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blueparadis · 1 year

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Hi! I love your writing :)

If you have the time/are interested can yo make TR Mikey x reader smut with Mikey realizing reader is a virgin right before their first time? Either he believed gossips or the reader teases a lot or something. Whatever you cook up if you decide to do this, I am sure I will love it :)

Have a nice day

—

Thank you >:)) okay. this was very precise but idk why it confused me. I did my best tho. I love him sm. I'm always excited to write on him >^< hope you love it too <33

STAY WITH ME ; MANJIRO SANO !

୨ content & tags ୧ ~ f!reader, mafia au, mention of brothels, arrange marriage, virginity k!nk, ( domestic ) fluff, f1nger1ng, orgasm control, kisses and soft love making, very light corruption k!nk, teasing, he is a big softie here. word count — 2kish + blog navigation.

“You know about this ?”, Draken throws the newspaper in front of Manjiro who is deeply staring at his knuckles and his rings, sitting on a bar stool holding a drink with his non-dominant hand.

“They made it public. Were you aware of this? . . . ”Draken continues in a harsh tone with his eyebrows furrowing further as Manjiro keeps him playing with a ring, juggling it in between his fingers. “Mi-key, you know what this means right? The wedding is gonna happen in a week or . . .”

“Shin told me that we're going to visit them. Tomorrow. So, I figured . . .”

“You figured what? Y/N is practically in the front page with massive headlines and. . . ” Manjiro grabs the news paper instantly looking at the photo of her. She is walking out of a shop in a one-piece dress that reveals much of her body curves, beautifully, he must add. And except the chauffeur, there is no sign of a bodyguard. How dare he! That scoundrel.

Moreover, it's been almost a year since he saw her or it would be more accurate to say that he was forbidden to see her, meet her, talk to her. The only thread of communication he had with her was occasional gifts, though it was more of a bridging alliance with her father than wooing her.

“We’re leaving.”He rushes out of their private bar,“Now. And Inform Haruchiyo. He is coming with us.”

“What? ”, Draken gasped. “But Shinichiro -san ”

“Didn't you want me to take action? This is me taking action . . . for her. ”

“Ahhh, fuck it.”

Manjiro wasn't angry. He was furious, furious that his fiancee is roaming around the town without any sort of protection. He has been humbling himself since the day this bond was sealed. He had stopped going to whore house, bringing girls in his house or even going to a bar with Izana. The day this marriage was confirmed, he knew he had to cut off all these (bad) habits once she is under same room with him.

She was sent to study abroad, right after the meeting. Manjiro would have easily continued his lavish acts but he was told to behave, told to be prepared for her. And now that she is back, Manjiro was supposed to court her, take care of her, and get rid of the childish awkwardness of a newly married couple. Who knows what happened abroad? She might have been deflowered or . . .

“Woah. What a good day it is . . .”, Y/N’s father rose up folding the newspaper and keeping it on the tea table as he saw three men approaching in his way. Manjiro Sano, Ken Ryuguji and Sanzu Haruchiyo. Of course, they had no trouble with the security.

Without greeting Manjiro walked in to the house, he was determined to meet her. Draken stopped y/n's father with his hand while his lips started to work. “Nah... Shiba-san .... When did y/n got back? We came here immediately as soon as we saw her... in the headlines” Haruchiyo stood beside the man with his eyes on the ground, hands tucked behind at the valley of his waist.

Manjiro smiled to himself as he heard Draken making the small talk. Ah! Geez. He never changes. His eyes scanned the hall. Not a soul was there, not even a servant. He heard quick footsteps cascading down the stairs, his heartbeats escalated, breathing became faster, hands crawling inside the pocket of his slacks. . .“Ahrey. . . Isn't it yuzuha? ”

She cocked her head to a side exclaiming in a bored tone. “Hakkai and Taiju are busy at the restaurant. I'm sure you know why”

“I’m not here for them” Yuzuha couldn't help but smile at his confession.

“She is in her room. Up-stairs. Right - wing. Last room with balcony.” Manjiro was already walking as he bowed his head to give his utmost thanks to her.

He stood in front of the door for a minute thinking now what? He hasn't prepared shit to say and he certainly doesn't want to scare her. Last meeting was . . . he was quite hard on her. He knocked, three times and waited. Within five seconds he saw y/n opening the door with so much zeal in her eyes.

“You should always ask. . . Who is it? Before opening the door.”, Manjiro quipped walking into the room and closing the door behind, without turning so as to keep his eyes on her.

“Are you not surprised to see me? ”

“Yuzuu texted.”, that girl always had a knack for enacting tit-for-tat whenever there was an opening.

“So, within a week. . . You'll have to stay. . . ”

“Stay with you, share bed with you, obey you. . . Yeah, yeah I know” God! What did they do to her? Last time when Manjiro saw her she had no fire in her eyes, no fight in her soul. What exactly happened at abroad?

“I wasn't going to say that but i guess that sums up. Here”, he kept a strip of medicines. “You will have these. I want you to be prepared for our wedding night. Start from today.” Part of her knew what those pills did, while part of her wanted to ask, to hear through his voice. How fucking rude! No gifts, no talk straight to sex.

The wedding day was lustrous and full of happiness. Just for a day, everyone in the Shiba family set aside there differences to make you smile. Yuzuha complained a little about how she is gonna be lonely without her sister and claimed she is gonna visit her soon but Manjiro brushed it off.

“You’re drinking too much. . . Is the crowd making you nervous? Do you want to go inside? Is the food too spicy? ”

Manjiro was kind even for a man who belonged to the obsidian world of blood-bath. His attention was focused on her, her tone of talking, body language. He cannot wait to just have her, share bed with her and fuck her in all positions known to a man, fuck her till all she remembers is his name, till she reeks of him, thinks of him and only him.

He entered the room an hour later than her. By the time she already had changed clothes and was under the covers laying down and thinking about the marriage, this marriage that was mere an alliance and she was just a peace offering.

“Y/N, you still awake?”Manjiro asked coming out of the bathroom and standing near the edge of the bed. The light of night lamp was perfectly falling on her face as she turned around to face him. Manjiro’s heart dropped at the pit of his stomach, cock twitched as her body peeked from under the covers.

“Are you tired?”, he asked leaning over her as he tucked the loose hair strands behind her ear. She nodded and sat upright. He was now sharing the same cover as her, cock growing, eyes glinting in lust and heart pounding amongst his rib cage. He cupped her face so as she would meet his eyes but she jerked his hands off instantaneously, jumping out of the bed and making some distance between them.

“Don’t”

“Why? Did i do something wrong? Something that hurt you? ”

“No but . . .” “I didn't take pills.”

Manjiro got out of bed and strolled towards her. She backed away. He could see her shaky hands, he swallowed and looked away. “Do i scare you, Y/N?”

“No.” There was silence for a few seconds since Manjiro did not know what to do, what to say. He wasn't ready to have babies, not yet. And, now he can't even fuck her raw and he would hate to wear condom on his wedding night. He always used protection while visiting brothels even though he knew all the girls were clean.

“I. . . I want . . . I need time”, she breathed out. Manjiro’s eyebrows jumped since an entirely different fact dawned on him. Could it be. . . she is. . .?

“Are. . .” he cleared his throat. “Are you still a virgin ?”

“What do you mean still?” , she thought.

“umm-hmm” He raked his fingers through his pitch-black hair revealing his dragon tattoo as her feeble umm-hmm echoed in his head. She is a virgin, that is, he is going to be her first, probably for everything. Honestly, he wouldn't have minded if it were opposite since he was dry for almost an year and now had to keep himself under control. Great. He is truly fucked.

“Do you trust me, y/n ?”

“I can try ”

Manjiro laid out his hand in front of her. She hesitated at first but the moment she kept her palm over his, Manjiro lowered his head to kiss her knuckles. As soon as he raised his head, he pulled her against his body wrapping his other hand around her waist. Her body felt warm,less shaky as he felt her nose grazing against his chest muscles.

“So, you're saying that. . .”, he earned her stares on him as he spoke further. “No one was handsome enough for your taste ?”

“It was a all - girls college.”

“Uhhh-Hahh!” , Manjiro lips tugged up. “And they didn't tell you about anything? What actually happens during wedding night? When they came to know about our marriage.”

“I wasn't supposed to talk about my life, this life to them. I made friends. They were nice but i missed home.” Manjiro was taken aback by her ways for two reasons; one : she wasn't afraid of him like others, two: she was innocent but not naive, a little brave he might add.

“Y/N ?”

“Hmm?”

And when she peered up Manjiro pressed his lips against her cheeks just at the corner of her lips without a second thought. He has fucked enough girls to know a woman's weak spots but this felt out of syllabus. He guided her hands over his shoulders as his lips proceeded along her neckline. Manjiro bucked his hips , pressed his hard on against her entrance earning a loud gasp with her hands locking around his nape. Bingo.

Manjiro swiftly pushed her on to the bed. He stood looking at her while she panted vigorously. He discarded his upper clothing, crawling on top her. His head dipped while she leaned in, lips slightly parted awaiting for his kiss. But Manjiro’s lithe fingers worked on the buttons of her night dress. “What? You thought I was gonna kiss you. . . on your lips. You asked for time, remember?”

But immediately Manjiro’s lips were silenced by a kiss. Dry, short-lived and quick. His hands were still on undoing the buttons Manjiro couldn't help but grin.

“Is that you call a kiss? ”one of his hands travelled underneath her thin night gown, way up to her vagina. His fingers penetrated her at the same time his lips dashed on hers. Manjiro wasn't in mood to hold back because her body was eager. She was just a little afraid and by her desperate hold on his arms, Manjiro could tell she was loving it.

He explored her lips and kissed as deep as he could. “That is ... What you call a kiss.”, he whispered against her lips before pecking her cheeks. He added one more finger and quickened his pace, hitting her spot, watching her eyes blanking out, her grips growing stronger on his arms, body squirming underneath his. Her hips reflexively bucked up as orgasm washed over her body.

“Good girl. ”, he hummed as he rolled beside her giving space to breath licking his fingers shamelesly.

@tokyometronetwork

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cosmicpuzzle · 1 year

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7th Ruler and Meeting Spouse

So on request from one of my follower, I decided to make this post. It is not necessary that the house placement of 7th ruler must always indicate the environment or how you meet them.

Sometimes, the house location of Venus or Jupiter can work. Sometimes even the sign placement of Venus or Jupiter can indicate where you meet spouse. So you need to apply this with judgment.

7th Ruler in 1st : In traditional societies, a classic arranged marriage where bride and groom meet in presence of family. Sometimes you may know the person from childhood, like they are your relative or stayed in same house as you did. In western world, this can mean your spouse sees you somewhere and then approaches you for marriage.

7th Ruler in 2nd: This can mean again a marriage arranged by your family. Even in western societies, this can mean your family has selected one particular person already, may be they are your family friend from childhood or your family does business with their parents and they take over etc..may meet them at work too or when you go to bank or shopping.

7th Ruler in 3rd : This can mean marriage through matrimony or newspaper classifieds in traditional societies. In western world, can men through dating apps, all kinds of social media. You may meet them as team mates at office. You travel to a seminar or lecture and meet them there. You may meet at school, college, places of learning or your friends/siblings introduce you to them. They may be friends of friends.

7th Ruler in 4th: This can mean an arranged marriage by family in traditional societies. You may marry a relative too or someone known to your family circle. They may be distantly connected to your family. you may marry someone from your childhood, so someone you went to school with and later you propose them. Similar to 2nd house at times. You may also meet at office.

7th Ruler in 5th: This can mean you meet your spouse at a very young age like 7 to 10 years as 5th house is children. So you may meet them in school, playgrounds or they were your neighbors when you were a kid. Can meet at social parties, places of fun , drama theatres, magic shows, exhibition, political events, theme parks for children, children birthday parties etc.

7th Ruler in 6th: This can mean you meet them at work, you may meet at supermarket, gym, when you visit a doctor, or places where animals are cared for like PETA, medical shops, relief camps, donation places, NGO's etc.

7th Ruler in 7th: This can mean a formal arranged marriage. You may meet at foreign places or at weddings, social events or through your business partners.

7th Ruler in 8th : Nothing specific, you may meet them during emergencies or they come into your life suddenly out of nowhere like friends turning into lovers which you didn't plan for or marrying your friend's spouse after they get divorce..may be when you go to a funeral, you may meet at night clubs, forbidden places or they may be introduced when you get some therapy like they are your psychiatrist friend or your astrologer's friend. An astrologer may even give hints about your spouse. someone who may have had marriage already. You may also meet at places related to money like insurances, taxes, bank loans etc.

7th Ruler in 9th: You may meet them at college, university, when you pursue bachelors or masters. You may meet at religious places like temple or church or when you go to a pilgrimage. Sometimes this can also mean a marriage based on law like court marriage, you may meet at a trial, you may meet when you go abroad or you meet a foreigner online.

