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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Burden

Characters: Xiao, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,261

Warnings: None

Premise: Xiao fell in love with your goodness, with your selflessness and generosity towards others. Perhaps, however, in doing so he had misunderstood your own complexities.

In which the reader feels they are a burden.

Author’s Note: I feel like I should note that there are going to be some relatively extreme emotions, mostly negative. I don’t feel like it’s enough or specific enough to be given a warning, but if anyone wants to tell me to tag it for something I will gladly. That being said I’m pretty proud of this one

Xiao

Ever since your first interaction you had been helping Xiao. It had seemed so natural, even then, even when nothing seemed natural about interacting with a human, those strange people from who Xiao must always be separated. Yet there you were, asking if this perfect stranger was alright. And there Xiao was, suddenly seeing his world opening up before him.

Perhaps it was for this reason that your relationship had developed in the way it had. To Xiao your selflessness, your never ending kindness, the fact that you would stop to help someone regardless of circumstance, all of that was normal. It was innate in your personality, and perhaps that was why Xiao never questioned what effect having that kind of personality might have on you. It is easy to assume that a kind and selfless person is also one with a short memory. After all, how could they stand it otherwise?

So when the first, barely noticeable, traces of that burden which Xiao saw so often began to swirl around you the yaksha’s initial reaction was that of utter panic. Was this not the exact reason that Xiao had chosen to disconnect himself from humanity? Was this not proof, right before him, that the chains he carried could not be contained. Though Xiao generally thought of humans as vaguely useless, deserving of protection because Rex Lapis proclaimed it be so, the idea of harming any one of them with the legacy of his own sins, it was something that he could never stomach, no matter how many times he feigned apathy. That you should be the person upon who his burdens should be transferred, how could he bear it?

Of course a small, more logical, part of him urged the adeptus to stop and think. The miasma that Xiao attracted in such high concentration was everywhere, and humans were not exempt from this burden by themselves. After all, did humanity not channel great evil as well as good? Did not the most ordinary human, dejected by their lot in life, become swarmed by little wisps of evil? Yet those were other, ordinary humans. Ordinary humans couldn’t understand the sheer capability to love that you seemed to possess. No, if Xiao could sense such a miasma around you then it was surely his fault.

Still the idea of leaving you was something quite painful to Xiao, to the adeptus who had so recently learned what it meant to love someone wholeheartedly. He told himself that it was best to leave immediately, best to disappear with the wind and never look back. Yet a part of him couldn’t seem to bear the idea; and that was the part that won out as Xiao approached you later in the day, as if in a desperate last attempt to prove himself wrong.

“Are you alright?”

“Xiao!” You jumped slightly, having evidently been lost in thought. Smiling widely you shook your head. “Of course I’m alright! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I…” Xiao paused for a moment as the idea of telling you what was going on flitted through his head. Almost immediately the thought was squashed. After all, would the knowledge not worry you more? “I was just asking.”

“Well thank you Xiao, it’s very kind of you to think of me.”

“It’s my duty.”

“Still,” your smile never faltered. “You deserve thanks for what you do nonetheless.”

Xiao tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach, tried to block out the emotions that crashed over him like great waves as you leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Was this not a good thing? After all, if Xiao was what cause this miasma to float around you, then was that not your salvation? Xiao knew how easy it was to drown in the burdens that one must shoulder. He knew how easy it was for humans to sink to the bottom of their despair and never once more emerge for water. Why should it not be a blessing that you would never have to fight to keep your head up, to keep yourself from a life full of burdens? Why, why did it hurt so much?

During the night, Xiao would leave during the night. After all, you deserved one last evening of happiness, if the yaksha could even believe that he brought you happiness. Or maybe it was for his sake that he refused to leave before the world was plunged into darkness. Maybe it was simply that Xiao could no longer imagine a world without you, and that such nightmares came out easier at night. Lying on top of the roof, eyes closed, ears focused on the familiar tread of your feet, Xiao willed himself not to think. He could regret when he was far away from you, when you were once more safe. For now he could only follow that ritual which had so long kept him sane, kept him from joining his brethren. For now he thought only of the contract he had once made.

The sound of your feet on the ground below came all too soon, as the sun finally began its descent across the heavens in earnest. Keeping his eyes closed, as if to stall the darkness for a little longer, Xiao took a deep breath in. He needed to steel himself for this evening; if not, well, Xiao had no wish to cry for the first time in a millennia.

Only once these thoughts finished flitting around in his head did the yaksha finally recognize the change in your footfall. Usually you were very light on your feet, dashing this way and that, stopping to ask Goldet or Yanxiao some mundane question, inquiring after the old lady who had basically set up permanent residence on the bottom floor of the Inn. This time, however, you seemed to drag, as if you were indeed carrying something very heavy. Alarm flashing through him, Xiao willed himself into perfect stillness. He wished to hear more, wished to understand what had caused such a change in you.

What he certainly hadn’t expected was the labored breathing of someone seconds away from tears.

The moment Xiao heard the door to your room close the sobbing began in earnest. Though you certainly seemed to be trying your hardest to hide your tears the sound of your muffled sobs rang through Xiao like a siren, flaring up every bit of alarm he had to offer. Jumping off of the roof Xiao catapulted his way through the hallways of the Inn, not bothering to hide his presence to the few, very confused, residents that were out. Reaching your room he didn’t allow himself a moment’s hesitation before grabbing the knob and opening the door.

Your head snapped up, eyes a mixture of dark emotions as you stared at him. For a moment you seemed ready to flee, to run and hide somewhere, or perhaps to throw him out. However almost immediately you seemed to sink back into yourself, and though Xiao could still sense your distress, at least the initial shock of his arrival seemed to have passed as quickly as it would otherwise.

“Xiao! I, I didn’t expect you. I, could, could you leave? I don’t, I don’t want, I don’t want to be seen right now.” It was all you could get out before another round of sobs wracked through your body.

Trying to remember what you had done for so many people, for himself, Xiao grabbed the pitcher that sat at one of the tables in the room. Pouring some water into a glass he crept towards you as softly as possible, hoping that he could convey his worries in these odd, brusque actions. He knew that he didn’t have the talent you had to comfort people, knew that all his gestures of kindness inevitably came out cramped and awkward. Nevertheless he shoved the glass into your hands, staring just past you as you tentatively downed the water. Taking the glass from you Xiao then reached out one of his palms to you. His relief when you placed your own palm on top of his was indescribable.

“I guess you probably would like an explanation,” you rasped out.

Xiao said nothing, waiting for you to act on your own. If he knew anything the yaksha knew that attempting to force the truth out of anyone would never worked. Hadn’t his own years as a pariah taught him that.

“It’s just,” you finally continued, taking in deep, labored breaths. “It’s just so hard. It’s so hard Xiao, I can’t stand it anymore!”

“Stand it?”

“Stand the… the hurt!”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you went to grab the handkerchief that you left on your nightstand. You always needed one with you, as your eyes stung terribly whenever you began to cry. Xiao said nothing as you sobbed once more, only moving to draw small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

“It hurts so much, to see other people. To hear their problems. Not that it’s their fault, or that I don’t want to help them. I do, I really do. I look at all the people suffering near me and I just want to take all their burdens and give it to myself, after all they don’t deserve all their sufferings. But it’s so hard Xiao, it’s so hard to take on people’s burdens, even a little bit. And I feel so selfish when I think that, so selfish and so worthless. How can I say that? But it’s true, it’s really, really true. And when I think about that, when I think about all the other people suffering worse than me, it just makes me feel so horribly selfish. Like, like all my problems are so stupid and selfish and telling others would only hurt them, and didn’t I want to take everyone else’s burdens away? I’m so stupid. And it just, it hurts.”

Xiao sat there quietly once more, waiting as you cried. At one point you seemed to collapse in on yourself, leaning against his shoulder as if to support yourself. Only then did Xiao allow himself to move. Carding his hands through your hair he said nothing, he merely waited.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. You already have enough burdens, I know. I shouldn’t be complaining to you of all people. I, if you want you can tell me if something is wrong. I mean, you always can, I, just. I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“My burdens are my own,” Xiao replied softly, finally letting the emotions swirling through him try to string together as words. “It has nothing to do with you. It never will. You, you should come to me when you feel burdened.”

“But then I’m only passing my problems onto you!”

“I told you, my chains are my own. They are the payment for my contract. They aren’t what you tell me or push on me. If you feel these burdens then give to me. That is my duty.”

“But Xiao, I, I don’t want to. I don’t want to be a problem.”

“How can you say something so stupid,” Xiao scoffed. Bringing his hand to your cheek he sighed softly. “You will never be a problem. You will always be dear to me. Let me help you. You help so many humans. I want to help you.”

“I, I don’t know,” you spoke, voice faltering.

Though Xiao could still feel the tension in the air, could still see the miasma which swirled around you, there was something fragile about it. It was as if Xiao could reach through the tangled threads and pull them away, if only he could find a way to do so. Stroking your cheek softly Xiao pressed his forehead to yours. Closing his eyes he took a deep breath in. After a few moments he heard you do the same.

The rest of the evening Xiao stayed vigilant by your side, listening as you finally let yourself say all the things that had been weighing down upon you. It was painful, listening to you. Xiao constantly had to fight the urge to tell you how wrong you were, how much you mattered and how far he would go to bring you all the happiness he could possible gather in his stained hands. Still he said nothing, for if you had taught him anything it was that simply listening could do infinitely more than promising to fight or trying to shoulder each burden as you lay them out in the daylight.

Eventually you grew exhausted, a combination of the crying and the talking and the reliving. As Xiao listened to your breath even out, softly shifting your head from leaning on his shoulder to resting in his lap, the yaksha thought about all that had happened.

Xiao had assumed that you were somehow above all the humans around you. Purer, gentler, kinder. He hadn’t stopped to think how that might have affected you. Now that he knew that wasn’t true, now that Xiao knew how deeply you felt, how sometimes your mind too chased after darkness or found itself struggling to keep above water, he couldn’t help but feel as if he’d missed something before. Perhaps you shouldered these burdens and perhaps you were just as human as the rest. You were still kind, kind and selfless and utterly beautiful. And Xiao still loved you in a way that continued to burn brightly through his soul.

#genshin impact #xiao x reader #xiao #alatus #genshin impact fanfiction #requested #oneshot #my writing

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eclecticmiasma · 4 years

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Human Art (Yandere!Rohan x Reader)

🖤 For the eternally lovely @vani-ya 💚

When strange things start happening around your apartment, your kind friend Rohan offers you a place to stay.

NSFW

[Warnings: somnophilia, rape, mind control, abuse, dead dove: do not eat]

It started out innocuous enough. Doors ajar that you could have sworn you closed. Missing laundry. Strange bruises. The fact that Morioh had a serial killer running around wasn’t exactly a secret, so you just felt like you were being overly paranoid when little things around your apartment began to go awry. You weren’t always the most mindful person, and a few little incidents did not a serial killer make.

That is, until the open doors had broken locks. Until you found strange stains on your underwear. Until the bruises that marred your hips and thighs began to look like fingerprints.

“Maybe it’s a ghost!” Okuyasu jested, waggling his eyebrows. Rohan shot him a look of deep disgust. Okuyasu’s face fell as he remembered the existence of Reimi, “Sorry…”

“Well, you’re more than welcome to crash at my place,” Josuke interjected, “Mom’s probably dying to have another woman around-” At this, Rohan let out a snort of laughter.

“Stay at your place? And sleep where exactly?” Josuke chewed the inside of his lip.

“I…I mean I could sleep on the couch…” The mangaka rolled his eyes and set down his coffee with a frustrated clink.

“Am I always the only one with any real solutions?” He turned to you and looked you sternly in the eyes, “[Y/n], I’m sure you’ve noticed that my house is massive. As long as you don’t interrupt my work, the best thing to do is to stay with me for a while,” The gang blinked at Rohan, shocked at his uncharacteristic generosity. Okuyasu got ready to grill him on the fact that he refused to let him and his father stay at his mansion despite the fact that they continued to live in an abandoned shack, but Josuke elbowed him before he could start.

