty or racism. These are just the tips of the iceberg that isolates females.

An isolated female is easy to manipulate and gradually make into sexual goods. The main advantage of this isolation is that she becomes a non-human and from there it’s easy to turn her into sexual goods. Sexual goods that will be consumed and then thrown away.

This must be understood: that to be prostituted is to be made subhuman and throwaway. This cannot be stated enough, if we are to get hold of the scale of the deaths and disappearances of the prostituted.

It is claimed that at the minimum, prostituted women and girls are about 12 times more likely to die from male violence than other groups of females of a similar age and background. This will always be an estimate, for most disappearances or deaths of the prostituted are unrecorded.

When I was prostituted, it was common for punters to play at killing me – often saying:

“No-one will look for a dead whore.”

What other job is this normal in?

We get this message in all parts of the culture, such as the trope of murdering whores for crime novels, TV and film scripts. It is ingrained that the deaths or murders of the prostituted are so unimportant, that any serial killer will aim at the prostituted, knowing few will care.

The sex trade is expert at vanishing acts. Most of the disappeared prostituted females have been moved into other areas and more than likely more dangerous aspects of the sex trade. Internal or external trafficking are the main routes to control and silence the prostituted. Every prostitute lives with the threat of more sadism or death as their norm.

The sex trade has learnt over many centuries to clean up after punters kill the prostituted. These deaths are made invisible, for all that matters is more profit and making punters happy. The murdered prostituted are thrown away with no name, no past and no recognition that they were human.

So as we remember the deaths of murdered prostituted females, we will be surrounded by nameless and faceless ghosts crying out to be seen and known.

All the time there is moving remembrance of women murdered by male violence, especially domestic violence. But rarely does this include or even mention the silent genocide of the prostituted.

We let the sex trade win when we ignore these deaths and disappearances. We need to have memorials, marches, and constant reminders for those who lost their names and routes back to a non-prostituted life.

To end, something I wrote long ago:

To be murdered in prostitution is to go from being made sub-human in life to nothing in death.

Crossbones Graveyard

All of the images in this article are photos of Crossbones Graveyard, an un-consecrated plot of ground a short walk from the Globe Theatre in Southwark, where ‘outcasts’ were buried from the 12th century until its closure in 1853. The graveyard’s other name, the ‘single woman’s graveyard,’ hints at who these outcasts were – women not under the patronage of a named man.

The centuries following the late medieval period were a time of brutal disruption for ordinary people as the communal subsistence economy was transformed into a wage-based monetary one. The disruption affected women quite differently from men. The work that women had traditionally done in having and raising children, maintaining (and often also making) the family’s clothing and home environment, growing, gathering or purchasing the family’s food and preparing it, etc. was now defined as non-work and was not remunerated. Men’s work on the other hand was defined as work and was remunerated. As a result, women as a group were systematically deprived of independent means of supporting themselves. This drove women into deeper economic dependence on men.

If they didn’t have a father or husband who could or would support them, many women had little choice but to turn to prostitution. This made them outcasts from mainstream society and defined them as unfit to be buried in consecrated land – while the men who bought them for sexual use were deemed upstanding citizens fit to be buried in the churchyard.

But the hypocrisy didn’t stop there. The brothels in Southwark were licensed for centuries by the Bishops of Winchester who grew rich on the proceeds �� which means that the wealth of the Church of England is based in part at least on pimping women.

The development of capitalism was predicated on stripping women of their previous relative economic independence and forcing their dependence on men – either individual men in the family or the free-for-all of prostitution, while the men were given (almost absolute) power over women in return for compliance with their wage masters. This is what Carole Pateman calls the sexual contract and it is the bedrock of the capitalist system

Neither women’s poverty nor prostitution are inevitable. They are a direct result of the deliberate disenfranchisement of women in the system of patriarchy, which slowly morphed into capitalism and now the terrifying no-holds-barred neoliberal capitalism, which threatens to destroy the entire ecosystem on which we all depend.

Crossbones Graveyard is now run by volunteers as a garden of remembrance. Women tie ribbons and mementos to the fence in remembrance of all the outcaste women who are buried there.

If you visit the garden and raise your eyes, you can see the Shard, that modern phallic monument to neoliberal folly and the brutal exploitation of women and colonised peoples everywhere.

Meme for International Day of No Prostitution 2019

#October 5th #International Day of No Prostitution #Rebecca Mott #Nordic Model Now #Rest in Peace Our Forgotten Sisters #Prostituted women are 12 times more likely to die from male violence #What other job is this normal in?#Internal or external trafficking are the main routes to control and silence the prostituted.#To be murdered in prostitution is to go from being made sub-human in life to nothing in death #Single women’s graveyard #The brothels in Southwark were licensed for centuries by the Bishops of Winchester who grew rich on the proceeds #The Church of England #Crossbones Cemetery

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