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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

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whoops ~ mark;midsommar

word count: 1358

request?: yes!

“Midsommar imagine with Mark where the reader has a crush on him and Dani ends up telling Mark on accident. And maybe some smut?”

description: in which her best friend accidentally lets it slip that she likes him to his face

pairing: mark x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist

The addition of alcohol to any of your friendly get togethers was always a bad idea. Something bad was bound to happen while you were all tipsy or drunk - a fight, the reveal of certain secrets, even just some tears being spilled. Regardless, drunk nights in your friend group never ended well, but, for some reason, you all continued to get drunk together.

This night wasn’t supposed to be a drunk night. The original plan was to get together and play some video games and just hang out. It had been a while since you had had a friend’s night, and it was finally winter break so there was no school for anyone to stress over.

When Josh arrived, he was carrying two cases of beer. “Fear not, the fun has arrived!”

“No!” Dani argued. “We agreed tonight was a no alcohol night, just video games and friends.”

“Come on,” Josh said. “Just have one if you’re that worried, but it’ll all be fine.”

You and Dani shared a look as the boys all grabbed a beer each and immediately started drinking. You had no desire to join your friends in drinking, you just wanted to have a fun time with your friends. Dani, on the other hand, got herself a beer and began sipping it slower than the boys.

Before you knew it, John, Christian, and Mark were full on drunk while Dani was tipsy. You were still painfully sober, and starting to regret being there. The boys were being very loud with their video games, and tipsy Dani was just laughing at their drunk antics. You were sat on the couch, wincing every time one of the guys was a little louder than they should be and Dani’s laugh would follow. You were starting to get a headache, and in general were just annoyed with the whole situation.

All attention was drawn to you as you stood and began collecting your things.

“Where are you going?” Dani asked, genuine concern on her face.

“Home,” you responded. “I’m not feeling well.”

“You haven’t even drank anything!” Christian pointed out. “And you haven’t played or anything. You’re gonna miss all the fun!”

“There’s nothing fun happening here,” you told him. “I told you guys I didn’t want to drink tonight, and being the only sober one with you drunk idiots is not my idea of a fun time.”

“Then crack open a bottle,” Josh suggested.

You groaned and rolled your eyes. There was no getting through to them right now, they were too drunk to think of anything besides drinking more. You had been in that situation with them too many times, but this time you would not cave.

You were pulling on your coat and getting ready to walk out the door when Dani suddenly said, “But you were so excited to spend tonight with Mark! You said you might even tell him how you feel!”

You stared at Dani with wide eyes as she realized what she had said through her drunken haze. She covered her mouth in shock as the boys finally came to understand what had been said.

So many emotions were running through you - anger, shock, sadness. Seeing the look on Mark’s face, an equally as shocked look, made your throat tighten and tears well in your eyes. You quickly turned and raced out of the house, fumbling with your keys through the blurry tears in your eyes.

“Fuck,” you said as you dropped your keys. You searched the dark ground for them as you heard someone coming from the house behind you. “Fuck off, Dani, I don’t want to talk to you right now!”

“It’s not Dani.”

You spun around to see Mark standing over you. You quickly looked away from him, hoping he didn’t see the tears running down your face. “I don’t want to see you right now either, no offence.”

“None taken. I figured I was the last person you wanted to see right now, but someone needed to come check on you.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted as you finally found your keys. “I just want to go home.”

“You don’t wanna talk about what just happened?” Mark asked.

You turned your back to him, unlocking your car for a quicker get away. “What? About the fact that my plans for the night were effectively ruined by my friend group of drunk idiots? Or the fact that my best friend just revealed my ultimate secret in front of the last person I ever wanted to know?”

“The latter, but I did wanna apologize for the former, too,” he responded. “I tried to tell Josh not to get the beer, but evidently he was told otherwise by Christian.”

“He would’ve got it even if we all told him not to bring it,” you said. “I don’t want to talk about any of this, I just want to go home.”

“I’m sorry that that’s how it had to come out, (Y/N). I know she didn’t realize what she was doing, but that was still shitty of Dani to do - ”

“I don’t wanna fucking talk about it, Mark!” you snapped, cutting him off. “It’s literally the last fucking thing I wanna talk about right now, and you’re the last person I want to talk to about it. You’re all drunk, all of you will forget this in the morning and then I’ll be back to harboring this secret that was never meant to come out tonight. I wasn’t even going to tell you tonight, I just told Dani that to get her off my back, and hopefully now she won’t even remember any of this.”

“So...she wasn’t just spouting some drunk bullshit then? You...you actually do like me?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “What does it fucking matter, Mark? It’s not like you like me back, and even if you did it’s not like you’d date me. I’m not your type, I’m not like the other drop dead gorgeous women you usually hook up with. If you want to know so you can run for the hills before I smoother you with my love, now is your chance. I won’t admit it again when you’re sober and don’t remember tonight.”

Before you could say anything else, Mark took your face in his and kissed you deeply. The kiss caught you off guard, so at first you pulled away. When it finally registered in your head that he had actually kissed you, you leaned back to connect your lips to his again. Mark ran his hands through your hair, pressing you as close to him as he possibly could.

You were so lost in one another when you heard someone cheer with excitement. When you both turned to look back at the house, you saw the curtain falling shut. Unsurprisingly, your friends had been watching you. You didn’t feel too upset about it, though. Quite the opposite really, you felt high with excitement in that moment.

“So...this isn’t some drunken shit, right? You...you mean it?” you asked, your heart beating so fast you were starting to feel dizzy.

Mark laughed and wrapped his arms around you. “If it’ll make you feel better, I promise to call in the morning when I’m whiny and hungover, but I promise this isn’t just a drunk thing. I’ve felt the same way about you for a long time, but I wasn’t sure how to tell you either.”

You settled into his arms, enjoying how right it felt to be there. You were shocked it had actually happened, that he had admitted to returning your feelings. You never had any plans to actually tell him the truth, but now that it was out there you felt so free, so happy.

“Do you still want to leave?” he asked, pulling away to look at you.

You nodded. “Yeah, I think after the scene that was caused, it’s best if I just go home and let everyone simmer down for the night.”

“Well, in that case, can I come with you?”

You couldn’t contain the smile on your face. “Of course, let’s go.”

#mark #mark imagine #will poulter #will poulter imagine #will poulter x reader #midsommar #midsommar imagine #imagine #one shot #request #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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sprawa-przybyszewskiej · 3 years

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Gnostic inspirations in Przybyszewska’s works

At the highest point of her intellectual life, Stanisława Przybyszewska spent over 12 hours each day simply on writing her own works, continously, and with maniacal care, educating herself on absolutely everything (she was constantly looking for fields in which she might be a natural genius) and she rarely did anything else at all, which included things like earning a wage or sweeping her own floors. The effect of such existence was of course that she was severely depressed, but also thoroughly educated. It means that traces of whatever matter from history or philosophy can be spotted in her works, are most likely intentional and put there exactly with the hopes of showing her erudice.

One of such matters was gnosticism. Gnosticism is a set of beliefs which put emphasis on obtaining liberation from this life through gnosis (knowledge) and cast aside all that is not of the mind – so not only the flesh, but also the spirit. Without going into details of some specific gnostic rite it is simpler to say that gnostics value gnosis higher than any of their base beliefs and teachings (in Europe gnostics are mostly mentioned in relation to early christianity, Cathars are an example of this). Then the contrast one can find within religion (for example sin and liberation from it) is replaced with earthly illusion and gnosis, which frees one from the illusion and guarantees a higher level of life, of sorts (in gnostic beliefs, our presence on Earth is not linear, leading from birth, through life and death to afterlife, but resembles more of a ladder, with each rung leading closer to obtaining total knowledge, and simultenously losing all that tethers one to earthly illusions.

In literature, strong contrasts are a good indication we can look into it to spot gnostic inspirations or at the very least make a strong case they could be there, even if unintentional. In Przybyszewska's case, however, they are all the more probable, for I vaguely recall she was well aware of the presence of these beliefs and everything she wrote on the nature of genius points in the same direction, too. She held these beliefs in her own, private set of core values, and there isn't any better place for her to show them to us but through her works. She presented us with an utopian vision of mental progress in her plays, while in her prose works, she focused on the darker side of the same things.

The axis of conflict in gnosticism is between the mind and the spirit. Robespierre is without a doubt a man of the mind much more so than of the spirit, and all the important figures surrouding him are more on the spiritual side of things (with Camille being the most prominent in this regard). Maxime has achieved the gnosis, the crown that will burn [his] brains right through.Before it happens, though, he is elevated onto another plane of understanding, a place where no other person can reach him, or even understand him:

Danton, of course, is lying.

(There is, sadly, no French translation of Thermidor; on another note, it took me this long to realize the French decided to change the person's tag from Camille to Desmoulines, which is suprising in the best sense of the word).

Robspierre is clearly constructed to be a genius, standing above everybody else and thus bearing greater responsibility, something which demands of him more than it does of others. Madness which he suspects within himself at the end is only a threat because it potentially leads to commiting mistakes, and a mistake is an unforgivable offence when it is committed by the one who ought to know better. Mistakes by a hand of another – for example Camille – are a different story altogether, for the majority of people not only don't achieve gnosis, but even cannot achieve it, their mental state isn't developed enough for them to grasp at the higher concepts. I think this is one of the reasons why Saint-Just's words: It is not madness, it's despair, are actually calming Robespierre down. Despair is simply a sign of being weary, something to be expected.

Maxime's knowledge and better judgement of everything is of course still a curse, leading to his death. In gnosticism, death isn't meant in a macabre sense, since it leads to yet another, higher rung of the metaphorical ladder we're standing on, but the gnosis obtained beforehand makes a death a good one instead of a waste. When Robespierre is going through his moment of despair at the end of The Danton Case, he betrays the gnosis he has in favour of admiting that the future will turn out differently than what could be expected: his death won't be a natural progression, but a failure, his depaire sets him back into the crowd of the sad, grey mass of the people who are not – like him – predestined to understand more.

From the linguistic point of view, I find it interesting that in the original and in the French version, he is using somewhat esoteric language (the future is under the sign of Danton – to my eyes, it is a clear refereance to the Zodiac signs, something which is supposed to predestine our futures, and which is also esoteric and ritualistic; given all the hints that she was abused by her satanist father, it makes a really sad, hopeless final note on the grand scheme of things for the humanity, that we, as humans, are incapable of running away from the brute forces which will continue to rule us simply because the world is built like this – not to mention the inability to change the future or even just the fate of one's life is a staple of gnostic beliefs).

No matter what he says about it, the inability to escape from one's fate is something which we rarely associate with Robespierre, because – as much as Przybyszewska makes it clear, thet he is a genius and thus everything he does he is not only allowed to do, but must do it for the greater good – he seems a bit like a self-made man, perhaps because we see him all the time in situations which are hard and difficult, but not impossible. A much more tragic situtation of the lack of escape from his own poor choices is being presented to us through Camille.

Camille has had a chance to be continously tethered to Maxime, securing for himself relevant safety in the public life, and calmess or even happiness in his private one. Yet he breaks with Robespierre over and over again, starting even before the plot of the play. Maxime reaches out to him against his better judgement, and Camille – also against his better judgement – decides to stay loyal to Danton. He is as if glued to his leader, even though he sees him clearly for what he is. Camille is an apotheosis of a spiritual being, someone ruled by impulses, perhaps even with the best of intentions, but whose mind will never achieve gnosis, the clear vision of what is right and true. When Robespierre argues with the Committee by demanding they leave Danton (and Camille by proxy) alone, he plots against Maxime in his newspaper; when Robespierre goes to him under the cover of night, he doesn't want to see him and then throws him out; when Robespierre tries to either break him free from the prison or at the very least console him by admitting his love (I never actually knew what was his plan here), he follows the advice of his bad influences and doesn't admit him. It's as if a strange force kept him by Danton's side, and I don't think it was any normal feeling (of shame or guilt) keeping him away from Maxime. In The Last Nights of Ventose he makes it quite clear being a stronger person's lap dog would never bring him shame, but honour, thus I don't think he'd have any problem with returning to Robespierre after a long while of abuse and slander.

The relationship Camille has with Danton is another aspect of gnosticism, namely its duality. Danton is a stand-in for Maxime, which doesn't work because Danton is anti-Robespierre, his negative double (much like in some gnostic beliefs world was created and being conducted by two gods, one good and one evil). It is unclear whether Camille had any real, true potential to serve "good" Robespierre, but even if he didn't, if his friableness kept him from serving a greater purpose (which I don't know if I believe, in The Last Nights of Ventose we are presented with a very different portrayal of Camille, one who could achieve something much greater than he did if only he was by Robespierre's side at all times), serving the "evil" Danton couldn't possibly have a good outcome.

He even does return to Robespierre, for a short while, steered by emotions rather than anything else. But in this dualistic, gnostic reality, emotions have little to do, they aren't worth very much. What's more, if we focus solely on Camille, we have to admit that – as in every story, revolving around a single character – a person is in a way stuck in time. He can go about in the space his life takes, but time is more like a deity, untouchable and something you cannot pact with. For Camille, it doesn't matter how many times and at what point in time (before their fallout, during the crisis or at the last hour) Maxime asks him to break with Danton and go back to him, because time and predestined fate hold all the power of what is happening, while individuals hold none (and the aforementioned last statement of Robespierre explains right away that it is so even for the "great" individuals, who in other aspects are being held to different standards, but against time and fate they are just as powerless).

I like to think, though, that Przybyszewska has left a small postern for Camille to achieve gnosis or its more humane equivalent by drawing a symbolic parallel between two scenes, which are only made significat by their possible relating to each other, but mean next to nothing on heir own:

In the first scene, the key could have been a completely incidental choice of words/tools, after all it's a logical conclusion of the scene. There is, however, a more symbolic reading of it, as a key is of course a symbol, and a pretty easy one at that. If Camille gave Robespierre the key himself, this could be read as an end to their relationship, Camille returning the power that Maxime holds over him to Maxime's own hands. But since we only see Lucille relay the key, and we know that Lucille is also capable of influencing her husband and directing his steps (even if she says she can't; Robespierre's words, seeing as he's the genius here, are the final judgement of this), this could mean she is giving her portion of power to Maxime, whom she trusts to save her husband. And Maxime uses this one more time, when he tries to visit Camille in prison. That he fails miserably is against Camille's wishes, because Camille even in his demise only succumbs to wishes of others.