You were hesitant to accept. While it was a generous offer, you never really spoke to Rohan beyond gathering cursory information about the town’s other stand users. He sensed your unease and softened his gaze.

“It’ll be…an adventure. Maybe you could even help me model certain character poses? There is a severe lack of women in my work.”

In the end, you agreed. All of your things were moved to Rohan’s with the help of your friends, and you found yourself much more at ease with someone else in the house. Even if your rooms were fairly far apart, you felt much less likely to be murdered while not living alone. Whether or not that was misguided, you began to enjoy your temporary home.

But, slowly, incidents began to occur at Rohan’s home too. Much like before, they started out small. Bits of hair in your bed that weren’t yours. More marks on your body, covering the ones that had faded. One morning, you woke up with something dry and flaky across your chest and neck. You started to think that Okuyasu was right, maybe you did have some kind of ghost following you around.

When you voiced your concerns to Rohan, he waved them away. The two of you did laundry at the same time, so of course it was probably his hair caught in your blankets. Your aloof nature meant that you constantly bumped into things, he saw it himself. As for the mystery substance on your chest, maybe you needed to buy some new body lotion that wouldn’t clump up in your sleep. He recommended a local brand. Everything you came at him with, he had an answer for. Rohan’s level-headed nature put you at ease, and you were thankful for him.

But then everything fell apart. You don’t know what possessed you, perhaps it was a familiarity with the mangaka’s drawing room after having modeled for his various projects several times, but you found yourself perusing his massive catalogue of books. He had a novel on nearly every subject. As he told you many times, he found it of utmost importance to take inspiration from the real world.

When none of his library piqued your interest, you walked away from his bookshelf and padded over to his desk. Though you were never allowed to look at his unfinished work, curiosity got the better of you. Rohan was much too controlling when it came to his work, you felt. A little peak wouldn’t do anyone any harm.

You picked up a sketchbook and rifled through it, amazed at how detailed his drawings were. Birds, insects around the home, coffee plates, sandwiches, human hands, anything and everything he saw was sketched out to the most minute details. He was absurdly talented. You felt a bit of pride in being his friend.

At the back of the sketchbook were nude drawings. You blushed as your eyes raked over the lewd poses. Some genitalia was drawn, both male and female. The model’s body was contorted in all different poses, many sexual in nature. As you flipped the page, you were shocked to see actual sexual acts being performed. You had never heard of models that were willing to do this kind of thing. Although, Rohan had a lot of money and none of the sketches showed their faces. Except for one.

The sketchbook tumbled to the floor.

The face was yours.

Not once had he asked you to pose nude for him, but there you were. Your full body was on display. Leaned back over the edge of a sofa so that your hair dragged along the floor. One of your hands grasped your breast seductively while the other delved into your core. It was unmistakably you, down to the birthmark on your abdomen. You knew Rohan only drew from what was directly in front of him, so how in the world-

Rohan cleared his throat behind you, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. A devious look danced behind his eyes. He set down his satchel unceremoniously and closed the study door.

“I suppose this was bound to happen at some point,” Your heart raced as the lock clicked in place. Rohan slid off his gloves and threw them on the leather chair next to his satchel. Not once did he take his emerald eyes off of your now trembling form.

“I don’t understand,” You managed to say, though your voice was weak and nearly unintelligible.

“You wouldn’t,” Rohan chuckled darkly, “You’re much too stupid to put two and two together. Now, kneel.”

To your shock, your knees immediately hit the wooden floor.

“Heaven’s Door,” Rohan muttered, taking your face in his palms. Your whole body tensed and something like a book opened in your left cheek, “You know, this charade has been quite fun. I probably could have been happy to keep you as my perfect little pet forever. But, seeing you like this, seeing the genuine fear in your eyes, I’m starting to realize that your inability to remember our time together has honestly been quite boring,” He whipped out a pencil from his pocket and erased something from your pages.

All at once, everything came flooding back. The nights in your apartment where something, someone held you down while you sobbed, marking your body as their own. The way they flaunted your stolen underwear as they huffed it while fucking your breasts. Broken locks strewn to the floor as you screamed.

And at Rohan’s house, memories of him choking you until you complied with his demands, his thick cock stretching your throat. The unhinged glee in his eyes as he came all over your neck and chest. Images of your naked, trembling body on display as he drew you any way he wanted, even while being used by him.

Paralyzed by Rohan’s stand, all you could do was remember and weep.

“There we go,” He said, closing your pages and stepping back, admiring his work, “I even took out the clause that says you have to obey any orders I give,” A dark grin danced across his features, “Now, look at me when I’m speaking to you.”

You couldn’t. Not after the visions that played in your mind. Everything you had feared for months stood directly in front of you, taunting you. Pain erupted on the side of your head as Rohan twisted your hair around his fist and pulled you way from the side of the desk. He used that momentum to throw you to the floor and, immediately, he was on you, tearing off your clothes with practiced precision. Though you kicked and screamed, Rohan was deceptively strong. You cried out as he wrenched your arm painfully behind your back.

“Keep fighting me, and I’ll pop your arm out of its socket,” Despite his warning you continued to struggle, wriggling underneath him for any kind of opportunity to get the upper hand. He let out an exasperated sigh and tugged hard. You cried out as burning agony shot down your arm and the limb fell to your side with a thud, “You really think one would learn after the first twenty or so times. How did you even survive on your own for this long?”

With the rest of your clothing off, he moved his weight from you and ordered you to get back on your knees. Trembling, you acceded, forcing yourself up with your working arm to face him. You watched as he retrieved his sketchbook from the floor. He flipped through the pages with annoyance.

“Not many left. Ah, here’s a spot. Now…what do I need from you…” Rohan’s brow furrowed as he tapped his chin with a fountain pen and looked at your sobbing face. His lip curled in disgust, “Let’s put that mouth to use. Open up,” Your eyes met his and you silently pleaded for mercy. Images of him forcing his way past your lips flashed before you, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to comply.

“I shouldn’t have to repeat myself,” Fury bubbled beneath Rohan’s calculated stare. After you continued to hesitate, he cupped his hand and put it to his ear, “What’s that? You’re begging me to paralyze you with my stand?” You shook your head furiously and opened your mouth for him, ashamed, “Good girl.”

Rohan walked over to you and unzipped his baggy trousers. With pen in hand, he fished out his half-hard member and let it hit your tongue. Fresh tears streamed down your cheeks. His thumb grazed your cheek, and for a moment you thought he might even take pity on you. He only smirked.

“Mess up my drawing, and I’ll throat-fuck you until you have to use a feeding tube,” Fear coursed through you as he started to draw, lightly thrusting his length along your tongue to allow it to fully harden. You barely breathed.

Minutes passed. Ten. Twenty. Rohan sketched the way his cock sat between your lips as if he were sketching a detailed flower. Nothing in his facial expressions betrayed the act in which he was participating. But he was certainly aroused. You fought back the urge to gag when salty pre-cum hit your tongue.

When he slapped the sketchbook closed, you jumped. The sick sense of security you felt while he was drawing melted, and terrified anticipation took its place.

“Get on all fours,” Reluctantly, you did as he said. He came up behind you and slid his hands along your inner thighs, “Spread your legs…Further,” Your face heated up with shame and rage as you felt him grasp the soft flesh of your behind. He toyed with it, massaging it and spreading it apart to examine your innermost parts.

“Wait!” You cried out as something prodded at your entrance. You lurched forward to escape him, but tumbled onto your dislocated shoulder. Rohan quickly caught your hips and dragged you back across the floor. A sharp slap resounded in the room as he reared back and spanked you as hard as he could, “Please, Rohan-”

“Please, Rohan,” He mocked, smacking you again, “Do you know how long I’ve kept myself from burying my cock inside of you?” Burning pain filled you as he thrust himself forward, plunging inside of you with his thick length. Your nails dug into the floor as you sobbed, begging him to stop.

His pace was instantly vicious, dizzying. It was painful, so incredibly painful, but your cries fell on deaf ears. He even chuckled as you writhed beneath him, trying desperately to get away. With a swift motion he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you to him so that your back stuck to his chest. His clammy hands enthusiastically grasped at your bouncing breasts.

“Don’t you wonder why…” He growled in your ear, rolling his hips against you, “…after all the ways I’ve taken you, why not here?” His hand moved from your chest to rub painful circles into your clit. His other hand slid up to your neck and gripped it so tightly that you could barely respond, “I don’t mean to sound sentimental, but I wanted you to remember it. A whore like you should be so lucky to be fucked by Rohan Kishibe.”

Finally, his thrusts slowed and he shifted the angle of your body. Though it was still painful, the new position allowed his dick to plant a cloying feeling deep within your core. Every time he penetrated you, it gave you pause. Combined with the more deliberate ministrations of his fingers on your clit, the realization dawned on you that you were dangerously close to orgasm. Your heart raced at the thought. You wanted to scream, but Rohan’s grip on your neck kept you near silent.

“Cum for me you little slut. I know exactly where your buttons are, so don’t try to fight it,” The world around you spun as lack of oxygen finally took its toll, and everything you had been fighting so hard to stop fell by the wayside. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, little pinpricks of light dancing in your vision as your body trembled. Rohan cackled psychotically and let you drop to the floor.

While you came down from your high, Rohan fucked you harder. Your knees rubbed the floor painfully as he took you, slamming his cock deep within you again and again and again. You had no energy to hold yourself up, especially with just one arm, and you let him have his way with you as you silently cried.

His own orgasm wasn’t far behind. To your absolute shock he pulled out of you, digging the nails of his left hand into your thigh as his right milked out semen all over the skin of your back.

As soon as he released every drop of cum, there was shuffling behind you. You dared to glance down to see that he immediately went to grab his sketchpad to draw your freshly marked body and abused hole. You didn’t even need to be told to stay still.

When he was finished, he flipped you over. You yelped in shock as he grabbed your foot and held it up to where he could see the bottom of it. Pain shot through you as he took his fountain pen and sliced into the sole of your foot, cutting a thin line.

“There,” he panted, dropping your leg, “You didn’t really think that was our first time, did you?” He cast a smug smile your direction as your face dropped, “That’s it, that’s the face! Hold still,” He picked up the book beside him and quickly outlined your pained expression. He grinned as his pen flew across the paper, absolutely unhinged. “Anyway, of course you believed me. The only person more gullible than you is that buffoon Josuke.”

“But…I saw everything…” Rohan let out a genuine cackle.

“You remember what I let you remember, you stupid bitch. Why would I pass up the chance to break you anew every single day? To let you think that I still had one more line left to cross? The raw emotion…that’s truly art,” You thought you had run your tears dry, but more just kept coming. A choked sob left your lips as you dared to look at the bottom of your foot. It was covered in scars, some fresher than others. There must have been hundreds. Little tick marks that denoted how Rohan had used you time and time and time again.

Before you could process everything that happened, before you could curl up into yourself and howl at the indignity, Heaven’s Door had you between its grubby little hands. Rohan himself sauntered over and scribbled something on your cheek.

“Now, why don’t you go wash your filthy little hole and go to bed?” Your mind went blank as the world around you fell away. Rohan called out to you as you mindlessly lifted yourself up to walk to the bathroom as he bid you.

“Sweet dreams, [Y/n].” *all original work is my intellectual property. do not edit or re-upload.

#jjba imagines #jojos bizarre adventure #rohan kishibe #yandere!rohan #rohan x reader #x reader #yandere #tw: rape #tw: somnophilia #tw: mind control #requests #dead dove do not eat #tw: abuse #fics #yandere jjba

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ibijau · 3 years

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Suyao’s happy evil life in Japan, because I think they deserve that / also on AO3

warning for jgy having some very condescending views about Japan and its culture

The damn house wasn’t even haunted, Jin Guangyao thought as he performed the ritual. It had been abandoned for a few years, certainly, and it had a certain creepiness still clinging to its walls as a result, but that was nothing that a good deep cleaning and more recent furniture couldn’t solve.

