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drabbles-mc · 4 years

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Protective Detail (3/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, falling more in love with Nestor than we already were originally (if that’s even possible)

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: I’m a sucker for characters building relationships. Humans slowly getting to know each other and get more comfortable with each other??? Friendships and feelings developing?? Sign me the fuck up lmao. As always, hope y’all enjoy xoxo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines @sillygoose6969 @mydaiilyescape @lovebennycolon @the-radical-venus @gemini0410 @garbinge (If you want to be tagged in this fic or any of my other writing let me know!)

A few days into the new arrangement, you and Nestor had started figuring out a little bit of a routine. There were a lot of quiet moments between the two of you—you realized that he wasn’t much of a talker and you were still trying to figure out how to get him to say more than two sentences at a time about anything. It was like your new mission.

He was adamant about doing dishes. He couldn’t stand letting them sit in the sink overnight, so they were always clean first thing in the morning when you came out into the kitchen. He’d shake his head at you before you could even try to tell him that it wasn’t necessary. You wanted to be motivated enough to clean them before you went to bed, but by the time the end of the day rolled around all you wanted to do was crawl under the covers and pass out, so that was usually what you ended up doing.

“I’ll do dishes but I draw the line at combining our laundry,” he said as he carried his small hamper of dirty clothes to the basement where the washer and dryer were.

You laughed, calling after him, “Oh darn. How am I supposed to snoop through your stuff, then?” you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket and you took it out to see who was calling, smiling to yourself when you saw your father’s contact photo on your phone screen, “You’re calling early.”

“You’re awake early,” you could hear the smile in his voice, “Was just calling to check in and see how things are going.”

“I haven’t succeeded in driving him away yet, unfortunately.”

Nestor’s voice came from downstairs, “I can hear you!”

“Good!” you called back with a laugh before returning your attention to your phone call.

Your father sighed, “So things are going well, I see.”

“It’s really not bad at all, Papi. Nestor is alright. It’s just weird living with someone that you don’t know,” you paced the floor of your kitchen, “You know how long he’s gonna have to stay with me?”

“Until I feel that things have been properly handled.”

“You sure Miguel doesn’t need him back?”

“Even if he did, he would never ask me,” you knew your father well enough to know that there was a light smugness to his voice as he said that, “But you’ve been alright? You’re safe?”

“Yes, I’m safe,” you heard Nestor’s footsteps coming back up the stairs and you turned to face him, a childish smirk on your face, “Nestor is doing a fabulous job protecting me.” You chuckled as he pressed his lips into a thin line and made his way to the guest room without a word.

Your father laughed, knowing that you were giving your protective detail a run for his money, “Don’t be too hard on him, mija.”

You laughed, “No promises. I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too,” he let out a soft chuckle before hanging up the call.

Morning faded into the afternoon and you hadn’t seen Nestor since he disappeared after he brought laundry downstairs. Some moments you wondered if your father’s concern about him being annoyed enough to quit were valid, but you also figured that Nestor was too proud and stubborn to bail. You walked down the hall and knocked on the open door to what you now considered his room. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, tying his shoes. You smiled slightly as he looked over at you, eyebrows raised.

“You almost ready to go?” you asked, “Ready for another very boring night sitting at the bar watching me like a creep?”

He stood up and walked over to you, and for a moment you were reminded of the size difference between the two of you. he glanced down at you, making you feel very small as your face instantly got hot, “Ready to watch me watch you? Like an even bigger creep?” You chuckled, mostly to try and relieve the tension that was bubbling up inside your body. He brushed past you and went to grab his keys, “My turn to drive.”

You followed his path and opened your mouth to argue, but you knew it was useless. With a sigh you grabbed your purse and followed him out the door to his SUV. He’d driven you a couple places in it, and you had to admit it had way more room than your car when it came to grocery shopping. You still weren’t ready to accept it as your main mode of transportation, though. You could’ve had your own nice car, and your father would’ve preferred it, but you didn’t like feeling so obvious. And, in the case of Nestor’s car, you hated feeling like you were constantly fighting to not touch anything in his pristine vehicle.

“You really don’t need to stay for my whole shift, Nestor,” you said as the two of you walked in the front door, “I’m sure there are more important things you could spend a couple hours doing and then just come pick me up afterwards.”

He shook his head, opening the door for you, “Can’t do it.”

It was a busier shift—Saturday’s always were. You almost felt bad for Nestor, but at least there were enough people to keep him occupied and have him feeling like he was actually serving a purpose by being there with you. He never said anything, but you knew that things had been so quiet lately and it was probably a big change of pace from whatever he was usually doing for the Galindos. Any time you tried to ask or allude to it, though, he went silent.

You finally had a moment to pause and catch your breath for a second when you saw Nestor waving you over. You leaned over the bar so he wouldn’t have to shout whatever it was that he had to say to you, sporting your best Customer Service Smile so the people around you wouldn’t get clued in on anything.

“Guy over in that booth has been eyeing you for the last fifteen minutes.”

You were about to tell him that there were always creeps leering at you while you were working, but when you saw who he was talking about, your facial expression dropped. You saw Nestor’s whole body tense up and he went to stand, but you put your hands over his to stop him. He turned to you, clearly confused and on-edge.

“He’s not a problem. Just a shitty ex-boyfriend. He’s annoying, but not a security concern. You can sit, it’s fine,” you nodded to him to reassure him before plastering a smile back on your face and getting back to your other patrons.

Nestor didn’t like the fact that the man kept staring at you. And despite the fact that you had explicitly told him that he wasn’t an issue, there was still a very strong urge to get up and physically throw him out of the building. For the sake of your job, though, Nestor kept himself seated, keeping an eye on everyone else while paying special attention to the man in the booth.

You don’t know how you missed him coming in, but you almost wished that Nestor hadn’t said anything. Now you couldn’t help but to feel him staring at you and it was a difficult feeling to ignore. It would have been a total abuse of power to ask Nestor to go over and get in his face, and you knew it, but the option was still tempting nonetheless. You were glad that he was at least keeping to himself.

That luck ran out too, though. You were looking across the expanse of the bar to see if anyone needed anything, and sure enough he was standing at the far end, a smug grin on his face because he knew that you were going to have to come over and talk to him. Jade saw the look on your face and was about to intervene but you politely waved her off, knowing that it wasn’t her drama to deal with.

“What can I get you, Marco?” your voice wasn’t nasty, but it wasn’t laden with the typical sweetness you used on other customers.

“Whatever’s good on tap tonight, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you didn’t look at him as you grabbed a glass and picked a beer out of the tap lineup.

“That your new boyfriend?” he nodded towards Nestor as you handed him the glass.

“And if he is?” this conversation wasn’t going in a good direction, but you were trapped in it regardless.

“I was just wondering, because he’s spent an awful lot of the evening staring at you.”

“Could say the same about you,” you scoffed.

You went to walk away when he reached over the bar and grabbed your arm. His grip wasn’t tight, and you knew that the intention wasn’t to hurt you, just to get your attention, but you still had the overwhelming urge to bust his nose. You ripped your arm from his grip, taking a deep breath as you suppressed the desire to cause a scene.

You almost had no say in the matter, though, as Nestor materialized, placing his hands down hard on Marco’s shoulders, “Everything alright over here?”

Your eyes grew wide, not sure at all how this was going to play out. You could see the fear on Marco’s face, but you also knew that he was too proud and too stupid to back down from a fight, even if it was one he would definitely lose. He shrugged in an attempt to get Nestor’s hands off of his shoulders, “We’re fine.”

Nestor’s eyes zeroed in on you, practically begging you to give him the okay to do some damage, “All good, Y/N?”

Before you could answer, Marco spoke up again, “I said we’re fine.”

“I wasn’t fucking asking you,” Nestor’s voice was low but you could tell by the grimace on Marco’s face that he was definitely digging his fingers into his shoulders.

You nodded, “We’re good.”

Nestor released his grip and you could see Marco’s entire body relax. His gaze lingered on you for a moment and you nodded again to let him know that you could handle it. He didn’t say anything else as he made his way back down to where he had originally been sitting at the bar. His eyes never left the two of you though—you could feel his stare even though your back was to him.

“I figured you would’ve gone for a more warm and fuzzy type,” he tried to play it confidently but you could tell that he was shaken up.

You scoffed, “I’d leave while you still can. He decides to come back over again I won’t tell him to let you go.”

The color drained from Marco’s face, but he just couldn’t make himself smart enough to walk away, “Didn’t think you liked pushy guys.”

You braced your hands on your side of the bar and leaned forward slightly, “I don’t like guys who are pushy with me. Now, get the fuck out before you see how pushy he can really be.”

The second threat was enough to get through. He dropped money on the surface of the bar and left, leaving a full glass of beer behind. You chuckled to yourself as you brought the glass down and set it in front of Nestor. The two of you locked eyes for a moment but didn’t say anything about what had happened as you went about the rest of your evening.

You were cleaning up after your shift, once again it was just you, Jade, and Nestor. You and Jade were going back and forth about some of the ridiculous things that you had heard that night as you wiped down counters and tabletops. Nestor scrolled on his phone, a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as he listened to the two of you.

When there was a lull in the conversation, he looked up and at you, “So, who was your friend that was here tonight?”

“Ah, he got to meet Marco,” Jade chuckled, shaking her head knowingly.

“Marco?” he raised his eyebrows.

You huffed, rolling your eyes, “Yea, Marco. With a capital M for mierda,” you let out a humorless laugh, “We dated a couple years back.”

“Still not over you?”

Jade interjected before you could, “Can you blame him?”

You smiled and shook your head, “I haven’t heard from him in a while. He pops up every now and then to see if he still has a shot. He never does. I turn him down, send him away, and the cycle repeats itself.”

“Too bad you didn’t have a Nestor sooner,” Jade was stacking glasses with a smug grin on her face, “Could’ve gotten rid of him a long time ago.”

“Nestor is not a bouncer for ex-boyfriends,” you laughed.

She laughed and shrugged, “It is a bonus though.”

You shook your head as the two of you finished up closing down the bar. While it was hectic sometimes when it was only the two of you, those were some of your favorite nights. You’d come to think of Jade more as an aunt or a second mother rather than your boss, and you liked the time you got to spend with her.

After getting home and letting Nestor check the house, the two of you took turns showering off the day. You were trying to figure out if Nestor just had multiple of the same sets of sweatpants and lounge shirts, or if he just washed the same set over and over again. You grabbed a fresh pint of ice cream out of the freezer and grabbed one for him too without bothering to ask, knowing that if you gave him the option he would always say no.

You set his down on the coffee table in front of him before taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch from him, giving him a little space. He looked back and forth between you and the ice cream with a slightly confused expression.

“A thank you for scaring off Marco,” you said with a smile as you scooped out a spoonful of your own.

“It’s my job.”

You raised an eyebrow, “That is not in your job description. He is not a threat to my father’s way of life, or mine for that matter. Now just eat the damn ice cream before I add doesn’t eat dessert to my Nestor Notes.”

He let himself smile as he picked up the pint of ice cream, “Thank you,” he took a spoonful, “And for future reference, my favorite flavor is mint chip.”

Your eyes grew wide, mostly because he actually offered up a piece of personal information, but also at the fact that that was his favorite flavor, “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with that as their favorite.”

“Now you have,” he nodded before reaching for the controller to turn the TV on.

You chuckled to yourself as you settled back against the couch, pulling your legs up underneath you. You looked over at Nestor, who was slightly hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees. He had the controller in one hand, scrolling through shows, and his ice cream in the other. For a man who didn’t like music while he was driving in the car, he certainly did seem to see eye-to-eye with you when it came to always having the television on in the house for a light layer of background noise. Most of the time neither of you were paying super close attention to what was on, but it was just nice to break up the silence. In that moment, though, both of you felt extremely present.

“I’m one hundred percent eating this whole thing tonight,” you laughed, “It’s counting as dinner and dessert.”

He chuckled, “Sounds good.”

“We can go grocery shopping tomorrow and get real food,” you smiled as you kept your eyes glued to the container in your hands, “I’ll make sure to get you some mint chip.”

He nodded, smiling despite the fact that he wasn’t looking over at you, “I’d appreciate that.”

#mayans mc #mayansmc #mayans fx #mayans mc imagine #nestor oceteva #nestor oceteva x reader #nestor oceteva x you #nestor oceteva imagine #my writing #nestor oceteva fanfic #drabblesmc #protective detail #multichapter #chapter 3

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tipsycad147 · 3 years

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Why do people become Pagan? The top ten reasons

by Michelle Gruben

“Why are you Pagan?” If you were to ask this question of a dozen people, you would probably get a dozen different answers. For Christians (and others who believe in one true God) the revival of polytheism may be confounding. For others, it is hard to understand why a sensible modern person would seem to turn their back on science to worship the gods of old.

Before we get too far along, let's cover some background info. Paganism is defined broadly as non-Abrahamic religion that is Nature-based, polytheistic, or both. Wiccans, for instance, generally worship a creator Goddess and a God who is Her consort. The Wiccan cosmology does not acknowledge the existence of the Christian God (or the concepts of Satan and Hell).

Wicca is the best-known of modern Pagan religions, but there are many sub-groups and branches of Pagan belief and practice. Druidism, neo-Shamanism, Greek/Roman reconstructionism, and Norse Heathenry are just a few. There are also eclectic Pagans who combine elements from various traditions to make their own “flavor” of Paganism. While occult practices (e.g., divination and spellcasting) are common in Paganism, not all Pagans participate in these practices. Conversely, not everyone who is involved in the occult is a Pagan.

Most Pagans are polytheist, meaning they recognize the existence of more than one God. But there is more to Paganism than “the more, the merrier!” Here are some general traits of Pagan religions (keep in mind that not every religion will have them all): Rejection of Judeo-Christian cosmology, observance of seasonal rites, reverence toward Nature, rejection of religious authority and focus on individual experiences, paranormal/psychic beliefs and practices, emphasis on personal responsibility over sin or evil.

Not surprisingly, a preference for one or more of these traits is what attracts many people to Pagan religions—but we’ll get to that in a moment.

At the risk of stating the obvious, religion is a choice. If a person follows a Pagan religion, they are expressing a preference for Paganism over another religion, or no religion. Thinking about the reasons why people choose to become Pagan can lead to better understanding of Pagan friends and family. If you are Pagan, you may even learn something about yourself!

For the record, I’m Pagan in a mixed-religion household. This (totally unscientific) list is based on my own observations within the Pagan community. I’ve tried to present them in a way that’s inclusive and fair. Without further ado, here are some of the most common reasons why people choose to follow a Pagan religion:

1. They were raised Pagan.

Contemporary Pagan groups began forming in the 1930s, and achieved breakthrough status with the emergence of Wicca in the 1950s. Before that time, very few people in the West were raised Pagan. If you wanted to be initiated in a Pagan tradition, you had to seek one out—often at great expense to your personal or professional reputation.

Nowadays, that’s not the case. Neo-Paganism as a social/demographic phenomenon is in its third generation. It’s fairly common to find adults who were raised Pagan, or even whose parents were raised Pagan! It’s also possible to find those who were raised Pagan, but left Paganism. “Mom used to go out in the woods with her friends and do weird stuff—I never really got into it.”)

Some Pagan clergy will participate in the general blessing of infants and children, such as the ritual of “Wiccaning.” However, most Pagan paths do not have formal initiation for children. Pagans also overwhelmingly value religious choice. If someone continues their Pagan practice into adulthood, it is likely because they found something meaningful in it.

2. They want sexual acceptance and/or sexual freedom.

Of all the world religions, Paganism is arguably the most tolerant of the varied expression of human sexuality. Sex is considered a divine gift and a sacred rite. Lusty Gods and fertile Goddesses appear in all the major pantheons. (Along with gender-bending, raunchy stories, and other sexy fun.) For most Pagans, sex is just no big deal as long as it’s between consenting adults (or deities).

Pagan groups almost universally accept gay members, and some traditions even have queer or queer-leaning branches (Radical Faeries, Dianic Wicca). Pagan activists have been on the forefront of the struggle for equal rights. Compare that to the sluggish response of churches—even liberal churches—to embrace LGBTQ members and clergy, and you’ll understand why sexual minorities have been so attracted to Paganism. For people who are used to hearing their sexual desires called dirty, sinful, or shameful, the difference can be life-changing.

It’s not just queer folks who embrace Paganism as a safe haven. Horny folks do, too. In most Pagan belief systems, sex is not considered a sin but a morally neutral act. Sex for fun is fun, sex for magick is magick. It’s not how much sex you’re having, but your intention that characterizes the act. The only moral imperative is in how you’re treating yourself and your partners.

Partners? Oh, yes! Polyamory, group sex, and (legal) exhibitionism are accepted within some Pagan communities. That’s an undeniable treat for people who want to enjoy these activities without religious shame.

3. They don’t care for dogma and/or authority.

There is no holy book, no central governing body, and no real priestly authority within the mass of related beliefs filed under Paganism. This is great news for people of a certain temperament—religious rebels and militant agnostics. (“I don’t know, and you don’t either!”)

As a social movement, neo-Paganism is deeply indebted to the Transcendentalist writers of the 19th century. Their poems and essays held the germ of the idea that fuels Pagan practice: That God speaks directly to everyone—often through Nature—and not only to a specially qualified few, inside special buildings.

Some Pagan groups do have ordained clergy. But there are still significant differences between Pagan clergy and those of more established organized religions:

First, Pagan titles like “High Priestess” are usually self-conferred or passed along from student to teacher. This does not mean that they’re not “real” clergy, but it does mean that their power is limited outside their own group or coven. (A Pagan leader may also be ordained as a minister by another organization, such as the Church of All Worlds or the Unitarian Universalist church. This allows them to receive certain legal privileges that independent Pagan clergy usually do not enjoy.)

Secondly, Pagan clergy tend to function more as community leaders than authority figures. Pagan priesthood does not confer any real power over others, either temporal or spiritual. Most Pagan leaders encourage discussion and self-study by their students and congregants. Certainly a dedicated Priest or Priestess will have more experience working with their deities than a beginner. They may have the skills to do rituals or advanced deity work that a novice does not. In a sense, though, every Pagan is their own Priest or Priestess—and the best Pagan clergy respect that. This makes Paganism very attractive to those who don’t want to experience God(s) secondhand.

