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hungline · 5 years

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now isn’t the time, nor the place

pairings: namjin, jihope, future namseok genre: fluff, angst, soulmates au, rated pg13 warnings: referenced future character death, soulmates with complications words: 1115

summary: Seokjin isn’t Namjoon’s soulmate. Hoseok is.

⇢ day seven of namseok week 2018

“Joonie if we don’t see Black Panther, I’m literally going to hate you forever,” Seokjin whines, prodding at Namjoon’s sides as he does. “I will fight you to the death.”

Namjoon laughs nervously, unsure of whether the elder is serious or not. “Hyung, if you kill me who will keep your cold feet warm at night?”

Seokjin scoffs, pushing Namjoon up the line as the next person walks up to buy their ticket. “Yoongichi, of course. Who else runs at the same temperature you do except for him?”

“Well, It’s good to know that my boyfriend of three years is crushing on my best friend. Thanks, babe,” Namjoon replies sarcastically, wincing when Seokjin slaps his arm in retaliation. “Ow!”

“That's what you get for implying that I’m a slut,” Seokjin sniffs, not bothering to keep his voice quiet as the mother behind them claps her hands over the ears of her son with an evil look directed right at Seokjin.

Namjoon sighs and wraps an arm around the elder’s shoulders to pull him in close. “Hyung, I apologize because that was never my intention in the first place. You know I love you.”

Seokjin preens under his touch and quick apology, nodding smugly. “That's more like it. I love you too, Joon-ah.”

Namjoon smiles and presses a kiss to Seokjin’s temple, moving them along until it's their turn to step up and buy their tickets from the booth. “Two for Black Panther, please.”

Seokjin whoops and hangs off Namjoon’s arm, grabbing the tickets as soon as Namjoon has paid for them. Namjoon laughs at him, holding the door open so that Seokjin can enter first and smiling when Seokjin pats his cheek in thanks. The elder hands their tickets to the boy at the door and takes their stubs back, shoving them into his pocket as he leads Namjoon to the concession line. Seokjin chatters about their food options, fingers dancing over Namjoon’s soulmate timer and Namjoon shivers at the subtle touch of his hyung’s fingertips on his skin.

They’ve been together for three years and throughout those three years, Namjoon has always wondered why Seokjin isn't his soulmate. They're very suited to each other, Namjoon being hot-headed at times but cooling down under Seokjin’s patient guidance. Seokjin wanting to dote on someone while also being doted on in return. Namjoon feels like the older one most of the time because of how often Seokjin acts like a child, but he's grown used to it and Seokjin is happy that he gets to be foolish with the one he trusts and loves the most.

They’ve only talked about their soulmates once, but it had told Namjoon all he really had to know.

Seokjin’s soulmate had died young when Seokjin was six. His timer has an infinity symbol instead of a countdown or a set of zeros.

Because death isn't really the end and there will always be an infinite amount of chances to love again.

Namjoon hasn't met his soulmate yet, but he's about to.

His timer is in its last ten seconds, his internal clock clanging with vibrations as the pull from his soulmate grows stronger. Namjoon has no idea what may happen, but he knows he won't leave Seokjin for his soulmate. Not now when the ban on non-soulmates getting married is about to be lifted.

Because Namjoon can see himself spending the rest of his life with Seokjin, can see himself raising kids and pets of all sorts together. He can see them in a field as they watch the stars for the very last time before they take their last breaths together.

Namjoon loves Seokjin enough that never meeting his soulmate wouldn't matter to him.

But as they stand in line, with Seokjin debating on what to order, Namjoon's timer hits zero.

He looks up the moment it does and meets the gaze of his soulmate.

It's a man. Shorter than Namjoon with brown wavy hair and a heart-shaped mouth. The apples of his cheeks are perfectly round, giving him a cheery demeanor even from afar. He's smiling, but the smile is frozen on his face.

He's beautiful.

But he isn't Namjoon's.

Because when Namjoon looks down, he finds that his soulmate is holding hands with someone else. Namjoon's soulmate is holding hands with a boy who has a round face, a beautiful eye-smile, and light orange hair. They look good together and Namjoon doesn't want to ruin that.

He isn't his soulmate's either. They do not have the choice to be with one another at the moment.

He looks down to where Seokjin has his hand wrapped around his and Namjoon's heart thumps in his chest, reminding him of what he already has ー of what he's always wanted. Someone to love and to be loved in return.

Namjoon looks back up to find that his soulmate is looking at his hand intertwined with Seokjin's as well. His soulmate blinks a few times then looks down at where he's holding hands with Tangerine. He pauses there as if thinking something over and Namjoon guesses that he probably knows exactly what his soulmate is debating.

(A few years from now, Namjoon will find out that his soulmate's name is Jung Hoseok and that Tangerine's name was Park Jimin. After Jimin dies, Hoseok will be but a mere shell of who he used to be and Namjoon will understand because he felt the same way after Seokjin passed away from an illness. They'll meet again when Yoongi introduces them and then they won't let go.

But right now, Namjoon doesn't know any of that and right now, they are just two men in love with someone who isn't their soulmate. They are simply men in love with the wrong person at the right time. And that's all that Namjoon focuses on.)

His soulmate looks back up and a moment of silent understanding passes between them.

Now isn't the time, nor the place.

Seokjin tugs on Namjoon's arm, vying for his attention again and Namjoon nods at his soulmate before looking at the elder with a calm smile on his face. Seokjin is tracing the zeros on Namjoon's wrist, one brow piqued in question.

Namjoon shakes his head and feels his heart warm when Seokjin smiles at him, bringing him in close for a tame kiss, one of the few that Seokjin reserves for when they're out in public and he's pleased about something Namjoon did.

Because Namjoon has a soulmate, and even if it isn't Seokjin, Namjoon is still happy. Seokjin wants Namjoon to be happy just as much as Namjoon wants Seokjin to be happy as well.

That's all that matters.

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silver-kitsuneneko · 6 years

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Conventions Are NOT Consent

I hate making rants. But because of this shit with Momokun, I have a few things I would like to say. First, I’m not going to bash her or anything, the internet has done that enough and she’s seriously not worth my time but will use her as an example to talk about why she and people like her are what’s wrong with the convention community. It has become more and more of a problem in the recent years. Whenever you have to have signs all over a con saying something that you any adult SHOULD know is not only sad but troubling. Cosplay is NOT consent and Just because you’re at an anime convention; all social etiquette is still in play! Look I get it, going to a con is a chance for people to be themselves. It’s a de-stressor where you can sit back, relax, geek out with old and new friends and then go back to the grind. Yes, a convention is a space where you can dress up, be weird, or whatever, hell even vendors and artists get into it. What job can you have where you can walk to a person for hours about your favorite TV show and get paid for it! However, there are a few idiots who think “I’m at a convention! This means I can do whatever I want!” Yeah no, just because you’re at an anime convention or event, doesn’t mean you can do whatever, common sense is still in play. And it’s sad that this has to be stated but here are a few things you should not do at a convention

