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astaroth1357 · 4 years

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Lucifer? Who Shrank the MC…?

Undateables reacting to the "Lucifer, I Shrunk the MC" scenario. Special thanks to @yuki-kaminari who asked if there'd be an Undateables continuation. I'm not as comfortable writing the Undateables as I am the Brothers, but I'll usually be willing to try if someone would like me to. 🙂

IMPORTANT: Continuation from “Lucifer, I Shrunk the MC...” The background is in that post!

Diavolo

Okay, so it was a little embarrassing for yet another magical mishap to affect one of his exchange students. He was sure to make his disappointment known to Satan. Bad Satan. Clean your room.

… But in all honesty, tiny!MC is probably one of the cutest things he's ever seen! Even cuter than the little D's!!

He can't help but want to pet their little head with his finger or let them climb all over his "giant" hands like they're playing on a jungle gym.

He doesn't say anything but he loves it when Lucifer brings them to meetings and always sends him off to do something at least once so he can spend some time with the tiny human himself.

He once brought them one of those little bouncy balls and the two spent a solid five minutes seeing if they could balance on it. They almost had it, but Lucifer came back into the room and "advised" his Lord to stop playing around. 😔

Is probably going to be the saddest of all when the spell wears off. Even sadder than Beel. At least the brothers got to see their little friend everyday, he only got to at meetings! He may pout about it for a little...

Barbatos

Knew this very thing was going to happen since they got here and was already prepared when Lucifer brought their newly tiny friend into the conference hall.

Takes the Asmo approach of just getting them tiny items so that they can at least feel a little more comfortable with their new size.

Have you ever seen a tiny china set? Teacups and everything? He got them one of those and he serves them tea through a little eyedropper.

He's always been helpful to them but now it's like he doesn't even need to be asked. If there's something they can't reach, he's already getting it down for them. If there's something they need, he's already on the case. It's like he can read their mind…

Or he has meticulously memorized how the next five-ish days are going to play out so he can make this scary and possibly dangerous experience as comfortable for them as possible.

Secretly doesn't trust the brothers to take of/keep tiny!MC safe in the slightest, no matter what the future says, so checks up on them more than normal just to be safe. Would have probably put Belphie on his Shit List if Satan+MC hadn't have punished him already.

Simeon

Goes full “Mom” mode the moment he sees tiny!MC in Satan's hand. "MC?? What happened?? Are you okay?? How did this happen???"

So incredibly careful with them you'd think they were made from paper and glass. Every touch so soft and light, they're about as gentle as the angel himself.

Takes it upon himself to bring them around RAD when Satan isn't able to. He likes feeling like their protector, a guardian angel if you will. 🤭

Thinks watching them try to do things is sooo adorable. His favorite is when they try to read books because they have to walk across the pages then roll the paper aside with their whole body when they want to turn to the next one.

Won't ever let them struggle very long though. They get over the book thing by having them sit on his head and read while he turns the pages for them.

In fact, he likes carrying them on his head a lot. His hair is incredibly soft and it's easy for them to accidentally fall asleep up there. Mammon yells at him every time he catches them like that because he thinks the Head Carry something only he should be allowed to do.

Luke

Freaked out at first just like Simeon. Of course demons would end up doing this sort of thing to MC! What else would you expect?

Tries to lecture Satan on being more careful but he just brushed it off with, "Simeon, your dog is yapping again." Poor baby...

Honestly kind of likes tiny!MC almost as much as the big one. They kind of remind him of a fairy like this! All they’d need is wings too...

Also tries to step in as their protector, but since most of the demons kind of walk all over him anyway he ends up agreeing that job is probably better left to Simeon...

Decides to try and challenge himself to make the World's Smallest Cake for them. It takes him two days of attempts, but he eventually was able to present them with a beautifully decorated, two-tiered cake about the size of his thumbnail!

Beel still somehow sniffed it out, though, so it was a bit of a challenge to get it to them in the first place... 😰

Solomon

Incredibly amused that the size changing book he lent Satan ended getting used on MC and not on Lucifer like he was intending.

He knows a spell or two that could return them to normal size but since no one ever asks him directly, "Oh nooo looks like we're stuck with a super small and cute MC for a few days. Whatever shall we do…?" 😏

Noticeably visits the House of Lamentation a lot more when the MC is tiny. He's always got an excuse of course: needs a book, going over some homework, thought about dropping off some lotion for Asmo, etc. But really, even Belphie picks up on it and he's asleep most of the day!