Not that Jin Guangyao would say as much. If the tradition in Japan dictated that abandoned houses had to be cleansed before they could be used, he’d do just that. Business was business, and it wasn’t impossible that a pre-emptive ritual ensured no future ghosts would appear there. And even if one did, he’d come up with something, blame it on the family, on some fault in the landscape. It wouldn’t even be a lie. This house’s fengshui was a complete disaster… but he wasn’t being paid for that, and he didn’t particularly like this lord. The man had made disparaging comments against Su Minshan more than once, and Jin Guangyao had made note of that.

He wasn’t about to do Awata no Seimei any favours. In fact, Su Minshan and him had already agreed that they’d make the man pay more for the exorcism, even though they didn’t particularly need the extra money, not the way they’d done their first year. But then, in that first year, they wouldn’t have dared to aggravate someone as high ranking as Awata no Seimei, supposing they could even have gotten such a patron in the first place.

It had been hard, that first year, but neither of them were the sort to give up just because things weren’t easy. Besides, they’d had to survive, if only to spite the enemies they’d left behind.

Inflamed at the memory of that shameful flight, Jin Guangyao stomped a little harder than strictly necessary, which appeared to catch the attention of his spectators. Good. Let Awata no Seimei think he was working hard to purify that house he’d bought, it would justify the higher price.

It was mid-morning when Jin Guangyao decided he’d put on enough of a show and could announce that the house was now safe for ordinary humans. As soon as he stopped the ritual, Su Minshan rushed to his side, offering some cool tea, one of the local types that Jin Guangyao had become so fond of. As he drank, Jin Guangyao realised he was parched. It was still early enough in the day, but the heat was rising fast. It would soon be unbearably hot and damp, making Jin Guangyao regret that he’d wasted so long on this empty ritual.

“Master Kin Kouyou, what a splendid ceremony,” Awata no Seimei said in a too deferential tone that Jin Guangyao despised for reminding him of his own. “You have my thanks for your help, I could not have asked anyone else. Truly, there is no one else who would do as well as master Kin Kouyou.”

Jin Guangyao shot him a cold look. Before he could try guessing what Awata no Seimei might want from him next, Su Minshan came to stand between them, arms crossed on his chest, towering over the nobleman.

“Zongzhu just conducted this ritual for your house,” Su Minshan barked. “Please understand how draining this is, the house had been left untouched for many years, and there were traces of a fox spirit in there.”

Well, there were fox droppings in one of the bedrooms, Jin Guangyao thought, biting his cheeks not to grin. He couldn’t laugh in public, not when he was supposed to be exhausted from his great fight against evil, but the look of horror on that noble lord’s face at the mention of a fox demon was priceless.

“Of course I am grateful to master Kin Kouyou,” Awata no Seimei said. “I will make no further requests today. Then, regarding the master’s dues...”

“Don’t bother Zongzhu with that either,” Su Minshan snapped. “Come see me tomorrow, and I will deal with the payment. Zongzhu isn’t to be disturbed with such trivial matters. Zongzhu needs to retire now, unless you have any real reason to keep him here.”

Awata no Seimei didn’t. Between Jin Guangyao’s growing reputation now that the emperor himself had hired him and Su Minshan’s attitude, those nobles knew to keep conversations short. It had worried Jin Guangyao, at first, the way Su Minshan couldn’t bother being polite to these people, but in the end this played to their advantage. People expected foreigners to be a little odd, and the locals seemed to enjoy knowing that however talented those two Chinese cultivators were in magic arts, at least they had better manners.

Having finished their business with this old house, Jin Guangyao and Su Minshan headed back home. Awata no Seimei, quite generously, offered them the use of a pair of kago, which struck Jin Guangyao as rather suspicious. The man definitely had to have another service to ask of them, and probably one they wouldn’t enjoy performing. An onmyouji he’d become friendly with had warned him that some of those important people could become overdependent on divination and rituals, and Awata no Seimei seemed just like the sort who would ask the heavens what he should have for breakfast.

It sounded very annoying, Jin Guangyao thought as he stepped onto the travelling chair, but until Awata no Seimei actually started making requests, he wasn’t above taking advantage of the man’s generosity. The less he had to walk in this heavy, wet heat, the better. And he could tell that Su Minshan was getting uncomfortable, scratching his chest often. Summers were hard on him here, especially with his condition.

Eager to distract the other man from his discomfort, Jin Guangyao started chatting with him while their kago were carried along the streets of Heijou-Kyou, asking what else they had on their schedule for that day.

“Music lessons for the disciples this afternoon,” Su Minshan said, hands clenched over his knees in a futile effort to resist the itchiness. “Aside from that, nothing much.”

Jin Guangyao hummed, letting his gaze rest on the scenery. He’d been told that the city had been modelled after Chang’an, and many people had asked him if it looked as good as the original. Having never visited the capital at home, he always had to invent some polite lie about Heijou-Kyou having its own grandeur, but privately he wasn’t impressed. The original was always better than a copy, except in one specific case… and that case was sitting on a kago next to his own, suffering because of this country's climate.

“Minshan, take the rest of the day off,” Jin Guangyao said after a little while. “I’ll deal with the music lesson, you should have a fresh bath and rest. You’re really feeling bad today, aren’t you?”

Su Minshan looked away in shame, but nodded shortly. If it had been possible, Jin Guangyao would have reached out for him and taken his hand to comfort him.

“I’m fine,” Su Minshan said. “There’s no need to trouble yourself, I can take care of the disciples.”

“And I’d rather you take care of yourself,” Jin Guangyao countered. “I like teaching them, anyway. They’re good children.”

About half the disciples they’d recruited for their new sect were sons of minor nobility, because that paid, and because it never hurt to have connections. But a few were youth of genuine potential, who had in them the making of true cultivators, if they applied themselves.

The noble boys only came to study some of the days, and were sent back to their parents after lessons. The true disciples lived in their house, so they could be taught proper cultivation without inducing jealousy in those spoiled little princes who would never even come close to forming a golden core. Two of those boys Jin Guangyao had straight up bought from their family, something he couldn’t decide how to feel about. But they’d have been wasted as peasants, and they were grateful to their masters, and…

And Jin Guangyao wondered sometimes if this was what it had felt like for Nie Mingjue, picking the lowest person he could see and bringing him higher than others. Knowing you could change someone’s life was a potent drug, and it made Jin Guangyao want to fight to maintain their current position, so he could keep doing it. He’d been on the receiving end of pity for so long, he quite enjoyed being the one who could bestow it upon others at last.

“Do take the afternoon off,” Jin Guangyao insisted. “And I’ll send Haruto to buy some refreshing treats. He’ll be so happy to be of service to you, don’t refuse him that pleasure.”

“But…”

“Don’t refuse me the pleasure of spoiling you, either,” Jin Guangyao said, and with that Su Minshan could only nod meekly, defeated.

They reached home soon after. A light lunch was served to them, after which Jin Guangyao ordered that a bath be prepared for Su Minshan. Haruto and Minato, the two peasant boys, acquitted themselves of that task before going to prepare for their afternoon class. Jin Guangyao too went to prepare, but only after making sure that Su Minshan had everything he needed, and that the room they shared wasn’t too unbearably hot. Mostly, he enjoyed having someone to fuss over, something Su Minshan always resisted a little out of some fear he’d be relying too much on Jin Guangyao and become a burden.

A ridiculous notion. Out of everyone Jin Guangyao had ever allowed close to him, Su Minshan was the only one whose company had never once felt like a weight on his shoulder. Right from the start they had been equals, their temperament matching, as well as their hunger from more than the world was willing to give them. Jin Guangyao's few loved ones had all held him back, Qin Su with her unfortunate parentage, Lan Xichen with his principles, Jin Ling with the threat he represented... but Su Minshan had always been the perfect person to stand at Jin Guangyao’s side, and now they could do so openly.

The afternoon lesson passed quickly. Due to the humid heat, the boys were a little less attentive than usual, but then again so was Jin Guangyao. He was only too happy to free the boys for the day. Jin Guangyao only took a moment to send Haruto, his favourite student, on a few errands, while he went to do some accounting.

He’d been carefully managing their finances since they’d arrived in this country, and finally things were looking up. Jin Guangyao hoped that in a year or two they might buy a small house in the mountains, where he was told summers were fresher. Hopefully, he might get parts of the expense dumped onto some idiot prince or other, in exchange for teaching one of their dull witted sons. Back at home it wouldn’t have worked, because people understood money couldn’t buy cultivation, but here… here, any idiot with gold to waste thought they would learn magic.

It was fine to scam these people, Jin Guangyao told himself. Taking advantage of powerful men was nothing at all like those people who had sold his mother fake cultivation manuals. He wasn’t hurting anyone. Or at least, no one that particularly mattered.

When Haruto returned, Jin Guangyao took it as a sign he’d worked enough for the day. He thanks the boy for his effort, and gave him a few of the just purchased treats to share with the other disciples. The rest he took with him as he went to the room he shared with Su Minshan. As always he knocked on the wall to announce his presence, using a certain code between them so Su Minshan would know he didn’t need to cover himself.

When he came in, Su Minshan was sprawled inelegantly on a futon, and desperately fanning himself, his ruined chest glistening with sweat. He looked so miserable like this, though his face lit up when Jin Guangyao put down a box on their low table, and opened it to reveal some fresh shaved ice.

“I could kiss you,” Su Minshan said, all but crawling to the table.

“I hope you will,” Jin Guangyao retorted, picking some of the shaved ice with a spoon so he could feed it to the other man. “I also have some cold noodles, and some rice wine.”

“You are a god among men.”

Jin Guangyao laughed, and started chatting about their students, the ones in which they placed true hope, the ones who were there only for their parents’ fortune. Su Minshan was delighted to hear they might be able to buy a secondary house. With his thousand holes curse, heat and humidity were particularly hard on him, sweat and friction chafing his skin nearly to the point of bleeding sometimes. They really needed that house in the mountain, Jin Guangyao decided. He'd start looking very soon, and maybe drop a word to one of his richer patrons to ask for advice on such a purchase.

For now though, the two men enjoyed their shaved ice, then moved on to some delicious cold noodles. The local food was different from the one back home, but it was something they'd both taken to rather well, unlike that blasted climate. Then, after eating, they started drinking their wine, and the two men found themselves chatting about the place they would always call home, even if they should live in Japan for a thousand years.

“I wonder how A-Ling is doing,” Jin Guangyao mused, staring into his cup of wine. “Poor boy, he must have run the sect to the grounds by now, unless someone more competent got rid of him.”

“Maybe your enemy killed him,” Su Minshan retorted. “If they couldn’t get you, at least they’d get your next of kin.”

Jin Guangyao grimaced. “Probably. After all, they got Qin Su and that little idiot Mo Xuanyu, why not Jin Ling as well? Unless…”

“Unless?”

Jin Guangyao hummed thoughtfully. “I’m still wondering who it could have been,” he said. “I had my enemies of course, but there aren’t many who could have been bold enough to come after me like that. They all hated me of course,” he added with a joyless laugh. “But hate is not enough to go after a man who will slaughter your sect if you stand in his way. It takes a certain type of man to stand up to someone like me.”

“Could have been Lan Wangji,” Su Minshan predictably suggested. “Righteous prick, he didn’t particularly like Nie Mingjue, but he’d avenge him just to feel morally superior.”

“The fact that his lover was brought back certainly is suspicious,” Jin Guangyao conceded, sipping some wine. “And he never particularly liked me, either. To be fair, I don’t think he likes anyone, except that murderer. Still, I’m not sure he would have let Mo Xuanyu kill himself, he does have principles. No, I have another theory.”

“I’m listening.”