First, Keep You Hands to Yourself! This is a phrase that most of us have learned in preschool, kindergarten, first grade, and by second grade it’s literately drilled into our heads that unless someone says it’s okay, DON’T TOUCH ANYONE! Though there are exceptions to the rule, like spontaneous hugs and things but if you don’t like someone to hug you, PLEASE tell them. Personally, I like getting hugs but some people don’t like being touched at all. We are also taught in school, at home, and early 90s PSAs that we have all no-no areas. For women there’s three no-no area, for men there’s two no-no areas and no one has the right to touch you in YOUR no-no area without consent. So things like groping a woman’s breasts, pinching a man’s butt, or putting something in close contact against or near someone’s private parts without their consent is sexual harassment and violation of that person’s space. Men: if you see a woman in a sexy cosplay, breasts out, ass out, posing and jiggling her breasts, this does NOT give you any right to touch her. If she’s fully clothed and you think she’s attractive and want to talk to her and she’s into you and flirt with you, this does NOT give you the right to touch her. If she’s at a convention or anywhere minding her business, this does NOT give you the right to touch her. If you wouldn’t do it outside of a convention, then don’t do it at a convention. Women: Contrary to popular belief, men are not 24/7 sex addicts. They don’t crave sex and constant stimulation and this should be an excuse to harass them either. If you see a hot guy dressed as a dead ringer of your family anime character, this does NOT give you the right to touch him. If he’s not in cosplay and looks like you average or handsome joe, this does NOT give you the right to touch them. If they are at an anime convention minding their business, this does NOT give you the right to touch them. It’s sad to say but if Momokun was a male cosplayer and doing the things she has done, she would have been blacklisted and jailed by now. But there are other ways people have started to harass others at cons. Also, making a cosplay costs a lot of time and a lot of MONEY. Whether someone gets it custom made, made it themselves, or bought it, money was involved. What does this mean? This means that if you do touch someone’s prop or cosplay without permission and ruin it, you made that person lose money or have to figure out how to save it. It’s not fair to that person that they want to fix YOUR mistake because you didn’t ask for permission and messed up weeks or months of work.

Do NOT take photos of anyone or anything without consent. Now taking pictures to capture a moment is not anything new. It’s actually a fun pastime. But with the way cameras have evolved within the last decade, it’s easier than ever before to have take a photo and upload it and share it. This is a good thing but when it’s used to harass and bully, it’s a problem. In the early days of the internet, there was a website dedicated to making fun at bad cosplay. And their definition of “bad” were people who did do the effort but were overweight, underweight or the “wrong” ethnicity to cosplay the character. Now, the many people just randomly go to cons and take photos of people and use for sites and things. Once again not bad but many people do NOT want their pictures taken. Some are camera shy, some people are sensitive to lights, some may not be in their best look, and some cosplayers know that if someone is chasing them down for a picture with them in a revealing outfit, it’s not for a good reason, so in that case “ask before you take!” It became so much of a problem that for awhile, there were incidents were men were ejected from cons and banned because they had cameras and taking lewd photos of female attendees and cosplayers alike. Because of this, security has been amped up became some of these people have been blacklisted from all conventions. Case in point, there was an incident where one of these people slipped through the cracks. I was at the event and the event itself was disorganized from the get go but because someone stole something they had security roaming and this man came out of nowhere, got down on the ground and took a few up skirt shots of a friend of mine. She of course screamed and tried to restrain him but he got away but thankfully because of the previous incident, security was on high alert and he was immediately apprehended. Because of this and many incidents, taking photographs were added to the cosplay is not consent movement. This also extends to artist and vendor wares as well. I have seen and was a victim of people taking photographs without permission. For artists who draw, they know it’s because they don’t want to buy the print so they’ll take a picture instead. For makers, many take pictures just to see how it’s made but in rare cases, to t come back for it later. In any case, it doesn’t to ask before you snap. It’s just common courtesy. Once again, if you wouldn’t do it outside of a convention, don’t do it inside.

A convention is not your personal anime fantasy and use common sense. Many people go to conventions. Once again, fun and de-stressing however, it’s not like you’re living in a real life anime or a protagonist in an anime. So what does this means? Don’t treat anyone like literal shit because you want to be funny or edgy just for one day. Don’t ask or be tsundere because that’s what you identify as. Tsunderes are assholes on anime and they are assholes in reality. Don’t run after someone and assault them because you’re a yandere and that person is with your “senpai”. Don’t go up to people cosplaying as certain characters and attempt to carry them off insult them because they are like this character in this show. Sadly in the Hetalia fandom, there were a lot these instances from the Nazi salute with Germany cosplayers and randomly calling Spain cosplayers pedophiles. Or an incident where a group of cosplayers kidnapped a young child because she was dressed as Chibi America. Don’t insult or roast guests or voice actors because you want to look cool in front of your friends because once again, you look like an asshole. It’s a no win solution for most because if a voice actor or actor have a reputation for being rude or mean to fans it can damage their career. A good example of this would be a recent convention with the actors of Infinity War with a group of disrespectful fangirls. As I said, playfulness or okay but roasting and being a complete jerk is not funny or cool. It’s one of the reasons why actors and actresses or voice actors don’t go to conventions. It’s a miracle that Josh Keaton still tries to connect with his fans after all of the hate and backlash he’s gotten. Also, anime girls are different from girls in real life so don’t think “I saw in a manga where a boy meets a girl and he fondles her and she get aroused and he took her virginity and now she’s his girlfriend because of this so it should work with other girls” or “if I compliment her breasts and she’s nice to me, it’s her right to have sex with me” is something that happens. If you saw it in a manga KEEP it in your head, if you try to replicate anything you saw in a hentai manga or any manga of that nature you are not only the problem but you will get arrested. I added this in because there are some people who thing like this and it’s disgusting.

Finally, do NOT blame your behavior on any mental disorder or condition or upbringing anything really. This is something that I’ve seen before and Momokun is just one of many who have done this. Having ADHD, depression, anxiety, social anxiety, autism (high functioning), or bipolar disorder is NOT an excuse for inappropriate actions! I have known MANY people who have used excuses like these as an excuse for being assholes or doing something idiotic and it needs to stop. My toxic booth mate often used her upbringing and bipolar disorder as the reason for being asshole, I knew of an incident where a friend’s coworker was acting obnoxious and loud and when called on it they stated “I have autism so I don’t know any better”. I have a few friends who are high function autistic and when I told them the story they even said “yeah no, you don’t scream and act out if you’re high functioning”. Being “smart” doesn’t give you the right to spout racial slurs or jerking off into cups. Not knowing any better is also not an excuse because you DO know better. If someone is telling you or giving you a sign of being comfortable, STOP your behavior. Being female, LGBTQ, male, or anything does not give you the right to do anything and don’t use it as a reason why you’re acting in a socially unacceptable way. It’s making yourself and anyone with those conditions, upbringings, and groups look bad and it’s not fair to them!

In conclusion, remember to always have fun at a convention. That’s the sole purpose of a con, fun. As attendees you al can make things easier by reporting any wrong doings, calling someone out when you see something not right, or just following basic social norms. Just use common sense people.

#momokun #anime convention #convention etiquette #anime expo #cosplay community #cosplayers #this needs to stop #this needs to be said #this is serious #she's apart of the problem

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i-write-shakespeare-not-disney · 6 years

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Do you have any book recommendations?

