I can’t tell you why it happened to me, but I know that I’m Muslim. I have an Arabic name. And even though I represent Team USA and I have that Olympic hardware, it doesn’t change how you look and how people perceive you.
So if this is the typical everyday behaviour of Nigerians. Should we really be willing to import these people and let them roam the streets of our countries. Do we want to see our villages and cities be reduced to ghettos and no-go zones?
Wake up Europeans!
This is what our near future holds if we don’t demand change.
Homogeneous Fantasy Races: So. You’ve got your world. You’ve got your cultures and peoples. You’ve got their countries and their governments. You’re even able to describe them when asked: “They’re a [this] kind of people, characterized by [this look, this skin tone, these eye and hair colors].” That’s great, because your audience can all of a sudden immediately identify where a person is from based on how they look. … Yeah. Great. Because our world looks like that. Ever. Where are the people who’ve moved, the people whose parents moved? Where’s the cultural diffusion and people who don’t always wear their nationality on their sleeve? “This person is [from here], clearly! Look at their [coloration].” Please stop. It’s so, so common for fantasy stories to have the market-towns as their stage, where the diversity of their other cultures more easily comes to the foreground because these towns are where people naturally congregate for a purpose, but it’s unrealistic for all travelers ever to only go to those towns. Please open up the border fences and stop thinking of your peoples as monoliths. Also, lose the “foreigner as a novelty” theme. Show me peoples that have taken in immigrants over the centuries, who no longer remember that they were immigrants, who call them one of their own. Show me peoples whose traditions have morphed over time as people from other places have come in and established their identities in this new place. Show me dynamic races that have grown and changed over time, that don’t feel as though they were established a decade ago.
First Person With Overly “Quirky” Narrative Styles: There’s nothing wrong with first person storytelling, so don’t get me wrong here. There are certain stories that crave the first person technique to be executed well. What I’m tired of are the crazy-strong, super prominent, usually dry and quippy and sarcastic voices that go with them and have over-saturated the story with that first person viewpoint. I know: “But Pear! That’s what they tell you to do so that your story stands out!” I get it. I do. But many of these voices, recently, have been too strong for me, too distracting to the story or prohibitive to my understanding of the world that they feel a bit forced. Not just that the persona is forced, but that I am being forced–forced to be an inhabitant of this world in order to understand the story or not to understand at all. The invitation in through the door is gone. Now, of course, this is personal preference. In fact, all of these “things I want to see” posts are pure personal preference. I’m exhausted by authors’ attempts to validate their choice of first person through the over-use of world-slang and catch phrases and dry cynicism. They want to provide a peek into this character’s head, but that attempt to show that voice inside doesn’t always feel natural to me or even deepen the breadth of worldbuilding. Show me characters who know their world but don’t require me to be a native. Show me first person narratives that have restraint in their delivery of worldbuilding so that I can learn it. Show me voices that are strong without requiring me to wear their skin. Show me comfortable characters that have some joy and want to share their world.
The Throes of Romance: Again, don’t get me wrong. There’s a time and place, and if you’re writing a romance story, there’d better be romance. I’m also not saying no romance ever. I’m just exhausted of reading a story and finding all the cliche little moments of a tell-tale budding romance between two characters. It seems to be the same phrases, the same internal conflicts, the same choices over and over and over. Generally, if a story has a male and a female protagonist, there will be a romance. I’m tired of it being a necessary check-box writers think they have to include in order to have a successful story. What you need is a compelling relationship between your characters; what that doesn’t mean is that it has to be romantic. And if you do want it to be romantic, find new ways to show it outside of the historical phrases. Show me more friendships that are strengthened or shredded by the events they go through. Show me more families who stand together despite that all Mom’s got to contribute is one hell of a swing with an old iron. Show me found family without the scenes upon scenes of sideways glances and admiring of jawlines and luscious hair in the breeze and turning away to allow them to change and the electric feeling of skin touching skin. Show me the depth two people can establish in a relationship without needing to go through the cliched romantic motions.