4. They long for a connection to Nature.

The earth, the trees, the sky, the sea—most world religions recognize these wonders as the work of a mighty creator God. And yet, most leave it at that.

Not so with Paganism. Pagan religions are sometimes described as “Earth-based”—meaning the Earth and its cycles are central to what Pagans hold sacred. Most Pagans profess a deep reverence for natural places, the seasons, the web of plants and animals, and the processes of birth, aging, and dying. While it’s not technically required, many Pagan services are held outdoors. “Skyclad” (nude) rites are another way that Pagans shed the trappings of modern society and get back to the core of being.

Some people come to Paganism as an extension of their environmentalist or eco-feminist views. Others simply want to reconnect with Nature as an antidote to the alienation that comes with busy, digitized lives.

5. They’ve had negative experiences with other religions.

It’s a sad but undeniable fact. People who turn toward one religion are often, with the same movement, turning away from a religion that has hurt them. If you spend enough time in Pagan communities, you will certainly meet some of these displaced folks.

Perhaps a certain religious doctrine—such as the prohibition against homosexuality—is causing the person emotional pain. Maybe they’re frustrated with persecution, corruption, or hypocrisy within the religious group they came from. Or maybe they’re rebelling against the religious beliefs of a parent or spouse. Whatever the case, Paganism appears to offer a chance for a fresh start, one with less restriction and oversight than they may be used to. Pagans don’t evangelize—which may make them seem more trustworthy to folks who have been burned.

As with all life choices, there are right and wrong reasons to become a Pagan. And you can’t ever really know someone else’s motives. The best thing that Pagans can do is treat religious refugees kindly, answer their questions honestly, and wait for them to figure out if Paganism is right for them.

6. They have trouble with the concepts of sin and evil.

Of all the barriers between Pagan beliefs and Abrahamic religion, the idea of sin is the thorniest. Original sin is a tough doctrine to swallow, even for many Christians. Who wants to suffer for something that happened before they were born? That Paganism has no equivalent concept to sin and sinfulness is one of its biggest selling points, so to speak. (Pagan beliefs about the origin/existence of evil are so diverse I won’t even try to tackle the topic here.)

As mentioned earlier, there’s no single Pagan concept of God. Still, one idea you see over and over in Paganism is the doctrine of non-dual immanence. God/Goddess existing here and now, and not in some distant place or kingdom to come. Lack of meditation or participation or acceptance can distance us from the sacred, but God/Goddess is always there. Furthermore, divinity is present within the material world, and the world is inseparable from its creator.

All of this is pretty difficult to reconcile with Judeo-Christian ideas about original sin and the fall of man. (Some Hermetic Pagans do accept them as metaphorical/alchemical truths—but that’s a whole other beaker of worms.) In Biblical cosmology, the world is created by God, but separate from God. The world we know is basically fallen and can only be redeemed through God’s intervention. In Paganism, the world we know is basically holy and does not require redemption. (Only observation and celebration, if we want to be happy and—perhaps—please the Gods.) The other worlds are holy, too—not more, nor less.

As for behavior? Paganism emphasizes individual freedom and responsibility over moral absolutism. Most Pagans live by an individual moral/ethical code, but shun universal behavioral codes. Pagan ethics have been heavily influenced by the Wiccan Rede: “An it harm none, do what ye will.” This in turn derives from Aleister Crowley’s “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law”—possibly the most mis-interpreted eleven words of all time.

It’s not that Pagans believe that you can or should do whatever you want. On the contrary, Paganism teaches that actions (and even thoughts) reverberate through the universe to affect oneself and others. There’s no real concept of sin, but Paganism is not amoral. In encouraging moral behavior, Paganism substitutes concepts like karma, duty, interconnectedness, for a paternal god figure keeping score.

7. They yearn for representations of the Divine Feminine.

Dion Fortune wrote “A religion without a Goddess is halfway to atheism.” Women’s bodies are the carriers of life. And yet, many world religions downplay or denigrate the contribution of women. In Abrahamic religions, women can be vessels and saints, but are rarely prophets and never God. Many people yearn for distant time—real or imagined—when women’s bodies could also be a representation of deity.

As a social phenomenon, the rise of Wicca and Goddess spirituality has coincided pretty neatly with the expansion of women’s rights. As long as women are to be regarded as equal to men in society, there are those who feel that patriarchal religions can never be wholly legitimate.

Everyone has an earthly mother and a father. If you believe in God, it makes a kind of intuitive sense that everyone has a divine Mother and Father, too. Yet religions that include a Goddess are usually labeled polytheist and Pagan automatically.

8. They want explanations for psychic and paranormal events.

Out-of-body experiences, premonitions, telepathy, ghost encounters—weird stuff sometimes happens. If you haven’t had an inexplicable experience, then you likely know someone who has. Pagans aren’t alone in experiencing the paranormal, of course. But they tend to be better equipped to talk about it than the average person.

Imagine a person who has recurring paranormal experiences, or experiences they believe to be paranormal. Mainstream science tells them that these experiences are illusory. Mainstream religion—when it’s not condemning them as evil—seems mostly too embarrassed to talk about occult happenings. It’s no surprise that the person would be drawn to a Pagan community where psychic stuff is openly discussed, accepted, and even encouraged.

Don’t get me wrong—mental illness and paranormal delusions do occur, and can cause great harm. But the not-crazy among us still yearn for a safe haven to discuss our psychic lives without condemnation. I believe—though I can’t prove—that so-called paranormal experiences are actually quite common among the general population. I’ve also observed that persistent psychic curiosity is one of the major reasons that people turn to Paganism.

9. They’re attracted to the power and control offered by magick.

I once read an academic paper that was trying to explain the rise of Wicca and witchcraft among teenage girls. The conclusion was that when a young women lacks a sense of control in her life—i.e., economic, sexual, or social autonomy—a religion that offers a secret source of power is immensely attractive. (Who wouldn’t want to be able to cast a love spell on a crush, or curse a bully?) The author observed that many teen girls become practicing Pagans in junior high and high school. They tend to lose interest after finding another source of personal power (a job, a relationship, a better group of friends).

As a young Pagan woman, I found the tone of this particular paper to be condescending, bordering on insulting. But one thing is obviously true: Occultism purports to offer power to the powerless, esoteric means to an end when exoteric means have come up short. Why else would there be so many people interested in fast answers—love spells, get-rich-quick spells, and the like?

Lots of people approach witchcraft and/or Paganism because they want to learn to use magick. They see it as a way to fix their lives in a hurry or achieve undeserved success. Many of them move along when they realize that real magick is real work.

10. They’ve been called by a God or Goddess.

A burning bush, a deathbed vision of Christ, a miracle from the Virgin Mary—these are the types of religious experiences that are familiar to most people. But Pagans have religious epiphanies, too. Although most of us don’t talk about it outside of trusted circles, our Gods and Goddesses call to us in dramatic and in subtle ways.

Like any other type of religious conversion, some people drift gradually toward an acceptance of Paganism, while others are thrust toward it by a single epiphany. Some people may scoff at the idea of elder Gods asserting their presence in the 21st century. But it's certainly no wackier than what other religious people believe. (And it's hard to be so cavalier when Odin’s keeping you awake at night with a to-do list.)

For most Pagans, one or more of the above reasons has contributed to their finding their religious path. There are certainly other reasons that aren’t on this list. Of course, the best way to find out why a particular person is Pagan is to (respectfully) ask!

https://www.groveandgrotto.com/blogs/articles/why-do-people-become-pagan-top-ten-reasons

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thelightfluxtastic · 3 years

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30DayTheri 28: Punk

Today I’d like to talk about two different -punk identities. While they have different definitions and don’t necessarily need to overlap, I consider myself both and would like to talk about both. The first is voidpunk. Voidpunk is about reclaiming dehumanization. Several marginalized identities are dehumanized- not treated as people, called dehumanizing terms (like freaks, monsters, etc.) and/or excluded from claims of things that are “universally human” or “what makes a person a person” (such as romance, sex, etc.). Voidpunk is taking that narrative and reclaiming it, going, “ok then, so what if I’m not human on your terms?”. It is not a kin identity, it’s not about literally identifying as that thing, so much as a radical act in the face of social and cultural dehumanization. Voidpunk is not something I access through my therianthropy. Voidpunk for me is the space to explore other things I’m dehumanized for- my body size, my disability, my sexuality, my gender. For me, my voidpunk essence is embodied and visualized through the werewolf archetype. Werewolves help me push back against internalized sexism and expectations that I should be small, dainty, quiet, take up as little space as possible. When I wanted to stop shaving out of a feminist body-ownership perspective, seeing it as my “werewolf fur” helped me relax and feel less self-conscious. I’m sure some trans people share that pull toward transformation and body alteration. From a disability perspective, the werewolf tropes of having regular pain, of fighting against a body that sometimes seems hostile to you, which (since I have spastic hemiplegia) moves and twitches in uncomfortable or uncontrollable ways...all of that feels relatable to me. Yes, the canine aspect does tap into my therianthropy and add to how much I relate to werewolves. But in a kin sense, I’m simply and only a dog. In a voidpunk sense, my identification with werewolves is more tied into axes of power and social expectations, and gives me the space I need to be Big, and Hairy and Present, grappling with a body I am trying to manage and accept. Then there’s ontopunk (formerly kinpunk). Whereas voidpunk is about reclaiming societal dehumanization and isn’t necessarily about literal nonhumanity, ontopunk is. It’s about embracing the various flavors of alterhumanity and not treating them as some hierarchy. It’s about unashamedly accepting rare identities, unusual behaviors, eccentric appearances. It’s something I definitely want to be a part of, and hope to increasingly include in my own life. If I’m totally honest with myself I could work a little on my own internalization of labels and divisions thereof, but that’s something I definitely see changing in myself as I engage in broader alterhuman spaces. I also don’t know how much I want to go in for in terms of my own expression and behaviors (increasingly more gear, not sure where my line is on body modification). But it’s definitely a philosophy I agree with and want to practice and express more moving forward.

#30 Days of Therianthropy #therian #alterhuman #voidpunk #kinpunk #ontopunk #punk #werewolf #me

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werevulvi · 3 years

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I wanted to write a bit about sex segregated spaces, in regards to people who pass as the opposite sex. This is not actually about trans people, as much as it is about the safety, integrity and general rights of male-passing biological women. I am not the only gender non-conforming woman who gets tossed out of female only spaces, based on the false presumption that we’re men. I do not care about validating trans women, or even trans men, for that matter. I care about real life practicality, risks and safety for ALL women, not just those who look conveniently clearly female, which starts with accepting that some women, whether they've medically transitioned or not, pass as male. And none of them should have to feminise themselves to access female only spaces. Whether that be to ensure safety from males, or to just take a leak.

The fact that I choose to keep my beard has almost nothing to do with that I'm male-passing. It may be my strongest "male" feature, but it's hardly the only one. I still pass as male with a clean shaven face, which makes shaving my beloved beard rather pointless, in my opinion. I would realistically need to go through more than just facial hair removal to pass as my own sex again. I'd probably even need facial feminisation surgery, hair transplant, voice feminisation and full body hair removal, at the very least, to even get close to passing as female again. But even then, I'd probably STILL be read as a trans woman, i.e. male. And even IF I did all that... WHY should I have to mutilate myself (a second time) by buying into harmful patriarchal beauty standards, which would worsen my dysphoria and reduce my comfort in my own skin significantly, to be allowed the safety of male-free spaces?

Does that sound feminist to you? Because to me, it's incredibly misogynistic, and strongly counterproductive. To uphold patriarchal gender roles for the safety of women... is the most insanely anti-feminist double standard I can possibly ever think of.

To lay out my argument on this topic, I'm going to use my own experiences as examples a lot. Mostly because I cannot with any conscience speak for anyone else than myself, at least not in such detail and with such harsh judgement. But I'm sure a lot of my experiences are applicable to other masculine women as well.

First off, I still consider myself gender critical, but my allegiance to radical feminism has been waning lately. This is mostly due to that although I agree with the base premise of radfem, I tend to disagree with the proposed solutions to almost all of the issues, because to me they come across as unfounded beliefs (yes, BELIEFS) that "it would just work" without much of any evidence to back up such a claim.

And when it comes to trans people, I've noticed a lot of... shall we say, willful ignorance, going on among many radfems, which does affect opinions on gender abolishion as well as sex segregated spaces to appear rather... intellectually dishonest, to be frank. Although this is not intended as a call out by any means, I merely want for people of all sides of the radfem/gender critical/pro-trans fence to stay critical and keep questioning everything, even one's own beloved ideology. Which I don't see a lot of. Instead I see almost religious defending of radfem as the ultimate/perfect ideology... oh, guess where I've seen that before? I've come to believe that "hivemindedness" is probably part of every possible ideology out there. Even radfem.

So, anyway.

One thing I come across time and time again is the belief (yes, I dare say "belief") that people never pass as the opposite sex, although it's mostly directed at trans people, this very much applies to people who are just gnc as well. Let's not forget that. And this belief seem to often lead to that transitioned/gnc people can just use the space intended for their biological sex, no problem. However, this is not the case. There is a problem. Very many trans people, and some gnc people, pass well enough to at least blend in enough to not raise much of an eyebrow among the opposite sex, and to most definitely stand out as an outsider among people of the same sex. OR they pass barely enough as either sex, and thus stand out as an outsider among both the same sex and the opposite sex, which can cause similar problems with single sex spaces.

There's also the thing that it generally is easier to pass as the opposite sex among complete strangers, compared to people who know you/your background. They tend to read you differently, depending on that.

At least in my experience, complete strangers assume I'm male and don't even as much as raise an eyebrow about how male I come across as. They accept their false assumption at face value. And why wouldn't they? 99,97% of people who "look like me" are biologically men. Then people who know I'm transitioned, but didn't know me pre-transition, tend to see me as a female who looks very convincingly male, whether that makes me a masculine woman, trans man, or any other (female) label in their eyes. They claim to be able to "see" my female nature, yet they somehow had no idea before I told them about my true sex. Then people who know about my history and saw it happen from the time before my transition (now only really my family) never quite succeeded to see me as anything other than a gnc woman. To quote my dad: "You look like a woman who's trying to look like a man." Although I'm sure my mom and sister don't have quite as harsh views about me, lol. They still seem to see me the way they always have, regardless of what name or pronouns they use for me.

This matters, because although people who know I'm transitioned and may even have witnessed my transition from the beginning, struggle to see me as a man (which I respect entirely and I'm VERY careful to not push wanting to be seen/read as anything in particular, but also, people do not want to be rude, especially irl) that does not go for people who have never even seen me before the moment I walk into... say, a public bathroom. To them I cannot possibly be anything other than a man, and it's almost impossible to change their view of me as male once their brains have registered me as such. I need to conjure up pretty fucking compelling evidence to shatter that view they have of me.

This is important, because it means I cannot feasibly use female only spaces, unless someone else (who is also female) vouches for me and explains my situation for me. This is, most likely due to people being more likely to believe an unlikely explanation when it's told by someone else, because maybe I could be lying; and only someone of the same sex as me can accompany/escort me into female only spaces, obviously. But even then, there's a ton of tension around my presentation. An air of distrust, basically. The question that hangs in the air: "Is that a trans woman?" even after they've been given a thorough explanation of my situation. It's uncomfortable for everyone involved. Imagine how it goes then if I'd just show up unannounced, and without someone to vouch for me. I just get booted on sight.

Yes, I can whine about this all day, but that is NOT my point.

My point is that I'm either directly, or implicitly, unwelcome in female only spaces, despite being biologically female, because of my transitioned appearance... despite I'm not even on testosterone anymore since 2 years ago. Sure, most gnc women (whether transitioned or not) don't seem to have turned out quite as passable as me, but clearly, it happens. So let's stop pretending that it doesn't.

So with that in mind, I don't always have access to a gender neutral space. Like for example when I travel with the ferry that goes between my island and the mainland of my country, there is only men's bathrooms and women's bathrooms. No third option. That's a 3 hour boat ride, and with my coffee drinking habit, I will need to pee at some point or another while aboard that ship, alright. And no, peeing in the ocean is not an option, as squatting over the railing would be incredibly dangerous, and most likely not even remotely allowed. Granted, I don't take the ferry often, it's just the most clear example I can think of. Because it's my only means of transportation to/from the mainland, except from flying, which is incredibly expensive, less reliable and obviously an environmental hazard. So when I do have to use that ferry, I'm kinda stuck with my choices.

So then, am I better off going with the men's or women's bathroom? I am much more likely to be left alone to do my business in the men's, so even though that is not the space I want to be in, nor do I think it's "right" for me to be there, sometimes it's even a bit scary, other times even impractical if there's only urinals and no stall, and it's absolutely not validating at all - it's the only bathroom that I can realistically use, without too much trouble. And I don't want trouble. But I also hate having to put my own safety on the backburner for the perceived safety of other women, who are not actually at any higher safety risk when left alone with me.

So, onto the more general, political aspects of this issue:

Women in male only spaces may be less of an issue in regards to safety, at least for the majority of people (men) in that space, especially if the woman in question passes as male. No one gives a fuck, generally. But problem is then that she is at far greater risk than the majority of people (women) would be with a single male, in a female only space. As I think a group of women against one male is generally less risk towards the women, when compared to a group of men against a single female, which can be extremely dangerous for her. Although I've so far never been faced with any sort of violence in a male only space, let's not pretend that my presense in a male only space is somehow LESS dangerous for me, than how dangerous the presense of ONE male in a space with a whole group of women, would be for those women. Statistically and realistically, I'm at a far greater risk than they are, and no, I do not have any more choice in the matter than they do.

Thus, this kinda skewed idea of safety and choice, becomes a question of ethics, I think.