OHHOHOHOHO BOY. yes i do lemme check the inventory i have in my room. I have more back home I’ll recall those later. Alright leggo

The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli- Inclusive of minorities and tells the story of finding love where and when you least expect it along with finding yourself and struggling with changes in sibling relationships.

The Summoning by Kelley Armstrong- I read this my freshman year of high scgool, but I loved it. It includes fantasy creatures in a home for troubled teens eerily similar to an asylum. Ends on a fucking cliffhanger.

Highly Illogical Behavior by John Corey Whaley- LGBT inclusive about a young teen afraid to go outside due to high anxiety and a phobia (forgot the name) and a determined girl who wants to “cure” him with the help of her boyfriend. A story of blooming friendship!!

We Are the Ants by Shaun David Hutchinson- After the suicide of his boyfriend, Henry struggles to care much about anything. He messes around with a homophobic bully, he pushes his friends away, he’s constantly distant from his family. And then a new boy comes to class and suddenly his life is turned upside down. This is a story of coping with loss and inviting hope in. I read this in one day.

The Princess Saves Herself in This One- a book of empowering poems

Kids of Appetite by David Arnold- I read this over the summer so I can’t fully recall the plot, but I know there was a crime mystery and a group of misfits trying to help a disabled kid cope with loss and dramatic family change. It was raw, real, and kept me hooked.

Milk and Honey- A book of poems for those who are depressed or heartbroken.

Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin- The story of a genderfluid person in high school still figuring themselves out and creating friendships through the turmoil of high school.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini- A heartwrenching story of an Afghan boy and the struggles of friendship against social class. Further, a struggle one has with themselves in the face of danger, pain, secrets. The story of leaving home behind and facing your past. *Trigger warning

Home for Peculiar Children trilogy- I’ve yet to read the last and it’s been years since I read the first two, but the books were enrapturing and action-filled. Each character becomes precious. It’s a creepier, antiquated version of X-Men and a struggle against time!

Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Saenz- tHIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITES It’s LGBT inclusive and not a stereotypical coming out, in the closet type of story. It tells the story of Ari’s and Dante’s friendship and a slow understanding of oneself along with the importance of family.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky- One of my favorite coming of age novels told in letters to an anonymous reader about Charlie’s journey through freshman year while battling mental illnesses and suppressed trauma. It’s truly a beautiful story about friendships, relationships, and struggling to be okay.

Jess, Chunk, and the Road Trip to Infinity by Kristin Elizabeth Clark- This book revolves around a trans girl going on a roadtrip with her best friend and learning to be comfortable being herself while also developing the relationship between her and her best friend Chunk through lots of trials and struggles. Also, she’s on a roadtrip to crash her transphobic dad’s wedding to her mom’s ex-bestfriend.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller- This book tore my heart out, ripped it up, threw it on the ground, and stomped it to dust. This tells the untold love story between Achilles and his closest companion Patroclus. It follows Patroclus from birth and quite literally into the after life. Written over ten years, I think I read this in ten hours, I was HOOKED.

They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera- In a time where you get a call the day you’re going to die, two boys find each other and embark on a journey to make their last day the best yet. Also... a love story.

Long Way Down by Jason Reynolds- Told over poems, this book takes place in the span of 3 minutes it takes to take an elevator down. After the murder of a family member, Will is out for revenge. But some elevator visitors have a different plan for him.

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold- If you’ve seen the movie, great. The book goes in way deeper and manages to give you chills with its descriptions. Highly recommended especially if you like the movie. *Trigger warning

The Giver by Lois Lowry- This book is short and easy to read. It reads well as a standalone, but is part of a series of four books. It shows us a utopian future and the scary truth that lies beneath it. This banned book shows us the importance of knowledge and the dangers of ignorance.

I have way more books in here, I just haven’t read them, so I can’t recommend them yet.

#books #book rec #recommendations #book recommendations #literature #Anonymous

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wewererogue · 5 years

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“The Store of the Worlds”, aka “World of Heart’s Desire”, by Robert Sheckley

[This is one of my favourite sci-fi short stories of all time. It touches themes that might interest roleplayers and worldbuilders, and I think about it a lot when I contemplate the fundamentals of roleplaying. Like, WHY are we roleplaying? WHOM are we roleplaying? Do we fulfill our heart’s desire? Do we really? Can we even know that for sure? Should we try harder, and be more sincere with ourselves about what we want? Or maybe less? Do we bury our deepest part, or dig it up? I’ve settled on “do both”, or at least “exclude neither”, but nothing’s simple…

In any case, “The Store of the Worlds” is a terrific story, and does what every truly great speculative fiction is supposed to do: it bends your mind, and breaks your heart. Keep in mind that it was written in 1958, this is important.]

Illustration by Surian Soosay / Motherboard

Mr. Wayne came to the end of the long, shoulder-high mound of gray rubble, and there was the Store of the Worlds. It was exactly as his friends had described; a small shack constructed of bits of lumber, parts of cars, a piece of galvanized iron, and a few rows of crumbling bricks, all daubed over with a watery blue paint.

Mr. Wayne glanced back down the long lane of rubble to make sure he hadn’t been followed. He tucked his parcel more firmly under his arm; then, with a little shiver at his own audacity, he opened the door and slipped inside.

“Good morning,” the proprietor said.

He, too, was exactly as described; a tall, crazy-looking old fellow with narrow eyes and a downcast mouth. His name was Tompkins. He sat in an old rocking chair, and perched on the back of it was a blue and green parrot. There was one other chair in the store, and a table. On the table was a rusted hypodermic.

“I’ve heard about your store from friends,” Mr. Wayne said.

“Then you know my price,” Tompkins said. “Have you brought it?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Wayne, holding up his parcel. “But I want to ask first—”

“They always want to ask,” Tompkins said to the parrot, who blinked. “Go ahead, ask.”

“I want to know what really happens.” Tompkins sighed. “What happens is this. You pay me my fee. I give you an injection which knocks you out. Then, with the aid of certain gadgets which I have in the back of the store, I liberate your mind.”

Tompkins smiled as he said that, and his silent parrot seemed to smile, too.

“What happens then?” Mr. Wayne asked.

“Your mind, liberated from its body, is able to choose from the countless probability-worlds which the earth casts off in every second of its existence.”

Grinning now, Tompkins sat up in his rocking chair and began to show signs of enthusiasm.

“Yes, my friend, though you might not have suspected it, from the moment this battered earth was born out of the sun’s fiery womb, it cast off its alternate-probability worlds. Worlds without end, emanating from events large and small; every Alexander and every amoeba creating worlds, just as ripples will spread in a pond no matter how big or how small the stone you throw. Doesn’t every object cast a shadow? Well, my friend, the earth itself is four-dimensional; therefore it casts three-dimensional shadows, solid reflections of itself through every moment of its being. Millions, billions of earths! An infinity of earths! and your mind, liberated by me, will be able to select any of these worlds, and to live upon it for a while.”

Mr. Wayne was uncomfortably aware that Tompkins sounded like a circus barker, proclaiming marvels that simply couldn’t exist. But, Mr. Wayne reminded himself, things had happened within his own lifetime which he would never have believed possible. Never! So perhaps the wonders that Tompkins spoke of were possible, too.