But we know he regrets this step mightily and we know it precisely because he dreams (or rather has a nightmare) about the very key he was supposed to convey to Robespierre earlier. He regrets the desire to give Maxime his power back, he regrets that by doing so in any way, shape or form he has finally given up his life. Choosing a beautiful death over an ugly, humiliating life only sounded good in his head, but in truth, he is beyond terrified and would love nothing more but to Maxime to come in again and if not save him, then at the very least – forgive him. But for that, they'd have to meet again, and he couldn't throw Maxime out. I also don't understand why both the English and French translation added the word "effortlessly" when describing his last moment with Robespierre, because make no mistake, it is very much an unnecessary addition, going against everything that he has been portrayed like so far. Their last conversation is just as much a tragic one for Camille as it is for Maxime.

Przybyszewska took great pains to paint Camille in front of our eyes as someone so weak that we find him as more of a comic relief than anything else, but in reality he is just a differing portrayal of powerlessness when faced with fate. Camille is not a comical character, but a tragic one, he is just the same as Robespierre, his other half: they both believe in their own agency, they both believe they are the ones making choices and pushing their lives forward, but it is not a coincidence that they both end up in he very same place, in a span of mere weeks.

This post would not have been born if it weren't for @patricidefan.

#@patricidefan thank you so much for talking with me about it #as i said you opened my third eye #patricidefan #Stanisława Przybyszewska #stanislawa przybyszewska #the danton case #sprawa dantona #thermidor #Maximilien Robespierre #maksymilian robespierre #Camille Desmoulins #Kamil desmoulins #gnosis #literary analysis #philosophy

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softlyjiminie · 4 years

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black swan | three.

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ word count: 4.1K.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights… what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read for this chapter! heavy angst, social media bullying, mentions of drugs ( weed ), mentions of alcohol and drinking, angry jimin!

⇢ author’s note(s): hello my loves! sorry for posting this so late but i really hope you enoy this chapter. i might have to delay chapter four, for a special post in order of joon n koo’s birthday! love you lots.

⇢ previous | series masterlist | next

“park... you’re out, bail’s been paid.”

jimin rolls his shoulders at the call of his name, standing from his seat on the cold metal bench. he shakes out the blonde in his hair, deciding that the colour was too good and that he’d probably dye it a darker shade as soon as he was back in the safety of his penthouse. smirking, he grabs his discarded leather jacket... designer of course and slings it over his left shoulder— poking his tongue into his cheek as the officer unlocks his cell with a deep blush.

“you sure you don’t want to join me in here one last time sweetheart?”

the officer looks down, fumbling with the keys in her hand as a blush paints her heated face. “wouldn’t you get in trouble for that? another scandal wouldn’t be good for your career,” she bites down on her lower lip and the cat like smile on jimin’s face only grows wider— his forefinger and thumb touch at her chin, tilting her head up to meet his dark eyes as if he’s going to kiss her. “especially now that the paps are outside...”

he only lets out a simple tut, staring down at her with a hooded gaze. “you wouldn’t have a career if you opened that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart.” the cop falls silent, not having the chance to reply as jimin parts ways with her— collecting his belongings on the way out. inmates clap and cheer for him, although he’d only been in this station for a night, he’s already built up a reputation for himself around town...drunk driving, speeding, possession of drugs. park jimin was booked in for nearly all of it; but got away with it practically every time.

the sunshine from outside blinds the dancer, harsh golden rays warming his skin in the most irritating of ways. instead, he tilts his shades down over his eyes and way from the mass of bleach blonde hair that swoops messily over one side of his face. cameras are situated around the station, jimin knows that for sure, he can’t see them but he can hear the clicks and flashes from paparazzi that hide in bushes around them. they all want jimin for this week’s front cover, it’s only obvious that he’ll make the headlines for the fifth week in a row but who’s to say he cares? flashing a toothy grin as he flips the middle finger to sneaky photographers that pretend not to be seen.

“you’re so immature, jimin,” hoseok, his manager scolds, fixing the hem of his tight and light grey christian dior suit. the man himself is only a little ways taller than jimin, hair parted and slicked down with brown tinted shades that hide the tiredness in his eyes. hoseok is not that much older than jimin, but they’ve worked together long enough for jimin to consider the elder his family— or more like a pestering older brother. his manager pulls him into a sleek black van parked not even three minutes from the police station, the walk taking longer as jimin stopped to wave at fans. he was a dancer, a performer— it didn’t matter where he was, he always had an audience and he always appealed to them. “get in the fucking car.” hoseok seethed through gritted teeth, opening the door for his client, who only smiled mischievously as he entered it.

slamming the door, hoseok circled the vehicle and climbed in from the passenger side. “what’s got you in such a sour mood hyungie?” jimin hums lazily, leaning back into the plush, cream leather seats of his mercedes while his manager tuts in annoyance— gesturing for their driver (and body guard), seokjin, to head towards the dancer’s gated neighbourhood. running a hand through his blonde locks, jimin’s caramel eyes light up at the sight of his day bag of which he carries around on a daily basis— diving in he pulls out a box containing a few of his rolled joints. grabbing one and bringing it to the flesh of his plump lips, jimin frowns darkly, at the lack of lighter in his bag. “the fuck his my lighter?”

“i took it,” hoseok mumbles simply, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other twirling jimin’s pink lighter between his own slender digits. the younger leans forward in his seat, restricted only by his seatbelt as they make their way through the L.A traffic— making a grab for the lighter which his manager swiftly pulls away and pockets. “you’ve been acting up again jimin, it’s not looking good for you—“

the dancer in question lurches forward once more, making seokjin swerve ever so slightly. “give me the damn lighter hoseok.” jimin seethes through gritted teeth, the hand that launched at his manager now digging into said man’s head rest. anger flares up in the dancer’s chest— he’s just spent the night in a fucking cell and all he wants to do is have a few puffs of his joint so that he can relax a little.

but hoseok doesn’t budge, easily sinking into the comfort of his seat. “you can’t keep doing this ji,” he scolds, watching the scenery pass by through their tinted windows. “this is the third time in the last two months that you’ve gotten booked into a station for something...” the younger rolls his eyes knuckles turning white. the manager feels a temper tantrum coming on, from the way his client breathes hotly down his neck. jimin had never been good at managing his anger, no one had ever known why— he was a brat for no damn reason but hoseok sensed there was always more to the blonde, that’s why he took him in. “speeding? when you could have waited for jin to pick you up. not to mention how the company shouldn’t be putting their money towards paying for your bail—“

“money that i bring into that fucking company? they wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for me.” the younger points out childishly... and to be fair, he’s not wrong. people from across the world came to see park jimin perform— if they were lucky enough. his graceful movements and talent for following the music no matter how it changed was always something that entranced his fans. jimin was their biggest source of revenue and a major asset, one of the only reasons they hadn’t fired him yet— hoseok supposed. “i’m park jimin, shit...they need me!”

hoseok sighs in defeat as their bodyguard pulls into jimin’s gated neighbourhood. the brunette turns to face his client, a worn out expression pulling at his heart shaped face. “just think about it jimin, if you don’t fix up and don’t stop your bitch fits... it could be over for you.” hoseok hates to scold jimin like this but he also knows it important that he learns. he flinches when the dancer scoffs, begrudgingly pulling out the pink lighter and passing it to the latter.

the younger simply snatches the small device from his hyung’s grasp, brining his joint to his lips and lighting it as he slides from the car.

he didn’t need to think about shit, he was park jimin for goodness sake.

social media was an evil place.

jimin was used to all types of comments across his socials. he knew he was meant to be in the studio for practice, but he was too deep into the internet to turn back now. so more often than not he found that he was drowned is all sorts of praises and love from his fans, complimenting him on his skills, his physic and his oh-so-beautiful face but sometimes, if he looked hard enough— there were those full of hatred and malice, intended break down the souls of those they were targeted at, break the soul of park jimin.

‘i used to love jimin, but he’s getting caught up in all this bad stuff... we might have to unstan...’

‘he’s still a great dancer, but i’m disappointed in how he’s acted recently.’

‘why do celebs think it’s funny to get arrested? it’s fucking cringe especially since they can afford bail? lol no offence park jimin.’

each word cuts sharply at his heart, like knives, creating deep wounds. it hurts to read them, so much so that it brings stinging tears to his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall— he hadn’t in a long time. moments like these lead the blonde to believe in his hyung’s words, was he a has been? was his career coming to an end? familiar insecurities rot his brain, draining what was once left of the boy who loved to dance.

he takes a sip of the bitter, honey liquid that fills his crystalline glass, eyes blurring and throat tightening at the burn the alcohol brings. a filling pain to ease the hurt in his heart. ‘fuck,’ jimin thinks, he’s fucked and he knows it. the dancer wonders if he had been different had his brother not fucked up his life, the older park was probably off somewhere doing god knows what with who knows who and jimin can’t help but let his mind wonder to what he would be doing if his brother wasn’t there. if his brother hadn’t caused that accident. before that day, jimin only ever dreamed of where he is now— practicing hard wherever he was; the canteen in high school, his bedroom, the kitchen when his mother was making his favourite dish.

god he missed those days.

slamming his glass down onto his island counter, jimin stretches his arms above his head so that his black fitted shirt rises up— brushing his tummy briefly. the news hums from the TV in the background, as he sways with sleepiness. something about an accident, something about a skater...he’s not listening. sighing in defeat, jimin grabs the bottle of special edition brandy and takes a lengthy swig while he makes his way to his on-suite bathroom. the dancer’s nimble fingers brush through the roots of his overbearingly blonde locks, fisting them as he looks into the mirror with reddened eyes and a broken heart.

taking another sip of his liquor, jimin finishes the substance off with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest before throwing the bottle in the trash and opening his cabinet, reaching for the dark hair dye that sits on the middle shelf.

stopping his mercedes benz, jimin parks his car outside of hangsang studios, the dance company that hired the boy. his eyes that reflect black under the artificial lights of the street lamp flicker up to the company logo cast into the side of the towering building— a scoff emitting from between his plump lips. the door to his car opens not a second later, aeri, jimin’s girlfriend slipping into the passenger’s side with a huff.

she throws her practice bag onto the back seat, making the dancer flinch as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel. “practice started at five, you know that right?” aeri seethes, buckling herself in and pulling down the mirror, she fluffs her blonde hair— colour similar to the one the dancer once possessed as she insisted on matching. “of course you don’t, god sometimes i wonder why i’m even with you...”

her words do nothing to the dancer as he sits up in his seat, pressing his foot into the peddles as he sets the gears into drive. ‘i sometimes wonder the same thing...’ jimin can’t help but think, sourly. he loved aeri, he did, but she was draining to be around— obsessed with the idea of being at the top, even if it meant criticising her lover at every point. he’d grown numb to her abuse by now. “i’m sorry, ri... i’ll be at practice next time.” he says instead, knowing very well that speaking his thoughts will only set the girl off. the streets are clearer than they were earlier in the day, fewer cars allowing jimin to pass through lanes with ease... his eyes focus on the road, but he longs to take in the scenery— just for a moment. to feel like the world has stopped in place. “i’ll make it up to you, babe.”

aeri scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself after she pokes jimin’s arm. he slows the car at the stop sign, watching with thin patience as the signals change from green to red, colour by colour. the girl turns to face him, lips drawn into a scowl and small hand taking a fistful of jimin’s darkened, navy locks. “dying your hair? is this what you skipped practice for? when will you take this showcase seriously jimin? fucking hell.”

the pinch in her tone irritates the life out the aforementioned dancer, so much so that his shoulders pick up while he begins to drive again. aeri wasn’t always like this, there was a time, back when they were trainees where jimin would have tripped over his feet to get her to notice him, they were usually paired for dancing events— closeness eventually leading them to dating. but now, she fancied the idea of being a star rather than the blue haired boy himself... the infamous new york showcase had always been her dream and jimin supposes he was only a stepping stone to that path. his name being a direct lead there, his money an added bonus. he knew that skipping practices made her mad, maybe that’s what why he did it— to get back at all the horrid words she’d spouted at him in the last few years.

“— and i swear, if you don’t clean up your act, i’ll leave you and find a new dance partner—“

jimin tunes back into her words, an empty threat that he’d heard from her many times before— looking into the rear view mirror he catches her humid gaze before making a turn towards her house. “i know baby, i’m sorry...i’ll do better, let me make it up to you, yeah?” he mumbles absentmindedly, using words that he knew would satisfy her appetite to being him down until the next time. “i’ll buy you that bag you wanted, hm? or those dance shoes you were after... will that do until i’ve caught up with dance?” aeri pulls at her hair in frustration, reaching behind her for her dance bag as she kicks her feet and screams like a petulant child.

“pull over!”

jimin does as he’s told, pushing his hands through his hair as anger rises in his chest— rattling inside his body as if asking for permission to break free. aeri waits for cars to pass before opening the door and storming out, not even giving her lover time to react. the blonde girl whips out her phone, texting someone jimin can’t see before the dancer’s wound down his window.

“aeri, come on doll, let’s not fight.” he tries to reason with her, but the will to keep her close has gone from her voice as she looks up at him with a fiery gaze. her chest rises and falls with anger, causing jimin to roll his eyes and bring his head back into the car. “you’re really gonna walk home?”

“no, my new dance partner is coming to pick me up because he’s not a lazy bum like—!”

jimin doesn’t stay to hear the rest of her cold insult, having had just about enough of her attitude, reversing the car and heading in the direction of his home, his anger still simmering brightly.