Jin Guangyao smiled, and poured more alcohol for both of them, letting the liquid flow as slowly as possible, allowing the suspense to rise a little before he dropped his bomb.

“Jiang Cheng,” he then said.

Su Minshan blinked a few times, frowned, then severely nodded, glaring at his cup of wine.

“It would make sense. Good way to make sure you don’t get rid of his idiotic nephew.”

“Our idiotic nephew,” Jin Guangyao corrected, who had put too much effort into becoming a Jin to disown his last direct relative, even if the boy really took more after his other uncle. “And everyone knows he’s obsessed with finding Wei Wuxian, right? I wouldn’t put it past him to just take things in his own hands and bring back the man who killed his sister, just for a chance to kill him himself, once he was sure no one stood in the way of A-Ling’s inheritance. Too bad he didn’t count on Lan Wangji. Ah, I almost wish I could go back and check on conferences now, it must be quite the show.”

The thought of Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng, who had always hated each other, forced to act half polite even though they both wanted to lock down Wei Wuxian and keep him to themselves… it might have been the wine, but Jin Guangyao couldn’t help chuckling a little. He was so glad that he didn’t have to deal with that sort of mess. For this alone, he was almost grateful to his mysterious enemy.

It was an odd feeling, actually, but Jin Guangyao had come to enjoy his life here, in this foreign land. It wasn’t as good as home, nothing compared to the near absolute power he’d held back then, but… but his eyes fell on Su Minshan, naked from the waist up, looking in a rare good mood, and he smiled. There was definitely something to be said for this simpler life they had here. There was so much less scheming to be done, fewer enemies to deal with, and Jin Guangyao was finally free from the looming menace of Nie Mingjue’s resentful head hidden in his secret room.

Life here really wasn’t so bad.

“You know who it could have been?” Su Minshan asked, grinning like a fool, his cheeks flushed from the heat and the wine.

“Who?”

Su Minshan beamed, the way he usually did when sharing a nasty story about the darker secrets of Gusu Lan.

“Think about it. Someone who would have wanted to avenge Nie Mingjue. Someone who might have been able to wander around in other sects without attracting attention to collect information, because nobody cares what he does. Someone who Mo Xuanyu might have met before, who was there when Wei Wuxian came to Jinlin Tai to accuse you…”

Jin Guangyao, who had expected his lover to blame Lan Xichen, burst out laughing.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Minshan. Really? You’re accusing Nie Huaisang now?” Just saying it out loud, Jin Guangyao laughed louder. Nie Huaisang had never had a single idea of his own in his entire life, and didn’t even get along with his brother when he’d been alive. Su Minshan might as well have blamed a very stupid dog. “That poor boy, I bet he would have taken my defence to the end. I almost miss him, you know.”

“No you don’t,” Su Minshan retorted, which made Jin Guangyao laugh again.

“I do! Ah, Minshan, let’s get a cat and call it Huaisang.”

Su Minshan scoffed, and reached out for the wine, only to find they had already finished it. It was probably for the best, if they were so drunk that they could consider the possibility of Nie Huaisang being their secret enemy.

“It’d have to be a fat cat then,” Su Minshan grumbled, stretching in a way that called attention to his chest. It was funny, Jin Guangyao thought sometimes, how he should have been disgusted by the effects of the Thousand Holes curse, but wasn’t at all. “ And one too lazy to even run after mice, or do anything but sleep in the sun, or else the name won’t fit.”

“Minshan, you’re so mean,” Jin Guangyao fondly said, taking the other man’s hand and pulling on it, wanting to go to bed now and enjoy some more this very mean-spirited man he was lucky enough to share his new life with. “Please, never change.”

#suyao #jin guangyao #su she #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #evil boyfriends heck yeah #living in evil domesticity #jau writes

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c-ptsdrecovery · 4 years

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Emotional Neglect in Austen

It’s late and I should be going to bed, but I just reread this passage in Persuasion (by Jane Austen) and it Struck me:

Anne has been taking a long walk with the others and is getting very tired.

This long meadow bordered a lane, which their footpath, at the end of it was to cross, and when the party had all reached the gate of exit, the carriage advancing in the same direction, which had been some time heard, was just coming up, and proved to be Admiral Croft's gig. He and his wife had taken their intended drive, and were returning home. Upon hearing how long a walk the young people had engaged in, they kindly offered a seat to any lady who might be particularly tired; it would save her a full mile, and they were going through Uppercross. The invitation was general, and generally declined. The Miss Musgroves were not at all tired, and Mary was either offended, by not being asked before any of the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot pride could not endure to make a third in a one horse chaise.

The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an opposite stile, and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again, when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a moment to say something to his sister. The something might be guessed by its effects.

"Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired," cried Mrs Croft. "Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four. You must, indeed, you must."

Anne was still in the lane; and though instinctively beginning to decline, she was not allowed to proceed. The Admiral's kind urgency came in support of his wife's; they would not be refused; they compressed themselves into the smallest possible space to leave her a corner, and Captain Wentworth, without saying a word, turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage.

Yes; he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it, that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution to give her rest. She was very much affected by the view of his disposition towards her, which all these things made apparent.

(Chapter 10; bolding and italics mine)

Anne is someone who has grown up in a family where no one considers her needs, wants, feelings at all (except her friend Lady Russell, and her mother, now for several years deceased). She has grown up with emotional neglect.

And the result is that, even when she KNOWS she’s tired, and it’s OBVIOUS that she should accept the ride--she knows the Crofts pretty well, nobody else wants the spot, they offered it to all the ladies, which includes her--she doesn’t even THINK about accepting. The other ladies say no, and she apparently doesn’t even consider speaking up for herself.

When the idea is started that she is tired, the Crofts have to try VERY hard to get her to accept, as she “instinctively” refuses help. And in fact, she only accepts the offer in the end once Capt. W “Obliges” her to (meaning that he behaves in such a way to help her into the carriage that it would be highly rude of her to refuse, so she’s just following the path of least resistance--and most people-pleasing--by accepting).

She is then extremely touched by his showing this perception of her feelings and his doing something about it--and in fact goes on, in the passage, to reflect on his precise feelings and attitude towards her.

This is CLASSIC behavior in a survivor of emotional neglect. She doesn’t even consider her own needs, or accepting help in meeting those needs. She just doesn’t even stop to think that she deserves to be helped as much as anybody else in the group.

When it is suggested to her that she should accept generosity and help, she instinctively begins to refuse, and has to be socially obliged to accepts.

Finally, she is surprisingly touched by this small gesture on Capt. W’s part. She is specifically grateful that he Perceived her needs, and that he Acted in order to meet them. These are the very things that her neglectful family does not do. They are things that anybody should be able to expect from their fellow human beings (we are here to help each other), and yet she takes it as evidence of his Feelings for her. Because only someone with particularly warm feelings of “friendship” (or more) would, she believes, be this thoughtful of her. (She’s right, in this case, but such an assumption wouldn’t always be correct in the Real World.) Survivors of emotional neglect often mistake friendly behavior on other people’s part as romantic interest, because they have been trained to believe that someone would have to really Love them in order to care about their feelings (since people who supposedly love them, ie their family, clearly don’t care).

As a survivor of emotional neglect, something I’ve been gradually working on is learning to accept help and to speak up for my own needs.

...Don’t even get me STARTED on Fanny Price.

#persuasion #jane austen #literary analysis #literature #psychology #emotional neglect #childhood emotional neglect

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vatofrain · 5 years

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On Winnie the Pooh & Paddington, Honey & Marmalade

Oh, something sweet on bread! To crave only sweet things: marmalade on toast, marmalade straight, another jar of honey. To subsist on sweet spreads and friendship alone: is this not the dream? To be a very nice bear going around the world, making the world (other people! other animals! hell, the weather!) nicer in turn.

My friend K and I have a running metaphor concerning honey. 11pm, on the backroads around a farm near the New York / Connecticut border, as “All the Birds” by Julia Weldon crooned through their beat up speakers, one hand on the wire by the headphone jack to keep the music playing (the wire bent just so)— we were talking about love. We were talking about how we had so much to give but were afraid to give it to anyone for fear that they didn’t want it— which is where the honey comes in, because, we thought, isn’t it like having an armful of honey? So much golden, syrupy sweet to give that we hold on to simply because we are afraid to make of others a sticky mess?

And our arms are not meant to hold viscosity so some of it drips, by accident, onto the grass, the road, someone’s shoe, but when we finally find somebody who says yes, love me, and I will love you too— in whatever capacity it may mean— we start to pour onto them and are afraid that they will stay shit you’re getting sticky all over me I don’t want this I don’t want this anymore. So we hold onto our honey. Though it doesn’t want to be held. You tell me to love you but I’m afraid that you won’t want it once you know what shape it holds. I don’t want to make of anyone a mess they didn’t agree to. There is so much honey in my arms.

A poem on honey and love: “Aunt Rose’s Honey Advice” by Lorna Goodison:

My aunt Rose told me that it is always good for lovers to keep honey mixed in with their food.

"Keep it around the house at all times," she said. Replace slick butter with pure honey on bread.

Feed it to your love from a deep silver spoon. Throw open the curtains draw free honey from the moon.

Use it to lend a gold glow to wan lustreless skin. Fold it into honey cakes, drizzle it into honey drinks.

Add a satin honey glaze to the matte surface of everydays. Voices sing polished with honey's burnishing.

Shall we then beloved become keepers of bees, invite an entire colony of workers, drones and a queen

to build complex multicelled wax cities near our home by the sea? Would that mean that salt

would be savoring through our honey? And you say, "What of it?" and give me a kiss

flavoured with honey and sea-salt mix. Integrated honey you say. Kiss me again is what I say

because the salt in that kiss could be the sting from old tears and we need to make up for all our honeyless years.

Honey as love, honey as effort, honey as a gift that can be both salty and sweet. When I say my love is an armful of honey, what I mean is this: I don’t quite know how to give it out slowly, how to make it just a honeyed piece of bread or a spoonful in the morning. What I mean is this: I am so concerned with its stickiness that I forget how sweet it goes down.

Winnie the Pooh is not a bear concerned with romantic love, but he is a bear concerned with love. Friendship, honey, let me shove my snout into the pot, let me lick out with my long hungry tongue every drop I can manage. Winnie the Pooh is a bear of very great appetite and a bear of very generous loving. His love is a constant loyal warmth, an endless hunger for the presence of the loved, a generosity, a deep and abiding faith. Some exhibitions:

Winnie the Pooh: It's always a sunny day, when Christopher Robin comes to play

Christopher Robin: I've cracked.

Winnie The Pooh: Oh, I don't see any cracks. A few wrinkles, maybe

Piglet: I-I think I'll just s-stay here... Y-you don't really need me anyways.

Winnie The Pooh: Oh Piglet... but we DO need you...

Piglet: Y-you do?

Winnie The Pooh: [takes Piglet's hand] We ALWAYS need you, Piglet.

Christopher Robin: I'm not the person I used to be.

Winnie The Pooh: You saved us. You're a hero.

Christopher Robin: I'm not a hero, Pooh. The fact is, I'm lost.

Winnie The Pooh: But I found you.

Pooh is not only hungry for honey; he’s generous with it. His actual physical honey may be a kind of love he keeps for his own consumption (I don’t feel very much like Pooh today / There, there, I’ll bring you tea and honey until you do), there is no denying the very greatness of his heart. His care for his friends (we ALWAYS need you, Piglet) his faith in them (you’re a hero), his devotion and love, the way his life is crafted around loving: is that not its own doling out of honey? So, then, with Pooh we learn that honey is not something to hide from the world: that while we should be mindful of human dignities like boundaries and agency, there is little to be gained in the rationing of love.