7th Ruler in 10th : You may meet them at work, in context of your job, or your boss introduces you to them, I have seen some cases where the person was personal assistant to boss and then they got married later, you may meet through business conferences or at Government offices, may be you need to renew some Govt. document etc.

7th Ruler in 11th: You may meet them over internet, dating apps, matrimony websites, business meetings or through professional colleagues. They may be your friend initially and becomes lover later. You both may have common friends. If you do business, then in context of advertisements, promotion campaigns etc, They may even be a celebrity.

7th Ruler in 12th: You may meet in foreign lands, when you go abroad, in hospitals, airports. I have seen one case, the guy was a travel agent and booked tickets for his client and went to airport to send off his client and met his wife there as she was client's sister. Meeting could be destined or fated in some way.

Book your Spouse Reading now. DM here.

#astrology #astro observations #astrology observation #astrology observations #7th lord in 3rd house #7th lord in 11th house #7th lord #marriage astrology #marriage in astrology #zodiac sign #zodiac #vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #vedic astro observations #astro community

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dailyhistoryposts · 5 months

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A Rundown of Henry Kissinger's Life

“Once you’ve been to Cambodia, you’ll never stop wanting to beat Henry Kissinger to death with your bare hands. You will never again be able to open a newspaper and read about that treacherous, prevaricating, murderous scumbag sitting down for a nice chat with Charlie Rose or attending some black-tie affair for a new glossy magazine without choking. Witness what Henry did in Cambodia – the fruits of his genius for statesmanship – and you will never understand why he’s not sitting in the dock at The Hague next to Milošević. While Henry continues to nibble nori rolls and remaki at A-list parties, Cambodia, the neutral nation he secretly and illegally bombed, invaded, undermined, and then threw to the dogs, is still trying to raise itself up on its one remaining leg.”

--Anthony Bourdain (2018)

It's difficult to be precise, but all told Henry Kissinger killed hundreds of thousands of civilians in pursuit of American business interests.

EARLY LIFE

Henry Kissinger was born in 1923 as Heinz Kissinger in Fürth, Bavaria, Germany, to a German-Jewish family. Throughout his youth, he was relentlessly and violently harassed and discriminated against by members of the Hitler Youth and authorities. At the age of 15, Kissinger and his family fled Nazi Germany, settling in New York City. He finished high school at George Washington High School in NYC and began studying accounting at the City College of New York, but his undergraduate studies were interrupted in 1943 when he was drafted into the US army.

In the army, fluent German speakers were in short supply, so Kissinger was quickly assigned to military intelligence. During the American invasion of Germany, he worked to set up civilian administration of conquered cities and tracked down Gestapo officers as a Special Agent of the Counter Intelligence Corps. He received the Bronze Star Medal

After his time in the army, Kissinger returned to his studies. He graduated summa cum laude in political science from Harvard College, as well as his Masters and PhD. He taught at Harvard, and his studies focused on international 'legitimacy', when an international order is widely accepted by international leaders, without regard to public opinion or morality.

POLITICS

Beginning in the 1950s, Kissinger began to be more active on the political stage. He was a consultant for the National Security Council and a study director for the Council of Foreign Relations. He notably was against Eisenhower's massive retaliation nuclear doctrine, where the United States would respond to a nuclear attack with a much, much greater nuclear attack. Instead, Kissinger advocated the use of tactical nuclear weapons on a regular basis in more wars.

In the 1960s, Kissinger began working with Republicans running for office as an advisor in foreign affairs. He contributed to the Nixon campaign, and when Nixon took office in 1969, Kissinger was appointed as National Security Advisor, and later Secretary of State. As a diplomat, Kissinger heavily used Realpolitik, the in-fashion Cold War approach focusing on pragmatism and realistic outcomes rather than ideological or moral purity. In international politics, it largely has to do with obtaining and maintaining power on the world stage.

Kissinger focused on relaxing US tensions with the USSR and China, leading an American foreign policy that supported Taiwan on the face but in the shadows removed all support for Taiwan and essentially waited for it to fall apart.

In 1974, he directed the National Security Study Memorandum 200: Implications of Worldwide Population Growth for U.S. Security and Overseas Interests (NSSM200), sometimes called the "Kissinger Report" the official United States policy for many years, though it remained classified until the 1990s. The Kissinger Report advocated for population control in undeveloped nations to ensure easy resource extraction and protect American business interests abroad. Projects were designed to reduce fertility while keeping up the appearance of improving quality of life--the plan specifically attempted to avoid an appearance of "economic or racial imperialism". Birth rate was particularly noted due to concerns about an adequate global food supply and because young people more readily fight back against corruption and imperialism. The Report also brought up increasing abortion rates as a method of obtaining this goal.

In 1975, policies based on the Report went into affect. The National Security Council would recommend withholding food and using military force to prevent population growth, prioritizing aid for small families, and even paying people to get sterilized. Thirteen countries were named as particularly problematic to US interests. Of note, Nigeria lost development and the United States took control of Nigerian resources, and the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) was responsible for some of the 300,000 forced sterilizations in Peru--largely impoverished or indigenous women--during the Fujimori administration. The Fujimori government has been accused of crimes against humanity by the International Criminal Court for these abuses, and today the Peruvian economy suffers due to the low population resulting from these sterilizations.

ACTIONS IN SOUTHEAST ASIA

The Vietnam War had started back in 1955. Kissinger had originally supported it, but as time dragged on began to view it as harming American prestige. Kissinger leaked information about peace talks to get into power at Nixon's side, and then failed to end the war in 1972, leading to the Christmas bombings. A very similar agreement was signed the next month, leading to a ceasefire (that would collapse) and the withdrawal of American troops--bitterly seen as a betrayal by South Vietnam. When Kissinger and Vietnamese diplomat Lê Đức Thọ were jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for this, Thọ declined to accept it and two members of the Nobel Committee left it in protest.

It was in the middle of the Vietnam War, and during the Cambodian Civil War, that Operation Menu and Operational Freedom Deal went into play. From March 1969 to May 1970, the United States Strategic Air Command carried out a series of first tactical and then carpet bombings in eastern Cambodia. Then, from May 1970 to August 1973, the United States provided close air support and widespread bombing. Part of a 'secret' war to support the Kingdom of Cambodia/Khmer Republic against communist rebels, it ultimately failed and the communists would take power in 1975.

In the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971, Nixon and Kissinger supported the Pakistani president Yahya Khan. It was in this that the strongest dissent in the history of the U.S. Foreign Service, the Blood Telegram (named after sender Archer Blood), was sent. It reports the US was about to lose, describes systemic abuses, and uses the word 'genocide' to describe the actions by US-supported Pakistan. It said the US government was morally bankrupt. Blood was recalled early from Bangladesh, and US interests were lost when Bangladeshi Independence was secured within the year.

MIDDLE EASTERN POLICY

Kissinger was originally excluded from any policy-making on Israel, as part of Nixon's orders to exclude all Jewish-Americans from such work. Still, in 1973, when Kissinger became Secretary of State, he was included in all US Middle Eastern policy. This means he was largely responsible for the handling of the Yom Kippur War--this handling included not noticing precipitating factors leading up to it (he was so engrossed in Paris peace talks he didn't notice the Egyptian President Sadat ready to move on Sinai), delaying telling Nixon about and stalled negotiating a ceasefire, hoping Israel would push across and fully obtain the Suez Canal.

Kissinger's diplomacy included giving equipment to Israel, but not as much as he'd promised, and selling weapons to Saudi Arabia at the same time, in exchange for access to Saudi Arabian oil. By largely handling to event and not involving France or the United Kingdom, and by minimizing the power of the Soviet Union, Kissinger took large steps in giving US power over much of the Middle East.

It should be noted that this was done purely to protect US interests rather than any form of Jewish security. When questioned about the persecution of Soviet Jews at the same time, Kissinger said

"The emigration of Jews from the Soviet Union is not an objective of American foreign policy, and if they put Jews into gas chambers in the Soviet Union, it is not an American concern. Maybe a humanitarian concern."

-Henry Kissinger (1973)

Also in the region., Kissinger supported Iran against Iraq.

TURKISH INVASION OF CYPRUS

In 1974, the Greek military regime and Turkiye invaded the island of Cyprus. The military regime had been supported by Kissinger, and anti-Kissinger sentiment was strong among young people. Cyprus is now an independent island country, though its northeast portion is de facto separate, making up the self-declared Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. Kissinger considers his own handling of the Cyprus Issue unfavorably.

LATIN AMERICA

With Kissinger's influence, the United States maintained relations with non-left-wing governments regardless of commitment to democracy. It was with Kissinger's input that the CIA encouraged a military coup against Chilean president-elect Salvador Allende due to his socialist ideals.

Operation Condor, a US-backed program of political repression by right-wing dictatorships of southern South America, was also Kissinger's work. It included assassinations, the Dirty War in Argentina, and supporting Brazil's nuclear weapons program because it would benefit the U.S. private nuclear industry.

SOME OTHER STUFF

Kissinger's policy on post-WWII decolonization was mixed, based on what would benefit the U.S. He helped transition Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) away from White minority rule, expressed moderate support for the Portuguese Colonial Empire, and helped Indonesia occupy East Timor.

After Watergate forced Nixon to resign, Kissinger stayed on under President Ford but left office when Democrat Jimmy Carter came into power. He was offered an endowed chair at Columbia University, which was canceled due to student opposition, but was appointed to Georgetown University instead. He ran a consulting firm, supported the Chinese government in the Tiananmen Square massacre, and served on the 2000 Commission of the International Olympic Committee. He was supposed to help President Bush respond to the 9/11 attacks but stepped down because he refused to reveal if he had a business conflict of interest.

In 2010, he took a strong stance urging world governments to destroy all nuclear weapons. In the 2014 Ukrainian crisis, he said that Crimea should remain under Ukrainian sovereignty, but in the 2022 Russian invasion of Ukraine said that Crimea and Donbas should be given to Russia.

Kissinger was a board member of Theranos, Elizabeth Holmes' biotech scam.

In response to the 2023 Hamas attack on Israel, and seeing pro-Palestinian protestors in Germany, Kissinger called Muslim immigration into Germany "a grave mistake".

DEATH

Kissinger died peacefully in his home in Connecticut on November 29th, 2023,

#history #destiel #henry kissinger #imperialism #anti imperialism #if any of you use this as an excuse to be antisemitic or prolife im coming for all your bones

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katyswrites · 1 year

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don't call me 'baby'

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, references to vomit/drinking too much, age gap

Wordcount: 4.4k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 2 | is it chill that you're in my head?

The next few weeks passed in a blur. With the semester officially wrapped, you threw yourself into working - early morning shifts at the coffee shop, then weekend nights Enoteca Bruni, slinging cocktails and lighting cigars, smiling prettily for high-end customers and their massive wallets. Fridays were the worst - working a double, swapping out your apron for a cocktail dress as you went from one job to the other, often fixing your hair and doing your makeup on the bus ride in between.

It had been a bit of a culture shock, moving out to Rome. You had never envisioned moving abroad, but the offer had come from AUR with a great scholarship; it involved getting the Hell out of your parents’ house, working towards a degree, and starting a new life in Rome. Not knowing the language had been the hardest - you had spent nearly your entire first year enrolled in Italian classes, taking time to read newspapers, watch local television, and do everything you could to immerse yourself in the language. It wasn’t second-nature, exactly, but you found yourself switching from English to Italian easily now, thankfully. It was probably what landed you the job at Enoteca - they usually only took people with more restaurant experience (or the prettiest, you would later realize). But, an American girl, who spoke fluent Italian? It had made you invaluable, considering how many business executives and high-profile people from around the world dined there.

That was probably why the experience a few weeks ago hadn’t shaken you all too much; you had become used to groups like that, men who were used to getting what they wanted, whenever they wanted. Still, when you allowed your mind to wander, or you had a moment or two to rest, you found yourself thinking of Steve Harrington.

It was rarely on purpose - the vision of the man encroached on your mind when you least expected, sticking and seeping through your brain like syrup. You had felt guilty about the money, initially - while some kind (and usually American) customers tipped, it wasn’t common on this side of the world. And, moreover, it had been far more than what was anywhere near reasonable, no matter how expensive their bill ended up being. Was he hitting on you? That wouldn’t have been the first time - plenty of pushy, or downright pervy customers had insisted on tipping you, slipping you a phone number with the cash. But, he hadn’t done that - there wasn’t any contact information, not even a return address. And, he didn’t seem like that - he could’ve made more of a move on you that night in the car, if he really wanted. It was confusing, more than anything - no matter how you had tried to rationalize it, the generous gesture was simply bizarre. That was probably why you found yourself thinking of him on occasion - why else would you be?