Tries every excuse in the book to get the MC away from the brothers so he can have some time with them himself. He’ll ferry them away to Purgatory Hall, the Shopping District, RAD, anywhere as long as it’s just them.

He'd never come right out and say it, but he thinks they're absolutely adorable like this and wants to enjoy every minute he can with them before the spell wears off. He’d cast it on them again if he could get away with it...

Satan and Simeon learn pretty quick that they cannot leave MC alone at RAD for very long because Solomon will find them and then they'll both be straight up gone until the last bell rings. First time it happened, Satan almost tore the whole school down looking for them... Lucifer was not pleased.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me scenarios #obey me headcanons #honey i shrunk the kids?

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lost-inthedream · 3 years

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SF9 as types of stalkers

Note: I know that real stalkers are not cool or funny, but let’s be soft at least once.

Imagine the following scenes as a college AU

This is pure fluff with some crack (if I really am funny)

➹ Youngbin:

The stalker who you do not know you have, he is cautious to not scare you. You must have seen him two or three times but you do not suspect about his real plans because he looks a cute and inoffensive guy. In fact, you only spot him when he wants you to. The guy gets what he wants in sunny day outside the building, when he helps you by handing back your wallet, which had left on a bench under a blooming tree. He runs after you, so you see that your belong is in his hands. “Oh, thank you. I guess your face is familiar.” You say in admiration. He acts (a bit unnaturally) like he has not ever seen you before , but asks you for an ice cream after class anyway.

➹ Inseong:

He is that cute weirdo who shows up almost everywhere. He has bumped onto you so many times and provoked different reactions on you. Sometimes he annoys you, but the way he tries to apologize and explain himself every time is actually funny. He draws precious smiles from you and it makes your heart flutters. One day you just openly ask him if he stalks you or something. You think it would be a joke but he chokes on his coke and you have to tap him on the back. “Oh my God! I’m so obvious.” He laments after regaining some air. You burst into laughter finding him the funniest dude in the world.

➹ Jaeyoon:

The stalker who you fall in love with. I mean you start to see him everywhere in the campus and even though you do not really believe in destiny, the high number of “casual” meets with him gets you wondering. It is not that he wants to be noticed by you, but he does not turn the whole thing into a secret mission. You constantly leave home asking yourself whether you are going to see the hot guy again. He makes you glad, so you end up smiling at him. You start talking during your coincidental meeting, you think, until you stop charging everything to the universe responsibility and set your fist date.

➹ Dawon:

The open stalker. You know he stalks you and he knows that you know. You bicker each other doing faces in the distance, but you actually likes him and do not find him a bad person at all. Your favorite place to meet is in the library when you can look him over your book and sometimes watch while he is focused in reading or taking some notes. Sooner or later both of you would be sitting at the same table and talking through messages scratched on your notebooks sheets. You even find his number in a blue folded sheet inside of your bag and wonders how he managed to put it there.

➹ Rowoon:

The confuse stalker. He likes you and wants to see you everyday but he struggles between going all the way and getting closer or keeping to observe you in the distance. He knows that once he approaches you, he will not be able to look at the way you laugh beside your friends with the same liberty he own, since you would eeasily find out about his crush. Unexpectedly you do know he has a big crush on you because the whole college looks at him and you are not excluded. Every time you look directly to him, he looks away or leaves the place. Go get your boy at once!!

➹ Zuho:

Your cute stalker. You never see him (I mean, you actually see but you didn’t know it is him). However he makes his presence be noticed by the mystery flowers he sends you from time to time through random students. You keep them inside books and tell your friends about him. He makes you happy but also extremely curious. After a month, you wonder about the perfect message to adress him the next time someone approaches you with a new flower. And guess what? After you handed your own message to the delivery guy, he just reveals the most pure smile and says “Y/N, this is me this time"

➹Yoo Taeyang:

He is the shiest stalker in the world. He has already decided that he will not talk to you ever, but he cannot stop himself from searching for you in the campus, to just stay there admiring the way you sit and eat your snacks alone sometimes. His friends know about this habit of him because they once caught him doing so and he almost fell deceased on the floor when they offered to ask you to eat lunch with him. One day you get found by one of his friends instead (probably Sanghyuk) and he explains you the entire situation, making you swear to God that you will not tell Taeyang about what he did. Whether you are going to talk to your handsome admirer of not, it is up to you.