“well well well, if it isn’t our handsome ji. look who’s finally coming around!”

the boy in question rolls his eyes despite the little smile that plays at his lips, he’s glad to see that hoseok hyung’s mood has sweetened slightly— his expression matching the brightness of the L.A sun that highlights the blue of jimin’s hair, yet causes him to squint at the same time. he pulls his shades over his eyes, ignoring hoseok’s outstretched hand and going in for a quick, apologetic hug. the manager knows jimin isn’t one for displays of affection, but knows him well enough to recognise an apology from the younger when he sees one.

but jimin’s warmth retreats just as fast as it came, the younger pulling away as if hoseok’s new alexander wang suit has has scorched his tan skin. jimin seems to be grumbling as he slides into the van which seokjin drives and buckles himself in. the annoyance the blue haired boy felt from last night has yet to fade, but he knows he has to keep his anger in check— hoseok texted him early this morning about a meeting with the board... which usually never means anything good.

the car ride is mostly silent, the slight hum of the radio in the background as jimin rests in the back seat. there were few times he’d ever met the board, the first being after his accident, when hoseok had recruited him. the second being when he’d made it big, when the CEO had told him he’d made it big just like his parents would have wanted and the third, well...that would be now. seokjin pulls up to the tl the hangsang company building, quickly helping the dancer out before heading with into the building with hoseok by their side.

walking through the company building, jimin attracts a lot of attention— many have said that he exudes an intimidating, strong aura but the dancer only reckons it’s because of his name...after all, his family does come with a reputation. rookies and senior dancers alike blush and bow as jimin makes his way towards the head office, his slicked back blue hair shines under the false white light and reflects off of the black shades that match his jeans, chelsea boots and turtle neck. of course, the boy knows that he looks good, fingers coming up to fix the denim jacket he wears but his stride slows when passing his usual practice room— gaze faltering as he spots aeri tangled with a younger dancer, a rookie who jimin recognises as choi san. the familiar emotions from yesterday crawl up his spine and mix with the blackened jealousy that blooms across his firm chest— but jimin doesn’t have time to linger on his feelings as hoseok ushers the trio into an elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor. aeri looks away from the dancer just as the door closes.

“it’s not looking good for you jimin,” the CEO, explains— he goes by the name of mr.chan. jimin himself admits that he hasn’t been listening since the moment they entered the room but he picks up the tone of disappointment in the CEO’s voice. shaking out his dark locks, jimin scoffs likely and rolls his shoulders— feeling annoyance build up behind his eyes... he’s got a headache now, which is only worsened by hoseok giving him a scolding glare.

“jimin don’t.”

he sits up at the second mention of his name, jimin knew not to test his manager at this time and also knew hoseok would give him the scolding of a life time if he didn’t listen. tilting his gaze to the CEO, jimin finally tunes into mr.chan, even if he doesn’t like what he’s saying. “you’re our prized dancer park, a household name...but you’ve had fewer performances then any other dancer this year, your recent bad reputation is...driving clientele away,” the old man lets out a wheezing cough, making jimin grimace. mr.chan was a greasy old man, with oily hair and beady eyes. he was harsh to the eyes, jimin supposed it was lucky that he was rich or mr.chan was doomed to be single for the rest of his life. “not to mention the bail we’ve been paying, you’re more of a burden than an asset at this point.”

“you’re fuckin’ kidding me right?” jimin rises from his seat like the anger that boils and bubbles through his veins, having enough of the ugly man that rattles on before him. all he can think about his punching the CEO square in the face. “you fucking need me here. if im a burden to you, i’ll cut my loss and join another company that wants me. they all want me. i made this place what it is and i’ll tear it right back down. you need me.” the dancer seethes, pointing his finger right at the CEO’s face, mr.chan and his fellow associates swallow thickly, because after all— jimin is right. his raw talent alone is what built this company up from what it was, and anyone would kill for the money that he brings in however he may act.

the panel of staff mr.chan has with him, are rendered silent as is the CEO himself— who are they to challenge park jimin? but a lowly assistant speaks up, grabbing the attention of the congregation. “but raw talent will only last you so long...after that, what will you have? a pile of scandals?” she says meekly, as if no one would hear her— but the scowl on park jimin’s face tells her otherwise. usually, she’d have been fired on the spot for talking in such a manner— jimin might have even had a field day with making her run errands for him but mr.chan and his associates need an argument against the dancer’s case, promptly taking the assistant’s statement and running with it.

the blue haired dancer sits back in his seat with defeat as the group of fat heads before him smile and cheer as if they’ve just discovered wine. although hoseok chooses this time to interject, sensing jimin’s temper tantrum reaching its peak once again. “but we have a solution, don’t we mr.chan?” the manager cuts through their wheezing laughter in a way that would make you think he was the boss around here. “remember what we discussed?”

the old man nods suddenly, almost in fear as he gestures to the assistant to pass a file to jimin. honeybrown eyes narrow as the girl makes her way over with a brown file full of documents— a sense of nervousness emitting from her. the dancer knows it’s partly because everyone is scared shitless of him and his reputation, the other part is that he’s damn well attractive up close. jimin bites down on his lower lip, looking the girl up and down before he snatches the file from her and opens it up — revelling in the way she blushes with embarrassment.

“we’ve proposed that you start dance therapy with a world renowned physical therapist, min yoongi,” hoseok explains slowly, knowing that anything mr.chan says from now will surely set the dancer off. the aforementioned male grips the arms of his seat, knuckles turning white as he tries his best to suppress another outburst and listen to his manager. “he’s excellent at what he does, the best of the best— he’d be sure to get you back on track...”

jimin scoffs, staring daggers into the spot between mr.chan’s unbearably bushy eyebrows. if looks could kill, he’d be dead within an instant. “so you want me to join a beginners class? do i need to remind you of who the fuck i am?”

“no, you’ll have private sessions,” his manger says lowly, grabbing the younger’s attention. “we want him to motivate you, we’re not denying that you’re a phenomenal dancer jimin, you’ve just been heading in the wrong direction for a few years...”

all this new information causes a feeling of unease to reside within park jimin, the changes that are to come don’t sit well with him... but with hoseok’s words from a few days ago swirling and twirling with his thoughts like a waltz, jimin can only agree to their proposition. “so, what’s the catch?” he whispers now.

“they’ve got another client in south korea , we’re thinking of bringing them over too—“

“well then do it!” jimin stands, raising his voice, the conversation is too tedious and all he wants it out. he needs a drink or a smoke or something other than people telling him what he was or what he isn’t. running a hand through his navy locks, the dancer grabs the file and begins to head out, not caring about what’s left to he said. but before he has a chance to storm out, hoseok slips a piece of paper into his hand and lets him go with a saddening smile.

“it’s the name of the client,” he whispers.

and so with that, jimin strides out of the office, the company building— not even bothering to greet seokjin properly as he jumps back into their black van. his bodyguard promptly drives him home, knowing better than to question the silenced dancer, who unfolds the paper to reveal a name.

‘LN YN’.

⇢ taglist ! ( comment, like or dm to be added! )

@periminkle @ggukkieland @aishots @ownthesunshine @codeinebelle @taeass @trviahope @singular-itae @preciouschimine @yoongismykink @idiakh @honeyspillings@kimsdior @chimshoe95 @cypherft-v @tangledsparkles -@ultraanonymousey @rjsmochii @thenoblr @icedoutmywristtitanic @chiminies-noona @mrsfortune1306

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vampiresuns · 3 years

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Interlude 1: Do Not Stand Over My Grave And Weep, Part 1

☽ PART 1: CARALUNA ☽

2.3k words. In which Milenko mourns Anatole, and a ghost that is not really a ghost runs into him in the Palace’s gardens.

CW: Death and discussions of it, allusions of drowning (no one actually drowns nor is in real danger of it).Feelings of depression, feelings of abandonment and displacement/diaspora. Me, once again, going berserk about non Christian theology.

The title comes from Caraluna by Bacilos. You can find the translation of the lyrics online, but I don’t like those.So if you’re feeling bold enough, you can ask me to translate if you don’t speak Spanish.

What to catch up with this series? You can do that here.

That Milenko’s magic worked beyond his full control didn’t mean he didn’t understand how it worked. He did.

First of all, not because he was clairvoyant it meant his magic was prophetic. He knew God had not made him a prophet — God really, really hadn’t. This was something he could do, that was all. Some people could cook, some people had language magic, some people were alchemists, some people called magic the science they could not explain yet. All Milenko had here was an Intuition and Imagination he could tap into like other people could not.

His granparent, Ilnya Radošević, could do it, his mother, Violeta, and uncle Atanasie could do it, he could do it. The only difference was his was channelled with water. It was, at best, a way to anticipate some things. It did not change the future, it did not gave him for control. The world spoke to him through the water, just like it spoke to everyone else through daily occurrences. The world spoke to him through water, like it would to anyone who learnt how to pay attention.

Secondly, even then, not everything he saw was something that would happen. Sometimes the water just showed him things. Things that weren’t real but bloomed into his eyes, like a living canvas of his imagination. Water allowed him to focus, water sometimes allowed him to transport himself to a world where words were at arm’s reach. He didn’t control when the water would call him, but he could induce it, sometimes. He had learnt how to write this way.

If he was asked to theorise about it, he would say that when it came to his imagination, the water absorbed it. It created a bubble where he could interact with it more vividly, seeing not water, but what his mind had conjured to later put into paper. The water never hurt him physically, he didn’t need to breathe, or worry about currents — because if he was in danger, the water and his magic would take him to his gate, and from there back to safety. All he needed to do was to see and to trust.

That took him to his third and last point: Whether he liked it or not, water was tied with his subconscious. Sometimes water wouldn’t show him events to come, things he had made up, or keys to understand things. Sometimes the water would just show him what was locked into his mind and he would otherwise be unable to reach.

Usually, Milenko found a way to pour that into something else, like his poetry. A way to explore what he could only see in the water but had no way to verbalise without it. Moments and feelings his brain or soul kept from him, tucked away until they were released into water like little vessels which grew, and grew, and grew once submerged.

It was a dangerous thing for a man who was mourning.

He would never forget the day he knew Anatole was dead, the water delivering the news to him. It was the only time he had struggled to come up to the surface, a sob catching in his throat before his magic could guide him back it. Ursula, his familiar, had had to drag him by the neck of the shirt, to the sight of his terrified mothers and his uncle, because of course Violeta and Atanasie just knew that Milenko was in danger.

When he managed to speak again, all he could repeat was “He is dead, he is dead,” as he cried, clinging to his mothers like he did when he was a child.

He had then locked himself in Anatole’s morning room, his head against the closed case of his cousin’s piano. That had been where Amparo found him, in late hours of the evening.

It was a nightmare. Their families were all living together in the Palazzo during the plague, even if in separate wings with their own disinfecting stations for when they came from the outside. They had decided it was better to stick together, and because the Radošević-Cassano thought of their friends as the family you chose, they had invited those of them they knew they could house. Milenko’s room-mate Octavia and their sibling Sabine, a young herpetologist who had begun to work as a Court magician and was strangely fond of Anatole, as Anatole was of them. They had also extended that to Leonore Kaur and Medea Pryce. Aside from Asra, they had to be Anatole’s closest friends.

How do you tell someone their friend died? Milenko wasn’t as close to them as Anatole was but he was close enough to know what he meant to them, and them to him. They were some of the few people who knew what had really transpired between him and Decimo Lemione, Leonore was with Milenko when the water told him Anatole was in danger, that night they had found Anatole threatening Decimo to never touch him again, that night he had told everyone the truth. They already knew, of course, Leonore and Medea.

In that moment Milenko realised how much he owed them for his cousin’s healing, and now, someone had to tell them Anatole had died. That was only the beginning. The house was a stack of private griefs. It was mistaken to say some were more justified or greater than others, they were all different. You do not mourn a son in the way you mourn a friend, because you don’t love them the same anyway, even if it’s all love.

However people thought it was lesser. Not Vlad and Louisa, of course, but people, in general. What did they they know? How could they know? How could they know the grief that came with losing the one person Milenko thought would ever understand him, even when Anatole didn’t really understand him?

Who else if not his cousin to understand what it was like to inherit wars you did not fight, about people who still hated you? Who else would understand feeling your blood boil up from the Earth like a Geyser, coming to you from mismatched corners of the world? Who else would understand that feeling of existing in a liminal space?

Who else would understand Milenko when he asked how did one go back to a place one wasn’t born in, when the place follows you anyway? How do you go back to places which should’ve been home but turned into living hazards for people like you simply because you exist? Or raise your voice? How do you go back when a foreign city that’s not really foreign, since it’s seen you grow and has housed you safely? But still is a City that’ll never be all that you are?

Perhaps this was why the two of them ended up in Vesuvia, aside from Milenko being born there. How else do you connect ends which no one could foresee meeting if not through a zigzag City where the water ran like carrying new life into dissonant architecture?

When Anatole, his wonderful cousin, who had put himself between the world and Milenko so many times when the world decided to be unkind to him, proclaiming he was not the great grandchild of a partisan, and the son of his mother, for him to have to stand through the world unheard. It was an echo of Milenko’s own heritage: Anatole saying those words and living by them, was Milenko saying he was not the great grandson of a partisan for him not to have earned the right to be joyful. Joy was his birth given right, and he would live by that. By joy and by love.

But how could you be joyful again when grief had made itself a place in your heart? An even bigger place at that. They said the Radošević were angry because they were full of grief, satellites amid a sea of people. Milenko had never understood that — righteous anger he did, but grief which turned to anger was not something he understood. Until Anatole died.

He still remembers one day when Anatole was 10, Milenko himself a little older, and they were playing at a park in Vesuvia. Some playground bullies had decided to pick on him, with his daydreamy quality and oddities pouring out of his mouth. Anatole had stepped between them without hesitation, despite being younger, despite being at the very least, a head shorter than all of them.

Milenko had asked him about that years later. Anatole’s answer? “I guess it was my way of comprehending then, that you had been through enough violence in your life for you to have to stand that. No offence, Merlenko, but you wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

He wasn’t wrong. He wasn’t entirely right either — Milenko might have not had a violent bone in his body, but he wanted to forget he didn’t when Decimo Lemione came through his mind. That was an exception, not the rule. Even if Count Lucio has steadily won a place beside that son of a bitch.