Mr. Wayne said, “My friends also told me—”

“That I was an out-and-out fraud?” Tompkins asked.

“Some of them implied that,” Mr. Wayne said cautiously. “But i try to keep an open mind. They also said—”

“I know what your dirty-minded friends said. They told you about the fulfillment of desire. Is that what you want to hear about?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Wayne. “They told me that whatever I wished for—whatever I wanted—”

“Exactly,” Tompkins said. “The thing could work in no other way. There are the infinite worlds to choose among. Your mind chooses, and is guided only by desire. Your deepest desire is the only thing that counts. If you have been harboring a secret dream of murder—”

“Oh, hardly, hardly!” cried Mr. Wayne.

“—then you will go to a world where you can murder, where you can roll in blood, where you can outdo Sade or Caesar, or whoever your idol may be. Suppose it’s power you want? Then you’ll choose a world where you are a god, literally and actually. A bloodthirsty Juggernaut, perhaps, or an all-wise Buddha.”

“I doubt very much if I—”

“There are other desires, too,” Tompkins said. “All heavens and all hells. Unbridled sexuality. Gluttony, drunkenness, love, fame—anything you want.”

“Amazing!” said Mr. Wayne.

“Yes,” Tompkins agreed. “Of course, my little list doesn’t exhaust all the possibilities, all the combinations and permutations of desire. For all I know you might want a simple, placid, pastoral existence on a South Seas island among idealized natives.”

“That sounds more like me,” Mr. Wayne said, with a shy laugh.

“But who knows?” Tompkins asked. “Even you might not know what your true desires are. They might involve your own death.”

“Does that happen often?” Mr. Wayne asked anxiously.

“Occasionally.”

“I wouldn’t want to die,” Mr. Wayne said.

“It hardly ever happens,” Tompkins said, looking at the parcel in Mr. Wayne’s hands. “If you say so… but how do I know all this is real? Your fee is extremely high; it’ll take everything I own. And for all I know, you’ll give me a drug and I’ll just dream! Everything I own just for a—a shot of heroin and a lot of fancy words!”

Tompkins smiled reassuringly. “The experience has no drug-like quality about it. And no sensation of a dream, either.”

“If it’s true,” Mr. Wayne said, a little petulantly, “why can’t I stay in the world of my desire for good?”

“I’m working on that,” Tompkins said. “That’s why I charge so high a fee; to get materials, to experiment. I’m trying to find a way of making the transition permanent. So far I haven’t been able to loosen the cord that binds a man to his own earth—and pulls him back to it. Not even the great mystics could cut that cord, except with death. But I still have my hopes.”

“It would be a great thing if you succeeded,” Mr. Wayne said politely.

“Yes, it would!” Tompkins cried, with a surprising burst of passion. “For then I’d turn my wretched shop into an escape hatch! My process would be free then, free for everyone! Everyone would go to the earth of their desires, the earth that really suited them, and leave this damned place to the rats and worms—”

Tompkins cut himself off in midsentence and became icy calm. “But I fear my prejudices are showing. I can’t offer a permanent escape from the earth yet; not one that doesn’t involve death. Perhaps I never will be able to. For now, all I can offer you is a vacation, a change, a taste of another world and a look at your own desires. You know my fee. I’ll refund it if the experience isn’t satisfactory.”

“That’s good of you,” Mr. Wayne said, quite earnestly. “But there’s that other matter my friends told me about. The ten years of my life.”

“That can’t be helped,” Tompkins said, “and can’t be refunded. My process is a tremendous strain on the nervous system, and life expectancy is shortened accordingly. That’s one of the reasons why our so-called government has declared my process illegal.”

“But they don’t enforce the ban very firmly,” Mr. Wayne said.

“No. Officially the process is banned as a harmful fraud. But officials are men, too. They’d like to leave this earth, just like everyone else.”

“The cost,” Mr. Wayne mused, gripping his parcel tightly. “And ten years of my life! For the fulfillment of my secret desires… Really, I must give this some thought.”

“Think away,” Tompkins said indifferently.

All the way home Mr. Wayne thought about it. When his train reached Port Washington, Long Island, he was still thinking. And driving his car from the station to his home he was still thinking about Tompkins’s crazy old face, and worlds of probability, and the fulfillment of desire.

But when he stepped inside his house, those thoughts had to stop. Janet, his wife, wanted him to speak sharply to the maid, who had been drinking again. His son, Tommy, wanted help with the sloop, which was to be launched tomorrow. And his baby daughter wanted to tell about her day in kindergarten.

Mr. Wayne spoke pleasantly but firmly to the maid. He helped Tommy put the final coat of copper paint on the sloop’s bottom, and he listened to Peggy tell about her adventures in the playground.

Later, when the children were in bed and he and Janet were alone in their living room, she asked him if something were wrong.

“Wrong?”

“You seem to be worried about something,” Janet said. “Did you have a bad day at the office?”

“Oh, just the usual sort of thing…”

He certainly was not going to tell Janet, or anyone else, that he had taken the day off and gone to see Tompkins in his crazy old Store of the Worlds. Nor was he going to speak about the right every man should have, once in his lifetime, to fulfill his most secret desires. Janet, with her good common sense, would never understand that.

The next days at the office were extremely hectic. All of Wall Street was in a mild panic over events in the Middle East and in Asia, and stocks were reacting accordingly. Mr. Wayne settled down to work. He tried not to think of the fulfillment of desire at the cost of everything he possessed, with ten years of his life thrown in for good measure. It was crazy! Old Tompkins must be insane!

On weekends he went sailing with Tommy. The old sloop was behaving very well, making practically no water through her bottom seams. Tommy wanted a new suit of racing sails, but Mr. Wayne sternly rejected that. Perhaps next year, if the market looked better. For now, the old sails would have to do.

Sometimes at night, after the children were asleep, he and Janet would go sailing. Long Island Sound was quiet then, and cool. Their boat glided past the blinking buoys, sailing toward the swollen yellow moon.

“I know something’s on your mind,” Janet said.

“Darling, please!”

“Is there something you’re keeping from me?”

“Nothing!”

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely sure.”

“Then put your arms around me. That’s right…”

And the sloop sailed itself for a while.

Desire and fulfillment… But autumn came, and the sloop had to be hauled. The stock market regained some stability, but Peggy caught the measles. Tommy wanted to know the differences between ordinary bombs, atom bombs, hydrogen bombs, cobalt bombs, and all the other kinds of bombs that were in the news. Mr. Wayne explained to the best of his ability. And the maid quit unexpectedly.

Secret desires were all very well. Perhaps he did want to kill someone, or live on a South Seas island. But there were responsibilities to consider. He had two growing children, and a better wife than he deserved.

Perhaps around Christmastime…

But in midwinter there was a fire in the unoccupied guest bed-room due to defective wiring. The firemen put out the blaze without much damage, and no one was hurt. But it put any thought of Tompkins out of his mind for a while. First the bedroom had to be repaired, for Mr. Wayne was very proud of his gracious old house.

Business was still frantic and uncertain due to the international situation. Those Russians, those Arabs, those Greeks, those Chinese. The intercontinental missiles, the atom bombs, the Sputniks… Mr. Wayne spent long days at the office, and sometimes evenings, too. Tommy caught the mumps. A part of the roof had to be reshingled. And then already it was time to consider the spring launching of the sloop.