➹ Hwiyoung

A dramatic stalker. You do not even imagine, but someone suffers for you and writes love letters that you are never going to receive. “To All the Boys I've Loved Before” vibes, I know, except by the fact that he gathers the courage to talk to you (after almost a year). Despite his desperate feelings, he manages to act normal around you and you become friends for real. To the point that you visit his house and discovers a picture of you inside this book he takes from the bookshelf. It is a pretty picture, to be honest, but it used to be your profile Instagram picture one year ago, what gets you suspecting.

➹Chani:

He stalks you but does not assume he is doing so. I mean he does not associate his acts to the concept of stalking. To name it, he is a stalker in denial, because he is completely sure that you are not more than a pretty girl that he likes to look at. So he just try to be at the same places as you, where he can work on his things while you are there easily reached by his sight. This dude will eventually get noticed by you, which leads the whole situation evolution into you staring at him in suspection. Not gonna lie, he gets annoyed by you but it is exactly what wakes him up to his real feelings.

#sf9 fluff #sf9 scenarios #sf9 imagines #youngbin scenario #inseong scenario #jaeyonn scenario #dawon scenario #rowoon scenario #zuho scenario #yoo taeyang scenario #hwiyoung scenario #chani scenario

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rainywritingsx · 4 years

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Scenario: Satan & Lucifer cheating on MC

Request: Your beezlebub and asmo cheating angst was so good oml if it's okay with you can I request the same but with satan and lucifer??

Satan and Lucifer…. My heart is about to be crushed and I hope yours too :). I thought I went overboard with Staan when I wrote his part, but Lucifer too,,,,, damn,,,, hope you enjoy? I didn’t really proofread sorry, it’s like 2Am right now and imma sleeeepppp. Hope you like it, remember to leave a like, reblog or comment if you do ^^ I’d love to read feedback!

xxx Rainbow

Warnings: Mild swearing and slight nsfw suggestion at Lucifer’s part??

3032 words

If you enjoy what I write, feel free to tip me by buying me a coffee here! ^^

Satan

On one hand, Y/n should’ve seen it coming. It was not an everyday thing that Satan just randomly made friends, nor was he the type to just go out to clubs and see people. But one of his teachers had asked him to help some demon with the homework they’ve had for the past few weeks. Apparently she had been struggling with literature a lot and since Satan was basically a bookworm, it was only natural that he would be chosen to help out.

At first Y/n wasn’t worried at all. They trusted Satan almost blindly and knew him well. He wouldn’t just mess around with someone. He still kept seeing them regularly and they hung out as often as always.

It was when they started seeing Satan less often that Y/n began to grow slightly concerned. They didn’t have as many dates as before anymore, and sometimes when they would go to his room he wouldn’t even be there. The brothers would tell them that he was tutoring that demon again. Here they felt an uneasy feeling in their stomach. Satan would usually tell them if he went somewhere because he knew Y/n often visited him in his room. But still, Y/n didn’t want to discuss it with him because they didn’t want to cause an unnecessary argument. Satan wouldn’t cheat on them.

Right?

However, when even during lunch at RAD Satan didn’t visit Y/n, their discomfort grew. This was really unusual. Was he having lunch with that demon? Were they talking so much that he completely forgot about them? Was he not interested in Y/n anymore? No, that couldn’t be true. If that were the case Satan would tell them, he would never cheat. Maybe he wasn’t even with that demon, maybe he was with one of the brothers! Or maybe Simeon and Luke, or Solomon… Maybe he had to ask Diavolo something?

Y/n bit their lip as they thought about what to do. Maybe they should look for them, just so that this uneasy feeling could finally go away and they could see with their own eyes absolutely nothing was wrong. Now…. The first place where Y/n should look was the library, right? It was open at lunch time too, so he could be there, maybe reading a new book that he found.

So, Y/n finally got up, put their lunch back in their bag to eat later and made their way to the library. Each step closer made their heart pound louder and louder. It was only when Y/n finally got there and wanted to open the door that they realised their hands were shaking and sweaty. So, before entering they took a deep breath to calm themselves down.