Furthermore, I'm a person of principles, and it wouldn't sit right with me that if males should never under any circumstances be allowed in female spaces, but females could be allowed in male spaces. I refuse to be a hypocrit on purpose! No, if males should never under any circumstances be allowed in female spaces, then females should also never under any circumstances be allowed in male spaces. OR, if females CAN under some special circumstances be allowed into male spaces, then males should be allowed the same in female spaces. Both of these solutions pose serious problems, which I keep seeing being brushed under the carpet a lot, and that annoys me.

But if we go with the first idea, of barring people from using opposite sex spaces altogether, then where the fuck do I pee? Should I utilise my "right" to use female spaces, despite making everyone uncomfortable and feeling threatened by my presense, as well as risking being kicked out and forced to use the equivalent male spaces anyway, which is exactly what that idea is meant to prevent - or should I completely avoid being in places which I know does not have a gender neutral bathroom, such as the ferry? Would that not be discrimination? Which is the most reasonable option here, what is the most practical, what's wrong and what's right? Do I even have a RIGHT to use female bathrooms, and if so, how do I prove it, considering my ID still says I'm male?

Trans men aren't gonna be nearly as willing to use female only spaces, and trans women definitely not eager to use male only spaces. But aside from that validation factor, I have the exact same struggle as trans people do on this particular point. Quite often they do toss and turn at which bloody bathroom to pick, not just out of validation, but because they genuinely struggle to figure out which one is the best option for them practically. Especially if they don't quite pass as either sex, and most and foremost just wanna do their business without unneccesary drama.

Also, to clarify: barring trans people from opposite sex spaces is NOT discrimination, as they never belonged there to begin with - but leaving them with no other option than to pee themselves, is. Which means that I think it's fucked up to barr them from those spaces BEFORE having solved the problem of "if they can't go there, then where?"

Perhaps I'm the only one around here who cares about males' integrity, safety and human rights. But even if so, I should not be the only one to care about gnc females' integrity, safety and rights. Male-passing females, whether transitioned or not, whether bearded or not, are still female, and if we don't want them in female only spaces, and not in male only spaces either; why? Because they "chose" to medically transition and/or dress in men's clothing?

Yeah, well, in most cases of transitioned females, they transitioned because of dysphoria, which no one chooses to have. It's a medical condition. Barring people from spaces they'd otherwise be welcomed into, due to the visual outcome of the treatment of their medical condition... is ableism. Barring a woman from a female only space she belongs in, solely because her unusual physical appearance freaks you out... is ableism. Also, simply being gnc and being viscerally uncomfortable with presenting femininely is also not a choice. And even if it was... shouldn't it be? That's why I cannot roll with that sorta solution. I dunno if it counts as a form of discrimination by definition, but it just smells a lot like it from where I sit. That it's no more right to toss me out of, or give me trouble, in a women's bathroom, than a masculine women who also passes as male but who has not medically transitioned.

That said, however, women's safety DOES matter a lot to me. Hence my reluctance to join their spaces, despite being a woman myself. I guess, what I'd want is complete sex segregation to work in my favour, but I can't promote a rule that would discriminate against me. I'm sorry, I just can't. I desire FUNCTIONAL sex segregated spaces, but realistically they cannot function. Truth is that the only womens spaces I've been allowed into since I began passing as male, are "trans inclusionary" ones that openly allow in trans women, ironically. I care about the safety of other women, and their right to have their own spaces... but not at the expense of my own rights, as a fellow woman. To say otherwise would be a crime against myself. I really wish this could be solved in some way that would work in practice, but honestly I don't think it can anytime soon. Not without some seriously tried and proven, practical and humane methods to check what sex people entering single sex spaces actually are.

That is the reality that people have to face. And personally I'd rather focus on women's rights than trans rights, but as a woman who's medically transitioning, I'd shoot my own foot no matter which one I'd choose. That's quite a dilemma.

So where my opinion stands on this right now, is basically this: I think female only spaces should only be for biological women, but I'm reluctantly okay-ish with males who pass as female utilising female only spaces, and vice versa for females in male only spaces. However, this does not feel ideal at all. It's a compromise. Ideally, I want such spaces to be entirely sex segregated, and for even people who pass as the opposite sex (like myself) to be allowed into spaces of their biological sex. My appeal here is both realistic practicality with the reality that some people really do pass as the opposite sex, as well as the safety, rights and integrity of male-passing women.

#female only spaces #gnc women #yes some trans people pass #but not only trans people pass #radical feminism #gender critical #ok to rb #my opinions and concerns

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spookypetrine · 3 years

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Bewitching the Elements: Water

This chapter was a rough one bring so many emotions up for me. I only seems to express my feeling with crying if I am in water. The shower and the pool. I constantly want to float in water in emotional states and it does facilitate a lot of breakdowns for me. I don't show my emotions well or share them with others at all in a verbal way. When my fiancé passed away in 2018 I barely cried after his death. I didn't finally cry until my family took me on vacation to the beach a few months later. I went down to the beach alone to swim and I cried at the beauty of the ocean and the pain in my hear that he had never seen the ocean while he was alive. It was devastating and painful to think about as he was gone never to return and I was still here. I am still here and that healing was painful and still not done. This brought all of that back.

I have rambled long enough lets get into these questions.

What does the element of water represent to me?

To me it represents peace and sadness. It's soft and calming, but also have a secret rage. This is the ocean deep and dark with unexplored crevices that hold secrets of the divine feminine inside each person. The feeling of unabashed rage and a delicate side showing the perfect balance of the womxn. It is a glorious element to behold honestly.

What's my truest emotional nature feel like?

For me as I expressed before my emotional nature is a secret. I locked box that very few get to be privy to because when I was a child those emotions were belittled and pushed aside. As an adult I never learned to process them or control them just hide them. Shrink my feelings and shove them away from others. This also involved a lot of learning to cry quietly and learning how to function when paralyzed with depression. My depression took full effect in high school I was stuck in a cycle of having to function when every part of me wanted to hide from the world. Is this healthy or helpful? No. Does it cause immense problems in my personal life? Yes. Will it cause me to change? I am trying with self-therapy and meditation I am trying so that's something I guess.

What is my soul saying to me right now?

I need to meditate and once I finish this journaling I will probably spend the next few hours doing that and reflecting. I also need to pull some cards for some much needed clarity.

What does my shadow self feel like? Express itself as?

My shadow self is the scared little girl hiding in the closet every time someone knocks on the door. When I was about 2 my mother left my abusive father and we moved into an apartment in town to hide from him. Anytime someone knocked on the apartment door I would scream that it was daddy and try to drag my mother into the closet to hide from him. To this day my mother tells that story fondly as a cute anecdote about my childhood. It's a traumatic story about me trying to hide from my abusive scary father, but yes tell that at family reunions.

My shadow self is that little girl that never gets to be a little girl. That small child that had all of her carefree times stripped from her and was placed in a survival mood so young. My shadow self is her and as I write this I can see her in her Barbie footie pajamas hiding with her teddy bear. That is who she is the hurt child begging her mother to get in the closet to save her. She expresses herself every time I get a new stuffie to sit on my bed with me. Every time I do my make-up in a silly way or paint a picture. These are the moments when she comes out and slowly I am healing us both.

What does it feel like living in the world when I'm connected to my heart?

I know my worth in every scenario even in romantic ones. I don't let people use me as much and I stand my ground when needed. I don't let others abuse my heart and I don't do it either. She needs me to be strong and I am. If that strength ends in us being alone then so be it at least no one can take advantage of me any longer.

What practices can I turn to when I'm feeling overwhelmed, emotional, and like I need help?

Well, I write on here and on my google docs. I meditate or exercise. Watch something that makes me happy or read. Sometimes I watch ASMR videos online and enjoy the happy sounds and sights. These are things that help me destress when I need to.

What are the parts of myself I am still learning to accept and love?

I am a bigger woman and have spent most of my life being too big and too much. I am learning to use that and embrace all that I am and my physical body is. Instead of hating her and the person looking back at me in the mirror, I have to learn to love her and heal her as she needs. She is me and I need to make sure she is taken care of. Right now I am just going through the motions, but eventually, it will become and kneejerk reaction to love myself and build myself up. As needed I will be my own advocate because no one is going to do it for me or see my value if I don't see it for myself.

What are ways I can nurture myself through this?

This is a very new radical path I am on and I have to go it pretty much alone. In this time I just need to remind myself to be conscious that I am trying and be patient as I relearn to love my body and myself. To find beauty in my flaws and hope in my soul I will evolve to love myself despite the world telling me I shouldn't. I will.

#wicca #wiccan #pagan #magic #magick #bewitching the elements #water #water element #elements #witch #witchcraft #selflove #selfcare #astrology

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leigheaux-venere · 3 years

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Behind Enemy Ties 4 - Much Ado About Knothing

It took three days and a lot of attention from Loren, Josh, and Davis for Carlyn to get over his time with Johann. He was insatiable during those three days, and miserable because of it. Carlyn hated being demanding, it made him feel like his mother's son, but his body was roaring, furious he'd let Johann go with fucking him senseless. His words to Johann came echoing back at him.

It's like there's this disconnect in their heads between what they know they want, and what they’ll allow an alpha to do, he'd told Johann, mystified.

But now it was his own body betraying him, demanding things from him that he didn't want to act on.

Betas are the only sensible people, Johann had said, and Carlyn wondered if it wasn't right.

Yet, his harem seemed content to baby him, bring him cold water and hot meat when he felt like drinking or eating, and otherwise taking turns letting him ravish them, sometimes two at a time to keep his mouth busy, until he was too tired to move and fell asleep, once while still inside one of them.

Carlyn did what little work he could manage from home, overseeing details of The Fangs operation, and receiving his sub-bosses in his bedroom.

On the third day at home, Lyric, curious to know what happened with the robbery at the compound, arrived at the house. Carlyn received her in his bedroom with all of his harem, still naked from sleeping. Lyric assumed what she wanted about what had happened with Johann, and Carlyn let her assumptions stand uncorrected. In any case, she was delighted.

“Finally acting like an alpha, little brother,” Lyric said. “I’m proud of you.”

Carlyn took her compliment with a smile-like wince and wondered if she considered at all what Johann had or hadn't consented to. Lyric stayed for a few hours, had dinner, and looked over the cleanup details of the compound before leaving. Alone with his harem, Carlyn was ready to settle in for the evening. He was dead tired.

Then the doorbell rang. Since Josh, Loren, and Davis were all curled up watching a movie, and Carlyn was up, heading for the stairs anyway, he told them not to get up and went for the door himself. He figured it was his mother or other siblings, the only people in his life who showed up unannounced to his house. But when he opened the door, he didn’t find family on the other side; he found Johann.

He wasn’t dressed in military style fatigues. He wore jeans and a t-shirt with sneakers. His dirty blond hair was loose and fell nearly to his shoulders. Carlyn hadn’t noticed it was so long or even that it had been pulled back.It made him wonder what else he failed to notice when the smell of an omega was in the air.

Johann was frowning, but he looked so good. He smelled clean, and his pheromones were low and unnoticeable.

“Johann?”

“Can I come in?” Johann asked.

“Sure.”

They walked inside. And once the door was shut and locked, Carlyn led Johann into the kitchen where they could talk.

“Glad I got dressed for dinner,” Carlyn muttered.

“Lounging naked?” Johann said. “Alphas love to show off, don’t they?”

“It’s more of a comfort thing, really. Can I get you something to drink? Ice water? Juice?”

“You’re not going to offer me wine like a fucking grown up?”

Carlyn shifted in place. “I didn’t think you’d want me to offer you alcohol.”

“Let’s not play stupid games, Carlyn,” Johann sighed. “If you’d wanted to have your way with me, you could have had it. I’m not an idiot.”

Carlyn said nothing but turned and took down two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine. After pouring, he handed a glass to Johann, who drained half of it at once before licking his lips.

“That’s good.”

“Glad you like it,” Carlyn muttered, then sipped his own wine.

“The Legion wants to know what you're offering.”

“Anything you would steal, I’ll give to you.”

“And they want to know what you get out of this. Something-something instinct, isn’t an answer.”

Laughing, Carlyn swished his wine. What was he expecting to get out of this? What did he want?

“I want to know about The Lucretian Legion,” he said honestly. “I want to know what you’re up to, what your goals are, and if they interfere with The Fangs’ goals.”

“They don’t.”

“I’d believe you if you hadn’t blown a hole in one of our walls.”

“Right.” Johann muttered. “Stay here a minute.” He finished his glass and turned and walked out of the kitchen. “Hey guys,” Carlyn heard him say as passed through the living room.

Carlyn waited. In the distance, he heard the front door open and close. He sipped his glass, wondering what Johann was doing, wondering if this was the last time he’d ever see him. After a few minutes the front door opened again, then closed. Carlyn didn’t speak to Josh, Davis and Loren on his way back to the kitchen. He came in and crossed his arms over his chest.

“The Legion accepts.”

“I see.”

“There’s a condition.”

“Which is?”

Johann looked at him, and that unmistakable look of rage crossed his features for a moment. “I’ll be staying to monitor you for the length of this agreement. This… pretend bond is what we’ll go with. I’ll be your only link to The Legion. You get no other members, no locations, no nothing. You talk to them through me, or not at all. Deal?”

Carlyn kept his face neutral as that same voice inside his head from before roared in approval. “Deal,” he said. He never had to hear an omega say yes twice.

Johann’s apartment in the heart of downtown was a small, unassuming studio, perfect for a single omega all on his own. While Johann packed with the help of Josh and Davis, Loren took a long slow walk around the place, her tiny notebook and favorite pen in hand scribbling notes and making little drawings. Carlyn stood in the middle of the apartment, not touching anything, as he’d been instructed to do as they came up the stairs and trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

Carlyn would admit that he hadn’t been expecting such a cheerful place to be Johann’s home. The kitchen was bright and clean, with simple, practical dishware and organized almost Spartan cabinets with no doors on them. The bed area was tidy and under filled, with a dresser next to the closet, a mirror tucked behind a folding screen and a bed partially hidden behind a tucked curtain hanging from rollers on the ceiling. In the living area was a dining table and a few chairs behind a small sofa, both set in front of a TV. Off to the side was a set of weights, a mat, a punching bag, and a pull-up bar stand. Between the little gym and the TV, there was a bookcase filled with DVDs and tabletop games.

What the apartment did not look like the lair of a member of a radical paramilitary vigilante group. The Lucretian Legion’s coat of arms, which Johann had described as an omega symbol above two crossed swords and haloed by a laurel wreath, couldn’t be found anywhere.

When he thought about it, Carlyn supposed it made sense. Nothing connecting him to The Fangs was on display in his eight-hundred-thousand dollar, 5-bedroom manor house, because he had guests over and threw parties and that would just be stupid. Still, somehow Carlyn had expected Johann to be less subtle than he was.

“I like your place,” Carlyn called across the apartment.

“It is darling,” Loren said. “Take as much as you want. Our home is your home.”

“I like it too,” Johann muttered. “I don’t think I’ll be taking much, though. It’s not like I’ll be inviting anyone over.”

“Won’t that be suspicious?” Davis asked.

Carlyn winced as he watched Johann turn his full attention on Davis. The two omegas watched each other for a second, before Davis gave a cheeky smile and Johann sighed.

“I’ll take the games and the DVDs. There’s no point and leaving anything I like in an empty apartment anyway, I guess.”

“Sensible,” Davis agreed and went back to packing.

Deciding his input would only make Johann angry, Carlyn turned his back to the bed and wandered over to the bookshelf. He wasn’t going to touch anything. He just wanted to see what sort of interests Johann had.

“Are you going to pack that stuff?” Johann asked.

“You told me not to touch anything, so I was going to do that.”

Johann sighed. “You can pack my bookcase.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll pack the kitchen,” Loren called. “I want to unpack it as well, so I know where everything is.”

Davis, Josh, and Johann packed the bedroom and kitchen. Loren packed the kitchen. Carlyn packed the living area. The bigger items that were being brought to Carlyn’s house or to storage, they hired movers to carry. The movers were three alphas. It had been three days since their stay together, and Johann had taken several doses of Loren’s alpha repelling tonic, but he still smelled enough like Carlyn for the movers to tell what was going on -or supposed to be going- from context. Though they thankfully said nothing, they directed their questions to Carlyn, not to any of the omegas. Normally, Carlyn was fine answering for his harem. He'd never even noticed himself doing it before. However, Johann’s gaze burned into the back of his head and he knew how Johann felt about the situation.

“Ask Johann,” he kept saying.

The movers would ask Johann the question, get their answer, and ask Carlyn the next question, starting the cycle all over again. By the time they were home and seeing the movers off, Carlyn was exhausted.

He fell face-up on the sofa and closed his eyes, happy to be home. Before they’d moved Johann’s things, he’d already set up automatic payment to Johann’s account to pay for his apartment, bills, and storage lot while he was staying with him. Loren was adding Johann’s things to the kitchen, and Josh, Davis and Johann were putting away Johann’s belongings in the spare bedroom. Carlyn was just about to drift off into a nap, done for the day, when someone sat down on the sofa by his hip. He opened his eyes to find Johann sitting stiff-backed on the sofa, staring straight ahead.

“Johann?” Carlyn muttered.

“Davis told me…" Johann hesitated for a moment before going on. "He thought I should come sit with you. Josh wants to get my room ready for me as a gift and wanted me out of the way anyhow, so… You’re not fucking me! Ever!”

“We agreed to that,” Carlyn reminded Johann.

“But that means… I have to sleep in the bed with you. So I smell like you.”

The thought had actually occurred to Carlyn, but Johann was right, just living in the same house, especially one as big as his, wouldn’t be enough. They would have to sleep in the same bed some more.

“How often do I have to sleep in your bed?” Johann snapped.

“Um… a few nights a week. Maybe every other night.”

“Fine. We’ll start tonight.”

“I’m pretty beat. I was going to go to bed soon.”

“Fine.”

They said goodnight to Loren, who gave them each a kiss -Carlyn on the mouth, Johann on the forehead- then walked up the stairs together. Carlyn took a detour to Johann’s room to get his pajamas, which were shoved at him through a crack in the door, then went to his own room.

In Carlyn's bedroom, they changed together, because while they didn’t like each other, they weren’t going to act like feuding children. Carlyn considered stealing a glance at Johann, but decided against it. He didn't want to start a fight right before their first night together. Instead, he not only turned his back, but closed his eyes as well.

