#but it makes me loose faith in my english ability | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nobleelfwarrior · 2 years

Text

I just spent an hour untangling some Radblr drama, so we're talking about anger again.

My credentials: I have no male friends because all of theme got into arguments with me where they thought I was over reacting, hysterical, or mean. Every time I spent about a week or more wracking my brain to find something I did wrong and found nothing.

So, you're feeling heated about something someone said on Tumblr. You feel like you've been wronged or that the person was stupid or cruel. What do you do?

Step 1: Take a deep breath. Nothing productive happens when you are reactionary. You want to act, not react.

Step 2: Did you read this in the kindest possible way? Was it still mean? If yes, then yes, you are right to be upset. If no, perhaps approaching this post/poster in a more generous light will lead to more understanding. Assume they had good intentions and ask questions to clarify what they meant.

Step 3: So they were being mean and you didn't find common ground. You can either choose to engage or disengage with the conversation. If you think you are going to loose your cool and do something you regret, disengage. You don't have to engage with online discourse that makes you uncomfortable. Just log off.

You chose to engage. Let's cover a few things NOT to do.

no slurs. None. Not even if you think they're justified. Slurs are never ever ever ok.

avoid sarcasm. we're online and it can be hard to pick up and it isn't productive.

act like something should be obvious. We're all at different levels here. Some of us don't speak English as a first language. Some of us are new to our sexualities or feminism. It might be obvious to you, but it isn't obvious to others.

You should explain clearly and calmly what you mean. That isn't to say you should never get heated or passionate, but if that passion overwhelms your ability to communicate your point, you need to take a step back. Spite is fun in memes and harmful in discussion.

You should treat questions as attempts to engage, not bad faith. There are obvious exceptions, but, again, being online, it is hard to show genuine confusion/curiosity, especially in heated situations where you might assume hostility.

You should know your audience. There comes a point where you know whether the person you're talking to is the person you are communicating with or if the standers-by are the people you are communicating with. Knowing the person you are debating with is not the person who needs to hear it can help you make better choices.

When to bow out: If at any time you want to let your anger take over, it's time to step out. You've made your points and going further with this person is only going to hurt you more. For me, going in circles with the conversation is what makes me livid, so I know that's where to call it. When you leave, it can be helpful to give a call to action like "do the research for yourself and see what I said is true" or "check out what x person had to say about it if you don't trust me".

Why is this important

There's been a lot of talk about infighting recently. Bad faith readings of what others had to say contributed to a lot of that. When someone says "I meant x", they probably did. Not everyone here is a perfect writer. We don't have editors or beta readers or anyone to tell us that something was unclear or misleading until we post the thing.

Radical Feminism is about women's liberation. Each of us likely have multiple axis of oppression, but we share female. Racism, ablism, and homophobia cannot be tolerated and need to be called out. Men will band together despite their prejudices to demean women and we need to make sure we don't alienate our sisters with slurs so that we can fight back. It doesn't sound fair, but life isn't fair and that's why we need radical feminism, female communities, and to work together.

If someone calls out your bad behavior, carefully consider the criticism. Don't react. Act. I've had to adjust my behavior several times because women I respect and follow made posts, not about me personally, but that did apply to me and I thought carefully and adjusted my behavior.

And you do have a right to prioritize different women in your life, but the moment you exclude any group of women from your liberation efforts, you aren't feminist. Again, prioritize is ok, exclusion is bad. I'm personally prioritizing women in my community because that's all I can handle with my mental health. Even though my efforts aren't focused on women in other countries, I'm not going to make them feel like I don't care about them. Does that make sense? I'm not going to post about how they're dumb for this or that. I'm not going to say they can fend for themselves or that I don't share sisterhood with them. My efforts can only reach so far, by they are my allies. I hope that makes sense.

I get why you're mad.

I really do. Lesbians have faced homophobia from OSA women in Radblr and that is hurtful and frustrating. SSA women are sometimes insensitive or even cruel to straight women (not the same as systematic oppression, but still unproductive and hurtful). The black, indigenous, and brown women on Radblr have faced racism. Women will use ableist slurs and not see that it is completely unacceptable, even if the woman you are arguing with seems bigoted to you. We see a lot of people who claim to be radfem but seem more just gender critical, which muddies things. We see women on here who insist that their man is different. It is all very frustrating.

But it comes back to the post I made about venting. If your discussion with self ided radfems becomes a back and forth vent, that's not productive. Taking actual action is productive. Calling out ableism, homophobia, and racism is productive. Asking for clarification on what seem like incendiary posts is productive. Discussing difference of opinion in respectful ways is productive.

The whole point of radblr is to have a community so we can be productive. We need to put more effort into getting along. It seems unfair, but that's what we have to do in order to make progress.

Quick obligatory disclaimer that there are limits to trying to get along. There is a point where just blocking and moving on is fine. I think we all know this.

Anyway, those are my thoughts.

#me myself and i #radfem #radical feminism #feminism is a movement #take action #venting #anger

191 notes · View notes

obfuscated-abstract · 24 days

Text

Medical literature is unnecessarily inaccessible

I am in the lucky position to be doing a degree through an institution that gives me access to a lot of medical literature that other people can't necessarily access. I'm also fairly practised at reading said medical literature because I am doing a degree that requires at least some ability to research.

I am an astronomy student, not a medical student, but I want to do everything in my power to make at least some of this research more accessible to people with complex illnesses.

If you have come across a paywalled study or something that you just can't seem to understand, send it my way and I'll give it my best shot!

Table of Contents

General questions under the cut

Can you give medical advice?

Absolutely not. And my summaries should not be construed as a perfectly faithful interpretation of the material -- they are a guide to finding the part of the article most relevant to your own research.

Can I ask you to do research on a condition or symptom for me?

No, sorry. I don't have the energy or time to do that as much as I would love to. Send me a study or piece of literature and I will be happy to access and interpret it.

What can I send?

You can send any medical literature you want me to try and summarise (journal articles, studies, statements, etc), suggestions for accessibility improvements, questions about things I've posted (I'll link them to the orginal post), pointing out errors. Basically anything. If I can't access or answer something, I'll let you know!

Can I send something anonymously?

Absolutely! Anonymous asks are on. Unfortunately anonymous asks don't allow you to send links so minimum information I need to find the study is title, author(s), and publication date. The name of the journal it was published in is also useful! I will put the summary in the response to the ask so if you don't want to be credited and you don't want to ask anonymously, just put that in your ask and I'll accommodate.

How is this blog organised?

I have included a link to the table of contents above. I will tag all posts with the relevant condition so they show up in the archive. Each post will have a link to a second post that includes the article figures, and, if the article is not publicly available, some way of sharing important parts of it.

Are there restrictions on what disabilities/chronic illnesses the material can relate to?

I am going to loosely restrict this to conditions that have a physical component but of course if the study is on a link between a physical and other disability, that is perfectly fair game. Obviously I am more knowledgeable about the disabilities and chronic illnesses I personally experience (including POTS, hEDS, ME/CFS, and fibromyalgia) but if you send me something that I don't have experience with, I will give that caveat and do my best.

What language(s) can I send things in?

The language of the study must be English. If you come across something in French, I can do my best with that as well since I grew up biligual; however, all my medical treatment has been in English as is the degree I'm pursuing so I am much more comfortable with English language papers. If you want to send your question in French, go ahead but I will respond in English.

Can I help?

Yes! Of course! Just let me know how you want to help. One thing I absolutely need help with is image descriptions. I likely won't be including them unless I'm having a really good day since they're absolutely exhausting for me to write, so if you send me an image description for a figure, I will be adding it to the post immediately and crediting you if you want!!!

#pinned post #introduction #chronic illness #disability #complex diseases #cripple punk #chronic illness community

5 notes · View notes

marryat92 · 2 years

Text

The fabrics of Marryat's world

One of the things that stands out to me, as a twenty-first century reader of Captain Marryat, are his many references to specific textiles and fabrics. Part of that could be from his reputation as a man of fashion; but I suspect that it's mostly a reflection of the world he inhabited, full of bespoke clothing and aware of its value. (As Frank Mildmay said, "A tailor's bill you may avoid by crossing the channel; but the duns of conscience follow you to the antipodes, and will be satisfied.")

A hated assistant teacher in Jacob Faithful is identified by his coat of shalloon:

I have little further to say of Mr. Knapps, except that he wore a black shalloon loose coat; on the left sleeve of which he wiped his pen, and upon the right, but too often, his ever-snivelling nose.

The materials glossary in Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century by C. Willett and Phillis Cunnington defines shalloon as, "A loosely woven worsted stuff, twilled on both sides."

In Poor Jack, the title character's mother is an ambitious businesswoman, who dresses her daughter to the best of her abilities and neglects her son. One character comments on this:

Does your mother make plenty of money by clear-starching? I know your sister had a spotted muslin frock on last Sunday, and that must have cost something. [...] Your mother dresses your sister in spotted muslin, and leaves you in rags

A spotted muslin dress for a child in the Victoria & Albert Museum collection, made c. 1800-1805.

This extant dress is embroidered with tambour work, noted as a pastime of well-bred young ladies in Japhet in Search of a Father ("Cecilia, my dear, show your tambour work to Mr. Newland, and ask him his opinion. Is it not beautiful, Mr. Newland?")

In Marryat’s world, textiles are named: kerseymere breeches, cambric handkerchiefs, cotton-net pantaloons. The cotton-net pantaloons are specifically mentioned in three of Marryat's novels: Peter Simple, Japhet in Search of a Father, and Poor Jack.

Names for textiles have changed over time, and I wonder if what Marryat calls "cotton-net" is synonymous with stockinette? ("[Pantaloons] were usually of stockinette or semi-elastic material," says Handbook of English Costume in the 19th Century). As much as Regency gentlemen wore some very suggestive clothing, I don't think they wore pants of sheer netting.

Still, one character in Poor Jack is showing off a lot of pantaloons in his (unfortunately) body-conscious choice of fabric:

Mr. Cobb was remarkable in his dress. Having sprung up to the height of at least six feet in his stockings, he had become remarkably thin and spare; and the first idea that struck you when you saw him was, that he was all pantaloons—for he wore blue cotton net tight pantaloons; and his Hessian boots were so low, and his waistcoat so short, that there was at least four feet, out of the sum total of six, composed of blue cotton net, which fitted very close to a very spare figure.

"Pentalon à la hussarde" in the collection of the Paris Musées (and on a more ideal figure).

32 notes · View notes

aimee-maroux · 4 years

Text

Plato-nic Love (Part I)

I sadly didn’t finish the whole story in time but this is part one of Seren and Plato’s epic love story for the ages XD

Illustrations were done by the wonderful @sigeel 😍😍😍

So this submission is by the two of us!

Plato-nic Love

Seren poured a libation of wine and started working on the grapevine that had been growing in the family garden for a while. At first, her mother had tried to get rid of it but it had proven the essence of indestructable life and so they had accepted its presence much like Seren had come to accept the presence of its patron god. She was about to cut off a branch to use for making a crown later on when she heard a familiar voice. "How is my favourite bacchae?" She sighed. It had been about a year since she had agreed to become his faithful follower and needless to say she was still the only one. "Do you know what day it is?" Seren started frantically going through all the calendars she had studied, from the reconstructed Attic calendar to the Roman calendar before and after the Julian reform -what moon phase were they in again? "You always think we don't care about these things but I have a sursprise for you." Dionysos flashed her a bright smile. "What?" she said flatly. A surprise from a god couldn't possibly mean anything good.

"I SAID: I have a SURPRISE for you!" Confetti and flower petals started raining down on them and from above sounded a rustic melody played on pan pipes. Seren looked up to see Hermes sitting on a treebranch, grinning as he played the instrument his son invented. "Ha ha, very funny, Hermes." Dionysos took Seren by the shoulders. "He was supposed to play the Time Warp. Because it's exactly ONE YEAR TODAY that you became my bacchae and do I have a surprise for you!" "Yeah, you said so. But maybe it would be better if-" "Nonsense! As your patron god I am exceedingly generous. You see, I have noticed your infatuation with Plato." "You don't say." "Yes. Anyway, Hermes was so nice to pay grandfather Kronos a visit and relieve him of a little artef- well, details, it doesn't matter! What is important is that you will get to meet Plato!" "Really?!" There was a nagging voice in Seren's head that told her to be careful but Dionysos had just told her she'd get to meet Plato! "Really. All you have to do is take my hand. But I have another gift for you. Hermes, come down here!" The messenger god swung himself lazily from the tree and floated down until his winged sandals touched the ground. "My brother pointed out that you might have difficulties speaking ancient Greek fluently so he will grant you the ability to speak it like a native for as long as you give up your native English." Seren gaped. "That... is surprisingly thoughtful of you." "Hermes, do it! And no nonsense like giving her a lisp or a foreign accent!" "Of course not. Why would I do that?" Hermes grinned at Seren. "I'd not even be there to see it." "What? Now? Wait!" Seren cried out as divine magic rearranged the synapses in her speech centre. "I did not agree-" "She'll speak fluently once you arrive in Greece," Hermes said, "Once you return, the magic wears off." Dionysos gave his brother a suspicious look. Then he beamed. "Perfect!" Dionysos clapped enthusiastically. "Hold on tight!" He pulled her into his embrace and Seren instinctively hugged him. The world around them began to blur and the heavens seemed to turn back as they sped through time and space. There was a sudden jolt and the world was clear once again. Only, it looked strange. But not strange enough for Seren not to recognise her patron god had spoken the truth. This was ancient Athens! She felt a nasty queasiness but she was much too excited to care about that just now. She had known about polychromy but the sheer explosion of colours in the city made her heart sing. The reconstructions were mere shadows of the vibrant paint on the statues, buildings, and clothes. And the Akropolis! It looked majestic even now but the ruins were nothing compared to the magnificence of colour and architecture. Seren stood in awe, even though they were miles away down in a sidestreet. Potters had laid out their painted vases and other works as they created new ones. Seren couldn't decide what to see first, jumping this way and that until the unsavoury sound of regurgitation briefly diverted her attention. Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick wall of a house and puked his guts out. "How can you be so chipper?" Dionysos groaned, wiping his mouth. "You're mortal!" We travelled both time AND space. You should be barfing like a youth at his first symposion." But Seren just ignored him in her euphoria. "It's Athens!" she cried. "ANCIENT Athens!" "That fleet-foorted son of a-" "What? What is it?!" "Nothing, nothing. Everything is fine. I just..." Dionysos leaned against the mudbrick house. "Hermes could have said something about the inconvenience of travelling." Seren shrugged. Who cared, they were already there. "I want to see EVERYTHING!!! The sculptures! The pottery! The architecture! The clothes..." "Speaking of which..." Dionysos grinned. "We should get you something less 2020. If you want to meet Plato, we need a certain disguise. And you want to look your best for him, right?" Seren screwed up her face. "Plato isn't about looks. He's about the beauty of the soul." "Well, if you want to go dressed in that tasteless pink sweater and leggings combination. But let me tell you, nothing looks better on a woman than a finely woven chiton." "Yeah, you're not at all biased." "It's one of the few things even Apollo and I agree on, so it must be true." Seren would have been happy just roaming the streets of ancient Athens for a couple of days. Or for however long this time thingy would allow. The prospect of meeting Plato both exhilarated and terrified her.