And here we come to another bear who doles out love like something only slightly thicker than water.: Paddington. While Pooh’s essential task is love, Paddington’s is kindness, that cousin of honey, both products of both effort and patience, both sweet & sweet & sweet & delicious on bread. While Pooh’s is the story of loving those we already love, Paddington’s is the story of how to offer kindness and compassion and respect and dignity to those we don’t yet know. Pooh tells us how to live and love within our inner circle; Paddington tells us to offer love wherever we go.

Some exhibitions of Marmaladeism, both by Paddington himself and his films at large:

Paddington Bear: if we're kind and polite the world will be right.'

Paddington: Thank you, Mr. McGinty. Nuckles McGinty: Don’t thank me yet. I don’t do nothing for no one for nothing. Paddington: Beg your pardon? Nuckles McGinty: You get my protection so long as you make that marmalade. Deal? Paddington: Deal.

& how through Paddington’s kindness, McGinty’s perspective changes:

Nuckles McGinty: [to Paddington] If you’re going to clear your name, you’re going to need our help.

Nuckles McGinty: “This bear is now under my protection. Anyone that touches a hair on this bear will have to answer to me, Nuckles McGinty. That’s Nuckles with a capital N.”

Henry Brown: No, of course you don't. YOU never have! As soon as you set eyes on that bear you made up your mind about him. Well Paddington's not like that. He looks for the good in all of us and somehow, he finds it! It's why he makes friends wherever he goes. And it's why Windsor Gardens is a happier place whenever he's around. He wouldn't hesitate if any of us needed help! So stand aside, Mr Curry. 'Cause we're coming through.

Aunt Lucy: Long ago, people in England sent their children by train with labels around their necks, so they could be taken care of by complete strangers in the country side where it was safe. They will not have forgotten how to treat strangers.

While both Paddington movies are completely wonderful, Paddington 2 is more effective in communicating its point: through a surprisingly nuanced look at the prison industrial complex, capitalism, and the insidious nature of evil (and how it roots from believing oneself superior to everyone else), it tells us that by offering people kindness, human dignity, compassion, and even love, we can often coax out their better selves from the protective shell of their worse ones.

These are times like any other: by which I mean, times in which we often learn the correct rhetoric, the correct stances, the correct politics, the correct opinions, and forget what all this is meant to be in service of: honey & marmalade, love & kindness. We speak out against prejudice (racism, sexism, classism, ableism, prejudice against LGBTQ people, etc.) rightly so— I don’t mean to say that we should stop activism or protest or a careful monitoring of language— but we must remember what we do this all for. Yes, structural change is crucial. What else is important? Treating the people you come across who are of these minorities we claim to support and defend well, treating them with kindness, with compassion, loving them well, as they need and want to be loved. Large-scale rhetoric is shaky and doomed if it doesn’t come from some deeper, sweeter instinct to ensure we are all fed: in food, in shelter, in education, in joy, in honey & marmalade. Let us not forget this.

I think we need to watch more kids’ movies. I think we need to reteach ourselves the fundamentals. I think it’s a goddamn shame that kids’ movies are dismissed as uncomplicated and unimportant, that wonder, hope, naivete, whimsy, charm, warmth, sweetness (those 2 secret sauces) are not granted the same gravitas as misery and grittiness, that there is somehow nothing important to say about them, that only cynicism and brutality are intelligent. One is not smarter for being miserable. One is not smarter for their pessimism. One is not smarter, is not better, is not more morally responsible or ethically aware or more worldly for refusing to place in their mouth a piece of bread spread with something sweet, for refusing to say yes, this is , in Leslie Jamison’s words (again, I know) significant, this“ single note of honey”.

#winnie the pooh #k #paddington bear #paddington 2 #christopher robin #honey #love #reflections #cultural criticism #marmalade #leslie jamison

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wildflower8281 · 5 years

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Receiving Gifts

The moment of receiving gifts is such an interesting chance to observe humanity!

How do you receive gifts?! What are your feelings around receiving gifts from people?

Do you love it or avoid & dread it? Do you burst with gratitude or is that moment maybe extremely uncomfortable or awkward for you? Or are you somewhere in between, depending on the person, the occasion, the gift?

The way we receive gifts reflects so much about us!

The way we receive gifts manifests:

Our beliefs around worthiness and our comfortability in knowing we deserve good things

How we have cultivated our energy of gratitude & receiving in general

Our comfort with expressing emotions

Our ability to receive in other realms of our life, namely receiving pleasure, love, opportunities, wealth and all manner of amazing gifts from the Universe.

In many cases our familial or cultural upbringing regarding gift-giving and how to receive gifts, the meaning of gift-giving, etc.

Following the Thread of Receivership to your Core Beliefs

So much of the energy around an awkward receiving revolves around the person feeling uncomfortable because there is a deeply seated belief that they are not worthy of gifts of love, time, service, goodness.

Also, most likely, they had no model of gracious receiving/worthiness in their lives to watch.

On the outside, it may just always feel uncomfortable & awkward, but if we focus and follow that thread, it will lead to some answers that can be unraveled, loosened up and opened to make the moment of receiving actually a moment of great joy and ease!

Whenever I have encountered a person in my life who receives gifts/compliments/love very uncomfortably, I have realized that it is very linked to their understanding of Love and Self-Worth. Like intimately tied to it.

Their stories & beliefs regarding self-worth is unique to each of them. The Medicine & Magic is in following the thread to the origin and then being brave enough to unravel it, let it go and claim a new story, create a new story around their worthiness….

The stories of worthiness and love may come from what parents have said or modeled, they may just come from our society that values hard work and does not value play & rest, thereby making being the receiver the more uncomfortable position for many, assented to unconsciously. How many of us have bought into the cultural story that in order to rest/play/receive, we must work hard first?! We must do/prove/produce before being worthy of the gifts of play/rest/leisure/luxury/love. So many of us think that is just “how it is,” but it’s actually just a cultural story that we can choose to buy into or not.

What following the thread of Receivership does for us is land us to our core beliefs about our worthiness, about what we believe to be true about simply our existence. Not our work, not our looks, not what we have done with our lives….About simply US BEING HERE.

Do you believe that you are worthy of love and gifts just because You Are?

Because You Are You? Because You Are Here?

Can you just relax and receive goodness, compliments, love from others and simply say Thank you?

If not, follow that thread, My Friend!

Why not? What makes it uncomfortable? Keep following that thread and you will arrive right to the heart of it - which is You and Your Core Beliefs about Yourself.

Why People Don’t Go There

People don’t go there because it means they can’t blame anyone else anymore.

Many people just avoid exploring this thread because addressing the awkward uncomfortable-ness means going to the core of who they are, what they believe about who they are and, wait for it,

Taking Responsibility for their beliefs about their worthiness, meaning it’s not anyone else’s fault anymore. But rather we take responsibility for how we feel at any moment, for what we believe about ourselves and for what we feel and believe even about past events in our lives. Things we may have formerly said, This happened To Me, are upleveled into This happened AND this is how I’m choosing to view it and feel about it!

People don’t go here because it means they can no longer blame someone else, or Life, or God, for how they feel and what they believe about their value & the identity they have formed around old stories...

It means facing the Truth that we have assented to stories and meanings that are not true and were of low vibrational energy for years. It means releasing the attachment we have to our identities around these low vibe stories, which for many can feel extremely uncomfortable.

We get comfy and cozy with the energies that we vibe each day, even if they are low. We create identities around our unworthiness, our anxiety, our inability to be competent or lovable or free. Insert preferred adjective. Whatever the story - if it’s been playing for decades, it will feel comfortable and familiar to us. It’s easy for our brains to loop it and it’s the frequency our bodies have become accustomed to.

Stepping out of that energy and opening into something new feels scary.

Note that this is just the brain wanting you to stay where it’s familiar and easy.

In order to expose ourselves to greater Joy, Happiness and Freedom, we need to step into those places and unravel, and then recalibrate newness.

Ooops. Welcome to the Inner Journey. Where Light is Shed on the Darkness. And re-scripting our stories means unraveling everything we’ve formerly accepted to be true.

For those who prefer to stay where it’s familiar, they will remain in the awkwardness of their energy and the Universe will not deliver more glorious and wonderful gifts because She sees that they do not know how to receive well, and are not in a stance of open receivership. She sees that they are uncomfortable receiving and also are not cultivating the energy of gratitude for all things, always. For these people, receiving gifts, pleasure, compliments, opportunities will be sparse, uncomfortable and always have a weird tinge of lack & not-worthy surrounding them.

The Truth is that Just By Being You, You Are Worthy of All Goodness & Beauty The Universe Has to Offer. When we step into this Truth and Radiate it, the Universe Loves showering us with gifts in all realms of our lives!

The Universe Treats Us How We Treat Ourselves!

The Art of Receiving Graciously

Many of us probably learned gift-receiving behaviors through our family and cultural experiences growing up: holidays and birthday parties mostly. So, depending on the energy of our families, we learned any number of ways/behaviors around receiving gifts.

My immediate family was always very expressive, gracious & affectionate, and so I learned to be happy, grateful, to hug and express joy at receiving gifts most of the time. I’m sure there were times as a kid when I may have stated, “This isn’t what I wanted” or “I already have this” but overall, receiving was an exciting time, buzzing with joy and anticipation.

Later in life, in the convent actually, I learned a further lesson about receiving. It seems as we mature into adulthood, it becomes harder for us to receive help, favors, gifts of time or service, etc. We get a little proud or independent or just begin to filter our emotions more, due to societal mores. When I was in the convent, we learned a wonderful concept regarding how to receive: Receiving a gift is an act of charity (love.)

Instead of pulling away, becoming stoic or refusing a gift/compliment/favor/service, we were taught that receiving that small act of love from someone else in a stance of graciousness is actually a gift back to the Giver, in the moment. It is actually an act of Love to receive graciously.

Think of Jesus (or any high vibrational human you prefer honestly.)

Firstly, he was always in a stance of receivership, always welcoming, always open and grateful - to others, to children, to life. Arms Open, Welcoming All Gifts into His Field.

Stance of Receivership!

Secondly, how would he receive gifts, any gifts? To him, it wouldn’t really matter what the gift was (time, service, words, food, art, a purchase) but rather he would focus his gratitude on the Giver and on the thoughtfulness, the time, the energy that person spent in preparing, seeking and sharing this gift.

Think of the ‘sinful woman’ who used her own tears, her precious oils and her own hair to wash his feet. Unlike most people, he received her in tender gratitude and noted to everyone at the table the time, energy and precious resources she utilized in carrying out this gift and act of service. Jesus would receive all things with grace and love, in the moment returning the love back to the Giver. A Full Circle. Love & Gratitude. Welcoming & Thanking.

This understanding helped me to become an even better Receiver, because I learned that it wasn’t about the gift or about me, but more about the Giver & more about Energy. The art of receiving graciously is in itself a Gift in return.

That to receive graciously is to drop the resistance we might feel towards

if we are worthy and

whether or not we actually want the gift,

and it simply opens channels of love energy between Receiver & Giver, where Abundance and Joy dwell always.

Stance of Receivership Always

Once we open and cultivate this stance of receivership, this openness to gifts, knowing we are worthy and living in gratitude, the Universe quite obviously opens the floodgates and pours forth blessings and gifts, so get ready!

(*A Note on Service/Generosity - This post is focused on Receiving, but it goes without saying that this goes hand-in-hand with the Energy of Generosity/Service. I think the majority of us are more comfortable with serving/giving/working/offering value than we are comfortable receiving it, so I’m not focusing on generosity/service/giving here. But they are like yin and yang. We cannot be in a Stance of Receivership only, obviously as that is selfish and the Universe feels that. There is an energetic chasm between Selfishness and Generous Receivership. The energy is vastly different. To be in a true Stance of Receivership implies Gratitude and the intention to use the gifts to further extend the high vibrational frequencies of love, joy, gratitude by continuing the giving/service/gifting outwards.Receiving graciously implies you are open to allow the Flow of Abundance through you and back into the Universe.)