The smell of Johann's skin was a musky, leathery smell, like the punching bag they'd moved into the fitness room. Johann smelled faintly of sweat, as if he'd just been working out. Carlyn now noticed he always smelled like that. It differed from the members of his harem.

Loren smelled of heat and whatever she had last cooked. Josh's favorite products, cologne, shampoo, lotion, etc., hung off him in a soothing, sweet cloud like cotton candy. Davis smelled like a science lab: unsettling, sterile, of antibacterial soap and rubber gloves. Carlyn had been told by other alphas that the smell was a turn off, but for Carlyn it was Davis's smell and he loved it. It made doctor's office visits a little more stressful for him as he struggled to keep his mind off things more intimate than check-ups.

But all his harem seemed so tame compared to Johann. They smelled urbane and domesticated. Johann's scent was wild, angry, like a lightning storm to Carlyn's senses. It made the voice in Carlyn's head roar and claw.

Johann got into the bed first, climbing into the same side he’d been kept on before and making himself comfortable with aggressive movements. When he was deep under the blankets, Carlyn turned off the lights, gave his teddy bear a pat, and slipped into his side of the bed. The urge to turn his back on Johann and simply go to sleep was surprisingly strong. Not that Carlyn was uncomfortable with Johann in his bed. It was the exact opposite. It felt right. He wanted to yawn, say goodnight, and fall into a dreamless, undisturbed sleep. But this was technically business.

Edging closer, Carlyn placed an arm over Johann’s waist, who surprisingly put his arm over his.

“Don’t get any ideas, alpha. It’s just more comfortable this way.”

“We already agreed we wouldn’t have sex. There’s nothing you do, no way you could touch me, that would make me break that promise.”

“Hmph.” Johann began to dig his nails into the back of Carlyn’s hand but stopped after a moment and relaxed. “Goodnight.” Johann said with an air of finality.

“Goodnight.” Carlyn muttered. The voice in his head purred in contentment.

The next day Johann’s room still wasn’t finished, so Carlyn gave him room to dress before they went downstairs for breakfast. Loren gave the grand tour of the kitchen and pointed out where she’d put all of Johann’s things, while Johann served himself. Carlyn waited for Johann to sit down at the table to get his own breakfast.

“You can’t avoid him forever,” Loren said as she poured him a coffee. “Johann smelling like you won’t be enough for long.”

“I just want to give him some space. He’s so jumpy.”

“He’ll come around.” She handed him the coffee, then shooed him away to sit in the dining room.

Carlyn sat in his normal seat at the glass table, a place Johann must have guested at, because he was at the exact opposite side of the table. Sighing, Carlyn watched him for a moment, considering his options. After a moment, he started eating and began the conversation casually.

“You know,” he said between bites of eggs, “you can’t just smell like me and otherwise avoid me.”

“Excuse me?” Johann muttered from behind his glass of orange juice.

“I mean, if we seem to hate each other, people might get suspicious about things. Especially when I donate things to The Lucretian Legion.”

Johann was silent for several moments, eating while watching Carlyn impassively. Carlyn looked backed just as coolly, refusing to let Johann jerk him around. At last, Johann shrugged and turned his attention back to his plate.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said.

“How?” Carlyn asked.

“Never mind it. Can I go into your base with you today? We need another truck for an upcoming demonstration and I want to drop it off.”

“Fine.” Carlyn said. “Better get the base used to seeing you around, in any case.”

They finished breakfast in silence and Carlyn took their plates and glasses into the kitchen to be put into the dishwasher. He kissed Loren goodbye for the day and told her to tell Josh and Davis he loved them, then headed for the garage. Johann sat in the passenger’s seat and frowned out of the window as they pulled out of the garage.

“Last time you were in this car you were unconscious,” Carlyn said lightly.

“Fuck you,” Johann said almost light-heartedly. There was a hint of a smile or sneer is his voice, though Carlyn wasn't sure which it was.

“I’m just making conversation.”

“How about you talk about something useful? Who should I know in The Fangs? There’s that beta I saw. Never seen a beta a bunch of alphas backed away from so quickly.”

“You must mean Adison,” Carlyn laughed. “She’s terrifying. I’m pretty sure she’s the only one who could raise a coup against me, but she loves and respects me, so I’m safe. She’s whip smart, handles the first stage of organizing everything. With her at The Fangs and Loren at home, I have most of my day-to-day life plotted out for me. And she’s a fighter. She might be able to take you on, one-on-one.”

“Maybe," Johann groused. "Who else is there?”

“Along with Adison is my two other under-bosses Becka, and Raji.”

“Those assholes who helped drug me?”

“Yes, them. Becka was the whip wielding one.”

“I remember,” Johann hissed.

“She’s never hurt an omega, Johann. She asks permission before doing what she does. Verbal permission. It’s a game. She’s not bad.”

“Whatever. What’s the hardass into?”

“Raji? He’s mostly into classic music and good food. His omegas are a little spoiled. I don’t think they’ve lifted anything heavier than a wine bottle since bonding with him, but that’s how he likes them, spoiled rotten. He spends a small fortune on presents for them and their kids. He takes them on vacation once a season, right after their heat to reward them for… getting through heat, I guess.”

“Good lord, what the actual fuck?” Johann shook his head. “And I figured you thought of yourself as a fairytale princess, shining armor and all. This guy beats even you!”

“Look, I was raised very traditionally. As an alpha, I was told it was my job to provide for and protect my harem. But Raji goes overboard. He left once and was gone for a day and a half. He told me later that one of his omegas was feeling lonely because he’d been working so much, and he just felt bad about it. I almost hit him. I had just taken over and we were in the middle of turf war with the Red Wolves.”

“Can you trust this guy?”

“We have an understanding now.”

“You hit him.”

“I… yes," Carlyn admitted. "I lost my temper. I was sorry about it later. I didn’t tell him though because I could tell he respected me for standing my ground, the idiot.”

Johann let out a small chuckle. “Delightful.” He was definitely sneering.

Carlyn walked into the main house of the base with his arm around Johann’s shoulders. Johann had his arms crossed and shoulders hunched, but leaned into his embrace as if he wanted to crawl under Carlyn's shirt. The people who saw them move through the building paused at the sight of them, and a few growled their approval, smirked, or nudged Carlyn. Even though Johann said nothing and even pressed himself harder into Carlyn’s side, Carlyn knew he was seething.

“I’m sorry,” Carlyn said when they were alone in his office with the door shut.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy any of this,” Johann said. “I’m in deep cover behind enemy lines. I wasn’t expecting it to be comfortable.”

“I want it to be comfortable for you. I don’t want you to hate this. I’m supposed to be your ally. Me, if no one else.”

Johann stared at Carlyn for a moment before sighing, and a little hatred melted off his face for a moment. “You don’t know anything about the real world.”

“Maybe,” Carlyn relented. He walked around the desk and unlocked his computer with a press of his thumb. “You said you needed one more truck?”

“Yea.”

“For what?” Carlyn’s computer started up, and he sat down to begin the transfer of the truck into The Legion’s hands.

“Redistribution of necessary amenities.”

Carlyn scoffed. “What’s that in real talk? Come on, Johann. You know who you’re talking to.”

“A drug lord and gunrunner.”

“So be real with me. I won’t judge you.”

Johann sighed. “We’re going to hit a pharmaceutical lab and take a few seasons' worth of heat suppressants. Then we're going to give them out to low- and no-income omegas who want to keep alphas off their backs.”

“Sounds legit. Much money in that?”

One moment Carlyn was looking at the screen, then he was colliding with his computer screen at full speed. Instinct kicked in and Carlyn pushed away from the desk, hunched to avoid the rest of the blow and swung out hard with his arm. His arm connected with Johann’s stomach, but only lightly as Johann had jumped back to avoid it. Carlyn lunged for him, hands aiming for his neck, which Johann must have seen coming because he crossed his arms in front of his neck and kicked to throw Carlyn off his balance. As Carlyn started to fall towards the floor, he adjusted his aim and put all his weight on Johann’s waist, bringing them toward the floor, but not without hitting the table behind Johann and knocking everything off it in a loud crash.

Johann hissed, put both hands on Carlyn’s face, and pushed, his knees coming up to dig into Carlyn’s torso. Carlyn growled, climbed to his knees, and used his superior size to pin Johann down at the wrists and thigh, hands on his wrists above Johann’s head, and one knee on his thigh.

“Stay down!” Carlyn growled, but his wasn’t the only growl.

From the door there was a small chorus of sounds and when Carlyn looked, Becka was in the open doorway, flanked by Jackson and another, lower, alpha Molly. Jackson and Molly were smiling wickedly, nudging each other and Becka. Becka looked more concerned.

“We heard crashing,” Becka explained. “I thought you need help with… I guess you didn’t.”

Before Carlyn could say anything, Johann moved, but not to attack him. He leaned up as best he could and nudged him with his head, roughly but affectionately.

“Hey,” he whispered and, when Carlyn looked at him, gave him a questioning look.

Carlyn was on the verge of stupidly asking what Johann was doing, and weren’t they fighting anymore, but Becka spoke first.

“I’m going to just shut the door.” She did, and the room went quiet for a second before Johann said,

“Get the fuck off me.”

“What was that?” Carlyn asked.

“Acting,” Johann said dryly. “Now get the fuck off me.”

Carlyn withdrew off Johann but was no closer to figuring out what sort of situation he was in. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Acting? What about you hitting me? What was that?”

“You’re thick,” Johann muttered as he climbed to his feet. “I’ll walk you through it. You asked if there’s money in what we’re going to do.”

“A fair question,” Carlyn said.

“You weren’t listening to the explanation you asked for, were you? Typical. We’re giving the suppressants to low- and no-income omegas, which implies what?”

“That they can’t afford the suppressants and therefore any money made would be ill gotten, which is not what The Lucretian Legion is about.”

“You’re dumb as a bag of rocks, but you learn fast.”

“Thank you. You could have explained that instead of hitting me.”

“But hitting you was so cathartic,” Johann sighed. “And besides, the situation worked to our advantage.”

“How?”

Johann walked around Carlyn and righted the chair that had been up-ended during their fight. “Rumors,” he said. “I was going to plant some rumors that we had an especially rough sex life. It would explain why I’m so combative with you.”

Carlyn gave a full-throated laugh. “No, it wouldn’t! That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it does. Alphas believe that every omega that’s combative just needs to be fucked by an alpha. And the more combative and unpleasant an omega is, the more the typical alpha believes they need, nay want, to be dominated by a strong alpha. Docile omegas are assumed to be fragile and need gentle care. Aggressive omegas are assumed to need taming. So the less I actually seem to like you, the more the alphas around you will assume you’re fucking me super hard because that’s what I must need and want.”

Staring, opening mouthed, Carlyn processed what Johann said. It didn’t sound right. And yet, Becka and the others had immediately seen them and assumed they were doing something intimate. Sure, Johann had nudged him, but could they really not see they hadn’t been being affectionate?

“Alphas… are tremendously stupid.”

Johann chuckled, a surprisingly genuinely sound. “You don’t know anything about the real world, do you?”

“Hmm,” Carlyn muttered and sat down at his desk. “I’m sorry I asked about making money off your project. Force of habit. Let’s get your truck.”

“We’ll drive it to the drop off this evening,” Johann said, turning his back to Carlyn. “I acquaint myself with your base until then. You do your work. I’ll amuse myself.”

To Carlyn's surprise, Johann spent the whole day at The Fang's base without getting into any fights. He went around making mumbled apologies to people, asking them to excuse The Lucretian Legion for the damage done during their strike on the base.

"We weren't allies then," was what he said, according to Raji, who told Carlyn about it later. "It was just business. You understand."

The Fangs took it all in stride. To them, Johann was officially Carlyn's bonded mate, and it was "apologies accepted" and water under the bridge.

"He's a tough little meg," Jackson said almost affectionately, leaning in Carlyn's office doorway. "It was an honor to have my ass kicked by him. He must be good in bed."

"Amazing," Carlyn said with a smile, even though his skin was crawling. "Where is he now?"

"Having lunch in the yard with some of the girls. They're looking after him for you. Some betas want him to train with them because he's built like a fucking tank." Jackson chuckled. "I mean, he certainly fills out that t-shirt and jeans." He growled in the back of his throat.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Carlyn warned with a tight smile. "Or Johann will rip your dick off and I'll watch with him as you bleed out."

"Right, right. He's yours. Lucky."

Jackson walked away and Carlyn paused and think about how that nagging feeling of annoyance he'd always had with his own sex was blooming into an outright dislike for them.

But while Carlyn spent the day swallowing bullshit compliments about his new relationship, Johann spent the day endearing himself to The Fangs as an irritable, combative, but mostly importantly secretly tamed omega. By the time they left the base, Johann in the truck, and Carlyn following in his own truck, the whole base seemed to be smitten with Johann.

They drove for some time, Johann leading and Carlyn following. They left the city and drove into the country, up into the mountains where the houses became more and more sparse, until they seemed to disappear altogether. Finally, Johann pulled off the road onto a trail and cut the engine. Carlyn pulled up behind the truck and waited. In a moment, Johann appeared next to the passenger side of the truck, opened the door, and got in.

"We can leave," Johann said.

"Should we leave the truck here?"

"It's fine. It won't be here long."

"Should we wait?"

Johann chuckled sarcastically. "You'd love that. No. You see no one but me. Drive."

Seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere, and not wanting to get into another fight with Johann, Carlyn did as he was told. He backed up into the road, turned the car around and did the best he could to navigate his way back down the dark mountain roads. To break up the silence in the car, Carlyn spoke.

"So, we're getting along, aren't we?"

"I guess," Johann muttered.

"I mean, we are, aren't we?"

"I don't want to kill you, so there's that." Johann smiled tightly from what Carlyn could see from the driver's seat.

"That's… good. I mean, we have very different lives and see the world differently. I want to know that I can trust you to keep explaining things to me and not fly off the handle again and lash out at me."

"You're talking about earlier today." Johann said and slumped in the seat. "I said I was sorry."

"No, you didn't. You said it was cathartic."

"Well, I meant to say I was sorry." Johann paused, and in the interim Carlyn wasn't sure what to say. Luckily Johann spoke again after some silence. "Look, I am sorry, Carlyn. I lost my temper. There was something about you wanting to make money off the work we're doing, off of the most vulnerable and helpless omega that was so typical of an alpha that made me lose my sense of… you know…"

"Not hitting someone over the head?"

"Yea."

"I didn't mean to be cruel," Carlyn explained.

"You can't help it," Johann groused.

"And that's what I want to talk about. My nature, my upbringing, everything about me is an offense to you. Things I see as normal could be something you see as horrible. I need you to talk to me from now on. Maybe the world is as you say it is, but maybe it doesn't have to be. I've always been told I act more like an omega than an alpha, maybe I could start really living up to that and do some good, but I'm going to need a teacher. You have to be patient with me."

"I suppose. Frankly, you're less of pain than the rest of your sex. I doubted, when I came to live with you, that you'd ever say anything that'd make me break cover. I was almost disappointed when I said what you did."

"And that's why I need you to promise. I do not know what other things I could casually say that could offend you. For instance, I could have a conversation with someone about pairing centers."

Carlyn turned his head towards Johann for just a moment, just in time to see his reaction. It was just as he expected. Johann's entire body tensed as if an electric current had passed through it. His jaw locked up as he frowned.

Pairing centers had been outlawed decades ago to keep the peace. They were still around, of course. No church, or school, or job could legally force an omega into one, but family certainly could. No business could operate as a pairing center, but illegal businesses certainly did.

There was a stigma around them. No one admitted to forcing their child into a pairing center. The public opinion was worse than the jail time. Businesses accused of operating as a pairing center often used the defense that they were brothels and only coincidently did the alpha john end up bonding with the omega sex workers, and the payments made to the brothels were to pay off any debts the workers had. The chargers for running the brothel weren't as bad.

But that was an alpha's perspective.

To omegas, pairing centers were state sanctioned slavery. It used to be that omegas couldn't continue in school, get a job, register to vote, lease an apartment, open a bank account if they weren't signed up at a pairing center. The pairing center took all their information, height, weight, every measurement, their job, their hobbies, even their friends occasionally. And when that was done, alphas would pay to be paired with them by the center, and the center's word was law. An omega who refused a suitor approved by a pairing center could be kicked out of the system and have every right stripped from. Sometimes a rich alpha of an omega child would pay to have control over who their child bonded with, but that wasn't a guarantee no matter who the alpha was.

The male omega who'd mothered Loren had been bonded by a pairing center. Her father had been pregnant more often than not because that's how his alpha mate liked him. Loren, his oldest, had been the only child he'd been allowed to keep. Loren's father had been bonded to a male alpha who couldn't pass on his family name anyway and had no intention of letting his harem keep a bunch of kids he couldn't even give his name to.

Thinking about it now, Carlyn wondered why he hadn't asked Loren more about how she'd grown up. Maybe he really didn't know anything about the world. Loren had known about The Lucretian Legion, and she'd told him about the pairing centers that had closed just before Carlyn was born. Maybe he should have been asking her more questions. He'd thought leaving her past alone had been the respectful thing to do, but maybe it had been the ignorant thing to do.

Carlyn glanced over at Johann again. It had been several minutes since he'd spoken.

"Johann?"

The silence stretched on for another few seconds before Johann spoke.

"You would never, ever, in a million years support pairing centers," he said calmly. "You're just trying to rile me up."

"No, I'm not. I'm serious. I mean… I could support… the ease of it. Just go in, fill out a questionnaire, and get matched up with the omega who fit the profile. Easy."

"Oh my… One, you said you 'could' support this, which implies you don't. You couldn't even get the sentence out properly. Two, all the pauses while you try to think up something you supposedly supported. Plus, the weak-sauce argument. And, you're a princess in a shining armor, you could never bond with some you don't know. You don't even have a proper harem in your house. Each of your mates has their own room! If you have kids, you're going to need a bigger house! No. You would never stomach finding partners through chattel slavery system. It's not you."