Dionysos bought her an elegant chiton in the extremely crowded agora. Seren hardly suppressed a squeal when he paid with real ancient drachmae. Only they didn't look ancient at all. "Why is nobody staring?" she asked, as another group of people walked past them without paying them any mind. "Did you put glamour over my modern clothes?" Dionysos laughed. "No need, honeybee. This is Athens. At a time like this they get tourists from all over the world. One strange, foreign costume is not going to turn any heads." He pulled her away from the merchants and splendour of the agora into the entrance of a seemingly abandoned house. "Put it on," he said, handing her the chiton. "Don't peek!" she reminded him before she changed into her new garment. It felt cool and pleasant on her skin and the quality of the linen was indeed fantastic. Despite the loose fit the fabric was so delicate it hugged her figure in an almost revealing way, making her feel exposed. "Is this really acceptable dress?" she asked. "Only with this worn over it." Dionysos came up behind her, closing another layer of cloth over her shoulders with simple dress pins. "You look great, honeybee," he said sincerely. "Plato can consider himself lucky. You got the brains, you got the looks, and even that austere, joyless personality to match." "I get the impression you don't like Plato much." Dionysos slung the belt around her waist and fastened it. "What gave it away? My graffiti, my groaning everytime you bring him up, or the charming way I speak about him?" "The graffiti was a pretty obvious hint." "I hope you appreciate my gift all the more, honeybee." "I do." She smiled. "But I don't think I could appreciate it any more than I already do. This is a dream come true. The most exciting day of my life. More exciting even than Delphi." "Be careful not to tell Apollo," Dionysos warned but he looked pleased. "Sure. If I ever run into him I'll remember it." As they stepped outside, the streets were empty. "Where is everybody?" "Oh, it must be time to crown the victors." "Victors? Of what? It's too cold to be July, isn't it?" "Not the Panathenaic Games." Dionysos smiled broadly. "It's not an athletic contest. Today..." He made a dramatic pause. "Is the last day of the Great Dionysia!" "Oh." Seren was disappointed. "So we can't go and watch any of the plays?" "I'm afraid it is too late for that. But I can show you my theatre and the temple with my cult image if you want."

Seren politely admired the simple wooden log that was supposed to be a representation of Dionysos and genuinely marvelled at the masks that had been dedicated below it. She patiently listened to Dionysos as he recounted the story of the very first Dionysia in Athens and how he used to mingle among the crowd every year to watch what the people of Athens had put on the stage in his honour. Once they arrived at the theatre it was already empty but it was a stunning sight all the same. Seeing everything intact and in its full glory filled Seren with unknown joy. The decorations, both permanent and temporary, were as colourful and flamboyant as the god they honoured. When they made it back to the streets of Athens, there were already groups of shouty drunk people roaming about. "Victory parties," Dionysos explained when he saw Seren's face. "In fact, we are about to attend one too. But first..." A purple mist shrouded the god's body and when it dispelled, his simple chiton had given way to a slutty ankle-length skirt that hung low enough to expose part of his bum cheeks, his arms, wrists, and ankles adorned with golden jewellery. "I know you practiced with the aulos. You're gonna be a flute girl." Seren startled. "What? No! I'm not nearly good enough!" Dionysos shrugged, making his golden bracelets clink. "I don't think I need to tell you that other kinds of women are not allowed at symposia. Unless you want to play the role of a hetaira..." "F-Flute girl is fine."

They arrived at a house that obviously belonged to someone well-to-do. "A group of revellers is about to show up here any minute. We'll join them to enter the symposion. Trust me, they're too drunk to realise we don't belong." Seren nodded nervously. "Now would be the time to ditch that respectable dress." Reluctantly, Seren freed herself of the protective extra layer of clothing and received the aulos flutes Dionysos handed her. The revellers did indeed show up. Loud and obnoxious, it was impossible not to notice them. A man in his late 20s or early 30s led the group. Half-naked and well into his cups, crowned with a wreath of ivy and violets, he was all but carried by two sturdy lads who looked like they were half-naked professionally. "Come!" Dionysos tugged on her arm and they danced along, she awkwardly, he with a grace and confidence she envied. The leader of the group pounded against the door and yelled for "Agathon". Seren's heart skipped a beat. "Is that... Alkibiades?!" she whispered to Dionysos. "The very same." "We are at THAT Symposium?!!" "We most certainly are." Seren gaped at the man who would eventually be the ruin of Athens by defecting to Sparta and then to Persia. He rattled the door, shouting "Agathon!" and dropped his single piece of clothing in the process, quickly picked up by his lads. Seren shrieked when the man suddenly leaned heavily on her, his arms reeling for support. Dionysos was quick to jump to his other side, taking most of the load off his bacchae. "AGATHON!" Alkibiades yelled once more, in the manner drunks yelled on their way home from the pub after closing hours. He kept demanding to see Agathon with a heavy tongue until a servant boy finally opened up and led them to the andron. Alkibiades managed to stand on his own, stumbling towards the host of the party while announcing how completely and utterly wasted he was. "Let's bring the bacchic spirit to this lame party!" Dionysos cheered. Seren gazed around with stars in her eyes. The room was bright with torches and the klinai were populated by men both young and old but all shirtless and all with crowns of ivy on their heads. She looked more closely at the guests while Alkibiades spoke to Agathon, probably congratulating him for his victory. But none of the symposiasts looked like any of the artworks she had seen of Plato. They were most likely created after his death anyway. "Soooo..." She leaned on Dionysos' shoulder. "Where is Plato?" Dionysos gestured at the kline at the very end of the room, occupied by two young men. "The dark-haired one."

"THAT is Plato?! I thought he'd be at least in his 30s!" Dionysos grinned a smug grin. "He wrote the Symposion in his late 30s. But this, honeybee, is the year the titular symposion actually took place. The first year of the 91st Olympiad. Or, as you would say, 416 BCE." Seren gaped at the young man seated on a couch with a blond youth. He had long, curly hair crowned with a wreath of ivy like all the symposiasts, young and old. A strong, Greek nose gave his face a distinct personality. Who would have thought the man Seren knew only from his words and artwork showing him as an old man could be so... hot. The blonde guy leaned over, whispering something to him. Maybe they were flirting. It wasn't anything unusual back in the day, Seren knew that. But they seemed to be about the same age. Shouldn't- "Play, flute girl," Dionysos nudged her with his elbow, "I'll clear the kline for you."

Seren watched him shimmy over to the pair and tried to remember how to play the aulos. She had practiced so much but right now it felt as if she knew nothing at all. Her idol, Plato, might be listening! Her cheeks burned as she blew into the wooden instrument, the tune an embarrassing version of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". Despite playing the role of a dancer, Dionysos sat down with the two no doubt aristocratic young men in his usual impudent manner. The blond youth's face turned sour. "What is the meaning of this?" "I came for the entertainment." "We are very well entertained by each other's company, thank you." Dionysos gave the blonde guy a cheeky grin. "Does your company agree?" He crawled on the kline until he basically sat on Plato's lap, prompting the young philosopher to blush. How cute! "Some people can be such a dull affair, talking about nothing but themselves all the time." The angry blond yanked Dionysos off Plato. "This was a philosophical symposion before you arrived!" "Yes. And to shame! You are celebrating a victory at the Dionysia. Where is the revelry?" "There are countless symposia all over Athens. Why did you have to come and ruin this one?" "You know exactly that I didn't ruin anything. But please, if you have any grievances take it up with my master. Alkibiades." "You know what? I will!" The blond aristocrat got up from the kline and grabbed Dionysos by the wrist, effectively pulling him off the kline. He dragged the god behind him as he made for the door, leaving Plato all alone on his bed of colourful cushions. Dionysos winked at her as they passed and it was at that moment that Seren noticed that his "friend" was the only one wearing laurel instead of ivy. Did they just... cock-block Apollon? But not all is lost, she reasoned, if Plato likes Apollon, he likes blondes, right? Right?

Shyly, Seren sat down next to the man whose teachings she still hadn't figured out. And maybe neither did he. He was so young and handsome. She was close enough to smell his heavy perfume and either oil or sweat or both made his chest gleam in the firelight. It really was quite hot in here. He didn't fit the stereotype of the philosopher at all, being so young and handsome and quite brawny. But no matter how hot he was, his physical appearance was dwarfed by the beauty of his brain and thoughts. His intelligence was that much hotter. That being said, Seren liked to think she would be less flustered if the man were old enough to be her father. But he was not. He must be about her own age. "We got rid of the other flute girl." "Wa-What?" "You must know there were already celebrations with heavy drinking last night. Surely you played at Alkibiades' place or some other house?" Seren nodded timidly. "So Pausanias suggested we refrain from drinking tonight and we ended up sending away the flute girl as well. A shame, because before you came in, it was all boring speeches of the old men assembled here. I enjoy the delightful harmony of music much, much more." "You don't like philosophy?" "Of course I do, but not at a drinking party celebrating the Dionysia. You're not from here, are you?" "Ahm, no?" "I don't think I've met a Spartan flute girl. Most of them come from Peiraieús." Seren laughed nervously. What the fuck, Hermes?! "I hope it's not a problem?" she mumbled. "No, no. I'm just surprised. Do you have a name, dear?" "I... I am Seren." "Seiren? What a fitting nickname! My name is-" "I know who you are!" Seren gushed, "I-I-I admire you greatly, Plato!" "Oh?" To Seren's great relief he smiled. "So you have seen me compete?" "Uh, yes, of course!" Seren would be thrilled to see him at any competition, really. "It's just a silly name my wrestling coach gave me. To intimidate my rivals, he says." "I like it!" "You like my broad shoulders, Seiren?" Seren blushed. "No, that's not what I, uh..." "It's all right. Lots of women admire them." "Ahahaha." Was he flirting with her? Or just bragging? "You may be an outstanding athlete," she said, "But I admire your words even more." "My poetry?" Now it was his time to blush. "Did you play it?" "Not yet." Seren decided to be bold, "People want to hear the same songs, Sappho, Pindar and the like. But... But maybe you can teach me how to play yours?" "No I... I burned them all." "Why would you do that?" "I wanted to focus better on my studies. Maybe I made the wrong call. Mousaios, the guy who just left? He said music is like medicine and can create harmony between opposites, that a musical education is helpful in the study of philosophy. Ah, I don't know. I don't want to bore you, flute girl." "You're not boring me, Plato. Please, tell me your thoughts!" And then, all of a sudden, a large drunken group walked into the room and joined the party, Dionysos among them. There was noise everywhere, and Plato leaned in very close and asked: "What do you say, Seiren. Shall we make our excuses and leave?"

to be continued...

#Quarantined Bacchae #The Last Bacchae #fanfiction #The Last Bacchae fanfiction #Linda Sejic #fanart #The Last Bacchae fanart #Seren Calvert #Dionysos #Hermes #Platon #Plato #Apollon #Apollo #Seren x Plato epic love story for the ages?#Plato x Apollo missed romance #I hope you have a good laugh #written with love

454 notes · View notes

alwaysnforeverfangirl · 3 years

Text

Dance Me To The End Of Love - Prologue

Introduction of the fic

A/N: this is my first fic in English so I apologize for the mistakes in grammar and way of writing. This is just the prologue so nothing really happens in here, it’s more of an introduction to the story of my OC. Although Fred doesn't appear in the prologue both characters will meet very soon. Hope you like it, Rach💖

Summary: Veronica Reed has a nightmare before the day her life changes forever.

Warnings: torture, death, mentions of war, mentions of anxiety.

italics are flashbacks/memories

(gif taken from Pinterest)

There it was again. In her chest, hiding behind her ribs. The pressure that she had grow to fear. She whipped away the sweat on her forehead while releasing a sob that she had hold. The cold air of the night painted goosebumps on her skin when she moved the covers of the bed, her feet touch the carpet that decorated the floor of the room and she started to make her way to the kitchen to drink a glass of water.

Veronica Reed knew very well her condition. That's why she was so afraid of the anxiety that always came after remembering her father's death.

-Rabastan…

The voice of Alaric Lestrange was barely a whisper. In front of him a man dressed in black robes was giving him a wicked smile. Behind his long hair Alaric could recognize the features of his younger brother.

-It’s been a long time brother.- Rabastan’s voice was hoarse. He was moving around the place, searching for something while laughing at Alaric.- I didn't have the opportunity to give you my condolences on the loss of your wife.

Alaric’s body tensed up, thinking of the day Anna was brutally killed by Fenrir Greyback. She had fought in the war even though Alaric didn't want her too. They had a daughter and the thought of leaving her orphan haunted him, he had promised himself that she would have the loving family that he never had.

“She will grow healthy and free and she’ll understand what we fought for and why we couldn't hide away while the world we believe in was at risk.” With those words being said, Alaric Lestrange joined the Order of the Phoenix with her wife Anna Reed by his side. He knew she was right. He couldn't keep on running from his family and the atrocities that people like them were doing to the Wizard Community.

-She had an amazing magic ability for a mudblood…- The younger of the Lestrange brothers started to approach Alaric in a threatening way.- The child that you two had together… Where is she?