The more I have consciously fostered this Energy of Receivership & Gratitude, the more abundance, work & travel opportunities, beautiful spaces, plentiful chunks of leisure time, amazing foods & drinks and fun experiences have been ushered my way.

It means being open to not only material gifts like on holidays, but also receiving new opportunities for wealth, for travel or amazing experiences. It means being open to new levels of pleasure & sensations in our bodies, with ourselves and with Lovers. It means being open to new insights in our hearts and minds, tapping into truths and dimensions of ourselves where the world opens up and further shows us Her Beauty, Her Wildness, Her Magic! There are Infinite Means of Abundance that the Universe can usher into our experience, if we simply believe we are worthy of them all!

Remember, the Universe treats us how we treat ourselves.

Know you are worthy, lovable and deserve all good things just by being You.

Make this your Belief System and watch the Gifts of all kinds start rolling in!

Stance of Receivership!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

(Photos: Unsplash)

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bookloversreviewer · 5 years

Text

“Another brilliantly written winner. Do yourself a favor and pick this one up, you will not regret it.” —Kate Stewart, USA Today bestselling author

Perfectly Adequate, an all-new must-read romantic comedy from Jewel E. Ann, is available now!

Dr. Elijah Hawkins needs … something.

After his wife jumps headfirst into a midlife crisis, he’s left with his young son, Roman, and a lot of unanswered questions.

That something turns out to be a someone—Dorothy Mayhem, nursing student, patient transporter, reckless driver, and emu owner.

Dorothy studies humans, the neurotypical kind, through books and television. Then she emulates their behavioral patterns to fit in with her peers.

But nothing can prepare her for Dr. Elijah Hawkins.

Single dad.

Brilliant pediatric oncologist.

And the sexiest doctor at the hospital.

When his failed attempts at asking her out turn into a string of playdates with his son, Dorothy finds herself unexpectedly enamored with the boy and his father.

And that’s a problem, a huge one, because Elijah’s ex-wife is a famous plastic surgeon—and Dorothy’s idol.

Perfectly Adequate is a beautiful, hilarious, and heart-felt journey along the “human” spectrum.

Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2o6sJZF

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/PerfectlyAdequate

Amazon Paperback: https://amzn.to/2lZxdRm

Add to GoodReads: http://bit.ly/2OWq81s

Excerpt

“You can call me Eli.”

She swallows hard. “I don’t actually think I can.”

“Why not?” I force my gaze away from her mouth.

The second our eyes meet, she averts her attention to her feet. “Because you’re half of the Hathaway-Hawkins duo.”

This is a new one to me. “I’m divorced.”

“I know. I …” She makes an attempt to look at me, but her attention shifts to my temple then maybe my ear. “I mean you’re a brilliant doctor, and Dr. Hathaway is too—so brilliant. God, she’s just phenomenal. Like there are no words. But still … you change the lives of young children. You save them. You’re what every young person entering the medical field can only dream of becoming. You’ve earned the title. I can’t call you by your name. It’s too personal. I don’t know … almost intimate.”

She has Julie on a really high pedestal. Me? Down a few pegs. Sounds about right for my life at the moment. It’s not that Julie doesn’t deserve to be on the pedestal. No matter how much I hate her, I still love her. And her skills as a pediatric plastic surgeon are unmatched. She deserves Dorothy’s admiration.

But I don’t want to talk about medicine, accolades, and saving lives. I know … I know … how terrible of me. Sorry, but I need something for myself. Something personal and maybe a little selfish.

Definitely intimate.

“I don’t need a babysitter for Roman.”

She jerks her head back, giving me her full attention, eyes squinted, gaze locked to mine. “What?”

I trap my top lip between my teeth, drowning in coconuts as my heart races, sending ample blood to all regions of my body. God … I just want—need—to kiss her.

“Oh jeez …” She shakes her head, closing her eyes for a breath. “You invited me to dinner to … flirt.” Her eyes open to their widest point.

A tiny laugh escapes me. I can’t help it. Everything about this woman feels like a rebirth. “I invited you to dinner because Roman really likes you. And I just can’t thank you enough for all that you’ve done for him. You’re so generous.”

Gah! I suck at this!

What is my problem? Yes. The answer is yes! Yes, Dorothy, I invited you over to flirt, maybe even kiss. And other things …

“Oh.” She takes a step backward, stumbling a bit as the front door catches her, and more embarrassment tints her cheeks. “Well, now I feel stupid. Yes, of course you invited me here because Roman likes me. Duh. Now I just look like an idiot for assuming you wanted to flirt with me. And really, no need to thank me. My generosity is selfish. It makes me feel good to do nice things. That’s all. And really, you’ve bought me coffee and made me dinner again. It’s like I should be thanking you again. But that’s probably weird. So … I’ll just go now.”

Really, really weird shit goes through my mind as she fidgets. Dr. Hawkins is nowhere to be found. Neither is Roman’s dad. Raging-puberty-hormones Eli Hawkins invades my head—both of them really. And I just want to kiss Dorothy. That’s the PG version of my thoughts. Most of them are R-rated. Worse than the R-rating. All I can think about are the ways Dorothy and I can be generous with each other, leading to never-ending thank-you’s that don't involve stationary, replacement scrubs, superhero capes, pasta dinners, lunch boxes … or clothing.

“Should we call it even? No more thank-you’s,” I suggest.

“Okay.” She lifts her gaze, eyes going a little cross-eyed like her focus is centered on the bridge of my nose.

“Okay.” I release a slow breath, but it does very little to relax all of my body. “Can I ask your age?” I’m not sure why I’ve been so chicken about asking her age. I think it worries me that she’s too young, and I’ll feel like a dirty old man having really inappropriate thoughts about her.

“I’m thirty. Why?”

“You just look young.”

“I wear massive amounts of sunscreen.”

I nod slowly.

Just kiss her, you big chicken!

What if she doesn’t want to be kissed by me? Or flirt with me? I internally laugh at the memory of her comment and at myself for being just as awkward. Why does something so simple have to be so complicated?

“I have a forty-five-minute drive home.”

And school the next day. Where is my head?

Oh, that’s right …

“Of course. I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

“Okay.” She smiles.

I love her okay’s. They feel like more than the average okay.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Have you not closed all of your rings?” She holds up her wrist, signaling to her watch.

I chuckle. “All rings were closed hours ago.”

“We could track each other. Share our rings. Did you know that?”

Rings. Kisses. Trips to the on-call room for sex.

For the love of God … get your shit together, Elijah!

“Never mind. That’s weird.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at herself just before opening the door and scurrying ten steps ahead of me. Her pace gains momentum with the hill of my driveway.

My long strides catch up to her at the bottom of it. She looks both ways and bolts across the street to her car, clicks the locks, and opens her door.

“Goodnight!”

“Dorothy Mayhem … you’re killing me.”

She turns just before ducking into the driver’s seat.

“What do you mean?”

Resting my hands on my hips, I drop my chin in defeat and stare at my untied gray canvas shoes. “What if I did ask you to dinner tonight to … flirt?” I glance up, digging my teeth into my bottom lip on a slight cringe.

Her body remains stoic as her eyes shift from side to side, like she’s been caught on a hidden camera. “Well … then I wore the wrong outfit.” She refuses to look me in the eye.

“I think you look amazing.”

“Yes. But this is a playdate outfit. Maybe even one I’d wear to apply for a babysitter position. It’s fun, but wholesome. Practical and safe.”

I just want to spend one day in her head. Everything about her fascinates the hell out of me. The curiosity gives me such a high.

“Tell me about your flirting outfit.”

“Well …” She clears her throat, keeping her focus on the big hill leading out of my development. And of course … her cheeks are perfectly flushed as she talks to the wind. “Since Romeo was involved, I would have chosen my red dress with white stripes. It hits just below my knees, but it’s strapless. And I would have worn my blue cardigan with it and matching blue wedge sandals with straps that tie around my ankles. Flirty … but appropriate for young eyes.”

“And if Roman wouldn’t have been here tonight?” I stare at the side of her head, wondering if she’ll look at me again before driving home.

She narrows her eyes. “I would have taken off the cardigan after you invited me into your house.”

The picture she paints in my head does all kinds of wicked things to me. Why imagining her in a striped strapless dress has such a physical effect on me is a mystery. It’s not like she suggested showing up wearing nothing but high heels and a trench coat. Dorothy Mayhem possesses her own brand of seduction, and I’m completely entangled in every part of it.

“And in this scenario, would you have kissed me after I walked you to your car?”

She turns completely red. I feel certain even her toes hidden in those blue shoes have to be red. “You’re making fun of me.”

Her comment knocks me back a good ten steps, even if my body remains right next to her. Why would she say that?

About Jewel

Jewel is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of humor.

With 10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her three awesome boys and manage the family business.

After her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books from the Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked. Devouring two and three books a week but still craving more, she decided to practice sustainable reading, AKA writing.

When she’s not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree at a time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and of course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.

Connect with Jewel

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjeweleann/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/JewelE_Ann

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorjeweleann/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/jewel-e-ann

Stay up to date with Jewel by joining her mailing list:

http://www.jeweleann.com/free-booksubscribe/

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roundthatcorner · 7 years

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“I said what I said, and it was wrong, or it was taken wrong, and now it's all this...”

BASICALLY.

So the furor, such as it is, that has resulted from a fairly innocuous post of mine seems to have taken on a bit of a life of its own, so I feel somewhat responsible and need to address certain things. A lot of what's been said seems frankly disconnected from anything I actually wrote, so I'm going to cover some but not all of the misconceptions – particular themes have been chosen because honestly some of the ideas I've been credited with are quite hurtful, to me personally and I think to a few other people. I'm not 'at'-ing people because I'm not sure it would be at all fruitful or worthwhile to do so, and I'm not going to rebut things line-by-line because that seems more counterproductive than anything. My goal here is to hopefully dampen 'the controversy' (again, such as it is!) rather than inflame it.

On the one hand, I stand by the bulk of what I said – there's been some serious misinterpretations going around, some of which are genuinely baffling – but I can also see that my tone and my contextualization could have been improved. I do 'read' a little bratty or something in that post, which is something I should try to improve upon in the future. As for this post, I'm trying to essentially be the opposite of how I sounded there – be, like, very straightfoward and emotionally open and hopefully not stick my foot in it, or whatever. I'm basically a pathologically shy and conflict averse person, and totally just hoped that this would blow over, so all of this is way beyond my comfort zone. I hope people will see that this post is very much heartfelt, and imbue their reading of it with some generosity towards me and my intentions.