"And if The Lucretian Legion said it was? If they told you I was a threat and ordered you to get rid of me? You said, you explained that alphas who are too big of a threat to let live, you get rid of. What if I become a threat?"

"You're not a threat, Carlyn. You're annoying."

"And if your bosses say otherwise?"

"Anything you do, I'll know about way before they do. They could never tell me anything about you I don't already know. You're not a threat. Not to us."

Carlyn sighed. He figured he should drop it. This wasn't getting him anywhere. Then he thought of one more thing.

"What if The Fangs get into politics? You know, greasing judges and prosecutors and politicians."

"What does that have to do with us?"

"Laws affect omegas. What if the people The Fangs support are your enemies?"

Johann didn't respond right away. They reached an intersection, which allowed Carlyn to look at him. Johann really filled out his t-shirt and jeans. He was gorgeous. Carlyn wished the omega didn't hate him so much.

"I don't think you would do that," Johann said at last. "At least not on purpose. You're too soft. And if you found out after-wards, well, you're not a man of legal ways, Carlyn. I expect you could do something about the judge or politician with those sorts of ideas.

"Are you asking me to possibly assassinate a politician The Lucretian Legion disapproves of?"

"I'm asking you to do to this hypothetical alpha what you do to any alpha who displeases you that much. Does omega abuse bother you, or doesn't it?"

The light changed and Carlyn began to drive.

#dusk novels #Behind enemy ties #alpha/beta/omega #alternative human biology #criminal elements #harams #lgbtq #politics #polyarmory #romance #science fiction #social justice #speculative fiction

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ekakinomi-forgrownups · 4 years

Photo

"Better luck next time, fellas!" ~Mr. Peanut to 2nd and 3rd contenders Geniusman (Tottemo! Luckyman) and Mettaton EX (Undertale) as he proudly shows off his "Loving" Cup that he won for being the official Winner Of My Heart this year

Hi, everyone! How are you today? I bet you're pretty tired of being mostly cooped up inside. But don't worry--I have something right here that might catch your interest.

As some of you may know, March is National Peanut Month. Now, that's not exactly something worth celebrating for peanut allergists...but, on the other paw, March is also National Nutrition Month, National Kidney Month, Optimism Month, Spiritual Wellness Month, National Women's History Month, Irish-American Heritage Month, and International Listening Awareness Month, among even more things. March is also, of course, the first month of Spring. So there's much more to celebrate in March than just peanuts.

However, in this blog post, I'm going to celebrate peanuts. I could go on and on about peanut butter, my favorite food ever, the average jar of which is made with hundreds of peanuts. But, I'm just going to focus one one peanut this time--one of the most famous peanuts of all time--the one and only Mr. Peanut, mascot for the Planters brand of nuts and snacks. Why? Because he's my biggest cartoon crush.

.......say waaaaaaa~~~t?

But isn't he dead?

youre just posting your april fools joke too early

Nope. It's all true!

All the recent hub-bub about Mr. Peanut, including the infamous commercial where he literally dies, reminded me of this earlier commercial I saw on T.V. back in 2018 (the first video featured in this post), which utilized the same sleek design he was animated in during his passing. After finding it on YouTube, I found other videos of him, and this social media browsing eventually brought me to his Twitter account, where I browsed all of his posts from 2018/19. I immediately fell for his optimistic attitude, his sweet personality and especially his support for his friends and followers...and the rest is history. He has the looks, he has the heart--and now he's helping me to grow up.

But why him?? How could an overdressed anthro peanut top, let alone compete with, these practical princes of men? How would crushing over a cartoon help me grow up in any way? And last (and strangest) of all, why am I suddenly going "nuts" over the now-defunct version of a character who just 2 months ago died and came back as a baby?

I will answer all those questions in approximately...right now!

Being autistic, I have a more child-like mind-set than others my age--one facet of this is the ability to immerse myself in imaginary worlds and connect with characters. Thinking of characters, "talking" to them and even trying to act like them has gotten me through many a tough time. As I take inspiration from their personalities and actions, I find more fun and creative ways to spice up my every-day life, stay calm when things get stormy, cheer me up when I feel down, or pep me up when I get sluggish and demotivated. I use different characters to help me with different aspects of life. The two types that always helped me the most were characters with pure hearts, and characters I had crushes on.

Recently, though, I had been looking for a character that would help me take on one of my toughest challenges--accepting the fact that the world is equally as cruel as it is kind, while staying a calm and collected person, and then handling it all just by myself--to put it in two words: growing up. I won't go into detail (in this post, at least), but life had been extremely cruel to me last year. I had a lot of trouble accepting it, and I was losing my self-control. But considering that I'm going on 23 now, I knew that I had to get it together, or else I would stay a crying ball of nerves, trapped on a bed, forever. Being one of the less restrictive aspects of having the heart of a child, I knew that modeling myself after a good-natured fictional character would be a perfect start--but I needed one exceptionally powerful character to pull this off. I needed a crush with a pure heart.

Then it suddenly and silently occured to me, as I continued to take in his various pictures, videos, GIF's and Tweets, that Mr. Peanut was it.

His sleek and curvy body, his elegant limbs, refined features and gentlemanly disposition--not to mention the fact that he's wearing white gloves and has one eye always covered--immediately calls to mind my best cartoon crushes: Geniusman from the anime "Tottemo! Luckyman" and Mettaton EX from the game "Undertale" (who are both looking salty alongside Mr. Peanut on the winner's podium in the top picture). But what really got me was what he didn't have that the other crushes did, he made up for with his unique personality, that my other crushes, in turn, didn't have:

You see, Mr. Peanut rests comfortably on two fine lines that few characters have even been able to stand on. The fine line between "handsome and stylish" and "conceited and mean", and the fine line between "peppy mascot" and "mature and modest gentle-man". All except for a "brief" 10-year stint where they tried to "re-invent" him (Yes, I'm talking about the one who spent the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade dabbing), he's always been a gentle, friendly, quiet character whose main goal in life (besides selling nuts) is to help people and make them happy, "shelling out" plenty of pep while also remaining proper and well-composed.

He never got angry for more than a second or two, and handled (almost) any problem he faced in the smartest, most dignified and most fun way possible. And of course, he's very sweet and always thinks of those he cares about first. He also, despite being a mascot for snacks, loves to play sports and stay fit and healthy--and he encourages others to do the same. And finally, despite being a mascot in general, he always had this quiet, unassuming air to him. He made all his necessary appearances and entertained his customers, yet he always acted very natural about it and never hammed it up or acted super wild and goofy--a thing that most other cartoon mascots fail to do.

So he's not just eye-candy--he's also a perfect role model. That covers the "first of all". Not only does he give me the incentive to be a dignified lady who always does the right thing first, but he gives me that euphoric, limerance-enduced energy I need to really want to act upon it. All my aspirations to be more courteous, be more proper and elegant, be more brave, lead a healthy and active life-style and be a good mascot for Ekaki No Mi are finally coming to fruition. That covers the "second of all".

Yes, this all sounds very silly. But In a "nut-shell", he's the reason I'm finally growing up, so in a way, this is all anything but silly. I would be a hot mess without him...which is exactly why I'm speaking of him in present-tense (using "is" instead of "was"), and pretending he never became Baby Nut or even died in the first place. Here's where I cover the "third of all".

For those who don't already know about his apparent death and resurrection: for their big pre-Super Bowl LIV commercial (the second video featured), Planters took a very unusual, very controversial approach: Their preview commercial depicted Mr. Peanut sacrificing himself to save his friends by letting go of a branch on a cliff that was too heavy to hold him and actors Matt Walsh and Wesley Snipes. The actual Super Bowl commercial (the third video featured) depicted his funeral, which the Kool-Aid Man, among others, attended. A magic tear from the Kool-Aid Man caused a peanut plant to grow out of the ground and sprout a "Baby Nut"--the official reincarnation of Mr. Peanut. Here are the two commercials, in order:

But what people often don't realize is that Mr. Peanut is a cartoon--a form of art--and art, except in very specific cases, is meant to be interpreted by the viewer. If the story isn't satisfactory, people can ignore some parts and pretend that others play out differently, until it fits what they believe in. And the characters and their actions can hold secret meanings that only the viewer sees. In fact, the same character can don different personalities and clothes, and exist in different universes, doing different things--all at the same time. (Think of all the different versions of Mickey Mouse that exist at the same time, even today.)

So is the case with Mr. Peanut. As long as his original likeness still exists--anywhere in this world--he's still alive and well. And even if the actual Planters corporation says he's Baby Nut now, he's still the same old Mr. Peanut in another part of the Internet, in another part of the world, or in any alternate universe. Many, actually. In one of them, he could be "Miss Peanut". In another, he could be a radical "Teen Nut". And in another still, he could actually be the evil capitalist peanut everybody says he is--you know, the one who struts around in his aristocrat clothing while roasting his fellow "pea-ple" and selling them to humans as food in order to get richer...

...which I like to think is not true, because the real peanuts he sells for your eating pleasure could never have flexy bright-yellow shells or humanoid features, could never breathe, cry, blush, say "Whoa!" when startled, wear clothes, be cuddled by a person with a peanut allergy without triggering it, and couldn't even survive on their own for more than 4 months, let alone 104 years. When they grow, it doesn't happen in the blink of an eye--peanut plants take about 3 or 4 weeks to mature (on days that strictly aren't frosty, no less), and the peanuts themselves grow under the ground--totally different from how Baby Nut came into being.

In short, the peanuts we eat aren't cartoons, like Mr. Peanut is. And since he is, I can interpret him any way I want, just as any other person can. So he doesn't have to be a cannibalistic capitalist. He can be the dapper yellow fellow who sells and eats yummy, natural and nutritious morsels that happen to look a bit like him--think of how humans eat little crackers and gummies that look like other people--and, most importantly, is not dead and never will be, because people still love him and believe in him, and belief and imagination transcend death, at least when it comes to fictional characters.

(I especially have the right to believe he's dead because it's one thing to kill off a character in a series for story reasons--it's another thing to kill a revered and internationally-known brand mascot just to create a social media buzz and generate profits. Now that's capitalism!)

But at the same time, I can't help but admit that it was at least a unique social media experiment, and despite the nasty secret intent behind it all, it was very interesting to finally get to see how Mr. Peanut would die, how he got born (and reborn), and what he looks like as a baby. And honestly, with his big round eyes, squidgy body and dainty features, I actually think Baby Nut is pretty cute--certainly too cute for me to want to break out a mortar and pestle and make peanut butter out of him--but he's just not Mr. Peanut. Mr. Peanut was such a unique character that it takes some very special minds to make a character that even comes close to a replacement--sadly, Baby Nut just doesn't make the cut.

Thanks to the power of love and imagination, though, he's still his good old self in my heart. Besides, he may just grow up and come back some day. So in conclusion, he still is, not was, and always will be, the best role model and "husbando" I could ever ask for. He's got the looks. He's got the love. He's cute. He's graceful. He's dapper. He's daring. He's silly. He's sexy. He's serene. He's cheerful, and he always brightens my day. He's everything I could ever want, and more.

Some day I plan to release an art collection featuring the lovable legume sometime in the near future. I would have each picture creatively high-light a different aspect of his personality, taking inspiration from charming vintage art-work that would fit the theme of the picture as well as actual Planters merchandise, and I would utilize various retro art styles and techniques from different time periods to give each picture a distinctive "old-fashioned" vibe.

The collection will be available on all my art web-pages, including my possible future Patreon (if I can get enough subscribers!), and I'm hoping I can also get it shown off in a gallery somewhere (if there are enough Mr. Peanut fans here in Athens to want to see it.)

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One of my favorite commercials featuring him ever, back when he was (canonically) alive and well.

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The commercial where he literally dies.

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The commercial where he comes back to life as a little baby peanut.

And that concludes my post. The credits for the videos go to Planters and KraftHeinz, and the cover photo for this post goes to my imaginary friend, Mini Minoux. Do you love Mr. Peanut, too? And if you do, what do you love about him? And what about Baby Nut? Is he “yea” or “nay”? I'd be happy to hear your thoughts in the comments--though please, keep it reasonable and don't be too harsh. We're in the company of a gentleman. ;.3

#mr peanut #baby nut #cartoon crush #blog #national peanut month #peanut #peanuts #planters #ekakinomi #cartoon crushes

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peebleswrites · 4 years

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Forbidden Fruit, a Code Geass AU

Suzaku remembered waking up, on the beach, the shores of an island of all places. He remembered experiencing disorientation concerning his surroundings and his arrival. How did he get here? And why? Why couldn’t he recall anything prior to being stranded?

“I won’t get any answers here…” Survival instincts from training had kicked in. First things first, he needed to locate a source of drinkable water.

He remembered this more vividly than anything else.

A figure. It appeared to be that of a woman. The back was facing him. At first, he grew alarmed, wary that this person, whoever she may be, might pose a threat to his wellbeing. And then she turned. And that head of red hair that stuck out like a sore thumb on any given day, grabbed his attention, practically slapping him in the face for not recognizing her sooner.

“Kallen? Kallen Stadtfeld?”

He remembered her active response. She wasted no time in both covering that which she could and charging at him with a concealed weapon of some kind.

“A Black Knight’s uniform? Don’t tell me you’re one of–!”

Yes, that dark jacket. The design. She couldn’t be one of them, could she? Not Kallen Stadt—

“Kouzuki is my name! I’m Japanese!”

He remembered meeting her for the first time. That spit fire Guren pilot, Kouzuki Kallen. If asked to describe his feelings as he straddled her naked body, working to subdue her wildly moving form, he’d have to say he was somewhere between utterly confused and bewildered. So much that he paid little mind to the very obvious fact that she lacked proper clothing for the better part of their encounter.

Well…no…that’s a lie. He is still a boy, after all. However, he’s a soldier too. And a knight of third princess! He couldn’t dishonor his master and himself by gawking at a woman in such a vulnerable state! Though, even he had to admit…Kallen was just not the kind of beauty you could ignore easily.

“So, you have no idea how you got here either.”

He remembered the awkward part of forcing her clothes on because her being naked and his ‘captive’ just did not sit right with him for previously mentioned reasons. He easily compared her behavior to that of a drenched cat. Wild. Violent. Merciless. The list just goes on.

“You’re a lot different than you are at school.” The most obvious observation he’d made all day. Not just her behavior. Her expressions. Her voice. Her entire demeanor. It was like a switch had been flipped on her. Could this girl before him really be Kallen?

“Yeah, and you’re the same as ever…” In all honesty, despite her involvement with the Black Knights, he had to admit this Kallen was much more…pleasant to be around. Or perhaps pleasant wasn’t the correct term. All in all, he enjoyed her presence much more in this setting than at school. He truly believed she was quite the boring individual.

Oh, how wrong he was.

“The name Genbu Kururugi, the last samurai, weeps!” Her feisty, reckless tirade triggered the ole recipe of bitterness and resentment that permanently swelled within his lump of a heart. Forever would he be compared to his radical of a father. It was something he’d learned to live with over the years. But now…the secret had come out.

“My father didn’t commit suicide. I killed him. With this hand.” Gone was the boy who trembled at the feet of a foe who somehow knew too much. Gone was the feeble teenager who preached and preached on justice all the while harboring the very sin that was a direct catalyst in the equation that led to the very much anticipated downfall of his people. For that moment, for that split second, Suzaku stopped caring.

He was a killer. Day after day he tried to convince himself that maybe, just maybe, if he worked hard enough, he could one day be free of this sin but no. Area 11 and its inhabitants were a perpetual reminder.

He remembered Kallen’s face. He was expecting mortification. Lelouch, his best friend, gazed upon him in shock. He anticipated much worse from her and yet…her eyes were sad? Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe the crackling fire between them played tricks on his eyes. For her expression lasted but an instance.

“Zero…what he’s doing is wrong…”

“Oh, and you’re suddenly Mr. Right? Who is it that gets decide what’s right and wrong? Who gets to stand in judgement? Certainly not you! You’re nothing but a—!” The words were on her lips, teetering on the tip of her tongue.

“Go on and say it! I know what I am, Kallen! A disgrace to the Kururugi name! A murder! A hypocrite! I’ve heard it all before! But those labels don’t change how I feel about the state of this land! What being Japanese means to me! What it’s meant since our independence was stripped away!”

“So now you’ve got pride? Hah! Your pride means nothing if you’re fighting on the wrong side! The very fact that you oppose someone who’s done more for Japan in the last month than you’ve done in your entire life shows me that your so-called pride is nothing but a farce! It’s not real! How dare you call yourself Japanese!”

Every word she spat at him was like lava. It made him hot, hotter than he’d ever felt. Steamed, even. The kind of hot that compels men to act violently. The kind of provoking hot that urged him to hit something. He felt so driven all of the sudden by aggression and frustration, he was ready to…to…!

He remembered her eyes, wide with fury and shock the moment he lunged forward, tackling her into the cold cold sand below them. He remembered suffering from a well-aimed knee to the abdomen, courtesy of the Guren pilot who flung more ignited slurs his way. He couldn’t explain why he attacked her like this. Well…he could but he didn’t care to. This action would bring him shame every time he thought of it.

He thought of her eyes, a blue starkly contrasting the fiery pits of vengeance currently scorching his being. He thought of her breath, labored huffs of air hitting his flushed face at uneven intervals. He thought of her hair in splayed spikes of crimson laying construed about her face. He thought of her lips, dry as they were, his eyes never strayed too far from the full pink pair, parted and giving him the allusion of something soft.

And suddenly all thoughts stopped at that point.

“S….Suzak–…!” Too little too late. Had she called his name even a second sooner, he would’ve stopped himself. But she didn’t. And he was now comparing the softness of her lips to something plump, sweet, warm. Kissing her was like biting into a ripe peach on a hot summer afternoon. An odd comparison but it seemed to fit as far as he was concerned.

“……”

He remembered moving away from her, back to the fire, back to real life, back to the sad sap of Kururugi he’d learned to accept.

And he remembered biting into that peach one more time before night became morning. Later on, he would wonder how in the world Kallen managed to get her hands free from those bindings.