At that moment Alaric realized why Rabastan was there. He was furious about the fall of the Dark Lord and he definitely had heard about the rumors. Not only he was there to torture him like he and their older brother had done while they were kids. He was there to capture his daughter and found out if what people said was true. But Alaric knew that if Lord Voldemort followers were to find Veronica she would become a slave, and that’s the reason why he came back to the United States when Anna died. To protect their daughter and help her understand what she was able to do before anyone could use her.

-You haven't said a word yet dear brother. Has the cat got your tongue? - Rabastan left a creepy laugh.- You know pretty well what I’d do to you if you don’t show me where your daughter is.

-You’d do it even if I do as you say.

Rabastan smiled, he took Alaric’s face with his left hand and pointed his wand to his chest. This wasn't the first time both brothers were in this position, although usually Rodolphus Lestrange was behind Rabastan, with his chest filled with pride as the younger of the family showed the middle one what they called discipline. It had always been this way, ever since the three of them were kids both Rabastan and Rodolphus would haunt Alaric. They would hex him just because he was different, just because he didn't share the same ideas as his family. It got worse when he started Hogwarts and he was sorted into Hufflepuff. “Our family has been in Slytherin since that school was founded and now a miserable Hufflepuff…” Alaric would never forget the voice of his father and the disgust in his mother’s face. Both of his brothers made his life a terrible one until he flew from England, escaping from the pain that the Lestrange name brought him.

A red light came out of Rabastan’s wand and Alaric fell to the floor in pain. He could feel the cruciatus curse invading his body and he failed to silence a scream. In a wardrobe, near the window of the room a small toddler shifted at the sight of her father’s aching. The torture continued for at least five minutes and Alaric stopped trying to keep silent, he didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing him suffering but the stinging in his bones and skin was too much.

Veronica knew that her father would be upset if she got out from the place she was hiding but seeing Alaric crying of pain on the floor awoke something in her. In her chest a pressure started building and her body started to tremble.

-You’re going to die Alaric. Why not have a moment of peace before you go? Tell me where she is and I will kill you fast.

-Never…

-You and your stupid moral code. You really think that these people you defend are worth fighting for? That your filthy mudblood wife deserved a life?- The poison in the voice of Rabastan only increased when he saw how his brother was fighting the curse.- You refused to have a good life, to carry the honor of our family name, all of the glory that runs through our veins for what? A fair cause?

-I’ve never share our family beliefs…- Alaric’s voice was almost inaudible. Every inch of his body was in pain.

-Oh no, I know that very well…You and your choices throw dirt to our name ever since you decided to do the right thing.- Rabastan laughed, he kneeled in front of his brother and spoke to his face with anger.- You. Are. A. Traitor.- He spited in his face and kicked him in the stomach.

Right when Rabastan stood up the doors of the wardrobe opened up.

-Stop! Let him go!

Rabastan turned to look at the origin of the sounds and his eyes landed on a three year old. He sent the most horrifying smirk to Veronica and returned his attention to his brother.

-Found her.- He said to Alaric with a creepy smile.

Alaric looked at his daughter, she had her mother’s fire, her eyes were burning with anger and her breathing was accelerating. He knew what was gonna happen, and even though he was sure he wouldn't be able to see it, he knew for certain that his daughter was going to win that fight. While Veronica gave a regretful smile to her father for disobeying what he had told her earlier Rabastan’s wand emitted a green light and Alaric’s life left his body.

Veronica screamed and the window’s glass shattered. The light of the room became darker and everything started to shake. When Rabastan’s eyes returned to Veronica he could see clearly how the figure of a three year old transformed into a black cloud. A sudden strength pushed him to the ground and knocked the air from his lungs. Rabastan Lestrange couldn’t breath, his blood was burning and he wasn't able to do anything. He was sure that he would join his brother’s faith in any minute, but it didn’t happen.

-Same nightmare again?

Veronica put the glass down and turned to look at John. He had a tiring smile on his face and his hair was a mess due to having fallen asleep on the armchair of the living room. She tried to return the smile to the man who had raised her.

-I’d love for it to be a nightmare but we both know it isn’t.- Her voice was sweet, a perfect contrast with what was going on through her mind at that very moment.- It’s been the fourth time this week and I don’t like it. I feel like I’m losing control…

-It’s normal, given the times we live in. You don't have to worry, we’re gonna see Scamander and Dumbledore tomorrow.- John caressed Veronica’s cheek and she sighed.

-I’m afraid of it. I don’t want to loose control again, not like last time.

-You won’t do it. Try to rest. - He laughed at the bags under her eyes.- We have a long day ahead and I’m pretty sure you don’t want your first impression to be a bad one, and well, with that…- He pointed at her eyes and she whipped aways his hand.

-Fuck off…

Both John and Veronica laughed at her bluntness.

She did what he told her and decided to go back to bed. Tomorrow they’ll leave The States behind and go to England. The same journey that her parents did when she was born. The same moment in life. The same darkness over the world and the same determination to fight for what she believed in. Even almost the same group of people fighting by her side.

She only hoped for her destiny to be not the same as her parents.

#harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley #original character #death eaters #rach writes #wizarding war #lestrange #lestrange family #fanfic #fred weasley x oc

20 notes · View notes

pinktwingirl · 3 years

Text

Rats, Squirrels, and Unlikely Friends

A quick oneshot in which Squirrel Girl travels to the DC universe and meets Ratcatcher II. Enjoy! :) @oh-its-jennyyy

Doreen knew she wasn’t supposed to be doing this. Stark Industries’ prototype wormhole generator was strictly off-limits to anyone but authorized staff, and that certainly did not include Doreen. She was a new hire, fresh out of college. She didn’t belong in top-secret labs, tampering with cutting-edge technology that could alter the fabric of space and time as we knew it. And yet, there she was, hacking into the “supposedly” un-hackable security system to check it out when no one was working on it. (She was slightly more skilled in the firewall breaching and data encryption area than her supervisors were aware.)

Every cell in her body screamed at her to stop. God, what was she thinking?! If anyone caught a glimpse of her doing this, she’d be fired on the spot. But whether it was her unending curiosity or her stubbornness to blame, she kept going. She just couldn’t help it; the whole concept of wormholes and interdimensional travel was so cool! She only wanted to see what the thing could do and how far they’d come... and hey, maybe if there were any areas for improvements that she could offer ideas on-

The device, a tall, silver arch, suddenly illuminated in a bright white haze, with its center forming some sort of black void. She must have somehow turned it on by accident.

“Ohhhh shit...” she grumbled.

Frantically scrambling around to find an off-switch, Doreen quickly realized that there wasn’t one. In fact, there were no buttons or cord connectors on the device at all. Was it motion activated? Voice activated? Maybe thermally activated from body heat?

There was no time to find out. Before she could move or do anything, she felt her body pulled into the void, and everything went dark.

…

It took Doreen a while to fully process her surroundings when she regained consciousness. A bright light, that she assumed was the sun – or, at least, a sun, given that she was in a new universe – was shining in her eyes, and she had to blink a few times for her vision to adjust. She could feel hard gravel pressing on her protesting back, which begged her to sit up. When she did, she came face-to-face with a young woman posed in a defensive stance, ready to strike.

Doreen took a moment to size up her potential assailant. The woman had a small stature, much like her, with short, dark hair, a dirty black coat, and, most bafflingly of all, a rat sitting on her shoulder, which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. She certainly had a bit of an accent, although Doreen couldn’t quite place what it was. Not that it would really matter, though; countries could be entirely different in this world, assuming that this even was another Earth in the first place.

Well, at least people in this universe could still speak English. That would make communication easy.

“Umm...” Doreen got out. “Would you believe me if I said I was from another universe?”

Before the woman could respond, they both jumped when they heard loud squeaking behind them. Doreen was shocked to see her three faithful companions, Monkey Joe, Tippy-Toe, and Mr. Liebermann, bounding to her side.

“Wh-? What are you three doing here?! Did you follow me?” Tippy-Toe nodded and gave an enthusiastic chirp as Doreen stroked her back. “Oh, you silly squirrels... You know you’re not supposed to come to work with me...”

The dark-haired woman, much to Doreen’s surprise, was looking at her not with disgust or judgment, but instead wide-eyed wonder and fascination.

“Are these your... friends?”

“Huh? Oh! I guess it would be rude to skip introductions. These are my pet squirrels, Monkey Joe, Tippy-Toe, and Mr. Liebermann.” Doreen stuck out her hand. “I’m Doreen Green.”

Reaching her hand out as well, the dark-haired woman tentatively shook it, apparently having decided that Doreen wasn’t a threat. “Cleo Cazo. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too! So, um... yeah... I guess you’re... wondering where I came from?”

Cleo nodded.

“Well, so... the company I work for kind of built a wormhole generator that could transport people to alternate universes. And... I guess this place is one of them. Although, I actually wasn’t supposed to be messing with it. This was all a huge accident.” After a moment, she gave Cleo a sheepish grin. “I guess that must all be hard for you to believe, though...”

The rat on Cleo’s shoulder squeaked something into her ear, and she smiled. “No, it’s okay. Sebastian says you are telling the truth. He can sense that you are an honest and kind person!” The rat suddenly scurried to a patch of grass nearby to chew a dandelion off its stem and present it to Doreen. “Aww, look! He is offering you a flower as a token of his goodwill!”

Doreen giggled as she took the flower and put it in her hair. “Thank you, Sebastian! Would you like an almond?” Sebastian squeaked happily as she reached into her pocket and handed him his gift.

As Doreen stood up, Cleo was surprised to see a long, bushy tail extending from her backside. “Forgive me if this is a rude question, but... do all people in your universe have tails?”

“Oh, no. I’m actually the only one. I was born with altered DNA that made me part squirrel. They call me a mutant because of that. Do you have mutants here?”

Cleo shook her head. “I do not think so. I have heard of people born with altered DNA, but I have never heard the word ‘mutant’ used to describe them. Your powers are so cool, though! I wish I were part rat. But I don’t have any rat blood in me. I just communicate with them and tell them what to do.”

“That’s still pretty impressive! How do you do it?”

Cleo showed Doreen her rat-guiding light. “With this. My papa taught me how. He was the original Ratcatcher. When he passed away, I became his successor: Ratcatcher II.”

“That’s amazing!” Doreen smiled at Sebastian. “Do you mind if I pet him?”

“Not at all! Can I pet your squirrels?”

“Sure!”

The girls swapped rodents, with Cleo stroking Monkey Joe, Tippy-Toe, and Mr. Liebermann and Doreen scratching the head of a very happy Sebastian. After a moment of silent contemplation, Doreen spoke up again.

“I’ve never... met anybody like me. I mean... someone who talks to small rodents. It’s a really underrated ability!”

“I know, right? Everyone always thinks I am weird or gross.”

“You know, I never got why people hate rats so much. They’re so cute and fluffy! I mean, sure, they eat garbage, but it’s not their fault! They don’t have anything else to eat! What else are they supposed to do?”

“That’s what I keep saying!”

“So... are countries still the same in this universe? Is this the U.S.?”

“Yes, we have a United States. And a Portugal. That’s where I am from. Does your universe have a Portugal?”

“Yep! It sounds like we have all the same countries! That’s a relief.”

“But this is not American soil. We are in the Hispanic nation of Corto Maltese.”

“Oh... I guess it’s a good thing I ran into you, then, instead of the natives. I don’t speak a lick of Spanish.”

“Neither do I. I don’t live here.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Cleo pointed to what looked like the ruins of a tall building off in the distance. “Cleaning up that. The ruins of Jotunheim.”

“Jotunheim? You mean, like, the place where frost giants live?”

“What are ‘frost giants?’”

“Oh... you... don’t have those here? I have a friend who’s a frost giant, so I thought that’s what you were talking about.”

“Jotunheim was once a research laboratory. They used a giant alien starfish to conduct experiments with the creature’s mind control abilities. Many people died in the process, and the American government was behind all of it.”

“That’s horrible!”

“The government sent me with a team to cover it up. But when the monster got loose, we destroyed it instead. Now, we have to clean up the damage in the city. It is not as glamorous as saving the world, but no job is too menial for the Suicide Squad.”

“The ‘Suicide Squad?’ That’s what you guys call yourselves? That’s a pretty bleak name. See, I’m part of a team called The Avengers. Now, that’s a much better name."

“Well, it’s only a nickname. Our official codename is Task Force X.”

“You know, why does the letter X always make everything sound, like, ten times cooler? Like, ‘Task Force Y’ or ‘Task Force W’ just wouldn’t sound right, would it?”

Cleo giggled. “I guess not.” She handed the squirrels back to Doreen as Sebastian happily bounded back to her side.

“Well, this has been a real treat, but I should probably get back now,” Doreen laughed. “I don’t want to get-” She froze as she looked behind her, realizing that there was no wormhole device. “Oh... I... I don’t know how to get back... Oh no, this is bad...”

Cleo put a hand on her shoulder before she could start to panic. “Don’t worry! I’m sure my friends can help you figure something out! Let’s get you back to my teammates.”

The two walked down several blocks, where a tall man with heavy-duty armor and a walking shark were waiting for them. Cleo grinned at Doreen.

“Is seeing a giant shark with legs strange in your world?”

“Well, I’m friends with a talking tree and racoon, so, not really, to be honest.”

The tall man gave Doreen a weird look. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her tail or her last rather bizarre-sounding remark. Maybe both.

“Who is this?” he asked.

Doreen cheerfully stuck out her hand. “My name’s Doreen Green, also known as Squirrel Girl! I’m from another universe!” She paused. “It’s kind of a long story. I also need help getting back home now.”

The tall man tentatively shook her hand. “Robert DuBois. Or Bloodsport. I guess we can get you down to the science people if you really want to come with us.”

Doreen took a moment to peer at him. “You know, it’s weird... You look just like this guy one of my friends used to know. Would you happen to be related to a guy called Heimdall at all? Guardian of Asgard? Watchman of the Gods? Is that ringing any bells?”

After staring blankly at her for a moment, Bloodsport turned to Cleo. “Is this girl on drugs?”

“Excuse me! I most certainly am not!” Doreen protested. “It’s strictly against company protocol to be under the influence of any substances during work hours! And I’m technically still working!”

The shark suddenly pointed at the squirrels. “Nom nom!”

Cleo sighed. “No, Nanaue, that’s not nom nom. Squirrels are friends. Just like rats.” She patted the shark’s back as he gave a dejected slump. “We’ll get you food when you get back.”

