A-change-of-scenery

Here is a thing that is excellent about sex work

It’s a big part of the accessibility of the industry generally, and one of the pragmatic reasons that fighting lateral whorephobia is so important.  

You always, to a greater or lesser extent, have the ability to change the way you work.  Which is not to say that all changes are equally feasible for all workers at all times (that obviously being impacted by the sorts of privilege to which one has access), but the pool of sex work is exponentially larger than that of most civilian fields.  

If you’re a nurse, and you fuck up in some way, you might have your license revoked and never be allowed to nurse again at all.  Or you might simply destroy your reputation and have no way to access a clean slate.  With sex work, a change of scenery, a change of hair, or even just a change of stage name, and bam, you can be right in the land of “if only I knew then what I know now.” You can raise your rates, you can lower your rates, you can change what services you offer and to whom.  There’s no limit to how many times you can do this, at least as far as the general market goes.  (Gosh, even if your goal is to work in one specific venue and you blow it, a couple of years later it’s  likely that the entire staff will have turned over.) You can be a dancer today and a fetish worker a year from now and an agency escort last month, and maybe do a bunch of those things at the same time. Far more so than other fields, you can do the thing that best meets your particular needs in a particular moment. 

And what this does, contrary to the a lot of the weird aspirational blogging about carefully crafting your persona that’s going around, is give you time.  As long as you have enough to meet your needs right now, you can always figure out how to optimize tomorrow.  

What I’m saying is: don’t fucking shit on people for not businessing the way you business. 

awolfinthedarkness asked:

Why would you want live in England?? It is'nt that great over here.

If for nothing else, I could go out in public and listen to everyone talk in English accents. :) No, but seriously, where I live now isn’t great either. I would absolutely love a change of scenery, and I’ve always wanted to visit England.

It was nice to have a change of scenery for once, hence why he was working out in a gym today instead of at home like usual. He grunted, sending jab after punch into a punching bag hanging from the ceiling in one section of the gym. He hadn’t noticed anyone watching him.

@halfxblxxd || continued from X

Isabella crossed her arms, her finger tapping her glasses frames impatiently as he went to put some clothes on, “When I thought a change in scenery would be nice, this is definitely not what I had in mind.”

Her gaze was bland when she put her glasses back on to see he hadn’t even bothered to dress himself completely. Regardless, at least he had some pants on, “My sex life has nothing to do with your genitalia, I’d rather you didn’t mix the two, please.” She sighed and rubbed her temple, “I didn’t come here to fight either.”

I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself - as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What’s missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I’m still the same old incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I guess that lack itself is as close as I’ll come to defining myself.
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I always feel like I’m struggling to become someone else. Like I’m trying to find a new place, grab hold of a new life, a new personality. I guess it’s part of growing up, yet it’s also an attempt to reinvent myself. By becoming a different me, I could free myself of everything. I seriously believed I could escape myself - as long as I made the effort. But I always hit a dead end. No matter where I go, I still end up me. What’s missing never changes. The scenery may change, but I’m still the same old incomplete person. The same missing elements torture me with a hunger that I can never satisfy. I guess that lack itself is as close as I’ll come to defining myself.
—  Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun
A Change of Scenery [Sibby, Haaki]

Haaki arrived at Sibjorn’s house later than intended. Apparently, and he didn’t have a clue as to why, the sight of someone hurrying as fast as his legs would carry him through the streets of Windhelm, keeping his face hidden, casting shifty glances from one side to the other and flinching whenever he came close to catching the eye of a Dunmer, made him look “suspicious” and “worthy of questioning”. It took a good fifteen minutes to persuade the guard that no, he was not engaged in any nefarious activities, and once released he cleared the street to Sibby’s front door at a run.

Composure, though. That was important. No matter what curses he wanted to mutter against the city and everyone in it, he had the Honour of the Priesthood to uphold, or something like that. Appearing tidy in front of Sibjorn couldn’t hurt, either, although that was of course nothing but a pleasant side-effect. He stopped on her step and did his best to flatten his hair, patting it aimlessly with a hand, before rapping on the door. After a pause he called,

‘A moment of your time, Madame, to discuss the word of Stendarr?’

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A Change of Scenery | FanFiction

Update - Chapter 18: Welcome Home

Hiccup left Berk in search of a change. He didn’t expect to meet Astrid, a local  student, who threw his world upside down. But are things as they appear?

Modern AU. Rated M.

A taste: 

Astrid yawned as she padded toward the stove. She set on the kettle and reached up into the cabinet and pulled down two mugs. She poured a spoonful of black instant coffee into each one. There was a sluggishness in her movements that irked him. It was off. 


“Maybe one day we can upgrade to a legit coffee maker.” Astrid leaned on the counter while the water heated. 


“Maybe,” Hiccup sighed. 


“Or maybe a percolator. They make the best coffee.” Astrid sighed. Her voice was distant. 


“What’s a percolator?” 


“It’s a kettle thing that you set on the stove and it brews the coffee right inside. The countertop coffee pots don’t get the water hot enough. We used to have one. The entire house would smell like coffee.” 

“What happened to it?” Hiccup asked. 


Astrid’s distant expression shifted. Her eyes settled on him. There was a ferocity that he hadn’t seen before, a defensive shield, and it made him swallow and forget whatever he’d been thinking. 


“What are you staring at?” Astrid asked, straightening at the counter. Her gaze softened. She still looked half asleep and her normal radiance was dimmed.
“Oh, um…nothing.” Hiccup said quickly. Heat rushed to his face. 


“Are you sure?” Astrid asked, leaving the kettle and sauntering toward him, purposefully swinging her hips with sultry grace. She stopped in front of him and swung her legs over either side of his lap, sitting, and slid her hands around his shoulders. 


His heart was thundering wildly in his chest. Astrid leaned in slowly and brushed her lips against his. His sharp inhale was as involuntary as the blood surging to his groin. In these pajamas pants there was no way it would go unnoticed. As if knowing his thoughts she wiggled her hips on his lap. 


“Astrid,” Hiccup whispered. 

When I was 17 I thought I knew what love was and I thought I had it but love doesn’t mean anything when it’s not reciprocated and you’re being used as a change of scenery from his boring life. It’s not love when he tells you to just go to bed when you can’t stop crying at 3 am.
It’s not love if you don’t feel secure or safe. It’s not love when you’re scared to say it because you know they’ll leave. It’s not love when he leaves even though you didn’t say it.

Two years later and I now know that love is waiting anxiously for the weekends to see him standing in the lobby of your apartment building when go to let him in. Its his hand resting gently on your thigh while you sit in the car. It’s waking up to his sleepy face and smiling at his quiet snores while he keeps dreaming. When hearing him say he loves you for the first time almost knocks the wind right out of your lungs in the best way possible. Love is standing in the back of a shitty venue grinning uncontrollably while watching him scream the words to his favorite songs with the biggest smile on his face. It’s being able to wake him up at 3 am because you can’t stop the crying or the shaking. It’s him sitting with you accepting your constant ‘im sorry’s while you try to relax. It’s him telling you it’ll be okay until you fall asleep. Love is knowing he’d do anything to make it okay. It’s knowing that it will be okay because he loves you.