It was the last weekend of May, when it happened. If you had been back in the States, you supposed it would’ve been a long holiday weekend, thanks to Memorial Day. But here, it was just another Friday night. And, a rare blessing - you actually had the night off. Well, you had arranged for the night off. It had been a terrible week, beyond exhausting. When you had come home, last night, Robin had taken one look at you, and shook her head.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Huh?” you asked, plopping down in a kitchen chair.

“You need to take a night off, you’re miserable,” she said, sitting herself across from you.

“I need to work,” you explained. “In case you forgot, we need to pay rent.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “But, you know… last I checked, a certain richy-rich business bro took care of that -”

“That cash is only gonna last so long, Robs.”

“Don’t you get it? That was his way of telling you to take a break - they love you at the restaurant. You never miss, just call out - and then we can go out tomorrow, and actually have fun, for once.”

You opened your mouth to protest, then stopped yourself - you carefully considered what your friend was proposing. The two of you rarely took time to have fun anymore - Robin once joked that you were both old ladies already, working all day and tucked in bed early most nights. You and her were often rolling coins for groceries, and you had treated yourselves to an actual sitdown dinner next week thanks to Steve’s money - it had felt extravagant, but nice.

Buy yourself something nice, Steve’s note had said.

“Yeah, okay,” you conceded. “Let’s go out tomorrow, yeah?”

That was how you found yourself out that night, stuffed into your favorite jeans and flashy top, face made-up and six drinks deep at some nightclub, one of Robin’s favorite haunts from college. The air was hazy, the music loud, and you found yourself letting go, as best as you could.

Robin made her way through the crowd to you, shots in-hand, despite your earlier protests.

“Robs - no -”

“C’mon, live a little!” she shouted. “And don’t worry, it’s not tequila - I know how you get with tequila.”

You rolled your eyes, toasting her as you downed the shot, the liquor burning your tongue and throat as it went down. Robin grinned, pressing herself close to you as she asked, “Are ya having fun?”

You nodded, smiling.

“Yeah, actually - I am,” you admitted. “But - I’ve got to get some air,” you said, pulling your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and waving them.

Robin groaned.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” she shouted as you headed for the door.

“We can only hope!” you sent back playfully over your shoulder.

You made your way through sweaty bodies and dodged the splashes of drinks, forcing your way out into the cooler night.

The summer was in its infancy, the evenings still cool enough to raise goosebumps on the skin, to remind you that spring wasn’t quite done yet. It was a welcome change, the bar inside nearly suffocating with the pure volume of people. And more importantly, outside, it’s quiet. Yes, it’s still a city, the din of cars and motorbikes combining with the sounds of music and laughter from bars and restaurants, the cacophony of nightlife still a relief from what you just came from inside.

A few other smokers hung around you, alone and in groups, chatting and flicking ash onto the pavement. You leaned against the brick wall of the building, sighing and inhaling deeply. You let the night air fill your lungs, your head a bit fuzzy from the alcohol coursing through you.

You fish a cigarette out of the carton, placing it between your lips before reaching into your pocket for a lighter - oh, no.

Your lighter was still in your purse. Because, you almost always have your purse, but because you were going out, you had just stuck some cash and your ID in the back of your phone, and left. Christ, you were out of practice. You slumped, and glanced around, only to realize a lot of people had headed back inside. You spotted a woman about ten feet away, exhaling smoke. You debated walking over and asking for a light - she probably wouldn’t have a problem with that, and she was probably done soon -

“Need a light?” a voice asked.

A godsend.

You turned to where it was coming from, and froze in place.

There he was, standing just a few feet from you. Steve wore a warm smirk and a fitted t-shirt and jeans, nearly unrecognizable from the man in the suit you had met a few weeks ago. His hair was still done immaculately, but he stood casually, hands shoved in his pockets as he leaned against the wall. In the dim streetlights, he could’ve been a stranger, just a boy on the sidewalk with a kind offer and a smile. Still, he wore nice loafers and a flashy watch, and though you didn’t know much about clothes, you imagine they cost more than most of your closet combined.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, unable to believe your luck. And, it doesn’t escape you, the irony of the reversed roles, of you being stuck for a light out in the night.

“If you’ve got one,” you replied, feigning a casual air.

“Well, I think I owe you the favor,” he said, reaching into his pocket until he produced a lighter. He held it up, and you leaned in close, letting him flick it on and light the cigarette until the end was a hot amber. You took a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and exhaling, immediately relaxing.

You didn’t take your eyes off of the man next to you, still as boyishly handsome as you remembered. He was visibly more relaxed than the last time you saw him, and you couldn’t help but wonder… was he here alone?

“Thanks,” you said, pressing your foot into the wall to balance yourself.

“Of course,” he replied, pulling his own cigarette out and placing it in his mouth. Still hand-rolled, you noted.

“Not just for that,” you said, measuring your words carefully. “For… for the other thing, too.”

He didn’t respond, at first. He just stared straight ahead, blowing smoke out into the night air.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, kicking at the ground with his toe.

“No, I should - I mean, that was… it was really generous. And, you really shouldn’t have.”

He looked at you then, face soft as he smiled.

“Yes, I should’ve. Because I wanted to. Did you do what I asked?”

You paused, confused. “What?”

“Did you buy yourself something nice?”

You suddenly felt your face heat, and it took you a moment to find the words.

“I - well, sort of. I mean, to be honest, I used a lot of it to pay this month’s rent. But…I took my roommate out to a nice dinner. And, there’s still a bit left, so I guess we’re using it now, for drinks and stuff tonight.”

He perked up at that, and smiled a little wider.

“Good,” he said. “I mean, I’m glad you were able to treat yourself.”

“It let me take the night off, for once,” you admitted.

“How many nights do you work there?” he asked curiously.

“Well, only four - Thursday through Sunday. But, I work 5 days a week at a coffee shop - you know Caffè Tazza, on Via Pave?”

He furrowed his brow, then nodded slowly.

“I think I’ve passed it on my way to work, yeah - not sure I’ve ever gone in.”

“Yeah, well, I work there. Enteco is just a side gig - it pays better. Well, slightly.”

You stopped yourself, then, suddenly feeling small - it hadn’t escaped you that the money Steve had sent you was probably a drop in the bucket, a negligible amount for him. You couldn’t even imagine what his bank account looked like, but from what little you knew about him, you knew it would probably make you fall to your knees.

“But, it doesn’t matter - I needed a break, I don’t go out much, so here I am.”

He just nodded again, taking another drag.

“Are you here with anyone?” he asked.

You nodded, glancing at the door behind you.

“Yeah - my roommate, Robin… you?”

You asked it carefully, glancing at him briefly. He turned to look at you again, and you could tell he was fighting a smile.

“No,” he said. “I’m here alone.”

You don’t know what it was - it was probably a mix of the alcohol, a long week, the buzz of the late night air, or the fact that both of you had subconsciously inched yourselves closer to each other during the last few minutes - you could feel the heat radiating off of him, hear his shallow breaths. But, you felt bold, bolder than usual.

“Did you plan on keeping it that way?” you asked quietly.

His eyes widened, and you saw him visibly freeze at your words.

“Not necessarily,” he admitted, voice soft and low.

Then, you pushed yourself up on your toes, and pulled him by the collar of his t-shirt, bringing his lips down to yours.

He tensed for a moment under your touch, then relaxed, leaning into the kiss. His lips moved with yours, softer than you had imagined. He tasted like cigarettes and scotch, and smells like cologne, the good kind. Your cigarette fell from your fingers and somewhere into the pavement, freeing your hand to snake up and press gently at the nape of his neck.

It was a bit messy, and not too sophisticated - if you had to guess, he was probably a bit drunk too, though maybe not as much as you. But you were kissing Steve Harrington, a man who was still practically a stranger, and he was kissing you back. And God, he was a good kisser. He pulled you closer, pressing his hands to the small of your back as you breathed into his mouth. And, for just a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the whole city.

Perhaps it was a few seconds or an hour - most likely, it was somewhere in between. But eventually, you both pulled away for air, chests heaving, hearts racing.

He was looking at you through the dim streetlight, eyes wide. There was something there in his face - surprise, yes, but something else too… fondness? Excitement?

“I,” you started, “um -”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling under his breath.

A moment passed, and suddenly, there was an air of awkwardness that settled between you both. Did you misread that? Did he want you to kiss him? Well, he had kissed you back… but would he do it again?

He opened his mouth and took a step toward you to say something, but then you heard a familiar voice come from behind you, calling your name. You turn around, confused.

“I - Robin?”

Your friend stumbled out of the bar’s entrance, hand pressed to her forehead.

“Hey - I… I think I drank too much,” she slurred, making her way toward you.

“You don’t say?” you laughed, reaching out for her outstretched hand. She took it, face screwed up in pain as she squinted in the light illuminating the sidewalk.

“I think - hey, whose this?” she asked, standing up a bit straighter with a renewed interest.

You glanced back at Steve, who had taken a few steps back, his hands shoved into his pockets. He offered a small smile.

“Oh, um - this is, uh -”

“I’m Steve,” he finished, meeting Robin’s eyes over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”

“Steve? Who -” then, her eyes widened, and a cheeky grin spread on her face.

“Oh - Steve. Like, Steve Steve?”

You felt your face heat, and pointedly ignored the way Steve’s eyes were burning into the back of your head.

“Um, yeah - it was totally random, but we ran into each other out here and… we were… catching up.”

“Right,” Robin said, looking at you knowingly. “Nice to meet ya,” she said, casting her eyes to where Steve stood behind you.

Steve nodded, fighting a grin as he looked at the pair of you.

“Um, Robin is my roommate,” you explained to him. “But, from the looks of it… it looks like we need to get home. I’ll call us a taxi, yeah?”

“Can’t,” Robin groaned, leaning into your side. “I’m gonna throw up in it.”

You sighed, pinching your temples.

“Yeah, okay, well - if you do that, it’ll be like, hundreds of Euros, so… maybe you’ve just gotta make yourself vomit first, get it out of the way -”

Robin groaned into your shoulder at the thought, and you sighed again. It was then that Steve spoke up.

“Well, I can call my car to take you ladies home… if you want.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment again, casting your eyes between Steve and Robin, hesitant.

“Oh, no - we couldn’t possibly ask -”

“You didn’t ask,” Steve said simply. “I offered. I insist, actually - I want you two to get home safely.”

You felt Robin lean further into you, and thought for a moment about your options - the last thing you needed was to rack up a fee and piss off a taxi driver.

“Well - I don’t want her to vomit in your car, either -”

Steve shook his head, waving you off.

“Please - don’t worry about that. There’s a garbage can and bags in the back, so she can use that. But, worst-case, I can send it to be cleaned after. I promise, it’s fine.”

You met his eyes, and all you saw was sincerity - he was being genuine, from what you could tell. Right then, you decided to surrender.

“I - yeah, okay. That’d be really great, if you could.”

He nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and making a quick phone call. You did your best to straighten Robin up, but she just clung to you, swaying on her feet. Great.

“My driver will be here in a few minutes,” Steve said. “So, no worries - I gave him your address for a stop on the way home.”

“You remember my address?”

He shrugged, and stared straight at the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear he was blushing.

“Well - yes. I mean, I had to send you the letter not too long ago… write it out, all that.”

“Right,” you said, opting to stare out ahead at the street. A few passersby stumbled past you, in various stages of drunk and cheery, mopeds and cars speeding down the cobblestone streets.

“Thank you,” you added, just a bit more softly. “I - you really didn’t have to do this.”

You knew how this probably looked - two drunk girls, hardly adults, partying too hard and threatening to throw up in the street. You suddenly became self-conscious of your tight ripped jeans, your cropped top, the fact that you were probably just a bit too drunk and sweaty. You were an idiot for thinking he was flirting with you - he was just being nice.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I was getting ready to go home soon, anyway. If you don’t mind me riding along, that is.”

You chuckled. “If I mind? It’s your car - of course you can come along -”

“Yeah, okay,” he said swiftly. “I just didn’t want to make you or your friend uncomfortable - Robin, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah - though, I don’t think she even knows where she is right now, so you’re in the clear.”

That earned a laugh from him - a real one. You hadn’t even thought it was that funny, but he acted as if it was the best joke he’d ever heard. You felt pride surge within you, and immediately pushed it down - that can’t happen, not right now.

The car arrived a few minutes later, and the drive home was mostly silent - Robin cradled a small garbage can, likely only meant for small debris like tissues, gum, water bottles - it only made your humiliation sink in further, feeling like a fool for even being in this situation. If Steve minded, he gave no indication - he sat up front with his driver, the same man from the other night. You sat in the back with Robin, keeping an eye on her in case the worst happened. By some miracle, it didn’t; she kept it down the whole ride, only occasionally groaning when the car went over a bump.