Out of nowhere, Doreen suddenly felt a tingling sensation in her body. Moving of their own will, her legs suddenly starting stumbling backwards. Her squirrels instantly jumped on her shoulder, ready to protect their human from any harm.

“Hey, where are you going?” Bloodsport called.

“I...” Doreen got out. “I think the device is pulling me back!”

“You’re leaving now?!” Cleo shouted.

“I can’t stop it!” Doreen grabbed onto Cleo’s hand in a last-ditch moment of desperation. “Cleo! Take good care of Sebastian! And don’t ever let anyone underestimate you! Trust me, I learned the hard way! People think we’re weak because they don’t understand us... But you’re stronger than you th-”

Before she could finish, she was gone.

…

Doreen collapsed on the ground, her heart racing at the familiar tile patterns. She knew this laboratory! She knew this building! She was back!

Her excitement quickly faded when she realized that return would mean consequences. Yep, she was definitely fired...

Except... there was still no one in the lab. No one had come back. Doreen checked the time. 2:15. She’d only been gone for 5 minutes! She looked around in awe at the silent room. All she would have to do now was sneak out. Had she really gotten away with it?

Slipping out the door and quietly returning to her workstation, she did her best to ignore her coworker’s questions about why she took a fairly lengthy bathroom break and whether she knew what they were supposed to be doing, instead giving them quick, uninvolved answers. Her mind was on Cleo and that strange, strange universe. It was so different, and yet... so similar to hers. The multiverse was certainly big and daunting, but no matter what people found in it in the future, no matter what research lied ahead, she knew it would always give her one source of comfort:

She’d found a friend that was just like her.

4 notes · View notes

searchingforenadi · 4 years

Text

one step forward, two steps back

got slapped in the face by finals but we’re back again!

the brief summary: Your customers won’t stop bleeding in your shop. You realize this might be a problem. (second person!OC, TYL).

xxii.

You gnaw at your pen, glaring at the figures in your notebook.

Thanks to the rise in profits coming from a rather generous and possibly illegal source of customers, you’ve saved up enough to buy the electric mixer you’ve dreamed of.

At the same time, your mom had sent you a link to a taiyaki maker last night, and now you are very conflicted.

You can easily cover the cost of the taiyaki pan, plus the shipping, and have a lot leftover. In fact, it wouldn’t take much to recover the difference - you’d be ready to purchase that expensive, fancy mixer in no time at all.

But you’ve already waited so long for that mixer… !

A tan, scarred hand enters your line of sight, resting casually on top of your notebook.

You blink, before raising your eyes.

“Hey,” Yamamoto says, an easy grin on his lips. “I called for you a few times, but you looked pretty busy.”

The best way to respond, you think, is to act as if nothing has happened at all.

“Sorry,” you say, with a smile, and viciously stamp down on the mortification that you are slipping in your customer service. “The usual?”

“That’d be great,” Yamamoto says, laughter in his dark eyes. “What’s got you so distracted today?”

You consider your words as you cut a slice of tiramisu. How can you explain that your lust for taiyaki is so great, it’s hindering your ability to make your job easier?

“I’m stuck between getting two things,” you finally say, slipping the cake into a box. “I need one thing, but I really want the other. But I can’t get both at the same time.”

Yamamoto hums, exchanging some cash for the box of cake.

“You should just get what you need first,” he tells you seriously.

Your face drops instantly.

Yamamoto covers his mouth with a fist. “Pffft!”

Then, as if unable to hold it in anymore, he bursts into laughter.

At this point, months after first meeting him, you are fairly certain Yamamoto will not stab you out of nowhere.

Still, just in case (because you can still see the sword), you bravely endure the laughter.

“I’m, ha, I’m sorry,” Yamamoto finally says, once he’s recovered enough. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“That’s okay,” you say, rather gracefully. “It happens to the best of us.”

Yamamoto laughs again, his free hand resting by his sides.

“I guess it does,” he says, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes, and adds, “But actually, if I were you, I’d get what I want.”

You eye him carefully. When it’s clear there will be no more outbursts of laughter, you diplomatically say, “I’ll take your advice into consideration.”

Yamamoto chuckles. “That’s fair.”

“Do what makes you happy,” he then says, a thoughtful smile on his face. “That’s what my dad taught me when I was younger.”

You don’t know if a taiyaki pan will make you happy, but you imagine it certainly wouldn’t make you sad.

“That makes sense,” you say, your smile relaxing. “Thanks.”

“Anytime!” Yamamoto says, waving a hand and exiting the shop.

You look down at the long string of numbers on your notebook.

“Do what makes me happy,” you mutter quietly.

xxiii.

You’re wiping down a table when the door swings open.

“One moment!” you call, stacking the leftover plates and turning to the register. It’s Gokudera, hands shoved into his pockets, tie hanging loosely around his neck.

“Hi,” you say with a smile, walking around the counter and putting the plates down. “It’s good to see you again.”

Gokudera grunts, his eyes bloodshot and sunken. He slides over several bills.

“Two coffees,” he says, voice nearly cracking as if it hasn’t been used in days.

Instinct nearly has you getting started on the order, but you stop yourself just in time.

Instead, you look him up and down. No visible injuries, you note, but that’s what you thought last time and look what happened then.

Not blind to your casual inspection, Gokudera shifts slightly back, eyes narrowing. “What?”

You offer a smile. Mentioning your lack of faith in a possible gang member’s ability to stand up straight seems like a bad idea.

In a few minutes, you return back to the register and, before you pass over the drinks, you peer over the counter.

You’re relieved to find that Gokudera’s legs, at least, are free of any knives.

You straighten and hand over the coffee to Gokudera, who seems like he’s visibly holding back several words.

“I’ll see you later,” you say pleasantly, swallowing down the ‘with your body in one piece, please,’ that follows.

Gokudera clicks his tongue.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, as if he knows what you’re thinking, which you hope isn’t the case because that might mean you’re the one getting shanked next.

Gokudera eyes you for a moment longer. Then, as if the past few minutes had never happened, he exits the shop, his slouched silhouette casting shadows through the windows.

You let out a puff of air. Running a hand through your hair, you dump your dishes in the sink and get started on preparing for rush hour.

xxiv.

You cough into the crook of your elbow, nose twitching from the excess flour in the air. An old headband your dad once gave you when you were twelve, when he found a piece of your hair in his birthday cake, rests on your forehead.

“ - and then I punched him right in the jaw,” your dad says through the phone, his face uncomfortably close to the camera. “Just like how he deserved it.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, used to his old stories. Now, however, you’re far too aware of how much your dad might not have been exaggerating. “Did he get back up?”

You dad scoffs. “Of course not.”

You believe him, if only because your dad is built like a brick wall and somehow managed to not pass on any of genes onto you.

There’s a rustle of fabric and some distant voice calling in the back.

“And then I - what? Huh? Oh yeah, sure.”

“Your mom’s asking for you,” your dad then says, the camera wobbling in front of his face. Sternly, he asks, “But you’re hanging in alright?”

You smile.

“Yeah, I am,” you say, even if it’s not completely true. You imagine that telling your dad about the possible gang in your area would only encourage him. “I’ll call you again later, okay, Dad?”

He grunts, but a wordless answer is still an answer. The phone switches to your mom, her eyes wrinkling at you.

“Would you look at that,” your mom says, in English. “You actually got started on Grandma’s recipe?”

You glance down at your hands, the mochi sticking to your fingers. Small clumps covered in flour line your wooden board.

“It’s an ongoing process,” you try to say, switching to English just as easily. “I don’t have the right tools.”

“I can look around for those,” she says. “Your grandma might have extra.”

“That might help,” you say, although even with the right tools, you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to make mochi authentically.

“She asks about you, you know,” your mom continues, almost distractedly. There’s some weird sort of rustle in the background.

You pause.

“That’s nice,” you finally say, rolling another clump of mochi into a ball. From what you’ve heard, your grandma is a woman who has no patience for indecision - a terrifying thought, considering who you are, but you’ve never been able to find out for yourself.

It suddenly occurs to you that your mom probably talks with your grandma more often than you realize.

Their conversations are likely all in Japanese, which makes sense, because your grandma can’t speak one bit of English. You once tried speaking to her when you were thirteen and was only able to stutter out a hesitant hello.

“I’ll let you know what she says,” your mom continues, a sharp click letting you know she’s taking a picture of you, through your dad’s phone, using her own phone.

“Thanks,” you say, only to raise your head when someone knocks on your door. You check the time - it’s the early evening and you’re not expecting any visitors. “One second.”

(You’ve never actually had any visitors, really.)

You open the door, hesitantly, and peek out the door. There’s no one there, but at your doorstep, in a plain cardboard box, is -

A noise escapes your throat.

You grab the box and shut the door behind you, before walking quickly to your dinner table. Snatching a pair of scissors, you rip open the box and, very gently, pull out a metal pan covered in plastic wrapping.

“Is that what I think it is?” your mom’s muffled voice rings through.

You mumble out a response, unwrapping the taiyaki pan and holding it reverently in the air.

“I’ve reached the pinnacle of my career,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. “Nothing can get better than this.”

“Oh, please,” your mom says. You can hear her rolling her eyes. “Just don’t go overboard with it, okay?”

“I would never,” you tell her assuredly. After all, you’re an adult with great impulse control -

xxv.

You swallow down your fourth taiyaki for the night and, almost guiltily, look down at your batter.

It’s not the best you’ve ever had. Making taiyaki from scratch is, surprise surprise, not as straightforward as you would’ve hoped.

Even worse, frying the batter is a whole other skill you’ll have to work on. It’s completely different from crepes and you were a fool think that they’d be the same.

The bigger problem, you think, is that you’re starting to get sick of using nutella as a filling. It’s not a bad substitute for red bean paste, but what you want - what you need is anko.

It’s what you’re used to, what you used to eat with your mom after school on the way back home. It’s what you remember.

But where the hell are you going to find anko, here, in the middle of Italy?

You grumble under your breath and clean up the taiyaki pan, packing away the leftover batter for tomorrow.

The next day, early in the morning, you head over to the nearest grocery store. You’re not surprised to find that they, in fact, do not have anko.

You try the next store, then the next, then even the local farmer’s market.

It takes everything within you to push down the urge to scream.

What will it take, you think, already calculating the costs of having a box of anko shipped over from overseas.

It’ll get in the way of finally buying that electric mixer, but you’re not done chasing your childhood memories just yet.

xxv.

You spend the next few days furiously going over your options. Tragically enough, they’re rather limited.

You’re in the middle of looking up the cost of having azuki beans delivered to your doorstep - you’ll make the anko yourself if it gets down to it - when shadows dart across your floor.

You glance to the side, tearing away from your notebook, and find Lambo, hovering right outside your front door.

He seems - agitated. Or annoyed, even. By his side, with a stern face, stands Tsuna, arms folded and eyes narrowed.

Very politely, you turn away from the apparent scolding and back to your numbers. You assume they’ll come in eventually if they want.

You tap your fingers on the countertop. The thought of having to make your own anko is nerve wracking. You’d have to boil the beans, mash them up, add in sugar - the margin for error is as wide as the ocean.

You start adding up the shipping fees anyways. As it turns out, your lust for taiyaki goes farther than you had originally anticipated.

The door abruptly opens, sending a gust of wind through the air. You look up to see Lambo bursting into the store with gritted teeth.

You stare at him, his shoulders set and tense, before slowly closing your notebook.

Tsuna follows close by, handling the door much more gently, an apologetic grimace already on his face.

“Hi,” you say politely. At this point, you’re very familiar with Lambo’s tastes, so you also add, “We have raspberry cheesecake today.”

For a moment, Lambo’s eyes flash brightly - his hair, you notice, is more mangled than usual. You can almost see static running through the strands.

Then, you blink, and that moment is gone. Lambo’s shoulders relax slightly and he rests his hands behind his head.

“Cheesecake would be great,” he says, pointedly not looking in Tsuna’s direction.

“Uh-huh,” you say, already pulling the cake from the display. Your eyes slide over to Tsuna, who offers a half-hearted smile.

Yikes, you think, not envious of Tsuna’s position. You imagine his hands are quite full trying to handle someone like Lambo.

You add in another slice without another word, packing them away into a cardboard box.

“And for you?” you ask Tsuna. You pass the box over to Lambo, who accepts it with careful hands, a pleased smile on his face.

Tsuna hesitates, visibly, and that’s when you remember the conversation that had started the previous fiasco.

You’ve survived this long because you’re a quick learner. So, you pull out your stash of dango and hand it over.

“Consider it an apology for last time,” you tell him, when he tries to protest your sudden gift. You’re a business owner and that means you’re familiar with the concept of investment.

“You really don’t have to,” Tsuna tries to say, awkwardly holding onto your tupperware.

“It’s for my own conscience,” you answer.

You’re determined to snag more well-paying regulars, so, with a smile, you add on, “One day, I’ll have something here you’ll definitely want to eat.”

Tsuna tightens his grip on the tupperware. He looks down at the packed dango, almost resignedly, before smiling warmly.

“I’ll look forward to it,” he tells you, handing over some cash for Lambo’s cake.

You turn to Lambo, who’s eyebrows have risen so high, they reach his hairline. “I’ll have some more for you tomorrow if you want.”

Lambo drags his eyes away from Tsuna to look at you.

“That would be great!” he says, a suspicious hint of something coloring his voice. You barely manage to stop the urge to squint at him.

You’re giving Tsuna his change when your elbow accidently grazes your notebook.

Like a lightbulb turning on in the dusty attic of your mind, you remember that your current customer is very Japanese. Maybe even delicately Japanese. Which means -

You just might be able to find locally-sourced anko after all.

Your mouth opens and closes. How are you going to ask? Would someone like Tsuna even know? Asking about ingredients is a pretty harmless subject, right?

Tsuna pauses.

“Something the matter?” he asks mildly, hazel eyes studying you more carefully than before.

Your hunger for proper taiyaki gives you the motivation you need.

“I’ve been looking for anko,” you say quickly, before your nerves get to you. “Do you know where I could get some?”

“Anko, huh?” Tsuna asks, saying the single word easily, like a native, like your mom. For a split-second, you envy his ease in the culture you’ve never chased.