After Anatole died, he had spent two days simmering in his own grief before he decided to take a bath. The water would wash his sorrows away so he could remember Anatole’s life had been a blessing, so his memory would be one too.

The water had other plans. Milenko didn’t notice he was zoning out with the sound of running water until it was too late. Given it was only a bathtub and not open water, Ursula did not make any fuss about it. When Milenko, zoned out to the rest of the world, walked into the bathtub with clothes, submerging himself in it, the water showed him Anatole. His cousin was everywhere. He came out of the water being unable to breathe.

Then it happened again, and again, and again: every time Milenko zoned out looking at water, or walked into it, he’d see his cousin. Sometimes not at first, but he’d always show up. It had been the same for four years — four years where people continued to die, where he knew he should eventually move on, let go, seek someone to talk about it, but he couldn’t. Milenko already felt like all clocks should stop, like no dog should bark or wag its tail, that the world should stop moving so his grief might stop too.

He knew that was not possible. He knew that would not be honouring Anatole’s memory, so every day he tried: he tried his best to snap out of it and live, but how was he supposed to live and write and create when the water that had previously channelled his creative energy, showed him his dead cousin all the time?

Now he had seen him. Alive and breathing and made of flesh. It really had been his cousin standing by the fountain and talking to someone over it. He went over it in his head until he couldn’t think any more. There were no traces of his magic, he knew that. He knew how it felt to be drawn to the water, to feel one of messages coming and he felt none of that: one moment he was marvelling at the night he walked through, a gift of fragrant breeze, and the next, he was seeing an apparition.

He got home before Octavia and when she arrived at their shared flat, she found him drinking. Milenko gave her a tired, sad look as she looked hesitant standing across the kitchen island he was sitting at. She leant forward, looking with the tenderness of friendship into his troubled brown eyes.

Milenko looked at his glass —he saw it swirl, even if for anyone else, the glass did not do anything. He put it away, and ran his hands through his curls. “You want to tell me something… where’s Sabine?”

Her hesitance resurfaced. “Talking to Medea, with Leonore… I do want to tell you something, but—” she said, elongating the ‘u’, “you’re drinking alone. I’ve only ever seen you drink during celebrations, and you don’t look like you’re celebrating anything.”

Milenko paused for a long time, offering the rest of his drink in the meantime to Octavia. She was right. Milenko drank in moderation. He had always believed life was made to be enjoyed, and wine was a way to gather friends around. Even then, he never allowed himself to get drunk, and he wasn’t, but he was still drinking for no reason. Well, sort of.

“If I told you I saw someone I thought was dead, would you think I was crazy?”

Octavia took his hand. “No more than I already think you are, and that’s complimentary... is it the water again?”

She sounded like she knew something. “It wasn’t the water. I– Octavia, I saw him, as alive as I remember him, not having any clue of who I was.”

With the confession, a dam broke. Milenko began crying inconsolably as Octavia held him, rubbing his back as he spoke, tripping over his words about seeing Anatole again, lamenting on how this was not how it was supposed to be. The water was not supposed to turn against him, the water was supposed to keep him safe.

“It’s been four years. Four awful years, I should be over it—”

“No,” Octavia interrupted him, “you’ve carried forward to the best of your capacity, bearing with something most people do not have to deal with. We don’t treat Amparo poorly when she has bad days because there’s too many dead tethering to her, do we, Milan?”

He sniffled. “No.”

“Milenko— I need you to listen to me: I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but you’re not crazy. You aren’t seeing things. Milenko, your cousin is alive.”

For the first time in four years, the distant sound of the canals in the City brought Milenko answers instead of torments, even if he had already half figured it out.

“I know how.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow.

“Asra.”

#the arcana #the arcana oc #my writing #milenko #octavia rei #anatole's apprentice rewrites

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teabooksandsweets · 4 years

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Very Long Post On Cancel Culture, Wokeness And Tumblr

Warning: This text is not one bit ordered because it all belongs together and I write it down as it comes to mind, and I also stray off topic a lot.

Also: This text is NOT about how all people are too soft or special snowflakes or too sensitive or anything of that sort. On the contrary.

I am glad that people finally begin to speak out against cancel culture, but their approach to it is usually wrong.

It’s not just that it doesn’t matter if people maybe were not perfect(ly woke/pc) in the past, and can change. What really matters is that people don’t have to be perfect and woke and pc at all.

And I am saying this for an entirely different reason than you might think, for a different reason than people usually speak out against political correctness, and “sjws”, etc. The problem is: all this makes people less kind, less considerate, less caring and open towards others. It makes them hateful and hostile and selfish.

In the late 00s/early 10s everyone was a relativist, saying how there was no right or wrong, etc. and luckily that’s over. But in the mid-to-late-10s people began to be absolutely obsessed with morals in an entirely corrupted way.

The thing is this: people should always strive to learn and to behave well and kindly. Generally. Everyone. Always.

But people ought to be generally kind and good, not specifically perfect in regards to very specific things, and otherwise absolutely hateful, as is nowadays encouraged, especially on tumblr.

Tumblr cares about specific social issues. All of these are incredibly important. But tumblr doesn’t see the Big Picture, doesn’t connect humans to each other, fails to recognise that all humans are human and should treat each other well.

Instead, to tumblr, the smallest offence of a Very Specific Kind, one careless word, one lack of knowledge, is seen as the worst crime imaginable. But truly bad, truly evil behaviour of another sort, a sort that for some reason isn’t condemned by tumblr, is seen as unimportant, sometimes even encouraged. “It doesn’t matter if you harm people and make them suffer, if you are hateful or dangerous, as long as you remember the strict codes we have made up.”

All this is done without any sort of coherent logic or consideration. Different social issues (e.g. sexism and racism) are sometimes played out against each other to make a point, sometimes blended to make a different point, as long as the person making the point can use it to appear as woke or good as possible.

It is seen as absolutely fine to harm great many of the people in whose name one claims to do good, if that brings one closer to the goal of Doing Good In Their Name For Everyone To See.

Minorities and people who are for some reason often oppressed are taken up by people who are (in that sense) more privileged as a sort of “cute little pet” to be infantilised and misused, in order to make a point, or maybe just to offend a family member one doesn’t like, or simply to Appear As Woke As Possible.

(The patronising attitude towards minorities also often shows in the context of religion. There are so many posts on tumblr claiming to support a specific (often oppressed) religion, only to make plenty of other posts on how they hate specific aspects of another religion (usually Christianity, but not necessarily) or of religion in general, which this particular religion shares. But of course—some people (usually people of colour) are “excused” for being religious, even if their actual faith is looked down upon.)

Groups of people are only seen in the context of one Time And Place (today’s USA) and members of these groups in other times and places are judged and treated in exactly the same one as one would judge and treat their people in That One Time And Place.

Good manners and generally kind and considerate behaviour are rejected for being elitist and snobbish and antiquated, and instead replaced by a perverted sort of Political Correctness, which is by far more elitist and excluding, overly specific and only benefiting a few people, and free of any sort of warmth or kindness, instead expecting people to pass a test of sorts, to remember the latest overspecific information, and to repeat it correctly, regardless if one understands it, regardless if one actually applies it towards actual people.

Being considerate of others, treating them well, not behaving absolutely horridly should not be special. And the idea to take away all good manners, all kindness, all consideration, because they are supposedly outdated or even elitist, and to replace it with a stiff and superficial degeneration of what used to be political correctness, so that people behave well in certain circumstances (and not at all otherwise) out of nothing but fear is Not Good.

Pseudo-PC behaviour is even sometimes used to disguise hostility towards the people it should actually protect, you can harm people as long as you are Saying The Right Things.

(This also shows in the treatment of fictional characters. A serial killer might be a fan favourite, but once they say something racist or otherwise bad it’s like “uh, I can’t believe they did that! Now my fave is problematic!” No, your fave has always been very problematic and now there’s just another bit that shows what you should have known for a long time!)

Groups whose actual intention is supposed/claimed to be of a social and helpful nature are destroying themselves from within, attacking their own members or subjects of care in precisely the manner in which they claim outsiders do.

People are actually speaking out in favour of bullying people “if they deserve it” even though people always find “good reasons” to bully and harm people, and claiming that particular people deserved it is their go-ahead. As someone who has been bullied, I can assure you that people always find reasons, and if they are encouraged to bully people who “deserve it” they will make sure that they appear to deserve it.

People are encouraged to denounce people, which specifically means to accuse people of something to the personal benefit of the accuser, usually either made-up or twisted. I repeat this: People are not encouraged to report people for doing something bad, they are encouraged to denounce them, which has a very different and very specific and very, very harmful meaning.

Even more so, whatever accussation of a person is made, is believed. “Innocent until proven guilty” has been abolished. The moment a person makes a claim on someone the judgement has been made.

Even more so, well-meant, but politically incorrect things are considered worse than pc hate. If a person knows all the language, has all the background info, they can be personally hostile. If a person actually means to be kind, but is doesn’t go about it the “right way” is considered horrible (eg. a man who may be a unintentionally sexist but who doesn’t mean any harm is seen worse than a true misogynist who knows feminist lingo).

Even more so, “tumblr swjs” much too often adopt concepts of their actually hateful people. For example, while actual Cultural Appropriation is a horrible thing, people on here take it as far as “all cultures are valuable but they Need To Stay In Their Place and Never Mingle and Make Them Impure”. Which is precisely the argument of many... what? Ah, yes, white supremacists. Yes, you here me right. Not all WPs openly admit that they hate all people who aren’t white. No, many claim that they just want to keep people seperate, just like so many of the people on here who claim to be anti-racist. But cultures have never been seperate, many cultures people think to have nothing to do with each other have influenced each other greatly, and others that people were one and the same culture are actually not.

(In that vein, people on here also don’t understand that racism is always bad, but also always different, and that that dividing people into “white” and “poc” is once again a very Modern Day USA thing, and that people can be racist in many more shapes, and that what people have been considered white or not has changed greatly over the years. All racism is bad, but not all is the same.)

But even more so, in the name of social justice, many methods of actual fascists have been adopted. People don’t notice it, because the primary focus is not on what things are done, but on who does them and to whom they do it.

But that’s a particular problem. Consider the concept, not the victim or the culprit. Even if you apply it to people “who deserve it” it does. not. help. if you model for path to social justice after bloody revolutions that led to fascist governments, or if you systematically (help to) ruin people in the same manner as fascist states did and do. Perhaps I am biased. Perhaps I am simply a German who is frightened of seeing people on the internet telling others it were their moral duty to persecute people in manners common in nazi times and/or the gdr. But perhaps people should also consider whether it really makes sense to condemn people for using the term “witch hunt” outside of sexism. Because it’s also a method, a structure, no matter to whom it is applied, or why.

But to get back to the terrible lack of proportion. This is especially relevant in regards to celebrities. The bar is so high and so low at the same time, and so randomly adjusted, that people are praised and put on pedestals for absolutely no proper reason, simply because they acted like normal decent people, and then, just as quickly, pushed off it, and condemned, just for acting like normal decent people. Normal = nonetheless flawed, because: human. There’s so much undeserved hate following so much praise, usually unexplained, so that people just join in nwithout even knowing what “good” or “bad” that person has done. People are glorified for nothing, and then ruined. And what does it teach normal people?

To always look out, to always be frightened. To worry about every thing one says or does. Not about the way one treats others—treating people badly is a power move, of course, and general decency is entirely insignificant. Just to remember the special jargon of a superficial political correctness, and sometimes even the in-jokes of people. (I have once witnessed people bullying a child out of this site, claiming she was homophobic, because she didn’t understand a gay in-joke. You only get that on tumblr. I hope.)

And because people constantly have to prove that they are not bad, they can not even be normal. It’s not enough to be normal, considerate, kind, but imperfect people—everyone has to absolutely perfect, by standards set by some random people who claim to know better, and whenever people just appear particularly good by those people’s standards (especially if they are something Inherently Evil, like men) they get praised to be Especially Different Someones And The Only Good People Of Their Sort. Until they got found out, are finally proven to be normal, decent human beings, like the majority of all people, and are suddenly brushed aside, hated forever, another point made to prove that This Sort Of People Is Always Bad. (To this adds: Too many bad things are immediately attatched to a specific group of people, even if it is commonly done by various groups/all people/actually the people complaining about it.)

I mean, sure. Tumblr is the first place in which I’ve seen people who criticise Christianity don’t do it for the obvious problems in churches and with some of their members, but for the concepts of loving one’s neighbour and forgiveness. The first place in which I have seen people who “advocate” for human rights also support the death penalty and vigilante murder. The first place in which I have seen people talk unironically in favour of the French revolution and the USSR.

But, kids, I know, most of you are over-excited and extremely well-meaning teenagers, and it’s important to rebel, and all, and I hope you will never outgrow your social conscience, but you should really outgrow the way you apply it. Because there’s people among you who don’t mean well, and who take advantage of you.

I mentioned the (luckily) outdated relativism earlier, and I need to say more about it. It’s mingled its shades of grey with today’s black-and-white mindset. In the past, nobody could citicise people for doing something because nothing was seen as really good or bad. Now everything is either good or bad, and people still can’t critise someone for doing something they don’t like—unless they prove it’s bad. You can’t just say “Oh, this is not for me. I don’t like it.” Or even “This or that aspect of this should be looked at critically.” No. You have to say “Here I Will Prove Why This Is Evil And Shouldn’t Be.” Criticising someone, or just disagreeing, can’t be done out of worry over hurting their feeling, just as it was in the olden days (aka ca. 10 years ago) of Everyone Should Do As They Like, so what to do instead? Prove they are Bad and Everyone Who Doesn’t Agree That This Is Bad Is Also Bad. “Not my cup of tea” is over, everyone has to drink the same tea, always.