When you pulled up to your apartment, you felt a sense of deja vu - the same place, same time of night, with similar company. And, knowing how tonight went, it would probably be the last time.

After you had assured that Robin was out of the car and able to hold herself up on the sidewalk, you turned back to see that Steve had lowered the passenger window. He smiled as he looked up at you, and you once again realized just how handsome he really was. It was ridiculous, really.

“Um - thank you. Seriously - this was a huge help.”

“Of course,” he replied, leaning out of the window slightly. “Just make sure she’s okay, yeah?”

You glanced back at where Robin was sitting on your building’s doorstep, holding her head in her hands.

“I will - she’s going to be paying for it in the morning though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he laughed, shaking his head.

You stood there for a moment, just looking at one another - the night was quieter here, just on the outskirts of the main part of the city. The silence was thick and heavy, and million unanswered questions between you two - perhaps they would never be answered.

“Right, well - I’m going to go in, I guess. I’ve got a shift tomorrow afternoon, anyways.”

“Yeah, okay - well, goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight, Steve Harrington,” you whispered.

When you watched as the car peeled from the sidewalk and drove away, you couldn’t help but feel empty - you loved Robin to death, but she was going to pay for this, you decided. That thought really only lasted a moment - she didn’t actually do anything wrong, and she had taken care of you while you were drunk and stupid more times than you could count. Besides, it wasn’t like anything more was going to happen with Steve. You knew this for one reason - upon further examination, that look he had given you after the kiss… it wasn’t surprise, excitement, or any of the above. No - it was fear.

Still, that night, after Robin was put to bed with ibuprofen and a glass of water, you stared at your ceiling and thought of Steve. You thought of the way his voice sounded when it got low, the way he smelled when he was close enough, the way his lips tasted - and you didn’t sleep well at all, dwelling on what could have been.

*****

“Okay! Un caffè e due cappuccini!” you called out, placing the cups and saucers on the counter. The customers came up and grabbed them, knocking the coffees back and heading out, leaving a few coins behind. You were constantly on the move, Caffè Tazza beyond busy thanks to it being a Saturday. It had always fascinated you, how Italians took their coffee; your previous experience at Starbucks back in the States had proved nearly useless, considering that “to-go” coffee hardly existed here. Normally, you didn’t mind how fast-paced it was. But normally, you weren’t hungover.

You had been in far better shape than Robin this morning, who could hardly get out of bed. Initially, you had actually felt fine. But, after a few hours on your feet, a headache was setting in, and you had a feeling it was here to stay.

The line of customers was long enough that you hardly paid any mind to who was coming in, set of pouring coffee and steaming milk, taking used espresso cups to wash in the back. That was why you didn’t see him come in, or hear him place his order at the register. No, it wasn’t until you were putting the small cup of espresso on the counter that you saw him, face-to-face.

“I - Steve?” you cried, startled.

You thought maybe it was a dream, and you were actually still in the middle of your fitful sleep from last night. But he was there, clear as day, sporting a white button-up with sunglasses pushed on top of his head.

“Hey there,” he said, flashing a smile.

“What - what’re you doing here?”

He glanced briefly around the coffee shop, shrugging.

“You know - I was in the neighborhood.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“You were in the neighborhood?”

He just took the coffee off of the counter and knocked it back, grinning as he returned the empty cup. You tried not to look at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, or the freckles dotting his neck, but it was nearly impossible, given how close he was, how he -

“You caught me,” he admitted. “You told me last night how you worked here… and that you had a shift today… so I figured I’d swing by.”

You felt your stomach flip, because he actually remembered, and came to see you. You gulped, shoving your hands in the pockets of your apron.

“You… you came here to see me?”

It was then that his smile faltered a bit, and he nodded. He was shifting on his feet, not exactly meeting your eye - whatever confidence and charm he had been exuding when he had arrived was quickly fading. In fact, he looked close to terrified, even though he was the one who came here.

“I - yeah, I did. I was just thinking a lot, after last night… about you, and how you - well, when do you get off? Or, have a break?”

You cocked an eyebrow, cautiously curious. Was he going to ask you out? Or, more importantly, would you say yes if he did?

“Um, I have a lunch break in a bit… and then I get off at 6. Why?”

He bit his lip, shifting on his feet again.

“Right, okay - do you want to meet here, after you get off?”

You felt your stomach turn again, bubbling a bit. Still, you tried not to get your hopes up, and measured your response carefully.

“Sure… can I ask why? Like, are you asking me out, or what?”

You said it bluntly, because the last thing you want is a guessing game right now. He gulped at that, and shook his head. You felt your heart sink just a bit, and immediately cursed yourself inwardly.

“Well, no, not exactly - but I do have something I want to talk to you about. Something that I think can help both of us, if you’re interested.”

Before you could ask anything else, he was nodding curtly, and out the door. Then it was just you, a line of customers, and what would probably be the longest 4 hours of your life.

What the Hell does he want to talk about? you wondered.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader fluff #modern steve harrington #steve harrington au #sugar daddy fic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #don't call me baby #don't call me baby fic #dcmb fic

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gulfjobindians · 2 years

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Gulf Job Vacancy 2022 | Assignment abroad Times paper today | Job in Dubai 2022.

Gulf job vacancy in Dubai Qatar Oman Bahrain Kuwait Saudi Arab Abu Dhabi muscut Europe Jordan Assignment abroad Times newspaper today. Requirement for Qatar and Bahrain. If you’re Looking gulf job opportunity so you Right place. I am glade to be you are here Because of we are only providing Daily basis Assignment abroad Times newspaper at my website. Even you are fresher, you can also apply many…

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#abroad assignment newspaper today #Abroad Jobs Interview in Mumbai #abroad times abroad times newspaper #abroad times newspaper #abroad times newspaper 2022 #abroad times newspaper mumbai #Asiapower Consultany #Assignment abroad times newspaper today Gulf job.m #Assignment abroad Times newspaper today mumbai #Assignment abroad times newspaper today Wednesday May 2022 #assignment-abroad-times- Dynamic office in Delhi #Dynamic Office Delhi Gulf Interview 2021-2022 #job in Dubai #Job in Kuwait #job in Qatar

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gulf-job-indians-posts · 2 years

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Gulf Job Vacancy 2022 | Assignment abroad Times paper today | Job in Dubai 2022.

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respectthepetty · 3 months

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Love.

This!

They really fucked Non over several times. If there was a way to make Non's life more miserable, they did it. If they had an option to pick peace, they chose violence.

We were shown Tee and Por have messed up home lives, but they took that out on Non, who the entire group except Jin kept calling Greasy. But we also learned about Non's home life: 1) he has an older brother named New who is studying abroad *wink*,

2) he has someone he loves and is texting who I'm unsure is his brother *wink*,

Because it seems like that person possibly goes to his school since they asked if Non had arrived at school yet, and Non said yes and that he missed that person and they missed him.

Sidenote: He ignored Jin's text.

and 3) he takes medication for possibly anxiety but the point is he has pills *wink*

He lost sleep and stressed himself out trying to write that script only to be shut out when they won and for Por to take the writing credits.

Top broke that camera only to blame Non with the help of Tee, so Tee could get someone to be a mule for his uncle's illegal money laundering scheme (which was in the newspaper in the present and Fluke pointed out to White), while Fluke watched all of it go down.

Non thought he made friends, but every time they touched him, they'd wipe their hands on each other. They laughed at him and called him names to his face. They used him. Then, they stole his work.

Right now, Jin is the only kind one (Fluke knew the truth and said nothing), but I have believed that Jin's betrayal had to be the worst if him possibly leaving Thailand forever prompted this killing spree because I don't think he could be one of the killers now to get revenge on behalf of Non.

And Jin saw a bloody Mr. Keng, so I think Jin contributed to Non's pain just as much as these other boys.

So I'm very interested to know Keng's story since he seems nice to Non too . . . for now.

Top wanted more screen time, Por wanted the murders to be more vicious, and Fluke wanted to look better for med school while Tee just wanted to use Non as a fall guy.

But Jin is the main character.

Dear killers and final gay.

Give these boys exactly what they wanted.

They deserve it.

#dead friend forever #dead friend forever the series #they deserve what is coming to them #what did you do Jin that you aren't being spared?!#are you friend or are you foe?#because right now you feel like a friend #but so does Keng #and we had a glimpse of what happened to him

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rindouheart · 1 year

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Hello how are you ? I would have liked to ask you if you could write scenarios about Noël Noa and Itoshi Sae (separated) where they fall in love with a journalist please

NOËL NOA and ITOSHI SAE falling in love with a journalist 🎋

content. fluffy boys being cute + gender neutral s/o <3

author’s note. hi cutie! sorry for being this late, i’ve been quite busy with school, sorry! hope you enjoy + my french is a bit rusty, tell me if i’ve misspelled something.

NOËL NOA

“so, how was playing alongside blue lock’s young players?” your colleague asks to translate.

you turn your head towards the football player and translate the sentence. first, you’re a journalist, but in your group, you’re also the only who can fluently speak multiple languages. you’re not specialised in the sport field, however, knowing four languages brought you the opportunity to work in many other contexts.

noa is absolutely stunned by your fluency when speaking french, you’re almost as good as a native. he wonders how much effort you had to put into learning languages. japanese is pretty different from european languages, especially because of the alphabet and the sentences’ structure.

“merci à vous pour votre disponibilité” you thank him after finishing the interview. he loves how cute your japanese accents sounds.

noa is almost tempted to ask you if you’d like to ask a couple more questions, just to hear you speaking french again. however, a bunch of other journalists is coming towards him, so he wouldn’t have enough time to answer to everyone.

he can see your name and the newspaper you work for before you leave, though. he saves a mental note to look for you during the next interview or conference, and who knows, he might ask you what he hasn’t asked you today.

ITOSHI SAE

sae wasn’t expecting to find someone like you to interview him after his return to japan. he’s always been used to those old journalists who have been in the industry for like, what? a century or so? you are quite a surprise to him.

“welcome back, itoshi, so, how was your adventure in europe?” you ask him through your microphone, waiting for his answer. you’re not just pretty, your voice is also nice to hear.

while he’s answering with all the details about how the team acted towards him and such, sae looks at you, taking notes about his answer.

he swears he’s never seen you before. however, you might be one of the most famous journalists in japan, since he’s been abroad for a long time.

at the end of his conference, when everyone is leaving, he walks towards you and, when he’s sure that no one is listening, sae asks for your name.

“are you new in the field? i mean, it might have been because i’ve not been around, but your face seems new to me” he questions. you nod in response “i’ve been working as a journalist for a couple of months now. the newspaper i write for isn’t as big as many others, but i personally love my job”

“i’ve noticed it, you look much more professional than any other one in the room” you smile after hearing his compliment. oh god, your smile. sae is completely lost.

“would you like to get a coffee or something with me? we can chat a bit and i can tell you some exclusives to add on your article” he asks.

when you accept gladly, sae smiles. he’s totally fallen for you and he won’t give up so easily.

@rindouheart ‘s scenarios — 02092023

#blue lock #bllk #bllk scenarios #bllk imagines #bllk x y/n #blue lock x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #bllk itoshi sae #noel noa #noa noel #bllk noel noa #blue lock sae #blue lock noel noa #bllk sae #bllk x reader

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asdfghjklmals · 10 months

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LUNCH DATE✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. WORD COUNT: 1.5k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, established couple. bestie!nanami.

SYNOPSIS: oc gojo girlfriend and satoru want someone to double date with, so she helps nanami approach his crush at coco's. AUTHOR'S NOTE: i named the cute cashier at coco's after one of my jjk besties. i always feel weird giving other characters names (that's why i refuse to name oc gojo girlfriend) but oh well! REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

“we’re going to be late for lunch, satoru.” you scolded your boyfriend. he had a bad habit of being late for things. it was something that principal yaga hoped you could fix in satoru. you were always punctual, but satoru could never be early for something to save his life.

“it’s just nanami. he won’t mind. plus, that gives him time to talk to the cute cashier at coco’s.” satoru laughed at the thought of his shy junior trying to flirt with the cafe employee.

it was yours and satoru’s lunch break at jujutsu high and every wednesday, you had lunch with nanami at a small hole-in-the-wall cafe called coco’s you used to frequent when you were students. coco’s was the place to be for greasy food after late night missions or for early morning breakfasts back in the day.

satoru and you walked together, hand in hand. cherry blossoms flowing in the wind, cars bustling back and forth on the busy streets of shibuya. you bumped your hips playfully into satoru’s while he grinned at you, he’d get you back for that later. your shikigami birds flying overhead, scanning the area for any threats. your birds liked to go on walks with you and satoru.

satoru opened the door to the cafe to see nanami already seated at your usual table, reading his weekly newspaper.

“ladies first,” he said as you walked in front of him to greet the 7:3 sorcerer.

“hi nanamin!” you smiled cheerfully, “how’s work going?”