He hums thoughtfully, shifting the tupperware to his side.

“I’m not the one who usually grabs the groceries,” he thinks aloud, bringing a hand to his face. “I know we get a lot of Japanese products in the open market to the east.”

You blink, mind already scrambling to figure out where that might be.

“Here,” Tsuna says, reaching inside his suit jacket and pulling out a pen. He gestures to your notebook. “Can I?”

“Uh, sure,” you say, flipping past your hastily written numbers and to a new page.

WIth one hand still carrying your dango, Tsuna quickly sketches out the main roads and circles a spot to the east. He jots down more information on the side.

“They’re open Saturday mornings,” he tells you, pocketing his pen. “There’s a section there dedicated to selling East Asian products.”

You lift up your notebook and bring it closer to your face. You’ve never visited that side of the town before - you never had to.

It’s a long walk from your apartment but this is more than what you could’ve hoped for.

(You can almost taste the taiyaki from your childhood.)

“Thank you,” you say, lips curving into a smile and warmth filling your throat. “This is really helpful.”

“Uh,” Tsuna starts to say, before clearing his throat once. He smiles. “No problem. Anytime.”

They leave soon after. Tsuna takes long strides to the door and Lambo, suspiciously quiet, is a little too slow to hide the gleeful grin plastered on his face. The pair turn to the right toward your windows.

You smile when Tsuna ruffles Lambo’s hair. They seem to converse a moment longer before Tsuna lays out a hand.

It’s nice, you think, watching as Lambo sighs before reaching into his pockets and pulling out a -

Your smile remains frozen in place.

There’s a flash of metal and Tsuna tucks the object away into his own suit. It’s done in one smooth action, as if it had never happened in the first place.

They disappear into the streets not a moment later.

You’re just seeing things, you think to yourself, as another part of your mind screams bloody murder, because you’re pretty sure you just saw -

Kids carry random things all the time, you then try to reason. It’s a trick of the light. You’re just seeing things.

“I’m just seeing things,” you say, your voice cracking in the dead silence in your store.

It’s easier to think that you’re losing your mind rather than the alternative, which is that your teenage regular has somehow gotten his hands on a bloody gun -

The door opens to another customer.

You give your customary greeting and, after politely asking for a moment, slink back into the kitchens.

Snatching the nearest towel, you smash it against your face and let out a muffled scream.

Then, as if nothing had happened, you toss the towel to the side and walk back to the front.

-o-o-o-o-o-

tsuna: lambo, what do u have there?

lambo: a gun! :D

tsuna: nO!

the title for today’s chapter comes from the success of having no blood (yay!) but instead, MC has to deal with teenagers handling illegal weapons (nay...).

‘anko’ is a very real filling that’s used in countless asian desserts. it means ‘red bean paste’ and made from azuki beans - it’s sweet and comes in different textures.

‘taiyaki’ is a fried waffle dish shaped like a fish, and can have different fillings inside (ice cream, chocolate, anko). it’s made from a special pan to hold the mold together - it’s one of my favorite dishes and i have indeed done some unsavory things to get my hands on one hot off the press.

we have all our main characters showing up today! you might even consider this a filler chapter, but in actuality we’re just building up to the next ‘main’ part. i hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!

#katekyo hitman reborn #fanfic #sawada tsunayoshi #gokudera hayato #yamamoto takeshi #lambo bovino #searchingforenadi #the longer this gets #the more i fear putting a title to it #here! take my dumbass brand of humor! take it all!

73 notes · View notes

culturedsociety · 3 years

Text

Culture Talks with Carolyn Blackmon

Carolyn, in English meaning Joy and Song of Happiness.

Over the last decade she’s been on a journey of healing and transformation. It’s been Incredible to look back and see how beauty does actually flourish through the ashes. What happened in her life; most definitely was birthed out of struggles, hardships, loss, depression, despair, and hopelessness. Looking back at her experiences and being In complete awe because of it. Her faith and belief in God changed when she realized that “the Creator Is ultimately in control and has the ability to take what Is broken and make It brand new.”

Her life verse Is Isaiah 61:1-3 “The spirit of the sovereign Lord Is upon me because the Lord has appointed me to provide for those who grieve, to bestow on them a crown of beauty Instead of ashes, the oil of gladness Instead of mourning, and a garment of praise Instead a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the lord for the display of his splendor.”

In her early twenties, she was extremely lost. Battling a severe eating disorder, alcoholism, depression, and sadness. She worked and pursued many things to distract herself from reality and to try to fill voids. The more destruction that she caused to her body, mind, and spirit’ the harder life became. One day after a big awakening, she had to make the choice and ask herself the hard question “Carolyn Do you want to live?” She knew at that very moment; she was not living, she was just surviving.

She made the bold decision to pack her car and move alone from WI to AZ. The land of the sun became a place of healing for her. She found yoga there. She began her vegan plant based eating, and learned to nourish her body again after starving it for so long of vital nutrients it needed to thrive. She found joy through volunteering and serving. She found god again and was re-baptized. But most importantly, found her self again.

Reflecting back to Fall of 2015 when she lost her best friend and mother to Cancer. It was as though her entire world and perspective changed about the value and gift that each day offers. She started to travel more and continued doing mission work that her mother supported the few years before she passed. She began seeking more and wanting more lead to healing the parts of her that were still broken.

In 2017, she traveled to Hawaii for her first yoga teacher training; which led her to step into a more passion and purposed filled path. This became a daily mission and allowed her the ability to circulate her gifts more responsibly. Her hope is to bless lives and help others heal, love, grow, and live their best life. To inspire them to live a life that brings an Abundance of joy, fulfillment, and higher purpose.

Take a deep dive into Carolyn’s mind:

RM: What is your Life’s Philosophy? CB: (Philosophy is an overall vision or attitude toward life and the purpose of it. Human activities are limited by time and death). I believe that we were all created in the image of God and we are each placed on Earth with our own individual and unique purpose. We are here to connect with nature, humans, animals, and to enjoy all of what God has created. We are here to not only soak in the beauty and light and spread it to others but to also use the darkness (whether it be our own struggles, lessons learned, trails, pain, suffering, etc) and use it to Glorify God? What does that mean? To use the wisdom gained, lessons learned, and the power of our testimony and story to shine the light of awareness upon all giving birth to Hope and helping others receive the healing power of Forgiveness.

RM: How has that philosophy evolved over the years? CB: Yes. I tell people that there was a line I drew that separated my old life and my new life. My old life included a long season of walking down the wrong path that ultimately was leading me down into hole. When I fell on my knees and surrendered and “woke” up. It hit me that I wasn’t living the life God planned for me. I was doing many things that I do believe helped me grow and get educated and led me to where I am today. I was drowning in depression, shame, low self esteem, and I didn’t practice self love.

Moving to AZ was the acceleration I needed to begin my rebirth process. I began serving others and finding joy in giving back for it made me realize that others had it harder than myself. I had a lot to be grateful for that I took for granted. Fast forward a few more years and I lost my Beloved Mother to Cancer. It made me realize that there is no time to waste. We are not promised tomorrow. We have a responsibility. Going through that loss changed my perspective on life and our time here on Earth.

I felt urgency. I felt my calling knocking on the door. I had to loose to gain so much more. I feel that my philosophy included being a good person, and working for what you want was so general….but over the years it’s evolved and things have been added and my life’s philosophy has gotten so complex. Creation. Calling. Service. Travel. Community. Collaboration. Healing. Purpose Filled Life

RM: How has your upbringing and circle of influence impacted the way you live and think about life today? CB: I grew up in a loving Christian home. My family members on both sides had good morals in their and the way they lived their lives was simple and consistent. I spent a lot of time in the Church. My parents Marketing business taught me so much as a young adult and I really absorbed a lot of it. My Grandpa Bood was my giver of Wisdom.

My circle of influence has really shifted in the last few years to be non-family members. Those that are where I want to be and who are doing what I am doing in their own way with their own talents. My circle of influence has been students, strangers, people I have met on travels, social media, and those that are in my tribe. It’s interesting to see how my relationships have changed and the type of people I have attracted and also been gravitated towards has changed as I have evolved and transformed and grown. My inner work has changed the way I function in relationships and I am still exploring how to have healthy boundaries as one who tends to be naïve, vulnerable, and who pours her heart and soul into everything.

RM: Do you believe that your line of work infects our society with positivity? How so? CB: When I am doing my work as a yoga instructor I try my best to step into the spaces where I am Leading classes and spread good energy that is uplifting and positive but I also know that people arrive on their mat with all different things that they are struggling with and going through and I never want to diminish that. I try to share themes that are relevant and helpful and inspiring because I really want everyone who interacts with me to leave with something that they can take with them. When they gain and grow and are blessed then so am I.

When I nanny and work with kids they give me an abundance of Joy and so I always try to pour back into the parents and thank them for the opportunity to enter into their home and spend time with them. I’ve worked jobs where felt like at the end of the day I was complaining about what I had to deal with or contend with and then I would wake up in a bad mood and that’s really a horrible cycle. I am thankful grateful that I am now an Independent Contractor and get to choose who I work with so that makes it easier but aside from that we all have a choice to make in regards to our attitude!

RM: How do you stay relevant, unique, and true to who you are as a person? CB: Let go of Comparison. It’s interesting because over the years as I became more at rest and confident in who I was and accepting of who God created me to be it made it easier to accept my path which is a lot different than many as well as accept my timeline which was not what I anticipated. I have started to become more of my own person….my tendencies and quirks have come to the surface unapologetically. Yes I am still Single…Yes I get excited over the Big Bowl Of Greens I eat everyday. My music selection changes drastically with my Mood. I could care less about TV and Material items….and I could go on and on.

The morning ritual I do sets the tone for my day. I tap into a passage or quote and scripture that I need to tell myself it’s like a treasure hunt and I get my coffee fix and take the time I need for myself and that way I’m more grounded and not shaken up or swayed or torn up by whatever may come at me and I feel that has given me the opportunity to respond better and hold my ground and keep healthy boundaries. I use to operate on not enough sleep and being stressed and hurried and then I would cave in to many things that ultimately didn’t serve myself or others well.

RM: Do you believe that the work you do everyday is aligned with your calling and higher purpose? CB: Absolutely and I want more and I am committed to continue to learn and grow and gain a deeper understanding and have more knowledge in the realm of yoga. The more spaces and places I enter and the more people that I connect and collaborate with the more lives I can touch and the more inspired I will be. This last year I started to share my content on a podcast and that was something I never imagined I would do and for a girl that use to be incredibly shy I never thought I would be on the stages I am on. It blows my mind and I am soooo appreciative.

What practices do you implement to stay grounded and divinely connected to self? CB: Guided Meditation. Yoga Nidra. Yoga. Nature. Travel. Writing. Music. Sharing wisdom with the world. Dancing. Music. Balance Healthy Clean Eating. Sharing Feelings and openly communicating with my support system. Spending a lot of time alone, while remaining connected with others.

Connect with Carolyn: Facebook Instagram

Collaboratively Written by: Carolyn Blackmon and Rebecca Muñoz

Grow this Channel & Circulate the energy of LOVE by donating: Paypal Cash app Venmo

#podcast #veganism #freedom #lifestyle #conversation #nomad #alignment #humanitarian #goodhumans #faith #mindset #empower #womeninspire

6 notes · View notes

nimblermortal · 4 years

Text

Some Further Old Guard Liveblogging

#OH MAN BOOKER'S SMIRK WHEN MERRICK REFUSES TO COME CLOSER TO ANDROMACHE#THAT IS THE SMIRK OF 'I see Yusuf headbutted you already'

#also also I cannot deal with Merrick's suits with hoodies on them#they're so terrible#what a fantastic piece of villain costuming I hate him for that alone

#OH MAN THAT POOR DOCTOR#STUCK IN A ROOM WITH FOUR BICKERING IMMORTALS#FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE#man if Nile hadn't come along her life woulda suuuuuuuucked#Nicoló was trying his best at that anyway#apparently Merrick Pharmaceuticals comes equipped with semi-automatic rifles but not gags

man their card readers work really well and fast. I am impressed. I have... not had this luck with card readers. They usually blink a few times and take a few tries. (Also, nobody uses card readers anymore? I’m not even in that critical of an industry and we have the beepy key fob things. That respond to badges.)

As Nile enters the lab... Yusuf: what the heck where did this come from Nicoló: eh? I do not know that this is a good turn of events Andy: breathlessly happy to see her Booker: oh how my sins have revisited me

It continues to bother me how Nile breaks into the lab and goes straight for the one who’s not immortal and who has the least ability to cope with the situation, given that she’s already injured; and then stands there and talks to her when she could be letting someone else loose to deal with the four shooters at the door that she just mentioned. Just. Free one hand on each of them and then get on to releasing all the bonds on your favorite!

Yeah, keep standing there with your motivational speeches and your NOT RELEASING PEOPLE WHO WILL ACTUALLY HELP YOU, I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN

Andy, who is not an absolute idiot, releases one of Nicoló’s arms as her first action and then moves on. Nicoló, who is also not an idiot, immediately rolls over and begins releasing the rest of himself, which is the SANE THING TO DO, NILE, YOU’RE AN IDIOT

Booker: No, you should just leave me here Andy: This is an intervention.

Andy, heading for the door: Let’s get this motherfucker Everyone else, aware she is now mortal: <suddenly falls in ahead of her and does not let her take point as she is prone to doing>

Andy’s labrys is such a prop weapon, it looks weirdly light and also fiberglass. I could be wrong! I don’t know about these things! but I think it’s a functional reproduction, not something she’s had for a while.

Andy is Mom Friend, looking after her little gang. Yusuf is Dad Friend, worrying too much.

Nile: Andy! It is I, meat shield! Nicoló: Oh, that’s a good idea.

You know, they really oughtn’t be speaking English in combat situations. This would be a great time to be using a dead language, effectively enabling you to say exactly where you’re going without your enemy understanding it. (Or Nile. But they’ve got Nile.)

“Shit! Jammed!” is where Nicoló needs to be there to mutter in baleful Ligurian about combat teams and palises.

They really shoulda killed that guy on the ground... nobody needs to know they exist, or what they can do.

I should tell Hyacinth about the throw at 1:44.

Nile has such a nice face.