To this adds that things that people don’t like are always equated to things that are really undoubtedly bad. Thanks to this, actual terms used for actually bad things lose their meaning, and the demonisation of harmless things ultimately leads to the trivialisation of what’s truly bad. Words have lost their meaning and are used just as one pleases in order to “call someone out”.

(A particular common matter on tumblr is the equation of pedophilia and age gaps between adults; but the issue that many adults on tumblr seem to consider themselves children and seem entirely concided that they could also become victims of child predators, whereas they themselves can prey on children because they like Disney movies or whatever; and many children on tumblr think they had a right to patronise adults, is a different issue about which I really don’t care to talk right now. The idea that people also shouldn’t be in relationships with people who may have some sort of societal advantage over them, also holds plenty of implications that make me very uncomfortable, but about which I also really don’t care to talk right now.)

To come back to an example mentioned earlier. Take misogyny and racism. Two bad things, two things to fight against, two things that shouldn’t be exploited to fight the other. To say “I want to fight the bad treatment of women, and specific things are prevalent in specific cultures therefore I can be hostile and prejudiced towards these people.” is not good feminism, not even bad feminism, it’s plain racism, and nothing else. But to say “This thing may be really harmful to a lot of women is valuable to people of this or that culture, so one has to support it.” is also not anti-racist in the least, it’s just an attempt to appear open minded by people who are in no way affected by it. And these are two examples—it goes far beyond racism or misogyny.

There’s plenty of very right and good posts on tumblr on how people should benefit from society, rather than society benefitting from them. The same should be applied, for example, to feminism, and anti-racism, and other social causes. They should be positive and helpful to the people who need their help, and they need to work together. These are just two examples, to all other work to help people of all sorts applies the same.

If you don’t ask yourself “How do I help individual human beings, and how does my cause help some of them?” but instead ask “How do I help My Specific Cause That I Care About, regardless of the people?” you are doing it wrong.

And tumblr woke culture teaches that all humans are are seperated into little groups, which sometimes overlap, and that all people within these groups are exactly the same. But all humanity is one big group, and every human being is an individual, and some individuals have more in common with each other than others, but all in all, we all do belong together.

But I am not saying this to encourage even more people to attack others for caring about a specific social issue, seeing that as prove that they only cared about that. People cannot probably handle everything, and all things to play into each other anyway.

And yes, I believe in social mindfulness, in work to help others and especially to help those who are in particular need of help, in care and in consideration. But I believe that the means to these things, whether it’s a specific group with which people choose to identify or even join, or a concept such as political correctness, etc. should serve the people and their well-being and safety and happiness. People should not serve them out of fear or being torn down by strangers on the internet.

And people shouldn’t alienate each other, they shouldn’t attack those who want to help, they shouldn’t refuse people to grow and to learn, they shouldn’t seperate social issues from each other as if we weren’t all people, as we shouldn’t cooperate to b help those who need help. And to do all this, we must allow humans to be human, to be imperfect but generally kind and well-intentioned. This striving for over specific perfection combined with disregard for general kindness can not possibly help. It only alienates people, frightens them, and paints those who actually want to do good in a bad light.

Please: My writing was perhaps very muddled up, and it may be that I took up some strings that I didn’t finish, or phrased some things badly. So if you wonder about anything I wrote here, or dislike anything of it, please tell me so that I can explain myself. I’ve seen so many people lately write things that in the end got negative responses that were in no proper relation to the original text and obviously based in misunderstanding, and I don’t want that.

#tumblr issues #cancel culture #purity culture #woke culture #personal #thoughts

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ali-lie · 4 years

Text

SuperPotterCorp Part4

Summary & Warning : The SG x HP fic no one asked for yet I’m posting. It’s pretty bad not to mention NSFW with lots of triggers and potential triggers like violence abuse and mention of all forms of assault. also starts off between season 3 and four Lena knows about Kara (obviously) [also agentreign] with the Bloody Brandy challenge.

Before the discussion could proceed any further they were interrupted by a series of hisses and dings in the direction from which Harry had appeared, that would be kitchen, suddenly all of Harry’s children plus Buffy cheered loudly and ran towards the kitchen, while Harry had a small smile on her face as she saw her kids rush towards the kitchen, She turned towards the super friends and said, “It is time for dinner, I suppose we can continue this discussion later on.”

As she said that and the superfriends began to nod Kara super sped to the kitchen in a demonstration of how much she agreed on the opinion that the discussion about their life can be shelved when compared with food.

Harry and the superfriends followed her at a much sedate pace, as they entered the kitchen the super friends saw it had a hard wood floor and the walls were a mix of tiles and different shades of paints in stripes like magenta and maroon there were several different pots on the stove and there was an oven which was indicating that it was done preparing whatever was inside it, they spotted a huge polished mahogany table that looked quite Victorian, except it didn’t have any legs to keep it off floor and was simply floating mid air, they chalked it up to magic having seen far too much weird to be fazed by something so simple, but there was a distinct lack of any seating.

Harry simply started washing her hands, while the superfriends were standing awkwardly due to not knowing what to do, as soon as she was finished Harry gave her children a look and they all groaned and rushed to wash their hands, seeing the baffled look among the superfriends she explained, “Sorry, it’s a small discipline trick I’ve used since forever, the kitchen is enchanted so that nor food nor chairs will appear until all occupants have washed their hands, so iif you will please..” she ended giving them a look.

Sam let out a whistle and said, “That’s damn great! if only I could get something like that at my place..” she ended giving the former a pleading look.

The aforementioned witch threw back her head and laughed, looking at the brunette with a twinkle in her eyes she replied, “We’ll see.”

As soon as Winn - who was the last - washed his hands there was a soft pop and all the food flew from the stove and the oven - which was a lot more than they assumed at first - and set itself on the table like a royal feast, and belatedly the noticed the chairs fitting snugly along the table as if they were always there.

As they sat down Dandy and Buffy closed their eyes and clasped their hands to start praying, meanwhile rest of the Potter family simply sat with a patient calm, looking at the puzzled faces of superfriends Harry said, “both of them like to pray, Buffy being a christian to Yeshua while Dandy believes in Mothers Magic and Earth hence prays to Gaia and Freyja, I mean it when I say you need not wait and may start eating”.

Speaking for all of them John said, “We’ll prefer to wait.”

Giving him a nod of understanding she glanced at Kara and Lena, the former had closed her eyes too and was praying, to whatever deity she believed in though she highly doubted it was the popular guy in sandals who died for everyone’s sins, that led to her snorting, she had to stop watching so much Supernatural, and then she looked at Lena who was looking at Kara as if she was her god – or goddess in this case – the sheer peace on the former-Luthor’s face was not unlike that of a nun or priestess, had they never met her she wouldn’t have cursed them with her misfortune, and they would’ve had a fairytale romance, she wondered how many would she lead to their doom, her parents, Sirius, Ginny, and….she was snapped out of her grim thoughts by having her eldest daughter flicking hard on her forehead.

Macaria had a deadpan expression on her face as she said, “Hey! You still have guests here wander off to your doomdom afterwards”.

A small yet genuine smile formed on her face as she stared at her eldest daughter and replied, “Doomdom, really? Of all of our inside jokes you had to take up that one?”

The Superfriends politely reigned in their curiosity, and tried to look like they hadn’t been paying attention to the mother-daughter’s antics, except Brainy who had been silenced by John when it looked like he was going to say something quite probably rude.

As the dinner progressed peacefully, the superfriends realized something, there was a lot of food, even by their standards and the small family of five had been devouring the lion’s share of it, actually it was only the three siblings eating more than Kara did at dinner, which was saying something, at first they thought it must’ve been because of their magical heritage but given how little Harry was consuming that didn’t make a lot of sense, after figuring out that this wasn’t a trap they had been trying not to offend the good reality warping lady, unfortunately for the lot of them Winn forgot that little detail as he put this whole leg in his mouth commenting, “Wow! You guys must be eating out a restaurant in a single day!”

The Potter siblings reacted in varied manner at the DEO tech genii in accordance to their age by Slightly Smiling (Macaria), giving him a deadpan (Dandy), and frowning at him (Casper), Buffy looked like she was about to pounce across the table and strangle the man with her bare hands, and had a flat expression as she stared at the offending man and offered just two words, “Excuse me?” those two words were spoken quite softly but were all the more frigid, gone was the friendly atmosphere she had till now.

Before anyone else could say anything Winn began explaining himself, much to his friends worry, “No, No, I didn’t meant to offend anyone of you and I’m really sorry for that, it’s just that when Kara uses her powers she requires a huge calorie intake to maintain her strength and I was wondering if something along the same vein applied when it came to your abilities…”

As he trailed off his defense Harry took a deep breath but before she could say anything Dandy stalled her, “Mum calm down, he didn’t mean anything by what he said; we’ve heard it when people are being rude and he wasn’t.”

Harry frowned and yet again took a deep breath and got up from her seat to promptly leave the room after muttering an “Excuse me”.

The atmosphere instantly became quite awkward, at least till Mac took it upon herself to explain her mother’s reaction, “Don’t worry she’ll be back soon enough, our lifestyle especially food and clothing are a bit of a touchy subject for her, after all there was once a time when she arrived here with three children and no money or resources to her aid, all she had was her will power, so she take offence quite easily when anyone even accidentally implies anything negative with regards to us”.

All of them gave a nod of understanding at that and Winn grimaced at that feeling quite guilty by now, while both Sam and John understood where Harry was coming from.

A/n Hello nice to meet all of you! Sorry for the late update to any and all who’s reading this, work just started back again, and we’re understaffed at the moment due to social distancing so writing got side tracked. Hope all of you are safe and happy.

#superpottercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #harry potter #supergirl #hp #sorrynotsorry

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charanteleclerc · 5 years

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could i request an alex/george one shot? maybe something to do w alex getting the red bull seat ❤️ love your work!!

Enjoy! ❤️ Sorry it took so long!

away from the world, just for a day

“Okay, thank you.” Alex said breathlessly, trying to stop his hands from shaking. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

“We’re counting on you Alex.” Christian’s voice came through the phone, making it shudder a little where it lay on the desk. “Don’t let us down.”

“I won’t. Thank you.” Alex said again, unable to stop the wide grin on his face. Christian had hung up, his phone screen turning blank, but he just couldn’t help but stare at it. He hadn’t expected to have a phone call with Christian, let alone the conversation being a job offer. He’d only had a seat in F1 for half a year, he’d been begging for a drive only a few years ago. He just couldn’t believe it. He’d known realistically that there was a possibility that this could’ve happened, but he was the rookie. Red Bull had said that they were keeping Pierre, and if they’d never planned to keep him, Dany was right there. Admittedly he’d already been in that seat once, but Dany had a podium to his name now. He didn’t, but Red Bull still wanted him.

It was just unreal.

He’d be all over the news soon, and part of him wanted to message Pierre, but he had no idea if Pierre even knew yet, he hadn’t asked. And it might be too soon, rubbing salt into a fresh wound, and getting a ‘how are you holding up’ message from the guy who replaced you might not be appreciated. He knew that he wouldn’t, if he was in that situation.

He could hear his family outside, enjoying the sunshine. He shook himself, picking his phone up again, before standing, heading out to join them. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to do at Red Bull, and for the minute, he didn’t want to sit and over analyse it. He was going to live in the here and now, and that meant spending time with his family, and to relax, really relax. The rest of his life could wait a few weeks.

~*~

He’d had so many messages from people, mostly saying something like ‘congratulations’, ‘well done’, ‘go and get that championship’. He tried to ignore those last ones, for the most part, the only pressure he needed on himself right now was proving himself capable of the seat next year. Baby steps, secure the seat first, then aim for the championship.

He’d had a message from Pierre, simple saying ‘take car of the car for me’. He still wasn’t sure what to say in response to that, there probably was no right response. He knew Pierre though, and he probably wasn’t expecting an answer. Small mercies.

He was walking down towards the town, happy for the excuse to stretch his legs. His family had been ecstatic about the news, and were wasting no opportunity at celebrating. He was almost ninety percent sure that his parents were more thrilled from him than he was for himself. And he was happy, so happy. He just didn’t really need it being talked about all the time.

He followed the trail, watching the sea glisten in the sunlight. It seemed that everyone had flocked to Greece this year, and it wasn’t hard to understand why. The place was just pure beauty, it was like living in a movie, or a fairytale. The locals said hello to him when he passed them in the street, he could laze all day at the beach and not be disturbed. It was pure heaven.

He turned down the street, heading to the bakery when he saw someone familiar, walking the other way. “George? Is that you?”

“Alex, oh man!” George exclaimed, dragging him into a tight hug. “Congratulations mate, can’t believe you got the seat!”

“Neither can I, believe me.” Alex laughed, scratching his head. “It’s like I’m in a dream and haven’t woken up yet.”

“I can pinch you, if you want.” George supplied helpfully, snickering when Alex sent him a look. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in England this summer.”

“Plans changed. We went to Thailand for a couple of days, then here for some rest.” Alex shrugged. “Much happier to be here than home right now.”

“It’s definitely good to get away.” George agreed. “And you get to celebrate here, that’s a good bonus.”

“You should listen to my parents, they haven’t stopped talking about it for the last few days.” Alex sighed a little. “It’s nice to have some time to myself.”

“I can get that.” George agreed. “Would you mind if I was company though?”

“Well…” Alex drew out the word, teasing. “I don’t see why not.”

“Such a charmer.” George rolled his eyes. “I was just planning on going to the beach for a bit, unless -”

“That sounds like heaven.” Alex gave a happy groan. “We can grab some food from the bakery, have a little picnic.”

“Definitely heaven.” George grinned, walking away. “Come on slowpoke, what are you waiting for?”

“Would you hit me if I said the view?” Alex laughed, as George sent him a look. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

They wandered through the streets of the town, watching as people went about their lives around them. It was soothing, the flow of normality. They were just two men, two tourists, not even a hint of recognition. It was freeing. They were still relative nobodies, and the anonymity was desperately appreciated - especially to him, and especially now. After so much talk in the last few days, of how this move would change his life forever, escaping it was something that he needed, at least for a little while.