“Come on, Y/n. It’s no big deal. Everything is completely fine.” They softly said to themselves, hoping that this tiny pep talk would calm down the raging adrenaline going through their body. When they felt like they were ready, Y/n finally opened the door slowly. The only people that she saw in clear sight were a few demons studying and Solomon, who seemed to be reading through a book about spells. So Satan wasn’t here? That was odd…

Y/n was about to leave when they heard a female laugh along with a male chuckle that was way too familiar to them. They stopped breathing for a second and looked around the room, finally seeing their boyfriend, laughing with someone else who was way too close for their liking, resting her hand on his arm. There were a few open books, but Y/n could tell the two were not concentrated at all, and before they could even call out Satan’s name, they witnessed the girl pulling him closer and pressing their lips against his.

“S-Satan?!” Y/n said in surprise. It seemed that there was no person of authority present right now, as nobody commented on their voice. Still, other people heard them. Satan turned his head and as soon as he saw his actual partner, the one he was supposed to be affectionate with, his breath hitched in his throat. Without even waiting for him to say anything, Y/n left the library. Satan immediately stood up and left too, ignoring the girl completely.

He had no idea where they went, but he could only assume it was probably outside, where it was quiet. So he did the first thing that came to mind which was running to the garden of the school to find them.

Satan’s mind was foggy. It was only when he saw the heart wrenching look on his partner’s face that he realised what he had been doing. And Y/n never said a word about it because they trusted him. Instead of appreciating that and showing that he is worthy of their faith in him, he messed around with her heart and put himself into this incredibly awful situation. Why? Why didn’t he stop her, why did he continue hanging out when he knew damn well that her intentions were beyond him tutoring her?

He was brought out of his thoughts when he heard quiet, muffled sobs. Part of Satan wanted to run away, because he couldn’t believe he would ever hurt the person he loved and hearing them like this already tore him apart, but he had to own up to his mistake, so he kept walking. What he didn’t expect however, was that they weren't’t alone. Solomon sat next to Y/n on a bench and just hugged her without saying a word. When he saw Satan, his expression hardened. He didn’t say anything as a sign for Satan to start talking.

“Y/n, my love…” the sobs stopped. Y/n looked at Satan with an unreadable expression on their face. They were deep in thought. Should they talk to him? Or leave and talk it out later? No, this had to be done now. Y/n was done being toyed with like this.

“Solomon,” Y/n said, their voice shaky. “C-could you leave me and Satan alone, please?” he gave them a kind smile and nodded before leaving, shortly glaring at him without Y/n noticing. When he left, Satan carefully sat down next to Y/n and spoke up.

“My dear-”

“Quit the petnames, Satan.” Y/n shot at him, their voice now sharp and angry. His eyes slightly widened at the change of tone, but he couldn’t blame them. And he had the feeling that this wasn’t going to end the way he wanted to.

“I trusted you. I kept telling myself you weren’t messing around with her because I believed you would never do that to me! I wanted to believe that you were only tutoring her, I wanted to believe that so badly!”

“Kitte-Y/n, please believe me, the only time we did anything physical was what you just saw. I never-”

“That’s one time too many Satan! It should’ve never happened! Even if it wasn’t always physical, the fact that you started hanging out with her more than me at one point, broke my heart. Do you think that that doesn’t hurt because I didn’t see you two making out? How would you react if I suddenly became friendly with someone and started ditching you completely for them?” To that, Satan had no reply. He knew they were right.

“I’m done, I don’t want to talk about this.” Y/n said and stood up. “I hope you two had a nice time together, because you can spend all of your days with her now that we are over.”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry, please let me make it up to you. I promise I won’t talk to her again, I’ll prove to you that you can trust me.” Y/n chuckled softly as they shook their head.

“Satan, you don’t know what they tell us about demons in the Human world?” y/n sighed.

“They do nothing but lie and make empty promises.”

Lucifer

Of course, he was just an assistant. Diavolo had hired him to help Lucifer, nothing more. Really, at first Y/n even believed that Diavolo was an angel - how ironic, for finally finding someone who could help their boyfriend with the ton of work he always had to do. This way They could spend more time with their boyfriend, right?

Nope.