A year had passed, and he’d had very little time to think of secret desires. But perhaps next year. In the meantime—

“Well?” said Tompkins. “Are you all right?” “Yes, quite all right,” Mr. Wayne said. He got up from the chair and rubbed his forehead. “Do you want a refund?” Tompkins asked. “No. The experience was quite satisfactory.”

“They always are,” Tompkins said, winking lewdly at the parrot.

“Well, what was yours?”

“A world of the recent past,” Mr. Wayne said.

“A lot of them are. Did you find out about your secret desire? Was it murder? Or a South Seas island?”

“I’d rather not discuss it,” Mr. Wayne said, pleasantly but firmly.

“A lot of people won’t discuss it with me,” Tompkins said sulkily. “I’ll be damned if I know why.”

“Because—well, I think the world of one’s secret desire feels sacred, somehow. No offense… Do you think you’ll ever be able to make it permanent? The world of one’s choice, I mean?”

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “I’m trying. If I succeed, you’ll hear about it. Everyone will.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Mr. Wayne undid his parcel and laid its contents on the table. The parcel contained a pair of army boots, a knife, two coils of copper wire, and three small cans of corned beef.

Tompkins’s eyes glittered for a moment. “Quite satisfactory,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Good-bye,” said Mr. Wayne. “And thank you.”

* * *

Mr. Wayne left the shop and hurried down to the end of the lane of gray rubble. Beyond it, as far as he could see, lay at fields of rubble, brown and gray and black. Those fields, stretching to every horizon, were made of the twisted corpses of cities, the shattered remnants of trees, and the fine white ash that once was human flesh and bone.

“Well,” Mr. Wayne said to himself, “at least we gave as good as we got.”

That year in the past had cost him everything he owned, and ten years of life thrown in for good measure. Had it been a dream? It was still worth it! But now he had to put away all thought of Janet and the children. That was finished, unless Tompkins perfected his process. Now he had to think about his own survival.

With the aid of his wrist Geiger, he found a deactivated lane through the rubble. He’d better get back to the shelter before dark, before the rats came out. If he didn’t hurry, he’d miss the evening potato ration.

#long post #short story #Robert Sheckley #rogues in fiction #roleplaying #analysis #trs

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seoulfulscenarios · 7 years

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Chance Encounters (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Wheein of MAMAMOO IM GONNA BE THAT ONE BLOG HUH

Summary: Wheein can’t even go out in a simple disguise without attracting the attention of others. Whether it’s the attention she wants, however, she has to decide that for herself.

Genre: smut, nothing else

Warnings: oral, dom x sub action if you squint, fuckboy! Jimin is a threat to us all

Word Count: 3.8k

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy! I’m sorry if it took long. I’m slower than molasses.

It wasn’t everyday that a foreigner walked into a popular bar in the center of Busan, accompanied by nothing but the sorrows of her daily life. With her bright, ginger tresses, numerous freckles, simple but enticing, black bodycon dress, and fresh Ray-Ban sunglasses, she stood out from the sweaty clubgoers around her.

And of course, this outlandish appearance brought the Westerner attention from many Korean drunks, but after hearing her fluent, sassy Jeolla accent, drunk men did an about face and went on with their lives, hoping to score with someone a little less resilient.

She didn’t know whether it was the sickening smell of alcohol lingering on the breath of clubgoers around her, or the epilepsy-inducing lights of the club flashing before her, but no one had yet to see past her disguise and identify her as Jung Wheein, lead vocal and main dancer of MAMAMOO, not as a random ginger, freckled woman from the opposing hemisphere.

Who could blame them? With her adorable dimples and shy demeanor on stage, none of the MOOMOO’s in Korea and around the world would expect to find her alone in a bustling nightclub, downing drinks as if her life depended on it. To everyone else, the ground she walked on bloomed with flowers after each step she took; she was literally sunshine.

“Another one, please,” Wheein pleaded, pushing her glass for the bartender to take. “You’ll call a cab once I get out of control, right?”

The middle-aged man nodded wordlessly, turning around to prepare her another drink. He was way too accustomed to this shit.

“Scratch that request,” a man emerged from the crowd on the dance floor, taking his place at the seat to the left of her. He smiled in response to her look of disgust, a crooked tooth the only imperfection in his other perfect smile. “Two mixed soju drinks, whatever flavor.”

“He means just one,” Wheein corrected the strange man, giving him a scan up-and-down before turning back to the bartender. “I’d still very much so like another glass of somaek, however.”

“You’re not a fan of soju?”

“It’s not that at all; I love soju,” Wheein remarked. “I just don’t accept drinks from men I don’t know. For all I know, you could’ve paid the bartender to put something in there way before I got here.”

The man winced at her remark.

“F-Fair enough,” he cursed silently once hearing his own hesitation, causing her to smirk. She, Jung Wheein, scared someone? Well, damn; she might as well take on this alter ego more often. “I like an independent woman.”

Her eyes rolled into the crevices of her brain at his flirty comment, but of course, he nor anyone could see past her expensive shades. Plus, could this man see, too? He had shades that could probably match the price of her own, hiding his expression from those around him. With a simple white V-neck, spotless black slacks, and shining dress shoes, she could rightfully assume that he was pretty good-looking, or at least well-off.

The bartender placed the man’s mixed drink against the wooden bar table with a soft thud, giving him as little as a nod before turning to prepare Wheein’s simple yet powerful drink. The newcomer then brought the glass to his lips for a quick taste, but not before asking Wheein an important question.

“Well, anyway, more importantly, why is it that a woman who obviously isn’t from this country have a flawless understanding of the language?” The “foreigner” stiffened momentarily, but the man obviously didn’t pick up on it. He continued with his interrogation, only taking his attention off her momentarily to pay for his mixed drink . “Because if you were familiar with this area, I’m positive that I would’ve remembered your fiery-red hair around here.”

Um...

Wheein had to fight against the urge to twiddle her thumbs in her lap — where was her fidget spinner when she needed it? — in her mind, she had only come up with a name, birthday, and hometown for this cheap disguise before heading out from her hotel room.

“When I was a foreign exchange student here in Korea, I stayed in Gwanju with my host family,” Wheein explained, surprising herself with the confidence in her voice. “While learning proper Korean, I simply picked up the accent of the region there. Is that too hard to believe?”

“Not at all,” the man replied smoothly, running his hands through his hair in a rather — what was it — familiar way? “Well, what brings you here to Busan? There’s not much here...”

“What are you talking about? There’s everything here,” she sighed, cradling her face in her palm. To her, Busan was almost like an unreachable dream. “It’s not too noisy like Seoul, but it’s not too quiet, either.”

“If you say so,” he sing-songed, bringing his drink to his lips once more. As he pulled the drink back to set it on the table before them (but not before licking his own lips), Wheein couldn’t help but to study the shape of his lips. They weren’t too large, yet they weren’t too small, either; it was as God had given him the perfect balance for something so simple but so important. She just wanted to lean forward and graze over them with the pads of her fingers, before closing the space between them to seal his lips with hers. Before she knew it, Wheein found herself taking an irresponsible swig from her glass in an attempt to fight off these strong emotions. “I guess it’s because I’ve lived her almost all my life.”