“hey, (y/n). nothing’s changed.” nanami grumbled. he flipped to the next page of his newspaper.

“wanna come back and just be a full time sorcerer?” satoru asked him with hope in his eyes. he was always looking for a partner in crime now that tsumiki was studying abroad for high school and she was always busy with all her extracurricular activities. satoru hated that you raised such a popular and social child.

“what? ijichi not good enough?” nanami retorted.

“no way, ijichi is too scared to break any rules.” satoru scoffed.

you and satoru sat down in the booth across from nanami. you three were regulars here and the cafe always had your coffee ready. you had a hot vanilla latte with soy milk, satoru had a caramel frappucino, and nanami had an iced americano.

“it’s nanami’s turn to order today.” you said with a sly smile. the cute cashier with brown hair was working today. satoru and you always tried to get nanami to ask her out in hopes that one day you could double date.

“i think not, i ordered last week. it’s gojo’s.”

“you really want him to order?” you pointed at your boyfriend, “he messed up both of our orders last time.”

satoru started to say, “hey! in my defense—”

“forget it, i’ll do it.” you interrupted him as you got up from your chair. behind your shoulder, you shot a glare at the blindfolded sorcerer. he gave you a shit-eating grin. you knew he would’ve winked at you if it wasn’t for his blindfold.

the two men watched you approach the cashier to order lunch for the three of you: a turkey blt minus the tomato for you, a grilled cheese for satoru, and a ham sandwich for nanami.

**********************************

“come on, nanami. just ask her for her number.” the white-haired sorcerer egged on his blonde colleague.

nanami always frequented this cafe because he enjoyed the ham sandwiches here, not because there was a cute girl who worked here.

“i will do no such thing, gojo. quit bothering me and go get our food.” nanami said sternly.

“nah, (y/n) is gonna grab our food because she wants to make sure they didn’t put tomatoes in her sandwich.” satoru put his elbow on the table, chin in his hand, and tapped his cheek with his fingers. he watched as you gave the cashier your order number. he smiled when he saw you lift your slice of bread up to check for tomatoes.

laughing, satoru softly said, “that’s my girl.”

“did she check for the tomato?” nanami asked.

“yup.”

**********************************

you returned to your usual booth in the corner of the cafe as you set the tray down onto the table. the men reached for their assigned sandwiches.

“babe, you have the most childlike order. who orders a grilled cheese? the last time someone in this family ordered a grilled cheese was when tsumiki was like 9.”

“obviously not the lactose intolerant.” satoru retorted knowing you were the lactose intolerant, “the grilled cheese is good here. they use 3 different kinds of cheeses, they toast the bread with butter, and the sourdough is exquisite.”

you and nanami stared at satoru as he took a bite into his grilled cheese. the cheese pull from his mouth and the sandwich was entertaining to watch.

“delicious as always.” he gave you and nanami a thumbs up as you both rolled your eyes at him.

you wiped the remaining bread crumbs from the side of his mouth with a smile and kissed him on the cheek. you happily returned to your own sandwich. nanami watched the way you and satoru interacted with each other all the time, he never really felt like a third wheel, but for some reason he did today.

**********************************

during lunch, you updated nanami about the latest gossip at the school which was totally about yuta and maki flirting with each other between classes, how megumi is preparing to enter jujutsu high, and satoru talked about toge’s latest mission.

“so… what’s new with you?” you asked nanami. he wiped his mouth politely with his napkin before speaking.

“i’ve just been working. it’s the end of a closing period, so buying and selling stocks have been keeping me busy.”

“are you busy enough to not be able to go on a double date?” you started batting your eyelashes at nanami, “i will literally ask her right now.” you pointed at the cashier.

“she will do it.” satoru instigated, nodding in agreement while sipping his frappucino. he knew you were stubborn, and you always got your way. especially with him.

“please, don’t bother her. she’s working.” nanami sighed.

“i have 4 tickets to the teamlab digital art museum, and you’re coming with me and satoru.” you stated, shoving the tickets in nanami’s face.

satoru gasped excitedly, “babe, when did you get those tickets?!”

“don’t worry about it,” you ignored your boyfriend and slyly peered at nanami, “what do you say, nanami?”

“like i said—”

“okay, great! i’ll ask her right now!” you quickly jumped out of your seat and walked towards the cashier. nanami face palmed his forehead in defeat, satoru watched you sprint to the counter with a grin.

“hi!” you said cheerfully.

“oh, how can i help you? did you get everything with your order?” the sweet cashier asked.

“yes, i did! i actually wanted to talk,” you peered at her name tag, “alicia. that’s a cute name. are you from around here?”

“i’m not! i’m actually studying abroad, it’s my last year at the university.” she replied with a smile.

you introduced yourself with your best foot forward, “well, i’m (y/n) (l/n), i’m a high school administrative secretary. the tall blindfolded guy with the white hair over there in the corner is satoru gojo. he’s a teacher and he’s my boyfriend, unfortunately. and our friend, the handsome blonde, is the one and only, kento nanami.”

“oh, i know who you guys are. my boss told me that you guys have been coming here for like 10 years. he says whatever you guys ask for, to give it to you.” alicia smiled and leaned in closer to you and whispered curiously, “do you guys really like the food here that much?”

you started laughing, your cheeky smile hiding your bright green eyes, “it’s decent food and it’s nostalgic for us. for some reason my boyfriend likes the grilled cheese. i’m lactose intolerant so i would never touch it and—”

“and you hate tomatoes.” alicia added confidently.

“that’s correct.” you laughed, “so, alicia… our friend nanami over there. he thinks you are super cute. would you like to join us on a double date sometime?” you mouthed ‘please’, alicia’s face blushing.

you could sense nanami’s cursed energy flaring. his embarrassment was hard to hide as he turned bright red, satoru’s arms around his shoulder playfully teasing him.

alicia smiled at you, “i’d love to. kento has always been super nice to me whenever we’ve talked.”

“right? he won the ‘most likely to end up on the bachelor’ vote in high school. satoru was a little jealous about that.” you giggled, “here’s nanami’s number, alicia.” you slipped her a pink sticky note with his cell phone number.

you winked and waved at the sweet cashier and walked back to your table where your boyfriend and long-time friend sat.

“thank me later, nanami. i expect to be included in your wedding vows.” you teased the 7:3 sorcerer.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

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steveyoungjokes · 2 years

Text

Discworld Pushed Me Left

by Steven Young

Thanks to the marvelous editor, Lyta Gold.

[Originally published in Current Affairs, (before the purge)]

It took Hannah Arendt two books and 800 or so pages to describe the origins of totalitarianism and the banality of evil. Terry Pratchett did it in 326 words when describing the workplace culture of the religious torture chambers in his book Small Gods. Karl Marx spent many chapters in Capital describing how the rich fleece the poor; Pratchett boiled much of that down into the 169-word “‘Boots’ Theory of Socioeconomic Unfairness” in Men At Arms. By using humor to poke fun at the world that he created, Terry Pratchett made many progressive and leftist ideas accessible, explainable, and shareable. And his Discworld series helped move my political outlook leftward in a way that not many other things could.

I grew up conservative in the way that many middle-class suburban religious white kids are conservative. (“We’re fine, right? Everyone else must be fine, then. If not, it’s their fault.”) My father was a career Army officer and my mother had been in the Army during Vietnam. As adults, they both joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons). That’s why I served a mission for two years in Brazil (for my Church), and why I joined the Marine Corps, serving my country (I thought, lol) for 12 years. You would think that being a religious colonizer, and a veteran in the “War on Terror” would have cemented my conservativeness, but the most important thing I inherited from my parents is silliness. I am a very silly person, and am more strongly influenced by funny things (comedy, light-hearted fiction) than serious things (pundits, war). Conservative comedy, I realized as I matured, wasn’t particularly funny or clever, since it consisted mostly of racism and bullying. In watching, listening to, and reading comedians who critiqued society and its institutions, rather than just mocking people, I began to see the weak points in my inherited conservative views. Then I found the Discworld, and was changed forever.

Terry Pratchett’s 41-novel Discworld series describes a place of barbarian heroes and hapless academics, brave witches and cowardly Wizards, silly kings and evil fairy godmothers. There are magical flying dragons, and domesticated swamp dragons with a propensity for inadvertent self-immolation. You’ll also find plenty of politics, as well as war, inventions, grifting, intrigue, love, danger, and DEATH. (On the Disc, Death is no mere abstraction, but an anthropomorphic personification with a voice like “the lid of a sarcophagus slamming,” who is really quite likeable.) Perhaps more than anything else, the Discworld has humor. Every page is full of puns and other wordplay, clever rejoinders, and silly situations. Pratchett’s stories are often laugh-out-loud funny and at the same time incredibly insightful, often by using a silly situation to show the inherent silliness of many things in our world.

In his book The Truth, about the invention of the newspaper, Pratchett writes that “People like to be told what they already know… They get uncomfortable when you tell them new things… They like to know that, say, a dog will bite a man. That is what dogs do. They don’t want to know that a man bites a dog, because the world is not supposed to happen like that. In short, what people think they want is news, but what they really crave is olds.” Pratchett often gets the reader to think about “the news” by referencing “the olds,” re-telling classic stories from a different perspective to challenge their established values. For example, in Witches Abroad (Discworld #12, Witches #3), the young witch Magrat Garlick is given a magic wand, and told that she is to act as fairy godmother for a young woman named Emberella, an obvious play on Cinderella (both in name and, as we find out, in the story). After many adventures on the way to find Emberella, Magrat discovers that there is another fairy godmother who is “helping” Emberella by trying to force her into marrying a handsome “Prince” (who had until very recently been a frog, and still thinks he is one). The book hinges on Magrat and her fellow witches competing with this other fairy godmother by trying to help Emberella figure out if marrying the handsome prince is what she really wants. The entire story, in fact, is premised on what happens when powerful people (in this case, powerful magic users) try to impose their idealistic stories onto the lives of others.

Pratchett’s 41 novels are dense with literary references, and are hilariously critical of just about anything one could be critical of. I do not have enough space to give the incredibly broad scope of the characters and places of the Discworld the discussion they deserve, so I will focus for now on the biggest city on the Disc: Ankh-Morpork. That’s right, “Ankh-Morpork! Pearl of cities! This is not a completely accurate description, of course—it was not round and shiny—but even its worst enemies would agree that if you had to liken Ankh-Morpork to anything, then it might as well be a piece of rubbish covered with the diseased secretions of a dying mollusc.” Ankh-Morpork can be likened to immediately-pre-industrialization New York City and London, and many of the problems in the stories arise from the growing industrialization of the Discworld—such as urban blight, policing, corruption, organized crime, innovation, monopolies, and lack of funding for public services.

The government of Ankh-Morpork can be described as libertarian, more or less. The city of millions is ruled over by the Patrician, whose role is, as he understands it, to ensure that everything works. “Ankh-Morpork had dallied with many forms of government and had ended up with that form of democracy known as One Man, One Vote,” Pratchett writes in Mort. “The Patrician was the Man; he had the Vote.” The Patrician, Havelock Vetinari, doesn’t rule Ankh-Morpork with an iron fist: he just lets everyone go about their business, and then rigidly holds them accountable. That said, his real power comes from his ability to influence people by sheer foresight and incredibly detailed planning. In fact it was Vetinari himself who instituted a new type of “justice” system. He legalized the Guild of Thieves:

“Crime was always with us, he reasoned, and therefore, if you were going to have crime, it at least should be organized crime...[I]n exchange for the winding down of the Watch, the [Thieves Guild] agreed, while trying to keep their faces straight, to keep crime levels to a level to be determined annually. That way, everyone could plan ahead… and part of the uncertainty had been removed from the chaos that is life.”

I can imagine certain libertarians trying to explain how paying a predetermined amount to the Thieves Guild in exchange for a receipt and future protection is different from paying taxes, but you and I both recognize that that argument would be nonsense. By taking the concept of “organized crime” literally, Pratchett exposes the baselessness of the libertarian idea that freedom can be found through just legalizing everything and resolving all conflicts through contracts. Arrangements like these don’t make people any safer, and no matter what, they still result in powerful entities charging citizens money for protection.