It was still a lot of work that still took Lucifer a lot of time, he was just less stressed because of it now. But still, the amount of time the two got to spend together wasn’t more than before, which made Y/n a little sad, but they didn’t want to start an argument, so they decided to not mention it.

After a little while, things slowly started to change though. It seemed that Lucifer actually had to work more now, to the point where he was overworking even. It made them worried about him but whenever they’d mention it, Lucifer would just brush it off. And again, because Y/n didn’t want to start an unnecessary argument, they kept quiet about this as well.

However, when Y/n heard Asmodeus talking during breakfast at the house of Lamentation, they got worried. He was talking about Lucifer.

“He really seems to get close to that assistant of his. Oh my, I dare even say that new guy has taken an interest in him!~” Asmodeus giggled. Y/n’s expression fell, which didn’t go unnoticed by the other brothers.

“Y/n, you know how Asmo is,” Satan reassured them. “he’s just exaggerating, don’t sweat it. Despite the fact that I cannot stand him, I know Lucifer wouldn’t do something like that.” Though Y/n’s worries hadn’t completely disappeared, they did feel a little better because of their friend’s words.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thank you, Satan.” Y/n said and smiled at Satan, who nodded and sent a kind smile back. Of course Satan wasn’t completely wrong, but Y/n was still scared that for some reason things were going to take an unexpected turn. And people often said to trust your gut right? No, Lucifer wouldn’t do that…

During the days that followed, Y/n was constantly having an inner debate on whether or not to voice their concerns to their lover. On one hand, it could turn out to be nothing and Y/n would immediately be reassured that everything was completely fine. On the other hand however, maybe this would only stress out Lucifer. If that happened, Diavolo’s attempt of lessening the stress of Lucifer would be for nothing, so perhaps staying quiet was the better option.

“You can always visit him if you’re that worried.” Belphegor said after he listened to Y/n’s rambling about her concerns. “The worst thing that can happen is that Lucifer gets annoyed and sends you back, but knowing him and his weakness for you, that’s unlikely.” It was a good suggestion… But then again, was it really necessary?

“If you’re worried about being too obvious, just bring him a meal or something.” Oh, that was a good idea! Y/n was on cooking duty today anyway, and he never turned down their meals.

Keeping something for Lucifer, so, making sure Beel didn’t eat it was a whole task, but Y/n managed to do it successfully. With a small smile they packed his dinner in a lunch box along with something to drink. After they were done, Y/n left the kitchen and let the others know that they were leaving. Within a second Mammon was in the hallway, wanting to come along.

“Hey, I don’t want ya to get eaten by a demon or somethin’, okay? It’s dangerous for a weak little human to be here out alone.” He said, looking away to hide the small blush that was forming on his cheek. “Lucifer would kill me if somethin’ happened to you, so that’s why I’m here.” he mumbled, causing Y/n to giggle.

“Alright, let’s go then.” They said before the two them left together. Luckily the walk wasn’t too far, and the fact that Y/n wasn’t on their own was probably one of the reasons that it was peaceful too.

When they finally arrived at RAD, Mammon and Y/n were greeted by Diavolo, who seemed more than happy to see them.

“Y/n! Mammon! What brings you two here?” he asked curiously, before noticing the box in Y/n’s hands. A small smile was on his face and he looked back at the human. “Nevermind, I see. Lucifer is in his office.” Y/n nodded, thanking Diavolo before leaving on their own. Mammon decided to wait, wanting to give the two some alone time.

As Y/n got closer to their boyfriend’s office, a feeling of discomfort came over them for a moment. No, this was so silly, they just had to go, give this to him and then leave.

When they got to his office, Y/n knocked on the door softly, but they received no reply. Strange… Didn’t Diavolo say he was supposed to be here? Y/n decided to knock again, just in case he hadn’t heard it and oftly called out his name too, but to no avail. Y/n bit their lip softly. Maybe he was really busy. But then again, a tiny break wouldn’t hurt anyone, Diavolo didn’t tell Y/n to hurry up or something. So finally, Y/n decided to just open the door.

But now they really wish they hadn’t done that. Indeed, Lucifer was here. But on his lap was whom Y/n assumed to be his assistant, both half naked as they were making out. In shock, Y/n dropped everything they were holding which caused the two to stop and look. Lucifer’s eyes became the size of dinner plates when he realised who was standing there. The other male could probably tell who this human was, and was flustered as well.