“Hmm...maybe...”

The man then leaned back in his chair and turned his head to her, saying nothing for a few moments. It was if he was doing his best to break down the disguise and try to find the real her.

“Enough with the small talk, though.” He ran his hand through his hair again, rising from his chair and reaching out with one hand for her to hopefully take. “It’s lonely dancing alone. Wanna join me?”

Wheein chuckled at his boldness. “It definitely can’t be lonely on that dance floor with hundreds of—”

Her ears perked up as an incredibly familiar voice vibrated against her eardrums. Hwasa’s “My Heart,” well, “My Heart” with probably four hundred times more bass suddenly poured from the nightclub’s sound system. It took all her willpower to not cheer aloud in support for her best, best friend.

MAMAMOO? Wheein blinked numerous times behind her Ray-Ban’s, genuinely confused by this DJ’s sudden change in music. In adult nightclubs, and not cheesy karaoke rooms for once? Wow, we really made it...

The upbeat atmosphere of the club finally slowed down, taking on a more sensual and laidback persona.

And so did she.

“Sure, why not?” Wheein placed her hand in his outstretched one, allowing him to pull her to her feet. It was time to let loose and have a little fun, she reasoned.

Staring at only the stranger’s back as he lead her through the throng of dancers, Wheein finally noticed the alcohol’s effects on her mind, body, and soul. Her face warmed up, her judgement waned, and her self-confidence shot through the roof of the small club, heading towards infinity and beyond. Despite the mixture of beer and soju running through her system, she felt invincible.

Deeming the center of the dance floor suitable for the two of them, the man spun her gently in an attempt to pin himself against her from behind, but Wheein decided to start their dancing off strong. Reaching deep inside herself, she easily found this newfound self-confidence and reached for her dance partner’s shoulders, pulling him against her so they were face-to-face, chest-to- chest, and hips-to-hips. Her partner was obviously surprised by this forwardness in her, but only momentarily, for he started moving against her, getting lost in her secret best friend’s solo song. And astonishingly, his motions were rather fluid— was he a backup dancer of some sort?

Songs came and left, but Wheein and the mystery man’s chemistry remained. At this point, he had turned her around to feel himself against her backside. Amidst the heat of the sensual dancers around her, the temperature between kept rising and rising, Reaching back, she pushed his neck forwards and leaned back against his muscular chest, hoping to get as much contact with him as humanly possible.

“Damn, baby,” he husked against her neck, his voice aching with desire. “With those hips moving against me like that, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back...”

“Then don’t.” Lost in the heat of the alcohol flooding her system, Wheein found herself swirling her rear into his front even further, but his strong hands stilled her hips, stifling her grinding. She turned her head back too him, a little horny and a little annoyed. A deadly combination. “W-Why’d you stop me?”

He said nothing in response, dipping down to whisper in her ear.

“Are you ready to leave yet?”

Wheein had never moved faster in high heels her whole life.

After a short ride in a taxi and a desperate, heated make-out session and handjob in the back seats, Wheein allowed the man to pull her into an empty apartment, one that obviously hadn’t been occupied in presumably weeks. Kicking off her heels at the door, she had little time to ask about his personal life — hell, she still didn’t even know his name — , however, because before she knew it, the man had Wheein in his arms, carrying her to his bedroom. As soon as he stepped foot into the room, he dropped her onto the bed, catching her completely off-guard.

She had to admit; the aggressiveness of her mystery lover was rather arousing. But the force of the sudden action was too much for her disguise. Her ginger wig went flying to the ground beside her, and so did her glasses, revealing Jung Wheein of MAMAMOO, well, with multiple faux freckles splattered across her face.

The mystery man’s face fell; whether it was from disgust or shock, she wasn’t entirely sure.

As the disguise left her, the independence and confidence of her alter ego vanished along with it, allowing the shy, puppy-like features of her true self to finally emerge. Her hands flew up to her mouth in surprise, as if she herself was surprised by her sudden transformation.

She couldn’t help the words that suddenly spilled from her mouth; like mentioned before, independence and confidence were replaced with apprehension and uncertainty. Millions of scenarios played in her head; at the very least, her career could be ended by this malfunction.

“Whatever you do, p-please don’t say anything to the press—”

An involuntarily gasp cut her pleas short as the man swiftly peeled off his expensive shades, before setting them rather calmly on the nightstand.

The so-called mysterious man before her disappeared, revealing the lead dancer, lead vocalist, and arguably, in her eyes, the hottest member of BTS, Park Jimin.

Could this situation get any more fucked up?

Wheein, out of habit, curled into herself as Jimin approached her on the king-sized bed, sitting beside her.

“So, it looks like we both have pretty big secrets...” he began, his voice fading away as he finally focused on the features of her face, which had been so stealthily hidden this entire night.

His thumb swiped across her left cheek, wiping the “freckles” from her face. He bit his lip, as if in thought on what to do next. But to her, it was a little too obvious, considering they were both in a bed, swimming in intoxication and lust.

“And, this getting out would undoubtedly be harmful for both of us, so let’s just keep this little secret between us, hm? Because I don’t have any intentions on cutting it short just here...”

As the last words left his plump lips, his eyes trailed down to stare at her glossed lips. It was a silent request, no, with the desperation in his eyes, a plea to continue.

He dipped his head down, inching closer and closer, until their lips met for the second time that night. This time, the kiss was much more intimate, considering that both individuals finally knew the true identities of one another.

“Take this off,” she whined, breaking the kiss sliding her hands down his shoulders to tug at the soft fabric of his shirt. She bunched up the material and looked him in the eyes, her eyes pleading. “Please.”

Nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck, he pulled back to chuckle at her eagerness. “Okay, wait a minute.”

Jimin moved his hands from her face to reach for the hem of his shirt, slowly — she practically keened at him to pick up the pace — pulling it upwards and revealing those abs and biceps that she had only seen meters and meters away from stage. He tossed the article of clothing to the floor before reaching for Wheein again, kissing her with even more ferocity than before. The female idol’s hands latched onto the man’s body this time, feeling as much of Jimin’s lean muscles under her fingertips as possible. He moaned at her sensual caresses.

“Turn around,” he demanded, bringing his hands to her slim waist to maneuver her before she could even do it herself. No long after, Wheein felt rough hands drag along her back, undoing the zipper of her tight bodycon dress in record time. She felt more vulnerable that ever under his presence, drinking in the exposed skin inch-by-inch with his hungry eyes. Unluckily, or luckily for Jimin, she had taken the risk to wear neither a bra or panties on this wild night, deeming the dress too constricting on its own.

Before the tight dress could even make a pat against the ground, Jimin was already placing his weight on hers, a breath of the word “fuck” the only thing coming from his lips. Wheein fell back against the pillows from the sudden force, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in closer.

Tweaking at her sensitive nipples, Jimin was far too impatient to spend too much time on foreplay, or at least focus on the parts of Wheein’s body he deemed most important. His hands slid down the center of her body, purposely avoiding her wet heat to massage her firm thighs. Finally listening to her pathetic whines, he cupped her mound before teasing one, sly finger against her slit, running the finger up and down the area to collect some of the liquid onto his hand.