It would be weeks, perhaps even an entire month had passed in between their next encounter. Needless to say, it wasn’t a very pleasant meeting. The events prior, discovering Kallen’s ties with the Black Knights, being stranded with her, and most notably that kiss, were still fairly fresh within the Lancelot pilot’s mind.

Or rather, his ever-feisty hothead of a rival was in his head and he couldn’t seem to get rid of her. No matter how much he cared for his princess, the light of his life, that spark within Kallen…it dulled her shine.

A bit.

He saw her at school upon his return at long last. He wasn’t surprised to see her tense up whenever he was around. He knew her secret. And he was willing to bet he was the only one at Ashford who did. Unbeknownst to her, he’d never breathe a word about it.

“Just what in the hell kind of game are you trying to pull here, huh?” She’d cornered him, unceremoniously shoved him in a vacant classroom while obviously, and painfully, poking his side with that blasted knife wallet. Really, where does one obtain such a cute yet deadly accessory?

“I don’t know what you mean, Kallen.” Part of him didn’t. Part of him was waiting for her to question him.

Part of him was dying for it. A chance to share the same space, breathe the same air. A chance to look into those constantly blazing, fluid pools of raging cerulean. A chance to memorize those lips, to experience the nostalgia of his first encounter with the forbidden fruit.

“Don’t fuck with me, Suzaku!”

“You kiss Zero with that mouth–ow! It was a joke, sheesh!” Yeah, he supposed he earned himself that small stab from her blade.

“What’s your angle? Are you planning to blackmail me? It won’t work! I don’t care about exposing myself!”

“Wait, that’s not what I’m after all! Please, don’t do that!” Time to come clean. And fast. That blade didn’t seem to be going anywhere. “While we’re at school…I’m Suzaku, your friend. I won’t do anything to jeopardize your being here, Kallen. If anything, I’d like to persuade you to change sides.”

“Oh, how noble of you.” He was expecting that sarcastic jab.

“But…when we meet on the battlefield, I’ll be your enemy. And I will make it my duty to defeat you and Zero.” Blazing cerulean met the steely pigmentation of raw sage. And Kallen looked taken aback by his bold declaration. Taken aback and mildly provoked. That smirk covering her lips told him everything he needed to know about her stance on his words.

“You say that as if you really can stop us. I’ll beat that knightmare of yours, just wait!” She was seconds, mere seconds, away from removing the knife when calloused digits closed around the thinness of her wrist. Several quick maneuvers later and the Guren pilot met the cold hard surface of a beaker cabinet, face first.

“You’re underestimating me. I am a trained soldier. You’ve just gotten lucky overtime...”

“This ‘luck’ nearly defeated your precious Viceroy and gives you hell every time our units clash! You’re the one underestimating me!” How dare he impose his strength upon her. Oh, how she yearned to level the playing field. And level his head while she was at it.

Frustrated with her defiance, the male effortlessly whipped her form around, forcing her back into the cabinet while keeping a steady grip on her arm.

“You don’t have to do this Kallen! You come from a good family. Your father’s a noble! With your background, you could easily work from within and–!”

“Save the self-righteous work with the system speech for someone with nothing to fight for! You really think a halfbreed like me will be well received?! Oh, your father’s a noble~. Screw him and screw y–!”

He couldn’t resist. How could he? The tension between them was too great. Her eyes, they’d captivated him from the moment she yanked him from the hall. Even her scent, tantalizingly potent, reeled him in. And the bait that compelled him?

Her raw anger.

It was different than what he was used out of women. Most girls were nice, sweet, kind, soft, gentle. But Kallen…she was a fire. A ticking time bomb. A raging storm and he was slowly coming to terms with being blissfully caught up in her torrents.

Which is why when she finally snapped and slapped him, he did nothing more than cup his stinging cheek. He didn’t follow after her when she stormed off. In fact, he all but avoided Kallen for a pretty good portion of the day and the rest of the semester.

She scared him, for lack of a better word. And not because she was tough or one of his more formidable foes on the battlefield. It was off the battlefield that her presence shrouded him in veils of fear. He’d awaken at night, in cold sweats though the dream was definitely the opposite temperature. He’d randomly find himself thinking fondly of Euphemia only for the image to shift to that of Kallen.

Worst of all, he’d recall and crave that first taste.

This fruit, his sweet downfall.

Euphemia was dead. Area Eleven had succumbed to the terror that would soon become known as nothing other than the Black Rebellion. Suzaku was traumatized, deeply wounded, and wracked with terror. His heart, normally swelling bitterly now had a new accessory weighing it down.

Revenge.

“Zero!”

“No, it’s Lelouch!” Why…why did she have to be here? Why did she have to come at this exact moment? Why…did she follow him? Follow Zero. Follow Lelouch…she would pay dearly for choosing the wrong side. He gave her a way out. Time and time again. If this is the path she walked, so be it.

“Suzaku, no!”

“Don’t get in my way, Kallen!” He’d merely intended to shy her away from coming any closer. But when his gun fired…when he heard her cries of pain…it was like seeing Euphie’s demise from eyes of the monster before him.

No, how could he…

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way…Lelouch. He was supposed to shoot Lelouch, not Kallen.

After that, he was on autopilot. Blur. Everything he remembered was a blur.

Detaining Lelouch. A blur.

Treating Kallen’s gunshot wound. A blur.

Contacting the Avalon to meet him at the island. A blur.

And he’ll never forget her last words.

“S-Suzaku…I will…n-never…forgive you…”

Her last words as Kouzuki Kallen.

A/N: This was a bit longer than originally intended but it’s just one of those things where you write and you write and you keep writing until the message you want to get across is conveyed. When I tell you I’ve had this on my brain for YEARS. I mean, it’s been a loooong time but I finally buckled down and pumped this out sometime in 2018. Tell me what you think. Shall I continue or leave it as is? Thanks!

#code geass #suzaku kururugi #kallen kouzuki #kallen stadtfeld #Suzaku x Kallen #suzallen #fanfiction

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Why Brecht Now? Vol. II: Nina Simone sings “Pirate Jenny”

Lotte Lenya’s terrific performance of “Pirate Jenny” in G.W. Pabst’s 1931 film version of The Threepenny Opera might be the most enduring version of the song. Brecht abandoned the movie project halfway through the shoot, suspicious of Pabst’s aestheticism and tired of arguing over changes to the narrative scenario and the stage play’s script. One wonders what Brecht might have made of Nina Simone’s rendition of “Pirate Jenny,” which he co-wrote with Kurt Weill in the late 1920s. Simone makes the song her own, not just in the idiosyncrasies of her performance, but in her substantive alterations to the song’s setting, to its title character and to its politics. Simone’s version is found on her 1964 LP Nina Simone in Concert. Below I present the lyrics to her performance, then, in brackets, Brecht’s original German. Following that are my thoughts on the song.

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You people can watch while I’m scrubbing these floors And I’m scrubbing the floors while you’re gawking Maybe once you tip me, and it makes you feel swell In this crummy southern town, in this crummy old hotel But you’ll never guess to who you’re talking No, you could never guess to who you’re talking Then one night, there’s a scream in the night And you wonder, who could that have been? And you see me kind of grinning while I’m scrubbing And you say, “What’s she got to grin?” I’ll tell you

There’s a ship The black freighter With a skull on its masthead, will be coming in

You gentlemen can say, “Hey gal, finish them floors! Get upstairs! What’s wrong with you? Earn your keep here!” And you toss me your tips and look out to the ships But I’m counting your heads as I’m making the beds Cuz there’s nobody gonna sleep here, tonight Nobody’s gonna sleep here, honey Nobody Nobody Then one night, there’s a scream in the night And you say, “Who’s that kicking up a row?” And you see me kind of staring out the window And you say, “What’s she got to stare at now?” I’ll tell you

There’s a ship The black freighter Turns around in the harbor, shooting guns from her bow

Now, you gentlemen can wipe off that smile off your face Cuz every building in town is a flat one This whole fricking place will be down to the ground Only this old, cheap hotel standing up, safe and sound And you yell, “Why do they spare that one?” Yes, that’s what you say: “Why do they spare that one?” All the night through, through the noise and to-do You wonder, who is that person that lives up there And you see me stepping out in the morning Looking nice, with a ribbon in my hair

And the ship The black freighter Runs a flag up its masthead and a cheer rings the air!

By noontime the dock is aswarming with men Coming out from the ghostly freighter They move in the shadows where no one can see And they’re chaining up people and they’re bringing ‘em to me Asking me, “Kill them now or later?” Asking me, “Kill them now or later?” Noon by the clock, and so still at the dock You can hear a foghorn miles away And in the quiet of death, I’ll say, “Right now. Right now!” And they pile up the bodies, and I’ll say, “That’ll learn ya!”

And the ship The black freighter Disappears out to sea, and on it is me Ha!

[Meine Herren, heute sehen Sie mich Gläser abwaschen Und ich mache das Bett für jeden Und Sie geben mir einen Penny und ich bedanke mich schnell Und Sie sehen meine Lumpen und dies lumpige Hotel Und Sie wissen nicht, mit wem Sie reden Und Sie wissen nicht, mit wem Sie reden Aber eines Tags wird ein Geschrei sein ma Hafen Und man fragt: Was ist das für ein Geschrei? Und man wird mich lächeln sehn bei meinen Gläsern Und man fragt: Was lächelt die dabei?

Und ein Schiff mit acht Segeln Und mit fünfzig Kanonen Wird liegen am Kai

Man sagt, geh, wisch deine Gläser, mein Kind Und man reicht mir den Penny hin Und der Penny wird genommen Und das Bett wird gemacht Es wird keiner mehr drin schlafen in dieser Nacht Und die wissen immer noch nicht, wer ich bin Und die wissen immer noch nicht, wer ich bin Und in dieser Nacht wird ein Getös sein am Hafen Und man fragt: Was ist das für ein Getös? Und man wich mich stehen sehen hinterm Fenster Und man fragt: Was lächelt die so bös?

Und ein Schiff mit acht Segein Und mit fünfzig Kanonen Wird bescheissen die Stadt

Meine Herren, da wird wohl ihr Lachen aufhörn Den die Mauern warden fallen hin Und am dritten Tage ist die Stadt dem Erdboden gleich Nur ein lumpiges Hotel wird veschont von jedem Streich Und man fragt: Wer wont Besonderer darin? Und man fragt: Wer wont Besonderer darin? Und in dieser Nacht wird ein Geschrei um das Hotel sien Und man fragt: Warum wird das Hotel verschont? Und man sieht mich treten aus der Tür gegen Morgen Und man sagt: Die hat darin gewohnt?

Und ein Schiff mit acht Segein Und mit fünfzig Kanonen Wird beflaggen den Mast

Und es werden kommen hundert gen Mittag an Land Und werden in den Schatten treten Und fangen einen jeglichen aus jeglicher Tür Und legen ihn in Ketten und bringen ihn mir Und mich fragen: Welchen sollen wir töten? Und mich fragen: Welchen sollen wir töten? Und am diesem Mittag wird es still sein am Hafen Wenn man fragt, wer wohl sterben muss Und da warden Sie mich sagen hören: Alle! Und wenn dann der Kopf fällt, sage ich: Hoppla!

Und ein Schiff mit acht Segein Und mit fünfzig Kanonen Wird enschwinden mit mir]

In Pabst’s film, Jenny sings soon after learning that her erstwhile lover and pimp Mackie Messer has married Polly Peachum — and immediately after accepting a bribe from Polly’s mother, Mrs. Peachum, to betray Mackie to the London cops. Jenny takes the money, tips off the cops and sings. It seems like a desperate, nihilistic moment: an abject woman, amid turbid emotional and ethical crises, articulates a violent fantasy of absolute power. Whose side is Jenny on? Her own, of course, but operating at such an alienated distance from the social is never a good thing in Brecht.

Simone’s performance feeds off Jenny’s anger and abjection, but the social politics of Simone’s revision are more emphatic, even didactic. In that way, she participates in Brecht’s artistic ethos: Walter Benjamin once noted that Brecht kept a statuette of a donkey in his apartment, and around the donkey’s neck was a sign that read, “Even I must understand it.”

The import of Simone’s relocation of the song — from The Threepenny Opera’s Victorian London, to “this crummy southern town, in this crummy old hotel” — wouldn’t have been obscure to anyone in the Carnegie Hall audiences in front of whom she recorded Nina Simone in Concert, in March and April of 1964. The American south was then embroiled in civil rights struggle and mounting violence: Medgar Evers had been executed in his Mississippi driveway in June of 1963, and just a few months later, Addie Mae Collins, Carol Denise McNair, Carole Robertson and Cynthia Wesley were murdered in the 16th Street Baptist Church bombing in Birmingham, AL. Collins, Robertson and Wesley were 14 years old; McNair was 11.

Simone addressed that violence in another, more famous song on Nina Simone in Concert, “Mississippi Goddam”: “Alabama’s got me so upset / Tennessee made me lose my rest / And everybody knows about Mississippi, goddam!” It’s rightly noted to be a watershed song, signaling Simone’s forceful transformation into protest singer, activist and cultural radical. Her version of “Pirate Jenny” may lack the referential specificity of that other, more storied song (and “Mississippi Goddam” gets pretty direct; at one point in the song, she intones, “Oh, but this whole country is full of lies / You’re all gonna die, and die like flies / I don’t trust you anymore” — in Carnegie Hall). But “Pirate Jenny” is a lively complement to the indignation of “Mississippi Goddam,” and tonally it’s even more bitter, even more violent.

You can hear that implicit violence in the horrific cackle Simone produces at the 3:27 mark, immediately after the infantilizing image of the ribbon in Jenny’s hair. It’s a stirring contrast: the feminine innocent become vengeful fury. You can hear the bitterness in the final “Ha!” that bursts from her throat as she imagines herself disappearing over the horizon line with the ship. You can feel it in one of Simone’s other revisions to the song. In The Threepenny Opera, the song climaxes with Jenny’s shocking order that all the men in London (“Alle!”) should be killed for her pleasure. In Simone’s version, there’s never any doubt that all of her prisoners should be killed, it’s only a matter of how quickly. She hisses, rapaciously, “Right now / Right now!”

In another notable change, Simone’s Jenny isn’t a prostitute, but a maid, cleaning up after “you people” in the aforementioned “crummy hotel.” Jenny is still marginalized, but there’s nothing subterranean or metaphorical about the economic environment she moves through. It’s all culturally sanctioned. Her oppression is a transparent element of her southern lifeworld, and she is thus sharply conscious of the manifest power of those transactions: “Maybe once you tip me, and it makes you feel swell.” It’s an important change to Brecht’s original lyrics, focusing on a set of economic relations that indicate Jenny’s racially charged plight. She’s a maid in a southern hotel, a laboring black woman, who’s made recognizable as such precisely because of the larger Jim Crow-period matrix of law and social practice that determined who did what work for whom.

That economic register makes some of the song’s subsequent images even more resonant. The people on the receiving end of Jenny’s rage are “chained up” on the “dock.” The spectacle of terrified, chained bodies by the seaside evokes the slave auction block, even as the image wants to invert the slave economy’s racialized logic, of white oppressing black. And Simone repeatedly calls the ship in the harbor a “black freighter.” Black freight. It’s another marker for the slave trade, and perhaps Jenny is trying to run the film in reverse. Perhaps she wants to board the vessel, to sail all the slave ships back across the Atlantic, to neutralize the horror of the Middle Passage. That sounds like a utopian desire, a triumphal image that the song’s tone cannot sustain, or even create in the first place. Too much misery and violence has already happened. American history has already insisted that blackness and capital are inextricably bound. Utopian longing is beside the point. What’s needed is critique, sharpened by righteous rage.

The historical period that we call “the Sixties” ground on for another ten years after Simone’s 1964 Carnegie Hall gigs. She became increasingly militant in her public rhetoric and performative style. She claimed once to have looked Martin Luther King in the face and said, “I am not non-violent.” Her voice throughout “Pirate Jenny” is a sort of corroborating evidence for that assertion.

Simone’s assertiveness continues to reverberate today, as many of the most insistent leftist voices in American institutional politics come from women’s bodies, bodies that are black and ethnically Middle Eastern and Latinx. Why are the reactionaries so obsessed with AOC, with Rashida Tlaib, with Ilhan Omar? Because those women say stuff like “permanent war economy” in public? Because they eschew the rhetoric of moderation? Because they call themselves socialist and don’t seem in the least bit tentative about it? Maybe it’s because they refuse to wait. They want justice. Right now. They want an end to economic exploitation. Right now. They, and the constituencies they represent, have no time to waste on political nicety or policy based on half-measure. They insist that they will be heard. Right now.

Jonathan Shaw

#nina simone #bertolt brecht #why brecht now #jonathan shaw #threepenny opera #dusted magazine #feature #pirate jenny #lotte lenya

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i-like-writting-sometimes · 5 years

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Yesterday (24th of June 2019), I went to bed and, as I sometimes do, I opened the YouTube app to listen to music before going to sleep – I don’t have any downloaded music in my phone because of lack of space so, yeah, I do that. As usual, I scrolled down to see if there was any video or music that interested me at the time, and I found a video named “50 Minutes to Save the World”.

Now, I’ve always been interested in Ambiental issues, and always had some conscience about pollution since I was a kid – the kindergarten I went to made/makes (it’s still running and still conscious of the global issue) sure every kid that went there was educated about global warming, pollution and ways to recycle and reuse stuff.

My grandmother even told me – and I have no memory of this, that’s how young I was at the time – that, once, me and my family were at a café and a man ordered a coffee. In Portugal, where I live, when you ask for a coffee, the waitresses give you a tiny paper bag with sugar so you can add it if you want. Now, my grandmother tells me that, right when I see the man throwing the paper bag to the floor after using it, I pointed to him and said really loud “You don’t do that!!”. With the man looking at me, my mother made me quiet down, afraid that he would get angry or something, but my grandmother noticed that he was very embarrassed instead and ended up picking the paper bag from the floor.