“Fuck you, Lucifer.” Was all Y/n could say before they left. Y/n was almost running, wanting to do nothing but go to their room and cry. When Mammon spotted them coming in his direction, he was confused to say the least. That was quick? But soon his confusion grew into concern when he saw the tears rolling down their cheeks.

“What happened?” Was all he managed to ask. Y/n shook their head and looked at him.

“Can we just go back? Please, Mammon?” Their voice was soft and wavering, as if they could burst into tears at any moment. Without even thinking he nodded. On their way, both were silent. Y/n couldn’t stop replaying what just happened. Why did he do that? For how long has this been going on? Had they been like that before, or even more intimate? Why didn’t he just break up with them if he was interested in somebody else?

When they got home, Y/n ran to their room without saying a word to anyone. Right when Mammon was about to close the door, Lucifer’s hand pushed it open, surprising the younger brother. He was panting because he had been running and his face looked distraught, but really Mammon wanted to do nothing but punch him. However, he knew that was a bad idea so he kept silent.

Lucifer immediately ran to Y/n’s room, knowing that that would be where they’d go. As he got closer, he felt a sense of guilt, which as the Avatar of Pride, he absolutely despised. How could he have done something so horrible to the love of his life? He decided not to knock, but slowly opened the door of Y/n’s room, and when he saw them laying on their bed crying into a pillow, he only felt more remorse.

“Y/n..” he began. “I-I’m-”

“Get out.” Y/n said, their voice low as they lifted their head up to look at him. Lucifer was surprised at this attitude since Y/n never acted like this, but he knew he deserved it. However, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t lose them.

“Dear, if you would just listen-”

“Lucifer, I said get out!” Y/n repeated, their voice louder this time as they stood up. “You have no right to just come into my room and do the talking now after you betrayed me! Here I was thinking you were overworking, but you were just fucking someone else!” For the first time in his life, Lucifer was speechless. He had no excuse for this. Nothing made this okay.

“I see you don’t have anything to say either. I have one question, Lucifer: Do you love him, or me?” They asked, their voice a lot softer now. Normally Lucifer was able to answer this within a heartbeat, but his mind was all over the place. Why was he even kissing that demon like that?

“I see…” Y/n said with a defeated smile. “I expected this. Now, can you just go?” Their eyes were practically begging him to leave, their voice thick and laced with hurt. And Lucifer knew that this was the best option for the both of them. He truly hoped that they would be able to solve this. He didn’t say a word as he turned around to leave the room.

“And I know what you’re thinking right now.” Lucifer stopped in his tracks. “And no, I don’t want to give you another change. I’m so done with you, Lucifer.” They said, their voice becoming rougher again. The demon tried keeping his head up, not wanting to give in where anyone could see and left, closing the door behind him. When he finally got to his own room, Lucifer’s tears started spilling too. He made a huge mistake, and he just knew he had lost them, he really had. And this reminded him exactly why he deserved to be here, in Hell, where he had to pay for his horrible actions. He swore to himself to never hurt them, yet he just crumbled their heart like it was nothing. He was a monster.

#obey me x reader #satan x reader #lucifer x reader #satan x mc #lucifer x mc #obey me x mc #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me scenarios #obey me shall we date

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theatticoneighth · 3 years

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Watching The Queen’s Gambit; on the Remarkable Unexceptionality of Beth Harmon

‘With some people, chess is a pastime. With others, it is a compulsion, even an addiction. And every now and then, a person comes along for whom it is a birthright. Now and then, a small boy appears and dazzles us with his precocity, at what may be the world’s most difficult game. But what if that boy were a girl? A young, unsmiling girl, with brown eyes, red hair, and a dark blue dress? Into the male-dominated world of the nation’s top chess tournaments, strolls a teenage girl with bright, intense eyes, from Fairfield High School in Lexington, Kentucky. She is quiet, well-mannered, and out for blood.’

The preceding epigraph opens a fictional profile of Beth Harmon featured in the third episode of The Queen’s Gambit (2020), and is written and published after the protagonist — a teenage, rookie chess player, no less — beats a series of ranked pros to win her first of many tournaments. In the same deft manner as it depicts the character’s ascent to her global chess stardom, the piece also sets up the series’s narrative: this is evidence of a great talent, it tells us, a grandmaster in the making. As with most other stories about prodigies, this new entry into a timeworn genre is framed unexceptionally by its subject’s exceptionality.