“You’re so wet for me, Wheein-ah,” he groaned as pushed one finger into her tight entrance, imagining that same pressure around the erection pressing against the fabric of his slacks. A whimper to match his groan erupted from Wheein’s pretty lips. “I hope you weren’t dripping onto the floor in that nightclub, or did you get this wet jerking me off in the back of that cab and stopping before I came, even though I told you not to?”

“J-Jimin, I—” Wheein’s words caught in her throat as she felt Jimin’s thumb against her pulsing clit, and her head pressed into the pillows, while her hips pressed unconsciously against his skilled hand. “More—”

“More? More what? More fingers?” Jimin pressed another finger into her heat, twisting them inside her experimentally. “Or do you want my tongue on you?”

She nodded furiously at his final question.

“Use your words, baby,” he whispered, focusing on her clit. “I know you can.”

God, she’d seen that tongue on his stage; it had a mind of its almost. Wheein, like any other fangirl, wanted that tongue against their womanhood at least once in their lifetime. It was impossible for any sane fan of BTS to not have thoughts like these at least periodically.

“Please eat me out, use your tongue, please— ah!”

The male idol’s head dipped down to give her lower lips an experimental lick with his tongue, causing a surprised cry to leave her.

Oh, God. Is he good at everything? Wheein could only wonder as her mind drifted into cloud nine.

Arching off the mattress, both of Wheein’s hands moved to pull on his colored locks, pressing his face into her pussy even further. Jimin responded eagerly to her gestures, pushing his mouth against her with more ferocity. He groaned at her musky, natural taste, collecting the liquid in her opening with his skilled tongue.

“I could eat you out for days,” Jimin commented aloud, causing even more moisture to spill from her tight hole, and onto the white bedsheets and his beautiful face.

The vibrations of his animalistic noises spread to her sensitive nub, and her moans evolved into keens and whimpers.

At this point, Wheein was only a simple slave to Jimin’s ministrations. It was almost comical, how hours ago Wheein had so successfully guarded the fence she built around her, but Jimin — oh, sorry, the so-called mystery man — had chipped away at the fortifications slowly, until she finally had her legs spread in front of him, allowing him to do anything that came to his perverted mind.

Catching on to her change in reactions, Jimin’s mouth traveled up to her clitoris, messing with the twitching bundle of nerves there. Not wanted to leave her tight entrance unattended, he pushed two fingers inside of her, forming a two-fingered gun with his hand while bringing his lips around her clit to give it a hard suck.

“Shit!” Never had so many curse words fell from Wheein’s mouth, well, at least not around a guy, considering this guy before her was extremely handsome. Her stomach muscles clenched above him, signaling her approaching orgasm. She was so, so close, she could almost taste it. And it hasn’t even been that long! Wheein’s eyes scrunched close, as she felt herself falling into the abyss of pleasure —

But something must have caught her midway, for the pleasure was gone as quickly as it had appeared. Wheein’s eyes reopened quickly to find Jimin fiddling in his pocket to pull out a condom, placing the corner of the wrapper between his teeth before reaching back down to undo his belt. Using her arms as leverage, she leaned up, giving him an incredulous look.

Reading her expression, Jimin quipped, with the condom still in his mouth, “I may be a nice man, but do you really think I’d let you cum after what you pulled in the back of that cab?”

Wheein’s bottom lip jutted out; he was right. Yet, she wasn’t pouting anymore when Jimin finally slipped off her boxer briefs, allowing his raging erection to meet her ravenous eyes.

In a few blinks of her eyes, Jimin had Wheein’s thighs wrapped snugly around his hips, as he grinded his rubber-sheathed tip against her teasingly. Feeling his hard-on against her, it was obvious he wanted this just as much as her, but Jimin’s ego obviously wouldn’t be completely satisfied, of course, without seeing her squirm a little. Each swivel of his hips had her pussy clenching around nothing, anticipating the good events that were to come.

“I want you to watch every inch of me as you take me in, okay, baby?” Jimin leaned down to place a chaste kiss against her lips, the only innocent gesture amidst all this madness. She nodded at his words, consenting to absolutely anything if it was to get him inside of her faster. He pressed his length against her sopping entrance, and within seconds, he was gliding inside of her.

Jimin let out an aggressive, uncharacteristic groan as he felt the female idol’s tight walls suck around the head of his member, so much that he had to pause himself to prevent himself from completely losing it. Fuck, it had been so long that he had forgotten how it really felt to be inside a woman, his right hand becoming his best friend in the midst of his hectic schedule.

“Fuck, fuck, Jimin...” Wheein’s thighs quaked and quivered in pure bliss, so much that Jimin had to remove his hand from between them and hold them in place.

“God, Wheein-ah, I can barely move inside you,” he observed, his voice straining from the tremendous pressure around his dick. It was just too much for him to handle; his hands tightened around her soft thighs, the stress of his grip probably enough to leave fresh bruises there in the morning. “How long has it been since someone fucked you good?”

“I-It’s been a good while...” Her jaw dropped slack with pleasure as she felt the man bottom out inside her, pausing momentarily to allow her body to adjust to this long-forgotten feeling, of feeling so satisfied and full. She needed him to wait, but only for a few seconds. “J-Jimin—”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

His hips drew back just as fast as they slammed back against her. Wheein’s mouth dropped into a perfect “o” shape, only cries and other unintelligible sounds able to slip from her mouth.

Jimin’s tongue darted from his mouth to lick his plump lips as he slid in and out of her skillfully, watching the part where their bodies connected and letting out grunts and breathy whines here and there.

She clawed onto the bedsheets and thrashed her head to the side. Noting her movements, Jimin’s hips slowed and finally came to a stop mid-stroke. Wheein rolled upwards to reach out to him, her manicured nails digging into his toned thighs. She held onto this overwhelming pleasure like a lifeline, something she considered the only thing in the world at the moment keeping her sane and alive.

“Please keep going,” she breathed, her voice quivering with want. “I need this.”

“No,” his tone was firm, “I want your eyes to stay on me, no matter how good I’m making you feel.”

Wheein’s nails dug into the bedsheets once again as she stared deep into her brown eyes, finally feeling his girth stretch her over and over again, with no interruptions. Bringing a leg to his shoulder, Jimin slammed into her at a new angle, one that undeniably reached her sweet spot. Because now Wheein was crying out at each thrust, gazing unseeingly into his eyes.

It was all over for Wheein; her mind disconnected with the pleasurable friction coming from inside of her, with the embarrassing squelches of her nether regions, with the feral noises erupting from the man above her, with reality— She was too far gone; she was approaching the cliff of sanity without any brakes, and she was bound to fall off into the abyss again at any given moment, without anything to catch her this time.

And that moment was now.

“I-I’m—”

A ear-piercing scream finally announced Wheein’s powerful orgasm. Jimin did his best to power her through this state of ecstasy, but his hips faltered in their movements, showing that he was close to exploding as well.

Jimin wasn’t too far behind her; the clenching of her walls around him proved far too much for him to handle. It wasn’t too long before he emptied himself into the condom surrounding his softening erection with a drawn-out moan, filling the rubber with drops of his warm seed. She continued to quiver around him, milking him for all he was worth.