Anyways, the bulk of it, in which I pick out those misinterpretations that I would find it particularly upsetting to let stand as somehow representative of how I think:

a) Re John and being a fan: I love John. I can seriously count on one hand the number of people I love and admire more than John, and the subset under consideration for that isn't, like, 'famous people I like' or 'musicians', it's 'everybody who has ever existed.' I quite simply adore John and if I didn't I wouldn't expend the effort I do into trying to understand him. The implication that I can't possibly be a Beatles 'fan' (said in quotes, no less! Super disheartening), let alone a longtime fan is quite bizarre and insulting. I mean, I think there's a base presumption of 'grace' we should try to extend to other fans: none of us think any of them were or are irredeemable; we are all here because we love them; we all want to see them clearly and fairly. I am (clearly!) not some troll shouting 'John sux!' or whatever. It's not a mark of love for me or anyone to refuse to see John as he was – and by this I don't mean that not seeing John exactly as I do is a failure of anyone else, or deliberate, or that my interpretation is accurate, or whatever, just that FOR ME to limit my interpretation in order to 'keep' John sufficiently lovable or whatever would be silly. John was/is plenty lovable! I don't need to 'protect' myself from whatever dark places may have existed in his mind because I am entirely capable (as I think we all are) of loving him through that (not in spite of that, but THROUGH it, with empathy for him). I don't have to love or accept everything about John to love him – I don't have to love Yoko, or heroin, or Allen Klein, or stupid anti-Semitic cracks, or whatever (which is not to compare those things straightforwardly – obviously – but to make the point that it's okay to dislike things John liked!). We don't owe it to him as fans to make excuses for him; what we owe him is the same as what we owe any human being, which is just to try to understand where he's coming from. That's all that I was trying to do in my post – just delineate the thought processes he may have been having. I don't think I need to surround every discussion about John with 5 dozen caveats about his mental health issues or drug use simply because I have assumed that we all know these things and accept them as the (only) basis for further conversation (and actually I did reference both of those as clear sources of his behavior – I don't know that I can much more explicitly reference his suffering mental health than to say he was experiencing a break with reality). Furthermore, the idea that John's behavior during the final years of the Beatles was at least in part based on virulent paranoia directed at Paul as well as a desire to punish him is not something I came up with – it's a somewhat standard interpretation at this point. Even Paul (who also manages to love John while acknowledging his faults!) has admitted that John became very paranoid, jealous, neurotic, etc. Michael Gerber from Hey Dullblog once commented something like, to paraphrase, the hardest thing to accept as Beatles fans is that John broke up the Beatles and he did it willfully and deliberately...I don't know that that's THE hardest, but it's certainly up there. It's incredibly emotionally draining to consider the dynamics at work during the break-up, but I also think it's worthwhile to do so as honestly as we can, because we love them all so much and because they have so much to teach us, even when it's through this painful, agonizing shit.

b) Re things assumed about me or what-have-you: It strikes me as really quite unfair to assume that because I've never discussed certain things on this blog (or in that specific post), that I don't understand or have never experienced them and am coming at them from a position of somewhat cruel disengagement or w/e. The title of the blog isn't 'Bisexuality, Mental Illness, Drug Addiction & Me', so I really didn't consider it under the purview and have generally refrained from inserting too much of 'myself' (or at least myself non-filtered through Beatles). I don't talk about feminism, or cats, or Mad Men or make-up or agile software development or robotic vacuums because despite my interest in all of them, that's not the intention of my tumblr. Nevertheless, some grotesque oversharing in hopes of re-assembling/salvaging some of what's been misconstrued:

- I am bisexual...too...like many people are. This gets back to the whole 'text doesn't always telegraph meaning particularly well', but the paragraph for which I was criticized for sounding like a Nat Geo narrator or w/e...as I was writing it I was actually getting quite emotional thinking of...John, like, maybe discovering his sexuality at 16, because that was the exact age where I was literally writing in my diary in cryptic little coded comments about being attracted to girls, and then blacking the comments out and tearing them out of the journal and ripping them up because I was SO fucking ashamed and scared and alone with all of it. Basically, I am not at all looking at this from the perspective of an outsider, let alone a heteronormative outsider.

- To be accused or w/e of not understanding or being unsympathetic to mental illness is more than a little ironically funny to me, because literally the reason I started this blog, writing fics, etc is because after over a decade on anti-depressants, I went off them about six months ago (lest this too be misconstrued, I am not advocating this (or un-advocating it), it simply is). My brain has therefore been 'allowed' to loop incessantly/unconstrainedly on the Beatles for the first time since I was fifteen – so mental illness is quite literally why I'm here! Funny stuff. I don't want or need or feel obliged to go into much more detail about this, so let it suffice to say that I have deep understanding and sympathy for mentally ill people, for John in particular, and I fully appreciate the impact of mental illness on a person's behavior, and any flippancy is, ah, semi-literally gallows humor.

- If I sound hardened or unsympathetic with regard to drug addictions...it's partially because I am on some level. I invite anyone who takes issue with this to go re-live their childhood with the trauma of multi-generational drug and alcohol abuse that I lived with, because I will guess that anyone who is less than saintly, as we all are, will end up just as jaded about it as I am, just from the inescapable daily grind of taking care of addicts. Sorry to sound fairly bitchy about this point, but...idk, man, it's always really really difficult to have people be like, “have you considered their feelings? Have you devoted enough of your life to ritually gutting yourself on the pyre of this or that person's addiction?” Like, yes? Sorry, all the mornings where I had to make sure my dad hadn't choked to death on his vomit before I got on the school bus have kind of drained my sympathy. Nonetheless, some of my favorite people are junkies...

c) Re Linda and Paul: I would never disrespect their relationship, and this is far and away the most upsetting thing to have people skew, because I admire what they were able to create and sustain SO much – it means so much to me in terms of what is possible even from the blackest fucking depths. Linda could have been another Francie, or Heather Mills, or Yoko, and GOSH, how much fucking poorer the world would have been, how much darker. Linda and his kids gave Paul something to live for, a whole second life after the center fell out of his first. They were actually able to make a happy life that was snatched from total chaos and despair – that's so incredible and awe-worthy to me. When I said that Paul chose Linda over dying, I was not putting down their relationship, or devaluing it or her (I think she is maybe the most admirable person in all of Beatle-dom), or anything even remotely like that. For me, there is no deeper compliment to give someone than to say that they chose to keep going when they could've died. I mean, compliment is not even the word for it, I honestly don't think I have the capacity to express this..but, like, this is soul-deep for me, the deepest, sincerest possible feeling. I derive enormous comfort and strength on literally a daily basis from the choice Paul made in the winter of 1970. Believe me when I say I would never denigrate Paul's experience or Linda's role in it or the love and commitment they showed each other.

d) Re interpretation versus facts: There's some criticism based on me presenting my ideas as facts. I don't think I did this – I couched the thing repeatedly with 'conjecture' (in all caps!), 'my interpretation', 'I think', 'maybe' and 'may', 'a range of possibilities', 'possibly', 'presumably', 'might', etc. I was not presenting what I said as verifiable fact but as my evolving understanding of what may have happened. Besides...all of us are here because we think there was or could have been a romantic/sexual component to John & Paul's relationship. This is not something that is at all verifiable (and it even very often requires that we assume people are lying!). Practically everything we say is conjecture based on our very unorthodox interpretation of sometimes conflicting/contradictory/bewildering information, and I am no more (or less) guilty of presenting my ideas as fact than, I think, anyone here.

e) Re Yoko: I get the sense that this was the main initial point of disagreement in all of this, and the rest of it was kind of...throwing stuff and seeing what stuck (unfortunately some of it seems to have). This is actually the only intractable issue – it's not one based on misunderstanding or a failure on my part to be clear enough. I dislike Yoko exactly as much (or more!) as I conveyed in the original post, and I have good reason for it. Pretty much every day of my life I learn something about her or about the world, relationships, responsibility, children, how a person should treat others, etc, that makes her behavior that much more noxious, inexcusable, and reproachable. Once upon a time I was thirteen and believed wholeheartedly in the Ballad of John & Yoko narrative – but as an adult, I simply can't countenance it. If we were not talking about 'John and Yoko' but rather about 'Joe and Sally Schmoe', or my brother and his girlfriend, or the next case on the docket in the local family court, there would be no question that this was a profoundly unhealthy and damaging relationship. Like...are most love affairs as enormously, relentlessly destructive as theirs was? Is there anyone from John's pre-1968 life that was allowed to really remain a part of his life post-Yoko? What kind of healthy romantic relationship cuts a person off from everything else? Is 'all that I know is just what you tell me' anything other than a deeply disturbing sentiment? Some of this can be laid at John's feet but on the other hand his 25 year old secretary (as well as every other significant person in his life except for his parents and probably Mimi) was able to coax him into being a BETTER person, whereas he only seemed to become an unhealthier and more damaged person the longer he spent with Yoko (and the feminism thing...like, the most feminist thing he could have done would be sending Cynthia an additional $10,000 a month – 'look at the one you're with' or were with, after all). I can't say that Yoko didn't love John but I will say that she didn't love him well – based on the standards for human relationships and interaction that we are willing to apply to normal people. To quote John Dunbar (who is definitely a longtime John fan!), “If I had set out to destroy John Lennon, I could not have done any better than to introduce him to Yoko Ono.”

If anyone wants to talk any more about this, please message or ask me (I will likely not respond to asks in the interest of not encouraging divisiveness or whatever, but I do appreciate what I’ve been sent). I can't control what anyone posts, obviously, and there are maybe still sensitive and insightful things to be said about some of it, so go ahead if you feel the need. For my part I probably won't engage any further publicly, especially since it's been unhelpfully dug into the ground (over...and over...and over) and there's a certain amount of like...willful misconstruing that's going on that’s just not worth getting into.

And just because it came on shuffle, and because sometimes Paul is exactly what one needs him to be, I'll end by saying:

“Is it better to love than to give in to hate?

Yeah, we'd better take good care of each other,

Avoid slipping back, off the straight and narrow”

#nerves man nerves #if i disappear for a while or longer #don't worry or whatever idk #i am just #easily stressed and over-sensitive #yikes at all of this just yikes #going to go throw up now lol

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consultingangelwarlockofgalifrey · 7 years

Text

My Rant...

I rarely come on here anymore but I just wanted to say my piece on this infuriating election and the way Britain is run.

I’m not sorry and I have a lot to say so bear with me.

This all started because of the referendum. A referendum which showed up just how discordant and split the country truly is. I do not agree with the result and am very upset we are leaving the EU.

All I have heard though since the results came out, have been politicians calling it the “will of the people”. Ok. A small majority voted us out. But that’s right. A SMALL majority.

And that was only of the people who actually voted.

There a many of those who couldn’t vote (because of age restrictions) or wouldn’t vote for whatever reasons they told themselves, and those who did vote for remain, who did not want to leave the EU. In my books that far out numbers the people who voted leave.

It is not the “will of the people” if the majority of the country didn’t vote for it. That is a small sector, just like a lot of the politics in this country has been about lining the pockets of the wealthy, the 5% of our population who do anything they can to better their own lives and damn the consequences it has on others.

I wish people were more generous and thoughtful. More considerate of the people they share their lives with. Believe it or not your life doesn’t just affect your own. You come into contact with countless people every time you go to work, or school, or even just go for a walk. How do you know that the smile you gave that one random person didn’t make their day? Because it could have. People’s actions have an impact in the smallest ways and the biggest. Some are just more noticeable.

Especially by those who hold power in parliament. The term “holding power” is distasteful and it’s so controlling. But that’s unfortunately the society we live in. Where there will always be those who think just because they are well off or own a company think they have more rights to things like education or healthcare than the rest of us.

The whole, “private versus state” thing is ridiculous divide and actually gets in the way of education. Parents who say “I’m paying for a better education for my child.” are actually saying “I’m paying for white boards or more resources to be pumped into the school.” That’s not an education. That just fancy toys. An education is when you learn something. When you actually come away from that day of sitting in classrooms inspired by something a teacher said or what you read or something that proved to you, yes you can do that thing you were struggling with. That won’t happen by throwing more money at it and shoving all kids into the same way of teaching and testing. The best teachers I had were ones who had a dialogue with the students. Where we were able to question the text books and engage with it ourselves. OK I was a shy student who didn’t feel confident enough to share my views and this post is hard for me to make but here I am.

Now onto the election and the person who calls herself the leader of Britain.

She stands there talking about working together and providing stability, when the only thing her government has done, has separated this country and made so many u-turns I’m surprised parliament hasn’t fallen down into the Thames. She hasn’t wanted to engage or debate or trust the public with the truth.

She keeps hiding behind statements and the party line, just like so many politicians have before. Now I don’t agree with some things Corbyn says either. Like his views on Brexit but we aren’t voting for one person we are voting for the party.

May is a poor example of a leader and much of what she says does not stack up. Alot of wwhat the party stands for is truly shocking and is saddening to see how it is still in today’s politics. Serving the interests of the better off in a hope that it will magically get the population more money is not a stable or even workable frame of economics. It doesn’t happen like that. Hasn’t happened. The rich get richer and hell to the rest.

The media is just as guilty for misleading people. And I have never been more ashamed of the BBC. The national broadcaster and they keep hushed up on what the conservatives are doing but any other party and they line them up in the firing line.