Yet as far as tales regaled about young chess wunderkinds go, Beth Harmon’s stands out in more ways than one. That she is a girl in a male-dominated world has clearly not gone unremarked by both her diegetic and nondiegetic audiences. That her life has thus far — and despite her circumstances — been relatively uneventful, however, is what makes this show so remarkable. After all, much of our culture has undeniably primed us to expect the consequential from those whom we raise upon the pedestal of genius. As Harmon’s interviewer suggests in her conversation with Harmon for the latter’s profile, “Creativity and psychosis often go hand in hand. Or, for that matter, genius and madness.” So quickly do we attribute extraordinary accomplishments to similarly irregular origins that we presume an inexplicability of our geniuses: their idiosyncrasies are warranted, their bad behaviours are excused, and deep into their biographies we dig to excavate the enigmatic anomalies behind their gifts. Through our myths of exceptionality, we make the slightest aberrations into metonyms for brilliance.

Nonetheless, for all her sullenness, non-conformity, and her plethora of addictions, Beth Harmon seems an uncommonly normal girl. No doubt this may be a contentious view, as evinced perhaps by the chorus of viewers and reviewers alike who have already begun to brand the character a Mary Sue. Writing on the series for the LA Review of Books, for instance, Aaron Bady construes The Queen’s Gambit as “the tragedy of Bobby Fischer [made] into a feminist fantasy, a superhero story.” In the same vein, Jane Hu also laments in her astute critique of the Cold War-era drama its flagrant and saccharine wish-fulfillment tendencies. “The show gets to have it both ways,” she observes, “a beautiful heroine who leans into the edge of near self-destruction, but never entirely, because of all the male friends she makes along the way.” Sexual difference is here reconstituted as the unbridgeable chasm that divides the US from the Soviet Union, whereas the mutual friendliness shared between Harmon and her male chess opponents becomes a utopic revision of history. Should one follow Hu’s evaluation of the series as a period drama, then the retroactive ascription of a recognisably socialist collaborative ethos to Harmon and her compatriots is a contrived one indeed.

Accordingly, both Hu and Bady conclude that the series grants us depthless emotional satisfaction at the costly expense of realism: its all-too-easy resolutions swiftly sidestep any nascent hint of overwhelming tension; its resulting calm betrays our desire for reprieve. Underlying these arguments is the fundamental assumption that the unembellished truth should also be an inconvenient one, but why must we always demand difficulty from those we deem noteworthy? Summing up the show’s conspicuous penchant for conflict-avoidance, Bady writes that:

over and over again, the show strongly suggests — through a variety of genre and narrative cues — that something bad is about to happen. And then … it just doesn’t. An orphan is sent to a gothic orphanage and the staff … are benign. She meets a creepy, taciturn old man in the basement … and he teaches her chess and loans her money. She is adopted by a dysfunctional family and the mother … takes care of her. She goes to a chess tournament and midway through a crucial game she gets her first period and … another girl helps her, who she rebuffs, and she is fine anyway. She wins games, defeating older male players, and … they respect and welcome her, selflessly helping her. The foster father comes back and …she has the money to buy him off. She gets entangled in cold war politics and … decides not to be.

In short, everything that could go wrong … simply does not go wrong.

Time and again predicaments arise in Harmon’s narrative, but at each point, she is helped fortuitously by the people around her. In turn, the character is allowed to move through the series with the restrained unflappability of a sleepwalker, as if unaffected by the drama of her life. Of course, this is not to say that she fails to encounter any obstacle on her way to celebrity and success — for neither her childhood trauma nor her substance-laden adolescence are exactly rosy portraits of idyll — but only that such challenges seem so easily ironed out by that they hardly register as true adversity. In other words, the show takes us repeatedly to the brink of what could become a life-altering crisis but refuses to indulge our taste for the spectacle that follows. Skipping over the Aristotelian climax, it shields us from the height of suspense, and without much struggle or effort on the viewers’ part, hands us our payoff. Consequently lacking the epochal weight of plot, little feels deserved in Harmon’s story.