“What do you want?” George broke him out of his trance. “For the picnic?”

“Grab some pastries, and I’ll get some gyros?” Alex offered. “Ooh, and we need something to drink, water or juice of something.”

“Not letting your hair down on holiday?”

“Don’t you know, I’m in the big leagues now.” Alex joked. “Just need something refreshing right now.”

“Coming right up.” George gave a cheeky salute, disappearing into the shop. Alex headed over to the vendor, and by the time George returned, his hands were full of food.

“Beach time!” Alex exclaimed, grinning. “This is going to be the best picnic ever.”

“You probably haven’t been on many picnics then.” George smirked. “So, how do you plan on celebrating?”

“Celebrating?”

“No offence to your folks, I love your parents, I do, but a sit down meal probably isn’t the way you want to celebrate your news.”

“Still haven’t really wrapped my head around it, let alone think about partying because of it.” Alex admitted. “And it’s not like I knew anyone was around. It’s a bit sad to go partying by myself.”

“Very true.” George nodded, taking a bite out of his food. “This gyros is good. Really good. What is it about holiday food that it just tastes better.”

“Holiday magic.” Alex shrugged. “Are you staying here all summer?”

“Heading to the Algarve after this.” George said through mouthfuls. “You should come, if you’re not busy.”

“Extra holiday, bit difficult to say no to.” Alex grinned. “Count me in.”

“Awesome!” George nudged him with his shoulder. “It’s going to be great, we haven’t hung out properly all this year.”

“Life keeps us busy.” Alex said wistfully. “I’m already tired from just half a season.”

“Tell me about it.” George sighed as they headed out onto the beach, kicking off their flip flops and digging their toes into the warm sand. “This is so nice.”

“If the beaches in England were like this I’d be there everyday.” Alex said, contented. “So, how are you going to help me celebrate?”

“I thought you didn’t want to.”

“Well, now I’ve got someone to celebrate with.” Alex shrugged, finishing his food. “And it’d be nice to unwind.”

“Well, we could always start by going for a swim?” George offered, laughing when he saw Alex’s look. “You really want to go clubbing?”

“No, but…” Alex trailed off, making patterns in the sand with his fingers. “You do.”

“It’s not about what I want.” George said fondly. “When I get a promotion like your, then we’ll talk. C’mon.” He stood, holding out his hand to Alex, wiggling his fingers a little. “Do you want to go swimming?”

“Why, Mr Russell, you sure know how to treat a man.” Alex teased, taking George’s hand. “Last one to the sea buys dinner!” He shouted, taking off, pulling his shirt over his head.

“You cheat!” George cried, running after him. Alex splashed into the sea, laughing as George followed after him, deliberately splashing Alex with water. “That was underhanded!”

“You owe me dinner though.” Alex waggled his eyebrows. “I’m a man of expensive taste.”

“No you’re not.” George shook his head. “I grew up with you, remember? You’d be happy if we went to McDonald’s.”

“Only if I can get the little toy.” He swam around lazily, both of them flicking water at each other intermittently. “I could do this all day.”

“Swim?”

“Just laze.” Alex said, floating on his back. “I haven’t been so rested in ages.”

“Would you trade it though?” George asked, almost to himself.

“No. No, I never would.” Alex swam back until his feet could touch the floor. “Even if just for these few moments.”

George hummed, and they swam in silence for a minute. George swam a little too close, and Alex took it as a good opportunity to dunk him, like they’d done so many times as stupid kids at whatever swimming pool was around. He pushed down on George’s back a little, giggling as he went under for just a moment, spluttering as he came back up to the surface.

“Such a cheat!” George shook his head, water spraying in every direction. “I think I just swallowed the sea.”

“We’re still swimming in something.” Alex teased, moving out of reach. “Anyway, you look all James Bondy now.”

“James Bondy?”

“Yeah, when he’s coming out of the sea, and all the girls went crazy for it.”

“You think I look like James Bond?” George looked surprised, vulnerable almost. Alex nodded, swimming closer again.

“You’ve got the dark hair, the nice accent -”

“It’s the same accent as yours!”

“ - the nice accent, not to mention the body…” Alex trailed off, shrugging helplessly. “What else can I say?”

“Nothing.” George murmured, and then he was leaning in, there was a hand on the back of his neck, his brain short circuiting. It’s not that he’d never imagined - daydreamed, dreamt - what this would be like, George kissing him. It was just his brain couldn’t understand what was happening, it was too much information to take in, so much to process in just a few seconds. George liked him? George was kissing him?

Woah.

George was pulling back - no, too soon - looking mortified. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Just… pretend this never happened.”

“No!” Alex yelped, holding on as tightly as he dared, in case George swam away and he’d never see him again. Not that that would happen, of course, they would see each other again. But the swimming away was still an option. “Don’t go.”

“Alex, you don’t have to be nice for my benefit.” George gave a weak smile, avoiding his gaze. “You obviously didn’t want it. Me. The kiss.”

“I did! I was just overwhelmed.” Alex took a deep breath, trying not to blush. “Can we try that again, maybe?”

“Really?” George looked sceptical. “Cause if you’re just trying to be nice -”

“I’m really, really not.” Alex assured him. “Please?”

George looked at him for a few seconds, before leaning in again. Alex melted a little bit, letting George hold him close, feeling him make a low, hungry noise in his chest. They parted, breathing hard, and Alex rested his forehead against George’s.

“I think I might like a private celebration more?”

George’s answering smile was enough of an answer, and just a little bit of him hoped that this smile was just all for him.

As always, crossposted to my AO3 (Charante_Leclerc), and prompts are always open(though I currently have a fairly hefty list - I promise I'm getting through them!) Enjoy! ❤️

#alex albon #george russell #f1 fanfic #Anonymous

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fvgcfgxc · 3 years

Text

but what am I saying

“No, Vanya, you see,” she went on, keeping one of her little hands on my shoulder, while her other pressed my hand and her eyes looked into

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mine, “I fancied that he was somehow too little affected . . . he seemed already such a man — you know, as though he’d been married ten years but was panske boty nike hnede still polite to his wife. Isn’t that very premature? . . . He laughed, and prinked, but just as though all that didn’t matter, as though it only partly concerned me, not as it used to be . . . he was in a great hurry to see Katerina Fyodorovna. . . . If I spoke to him he didn’t listen to me, or began talking of something else, you know, that horrid, aristocratic habit we’ve both been getting him out of. In fact, he was too . . . even indifferent it seemed . . . but what am I saying! Here I’m doing it, here I’ve begun! Ah, what exacting, capricious despots we all are, Vanya! Only now I see it! We can’t forgive a man for a trifling change in his face, and God knows what has made his face change! You were right, Vanya, in reproaching me just now! It’s all my fault! We make our own troubles and then we complain of them. . . . Thanks, Vanya, you have quite comforted me. Ah, if he would only come today! But there perhaps he’ll be angry for what happened this morning.” State of North Carolina, New Hanover County.—Whereas complaint upon oath hath this day been made to us, two of the justices of the peace for the said state and county aforesaid, by Guilford Horn, of Edgecombe County, that a certain male slave belonging to him, named Harry, a carpenter by trade, about forty years old, five feet five inches high, or thereabouts; yellow complexion; stout built; with a scar on his left leg (from the cut of an axe); has very thick lips; eyes deep sunk in his head; forehead very square; tolerably 86loud voice; has lost one or two of his upper teeth; and has a very dark spot on his jaw, supposed to be a mark,—hath absented himself from his master’s service, and is supposed to be lurking about in this county, committing acts of felony or other misdeeds; these are, therefore, in the name of the state aforesaid, to command the said slave forthwith to surrender himself and return home to his said master; and we do hereby, by virtue of the act of assembly in such cases made and provided, intimate and declare that if the said slave Harry doth not surrender himself and return home immediately after the publication of these presents, that any person or persons may KILL and DESTROY the said slave by such tommy hilfiger backpack means as he or they may think fit, without accusation or impeachment of any crime or offence for so doing, and without incurring any penalty or forfeiture thereby. So much for the course of a decided anti-slavery body in union with a few slave-holding churches. So much for a most discreet, judicious, charitable, and brotherly attempt to test by experience the question, What communion hath light with darkness, and what concord hath Christ with Belial? The slave-system is darkness,—the slave-system is Belial! and every attempt to harmonize it with the profession of Christianity will be just like these. But do you know, my dear boy,” she went on dropping her voice, “my poor man! My poor man! He’s absolutely against this marriage. He let it out. She had bites all over her, little red bumps, itchy and inflamed. Where did all the ants come from? Dany brushed them from her arms and legs and belly. “Ye see,” said Marks to Haley, stirring his punch as he did so, “ye see, we has justices convenient at all p’ints along shore, that does up any little jobs in our line quite kimono long femme grande taillereasonable. Tom, he does the knockin’ down, and that ar; and I come in all dressed up,—shining boots,—everything first chop,—when the swearin’ ‘s to be done. The Lord of Bones gave as good as he was getting. By rights the two-handed greatsword should have been a deal more cumbersome than

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Jon’s longsword, but the wildling wielded it with blinding speed.. I said good-bye. Katya pressed my hand warmly and looked at me expressively. We would offer no excuse for any infidels who take for their religion mere anti-slavery zeal, and, under this guise, gratify a malignant hatred of real Christianity. But nike ao0053 such defences of slavery from the Bible as some of the American clergy have made are exactly fitted to make infidels of all honorable and high-minded men. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. 3. We shall endeavor, as far as possible, to allay chanel ágynemű the violence of party strife, to remove all unholy excitement, and to produce mutual confidence and kindness, and a deep interest in the welfare of all cizme vara cu tocparts of our nation; and a strong desire to preserve its union and promote its highest welfare.. A pair of striplings followed her, boys no

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older than fourteen. Next a scarred man with a missing eye. 1 Tim. 1:10. A pious lady said to the author, with regard to instructing her slaves, “I am ashamed to galeb spodnjice teach them what is right; I know that they know as well as I do that it is wrong to hold them as slaves, and I am ashamed to look them in the face.” Pointing to an intelligent mulatto woman who passed through the room, she continued, “Now, there’s B——. She is as intelligent and capable as any white woman I ever knew, and as well able to have her liberty and take care of herself; and she knows it isn’t right to keep her as we do, and I know it too; and yet I cannot get my husband to think as I do, or I should be glad to set them free.”.

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tpanan · 3 years

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My Sunday Daily Blessings

August 22, 2021

Be still quiet your heart and mind, the LORD is here, loving you talking to you...........

Twenty First Sunday in Ordinary Time (Roman Rite Calendar) Lectionary 122, Cycle B

First Reading: Joshua 24: 1-2a, 15-17, 18b

Joshua gathered together all the tribes of Israel at Shechem, summoning their elders, their leaders, their judges, and their officers. When they stood in ranks before God, Joshua addressed all the people: “If it does not please you to serve the LORD, decide today whom you will serve, the gods your fathers served beyond the River or the gods of the Amorites in whose country you are now dwelling. As for me and my household, we will serve the LORD.”

But the people answered, “Far be it from us to forsake the LORD for the service of other gods. For it was the LORD, our God, who brought us and our fathers up out of the land of Egypt, out of a state of slavery. He performed those great miracles before our very eyes and protected us along our entire journey and among the peoples through whom we passed. Therefore we also will serve the LORD, for he is our God.”

Responsorial Psalm: Psalm 34:2-3, 16-17, 18-19, 20-21

"Taste and see the goodness of the Lord."

Second Reading: Ephesians 5:21-32,

Brothers and sisters: Be subordinate to one another out of reverence for Christ. Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is head of his wife just as Christ is head of the church, he himself the savior of the body.

As the church is subordinate to Christ, so wives should be subordinate to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ loved the church and handed himself over for her to sanctify her, cleansing her by the bath of water with the word, that he might present to himself the church in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish. So also husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one hates his own flesh but rather nourishes and cherishes it, even as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body. For this reason a man shall leave his father and his mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh. This is a great mystery, but I speak in reference to Christ and the church.

Verse before the Gospel: Jophn 6: 63c, 68c

Alleluia, Alleluia

"Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life; you have the words of everlasting life."

Alleluia, Alleluia

Gospel: John 6: 60-69

Many of Jesus’ disciples who were listening said, “This saying is hard; who can accept it?” Since Jesus knew that his disciples were murmuring about this, he said to them, “Does this shock you? What if you were to see the Son of Man ascending to where he was before? It is the spirit that gives life, while the flesh is of no avail. The words I have spoken to you are Spirit and life. But there are some of you who do not believe.”

Jesus knew from the beginning the ones who would not believe and the one who would betray him. And he said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted him by my Father.”

As a result of this, many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him. Jesus then said to the Twelve, “Do you also want to leave?”

Simon Peter answered him, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and are convinced that you are the Holy One of God.”

**Meditation:

Why do some find it easier while others find it harder to accept the claims which Jesus made? Many were attracted to Jesus because he offered them something irresistible - a visible sign of God's mercy and favor which Jesus demonstrated in his wonderful works of healing, deliverance, and miraculous signs, including the multiplication of the loaves and fish when he feed the five thousand who had gathered to hear him speak. Many stumbled, however, when Jesus made claims which only God can make. Jesus' discourse on "eating his flesh and drinking his blood" (see John 6:51-59) which pointed to the Last Supper, caused offence to many of his followers.

The blessing of full union with God through Christ Jesus claimed to be the bread of heaven, the very life of God given to us as spiritual food to sustain us on our journey to our promised homeland with the Father in heaven. Jesus did not leave any middle ground for his hearers. They must either accept his word as divine or reject it as the claim of an imposter. Even the apostles admitted that this was a "hard saying". This expression meant that it was not just hard to understand, but hard to accept. Jesus pressed the issue with his beloved disciples because he wanted to test their faith and loyalty to him as the Holy One sent from the Father in heaven. Jesus promised his disciples nothing less than the full blessing of eternal life and union with God. Jesus assures his disciples that it is his heavenly Father who gives the invitation and the grace to believe and follow even in the "hard sayings". Jesus knew that some would not only reject him and his word, but would do so with violence fueled by hatred, envy, and even betrayal by one of his own disciples.