“Unser called. County’s issued warrants for me, Chibs and Tig. Murder of Veronica Pope and Leroys guy. APBs going wide.” Jax said. He sat around his dining table, Bobby and Gemma on his right and Tara on his left. Chibs was pacing the living room, his burner to his ear as he talked to Clay and Happy stood in the corner of the room next to Juice, listening as Jax spoke. “This guy bought those witnesses.” “I’ll call Lowen. If Pope got these people to lie we can prove that.” Tara said. “You cant turn yourselves in,” Gemma interrupted. “Pope did this to get you inside.” Bobby turned to Jax. “Black nation offs us in county, the kill never gets put on him.” Jax nodded, pondering Bobbys words and Chibs approached the table, having just got off the phone with Clay. “Jackie, sheriffs are at the clubhouse looking for us. Next stop is here.” “You’ve got to go, Jax.” Gemma said firmly. “No, you cant run thats insane!” Tara argued. “And getting chivved to death isn’t?” “Hes not gonna end up a fugitive, I’m sorry-“ “Hes not going to jail.” “We have two small boys!-” “Thats exactly the point and why he-“ “Stop!” Jax yelled. Tara and Gemma turned away from each other and looked at Jax. “You make sure you’re protected.” Gemma told her son. “Shes right.” Bobby said. Jax looked at him and they exchanged a a silent conversation while Jax pondered his options. “I know where you can go.” Happy spoke, interrupting the tension filled silence. Tara turned to him, her eyes filled with anger but Happy ignored her, looking only at his brothers. “You’ll be safe.” Jax glanced at Chibs before sliding back his chair. “Alright.” He said as he stood. “Dont do this.” Tara pleaded. “Jax, please.” He walked towards her and cupped her face in his hands, pulling her into a kiss. Bobby and Chibs eyed Happy suspiciously while Gemma stood with smug look on her face. “We’re dead if we go inside now. Stay here, take care of our boys. I’ll call you when I have a plan.” Tara sighed and Jax kissed her forehead before signalling to his brothers. “Lets go.” They all walked past Tara and Bobby threw her an apologetic look. Gemma followed them out of the house and Happy led the way to the bikes. One by one they all sat on their bikes and Happy took off first, leading the way to his safehouse.
The bikes pulled into a quiet street in the suburbs and Chibs, Juice, Jax and Bobby followed as Happy slowed his bike and pulled into a driveway. The house was a small cottage, the garden lined with rows of roses and a paved path set in the grass leading to a gate that opened to the backyard. A white picket fence bordered the neatly cut lawn of the front yard and red roses stood in contrast against the white fence. Jax sat on his bike and kicked out his kickstand, pulling off his gloves as he looked around the property. “Wait here.” Happy told his brothers. Jax nodded and turned to look at Chibs who looked just as confused as Jax. When Happy had said he had somewhere for them to hide out, no one had thought it would be.. well this. Who one earth did the Tacoma Killer know in the suburbs?!
They watched as Happy walked to a door on the side of the house and entered. A light turned on inside and the guys all looked. Through the window they could see the insides of the house, neatly decorated and they saw Happy walk into what looked to be the living room. A woman appeared in a doorway of the room. She held a child on her hip, no older than two and rubbed her heavily pregnant belly. Another child appeared beside her, a girl who looked aged around five and she hugged into her mothers waist. “What the fuck?” Juice whispered. Jax frowned as he watched the woman and her children standing in the doorway. Happy walked through the room towards her and through the window his brothers watched as he placed his hands on the curves of her bump, and kissed her lips. They guys all exchanged a look, confusion on all their faces. Happy spoke to the woman and leant over the child in her arms and pressed a kiss to its forehead before kneeling to the ground. The girl threw her arms around Happys neck and he lifted her, holding her tightly in his arms. One more child entered the room, a boy who looked slightly older than the girl and he stood nervously next to his mother. She ruffled his hair and he looked at Happy. Happy gave the girl he held one more kiss on the cheek before lowering her to the ground. He turned towards the boy and bent over, He reached his hand out and pinched the boys cheek, making him giggle and Happy ruffled his hair.
It was a contrast. This woman, clad in a night gown and surrounded by children and then Happy Lowman, standing in leather and his band of bikers waiting outside. The woman spoke to the children and both of them turned and left the room. Happy turned to her and she nodded. He walked to the side of the room where he had entered and the side door opened. “Come in.” Happy called. The boys slid off their bikes and walked towards Happy, exchanging confused looks as they walked to the door. “Take your shoes off.” Happy ordered. They all kicked off their boots and stepped inside. The house was warm and the smell of freshly baked cookies filled the air. It was spotlessly clean, all white walls and soft carpet and the decor was homely.
The woman they had seen through the window stood nervously in the corner, her arms wrapped protectively around the baby in her arms. She was beautiful, her eyes sparkling warmly despite her obvious nervousness and her hair was pulled back into a bun with loose strands hanging around her face. She had a light gown wrapped around her and she rubbed her belly instinctively. Happy closed the door and walked to stand by her side, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. “This is (y/n). My wife.”
“Can I get you guys a drink? Coffee, tea, beer?” “We’re fine, darlin.” Jax smiled at you. You nodded and smiled back warmly, placing the plate of cookies on the coffee table. Juice reached for them immediately and gave you a sheepish grin.
Happy patted his thigh and you walked towards him, where he sat in the armchair.