Teresa May says she is doing what she is doing for the people.

To which I say to her, really?

Look around.

Are the children who’s parents can’t afford to get them new school uniform or lunches because you keep cutting their benefits and rising taxes being looked after?

Are the elderly in dire need of care and attention getting the support they need?

Are those ill and ailing people in hospitals who in recent years have had to wait the longest time for care which should be readily available feeling like they are being cared for at all?

Are the people who provide these services getting the resources they need?

Not from what I have seen, read or heard.

How can she stand there and say her plans are stable and providing a future to protect us when she herself has voted on issues to block progression, to block support getting to those who need it.

The facts are out there that she doesn’t support the lgbtq community, that she doesn’t support our elderly, that she doesn’t support our children. So how can she stand in front of the country and promise to look after ‘the people’ when she refuses to acknowledge a majority of the population.

And when she does in her speeches, it’s to use as a point against labour. She brings up hashed old arguments from Camerons government, from Blairs government.

OK labour hasn’t always been great and there are still issues within the party that need to be addressed. But I have never felt a more relieving breath of fresh air than when I first heard Corbyn speak. For once there wasn’t a politician who said, the Tories do this, the tories do that. He spoke about what the issues were and how they would be addressed.

Like I said before there are some things I do not agree with him on but when will you ever agree with some one on every single thing.

I just want May to take a step back and really think in what way is she representative of anyone who has any loving, generosity in their hearts, who would put others before themselves . Leaving the EU is not progressive. Taking money away is not progressive. Excluding members of our society is not progressive.

All these stupid political borders and separations we have on this planet.

A show I watch, that I implore you all to watch, Sense8 is one of the most beautiful and uplifting pieces of drama I have ever seen on screen. It has representation and diversity. And in its second season has a really powerful speech about who some one is.

It says “labels are the opposite of understanding. [….]

Who am I? Do you mean where I’m from? What I one day might become? What I do? What I’ve done? What I dream? Do you mean … what you see or what I’ve seen? What I fear or what I dream? Do you mean who I love? Do you mean who I’ve lost? Who am I?

I guess who I am is exactly the same as who you are. Not better than, not less than. Because there is no one who has been or will ever be exactly the same as either you or me.”

We are one planet, one species which has to live together. If our governments truly wanted the best for us there would be no restrictions placed on minorities or the freedom of movement.

If you look at someone and think they don’t belong because they are different, than you are one of the worst types of people.

Difference is what makes humans so amazingly beautiful. And our capacity to love and embrace that difference is breathtaking.

A human being is a human being whether they are black, asian, white, gay, bi, straight, trans, female, male and all other variations.

If you let hatred in, you’ve already lost. If you let disrespect in, why should someone respect you?

Everyone should be free to be who they are, wherever they are.

Our governments need to change. They need to change to reflect the people who live now.

So when Teresa May stands up and opens her mouth, how can she possibly stand there and say she is working for the people when nothing she has done reflects that.

I don’t have any impact on many people’s lives and I doubt this will reach anyone beyond this space, but to anyone who will read this, there needs to be a way we can make a difference. Differences make us who we are and fuel a progressive society.

The whole Brexit disaster shouldn’t have happened. After campaigning for Scotland to stay, united, stronger together it was ridiculous that the next thing to happen was to shut the EU out. I’m not surprised Scotland wants to leave England again.

The whole point of the EU was to bring peace between our countries after the horrific world wars. Look at our world today. We are breaking apart at the seams. Yes the wars in Iraq and Syria predate Brexit but we don’t have to look far to know who to blame for that. If anything this is a time to work closer together not apart. So again how can Teresa May say she will be the one to bring stability to the country when it was her party that tore it apart.

So go and vote. Use that vote that so many have fought for in our past. Use the privilege of the vote this country has to make a stand against those who want to silence us.

We are better together. We only have to prove it.

#2017 election #politics #britain #sense8 #inspiredbysense8 #jeremy corbyn #teresa may #general election

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Hyperallergic: Required Reading

A very unique monument is being unveiled in Ireland, according to reporter Naomi O’Leary: “Sculpture to be unveiled in Cork to remember generosity of the Choctaw Nation, Native American tribe that sent famine aid to Ireland in 1847.” It’s by artist Alex Pentek. (via Twitter/NaomiOhReally)

Writing for the Washington Post, Philip Kennicott suggests that arts groups cannot afford to take Koch Brothers funds anymore, considering the world’s climate is at stake:

It is impolite, in critical circles, to link the politics of major donors to the cultural institutions they support. Many of our cherished arts organizations were created by Gilded Age plutocrats, yet are no longer tethered to the Darwinian social views of their originators. But cultural organizations exist in a complicated moral world, in which every dollar they collect is a dollar that isn’t being used to ameliorate poverty or cure disease. Most of us tend to deal with this dilemma by arguing that the good done by cultural organizations can’t be quantified and thus it is unwise to place it crudely in the balance with other social needs.

That’s because we think of the good offered by a museum or opera house as a potent but intangible improvement to the general character of the society. They make us better in some way, perhaps more intelligent, or empathetic, or sensitive in ways that increase our capacity to be and do good.

The logic is tenuous, but defensible, at least so long as the world isn’t in a state of extraordinary crisis. But it becomes much more difficult to argue for the arts relative to other social needs when the planet is threatened by wars, plagues, and other calamities, with the survival of civilization itself in the balance.

John-Paul Stonard writes about the Palace Museum in Taipei, which is a nice read (particularly if you’re unfamiliar with that great museum):

The other great tradition in Chinese painting is that of the scholar-artists, or ‘literati’, which developed in various guises between the tenth and 16th centuries. They typically painted in a rough, expressive style, using ink sparsely to reflect their aristocratic manners and to dissociate themselves from the paid professionals of the imperial court. Many of them became recluses – it seems to have been the fashion – and spent their days in the mountains, or studying ancient examples of the ‘three perfections’: painting, poetry and calligraphy. They refused to sell their works, preferring to exchange them or give them as gifts. Here, at least, the Palace Museum has a first-rate example on display, Wen Zhengming’s Zhong Kui in a Wintry Grove, a hanging scroll made in 1534. The demon-queller Zhong Kui stands huddled in a leafless forest, the trees sketched with thin, dry brushstrokes. Nature is the animating force in Wen’s paintings, the human figures remain passive, listening to the world around them.

Centuries before landscape became an independent genre in the West, painters in China were finding ways to represent the meeting of the human mind and the natural world. Paying little attention to conventions of perspective and lighting (there are almost no cast shadows in the early works), Chinese painting instead conveys a unique and absorbing sense of time. At the Palace Museum four handscroll paintings are displayed completely unrolled, including the Qing dynasty Gathering of Scholars, painted with great charm and liveliness of detail, and the much earlier Elegant Gathering in the Western Garden, a Ming dynasty scene of Chinese scholars occupying themselves with calligraphy, music, painting and conversation. These scrolls, some of which are eight or nine metres long, were designed to be read from right to left; as you shuffle along the unfolding scenes you lose yourself in the painting.

Redditors had a lot to say about this press image (roughly 2,000 comments) of Comey testifying:

Sasha Trubetskoy created this attractive imagining of the Ancient Roman road network as a contemporary subway system:

Katy Peary’s new album gets a thumbs down from the Washington Post:

What a demented thing to say on such a solipsistic, flow-sustaining, unwavy, missionless, momentum-deficient, same-old-place kind of pop album. At best, Perry sounds like she’s trapped in a purgatory, pantomiming progress, giving an endless pep talk to her own reflection. She wants to look out into the world, but she can’t look away from the mirror.

Funny or Die gives President Trump’s perma-tan the satirical treatment:

Is Apple’s new, futuristic HQ a step forward or back? Wired reports:

The fitness center has a climbing wall with pre-distressed stone. The concrete edges of the parking lot walls are rounded. The fire suppression systems come from yachts. Craftspeople harvested the wood paneling at the exact time of year the late Steve Jobs demanded—mid-winter—so the sap content wouldn’t be ruinously high. Come on! You don’t want sappy wood panels. This isn’t, like, Microsoft.

You can’t understand a building without looking at what’s around it—its site, as the architects say. From that angle, Apple’s new HQ is a retrograde, literally inward-looking building with contempt for the city where it lives and cities in general. People rightly credit Apple for defining the look and feel of the future; its computers and phones seem like science fiction. But by building a mega-headquarters straight out of the middle of the last century, Apple has exacerbated the already serious problems endemic to 21st-century suburbs like Cupertino—transportation, housing, and economics. Apple Park is an anachronism wrapped in glass, tucked into a neighborhood.

An extensive New York Times Magazine profile of recently released “leaker” Chelsea Manning:

Manning told me her decision to provide the information to WikiLeaks was a practical one: She originally planned to deliver the data to The New York Times or The Washington Post, and for the last week of her leave, she dodged from public phone to public phone, calling the main office lines for both papers, leaving a message for the public editor at The Times and engaging in a frustrating conversation with a Post writer, who said she would have to know more about the files before her editor would sign off on an article. A hastily arranged meeting with Politico, where she hoped to introduce herself to the site’s security bloggers, was scrapped because of bad weather. “I wanted to try to establish a contact in a way that it couldn’t be traced to me,” Manning told me. But she was running out of time. She describes a clearheaded sense of purpose coming over her: “I needed to do something,” she told me. “And I didn’t want anything to stop that.”

On Feb. 3, 2010, Manning signed onto her laptop and, using a secure file-transfer protocol, sent the files to WikiLeaks.

New hi-tech tools are helping researchers uncover the mysterious and violent fates met by the “bog bodies” of Europe:

Scholars tend to agree that Tollund Man’s killing was some kind of ritual sacrifice to the gods—perhaps a fertility offering. To the people who put him there, a bog was a special place. While most of Northern Europe lay under a thick canopy of forest, bogs did not. Half earth, half water and open to the heavens, they were borderlands to the beyond. To these people, will-o’-the-wisps—flickering ghostly lights that recede when approached—weren’t the effects of swamp gas caused by rotting vegetation. They were fairies. The thinking goes that Tollund Man’s tomb may have been meant to ensure a kind of soggy immortality for the sacrificial object.

“When he was found in 1950,” says Nielsen, “they made an X-ray of his body and his head, so you can see the brain is quite well-preserved. They autopsied him like you would do an ordinary body, took out his intestines, said, yup it’s all there, and put it back. Today we go about things entirely differently. The questions go on and on.”

Lately, Tollund Man has been enjoying a particularly hectic afterlife. In 2015, he was sent to the Natural History Museum in Paris to run his feet through a microCT scan normally used for fossils. Specialists in ancient DNA have tapped Tollund Man’s femur to try to get a sample of the genetic material. They failed, but they’re not giving up. Next time they’ll use the petrous bone at the base of the skull, which is far denser than the femur and thus a more promising source of DNA.

The continuing tragedy facing indigenous Christians in Iraq:

The arrival of IS was only the “tipping point” of a trend already gathering pace, as Christians experienced an “overall loss of hope for a safe and secure future”, according to the report, produced by Christian charities Open Doors, Served and Middle East Concern.

It noted that, for the Christians who have settled elsewhere, there is “little incentive” to return, with several saying “the Middle East is no longer a home for Christians”. Less than half of the people displaced from the Nineveh Plains, just outside Mosul, are expected to return, according to the report.

Your museum laugh for the week:

A friend after going through the National Gallery: "Well, that's Western art for you. A thousand years of crucifixions, then stripes."

— Sandra Newman (@sannewman) June 13, 2017

And, after the Sessions hearing this week, this helped me laugh it all off:

If you say "Kamala Harris" into the bathroom mirror 3 times, an old white man interrupts you.

— Benjamin Siemon (@BenjaminJS) June 13, 2017

Required Reading is published every Sunday morning ET, and is comprised of a short list of art-related links to long-form articles, videos, blog posts, or photo essays worth a second look.

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