I grew up still worried and conscious about pollution. At the age of what? 7? 8? I remembered being with my dad, in the car, and telling him how idiot the human race could be, as it was killing itself by polluting, because that would increase the global warming and ended up affecting us too. At the age of 11/12 I joined the Ecology Club and, as long as I went to that school, I went to almost every meeting, even going to events with my colleagues (I had no notion of how bad ass that was at my time, actually. I wish the high-school I went to had more publicity for the many clubs it supposedly has).

I never stopped caring about the planet, even when all my colleagues would throw trash to the floor claiming they were “giving a job to the street cleaners”. Hell, I yelled at a friend for throwing trash to the floor and made him pick it up and put it to the plastic bin. Even when nobody around me seemed to care at least as much as I do, I never stopped caring.

Could I do more? Yes, absolutely, and I wish I could simply correct all the things that affect the world in a negative way just with a snap, with one radical change, but the truth is that I don’t have enough capital to do that. Plastic free stuff are still a bit expensive to my family, and seems a bit hard to find at a price that we can afford; and I can’t donate to big organizations because 1) I have trust issues with money, I barely trust myself, honestly; and 2) I usually prefer to have that money so I can help my family with some other things.

But that doesn’t stop me. It’s just like in the movie “The Princess and the Frog” – you gotta work for it to come true, the wish doesn’t come true for itself. And I’m taking baby steps – I bought my own bamboo toothbrush and straws, and I’m planning meals to eat more vegetables so my body will accept a vegetarian eating habit in a less radical and, (in my point of view), more healthy way, giving me time to learn about what I can eat, and how to manage the nutrients and stuff. And I’m getting more conscious about what I consume every day.

And, on top of all that, I’m finally surrounded with people who also care about these things! All my friends are conscious, and although some are more negative than me, we all are trying to take baby steps and change the world. My best friend just bought her metal straws, and another is going to buy her own bamboo toothbrush. We all have our own reusable water bottles and share information about products and ways to recycle and reuse stuff with each other – I’m really proud of them, as you can see, and also proud of me for surrounding myself with these people.

Yet, I know it’s not enough, there’s a lot of stuff I need to change as an individual, and, mostly, actions that need to be made by a collective group. It’s my wish that my actions, and mostly my ideas, will affect society and make the world a better place.

The thing is, I still have a lot of things to learn about this situation.

Even I, who has always cared about the future, the planet and the life in it, who does not want to go to Mars or any place out of this Earth to live, still am not educated enough to have practical ideas to propose to the government, nor do I understand how politics work (I feel like I’m a peasant from medieval times, basically). There’s still people and organizations’ work I need to investigate, crafts that I need to discover and share with my friends, local shops I need to go and consume, propositions and ideas to be written down and discussed and very little time.

So little time, it fucking scares me – I’m not ok, all this situation gives me stress on a daily basis. I was in a Drawing class, me and my friends discussing global warming, when one of them tells me that no matter how many trees we plant they won’t be enough to recover from the damage of the ozone layer. I physically froze, right there. I looked at him in the eyes and, just like I was a child again, I asked him “Really?”. And he confirmed it. I nearly cried in front of my friends because of how hopeless I felt in that moment, while they kept talking and eventually changed topic. I went home after that class completely devastated, depressed.

It took me a few hours to recompose myself and convince me that there were still other things that could be done. I thought that I could still do it in other ways, and still keep that hope with me, every single day.

After watching Amir Zakeri’s video, I felt it physically. My head started hurting, and all I could think was that there was still the possibility of the biggest fear of my 9 years old me coming true: world destruction/world’s ending – and I don’t want that to happen, neither does anybody.

So, hopefully Amir Zakeri didn’t make a video form nothing and neither did I shared it and write all this for nothing! I hope that after reading this, you too will be more aware of what’s happening and starting take baby steps like me. There is a lot of things that can be done!

Starting now, you can share the video that I shared, or this text, or even other kinds of media that will educate you about this issue. Even if you can’t do everything that there is to be done, there are some other people who can, but maybe don’t know about it. So, by sharing information, the possibilities it will reach them, and they will help in ways that you understandably can’t, rise. The more people who know, the more people will start taking actions and choices to help make the world a better place, making easier that others will too!

Also, you should search for activists and organizations and try to support their work in any way possible! The video of Amir Zakeri makes many references about organisations that are working on restoring and protecting the coral reefs. Search them, follow them in your social media platforms and soon, thanks to an algorithm, more accounts of other similar organisations and information on the topic of coral reefs and ecology will start to appear on your explore page.

Learn from whatever you find and start acting! Life is about experiences and learning from that same experiences so you can be better! Start by trying to do small things and slowly you will grow to be affecting the world in a positive way. If many individuals around the world start to do small changes, if we gather all the work of these people it will make one big difference. We don’t need people to have a perfect zero-waste lifestyle, we need everyone, or at least a hell lot of people, to have an imperfect one.

So, start acting in any way you can, and never think that everybody already knows about this. People may have an idea, but it’s only the tip of the iceberg, there’s always more to learn. But also, don’t be mean to people who don’t know/understand this threat. Instead, teach them about it, and they may join you in this cause! I, myself still have a LOT to learn, a LOT of activists to search for (I barely know one or two), but I’m still trying to do the best I can.

#50 minutes to save the world #amir zakeri #trying to make the world a better place #ecology #recycling #global warming #pollution #coral reef #environmental activism #enviroment #learning #save marine life #save the bees #save the forests #im trying to act for once #im sorry i don't know what else to do

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werevulvi · 4 years

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I feel like I should get deeper into my choice to take on the nonbinary label. Is it based on misogyny? Yes. Absolutely, yes. But a woman simply protecting herself from misogyny is not complicit in the misogyny that she is forced to face. Radical feminists should know that, I think. However, I realise that I may have missed to communicate that clearly. Allow me to try better, and dig deeper into my wounds.

Identifying as nonbinary does give me a sense of relief, a sense of wholeness - a relief to be whoever I want and feel allowed to just exist as my authentic self, free from either fucked up gender stereotype, thgose of both men and women - which might sound good on the surface level... but looking deeper, through my radfem eyes, what it means, is this: Why do I feel like I cannot be my authentic self as a woman, all of a sudden? There we have it, the big bleeding wound in my heart, and that's what I feel a need to elaborate on. I'll stay out of the nonbinary tag this time. This isn't for them. (Although anyone can reblog, comment or give a like.) What do I actually want, for myself, if it wasn't for society? I wish to continue transitioning. I wanna go back on testosterone as I deeply miss it and I'm panicking about my body hair thinning out and decreasing. I do not want to lose it for the world! I'm holding onto every single one of my vanishing hairs, for dear life! At the same time, I still wish to get new boobs. I still miss them sorely and I just need to have those kinda body parts again. I feel broken without boobs, I panic without T. I cannot explain it. It's weird alright, but I don't give a fuck! Without societal imput that's just how I want to look and love looking like. It's just body mods. At core, that's what it is: just body modifications. You know that as radfems - I know it just as well.

I love my body when it's masculinised yet retaining all of my originally female parts, such as curves, breasts and my pussy. That makes me feel very positively connected to my body; so to the point that it makes me feel entirely at peace with that I'm female, and very comfortable with that it makes me a woman. But I cannot be okay with being female if I had to be a traditional looking woman, or even a butch-looking woman. That is not ME, neither of those would be my authentic self. So, my medical transition deeply matters to me, as body mods, and I will not walk away from that. I believe that continuing my medical transition while still honouring my female body and womanhood is what is right for me personally. I understand that there is an issue with the beauty industry affecting me too, but I'm clearly not making myself beautiful for men - nor am I making myself ugly for them. What I'm doing is making myself beautiful for me, in an unconventional way, even though it makes me also ugly for most other lesbians. Can you understand then, from that perspective, how deeply important it is for me, that I willingly make such a sacrifice? (I'm already in a happy lesbian relationship, so maybe you can't, but alright.) I do not believe that I mod myself out of self hate. Not anymore, because I did in the past, and I believe that I can tell the difference between living as a man while actively attempting to escape one's female biology - and living as a male-passing woman while actively honouring my beautifully modified female body. You may think I'm mutilated, but I'd disagree. I am beautiful and my high self-esteem greatly surpasses such rudeness.

Is a heavily tattooed woman self-hating for her mods? I don't know what you may think, but if not, then neither am I with my beard and deep voice and future fake tits. An intentionally virilised (fancy word for masculinised, I like it quite a lot), modified woman is what I am, want to be and remain as. I do not have any "social dysphoria" accompanying my body/sex dysphoria since I recovered from my traumas, and thus I feel no need or wish what so ever to call myself a man, and I feel good calling myself what is true in science: female, girl, woman, she/her, lady, ma'am, miss, etc.

I believe that I have somehow managed, against all odds, with the help of radfems on tumblr... to balance transitioning my dysphoria with being a self-loving biological woman. Thank you for that. So what's the catch? I mentioned misogyny. Well, socially, as a male-passing, yet suspiciously curvy and overtly effeminately styled person - I have effectively lost my right to be a woman outside of radblr. I want you to understand this, especially other radfem's, so please listen carefully if you've got a few minutes, because this is important, as it absolutely has to do with both female oppression as well as trans ideology bullshit (and I'll try not to scream this time, but I can't make any promises, because this is deeply painful and upsetting to me.) Can't women take testosterone and like it and still be women? That's what's so complicated, and I need to be upfront and clear about why. Technically, yes of course that is possible. No one can or should stop women from taking T if they truly want a beard and permanently deep voice, right - but is it possible socially? No, in my experience it is not, and I will now try my best to explain to you what I mean by that, as it's kinda abstract. There are two aspects to this. Firstly, any female person claiming to want those physical features is going to be told that they then cannot be a woman. They are told that is incorrect thinking, that they are a trans man or nonbinary, that they have internalised transphobia or that they are indeed a "cis" woman but confused and should NOT take testosterone, implying that will make her dysphoric if she really is a woman. Because trans ideology says so.

Secondly, living as a male-passing woman who does not want to pass as female, was something that I found to be so difficult in practice that eventually it became too much for me. It isn't dysphoria-inducing, not at all. But it's very, very frustrating and constantly challenging. I can no longer access women's spaces so I have to put up with using the men's including locker rooms, convincing people of my still female sex is next to impossible (even doctors!), other women view me as a threat and an imposter, I'm frequently barred from lesbian spaces unless my girlfriend invites me to them first, I am frequently mistaken for being a poorly passing trans woman, and so on.

I'm effectively forced to either live as a trans woman (which I'd feel is degrading, untrue, and deceptive) or to claim a transmasculine label to at least be able to infer that I'm "afab" - but a WOMAN? No. Woman, in the eyes of society as it is today - cannot be a happily male-passing, dysphoric female. That is deemed an oxymoron. Gender has taken presendency over sex. People assume, wrongfully, that my "gender identity" is woman - and they assume, just as wrongfully, that my sex is male - and they make both those assumptions at once. They then refuse to accept that they are wrong, no matter how hard I have tried to explain it, over and over ad nauseum. I don't even understand why that keeps happening!

Therefore, I've come to the sad conclusion that I'm simply no longer welcome into society as a woman, based on my choice of looks, as I am indeed happily transitioned and do not wish to change what testosterone improved on my body. I completely refuse to. Not to be dramatic, but... I'd rather fucking die. My body is not a property of society. It is MY property. My ONLY true property. And I'll decorate it however I so damn well please. But what can I do about it, being treated like that? Realistically, in actuality, what CAN I possibly do about it? Honestly, not much. I can either suck it up and "admit" to being a man, or I can fight endlessly and keep explaining how I'm really a woman, or choose some kinda middle-road like nonbinary, but I cannot win that fight. Perhaps (hopefully) radical feminism can, but me, as a single, individual person? No, I cannot win that battle. I stand defenseless against a massive army, and that enemy has worn me out. I have essentially lost my right to be a woman, by being my authentic self. That is very, very sad. It scares me, it honestly mortifies me, but I have to deal with it somehow. I can't just slump down and cry about it, no matter how tempting that is.

I do not think that my experience with this is entirely unique. I believe I probably share it with tons of other gnc and/or male-passing women, but I am new to this.

I'm 30 years old, and have only lived as a male-passing woman for one and a half year. I grew up as a typically feminine girl, dysphoric about my sex traits, but never dysphoric about my feminine expression. My gnc mom taught me well, to separate sex from gender expression, and I thus never confused the two as I see sooo many other gnc and trans people do. I do not blame them, because so many people infer that my femininity=woman and my masculinity=man and that the sum of my whimsical androgyny equals nonbinary. But I cannot, do not, WILL NOT and have never in my life... seen it that way. However, big however, I STILL turned out dysphoric about my sex, despite being a happily feminine female, and lesbian at that, and that is something few seem to understand. I get that, I totally do. It's probably rare. Just see for yourself how empty the "dysphoric femme" tag is. Yes, it exists, with a whole whopping three posts. And I struggle to explain it.

It's very hard for me to live as a male-passing woman because it is entirely new for me and I'm struggling to adapt to facing this extreme level of misogyny. I break down from it, I do not know how to handle it. Perhaps most gnc/dysphoric women have lived with that crap since they were young tomboys, but I haven't, because I was never a tomboy. I suppose it will get easier, as much else does, and that is why I'm pretty sure that me using the nonbinary label now is only going to be temporary. Because I do not know how to deal with this. I'm sorry... I'm sorry for breaking down and admitting defeat, I'm so fucking sorry. I just want to be treated with the dignity and respect that I give to others, or at least just an ounce of politeness. So am I actually nonbinary, then, genderwise? No, I am not. Neither my choice of gender roles, nor my androgynous blob of a personality, not even my strange dysphoria is evidence of a nonbinary gender. If that’s how others see it: fine, but I cannot force myself to actually believe that THAT's what makes me nonbinary... No matter how much I keep getting that forced down my throat. All I do is choke on it. What I am is a woman, sex-wise, as I've always stated. Me taking on the nonbinary label is indeed a choice. A reluctant, but very deliberate, active choice.

Problem is that I cannot live authentically while at the same time calling myself what I literally am, without getting brutally punished for it. Yes, I believe the ones to blame for that... are the TRA's. Trans activism slowly changed society to overlook sex in favour of gender. I believe that is why I am being denied my womanhood, because it is based on my invisible sex. If you look clearly female in your day-to-day life, I do not think that you could possibly experience this. To clarify: I do not mind passing as male. In fact I like it quite a lot. What I do mind, is being treated like crap for who I am, and not being believed to be what I am. I had no idea that this would happen upon my detransition. I am shocked, and I am hurt. End notes: I wish that someday I can truly reclaim my womanhood, without having to change my body to fit societal standards, or claim a trans label to dodge the societal standards. I miss my womanhood, and I need it... but it has been snatched from my hands. The enemy won't let me have it back, unless I comply to the rules and (sell my soul to the patriarchy) turn myself into a conventionally attractive barbie doll - and my attempts to reclaim it without complying to those rules, are utterly futile. I am an incorrect female... deprived of my right to be a woman, and it hurts. Man, it hurts sooo bad!

Honestly I don't know what to do about it, but for now I need a breathing break from this constant battle, because my enemy has exhausted me. "Nonbinary" is such a breathing break. It is my retreat, but I will NOT surrender. Someday I will charge back into battle again, and shove down people's throats that I'm damn well a woman regardless of what they think of it. Because this bearded bitch ain't fucking dead yet!!!

#explaining my nonbinary radfem label a bit better #yes its because of misogyny #gnc female #male-passing women #gender critical #radfem #detransition #dysphoric female #metaphors #real life vs dumblr #reclaiming womanhood was way harder than i thought #also im going back to medically transition #this is probably the most brutally honest ive been about this shit

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whoaffle · 5 years

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Sometimes things that shouldn’t annoy me annoy me anyway because of disproportionate and nearly-irrational, however usually very logical, over-thinking leading to a negative analysis of the given thing.

I’ll leave an example that is what made me rather annoyed now. You can skip this whole thing if you don’t feel like reading about my moody complaints about modern society. Have a nice day anyway. ♥

WARNING: this post is mostly negative, and may trigger you if you are sensitive to a lot of negativity.

Now, about what made me angry today... There’s this add that always plays between my music in Youtube where the woman goes “We are people who don’t like to stop. We don’t have time for pain! That’s why, when it shows up, we need *painkiller name*!” -- and by then I have already skipped it, like... I skip it every time because I hate this first sentence.

“We are people who don’t like to stop” - that is not inherently bad, I mean, there’s no problem in disliking to be idle, to have nothing to do, it could be interpreted as “we dislike boredom” and that’s mostly correct. But still, doesn’t apply to everyone, some people do like to stop sometimes and just stay the whole day doing nothing and looking through the window feeling a cold breeze, some people can’t stand NOT stopping, they hate to do things in a rush and like to have time to breathe and think in between when they have to do a lot of stuff. So yeah, not 100% relatable for everyone, but not a sentence that would piss me off on it’s own.

But “We don’t have time for pain” - oh, baby, you just triggered my “mad at society” mode right now! That part just gives the first sentence a whole new meaning... It’s implying that the fact that we do not have time for pain (which is, in my view, a major flaw on how today’s society works and a disrespect to human health and quality of life) is NOT because we are basically forced to work 24/7 otherwise we literally can’t afford food, or because we are expected to do a billion times more than it would be humanly acceptable in most jobs otherwise we are considered to be “not giving our best” and may be fired... BUT BECAUSE WE DON’T LIKE NOT TO WORK OUR BUTTS AND SOULS OFF! That makes me mad.

The fact that we (in general) “don’t have time for pain” is not at all because “we don’t like to stop”, which is the connection that the add wants to establish between the two sentences, I suppose. It’s because we ARE NOT ALLOWED to stop! And this is so unhealthy! And this makes me so mad that adds and companies and society in general are promoting surviving through our insane days of work with painkillers and energetic drinks (I’ve already written before about why those make me mad as well) as something not only acceptable, but normal and even good! It’s so common... I see this a lot, I think I’ve actually become sensitive to it, because every time I see something that slightly implies this, I notice and usually feel moody about it.