The societies in Discworld are pre-industrial, as I said, with some later going through industrialization, and for that reason there is little governmental regulation of housing, industry, commerce, and the environment. The water in Ankh-Morpork is described as having a “thick texture,” “too stiff to drink, too runny to plough” and smelling like “several armies had used it first as a urinal and then as a sepulcher.” Any urban planner will tell you that environmental degradation, among other things, leads to urban blight: Ankh-Morpork is squalid and dangerous. As Pratchett writes in Pyramids, there “was not a lot that could be done to make Morpork a worse place. A direct hit by a meteorite would count as gentrification.” For all the danger and organized crime, “murder was in fact a fairly uncommon event in Ankh-Morpork, but there were a lot of suicides. Walking in the night-time alleyways of The Shades was suicide. Asking for a short in a dwarf bar was suicide. Saying 'Got rocks in your head?' to a troll was suicide. You could commit suicide very easily, if you weren't careful.” There’s a sly joke in here about crime statistics, and how technical terminology can be used and misused to tell a certain story. Relatedly, the Assassins Guild in Ankh-Morpork doesn’t commit “murder”; instead they merely “inhume” their victims, but they keep detailed records of their work and come down very hard on unlicensed inhumations. The state of policing in the United States is so horrible that perhaps, if we had a strong Assassins Guild, it would be an improvement; sure, murder would be officially legal, but in the guild system it’s costly to hire an assassin and costly to be an unlicensed assassin, whereas in the United States the police often do the assassinating themselves. At least in Ankh-Morpork the Assassins Guild school provides one of the best and well-rounded educations on the Disc, with scholarships for need-based students. This is partly out of noblesse oblige, but mostly because the experienced assassins know how important it is to keep an eye on youngsters with an aptitude for the profession. (Yes, to some degree this sounds like the current school bully-to-cop pipeline, but at least Pratchett’s assassins are held accountable.)

Criminals in Ankh-Morpork are often just referred to as ‘entrepreneurs,’ and at the start of the Discworld series, the city doesn’t have much in the way of a law enforcement system. Due to Vetinari’s re-organization of the Guilds into self-enforcing crime causing and prevention, an official law enforcement body was seen as superfluous. For that reason, early in the Discworld series the Night Watch has only three very ineffective police officers. To leftists like me this may sound great, but as discussed above, Ankh-Morpork’s methods of criminal self-enforcement coupled with unregulated markets makes for a pretty terrible place to live. The three officers of the Night Watch—Captain Sam Vimes, Sergeant Fred Colon, and Corporal Nobby Nobbs—have three different takes on policing (all of which might be called a sort of “anti-policing.”) In Making Money, Pratchett writes that “Colon and Nobby had lived a long time in a dangerous occupation and they knew how not to be dead. To wit, by arriving when the bad guys had got away.” Sergeant Colon was the type of policeman who would say that “trying to keep down crime in Ankh-Morpork was like trying to keep down salt in the sea…” and would avoid having to interact with criminals by proactively guarding very notable city locations because “[o]ne day someone was bound to try to steal the Brass Bridge, and then they’d find Sergeant Colon right there waiting for them. In the meantime, it offered a quiet place out of the wind where he could have a relaxing smoke and probably not see anything that would upset him.” Corporal Nobbs, however, is the kind of person who joins armies to loot corpses. He’s often the main suspect in any unlicensed minor theft around town, stemming from his preferred method of police work (testing doorknobs to see if houses are locked, and going into the unlocked homes to make sure no thieves are there.) Slightly less risk-averse than Sergeant Colon, Corporal Nobbs would never fight fair:

“Corporal Nobbs,” [Vimes] rasped, “why are you kicking people when they’re down?”

“Safest way, sir,” said Nobby.

When we meet Captain Vimes in Guards! Guards! (Discworld #8, City Watch #1), he’s a somewhat functional alcoholic who stumbles through the city avoiding crime as much as possible, and trying to keep Colon and Nobbs from getting into dangerous situations. Over the course of his arc, we learn that Vimes is driven to drink because of past trauma, plus the ongoing and somewhat banal trauma caused by the internal tension that he experiences as an ersatz peace officer who is constantly confronted with the fact that he is mostly powerless to protect those who need protecting and that most of the harm caused to the city and its inhabitants is technically “legal.” In short, to the extent that Vimes can be considered a “good cop,” it’s because he comes to the realization that the status quo of organized and legalized criminal syndicates fueled by unregulated libertarian capitalism doesn’t help people, and he pushes back somewhat significantly against that status quo.

That being said, in later books the Night Watch is expanded (as one of the more prominent efforts in Ankh-Morpork to officially reflect the diverse social makeup of the city). It becomes the City Watch, and Vimes is promoted, becoming a part of the aristocracy. This is all a bit neat—it just so happens that Ankh-Morpork’s libertarian problems can be solved by more policing, and Vimes is rewarded for his efforts. However, despite Vimes’ increased station, and the increased power of the City Watch he commands, he remains mostly grounded and functions as a traitor to his new class. This is likely because of the lessons he learned during his years of living on the lower rungs of society, probably the most famous of which is:

Captain Samuel Vimes’ “Boots” theory of socioeconomic unfairness.

“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.

Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.

But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.”

Though there are flaws to Vimes’ theory (mostly because there are many additional reasons why the rich are so much richer than the poor), his theory is very understandable, and can lead readers to ask deeper economic questions about labor, value, and planned obsolescence. It doesn’t seem like many leftist academics have incorporated Vimes’ Boots theory into their writings, but the internet is full of people who read the Boots theory and immediately find that it describes their lived experience. As many of us have seen, the internecine online leftist debate over “reading theory” vs. “not being a fucking nerd” often does not lead to much progress when it comes to spreading awareness of left ideas. It is my opinion that a very readable, understandable, and funny version of “theory,” like the one Pratchett wrote, allows for more people to understand—or become interested in or familiar with—leftist theories than would otherwise be the case. I know that during my post-Marine Corps life, Pratchett’s humor was integral for my discovery of progressive ideals.

There are subtler left touches in Pratchett’s work as well: while many stories do focus on high-level political actors or those on the front lines of conflict, his writing also considers the lives of ordinary working people. The personification of Death, rarely dealing with kings and potentates, spends time working as a farm hand, interacting with children (who, like magic users, can see him because they “can see what’s really there”), playing rock and roll, and trying to discover the meaning of life… and death. The witches, as powerful magic users, do interact with various political leaders, but it’s very clear that they gain their power and experience from helping farmers and shepherds deal with the everyday, practical issues that are part of life in a pre-industrial society. Another subseries focuses on the senior faculty of Unseen University—a bunch of old wizards with tenure—but every story illustrates the blinkered stupidity of these senior faculty members, and how useless they are without the help of their support staff.

Though Pratchett often writes stories about the inherent goodness of most people, he is also interested in the ways in which anybody can become a collaborator with evil. Perhaps the best example of this comes in Small Gods, in which the country of Omnia launches a “Quisition” [inquisition] complete with torture pits. The cellar of the Quisition is not, at first glance, a wildly evil workplace: “There were no jolly little signs saying: You Don’t Have To Be Pitilessly Sadistic To Work Here But It Helps!!!” But take a look at their coffee breaks: “The inquisitors stopped work twice a day for coffee. Their mugs, which each man had brought from home, were grouped around the kettle on the hearth of the central furnace which incidentally heated the irons and knives.” This is such a small, perfect image of evil: the inquisitors heating their coffee and their torture tools on the same hearth. Pratchett further describes their environment:

“...there were the postcards on the wall. It was traditional that, when an inquisitor went on holiday, he'd send back a crudely coloured woodcut of the local view with some suitably jolly and risque message on the back. And there was the pinned-up tearful letter from Inquisitor First Class Ishmale "Pop" Quoom, thanking all the lads for collecting no fewer than seventy-eight obols for his retirement present and the lovely bunch of flowers for Mrs. Quoom, indicating that he'd always remember his days in No. 3 pit, and was looking forward to coming in and helping out any time they were short-handed.”

Pratchett could, of course, be describing any office break room. The casual and friendly quality stands in horrid contrast to the actual work of the inquisitors. On this point, Pratchett is unsparing: “...there are hardly any excesses of the most crazed psychopath that cannot easily be duplicated by a normal, kindly family man who just comes in to work every day and has a job to do.”

Reading this, as a former soldier in the U.S.’s imperial military, and as a member of a generally conservative religion with a strict hierarchy, this passage (and Small Gods in total) helped me recognize the part I had played in evil. I am still a member of my church, but do my best to push back against the banal and even friendly aspects that push people to accept evil results without question. Recently, I led the teenage boys in our local congregation in reading Small Gods together, with profound results: these fellows understood the underlying themes perfectly. It was very heartening to witness young people realize how humor can be a part of discussing serious topics, and how easily one can be co-opted to do harm by a seemingly inevitable and even friendly-seeming organization. It should be noted, that this experience did not (from what I could tell) cause these young men to question their faith, or to immediately start sinning (hormones will likely do most of that work), but it allowed them the space to question the parts of our organized religion that merit questioning.

Teasing out all the thematic complexity of Pratchett would take an entire magazine by itself, but it’s worth looking at his approach to gender. There’s Monstrous Regiment, in which (spoiler) nearly every seemingly-male soldier in the army turns out to be a woman in disguise, and a very competent woman at that. (Incidentally, Pratchett does a surprisingly good job of describing the nitty-gritty specifics faced by a frontline soldier that are otherwise almost never mentioned in literature.) Other novels revolve around the experiences of Tiffany Aching, a young witch who must navigate adolescence, gender roles, feminism, rural life, and incursions by very nasty creatures; and she does it all while subverting traditional fantasy stories’ treatment of women and sexuality.

Tiffany’s stories—and that of the other witches— are presented in sharp contrast to those of the wizards. These tenured academics live in a gender-segregated university that admits only men (with one eventual exception); they are celibate, and show no interest in the women who clean up after them. For example, in Unseen Academicals, the Archchancellor Ridcully realizes he “had never thought of the maids in the singular. They were all…servants. He was polite to them, and smiled when appropriate. He assumed they sometimes did other things than fetch and carry, and sometimes went off to get married and sometimes just...went off. Up until now though, he’d never really thought that they might think, let alone what they thought about.” Women’s labor may go unseen in the Unseen University, but the narrative ensures that you see it. Additionally, the absurdity of the university and the relative impotence of the wizards’ magic is constantly contrasted against the witch-style of magic that is largely about creating life and being useful. For example, while the witch Nanny Ogg is the matriarch of a large family, has had a host of husbands (which is not seen as particularly scandalous), loves singing dirty songs, and has published an adult-themed cookbook, the wizards of Unseen University have to keep the magical tome Ge Fordge’s Compenydym of Sex Majick “in a vat of ice in a room all by itself and there’s a strict rule that it can only be read by wizards who are over eighty and, if possible, dead.” There are multiple interactions between the wizards with their supposedly-high minded form of academic magic and the witches with their supposedly-homespun form of rural magic, which end up as pointed critiques both of gender and the hierarchical forms of educational systems. In most of the Discworld books, both wizards and witches believe that magic should be gendered; in Equal Rites (Discworld #3, Witches #1), the wizard Treatle states that “Witchcraft is Nature’s way of allowing women access to the magical fluxes, but you must remember that it is not high magic...High magic requires clarity of thought, you see, and women’s talents do not lie in that direction.” At the same time, Granny Weatherwax agrees, saying “if women were meant to be wizards, they’d be able to grow long white beards...wizardry is not the way to use magic, do you hear, it’s nothing but lights and fire and meddling with power.”

That said, the witches do a much better job of questioning the existing hierarchy and challenging their social status than the wizards. In A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld #32, Tiffany Aching #2), Pratchett describes the nature of the witches’ non-hierarchy (while also illustrating the power of a determined individual) when he writes that “witches are equal. [They] don’t have things like head witches. That’s quite against the spirit of witchcraft...Besides, Mistress Weatherwax would never allow that sort of thing.” Though Granny Weatherwax is likely powerful enough to run roughshod over the Disc, she seems to be of the same mind as Tiffany Aching’s grandmother, who said “Them as can do has to do for them as can’t. And someone has to speak up for them as has no voices,” a rather different ethic than that exhibited by the wizards, who gain rank by killing older wizards. In “‘Change the Story, Change the World’: Gendered Magic and Educational Ideology in Terry Pratchett’s Discworld” L. Kaitlin Williams points out that “the witches’ subversive educational ideology not only undermines the wizard’ repressive educational ideology, but also...takes on a threateningly rebellious quality capable of toppling the hegemonic and hierarchical structures of Discworld.”

This is well-illustrated in The Wee Free Men (Discworld #30, Tiffany Aching #1), where Tiffany Aching seeks out more formal witch training and is told to “go to a high place near here, climb to the top, open your eyes...and then open your eyes again,” the lesson being that witches learn from experiencing the world as it really is, rather than taking tests and attending lectures. This self-education, based in lived experience and self-knowledge, helps her defeat her enemy, the more logic and reason-based Queen of Fairyland who tries to tempt and trick her with realistic dreams. Tiffany’s less-than-formal education also makes her a natural ally of the mysterious and magical Nac Mac Feegle “pictsies” with their anti-authoritarian rallying cry (in a Scottish-ish accent) of “Nae king! Nae quin! Nae laird! Nae Master! We willna be fooled again!”