After his final stroke, Jimin fell on top of her, breathing heavily into Wheein’s blotched neck. She could only smile down at the young man, running her fingers through the male’s hair for what could possibly be the final time.

Or was it?

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redvalravn · 7 years

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Victoria: A Novel of 4th Generation War - Chapter Three: “Forbidden” books of Western culture

Mary Sue heads home to Maine. He needs some private time to read and think in his family's old house, which has no electricity or running water. Mary Sue is tired of modern conveniences. He wants "less noise and more green."

How dare you. Leave Tolkien out of this.

I’d put some money by during my time in the Corps, enough to cover me for some months anyway; the garden and deer in season (or, if need be, out of season) would keep me from starving. The whole country was overrun with deer, more than when white men first came to North America, because there were so many restrictions on guns and hunting. In some places they had become pests; we literally could not defend ourselves from our own food.

Once I got settled, I took up Professor Sanft’s books, “that golden chain of masterpieces which link together in single tradition the more permanent experiences of the race,” as one philosopher put it. Homer and Plato, Aristotle and Aristophanes, Virgil and Dante, and Shakespeare and the greatest literary work of all time, the Bible, which was once banned from American schools, which shows as well as anything what America had become.

These are some of the implied-to-be-banned books that supposedly define Western culture. I was under the impression that in this universe, which is meant to be like our universe, classics like Shakespeare's plays, Dante's Inferno, the Iliad and the Odyssey are quietly shoved under the rug for the sake of not offending anyone. Mary Sue says in the last chapter that the Martin Institute was "offering Dartmouth students the courses the college would no longer teach." These are still taught in college, if not high school. I read The Odyssey in high school English. We recognize that they still have things to say that are of value and we just make note of what is no longer acceptable. As in, "We used to think this way, but now we know better."

The Bible. Is not. Banned. From. Public. Schools. According to the ACLU website, students and teachers are free to read the Bible, (or the Torah, or the Koran) in their free time, in the school building, and hold onto their personal religious beliefs, you just can't hold worship services that prioritize one religion over another in a public institution.

As if the author would accept that as an argument. As the reader finds out in the next chapter, the ACLU is evil.

This reminds me of War Room, another propaganda piece with a militaristic call to arms to get "prayer warriors" in the federal government. At least the metaphor isn't quite as shoehorned.

The Bible being the greatest literary work depends on what you mean. If we’re going by impact, then it certainly is one of the greatest. If we’re judging by quality...there's typos, censoring, gratuitous porn, no coherent plot, fanfiction in the (agreed-upon) canonical text, lots of excuses for racism, sexism, homophobia, rape, slavery...never mind I see why he likes it.

From Xenophon and Herodotus and Thucydides and Caesar and Tacitus and all the rest, military and not (I did finally make it through Plato, too), I learned three things. Maybe they were basic, even simple. I’m not a great philosopher. But they were important enough to shape the rest of my life.

The first was that these ancient Greeks and Romans and Hebrews and more modern Florentines and Frenchmen and Englishmen both were us and made us. They had the same thoughts you and I have, more or less, but they had them for the first time, at least the first time history records. Do you want a thoroughly modern send-up of Feminism in all its silliness? Then read Aristophanes‘ Lysistrata—it’s only 2500 years old. For a chaser, recall the line of 17th century English poet and priest John Donne: “Hope not for mind in woman; at their best, they are but mummy possessed.” Pick any subject you want, except science, and these folks were there before us, thousands of years before us in some cases, with the same observations, thoughts and comments we offer today. We are their children.

That led to my second lesson: nothing is new. The only person since the 18th century to have a new idea was Nietzsche, and he was mad. Even science was well along the road we still follow by the time Napoleon was trying to conquer Europe.

There are no modern philosophers. They don't exist. There are no new ideas left. There are a lot of people being scammed for philosophy degrees. What bullshit is this that there are no new ideas? We're currently having debates today that were unthinkable two centuries before, like net neutrality. New ideas may not have come into popular knowledge since the 18th century, but perhaps those need to stand the test of time to be worthy of remembrance. The technology we use for science we do now is completely unrecognizable to science of 200 years ago. It's impossible to progress in certain areas of modern science without computers. However, the scientific method has been around since antiquity, and we still use it, because it works. The way we think and the way we do things, if they've changed at all, are different because we found a better way.

Back in the old USA, newness—novelty—was what everyone wanted. Ironically, that too was old, but early 21st century Americans were so cut off from their past they didn’t know it (or much else, beyond how to operate the TV remote and their cell phone).

You see, sometime around the middle of the 18th century, we men of the West struck Faust’s bargain with the Devil. We could do anything, have anything, say anything, with one exception: verweile doch, du bist so schön. We could not tarry, we could not rest, we could not get it right and then keep it that way. Always we must have something new: that was the bargain, and ultimately the reason we pulled our house down around us.

Satan, like God, has a sense of humor. His joke on us was that most of the stuff we thought was new, wasn’t. Especially the errors, blunders, and heresies; they had all been tried, and failed, and understood as mistakes long, long before. But we had lost our past, so we didn’t know. We were too busy passing around “information” with our computers to study any history. So it was all new to us, and we had to make the same mistakes over again. The price was high.

But sure, yeah, let's listen to the geriatric jerkoff whine that we're all glued to our phones and technology. It's much better to have culture be stagnant forever instead of growing with accumulation of knowledge. They could have predicted such things in Nietzche's time.

The literary significance of Lysistrata is a whole other discussion, but its not a feminist work, although both the men and the women come off looking foolish in that one.

"Hope not for mind in woman; at their best, they are but mummy possessed." Is a line from "Love's Alchemy." The point of the poem is that true love is as impossible to find as it's impossible for an alchemist to actually make gold. The second stanza criticizes women in general and says that they're "vain bubbles" not worth men's time, honor, and money. The best men can hope to find in a women is an incarnation of their mother. Ew.

What mistakes? What failures? Are we still talking about technology?

The third lesson, and the one that shaped the rest of my life, was that these thoughts and lessons and concepts and morals that make up our Western culture—for that is what these books contain—were worth fighting for. As Pat Buchanan said, they were true, they were ours, and they were good. They had given us, when we still paid attention to them, the freest and most prosperous societies man has ever known.

The Great Pat Buchanan. Conservative political commentator. Senior Advisor to Presidents Nixon, Ford, and Reagan. Republican Presidential Nominee in 1992 and 1996. Co-founder of American Conservative Magazine. Contributer to VDARE, an anti-immigration activist group. Anti-Semite and Holocaust denier.

You know what, we can learn from history. ALL history. Not just white history. I wonder if William Lind has read about Confucianism or other Eastern philosophy, or if he's aware that we use Arabic numbers, or that the earliest known recordings of the concepts of zero, infinity, irrational numbers, and negative numbers, were from India and China.

You know what would actually be destroying Western culture? Book burning. Destroying of places of worship. A Christian registry. Rounding up of anyone who says they’ve read Plato, or the Bible, and sending them to death camps...wait has this kind of thing happened before anywhere else?

#victoria #tw: alt-right #tw: sexism #tw: racism

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