“I think you showed up when I lost my immortality” well you’re wrong. You been stabbed and healed since then. Also puts paid to my theory that it gave out when you said you were done and not interested in trying to help people anymore. It just is what it is; humans try to assign meaning and stories to thinks, but at the end of the day, it’s all quantum.

NILE IS SO SHORT BUT NICOLÓ IS THE ONE SITTING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BACK SEAT (if anyone cares for fic: Yusuf has shotgun, Nicoló in the back seat middle, Andy is driving, Nile behind Yusuf and Booker behind Andy. Is there any advantage to this? None that I see. Except that Yusuf was in front so he had the opportunity to claim shotgun, and Booker is a filthy traitor who doesn’t deserve the front seat. Nile is new and I don’t know what Nicoló’s excuse is except that it’s easiest to reach the front seat from the middle of the back seat, and everyone assumes Andy will get to sit in the front, so this puts Nicoló in position to get hands on either of them as needed.)

I have no idea why we are expected to care about the pewter-topped bars at the pub they choose to go to.

“There’s not much to decide, it’s not like they can kill me.” Yusuf stares through the window as if he is contemplating exactly that; Booker can’t find an acceptable face to make back at him.

“You’re a good kid” is such a patronizing thing to say to someone, it really emphasizes both how young Nile is and how much younger she is than the rest of them. Also, I will never understand how Booker’s being a bad parent means no one should go see their family while they’re still alive.

Yeah, Yusuf is not satisfied with this arrangement, Nicoló considers it the right thing to do whether it is satisfying or not, and Nile hates hurting people.

Also, given that I headcanon that Andy is cursed to be an atheist surrounded by stubbornly faithful people, “Have a little faith, Book” is a great line. Like. Andy has made her position on religion clear, but at least Nicoló has at one point in his life been committed to religious ideals. The other two - well, I have my own thoughts about how Yusuf interacts with his faith, but it’s just hilarious if Booker is also stubbornly Catholic, for his own journey and so that Andy can be all, “Every time we get a new immortal I explain to them how we are cursed, there is no god, our existence is proof of the whims of the world triumphing over any sort of divine plan, and every time they just hold out! Nicoló is laughing at me!” and she tries doing this to Nile and none of the others are quite laughing out loud, but Nicoló has very expressive smirks, okay? And then you take that background and apply it to Booker saying he’ll never see her again and Andy choosing the last thing she says to him to be, “Have a little faith“ - this thing she has been denying, giving him this as a recognition, he’s spent all movie starving for her recognition as she just gives him tasks, so she recognizes him and this thing they don’t share but that she’s now offering value to, and hey, as long as he’s believing in illogic, he might as well have some in her, right? or in technology and medicine? it’s not all that important how it plays out, but for her to grant this concession to him is... magnanimous in a satisfying way, if you headcanon all of the aforesaid.

Aww, Yusuf is the unsatisfied one but he’s also the one who stays watching Booker for the longest. And he’s the only one who looks back.

:( the German is too blurred for me to read this passport, but I really want to see if there’s any justifying Yusuf being named Joseph Jones and nationality (?) Deutsch. But even if that’s so - which is conceivable - I want to know why both Hamburg and Frankfurt are on his passport. Mine doesn’t have any cities on it at all - but then again, I’ve had friends ask me to get my passport out just to demonstrate how funny American passports are. (Most countries are like “ah yes, we need blank pages to stamp visas and entries/exits on. The US of A goes, “what if our blank pages had dramatic pictures of the biomes of the continental US and inspirational quotes across the tops?” Make your own arguments about American exceptionalism, patriotism, conspicuous consumption...)

THEY WERE AT THE FALL OF THE BERLIN WALL GOOD FOR THEM also just a weird place for them to be, that incident was. So much a mistake. So much spontaneous. And it’s a weird time to be smuggling people across the wall (and very difficult to do, and. There are better things for immortal soldiers to do with their time at this point). So like. Good for them, I bet that was an endorphin surge, but weird that they were there.

Awwww, Nicoló’s little “I knew we were trying to do good, it is nice to have confirmation that it works sometimes” smirk

It’s a nice speech, Andy, but what you’re actually saying to Copley is, “Booker was our computer/intel guy and we kicked him out, so we need you to do his job and possibly train Nile in it”

I know by “ether” she means like. Internets. But. I love imagining them as just old sometimes, and not always keeping up with all the right things. And having her mean, “When we leave a footprint in the luminiferous aether” because she honestly still believes that light needs a medium to travel in and it’s just never come up as relevant to correct that assumption, she’s proud of being well-read in science a hundred years ago - well, that’s wonderful.

Aww, Copley got a Nicoló smirk. And I think Yusuf sensed it, though he could not possibly have seen it.

Aaaaand scene with Booker drunk and unhappy in Paris, so what else is new to Paris. Spray your glass all over public spaces, it’ll improve the general cleanliness of the surfaces. And Quynh is probably going to show up in Nile’s room shortly, I bet she’s just tired of dreaming of them. I... honestly don’t know that I like the idea of a sequel. Franchises leave a lot of room for making things worse. There’s a lot of open space in this movie, but that’s where I like to put my fanfiction.

#the old guard #Nimblermortal liveblogs #Nimblermortal tags TOO LITTLE AND TOO LATE #this post will update until I get to the end of the movie #which is not much further now #let me just rewind and see each of their expressions as Nile comes in

14 notes · View notes

alun-ura · 4 years

Text

LFRP : Skaði Askrtytär

THE BASICS ––– –

Age: 78

Birthday: 16th Sun of the 6th Umbral Moon

Race: Rava, Viera

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Pansexual

Relationship Status: Single

Server: Balmung (Crystal)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––– –

Hair: A long, pitch black mane adorned by messy locks and braids; it’s either kept in a pony-tail or loose.

Eyes: Bright magenta, blackened sclera on her right eye.

Height: 6′0″

Build: Curvy, toned/taut with long legs.

Distinguishing Marks & Common Accessories: Her whole body is covered by bright pink tattoos, that seem to be aetherical. She also wears a skull mask at all times that covers the right side of her face, and rarely takes it off.

PERSONAL ––– –

Profession: Heretic advisor, diviner, necromancer.

Hobbies: People watching, gambling, drinking, relic hunting.

Languages: Common, Dravanian, Doman, Thavnarian

Residence: Ul’dah, can be found anywhere though.

Birthplace: Golmore Jungle.

Religion: The Ashen Tree.

Patron Deity: The Watcher.

Fears: Failing in her mission, vulnerability, detachment.

RELATIONSHIPS ––– -

Spouse: None.

Children: None.

Parents: Fannon (Mother), Verre (Father).

Siblings: Chul (Younger sister), Thev (Younger sister)

Other Relatives: None.

Pets: None.

TRAITS ––– -

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ––– –

Smoking Habit: Regular Drugs: Regular Alcohol: Regular

RP HOOKS ––– –

Herectic Advisor: Strange rumors were emerging among the nobles of all city states and the underground, of some audacious magic covert but deliberately occurring at that same place and time. That reckless act was to recover the long gone. A heresy, some would claim ― and yet all of their hearts were claiming to be chosen. There was no specific pattern, except the number of riches you’d carry, and how much you’d offer. (Skadi has a reputation among the rich specifically, though she still keeps a low profile by choosing her clients carefully - anyone that has interest on her skills and can afford her prices are welcome.)

Wanderer: Despite her current life of riches, Skadi doesn’t limit herself to a gilded cage - it’s common to find her wandering in the surroudings of all city states, or wherever her mask might guide her to. She might be interested on the visions of someone seen there, or some kind of long-forgotten artifact. (Skadi seems to be in search of some specific artifacts, she takes the time to stroll around to commune with her god, and to try and find any rumour, or vision of the items she seeks that were scattered across the world, though some are still kept somewhere in Golmore jungle.)

The Ashen Tree: Her homeland, and tribe - though she is considered an exiled, she still keeps her tribe name, and acts on its behalf, for its ancients. Her deeds are all for the sake of her elders, to keep with her ancients’ legacy and belief. Her acts are not welcome or well-seem for her sisters, nor the neighbouring villages - and some of those might be looking for her still. (The Ashen Tree is a tribe of my own making, Skadi damaged it throughly when she left but they still stand and scowl at her, making opportunities to any hunter who might be interested to aid them or be part of them. I’m all willing to let people know about its culture and make characters within it, if discussed first.)

Underground: Her reputation follows her amongst the darker corner of the cities, though she doesn’t seek for much discretion among those - especially when she’s in need of any resource that might come in handy, or anything that might spark her interest. (Skadi is in a constant search for people, vessels that can be used as how she sees fit, and any strange object that has gotten attention. She’ll use all kinds of connections to get what she wants, be it from slavery to simple rumours.)

What I’m Looking For ––– –

Companions to aid her in her goal.

Rivals, anyone that’s not fond of her abilities or hunting her.

Connections, she needs many kinds of resources, be it people or simple ingredients, to information.

Heavy/dark themed RP.

Additional OOC information ––– –

I’m online most of the time except nights (can be worked on though, but be patient) (GMT-3), I do both discord and in-game RP, but please have in mind that English is not my main tongue, and I can be a bit slow while RPing in game in order to have a nice post and such, though I’m getting better at that please bear with me or let’s just do Discord instead!

I’m all for dark/mature RP with Skadi, and I’m not against fluff/light things but Skadi is a difficult character, where she can just sit and chill with someone but she definitely won’t engage in certain activities if she won’t get anything out of it. (Regarding heavy injury and other consequences, I think just about anything is oki, if discussed first.)

Contact Information ––– –

You can DM me here on Tumblr, in-game (Balmung), or via discord! (Alun#1949)

#ffxiv #ff14 #ffxiv rp #crystal lfrp #ff14 rp #lfrp #crystal dc #balmung #:Of Forgotten Gods:

52 notes · View notes

terrusw-blog · 4 years

Text

Do some eaters bend the rules?

Ye have never envied any one; ye taught others. Now I desire that those things may be confirmed [by conduct], which in your instructions ye enjoin [on others]. For if I be truly found [a I may also be called one, and be then deemed faithful, when I no longer appear to the world.

Cheap Jerseys from china In early September, Dodd and his mother, Dinella, were planning to visit Notre Dame, cheap jerseys but an airline strike forced them to cancel. Instead, they drove to Penn State Quaison now plays at nearby Lehigh. The Dodds watched the Penn State Southern Miss. Cheap Jerseys from china

cheap nfl jerseys Meanwhile, his team wasn't winning championships. The one World Series they did make was in 2002, when Bonds misplayed a fly ball just minutes after Dusty Baker had disastrously pulled Russ Ortiz. He was a direct contributor to the team's demise in that game (although he batted .471 and walked 13 times in that series, wholesale nfl jerseys while also hitting four home runs). cheap nfl jerseys

wholesale jerseys from china "We could turn up against Munster next week and get a hiding; we could turn up as underdogs and the unknown and win," Hartley said. And with the straightest face this side of a Caesars Palace poker table, he answered "don't know who they are" to a mention of Munster's Lions locks Paul O'Connell and Donncha O'Callaghan. Good on you, Dylan. wholesale jerseys from china

cheap jerseys The council still needs a basketball tournament director, a girls lacrosse commissioner and a new treasurer Cheap Jerseys free shipping. Treasurer Carla Ridgeway has started a new job and must relinquish her post. Arundel High School is sponsoring its annual youth soccer night today. cheap jerseys

wholesale nfl jerseys The Samsung Galaxy S is a powerful smartphone, some would consider just as powerful as a computer. One thing to remember is that there are malicious users always looking to make an extra buck. The best way to stop yourself from ending up with a virus is to install a piece of antivirus software. wholesale nfl jerseys

cheap jerseys Cho happily twirls with one of the jerseys and it looks like she's going to make a purchase until she checks the price tag. Her bubble bursts and she sighs softly and neatly folds the jersey before placing it back on the rack. "I guess after I get the new broom. www.cheapjerseyschinatrade.com" she says firmly and resolutely as she starts heading towards Harry's way.. cheap jerseys

cheap nfl jerseys Get daily updates directly to your inbox+ SubscribeThank you for subscribing!RUPERT Murdoch's wife Wendi Deng proved she was better than any bodyguard when she leapt to protect her husband during Tuesday's House of Commons hearing.When self styled comedian Jonnie Marbles real name Jonathan May Bowles tried to shove a shaving foam pie into the 80 year old tycoon's face, it was Wendi, 43, who was first to her feet to slap away his arm then hurl the empty paper plate after him in fury as the cops led him away.Interestingly www.cheapjerseyschina8.com, the second quickest person to defend Murdoch was a senior lawyer at News Corporation, Jane Nova, and the first person to react on the select committee was MP Louise Mensch. It seems that when it comes to protecting and defending, women's instincts are far more deadly than men.Social psychologist Sandra Wheatley said: "This is not the kind of thing there is a lot of scientific research into but one of the things that has been noted through observation is that women are far more responsive and observant than men."This is thought to be linked to the fact that traditionally, historically and evolutionarily, women have been the ones who have been responsible for babies and young children."As we all know, they are loose cannons and are likely to fall off walls and climb up trees. It has been shown many, many times that women react and respond much more quickly than men."They are simply much more likely and much quicker to intervene when they see danger."It is just the way we are wired, in much the same way that women in general are much more verbose than men, while men are seen as having better spatial abilities."I know from my own experience that if my two year old daughter is about to slide off the back of the sofa, it is likely to be me or her grandmothers who react while her dad watches Sky Sports."There is certainly plenty of anecdotal evidence to show that a mother's drive to protect her children is the most powerful heroic instinct in humans.American mum Cindy Parolin showed no hesitation when her six year old son was attacked by a cougar. cheap nfl jerseys

Cheap Jerseys china But they also probably wouldn want to be judging Joey Chestnut. And among the circuit, www.cheapjerseysfromchinasale.com there always talk. Do some eaters bend the rules? Do they eat messy on purpose, or inadvertently? Does somebody deserve a deduction? Did anybody have a Reversal of Fortune [the official MLE term for puking], which is an automatic disqualification? Now, Joey Chestnut happens to be a very clean eater. Cheap Jerseys china

wholesale jerseys from china Analyze all the data and statistics on your site carefully. You'll want to know where your users are headed when they leave any given page. Where do they go within your site next? If you see a pattern, develop on that and include links at the bottom of each post to that particular destination to make it as easy a visit as possible for your users.. wholesale jerseys from china

nfl jerseys SubscriptionsGo to the Subscriptions Centre to manage your:My ProfileA sign with the word "Czechia" is printed on a t shirt displayed in a store in Prague, Czech Republic, Thursday, April 14. The country is set to change its name to Czechia in English. (Petr David Josek/The Associated Press)The Czech Republic's leaders have chosen "Czechia" as the one word alternative name of their country to make it easier for companies, politicians and athletes to use on products, name tags and jerseys.The choice, agreed on Thursday evening by the president, prime minister, heads of parliament and foreign and defence ministers, must still win cabinet approval before the Foreign Ministry can lodge the name with the United Nations and itbecomes the country's official short name.The Czech Republic emerged, along with Slovakia, from the peaceful breakup of the old Czechoslovakia in 1993 nfl jerseys.

