“I came to America when I was six years old. Mom said she brought us here so that we’d have opportunities in life. She said that back in the Bahamas, it’s only the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots.’ She wanted us to have more choices. But I don’t think she fully understood how things work here. She was a news reporter back in the Bahamas. But the only job she could get here was taking care of oldpeople. My dad could only work construction. We moved to four different states just so they could find work. They always told me, ‘Just study hard in school and everything will work out fine.’ So that was my plan. I got all A’s up until the 11th grade– except for one B in math. My goal was to get top twenty in my class, then go to college, then get a degree, and then get a job. I realized the truth my senior year. My guidance counselor told me I couldn’t get a loan. I couldn’t get financial aid. Even if I could find a way to pay for school, I probably couldn’t get a job. I felt so mad at everyone. There were some kids who completely slacked off in school, but even they were going to college. I started having panic attacks. My dad told me not to worry. He called me a ‘doubting Peter.’ He invited all his friends over to a fish fry to help raise money. And he did get $3,000. But that wasn’t enough. So I searched really hard on the Internet and found the Dream.us scholarship. My mom was so excited when I got it. They’re paying for me to go to Queens College. Now my mom’s really scared again because DACA got revoked. She’s crying all the time at work. I try to tell her that no matter what happens, we’re not going to die. We just might have to start over.”
here are a bunch of fucking fantastic fics I’ve enjoyed and loved reading throughout the month of october. I recommend that you read these great fics in november, if you haven’t already!! also check out theReverse Big Bang and31 Days of Smut!
(all fics with a star are my favorites and if there are two stars then it was a favorite favorite)
“Why is this face of beauty ringing so true?” The genuine confusion in Harry’s voice causes Louis’ chest to painfully twinge. “You’re a complete stranger in my eyes, William Shakespeare, but not in my heart. How is that possible?”
Louis wants to live out every romance plot he has ever written in his own life. He wants to be the protagonist of his own narrative, the hero who finds true love and gets his happy ending. Instead, Louis is stuck with only dreaming of such wild fantasies and writing them down. He can create entire romances in his dreams, yet he can never live one.
Harry Styles was eight years old when Louis Tomlinson kept him from falling into a machine in a Manchester textile mill. He was 18 years old when nothing, not even the threat of death, could keep Harry from falling in love with Louis.
It happened so slowly, most didn’t even realise it was
The disappearance of the Fairy Godmothers.
Nobody knows where they went, but then again nobody bothered
to ask. It seemed as though they’d always been there, so it wasn’t
much of a surprise that no-one asked where they went until it was too late to
get an answer.
After all, the world was a big place and growing bigger every year. There were so many people. More than when the Fairy Godmother’s had
More people than they ever hope could help.
Magic could only do so much
when they were so vastly outnumbered.
What was once commonplace became a lottery of sorts. Who
would be amongst those lucky enough to meet a Fairy Godmother? To have all
their dreams come true? Their problems solved? Who were the haves and who were
It didn’t matter how good a person was, all that mattered
was being in the right place at the right time, crying the right amount of
Really, it was inevitable that the backlash against Fairy
Godmothers would rise over time, as the world grew bigger and fewer people got
a chance at a magical happily ever after.
People always want a quick fix for their problems.
Yet, in the midst of the uproar, the anger, the envy, people
forgot that Fairy Godmothers were people too. Of course, they weren’t entirely
human, so it was easy to strip them of said humanity, to see them as these
beacons of fate, handing out happily-ever-afters on a whim and leaving the rest
of the population to rot.
It was easy to forget the fairies who had raised their
children in secret.
Easy to forget the ones who loved and watched over the
orphaned ones, as though they were their own.
Easy to forget the ones who protected them against the
darker forces in the world, as well as those who wielded them.
Until, one day, people began to notice that it had been weeks
since they’d spotted the familiar flutters of sparkling wings. There were no
whispers of magical happenings at peoples’ doors, no rumours to spread. Cries for help
went unanswered for everyone. It seemed at last that the world was equal- at
least in terms of those hated magical shortcuts.
Some celebrated a return to fairness, others felt stabs of
guilt at having pushed an entire group of beings into hiding. A few hoped they’d
come back if only to help those less fortunate- who now seemed to be suffering
more than ever in the fairies absence.
(There were certain murmurs among the younger folk, those
who had been too small to ever be graced by fairies power, about how vocal those in
positions of power had been in their hatred for the Fairy Godmothers. But
those criticisms were quickly squashed by those who were louder, older,
Weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and soon
Fairy Godmothers were a distant memory. They became nothing more than stories
to tell dazzled children, all with the understanding that Fairy Godmothers weren’t
real- that if their children wanted a happily ever after, they would have to
earn it like their forefathers before them.
Fairy Godmothers didn’t exist.
And their children would just have to accept that and move
Previous researchers had theorized that tax evasion was likely much more common at the top of the wealth spectrum. Not only can the superwealthy afford expensive offshore services that help them hide their earnings, they are also less likely to have to disclose to the government in the first place.
Top earners are more likely to be self-employed, and thus have the burden of reporting their own income. In contrast, lower-income people typically earn wages, which in the United States are reported directly to the government by an employer in the form of W-2s. Among wage earners, rates of tax evasion are almost zero, Zucman says.
In addition to providing new insight into the nature of tax evasion, the researchers say their findings probably mean that economists have significantly underestimated inequality. If the top 0.01 percent have 30 percent more wealth than their tax returns indicate, that puts far more distance in the yawning wealth gap between the haves and have-nots.