"My words are spirit and life" Jesus told his disciples that his words were "spirit and life" (John 6:63) - his words came from the heavenly Father who is the Author of life and the One who breathes his Spirit into those who believe in him. Through the gift of faith Peter was able to receive spiritual revelation of who Jesus truly is - the Holy One of God, the eternal Son sent from the Father in heaven to redeem a fallen human race and reconcile them with God.

Faith is a gift and a personal response to God's revelation of himself How does God help us grow in faith and trust in his word, even the hard sayings which are difficult to understand? Faith is a gift which God freely gives to those who listen to his word and who put their trust in him. Faith is a personal response to God's revelation of himself. Faith is neither blind nor ignorant. It is based on the truth and reliability of God's word. True faith seeks understanding. Saint Augustine of Hippo (354-430 AD) said, "I believe in order to understand, and I understand the better to believe." The Lord Jesus offers all of his followers his life-giving word and Spirit to help us grow in our knowledge and understanding of God.

We can know God personally through his word Paul the Apostle tells us that it is the work of the Holy Spirit who enlightens the eyes of our heart and mind to understand the truth and wisdom which comes from God (Ephesians 1:17-18). Faith is the key to understanding and experiencing God's action and work in our personal lives. Paul the Apostle tells us that "God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us" (Romans 5:5). We can know God personally, and we grow in recognizing his voice as we listen to his word and obey his instruction. Do you believe, as Peter did, that Jesus has the words of everlasting life and the power to change and transform your life? Ask the Lord Jesus to increase your faith that you may grow in knowing, loving, and serving him as your Lord and Redeemer, Teacher and Healer, Master and Savior.Lord Jesus, you have the words of everlasting life. Help me to cast aside all doubt and fear so that I may freely embrace your word with complete trust and joy. I surrender all to you. Be the Lord of my life and the Ruler of my heart. May there be nothing which hinders me from trusting in your love and following your will.

Sources:

Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain © 1968, 1981, 1997, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

**Meditations may be freely reprinted and translated into other languages for non-profit use only. Please cite copyright and original source. Copyright 2021 Daily Scripture Readings and Meditation, dailyscripture.net author Don Schwager

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wristic · 6 years

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To Forsake All Love (Part 5)

Pairing: Sigurd X Reader Word Count: 3500 Warnings: (Explicit 18+) gotta consummate that marriage somehow

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5-

The silence was a torment in the small room. It made your voice sound all the more shaky, your heart beat all the harder in your ears. You spoke the rights and vows, listened as Father Weland spoke his, but you could barely see him behind the panic in your eyes.

Weland was a man who looked positively innocent. Joyful at all times, drinking and singing in his small holy church, yet the wrinkled pudgy man had a harsh reputation on him. In some cases he was only a deviant drinking in far more sins than blessings. Everyone knew Weland gambled and drank into stupors and may or may not seduce women on occasion. The other rumors were the stuff of nightmares, often made from vexed husbands and shocked proteges. The Father took children in the night, peeling off his skin to reveal a demon underneath before eating them. It’s why his belly was so big. Edmure and your father hated him, yet he always made your mother and sisters laugh. A pristine record would have been better, but Weland was all you had on such short notice and also seemed excited to witness a Viking wedding.

As the rights ended, with a grunt he stood, smiling and blushing proudly, a hint of wine already on him. “Thank you your Majesty, I can not tell you the joy that is overflowing in me! Never as a lad had I imagined I’d be standing here in front of a Queen, named a Bishop of Northumbria!” He sighed, a little glitter in his eyes, “Oh the irony! It’s a beautiful thing! Pastor Cenberet can suck my fat blistered toe after today!”

A small snort escaped you, not expecting such a jest in a dire time. You tried to cover your mouth in embarrassment but he waved your modesty, “You can laugh, it was meant to be funny!”

The hand timidly came down, silence nearly filling the room before Weland chimed, “Guess we best be going! It’s gotten awfully quiet in the castle, must mean all the guests have already filled the forest!” He went to walk away, but you were stuck in your place. Noticing, he stopped at the door half open, closing it again. “Perhaps you would like some guidance before we venture out in the deep?”

Shifting a bit, feeling your blood heat in embarrassment, you fiddled with your fingers before asking, “Is it true you...take time alone with… women?

Weland looked away, a hint of charmful bashfulness before turning back with a quirk of a smile, “Only when they’re smiling.”

“Father-” You pushed on your heated cheeks trying to cool them. “It’s a question I would have prefered to ask my sister but… is there any advice you can give me? For tonight?”

Pity came to Weland, walking back and putting his hands on your shoulders, giving you a comforting grin, “I know, much to your dismay, this is a political marriage-”

“I’m fine with-”

“But should you find yourself enjoying a moment of the most sinful of lust,” He exaggerated with theatrically cross of his chest, “God preserve you from such an atrocity!” The mock probably should have been offencive but it only made you smile. “Take it. Enjoy it. The future is unknown and a little bit of happiness can take us to far far away places. It can change our entire path in life. I know not what this marriage will bring, the first of its kind, a Christian to a Northman, but should you be happy in it, then what business does shame have to take its place?”

It was hard to talk, but you did smile at your feet.

Following him out, Godwine was waiting just outside, “I told the boy to go ahead. Might as well keep some traditions alive.” Gratefully, you took his arm. It was rare for you to see him out of his armor, though it must have been rare for him to see you in a plain silk white dress with a crown of jeweled and glass flowers. You both stiffly smiled at one another, Godwine clearly as nervous as you were, and something about that was calming.

The castle seemed unusually quiet and still, the walk into the woods wracking your nerves. Into the forest, along the made path, chatter and cheers echoed between the trees, you wondering if Sigurds whole army was filtered in the forest. Arriving at the clearing, you found it was not only so, but the people of your castle had filled one side, your side, while Sigurds people all stood on his. You gave a worrying glance to Godwine, a sudden dread for Sigurds refusal to take your warning as Godwine whispered, “He thought it would be like a gift, surround you in your people to show it all wasn’t that big of a deal to have a Viking wedding.”

“Did you-”

“He was insistent.”

Already your people were stone faced while they watched you walk up, some disgusted as they spotted Weland proudly smiling behind you. The newly made Bishop was unfazed by the tense air and you wished you could be so thick skinned. Sigurd only smiled to you as you came to his front and Godwine slipped from you. He took your shaking hands and rubbed them, seeming like he could convince you this wasn’t going to turn into a disaster. All you could do was force a smile and prey the ceremony could be a pleasant one.

Gulping down your fear, holding in the frustrated sting in your eyes, the woman between the opposing sides grinned at you kindly. However you couldn’t help but notice behind her, the mossy stump. The mossy stump that has always been in the untouched clearing.

Leaning back a little, you whispered to Godwine, “Isn’t that the-”

“Now’s not the time to worry about the Good Folk Princess.”

How did Sigurd manage this? To do things so wrong he even invited the Fae to partake in this wedding. You looked to the sky and prayed harder.

The priestess began to speak, and for all his failings Sigurd at least translated in a whisper for you. It did seem to ease the tense air behind your back, the vows sounding like poetry where your’s would have been the treaty that it was. His brother Ubbe than handed him a blade, presenting it to you to pass down to your children. You however didn’t know what to do with it, awkwardly turning back to hand it to Godwine. Who shocked you in pulling his own blade and handed it to you, to which you awkwardly offered it to Sigurd.

The moment the bawl of a goat reached you, your skin crawled. Tightening your hands in Sigurds, the woman pull a blade and walk to it. You leaned close to him whispering harshly, “You can’t make a sacrifice.”

“It’s our wedding, it needs to be blessed-”

“Let my priest bless us and the people. My people won’t take the sight of a sacrifice well.”

“You will insult mine if we do not make one.”

You stiffened so hard you thought you might break, holding your breath as the blade was aimed at the animal's throat. As the first drop of blood came you glanced to your people, all grimacing and you shamefully looked back down at the ground.

Collecting a bowl of blood, the woman dropped two rings in and spin them with her finger as she spoke. Walking over, she continued to announce with a smile, the Northmen cheering out a name. Pulling a golden circlet out, she slipped it on Sigurds finger, the blood staining up his knuckles. She offered the other to you, but you were frozen, staring at the gold ring. You noticed it was the promise ring you had given Sigurd, the black jet stone pearl looking like it was crying out the red.

Sigurd gave you a small tug to try and shake you, and it only barely worked, making you nauseated to realize you were meant to put it on. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you gave a hand and let her slip it on, the ichor having gone a bit cold and sticky, catching on your finger. You looked at it, wanting to at least dip your hand in water to rid the blessed blood.

Though that discomfort was magnified when your attention was called for again, and as soon as you looked up a small splatter of blood was flicked in your face by a small branch. The small cry you gave and startled jump made his people chuckle, but you were so terrified of the disapproval in yours you felt you might faint.

At last the priestess went to something you recognized, entwining your and Sigurds hands together with a plain white ribbon. The final rights were spoken, letting you catch your breath, no matter how queasy it had become, and surprising you when it ended and your chin was pulled into a soothing kiss.

Pulling back, the crowd of heathens cheered loud enough to echo through the forest, your people clapping and probably giving the same sigh of relief you had that it was finally over.

Intermingling didn’t happen as Sigurd probably hoped for. As him and his brothers and his people played games and feasted, yours quickly filtered out back to the castle, only very few staying in curiosity. Though you noticed it was quite a few girls and widows that stayed. You watched it all but nursed a large cup of mead they sat in front of you, refilling it at a moments notice. Somewhere in between then your face had been cleaned of the blood, a hammer was placed in your lap, the goat that had been sacrificed had been cooked and eaten, and Sigurd appeared beside you with a laugh.

“How many times has that been filled?” You looked at it wide eyes realizing you had no idea, you didn’t even know how long you’d been sitting there twiddling the hammer snugly in the crease of your legs.

Sigurd stumbled a little himself as he stood up, cheerfully holding out a hand to you, “Than I think it’s about time we get to bed!” He said it loud enough for everyone at the table to hear and cheer, you at a loss as you were too busy stumbling when you stood. The spinning in your head made you laugh, the closeness with Sigurd holding you up even as he stumbled made you happy and warm.

You felt his hand run along you cheek, you both getting caught in one another’s eyes, smiling and giggling while no one had said anything. In a sweep Sigurd bent down and picked you up, getting a shocked cry from you that melted into a laughter, “Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?”

He proudly called, walking you away from the feast table, “We are going to find out!”

“Oh Heavens no!” You clung to him tighter.

But Sigurd didn’t so much as trip to the set up tent, swayed maybe, pretended to drop you maybe, but he held you tight past the threshold of the enclosed room. It was dark, the skin of the tent lit up a warm glowing orange from the fires.

The bed came up underneath you, the furs tickling your skin and relieving the weight of your body as Sigurd slammed down beside you with a laugh. Both of you caught your breath and stared into one another. Pushing himself a little closer, Sigurd lifted a hand to brush down your face, “You really are the most beautiful woman.”

You giggled bashfully, pulling down his hand. “Stop saying that.”

His fingers curled around your neck, cradling you and shaking his head, “You stop telling me to stop saying that.” Giggles filled the tent before he pulled you into a lazy kiss. The memory of the kiss of his first night at the castle taunted you, your mouth slacking and causing a wetness on his, asking for what you didn’t know how to ask. With a smile on his face, he wasn’t going to let you fall into submission, denying you what he knew you wanted.

Gulping down the insecurity, you reached out for the smallest taste, licking his honey lips and finding you didn’t want to stop. In a surge of heat you pulled him to you, moaning as you felt his tongue lave against yours. It stirred your legs, pressing your hips into him as your body tensed for the closeness. A shudder ran through you feeling his strong hand run along your body and down your thigh. Breaking the wet kiss and licking your lips, you tried to breathe slowly as you felt your dress slowly being hiked up, your sigh shaking as his bare fingers hungrily found your skin and started to pet circles.

You played anxiously in his long hair, unbraided for the event and tickling your fingers and cheek as he pressed his forehead to yours, breathing heavily down your neck. Looking up, he found your eyes as well, a soft grin taking him. “Are you alright?”

The sentiment made you chuckle, feeling ridiculous with yourself. Quickly you nodded. “Yes, just nervous.”

“I promise, there’s no reason to be.” He brushed your cheek again. “And we are married now, that makes it okay, yes?”

“Yes,” You smiled breathlessly, “It… will just take some getting used to.”

“That is fine, we take all the time we need, alright?” The idea did ease you a little, smiling and agreeing, pulling him to your kiss.

Finding your trembling legs again, they rounded to behind, diving between and causing an achy pulsing, only satiated as he pulled your thigh over his and dug your hips into his lap. A hard length pressed into you and made you whimper at the prospect. It was so easy to get lost in the madness of it all, craving more and more of him, running your hands up under his shirt to feel his taunt stomach rolling against you, his heartbeat slamming under your fingertips.

The dress was getting horribly itchy, annoying in the way it would heat up and wrap up in your arms and legs. In a breath, you sat up and started tugging on the strings behind your neck. As you fiddled with tugging it over your head, you felt warm hands following it up, running along your naked form in admiration as it was revealed. Tossing it off you found Sigurd staring up in awe, sighing, “Oh you are so beautiful.”

You chuckled, this time not telling him to stop and instead bending and taking his lips. He embraced you in a fit of passion, making you squeak as he threw you down on the bed, shifting himself between your legs and rutting his cock against your core. The sensation made you want more, raising your hips in an attempt to suffocate the need.

But he lifted, making you whimper with the sudden cold. Tugging at his shirt, you drank in every inch of bare skin looking so soft. He held such a soft demeanor, enough to make you forget he was a warrior and did train and fight. The muscle was lean but it was defined with every breath he took, his hair long down his shoulders and looking flamed in the dim light. Your hands itched to touch him. Sigurd stilled to watch your eyes rake his body before his hands dived to his waist, pushing down his pants. But he didn’t let you catch a solid glimpse of his manhood, gliding down over you with a teasing, “I don’t want to scare you too badly.”