You sat on his lap and he draped an arm around your waist. You looked down at him and he smiled up at you and pulled you into a kiss. A blush rose to your cheeks and you cleared your throat, feeling the eyes in the room staring at you. “So your married?” Jax asked, interrupting the silence that had fallen. “Well, not legally.” You explained. “Happy didn’t want any trace on paper. Marriage license or birth certificates.” “Its to protect you.” “I know,” You rolled your eyes, smiling warmly. “But one day we’ll make it official.”
“She’s got my crow, and my ring. Just not my last name.”
You showed off your hand with the ring on your finger.
The boys shook their head in both shock and amazement. “They’re all your kids?” Bobby asked Happy. Happy smiled and ran a hand over your bulging belly. “Yup.” You felt your baby kick and Happys face lit up and you knew he had felt it too. “They don’t have my last name, but they’re all mine.”
”I didn’t want anyone to use my family as leverage. Didn’t want my family getting hurt cause of what we do.Its better this way.”
The men nodded, slowly coming to terms with Happys decisions. “Daddy?” You all turned towards the small voice and you smiled when you saw your daughter. She hid behind the wall, just her head poking out into the room. “Come here, baby.” Happy called. She smiled and stepped into the room. She glanced at the bikers sitting in the living room, unsure of what to make of so many unfamiliar faces. But Happy opened her arms and she grinned and ran across the room, crawling into Happys lap. You rolled your eyes and shifted, making room for your daughter next to you but there was a smile on your face. “Couldnt sleep?” You asked her. She shook her head. Her hands wrapped around Happys neck and he pecked the tip of her nose, making her giggle.
”You should be asleep, baby.” Happy growled, but there was no anger in his voice. Only love. The boys were still in shock and you hopped out of Happys lap. He lifted your daughter and gave you a kiss on the lips before carrying out of the room and taking her back to bed. You sat in his empty armchair. The men stared at you and you laughed at the stunned expressions on their faces “Why does he keep you a secret?” Jax asked you. You shrugged. “He just wants to protect me. Us.” “It doesn’t bother ye?” The Scotsman asked. You shook your head. “I know what he does for the Club. For you. I know why he keeps us a secret and I understand it. It comes from a good place.” “Yer a good lass.” You beamed at the Scot. “Im glad we got to meet you, sweetheart.” Bobby said. “Me too.” You smiled. “You’re all welcome to stay as long as you need.” “Thank you, darlin.” Happy walked back into the room and smiled at you as you talked with his brothers. He walked into the room and sat on the edge of your armchair, his arm draped over you and he ran his fingers along your pregnant belly, smiling widely to you. Juice sat in the corner of the room, watching the sight before him and shaking his head in amazement. “This is some Hannah Montana shit.”
President Donald Trump is set to ask for $1 billion to fund the first stage of his border wall, a chunk of change that will cover just 48 miles of new wall, CNN reported Tuesday.
The 48 new miles of border wall is a chunk so small it would just cover the length of Rhode Island — the smallest of the 50 states. Another chunk of the requested $1 billion is to repair 14 existing miles of border fencing. Read more. (3/28/17, 1:03PM)
I need god
Not like “invisible man in the sky” God
Not like “sitting for hours being told how to think” God
Not like “stand in line like the rest” God
I need “sitting in the park staring at birds” god
like “isn’t this life a trip” god
like “this moment right here” god
like “chocolate and laughter and orgasm and ocean waves and moments of connection” god
Like “billions of years this rock floated in space and here I am” god
Like “standing in Rite Aid and this baby looked right at me and just smiled” god
Like “look how we survive all the pain and still we heal” god
And y'all need to find god
If you tear people down
If you think I’m going to hell
for accepting and loving all the queer butch femme that I am
For wanting balance
for knowing that restricting myself
To fit into a black and white world is no way to live, really live
You need to find god if you condemn me
For not needing to be commanded
to love my neighbor
Not like “love the sinner hate the sin” love
I love you
Like “you have infinite complexity within you” love
Like “I hope you find peace of mind” love
But you need to find god
if you think you’re above anyone
Just because your colonized mind
tries to manifest destiny into my space
Just because you have a story
where I came from a man’s rib in a magic garden one day
I know a story too where
We were once born from primordial waters
We were once migrating from the Sahara
We were once charting the stars
Before the lie that is borders
and fences and ownership and greed
Before the lie than any one man held the truth,
some divine secret
As if all that power was for us
and not actually to own our devotion
Like you’d be rewarded after life
if you put up with suffering under their feet
instead of questioning that power
My problem is not with god, but with man
Have your faith if you choose
Let me find truth,
that’s all I need
I get closer to it every day,
I search for it
breath it in when I can
That’s all the god I need
Slovenes singing the national anthem: God’s blessing on all nations Who long and work for that bright day When o'er earth’s habitations No war, no strife shall hold its sway Who long to see That all men free No more shall foes, but neighbours be!