1 note · View note

justgottafinishthischapter · 5 years

Text

An Example in World Building

Not long ago, I put out a post on The Five Visitors, a guide of tricks and tips on world building. However, something I see a lot of writing blogs do that I don’t understand is that they give advice without giving a proper example and showing you how to use the steps they showed you. So, I’m going to take my own advice. I’m going to come up with a loose concept and workshop it into a functioning world using my system.

So the first step is creating an interesting world. I like the Warriors Cats series and I happen to be a cat person, so I think I’d like to try to work with this idea. I want to make a fantasy world inhabited by sentient cats that live together in a society. And a way of making it more interesting, big cats like lions, tigers, and leopards are considered to be the nobility and upper class, while housecats are the common people.

Okay, so now my world has a loose concept. I have sentient cats. The first visitor I’d be welcoming on my fantasy land is The Biologist. He’ll come to me with questions like: Do the cats walk on four legs or two? Do they have opposable thumbs? Where do they fall in terms of anthropomorphism? I think for my setting, I’d like them to be able to walk upright but also on all fours, they have something akin to an opposable thumb, and they’re basically just cats with higher thought and the ability to speak. They still have night vision, are able to squeeze through small openings, use their whiskers to balance, and still have claws. And with cats as sentient animals, are other animals anthropomorphized? I’d say yes. There’s no such thing as “a mindless animal” in my world except possibly humans. But I haven’t decided if they’re included in my world.

Okay, so I just brought in one of the extra people that’s not formally a part of the main Five, but it was relevant to an aspect of the story, understanding the biology of my non-human species. So next I’ll move on to History. The Lions have always been the ruling species of the cat culture from Leonidas the Undaunted to Aleser the Relentless. In the past, they used the cruel act of declawing to mark a cat as property, and many housecats had their claws removed and forced into slavery for the nobility. The practice has since then largely fallen out of style after the housecats revolted in the Kitten’s War of 483 when a battalion of housecat kittens, hidden to be spared the pain of declawing, banded together to revolt against their oppressors. These days, declawing is only used on prisoners whose crimes were violent or heinous in nature.

Next, I’ll evaluate economy. Because cats have a tendency to live in societies that share resources, it can be assumed that they’d live in something similar to but maybe not exactly a socialist society. I have a feeling cats would live in sort of a bartering type of society where they perform services rather than exchange money. If you want some mice that another cat caught, you might fix their fence, mow their lawn, or trade them something of equivalent value which is controlled by a formal bartering system in place that has clearly laid out the value of equivalent exchange for any two things, thus ensuring that no two people can ask for different amounts of birds as payment for rabbits. Within this society, due to the divide in upper and lower class, food typically eaten by big cats is equivalent to fancy foods in our own world, so for a housecat to eat antelope, wildebeest, or zebra is a high class luxury, while eating mice, squirrels, birds, and rabbits is considered “lower class” food, though rabbits are the best of these lower class meals.

After economics, it’s time to discuss culture. If there were to be a religious figure in their society, it’s not hard to assume that it’d be a lion. However, while cats can be affectionate and care deeply for community and social bonding, cats are also far more independent than dogs. Thus, their faith may more closely resemble Buddhism where the faith is directed inward on making the self better rather than venerating the external outside of the self. Due to the many times the news has covered stories of cats taking in animals of other species, it’s not hard to imagine that within this society, it’s considered the right thing to do to house, shelter, and nurse any child no matter the species for as long as it needs a home regardless of blood relation. Although some cats do, it’s not commonplace for cats to have a single mate for life, and as such, inheritence laws would be nearly non-existent. Due to cats being more focused on the community than the self or the family, when a cat dies, their belongings might not necessarily go to their offspring, but instead to those in the community who may be in need, and these items may or may not be bartered off by the surviving relatives. However, due to big cats being more wealthy than housecats, most housecats cannot afford to barter for more luxurious items when big cats die, making it harder, but not impossible, to gain pricey items. Even something as important as the throne is not passed from father to son necessarily so much as passed from strongest to strongest, placing the best warrior on the throne, rather than the nearest of kin. Big cats are stronger than housecats, and as such, they are more gifted as soldiers, athletes, and builders in general. It’s not common to see a housecat playing at big cat levels on a professional team. Lions tend to dominate sports like football, baseball, and basketball, while Cheetahs dominate in soccer, lacrosse, and track and field. Housecats however are rather equal in terms of intelligence with big cats, and job fields such as teachers, lawyers, and doctors sees a fairly regular mix of the two. Especially in more hostile and eat-or-be-eaten types of work environments like law, it’s very common for race tensions to escalate among co-workers.

If humans came to their world, they would be utterly ineffective as diplomats. Due to cat languages being highly complicated uses of sounds and non-verbal body language, humans would need to be spoken to in the most basic and dumbed down form of communication: meowing. Effectively baby talk, this form of communication is so simple and watered down that it’s the equivalent of speaking pigeon English.

Finally terrain, and since housecats don’t really tend to live in the wild and when they do run away then still tend to live within cities, it can be hard to really peg what type of environment housecats would want to live in. However, given that most big cats have evolved to live in just about every climate, it’s safe to assume that the geography of the world could be as vast and diverse as our own and have cat settlements all over. Still, it’s safe to assume most cities would be well off in a savanna type environment, or something otherwise temperate as that seems to be one of the preferred climate types for cats. Maine Coon cats and other subspecies with equally thick coats get excellent barters for the fur they shed as jackets for shorter haired cats living in cold environments.

While this is in no way a fully finalized draft or fully realized concept, as it didn’t build a plot or story, I do hope that it gave people a good idea of how to take a simple idea and expand upon it to create something. Hopefully this demonstration showed you something useful, and will be helpful as you explore the ideas of your own world.

#writing advice #writing tips #writing fantasy #writing #world building #worldbuilding #writing worldbuilding #do it write #example #writing help

96 notes · View notes

thelightofdelight · 5 years

Text

Lessons Of My Father’s Death Ep. 1: Giving Up The Tunnel View

DISCLAIMER: This series is written from a Muslim perspective and addresses mainly Muslims, especially those heart-hardened who enjoy throwing around with takfirs. My intention is neither to hurt anyone nor to attack other beliefs or religions.

My father was a 60-year-old man who, apart from his high blood pressure, didn’t suffer any severe physical illness or sickness whatsoever.

In fact, he was perfectly fine - with the exception that he wouldn’t treat his body well as his thoughts always revolved around other people’s well-being, to the degree that he would neglect his own and had a very unhealthy lifestyle, starting from his diet over to his sleep etc.

He was super altruistic (probably had the helper syndrome) and never held a grudge against other people, which leads me to the first thing I have internalized at the hands of his death:

I am in absolutely no position to determine who’s going to Jannah or Jahannam.

From what I can tell, my father wasn’t raised very religiously and in the course of his life became more of a ‘spiritual‘ person who yet believed in one God only, but with a quite messed up Aqeedah. He use to say that God is like a tree and that religions are its branches, pointing out the fact that each religion has its own >right< way to find to God.

What sounds reasonable, tolerant and open-minded at first most definitely goes against our Aqeedah on the other hand. I mean, as Muslims we do believe that the monotheistic religions such as Judaism and Christianity once upon a time at their very core stem from the same God we believe in — Allah, which is translated to nothing but al-Ilah, „the God“ in English (even Christian Arabs refer to their God as Allah) — and the Christians and Jews back then are even mentioned in the Qur’an as not having to worry (Quranic verse to be dropped later), but these religions have been corrupted by mankind over time.

So while Islam is the last revealed religion, at the same time God gave us a promise that He’s gonna protect it from corruption which can be proven up until today. Thus, we believe in Islam as the only religion in our present time that is undoubtedly from the One who created us.

I don’t want to make this a debate on religions, but my point is that my father had some different views which lastly resulted in him not praying. However, I strongly assume that he did pray, but more like in his head or like in his own way, Allahu alem.

So speaking frankly, the first thing that came to my mind upon hearing of his death was: „Please don’t let this be true, he didn’t pray!“ But then I paused. And I asked myself: who am I and Who is the One I believe in?

I believe in Ar-Raheem (The Most Merciful), I believe in Al-Ghafur (The All-Forgiving), I believe in al-Khabir(The All-Aware) and I believe in Al-Adl’ (The Utterly Just), and I am merely His slave.

My father lived a life I didn’t know well enough in order to judge, and even if I’d know every detail of it — which is basically impossible —, I am no one to judge! But what I do know with certainty is that he was the kindest and most helpful human being I’ve ever known, but that he was also mentally fragile, and this fragility of his mind was expressed in many facets of his life which I will address in later posts inshaAllah.

My father’s death highlighted to me that the world is not just black and white, and God’s all-encompassing mercy does not work like that, too. As human beings, we have to protect ourselves from this tunnel view which comes with arrogance, haughtiness and mercilessness. For example, who are we not to forgive another person if God is the One who forgives all sins — unless dying in the state of not regretting the major sins, and even this differs from person to person according to what was in their heart and what their background story was !? It’s pretty much like Sharia Law where punishment is the exception, not the rule.

It was due to my father’s death that I finally let go of this tunnel view which falsely empowers people, especially us Muslims, to decide who is saved from God’s punishment and who isn’t. It is because of his passing that I entirely gave up on this dangerous and self-destructive way to grasp human beings, yet without the gifted ability to not sugarcoat anything and remain my eyes open towards facts and reality.

This tunnel view has been shaken a longer time ago, actually, when my husband and I casually were talking about non-Muslims and what he said has stuck with me ever since:

„We believe in Allah, the Most Just, and what we can most definitely say is that you cannot put the disbelievers living at the time of the Prophet (sas) and the non-Muslims these days in the same box. Those disbelievers back then were the worst people ever as they remained haughty in a time where miracles still happened and revelation was still a thing!! These non-Muslims of today are confused for good reasons, with mass-media spreading propaganda and misguided Muslims bombing themselves and others. Even atheism didn’t exist back then, it’s a phenomenon of modern age.“

I am convinced that some people out there may be Muslim without even knowing because what does ‚Muslim‘ or ‚Islam‘ essentially mean? One who submits to God. And this submissive behavior comes with an unbelievably wide range, even to the degree that God gave us the power to transform almost every facet of our life into an act of worship if we just got the right intention, subhanAllah!

Also, if we examine the 6 pillars of faith, it makes even more sense to think that some people out there may be Muslim from a mere faith point of view:

Belief in one God only

Belief in His Angels

Belief in His Messengers such as Abraham, Noah, Moses, Jesus, Muhammad etc.

Belief in His Books such as the Torah, the Psalms, the Gospel and the Qur’an

Belief in the Day of Judgement

Belief in the Pre-Ordainment (destiny)

It’s so simple and something that many monotheists believe in anyways, no matter where they’re coming from.

On the other hand, there are the 5 pillars of Islam that ultimately make you a Muslim, and after the Shahada, establishing the Prayer is the 2nd pillar.

So staying away from prayer is a heavy transgression against God as a Muslim because you know it’s one thing to be a good person as there are human rights and as I said before, there’s a wide range of submissive behavior to God, but it’s another thing to obey God and give Him back His rights, even though He doesn’t need them.

However, if I would focus on the fact my father did not pray, I think I’d loose my mind over this. And to be honest, the signs Allah has been giving me ever since his death — even starting with the way he passed away which I will address in another post —puts me at ease and makes me certain that my father is in the Best of Hands, alhamdulillah!

It feels like Allah is trying to tell me that I should not be worried and that He used my father’s death as a way to make me more farsighted, open-minded and merciful!

Even when I first saw his corpse that night three weeks ago, I instinctively didn’t feel any sorrow, frustration, let alone anger. Instead, my stomach felt like an oven. I barely can describe it, but there was a very intense and strong warmth inside of my belly and I just felt nothing but…love.

On the outside I may cried, but on the inside there was another Yasmin that smiled and sat peacefully, saying over and over again „my father, my beloved papa, I love him so so much.“ It sounds so weird, but I know it was Allah who placed these feelings of tranquility and affection inside of me.

Lastly, to give my words more utterance, I’d like to end this episode with the following evidences which can be found in the Qur’an and Sunnah each.

“Surely those who believe, and those who are Jews, and the Christians, and the Sabians, whoever believes in Allah and the Last day and does good, they shall have their reward from their Lord, and there is no fear for them, nor shall they grieve.” (2:62)

The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “A prostitute had once been forgiven. She passed by a dog panting near a well. Thirst had nearly killed him, so she took off her sock, tied it to her veil, and drew up some water. Allah forgave her for that.” (Source: Ṣaḥīḥ al-Bukhārī 3143, Ṣaḥīḥ Muslim 2245)

The Prophet (sal Allahu alaihi wa sallam) said, “Allah the Most High said, ‘I am as My servant thinks (expects) I am. (...) (Sahih Bukhari)

#death #series #islam #muslim #religion #God #Allah #faith #father #jannah #jahannam #paradise #hell #reflections #LOMFD

11 notes · View notes

howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 5 years

Text

Black Heung Jin (Cleopas Kundiona) by Nansook Hong

excerpt from: ‘In The Shadow of The Moons’ pages 150-153 by Nansook Hong

Black Heung Jin

“If the deification of Heung Jin and the crowning ceremony tested my faith, the emergence of the Black Heung Jin nearly destroyed it. Many of the reports of possession by Sun Myung Moon’s dead son came from Africa. In 1987 the Reverend Chung Hwan Kwak went to investigate reports that Heung Jin had taken over the body of a Zimbabwean man and was speaking through him. The Reverend Kwak returned to East Garden professing certainty that the possession was real. We all gathered around the dinner table to hear his impressions.