But the most subversive part of Discworld—or possibly the least, depending on your perspective—may be the Industrial Revolution Series, featuring the novels Moving Pictures, The Truth, Monstrous Regiment, Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, which cover issues such as the free press, minority rights, support groups, industrialization, mechanization, government services, trains, recycling, and telecommunication. Three of the books center around Moist von Lipwig, a former conman who changes his stars (somewhat reluctantly) and helps found or resurrect some of Ankh-Morpork’s public institutions. In Going Postal, Lipwig is tasked with saving the city post office when Reacher Gilt (a brutal steampunk pirate who clearly inspired Jeffrey Bezos) tries to drive it into ruins (via murder and monopoly) in order to force everyone to use his new visual telegraph system. Moist manages to save the post office while working through civil rights issues and confronting the complexities of incorporating new technology and automation into a changing world. He also gives us a glimpse as to why he’s an ideal person to usher in a new style of banking when he stops to think about the concept of money:

“Money is not even a thing, it is not even a process. It is a kind of a shared dream. We dream that a small disc of common metal is worth the price of a substantial meal. Once you wake up from that dream, you can swim in a sea of money.”

If this sounds a bit like the principles underlying Modern Monetary Theory, you’ll love the sequel Making Money, in which Moist is tasked with saving the city bank. Specifically, he is tasked with taking the bank over from the people who had previously been running it, and who, among other class warfare tactics, wouldn’t let poor people bank because they felt that “a brigand for a father was something to keep quiet about, but a slave-taking pirate for a great-great-great-grandfather was something to boast of.” In addition, they had come to understand that “the best way to make money out of poor people is by keeping them poor.” Moist saves the bank, and likely the city, when he comes to two important realizations. First, that many people of Ankh-Morpork do not trust the banks (likely because of the dismissive attitude bankers held [hold?] toward the poor), but they do believe in the overall progress of their city. Second, he notices that many people of Ankh-Morpork have begun using postage stamps (which Moist invented in Going Postal) as currency. Combining these two insights, he realizes that the city’s money does not need to be backed by gold, and begins making new money that is backed by the city itself (and further determined by the value of the bodies of the city’s inactive golem slaves/workers, which is just a whole other mess). If this doesn’t sound like an especially profound reform, you would be right. Ankh-Morpork remains a city with terrible living conditions, terrible water, and extreme inequality. Making Money is the only Discworld book with an economist in it, and it has predictable results.

The neoliberal blindness at the end of Making Money is not the only flaw in Pratchett’s Discworld. Despite its breadth of subjects, it is very much a product of a Briton (Pratchett’s full name is actually Sir Terence David John Pratchett OBE), a fact which is reflected in the way that he writes about Fourecks, the Discworld stand-in for Australia, not being a finished continent. Pratchett often uses physical caricature to make great plays on words, and for the most part he makes jokes about everyone, but sometimes it can dip into the realm of body-shaming; for example, there’s quite a lot in Making Money about the villainess being fat and ugly. Sometimes, Pratchett’s love stories can be a bit rote, as if it is the woman’s duty to let the man woo her, and although many of Pratchett’s women characters are quite empowered, this can sometimes take a form similar to the CIA’s new ad promoting case officers who refuse to “internalize misguided patriarchal ideas of what a woman can, or should, be” while shaking hands with Gina Haspel. And because Pratchett’s books are humorous, they are sometimes seen as low brow or “light reading” that justifies “robbing readers of the true delights of ambitious fiction.” That may be true, but it should be noted that light or humorous reading can often be used to tell stories that don’t otherwise get told. That said, the effectiveness of Pratchett’s prose may be limited by the fact that oftentimes the people least likely to want to read a silly story are the people who most likely need to experience something from a different perspective.

Reading Pratchett is a delight, and not just because he uses minute details of the lived experiences of working people and incredible humor to turn accepted stories on their heads. Fun is important for its own sake. I’ve read most of the Discworld books several times and am constantly astounded that nearly every single page has jokes and puns on it. You’ll laugh, but you may also shed tears of melancholic camaraderie, as I did when reading Night Watch which features much of Vimes’ heartbreaking backstory. But don’t take my word for it; as Terry Pratchett’s Moist von Lipwig would say “I wouldn’t trust me if I was you. But I would if I was me.”

#discworld #terry pratchett #comedy #silly

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goldenbuckyyy · 1 year

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MATILDA

Summary: During the holiday season, Harry helps you realize that it’s okay to build your own family.

Pairings: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Word count: 3.5kish

Warnings: Mentions of past childhood neglect, slight smut mentioned, angst, crying, anything else?? Let me know!!

A/N: hi!!! Merry Christmas to all of you!! I wanted to post this earlier today, but ended up spending the holidays with my family! I got this request by someone anonymous and I loved the idea!! Hopefully you all do as well. Inspired by: “Matilda” by Harry Styles.

All mistakes are my own. Please do not repost or translate my fics on any other site nor this one.

I appreciate any likes, reblogs, messages, and interactions.

Masterlist

Today is the day before your birthday.

It’s Christmas Eve.

And you are not a fan of the holidays.

You didn’t particularly enjoy any of them.

Mostly because you’ve never had a chance to ever actually celebrate them.

You’ve never had an Easter egg hunt on Easter Sunday. You’ve never popped loud fireworks on the 4th of July. You’ve never had a warm turkey dinner on Thanksgiving. You’ve never even decorated a Christmas Tree for Christmas holidays.

You’ve never even had Christmas presents waiting for you under the tree on Christmas Morning.

It doesn’t help the fact that your birthday is on Christmas Day.

Every memory you had of a holiday was tainted with the background noise of your parents fighting and you crying yourself to sleep.

One of your earliest memories was when you were eight and your godmother, Eva, gifted you a brand new pretty pink bicycle. You loved that bike from the moment you saw it. You remember the way your heart felt so full at that age and the overpowering feeling of excitement overcame you.

You learned how to ride it with her cheering you on for your birthday, you remember laughing so loud in happiness that your belly hurt, and when you yelled for your mom to watch you… she was reading the newspaper and waved you away with her hand as she said “It’s no big deal.”

You remember the instant dread you felt in the pit of your belly, the way your happiness was instantly stripped away from you, the way tears immediately filled your eyes which caused your vision to haze, your hands to shake, and it made you lose control of your brand new pretty bike.

Then, you fell. You scraped your knees which turned into a bloody mess, bruising all your legs and arms, and you spent the entire time crying. Only Eva helped you. You remember hearing her scold your mother, but she didn’t care.

The tainted memory stayed with you forever. The scar on your knees proves it.

You never rode that bike again.

After that, you only focused on school. You remember only focusing on your grades and your after school activities. You wanted to get the highest grades and the highest praises so you could go to the best college. You wanted to do whatever you could do to get away from your family.

You wanted to get out of this small town in this forgettable state and move far far away from here. You didn’t care about how you did it. You just had to do it.

Turns out.. you had a hidden talent for singing and songwriting. One hit song when you were seventeen right after graduation ended up landing you the record deal of the year. You had gotten lucky and you felt grateful every day since.

That song and album won you three Grammys in your very first year in the spotlight. It felt overwhelming.

Suddenly, you were being pulled in different directions. You had millions of fans. You performed sold out shows in the biggest arenas in the United States and all abroad. You were living the life you had never thought you would have ever wanted. But it made you happy.

You were the happiest you had been in years. In your whole life, maybe.

And you never went back home. Especially for your birthday. You didn’t enjoy celebrating it because everything about Christmas time reminded you of your horrible childhood.

So.. yeah. You weren’t a fan of the holidays.

And it didn’t help that your wonderful, loving, teddy bear of a boyfriend loved them. He absolutely loved Christmas time.

He was the type to hire decorators to decorate the outside of the house and then to come inside and go the full nine yards in here, too.

You admit.. it made you happy seeing him happy. It made your heart tug a little bit and all you wanted was for him to be happy. But this year, you were both going to celebrate in your shared New York City penthouse.

Harry said Anne and Gemma were aching to spend the holidays up here.

You had somehow managed to get out of the Christmas holidays the past three years. Always scheduling something so you wouldn’t be home, but Harry begged you to not plan anything this year. That he wanted to celebrate with you and finally be together for your birthday, here at home. With him. You love him and you know how much this means to him. You want to make him happy, so you agreed. He’s your entire world.

Harry came into your life like a bulldozer. Fast, unexpectedly, and it was life changing. He had reached out to you back in 2018 during the holiday season.

You remember seeing “Harry Styles just sent you a Direct Message” on your notification and you about had a heart attack. Of course you knew who freaking Harry Styles was. You had basically grown up with One Direction, but with you focusing on school.. you didn’t really have time to obsess over them. But you did know them and occasionally listened to their music.

So yeah, you knew who Harry Styles was. Young, devilishly handsome, and surprisingly single. And he was messaging you. Gushing about how much he loved your music and admired the way you carried yourself in your interviews. You had just released your second album at the age of twenty one and were about to start touring for it. He was already touring for his first solo album. (Which you loved)

He wanted to come to one of your shows. You gave him a seat in the family and friends section and a backstage pass.

You had been messaging back and forth since his first message a couple months back. You had spent all of your free time texting him and if your timing aligned with his time.. then you’d talk for hours on the phone.

It felt almost like you knew him. The connection that you felt with Harry was something you had never experienced before. And it felt crazy to you. This was all new to you and it was exciting. And a little scary.

And finally, he was able to get away from his own tour to come see you.

And he met you backstage after your show and immediately pulled you into his arms, praised you with his words, and the way you felt in his arms made you cry.

It was overwhelming and pretty embarrassing. It felt safe. Harry’s embrace made you feel safe. And you don’t even remember the last time you had ever felt that way. If you had ever even felt that way before that moment.

When Harry noticed, he immediately ordered everybody in the room to get out and the look on his face… he looked so worried. So sincere. So honest.

It made you incredibly emotional and you profusely apologized for ruining his shirt with your tears. And he said he didn’t care about his shirt.

That he cared about you.

And ever since the day you met him, that’s the one main thing Harry has always made sure you feel. That you feel safe.

It did take some time for you to open up to Harry about your childhood, but when you did.. you felt grateful. It felt good to finally talk to someone other than your therapist about everything you had gone through. He had always wondered why you never talked about your family or why he hadn’t met anyone other than Eva in the year of you guys dating. And when he finally knew, he held you and didn’t let you go for hours.

Harry felt like home.

Now it was the day before Christmas Eve 2021. You and Harry were cuddling on the comfy gray couch in the living room that overlooked the NYC skyline and the Christmas tree that you had both decorated together at the beginning of December was glimmering in the darkness. All the awaiting presents under it make you smile.

Anne and Gemma had already settled into bed for the night. They stated they needed some more sleep to adjust to the time difference and you couldn’t agree more. You and Harry had decided to stay up a little longer.

You cuddled into Harry’s chest as he held you while a Christmas movie played for you guys. You guys are watching ‘Elf’ and you admit it’s a good Christmas movie. No wonder it’s one of Harry’s favorites.

Harry feels extremely warm underneath you and it makes you want to stay here forever.

He’s rubbing your scalp gently with the tips of his fingers and your hand is underneath his sweater. Gently rubbing your own fingers on his almost non existent little belly.

But his body always held into a tiny little pouch under his belly button and you secretly loved it. You played with the happy trail there and ran your fingers over his abs slowly as well.

The atmosphere around you feels peaceful. It feels entirely calm and it’s a feeling that sinks deep into your bones.

You just weren’t used to this over the holidays and it felt almost weird to allow yourself to enjoy this.

Suddenly, Harry gets a slight hold of your chin and tilts your head up to meet his lips. His kiss surprises you, but you melt into him. He kisses you softly and lets his tongue slip into your mouth slightly. You smile into the kiss and hum in content when he pulls away from you.

Meeting his eyes, “What was that for?” You whisper as you wipe his bottom lip with your thumb.

His eyes twinkle with happiness and his arms wrap around you tightly, pulling you to sit on his lap completely, and he smiles so sweetly.

You let your hair fall over your shoulders as you look down at him. He’s so handsome.

“Happy birthday, my sun.”

You intertwine your hands in his own, glancing at the clock next to you that shows it’s exactly midnight, and you smile sheepishly at Harry. You lean down and kiss him again.

“Thank you, honey.”

“Let’s go to bed,” Harry says with a teasing smile as he holds onto your waist with one arm, shuts off the tv with his free hand, and easily lifts you up into the air.

“H!” You shriek with a giggle as you koala hug him to not fall down. He laughs lowly, “I’ll never drop you, sun.”

You both giggle until you fall into the mattress in your room, locking the door in a rush, but then Harry takes his time taking you apart and letting you come undone.

Helping you fall apart with his fingers, his tongue, and then with his cock.

And when he has to clamp his hand over your mouth tightly to keep you from screaming out during your orgasm, he’ll do that all night long just to make you happy.