You rolled your eyes with a chuckle at the arrogant claim, despite there probably being some truth to it with the way the length tapped on your slit, gliding up and down on the wet that had pooled there. It was hot and solid, pressing between you and Sigurd as he rolled his body over yours, sighing heavily like a sense of relief. Your hands happily ran along his body in exploration, before pushing up his hair that had curtained around your face.

He gave a lick to his lips, taking yours in one last kiss before his hand dived between you two. You tightened at the press of his dull tip at your entrance, the lips throbbing wildly in anticipation while your skin cooled in hesitance. Sigurd watched you closely, your legs trembling as he pushed on, stretching and filling, pausing when the sensations grew too much, burned you in protest. Despite how slow he moved, you were panting, gripping onto him for comfort when he started rocking into you, the sensation of being filled constant, so different and so much more intoxicating than just the presses on the outside. Your hips began to shift on their own, begging to meet his rhythm, your breath hard to keep inside. You mewled, embarrassedly covering your mouth before needing to cry out, the waves of pleasure blinding any and all sensibility.

It all felt like too much, like you should be crawling away and yet it was from pleasure you were so desperate to escape. Sigurd muttered in his own language before moaning and wrapping his arms tightly around you, holding you still as he pushed and began savoring his own pace.

Your legs hugged him, your hands fisted in his hair to face you so you could drown your cries in his kisses. Something brewed inside, a dam eager to break as more and more filled it, and it was almost terrifying to keep tempting that. But he had no issue with that fear, snapping hard before grabbing your hip and burying himself completely, watching you curl back and feeling your nails dig into his neck.

His hand disappeared between you again but this time he spun circles over your clit, making your whole body light up and keen into him, losing his rhythm and grabbing at him for a release you couldn’t stop. He cooed above you, “That’s it, that’s it,” as your body stuttered, your cries lost in your ears while a pleasure blinded and crashed throughout every nerve. He gave no pause to your ecstasy, thrusting fast and prolonging the tingling high before going stiff, moaning in the crook of your neck.

You two stayed embraced, unmoving, for a long moment. Until you gave a defeated sigh, only the smallest haziness making you tired. Giving a few kisses to your shoulder and across your chest, he pushed himself off, brushing his hair from his face before grabbing back onto you, pulling you close and tossing the blanket on you both. Sigurd’s hands still roamed you, still petted you to sleep, peppered kisses on your tired face and body. You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, not even sure when he stopped, but you had never felt more safe and more completed.

In the morning, you were up far before he was, eyes open and staring at the long cloth slabs on the exit shifting in the subtle wind. You needed to move, to get the chaos in your head out. Quietly you slipped out from under the furs and blankets, grabbing your discarded wedding dress but not bothering to tie it, the corners slumping off your shoulders. Walking around, you found the tent had in fact been finely decorated as if you two had always been living in it, even a dresser covered in combs and hair decorations. You picked at them, looking at the beautiful craftsmanship of a particular brush.

Your ears perked when you heard him shifting behind. “Sigurd. I should tell you… I am not wanted here.”

He was groggy, rubbing away at his face when he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Before you came here, before the proposal even, I have been called a Usurper. Many look at me and say I am devious and power hungry.”

Hesitant and quiet, he asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because we have started something here today, and you should know I have begun to feel it is destined to end in blood. As much as I had wanted to fight that.”

You heard him slip from the bed, feeling so cold until his arms wrapped around your waist. Keening your head against his, Sigurd whispered. “I think your fear is making you too cautious. Your people will come around. They must know they have no choice.”

“That’s the thing. There is always a choice. I thought it better not to run but not to fight either. They don’t want to run… but I can feel it in their glares, they want to fight.”

His arms held you tighter, a nervousness taking him with his disbelief. “They would not win… they have to know that.”

“I don’t think they care.” You shook your head. “And I doomed us by underestimating that.”

#Sigurd #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd ragnarsson #sigurd imagine #sigurd x reader #vikings imagine #my stuff #To Forsake All Love

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sophie-zadeh · 3 years

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Statement Analysis: Christian Porter Denies Historical Rape Allegation

Guest Post

I’m excited to announce that Colin Ector, talented Statement Analyst and author of this article, has kindly agreed to let me re-post his article here on the My Alcomy blog. Colin published the article on 24 March 2021, on his blog Through the Lens of Statement Analysis.

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did.

—Sophie

Christian Porter “Strenuously Denied” Allegations

Earlier this month Attorney General Christian Porter identified himself as the Australian cabinet minister accused of historical rape and has “strenuously denied” all the allegations against him in a Perth press conference.

His accuser spoke to detectives at Kings Cross station in February 2020 and was in contact with them at least 5 times thereafter in the following three months. On June 23rd the woman emailed Police to say she no longer wanted to proceed with reporting the matter. At that point, she had not yet made a formal statement. She took her own life the next day.

After her death police came into possession of a personal document/statement made by the woman sometime prior to detailing the accusations. This document was made available to some media outlets.

Christian Porter Rape Allegation Statement—Content Summary

Katherine Murphy, the Guardian’s political editor summarised the contents of the statement.

I have shortened this to the following bullet points.

1. The alleged assault took place on a specific date in January 1988.

2. The accuser ironed Porter’s shirt prior to the assault.

3. Porter made lewd comments about her breasts and said she would make a good housewife.

4. The accuser agreed to a non-penetrative sex act at Porter’s request after an evening out in Sydney.

5. Porter then allegedly sexually assaulted (raped) her more than once that same evening.

6. The accuser states she was drunk and felt dizzy.

7. The details recounted in the woman’s statement are graphic.

8. She says the man helped her clean up afterwards, including washing her body and her hair.

9. she was “deeply shocked and ashamed” in the aftermath, and told nobody about what had happened."

Although we cannot analyse this list of bullet points there a couple of things to note.

Statement Analysis: Reliable Denial

1. We have a specific time, date and place named for the assault. This is important in that it gives us the expectation that the accused will give a reliable denial. A reliable denial consists of 3 things.

a. The pronoun “I”. This places the subject psychologically in his words. It is very powerful and its absence is not to be missed. It can indicate a desire to not be present. A missing pronoun “I” creates distance psychologically between the subject (speaker, writer) and his or her words. The more serious or heinous the allegation the more likely it is that this powerful psychological presence (The use of “I”) will be used when denying the allegation. It is instinctive and intuitive.

b. “did not”, or “didn’t”. Either is fine. The use of “never” elongates time. This is why it is important to know the context. Is the allegation of a specific time and place? Is it clear what the allegation is? In this case, we have established date, time, location and that consensual non-penetrative sex is alleged, as well as rape at least twice thereafter.

c. The specific allegation stated. In this case both consensual non-penetrative sex and rape.

A Psychological Need to Wash

2. Also, worth noting is the mentioning of washing. The accuser’s account allegedly includes that Porter helped wash her body after the assault. Those that commit sexual offences often include in their language the mentioning of washing or water after the assault has taken place. They have a psychological need to wash themselves clean of the deed they have done. Language and reality sometimes mirror each other in this way.

For the sake of understanding of how instinctive this is, imagine for a moment you are waiting in your car at a traffic light and another car fails to break in time and rams straight up the back of you. When the police arrive the driver of the other car tells the officer, in front of you, that you reversed into him, when he was sitting at the lights.

What would be the first thing you would say? Would you say “Naa Never happened”? Would you say, “I can say categorically that nothing of that nature ever happened”?

It is very likely that the first word to come out of your mouth would be the personal pronoun “I”, followed by “did not” and then “reverse into him”. You may well say a lot of other things…., but the reliable denial will usually appear early and often. A personal accusation should produce a personal pronoun response.

Christian Porter Press Conference

Twenty Denials

The press conference went on for more than forty minutes. In this time Porter denied the allegations repeatedly. He was reported in the press as “Strenuously denying all allegations against him”. On closer inspection did he deny having consensual non-penetrative sex or raping his accuser?

Below are all of Porter’s 20 denials from the press conference.

1. And I hope that whatever else happens, from this point, that you will understand that in saying today that the things that are being claimed to have happened did not happen, that I do not mean to impose anything more upon your grief.

2. what is being alleged did not happen

3. nothing in the allegations that have been printed ever happened.

4. I can say categorically that what has been put in various forms and allegations simply did not happen.

5. something that simply did not happen,

6. Reporter: Is your defence here that you didn't sleep with the alleged victim or it was consensual?

Mr Porter: I did not sleep with the victim. We didn't have anything of that nature happen between us.

7. I can say to you all, it didn't happen

8. I can only say to you it didn't happen.

9. all I could say is what I have said to you today, that it just didn't happen.

10. Reporter: Were you ever alone, the two of you?

Mr Porter: Look, I just — I don't think so.

11. All I have by way of the allegations is what I have literally read, the same things that you would have read. They just didn't happen.

12. something that just didn't happen 33 years ago. So, if that happens, I couldn't succeed to disapprove something that didn't happen

13. they just didn't happen.

14. Could I have forgotten the things that have been printed? Could I have forgotten or misconstrued the things that I have read, which are said to have occurred? Absolutely not. They just didn't happen

15. You allegedly then forced her to perform oral sex on you and that after that you raped her twice. What do you say to that allegation?

Mr Porter: Just it didn't happen, and it's not true.

16. I'm not commentating on survival or politics. I'm simply saying to you all, that I did — it just did not happen.

17. Was there a time that you spent alone with this person?

Mr Porter: It's not impossible, but I have never been in the person's room or anything like that.

18. you don't remember having any other kind of relationship with her?

Mr Porter: It's because I didn't.

19. I'm just saying, it didn't happen.

20. I will finish by saying the things that I have read did not happen, and to suggest that they could be forgotten is ridiculous. They just never happened.

Wow! Twenty denials of a terrible allegation and yet he is unwilling or unable to give a single reliable denial. There are some worthy mentions within these.

The Pronoun “I”

Porter demonstrates that the pronoun “I” comes naturally to him as it does with all of us who speak the English language. He uses it several times to deny the accusations but to what does he connect himself so strongly?

“I can say categorically”, “I can say to you all”, “I can only say to you”, “All I can say”, “I’m simply saying to you all” and “I’m just saying”.

All of the above use the pronoun “I”, places him psychologically there. But where does he go? He uses the personal pronoun to tell us what he can say. That is where the weight of the sentence is. It is not to the denial.

This is similar to a Police officer in a press conference where he is not permitted to make public some of the details of a case. “All I can say is that the suspect was white and about 6 foot tall.” This would likely be an indication that there is more information that the officer has that he is not going to tell the press.

“I did not go to the shop” is reliable. “I can only say that me at the shop never happened”, is not. The weight is what I am able say rather than what I’m saying. This is how deception works. The stress of a true lie will be avoided by the brain 90 percent plus of the time.

Sleeping with the ‘Victim’

Denial #6 is also interesting.

Reporter: Is your defence here that you didn't sleep with the alleged victim or it was consensual?

Mr Porter: I did not sleep with the victim. We didn't have anything of that nature happen between us.

At first glance this looks good. Pronoun “I” followed by “did not”. But, then not only is the allegation parroted from the reporter (“sleep with the victim”) but it is not the allegation against him.

We all have a subjective internal dictionary. What is it to “sleep with someone” in the subject’s internal dictionary?

In most people’s internal dictionary to “sleep with someone” is likely consensual penetrative intercourse with the possible addition of spending the night together. This may of course differ, but it is unlikely that either oral sex or rape would be included under the umbrella of “sleeping together”. The subject needs to be asked “what is sleeping together?”

The language of sex differs greatly for different people.

“Sexual relations” for Bill Clinton meant penetrative sex allowing him to say reliably, “I did not have sexual relations with that woman Miss Lewinsky”. He did not lie. Oral sex was not included in his internal definition of “sexual relations”. Miss Lewinsky’s dictionary definition differed from Clinton’s as did Hilary’s judging by the black eye Clinton sported in the aftermath.

Lastly in this particular denial is the use of the word “victim”. It is parroted from the journalist words meaning that it did not come from the subject himself in the free editing process. That it remained in the subject’s reply is still unexpected and concerning.

Had it not been parroted it would be very concerning. Some suspects have used similar phrasing and worse describing their accusers as “my victim” thereby taking ownership of the victim. That is not the case here, but its use is still not good.

Self-Censoring

In denial #16 the subject self-censors. It looks as if he was going to say, “I did not….” but was unable to. It is amazing how the brain won’t allow the true lie. He says, “I did”, and then pauses. In a fraction of a second the brain protects itself from the stress of a true lie as he reverts back to his repeated sentence with psychological distance between himself and the denial.

“I'm not commentating on survival or politics. I'm simply saying to you all, that I did — it just did not happen.”

In conclusion within the press conference, there were twenty separate occasions where either the subject was put in a position where a reliable denial was expected, or he created an opportunity to give one himself.

Both the accusation of consensual non-penetrative sex and the allegation of rape are still very much a possibility and moving towards being likely by this many unreliable denials and distancing language. This is not however definitive, and the accuser’s statement would be preferable for a complete conclusion.

—by Colin Ector

Christian Porter’s Body Language

It was fascinating to read the hidden communication that Colin deciphered from Christian Porter’s statements. Thank you Colin for contributing your article to the My Alcomy blog.

Statement analysis and reading body language (or other nonverbal behaviours) complement each other. Both independently draw on subtle communication cues which point towards the truth—yet usually go unnoticed. Each is valuable as a tool for gaining a better understanding of others. Together, they offer even more information—the bigger picture—what is really going on in the mind of the communicator.

I haven’t analysed Christian Porter’s nonverbal behaviours, instead, I thought I’d hand it over to you. If you’re a regular reader of my blog, you’ll have (hopefully) picked up some knowledge along the way of the meaning of specific nonverbal behaviours.

Check out the video below, test your observational skills and let me know what you can decipher from Christian Porter’s nonverbal behaviour.

#Statement Analysis #Christian Porter #Deception #Lying

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