The Zimbabwean was older that Heung Jin, so he could not be the reincarnated son of Sun Myung Moon. In addition, the Unification Church rejects the theory of reincarnation. Instead, the African presented himself to the Reverend Kwak as the physical embodiment of Heung Jin’s spirit. The Reverend Kwak had asked him what it was like to enter the spirit world. The Black Heung Jin said that upon entering the Kingdom of Heaven, he immediately became all-knowing. The True Family need not study on earth because they were already perfected. Knowledge would be theirs when they entered the spirit world.

That rationale appealed to Hyo Jin as much as if offended me. He had flirted with some courses at Pace University and at the Unification Church seminary in Barrytown, New York, but my husband was more interested in drinking than in learning. I was put off by the suggestion that we did not have to work to earn God’s favor. We in the Unification Church might be God’s chosen people, but I believed our efforts on earth would determine our place in the afterlife. We had to earn our place in Heaven.

The Reverend Moon was thrilled with the news from Africa. The Unification Church had been concentrating its recruitment efforts in Latin America and Africa. Clearly a Black Heung Jin could not hurt the cause. Without even meeting the man who claimed to be possessed by the spirit of his dead child, Sun Myung Moon authorized the Black Heung Jin to travel the world, preaching and hearing the confessions of The Unification Church members who had gone astray.

Confessions soon became central to the Black Heung Jin’s mission. He went to Europe, to Korea, to Japan, everywhere administering beatings to those who had violated church teachings by using alcohol and drugs or engaging in premarital sex. The Black Heung Jin spent a year on the road, dispensing physical punishment as penance for those who wished to repent, before Sun Myung Moon summoned him to East Garden.

We all gathered to greet him at Father’s breakfast table. He was a thin black man of average height who spoke English better than Sun Myung Moon. He seemed to me intent on charming the True Family, in much the way a snake encircles and then swallows its prey. I was anxious to hear some concrete evidence that this man possessed the spirit of the boy I once knew. I was not to hear it. The Reverend Moon asked him standard theological questions that any member who had studied the Divine Principle could have answered. He offered no startling revelations or religious insights. Maybe what most impressed Father was his ability to quote from the speeches of Sun Myung Moon.

The Reverend and Mrs. Moon suggested that we children meet with the Black Heung Jin privately and report back to them on our impressions. It was an amazing meeting. Hyun Jin, Kook Jin, and Hyo Jin kept asking the stranger questions about their childhood. He could not answer any of them. He did not remember anything about his life on Earth, he told us. Instead of inspiring skepticism, the Black Heung Jin’s convenient memory loss was interpreted as a sign of his having left earthly concerns behind when he entered the Kingdom of Heaven. Everyone in the household embraced him and called him by their dead brother’s name. I avoided him and found myself thinking that I was living with either the stupidest or the most gullible people on earth. There was a third alternative I did not consider at the time: the Reverend Moon was using the Black Heung Jin for his own ends, just as he had used the American civil liberties community before him.

Sun Myung Moon seemed to take pleasure in the reports that filtered back to East Garden of the beatings being administered by the Black Heung Jin. He would laugh raucously if someone out of favor had been dealt an especially hard blow. No one outside the True Family was immune from the beatings. Leaders around the world tried to use their influence to be exempted from the Black Heung Jin’s confessional. My own father appealed in vain to the Reverend Kwak to avoid having to attend such a session.

The Black Heung Jin was a passing phenomenon in the Unification Church. Soon the mistresses he acquired were so numerous and the beatings he administered so severe that members began to complain. Mrs. Moon’s maid, Won Ju McDevitt, a Korean who married an American church member, appeared one morning with a blackened eye and covered with purple bruises. The Black Heung Jin had beaten her with a chair. He beat Bo Hi Pak – a man in his sixties – so badly that he was hospitalized for a week in Georgetown Hospital. He told doctors he had fallen down a flight of stairs. He later needed surgery to repair a blood vessel in his head.

Sun Myung Moon knew when to cut his losses. When you are the Messiah, it is easy to make a course correction. Once it became clear that he had to disassociate himself from the violence he had let loose on the membership, Sun Myung Moon simply announced that Heung Jin’s spirit had left the Zimbabwean’s body and ascended into Heaven. The Zimbabwean was not quite so ready to get off the gravy train. At last sighting, he had established a breakaway cult in Africa with himself in the role of Messiah.”

____________________________________

Black Heung-jin (Cleopas Kundiona)

An interview with Black Heung Jin after he parted from Moon

Book in English:

Nansook Hong – In The Shadow Of The Moons

Nansook Hong, transcripts of three interviews, including ‘60 Minutes’

Book in French:

« L’ombre de Moon » par Nansook Hong

J’ai arraché mes enfants à Moon

Book in German:

Nansook Hong – Ich schaue nicht zurück

Book in Spanish:

‘A la Sombra de los Moon’ Prólogo

Nansook Hong entrevistada en español

#Cleopas Kundiona #Black Heung Jin #Sun Myung Moon #Hak Ja Han

3 notes · View notes

diego-hargreeve2 · 5 years

Text

light in the dark

Part Seventeen

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy (Netflix)

Ship: Diego Hargreeves x Original Character

Warnings: Language, abuse (emotional and physical), mental illness, violence and, in later chapters, smut.

Chapter Specific Warning: Poorly Translated Spanish

“Eh, Diego - cómo te va?” How you doing?

“Todo bien. Vienes a la pelea la próxima semana?” All good. Are you coming to the fight next week?

“Si, si - hazme dinero - tomar una inmersión para mí”. Yes, yes - make me money - take a dive for me.

It was a brief conversation between the two men, Diego, chuckling and relaxed as he threw the comments out while walking, but it had Evie’s eyes widening curiously. He lifted one arm, waving his hand dismissively at the comment, his other still wrapped through her fingers as he led her down to the boiler room. No sooner had they left the floor of the gym and she had to ask.

“What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“What language was that?” Eve asked him. She only knew English, and rarely heard other languages often enough to even reliably identify them. To hear Diego speaking, his accent and tone shifting so much, was intriguing – and attractive.

“That’s Spanish. José’s English isn’t so great” he explained.

“I didn’t know you spoke Spanish” Evie said, perching on the edge of the bed.

Diego shrugged, sitting down to unlace his boots. The Hargreeves children had been taught multiple languages – Spanish, French, German, Russian – as part of their extensive education. In truth Diego wasn’t entirely sure what their father’s intent was by teaching them so much, given that it didn’t seem he was planning to have them seek out careers and much of the knowledge forced into their heads seemed to have little relevance on missions. He still knew enough of the others to get by in a brief conversation, but Spanish was the one he’d kept and continued to learn.

“My Mom named us based on where we were born. She found our birth certificates. I was born in Mexico. Learning Spanish – eh, it made sense” he said.

In truth, Diego had a feeling that it didn’t make sense. It was unclear what the genetic result of the Event that created them was but given that none of the seven resembled the others that closely Diego had assumed they inherited ethnicity from their mothers, if nothing else. He told himself he didn’t care. The woman who gave birth to him sold him, and never been in contact since, so it shouldn’t matter – and yet Spanish came naturally to him and came in useful. Speaking the language had come easily to him, sometimes he could even express himself better than in English.

“Have you ever thought about…the woman who gave birth to you?” she asked, curious since he’d brought the topic up, but careful not to describe her as his mother. She knew how much he loved Grace. Even the way he talked about his childhood when it touched on her was different to talking about other members of the Hargreeves deeply dysfunctional family.

“No” he said bluntly. She knew him well enough by now to know that the tone he used wasn’t aimed specifically at her and she didn’t shut down like she might have in the past. Instead she waited, pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees.

“We were sold. Did you know that?” he asked, glancing over. He’d read Vanya’s book – well, most of it, but its contents made him too angry and he couldn’t remember how many details were included. Eve nodded very slightly, silent and waiting for him to continue.

“The woman who gave birth to me – all our mothers – they sold us to Reginald. Like livestock. They sold their own children to a man they didn’t even know, who called us by numbers based on how useful he found us”. There was rage clear in his tone. This was not something Diego had forgotten or forgiven.

He hadn’t met his biological mother – none of the seven Hargreeves siblings had been in contact with their birth mothers. They were all handed over at just a few days old. It wasn’t a story Reginald dwelt on, he didn’t sit them around the fire and share it as some heart-warming tale of how the family came to be – all Diego knew was that the women had been compensated and the rest he had constructed. That didn’t mean he was any less bitter about the account. Kicking the boots off he glanced over at her, something seeming to occur to him and pulling him out his thoughts for a moment.

“You knew yours though” he said. It was a presumption, it wasn’t something they’d discussed much, but Eve shook her head.

“No. She….” For a moment she hesitated before continuing. “When I was just a toddler…she killed herself. She hung herself in the same shed they made me sleep in when my powers kept manifesting” she admitted. The tragic story recounted in such brevity pulled him out his thoughts of a woman he had never known, and he stared at her, incredulous.

“They made you sleep in the place your mother killed herself?” he repeated, and she shrugged.

“No wonder I kept having nightmares” Eve joked, attempting to make light of the situation. Prior to Judith hanging herself it had been a storehouse. It was emptied, least her sin taint and spoil their provisions, before a metal bedframe was put in the space and a lock on the outside of the door so it could contain Eve. Many nights she had stared up at row of hooks on the wall, wondering exactly which one her mother had used to anchor the ligature she put around her neck.

As she got older, she had debated doing the same thing herself.

“But…she must have been scared. Yours too…all of them” she pointed out, her voice soft. “I mean…I know you don’t know anything about the woman who birthed you…but my mother…” She paused, gazing off the side, her expression dissociated from her surroundings even as she continued to speak to him. “My mother was a seventeen-year-old virgin, one-minute kneeling and praying, the next screaming and in labour. I was told she was very devout. To have lived your life by so many rules, truly believing you were in the presence of God’s own messenger…and then to believe you’ve given birth to the Antichrist, and to have done so out of nowhere….”

She couldn’t bring herself to hate her mother. It wasn’t her fault. Eve was a decade older than her mother had been at the point of giving birth, out of nowhere, and she knew far more about the world – not to mention she didn’t have faith to lose. She had many more advantages and still couldn’t imagine how she’d cope with a pregnancy out of nowhere. Judith was a tragic figure, not the villain of her life.

Diego stared at her, at the softness and sadness written all over her face, stunned at the level of compassion she displayed. Her childhood had been every bit as bad as his, and in very different ways their mothers had left them at the mercy of cruel men who weren’t equipped to act as fathers, and yet she had none of his rage. It was a long moment as he stared at her, genuinely amazed at her ability to demonstrate empathy despite the life she’d been subjected to, and she gazed into space and wondered about a woman she had no memory of.

Returning to the present she looked over at him and flushed slightly.

“I just…I don’t think it’s ever right to sell a child. But I can’t even imagine…I’m sorry. I’m not excusing her”. Diego stood up and walked over to her, his fingers pushing back her hair, tips of the digits grazing the side of his neck as he shook his head, a slight smile, the anger of before disappeared. Eve wanted to keep that way, wanted to distract him from unhappy memories - and figured out a way to do it.

“Say something else” Eve asked him. He looked curious and confused in equal measure. “In Spanish” she clarified.

“Why?”

“I just…I like the sound of it”. Even without knowing what he was saying there was something about the flow, like a type of music, and his accent as he spoke…it was very attractive.

“What should I say?”

“Anything” she insisted.

“No sé qué decir” he admitted with a chuckle. I don't know what to say.

He moved to sit beside her on the bed as he spoke. As soon as he was beside her Eve dropped her legs, her knees falling against him, so she was half on his lap. She inched herself even closer, her gaze on his mouth as she spoke. The fact she couldn’t understand a word, couldn’t even guess the meaning, didn’t bother her. What she noted was how the tone of his voice shifted as well as the accent, the way his mouth made different shapes than he used when speaking English, his full lips fascinating her.

“Keep going” she urged. “Say something else”.

“I’m not a performing monkey” he told her, rolling his eyes. Evie pouted for a moment before shifting, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lap in a way she knew he found hard to resist. Her hips pressed against his, feeling his hands slide to her thighs immediately, her hands rested on his neck as she kissed him softly.

“Please?”

He considered for a moment, looking up at her, the loose curls of her hair falling around his face as though they were curtained off, in their own little world.

“Eres preciosa” he murmured after a moment. “Mi propio ángel”.

It was close enough to the English that she could guess at least part of the meaning and she flushed, flattered and shy and nervous all in one. Evie hadn’t yet learned how to take compliment – and while, on the one hand, she loved to hear him say these things, part of her couldn’t believe him. It felt too fragile, like his view of her could shatter at any moment and he’d realised how flawed she was wrong and look at her differently, no longer with that soft gaze.

Diego recognised her reaction and had his own thoughts on why she struggled to hear these things – mostly based in the fact that she didn’t see herself as he did, and after a lifetime of poor treatment didn’t believe she deserved the kindness. It gave him an idea though of how he could satisfy her want to hear him speak Spanish and compliment her as much as he wanted.

“No tienes idea de lo guapa que eres” he murmured, leaning up to kiss her. “No puedo describir cómo me siento cuando estoy contigo. Me haces querer ser una mejor persona”.

You have no idea how beautiful you are. I can’t describe how I feel when I'm with you. You make me want to be a better person

“What did you say?” Evie asked, shifting closer to him again and he slid his hands from her thighs to her hips and higher, gripping the curve of her waist.

“You’ll have to learn Spanish to find out” he teased gently, leaning in to kiss her.

i dont speak spanish hence the ‘poor translation’ warning, but i do like listening to david castenda speaking spanish in interviews.

@mrsdiegohargreeves @carryon-doctor-lock @lovinglydiego @klausbutgayer @reblogserpent @me125 @fatbottomedcurls @rhymesmenagerie

#light in the dark #diego hargreeves x oc #diego hargreeves fanfic #tua fanfic #tua oc

14 notes · View notes