“It increases measured inequality quite substantially,” said Zucman.
For Zucman, the findings imply that governments are missing out on a lot of revenue that is being hidden by the super wealthy.
‘My car broke down up the road and you’re the only one in this gas station, please give me a lift home because I left my wallet and phone in my car’ AU
‘You were passed out at the side of the road so I picked you up and now we’re stopped in a local gas station until I know you’re okay’ AU
‘I wasn’t intending to pick up a hitchhiker but you just launched yourself at my car so I feel giving you a lift is the least I could do after almost hitting you’ AU
‘You said you were giving me a lift back home and I’m sure we’re just driving in circles now. Are you trying to keep me talking to you?’ AU
‘I’m stranded by some random road in the middle of nowhere and I left my phone in my car but thought I could remember my (family member/friend)’s number but it turns out I’ve phoned you so, uh, do you think you could give me a lift home?’ AU
‘I saw you passed out in this heat and didn’t know what to do so I just parked my car and sat by your side. Do you need a lift?’ AU
summer tropes +
you are drunk and rambling on about how nice the angle of my elbows are at this music festival but I can’t find your friends and I’ve lost mine, wanna spend the rest of the night getting drunk and dancing together??
It’s always Mary who’s getting her into trouble. Detentions, fights, blind dates…
But this time’s different.
This time they’re at the Leeds Festival, both completely hammered and belting out the words to One Direction’s ‘Kiss You’. She doesn’t even like them, but when Mary bought her drink number two and started spitting out the lyrics (literally the whole song, not even one word misplaced) to Outkast’s Hey Ya they somehow ended up on boy bands.
Now Mary’s arm is around her waist and they’re grasping onto their cups like it’s their life support. Lily hiccoughs and then suddenly Mary is crying.
Her boyfriend of ten months broke up with her last week. He’s been cheating on her for about two weeks and she only found out because she rang his phone and, of course, who should answer but this girl who says that said boyfriend is in the shower.
“D’ya know he rang asking for my forgiveness?” Mary sobs, gulping down another drink. “That rotten scumbag had the acidity to wait no… the - the adadcity?”
“Aud-acity. ‘Sjust think of the car.”
A group of people in flower crowns walk past at this moment, each biting into a hot dog or kebab or hamburger respectively.
When was the last time she ate?
Lily’s stomach churns at the thought but she’s got no idea if that’s out of hunger or nausea. She decides to sniff the air, the crisp wonderful and gross smell of barbecue and dripping fat with a portion of chips on the side sounds… amazing.
“Y’know what I need?” Her friend’s voice rings out in her ears. It’s a faint voice compared the noise of the festival around them, but being best mates for seven years means she’s now accustomed the soft song of Mary MacDonald.
“A nice juicy hamburger?”
“That too. But also a… a toe-curling and heart palpitating snog.”
I have iron in my forearms which makes my blood shine to those who draw it and you have magnetic poles; sterling bars all across your quite covetous treasures.
I have porcelain shards jangling inside of my shoes because this bluntly forceful, traumatic world unsettles me so vastly, I’d burn myself at both ends just to light a fire in you and feel some semblance of warmth.
I want to have this whole but
I have to be more slip of slide instead of teeter of totter, not a teether or a bother, and a lot more of lever and too little of lover. I cannot pretend forever.
I would hold on too tightly to your bone shoulder blades, cut my fleshy hands, and have deep lacerations from all love’s fractures and all life’s faultlines.
And despite all of that,
I have a lighthouse vantage point in constant search for you through thickets of filth and fog and you have house light eyes that yield me when of blackened state and welcome me with your warm glow.
Anyone reading this i just ask a simple favor. Share with me some of your favorite music. The band that saved your life. The song that makes you cry your eyes out. The music that makes you who you are. Your own band or even someone sitting in their bedroom playing an instrument and singing. Please share it with me. I love all music and want to know what everyone else likes. I want new music to listen to but i also want to meet excellent people who dig good tunes. Lately ive been big on the dead south, the have nots, Neko Case, and Andrew WK. Share with me. Music unites us all.
Andrew Chumbley is the founder of something known as Sabbatic Witchcraft, which sounds cool and like exactly the sort of thing many of us tradition witches are aiming for.
All his texts are exclusively published in small, expensive editions. Lots of movers and shakers in the scene refer to having read them.
Personally, I think paying for religious enlightenment has an ugly history. I don’t think a tradition which requires giving money to a founder deserves the name “sabbatic”, as traditional witches were so often the outcast and marginalised. I think his books reinforce the idea of there being magical have and have nots - and you are a have not. While it is certainly true that some people do have great wisdom, I don’t think they should sell it; and while it is important to work hard and strive to improve and make sacrifices, I don’t think that should be expressed in something as mundane and unspiritual as “having lots of disposeable income”
I think you can learn most things worth knowing from peers and then directly from the spirit world by, say, taking lots of long walks in the woods and developing your personal sense of immanence and reflection. The idea of owning status symbol grimoires is a distraction from the sort of active work one needs to be doing to improve at anything. So does the idea that individuals such as Chumbley are very wise and have access to information that you need to pay for: it is a blow to your self confidence, the ballsiness and unshakable sense of mastery one needs to do good magic.
I think referring vaguely to Chumbley as an authorirty when few of us have the ability to engage critically with his ideas is bunk, and so is having to pay a bunch to discover whether his ideas are bunk, and so is referring to having them - without talking in detail about his ideas - as a way to bolster ones own status.
Fuck Chumbley. Fuck the whole Scarlet Imprint thing.