•••

You wake up the next morning, slowly, and to the wonderful smell of bacon in the air.

You inhale the scent with a small smile as you stretch your limbs awake. You sit down on your bed, pulling the white comforter over your naked torso, and looking around for Harry. The floor to ceiling windows are cloudy with the Christmas chill, but it sends a wave of comfort throughout the room.

And it’s as if he knew you were searching for him.

Because he walks into the bedroom with a bed tray stacked with food.

You instantly perk up with a smile, “Hi.”

Harry leans down and kisses you, “Hi. Happy birthday, my sun.”

You giggle and shush him. “You already wished me a happy birthday.”

“I’m going to keep wishing my wonderful girlfriend a happy birthday all day long,” he says teasingly with a smirk as he sets down the tray in front of you.

You adjust yourself in the bed and admire the yummy food in front of you. “Did you do all of this for me?”

Your heart fills with warm love and your cheeks flush.

“Mom did. She made all of your favorites.”

Now his cheeks are flushing bright pink and you’re instantly overcome with a sense of love.

“She made all of this for me?” You ask in shock as you look at the chocolate chip pancakes, sunny side up eyes, fresh fruit, and amazing smelling bacon.

“Of course, sun. She loves you,” he says with a kiss to your forehead.

“Shouldn’t we go eat with them in the dining room?”

“Nah. You love eating in bed and today’s all about you,” he says as he starts cutting up your pancakes.

“But—“

“No buts.��

You shut your mouth with a smile as he feeds you the pancakes and takes some for himself with a teasing grin.

“We’re only doing what you love today. That’s all.”

And that’s how the rest of the day goes with Harry pampering you and only letting you do something if you truly want to do it.

You felt so lucky.

Now it’s the afternoon, you’re all gathered in the living room after eating a yummy and fulfilling dinner in your matching Christmas pajamas. Harry bought them for all of you guys and they’re grinch themed. You have to admit that seeing Harry so giddy and excited filled your heart with so much warmth and love. You truly felt so happy today.

You all had already exchanged gifts with each other. You two had gotten Anne and Gemma a full paid trip to Paris for a little winding down when you and Harry were going to go next summer. And you had framed two of your favorite pictures of the four of you together and gifted them each one. They loved it.

Anne had gifted you and Harry two homemade sweaters that she had knitted herself and it meant so much to you. Way more than any other money made gift.

Gemma gifted you a homemade shirt that she had stitched a quote for your favorite show and she had made Harry a matching one as well.

It was something cheesy, “you’re my lobster” and Harry immediately loved it. You did as well.

You have to admit that this felt insanely weird. You and Harry always exchanged gifts, but it was never in this type of setting. With his mom and sister.

It felt so intimate and loving.

So intimidating that it felt scary, but this was something that you didn’t know you needed.

“I wrote something for you,” Harry states as he gets the guitar from Gemma. It’s one of his favorites. It’s the one that was gifted to him from a friend. It’s the one with the starry design.

“You wrote me a song?” You ask with a grin as you grip onto your hot chocolate while you adjust yourself on the couch cushion.

“Another one?” Gemma says jokingly and Anne sushes her with a jab.

You see Harry’s cheeks blush faintly as he sits down on a small stool he pulled out from the pantry.

He slowly starts to make sure his cords are in key and he lets out a shaky breathe. He looks up to meet your eyes.

“This song… is for you. Completely and utterly for you. I hope you like it, my sun.”

There’s so much honesty in his eyes that it makes you feel completely warm and full inside.

He slowly starts to strum his guitar.

You were riding your bike to the sound of "It's No Big Deal"

A small gasp leaves your lips as your fingers grip into the mug. Instant tears fill your eyes as you hear the first sentence of your song.

And you're trying to lift off the ground on those old two wheels

Harry gives you a small smile as you stare at him with a wavering expression.

Nothing about the way that you were treated ever seemed especially alarming 'til now

Your bottom lip is quivering.

So you tie up your hair and you smile like it's no big deal

You can feel your water line filled with tears and you slowly set your mug down on the side table. You watch Harry intently.

You can let it go

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

And not invite your family, 'cause they never showed you love

You don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up, mmh

You shut your eyes for a second, allowing his words fill your body, tears slowly start falling down your cheeks, and you allow yourself to feel the emotions. Allowing yourself to finally feel the emotions you’ve been keeping pilled down deep.

You feel someone sit by you and grip your hand in theirs. You open your eyes to see Anne next to you, smiling so sweetly at you, and hold your hand tightly in her own. Her own tears filling her eyes as she holds you. Her love these past years have shown you what your own mother couldn’t.

A mothers love.

Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright

But I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside

Harry gives you a small smile as his own tears fill his eyes. The childhood movie you loved to watch fills your mind as it used to help you escape. You frown at the memories and grip onto Anne’s hand harder.

You showed me a power that is strong enough to bring sun to the darkest days

It's none of my business, but it's just been on my mind

You can let it go

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

And not invite your family, 'cause they never showed you love

You don't have to be sorry for leaving and growing up

Images of the last years rush through your mind. Everything you’ve managed to accomplish.

You can see the world, following the seasons

Anywhere you go, you don't need a reason

'Cause they never showed you love

You don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own

Harry lets his guitar rest on the space next to him on the floor and he reaches for your hand. You grip onto his hand with your free one and he continues to sing. His beautiful angelic voice filled the entire room. His raw voice fills your ears like heaven.

You're just in time, make your tea and your toast

His voice cracks and slow tears fall down his cheeks.

You framed all your posters and dyed your clothes, ooh

You don't have to go

You don't have to go home

Oh, there's a long way to go

Gemma walks out of the room and into the kitchen.

I don't believe that time will change your mind

In other words

I know they won't hurt you anymore as long as you can let them go

You can let it go

Harry kisses each one of your knuckles and holds your hand against his cheek, his smile wavering as he continues to sing.

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

You can start a family who will always show you love

You don't have to be sorry for doing it on your own

You can let it go

You see Gemma walking into the room with a beautiful baby pink cake with colorful sprinkles all over the top and matching long candles that are glowing in the dark night. You cry even harder.

You can throw a party full of everyone you know

You can start a family who will always show you love

You don't have to be sorry, no

Tears filled your eyes as you looked around the room. A wavering smile on your lips as you watched everyone in front of you wearing a giant smile and matching tears.

And just for a second… it was quiet.

There wasn’t any loud voices behind you yelling at each other. There weren’t any doors being slammed shut nor glasses being thrown to the floor or the walls.

All you could hear was the wood crackling in the fireplace, the soft sound of the Christmas music playing on the record player, the small sniffs of the people around you trying to hold in their tears as you let your own fall freely, and you could hear your own heart silently patching itself back together.

You sniffle as you watch Harry reach for the cake and he proceeds to move the cake at your eye level.

His beautiful green eyes rimmed red, nose tinted pink, and he’s smiling at you.

“Make a wish, my love.”

Anne’s hand lets go of your own and she instead starts rubbing your back in comfort. You wrap your own hands delicately around Harry's wrists as you let the candle's warmth coat your face so lightly.

“You’ve already made all of them come true,” you whisper as you slowly blow out the candles.

Your only wish is to only ever feel this way for the next holidays.

#harry styles x singer!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x female reader #harry styles x famous!reader #harry styles au #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fic

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fatehbaz · 6 months

Text

At the inauguration of the First Brazilian Congress of Eugenics in July of 1929, the physician and anthropologist Edgar Roquette-Pinto [...] exalted “eugenia” as the new science that, together with medicine and hygiene, would guarantee the efficiency and perfection of the race. [...] [This] agenda [...] brought architecture to the very core of the eugenics [...] movement [...]. [M]edical scientific discourses, first articulated in France, crossed the ocean [...]. [G]lobal movements, hygienics and eugenics, [...] became the dual vehicles for bringing architecture into active dialogue [...].

In Brazil, the nation was seen as a sick organism [...]. In the center of Rio de Janeiro, this mission brought together a diverse cast of characters: from the physicians and architects of the Parisian Musée Social, the early French think-tank [...], to the physicians and architects of Rio de Janeiro who formulated [...] Brazilian modernism, to Le Corbusier, who began consolidating a eugenicist ideology precisely during the months he spent in Brazil in the mid-1930s.

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In the early 1920s, [...] a dramatic event occurred in Rio. [...] [A] sanitary and urban reform [...] reached its climax with the demolition of an entire populated mountain, the Morro do Castelo, in the center of the Brazilian capital. This mountain was no ordinary mountain; it was the original site where the colonial city [...] had been established in 1567. [...] As far back as 1798, a medical report had argued for the mountain’s demolition [...]. [T]he mountain came to be seen as the very negation of modernity itself; a reservoir of vice and disease with a motley “marginal” population, including poor Blacks and formerly enslaved people who, according to the elites, invaded the center of the city [...].

The extensive territory that resulted from this demolition was immediately occupied by the 1922 International Exhibition. [...] Promoting itself as a tabula rasa, the exhibition represented a literal “triumph” over the territory -- a territory now cleansed of its history and unwanted inhabitants. It’s more than 500-page catalog is striking in its complete elimination of all traces of the African and indigenous components of Brazilian culture. [...] Its images demonstrate a new alliance between beauty, health, tropicality, and modernization that Brazilian elites adopted [...].

Shortly after the exhibition, in 1922, and lasting until 1938, neo-colonial architecture was declared by the government to be the national style, mandatory for every building that would represent Brazil abroad. [...] It was not a coincidence that all this -- the demolition of the mountain, the elimination of Rio de Janeiro’s original urban nucleus, the displacement of its poor residents, and the construction of the exhibition pavilions -- was executed almost simultaneously with new policies and mandates such as the “white only” decree of 1921, which prohibited the immigration of Blacks to Brazil. [...] No one illustrates this connection between race and architecture better than Lucio Costa [the architect of Brasilia, the new modernist national capital city] —who, in 1928, made this racist link in a newspaper article: [...] All architecture is a question of race. [...] Everything is a function of race. If the breed is good, and the government is good, the architecture will be good. Talk, discuss, gesticulate: our basic problem is selective immigration; the rest is secondary [...].

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When Le Corbusier traveled for the second time to Brazil in 1936, his discourses were centered on nature, death, and the racial and sexual “other.” [...] In 1936, while preparing his series of talks in Rio de Janeiro, Le Corbusier made a sketch on a piece of cardboard that distilled and concretized [...] rationales of modernity: change the environment, change the man. Written at the top is the word “Castello,” followed by the name “Lucio Costa,” the phrases “pedro aller police” and “Castello coûts clichés,” the name of architect “Carlos Porto,” and the phrase “Acheter livre Carrel.” The latter was a reminder for him to buy the new bestseller by the French Nobel prize-winning physician Alexis Carrel, Man The Unknown, an unmistakable call for the implementation of eugenics and manifesto for white supremacy. What made Le Corbusier think of Carrel while thinking of Rio de Janeiro?

It is not a mere coincidence that Castelo, one of the most significant eugenic laboratories in Latin America, is the first word that appears on the cardboard.

But Castelo was not only the name of the pulverized mountain from which thousands of “undesirable” inhabitants had been displaced, or the stage for the 1922 international exhibition with its neocolonial pavilions and its image of white Brazil, or the epicenter of the master urban plan that Agache had designed for Rio. Castello was also where Lucio Costa was designing the new building for the Ministry of Health and Education, the institution charged with developing and enforcing Brazil’s eugenic policies under Getulio Vargas’ new authoritarian regime, for which Le Corbusier had been invited to be a design consultant. This sketch links the dramatic transformation of the urban territory of Rio de Janeiro to Lucio Costa’s project and to Carrel’s vision for remaking society. [...]

In his Oeuvre complète 1934-1938, Le Corbusier included a sketch of the Brazilian Ministry of Health and Education building. This new ministry [...] later became the symbol of Brazilian modernism [...]. Gustavo Capanema, the first Minister of Health and Education, had commissioned both the building, which he called the Ministry of Man and was destined to “prepare, compose, and perfect the Brazilian man,” [...]. Capanema pondered, “How will the body of the Brazilian man be, of the future Brazilian man, not the vulgar man or the inferior man but the best exemplar of the race? How will his head be? His color? The shape of his face? His physiognomy?” [...] When Le Corbusier came back [from Brazil] to France and began collaborating with Alexis Carrell under the [Nazi] Vichy regime, his vision of a clinically inspired habitat where all human needs can be met reached a new level of specificity. [...] He was convinced that the human body, the anatomo-politics of its productivity, and the built environment should be managed by the State. In a 1941 broadcast he affirmed that "[...] The degeneration of the house, the degeneration of the family, are one."

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All text above by: Fabiola López-Durán. "Fantasies of Whiteness". e-flux Architecture. Sick Architecture series. April 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for criticism, teaching, commentary purposes.]

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