What I’m saying is that it feels to me that... “Look! Now whenever your body starts warning you that maybe living under that much pressure all the time is not really healthy or tries to show you with a symptom that there MAY be something wrong with your body, you can just IGNORE IT! And keep doing the same unhealthy things you always do, instead of taking it as a warning and taking some time for yourself, to heal mentally, physically and emotionally and check your health with some professionals!” is a SUPER COMMON argument nowadays... Like, we are subtly normalizing the notion that we should “kill the symptoms instead of the disease” as a metaphor for society, not literally (most of the time), and that is, that we should find a way to ignore the consequences of our limitations, instead of rethinking our habit of constantly pushing ourselves to our maximum. We somehow managed to turn “give it your best” into an unhealthy culture!

I agree with giving your best as long as it’s in a healthy way. Because whenever it’s not healthy anymore, that is no longer “your best”, it’s now more than what your best really is. Makes sense right? I mean.. “your” best is not other people’s best! So “your” best is as far as you can go without hurting yourself! If it’s damaging you, then it’s beyond your limits! I mean, ask people who do sports, you shouldn’t force yourself beyond your limits, otherwise you may ruin your body! As an example, a story that runs in my family about a family friend who wanted to be a ballerina. She was in ballet class and couldn’t do the exercise properly because she couldn’t bend down enough. And then her teacher SAT DOWN ON HER BACK, putting her whole weigh on her spine, in order to push her down, and she literally had to go to the hospital! The teacher fucked up her back so badly with that she literally had to stop dancing and could never become a ballerina!

That’s what happens when we don’t respect our limits and the limits of those around us! And I feel like this is almost never taken seriously. Sometimes, if it’s about physical health, it gets some attention, but not as much as it should. Our society keeps expecting each day more and more out of people, not giving anyone the proper conditions to live a healthy life. Society doesn’t respect human limits. And this is not beautiful, this is not an example of “being a fighter” and being awesome and shit! I mean, yes, sometimes we must fight beyond out limits, give it more than we can, to overcome problems and all... And it’s not like this is not inspiring. But we shouldn’t see it as something so positive! The positive thing is not that the person went beyond their limit, but the fact that they survived it. The fact that they had to go beyond their limit should be tragic, it should be seen as a problem. They were in such a big pickle that they had to give it more than they could, good thing it worked! That’s how we should see it! But instead we kinda set those examples as the norm, as the goal. If they did it, you can to it too! Yeah, maybe I can, perhaps, but should I?

Don’t get me wrong, again, this involves reinterpreting several common-place sentences such as 1 “being a fighter“, 2 “give it your best”, 3 “you can do it too”... I’m not saying those are inherently negative, destructive or toxic sentences. Far from that! In fact, used in the proper context, those are great sentences that can be super inspiring and true! But I think we are witnessing some sort of radicalization of those sentences, turning them into unhealthy statements that, instead of saying 1 “we recognize and admire your effort and the fact you overcame such a tough situation”, 2 “don’t hold back for fear or laziness, do the best you are physically, mentally and emotionally able to do right now” and 3 “you should try to do it because I believe in your potential, another person has done it before, so it’s not impossible”, are saying 1 “This person who suffered a lot is better than you for that reason, so you must suffer too and that’s beautiful”, 2 “I don’t care if it’s hurting, keep going! I don’t care if you feel like dying, it’s not good enough yet, you have to do better and better and better” and 3 “If one person made it once, everyone is expected to do it as well, doesn’t matter if you’re a different person with different traits. Just. Do it.” - You see the difference? It’s turning good things and positive messages into destructive and toxic thoughts that can be extremely unhealthy for us.

Yeah I know I’m over-interpreting. I know it’s “just an add for a painkiller”. I know it’s intended for situations like “oh you have a headache at work so you can take it not to feel pain”. I’m not saying that the add or whoever made it is actively trying to transmit the message I criticized above. And I’m totally not saying people should go home every time they have a headache or anything such. I just... I just really can’t disassociate this aspect of our society and how it generally promotes unhealthy practices in the benefit of companies and economy and whatever (capitalism in general) with this kind of speech that is so common in painkiller adds, energetic drinks adds, coffee adds and other adds... As well as in those “beautiful: girl works collecting trash everyday to pay for her mother’s cancer treatment” news we sometimes get...

Also... Nothing against taking painkillers, by the way. Specially because no one really likes feeling pain, and not every pain is serious enough to actually stop you from doing what you want/must. What I really dislike is the way it is put in the add. What I dislike is this weird subtext that seems to be present in this add. I don’t like this association of sentences - we don’t like to stop, we don’t have time for pain - as if they were 1- cause and consequence and 2- universally relatable as cause and consequence.

Anyway. I’m sorry if this whole thing made no sense to you, I know this is over-thinking and I know this is rather negative, so I’m really sorry if you chose to read the text and it somehow made you feel sad or anything. I’ll try to compensate by leaving a cute cat picture! And I hope you can feel better.

I just want to add that the reason why I write those huge texts all the time, often criticizing stuff, is because it’s good for me. It works really well for me to relieve stress and take negativity out of my chest. I just don’t really want to take it out of my chest to put it in someone else’s, so I hope no one feels bad because of this. I really like to write about things when I feel frustrated and mad, it really calms me down and makes me feel better.

Anyways.... Have a lovely cat, please! And I hope you have a good day! (Also take care of your physical, mental and emotional health please)

#triggers #overthinking #social analysis #criticizing #negativity #bad mood #mental health #health #society sucks though #adds #vent post #triggering content #may be triggering #warning

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otterbagel · 5 years

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Not a Copy- RK800-60 (Colin) x Reader

Reader has been working at Cyberlife on a deviancy-safe version of their most advanced android, but that doesn’t stop the reader from becoming attached.

(Notes: THIS IS SO LONG. I didn’t even realize how much I’d written until I checked it on the word counter. 2.7 thousand! Anyway, I love this cocky dork. I really like the dynamic I have for the reader and him, I hope it came through somewhat in my rambles. May write another part for this at some point. Also, I used the name Colin because it seems to be the most common name for him.)

Warnings: Tense situations, some curse words.

The commotion on your floor, although muffled, was frantic. Coworkers yelling at the prospect of being fired, gentle cries of those who were now a part of the giant unemployed statistic, and others simply discussing the radical chain of events over the past week.

Despite all of this, you absentmindedly stared at the ground, gently tapping at your cup as you covered your mouth with your hand in your office chair. A muted news feed was pulled up on your computer, showing the standoff between the androids and military outside a recall camp. Every android produced by Cyberlife was supposed to be immediately destroyed. The company, if it survived the next few hours, would be downsized almost completely.

And yet, you had not been terminated.

Once most of your floor was unceremoniously kicked from the company, you had expected your call to arrive in the next hour. After-all, you hadn't done much for the company. You had only been here for half a year. Many loyal employees had been thrown out, why not you? As you hid from the others, who were likely highly emotional, you came to one conclusion.

The nature of your work.

Aside from some small coding jobs between household androids, you had only received one big project. It wasn't even really your project. You was supposed to refine an already existing model's code, to make it more obedient. It had struck you as odd; why was an android not being obedient in the first place? Where were these opposing orders coming from? Either way, you did as you were told.

It was only when this 'Android Revolution' started, did you realize why this was needed. The prototype that was being used to hunt deviants was a highly advanced abstract thinker. The likelihood of him becoming a deviant was too high to let him go without some sort of check in place.

A polite knock at the door caused you to jolt, nearly spilling your drink everywhere. You gripped it with both hands as you calmed from your near heart attack. "Come in," you called, shaking as you set the cup on your table. You sighed as your RK800 model entered and closed the door. "Geez, Colin, you scared me to death."

"Hello. And I apologize," he greeted, standing beside you. "I've heard that many Cyberlife employees have been terminated. Are you one of them?"

You shook your head, looking at the news and back to him. "Not sure. They haven't called me yet."

He nodded. "That's nice."

You picked up a pen and laid back in your chair as you caught a glimpse of the recall center. Their skinless bodies were hard to see with the thick layer of snow on the the ground. The image made you uncomfortable.

You noticed Colin watching the screen intently, head turned slightly to the side like a curious animal. You raised an eyebrow as a question came to mind. "How does that make you feel?"

"I can't feel anything. I'm not alive." he responded, not moving his attention from the screen.

You rolled your eyes, playing with the pen. "Okay, then what do you think of all of-" you pointed to the screen. "-that."

He parted his lips as he briefly looked at you. "Well, I find it to be quite the waste of technology," he joked. "but I understand the circumstances." He sat down in the chair you had reserved for him, which made you smile. He didn't need to sit down, chat with you, or even visit you. But he did. And it meant a lot to you.

But you felt... unsure.

He looked back to you, clearly noticing your discomfort. He smiled. "You know, if I was deployed, we'd have Markus by now."

You chuckled. "Big words for someone who's never been out of these walls," you retorted.

He shrugged. "Its what I was designed to do."

You both returned to watching the screen. You used to worry that you had failed in preventing this RK800 from deviating. No matter how many code edits you made, no matter how many cognition tests you ran, you could never make the human qualities go away.

And, after a while, you stopped trying.

The last time you had tried, you had been working overtime well into the night. After becoming frustrated with his code, you basically had a breakdown. After he calmed you, you realized how much he meant to you. You didn't want him to lose the qualities that made him the way he was.

Deep down, you wanted him to become deviant. It took you a long time to identify that feeling. You didn't even know if it was possible after all your efforts to prevent it, but you could hope.

When had you started rooting for the deviants? When did you start accepting that they were feeling emotions? When had you started calling Colin a he instead of an it? You wasn't sure on any of those things.

You heard a knock at the door, Colin and you both rising from your chairs in anticipation. "Come in," you yelled, taking a nervous look at Colin in the process. Your boss, Rodger Bailey, entered the room.

While most of your department was full of quirky but quiet individuals, Rodger was the exact opposite. He was wearing an overly formal suit along with a stoic expression, eyes trained on you.

"Hello, Mr. Bailey." you greeted, fiddling your hands together.

"Yes," he greeted you. "I'm sure you're aware of the... state of things." he motioned with his eyes towards your desktop.

You nodded, looking over. Things were mostly the same since you last checked. Colin stood off to the side silently, arms held politely behind his back.

He breathed in. "I wanted to tell you that, as we expected, the RK800-51 went deviant."

"It did?"

"Yes. This is where your work comes in. Have that-" he pointed at Colin. "Destroy the -51 model. We believe its going to be here soon." You looked at Colin, who kept an emotionless expression as he watched Bailey.

"What's going to happen to the company after all this?" you questioned.

Bailey furrowed his brows, looking at you like you were insane. "Cyberlife is over. Whether or not this whole 'revolution' pans out doesn't matter. No consumer will trust us anymore. All that's being decided on is if androids will be destroyed or not." He stated. There was moment of silence before he turned around. "Have a good night." He left the room without hearing your response, shutting the door quietly behind him.

You stared at the floor as you lightly touched your lips. What he had said repeated itself in your mind. If androids didn't get their rights, all androids would be scrapped. If they did get their freedom, then would Colin get caught up in his orders?

Colin called your name gently, moving his head to enter your view of the floor. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yes," you responded, noticing his fervent observation. This whole situation made you feel awful. Why did you have to get so attached to him?

He straightened his posture. "Do you want me to start my mission now?"

You gulped.

You had no good excuse as to why he couldn't. He was perfectly fit for the task; you had spent the last half a year making sure of that. Your only reasons were from your newfound agreement with deviants and your feelings towards him.

You held your breath, staring the confused android in the eyes. "I... I don't want you to get hurt." you choked out finally, alarmed at the words escaping your mouth. Colin's eyes widened.

"What?"

You struggled to speak again. "I know, its crazy- especially how I work on androids for a living," you laughed out in a panic. "But you made me think differently. I know you're alive. And so are all of them out there!" You pointed to the screen, on the verge of tears.

He mumbled your name before gesturing to his chest. "I'm a machine. I'm built to be used by humans. That's all I'm for."

You knew he would say something like that. You knew it was pointless. You hated this situation. The other RK800 had to die because you had forced Colin to live as a machine. This was al-

"Please don't cry." Colin spoke quickly, putting his hands on your shoulders. You wiped your eyes quickly, not realizing that they had become wet. He enveloped you in a hug.

"Yeah," you smiled, patting him on the back as you sniffled. "JUST a machine. Sure, Colin." You felt him smile against your shoulder, which helped calm you down.

The situation seemed hopeless.

You ran through a bunch of different scenarios in your mind, all of which you concluded were impossible or unlikely to succeed. Your room was probably being watched closely in case you tried something brash, so you couldn't just sneak him out. If you refused to send him out, then a higher up would likely do it instead. If you managed to somehow get him to go deviant right now, then practically the whole company would know immediately and have him destroyed. You pulled away from him, watching his face as he inspected you.

An idea.

You pulled away to head to your desktop, Colin watching you from over your shoulder. Your typing was littered with mistakes as you hurried to find the information you needed; you didn't have much time before others would wonder why Colin hadn't started his mission yet.

"What are you searching for? I may be able to find it faster," he asked, fairly monotone.

You pointed at the screen in an accusatory way. "Bring him here. Connor would probably give up if Anderson was in danger." You showed him a file on the partner Connor had been assigned to. If you could make Colin have a similar experience as Connor, maybe he would turn to deviancy.

Colin nodded his head. "That's a good strategy," he responded.

"Don't forget to download all of his memories as well. You may need them to convince Anderson to accompany you."

"Of course." he replied. "Do you wish for me to begin now?"

You sighed, lightly touching his fingertips with your own. "Please be careful." He watched you with a gentle smile. "You can go."

After Colin had headed out, you resigned yourself to silently watching the news. It wasn't looking good for the deviants. You exhaled with anxiety as you looked over the report on Anderson. It appeared he and the RK800 had a fairly good partnership. You hoped it wasn't about to end.

You decided to skim through some of the things Connor had uploaded. You rolled through the page with the wheel of your mouse, gently chewing on your thumbnail.

Your heart stopped.

Almost all of it was case related. No surprise there, honestly. But you had expected some personal experiences or memories, but there was nothing save for some of Anderson's opinions. You rubbed your face with a groan. You messed up. For someone who wanted to help deviants, you seemed to be doing everything in your power to make them fail.

You took a look at Colin's memory. There was a lot of menial things in there; various tools you used on him, different parts of the building you had taken him to, and some dietary information on your meals. You snickered at the differences between the RK800s. When you remembered the situation, you just looked over the meaningless information about you with a solemn feeling in your gut.

You mulled over everything you two had done together over the months, realizing how empty it all would've been without him. He turned boring coding scripts into your favorite memories. How he would always badger you at mealtimes about how unhealthy it was. You always found solace with him and no one else.

You would lose the most important part of your life if something happened to him.

You jumped out of your chair, checking his location. He was already back, probably with Anderson. You switched off your computer and sped out your door. As much as you wanted to sprint, it would definitely arouse suspicion from your already angry coworkers.

You hit the button of the elevator, calling it up. What was Connor planning on doing here? You chewed on your lip as you anticipated the upcoming car. He likely wouldn't plan on interacting with the higher ups; he should know they would be heavily guarded. You stepped in as the doors opened.

The warehouse?

"Floor -49." you ordered the elevator, fiddling with your hands. It sped downwards quickly, but not quickly enough for your liking. What exactly were you planning on doing down here anyway? Catching Colin before he interacted with Connor? Preventing anyone from getting hurt? Helping the deviants?

As you started to slow down, the desired floor became visible. You stood close to the glass, peering down. An older man, who you assumed was Anderson, was standing with his back to you. Two RK800s were standing in front of him, both of them watching you descend on the elevator. One of them said something as the doors opened, causing Anderson to turn halfway to watch both you and the androids.

"Who the fuck are you?" he yelled, motioning the gun he was holding at you. You took a slow step out with your hands raised.

"I-I'm a Cyberlife employee," you stuttered, trying to keep your voice steady. You eyed both the androids. It was too far to identify their serial numbers. "I want everyone to get out of this alive."

"Why should I trust you, exactly?"

You slowly approached, trying to walk around to get to the RK800s. They both seemed equally interested in watching you. "I made a mistake." you said simply, paying little attention to the gun trained on you. You were inspecting the jackets. -51 and -60.

That one was Colin.

You sped up your pace, keeping your hands raised as you walked in front of Colin. "HEY, HEY, HEY!" you heard behind you. You stood steadfast in front of Colin, Connor beside you looking confused as he backed away. You gritted your teeth as you stared down the barrel of the pistol, slightly transfixed as you lowered your arms.

Colin scolded you with your name. "Why are you down here?!"

You flipped your head around to look at him. "I couldn't just let you die like this." He looked as though he was about to argue, but stopped when he took in the desperation on your face. He put a hand into yours. "Colin, abort mission."

Anderson slowly lowered his gun to a more neutral stance, still keeping a close eye on the two of you. You turned to face Colin as your breathing calmed. He looked both angry and exhausted, which was weird for an android. "Why didn't you just let me finish my mission? You could've gotten hurt." he whispered forcefully.

You pointed a finger into his chest. "YOU could've gotten hurt!" you shot back, taking brief note of Connor interacting with a warehouse android.

"That doesn't matter." he mumbled, crossing his arms.

"It matters to me!" you hissed, getting fed up with the months of similar arguments. "You mean a lot to me. I can't believe you couldn't pick that up. Aren't you supposed to be a detective or something?" His eyes widened, appearing shocked.

"Whoa, calm it down lovebirds," joked Anderson behind you, causing embarrassment to wash over you quickly.

"I'm sorry if I caused you to worry," Colin responded. You chewed on your lip. "You mean a lot to me as well. I didn't want my actions to affect you negatively. However, it appears that happened despite my precautions."

"No, I wanted you to deviate. I want you to be happy. I just want you to be with me!" you beamed, him looking equally as enthused as you held your hands together.

Connor flipped around as all the surrounding androids came to life. "I just got an update from Markus," he looked between your group. "They're backing off and the camps have been closed. We won."

"Really!?" you exclaimed, bouncing up and down. "You get to be free!"

Colin looked amused. "Does that mean I get to fix your diet?"

"Wait, no-"

#dbh #dbh colin #dbh rk800-60 #dbh rk800-60 x reader #dbh colin x reader #dbh x reader

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