In his study of eschatological fictions, The Sense of an Ending, Frank Kermode would associate such a predilection for catastrophes with our abiding fear of disorder. Seeing as time, as he argues, is “purely successive [and] disorganised,” we can only reach to the fictive concords of plot to make sense of our experiences. Endings in particular serve as the teleological objective towards which humanity projects our existence, so we hold paradigms of apocalypse closely to ourselves to restore significance to our lives. It probably comes as no surprise then that in a year of chaos and relentless disaster — not to mention the present era of extreme precariousness, doomscrolling, and the 24/7 news cycle, all of which have irrevocably attuned us to the dreadful expectation of “the worst thing to come” — we find ourselves eyeing Harmon’s good fortune with such scepticism. Surely, we imagine, something has to have happened to the character for her in order to justify her immense consequence. But just as children are adopted each day into loving families and chess tournaments play out regularly without much strife, so too can Harmon maintain low-grade dysfunctional relationships with her typically flawed family and friends.

In any case, although “it seems to be a condition attaching to the exercise of thinking about the future that one should assume one's own time to stand in extraordinary relation to it,” not all orphans have to face Dickensian fates and not all geniuses have to be so tortured (Kermode). The fact remains that the vagaries of our existence are beyond perfect reason, and any attempt at thinking otherwise, while vital, may be naive. Contrary to most critics’ contentions, it is hence not The Queen’s Gambit’s subversions of form but its continued reach towards the same that holds up for viewers such a comforting promise of coherence. The show comes closest to disappointing us as a result when it eschews melodrama for the straightforward. Surprised by the ease and randomness of Harmon’s life, it is not difficult for one to wonder, four or five episodes into the show, what it is all for; one could even begin to empathise with Hu’s description of the series as mere “fodder for beauty.”

Watching over the series now with Bady’s recap of it in mind, however, I am reminded oddly not of the prestige and historical dramas to which the series is frequently compared, but the low-stakes, slice-of-life cartoons that had peppered my childhood. Defined by the prosaicness of its settings, the genre punctuates the life’s mundanity with brief moments of marvel to accentuate the curious in the ordinary. In these shows, kindergarteners fix the troubles of adults with their hilarious playground antics, while time-traveling robot cats and toddler scientists alike are confronted with the woes of chores. Likewise, we find in The Queen’s Gambit a comparable glimpse of the quotidian framed by its protagonist’s quirks. Certainly, little about the Netflix series’ visual and narrative features would identify it as a slice-of-life serial, but there remains some merit, I believe, in watching it as such. For, if there is anything to be gained from plots wherein nothing is introduced that cannot be resolved in an episode or ten, it is not just what Bady calls the “drowsy comfort” of satisfaction — of knowing that things will be alright, or at the very least, that they will not be terrible. Rather, it is the sense that we are not yet so estranged from ourselves, and that both life and familiarity persists even in the most extraordinary of circumstances.

Perhaps some might find such a tendency towards the normal questionable, yet when all the world is on fire and everyone clambers for acclaim, it is ultimately the ongoingness of everyday life for which one yearns. As Harmon’s childhood friend, Jolene, tells her when she is once again about to fall off the wagon, “You’ve been the best at what you do for so long, you don’t even know what it’s like for the rest of us.” For so long, and especially over the past year, we have catastrophized the myriad crises in which we’re living that we often overlook the minor details and habits that nonetheless sustain us. To inhabit the congruence of both the remarkable and its opposite in the singular figure of Beth Harmon is therefore to be reminded of the possibility of being outstanding without being exceptional — that is, to not make an exception of oneself despite one’s situation — and to let oneself be drawn back, however placid or insignificant it may be, into the unassuming hum of dailiness. It is in this way of living that one lives on, minute by minute, day by day, against the looming fear and anxiety that seek to suspend our plodding regular existence. It is also in this way that I will soon be turning the page on the last few months in anticipation of what is to come.

Born and raised in the perpetually summery tropics — that is, Singapore — Rachel Tay wishes she could say her life was just like a still from Call Me By Your Name: tanned boys, peaches, and all. Unfortunately, the only resemblance that her life bears to the film comes in the form of books, albeit ones read in the comfort of air-conditioned cafés, and not the pool, for the heat is sweltering and the humidity unbearable. A fervent turtleneck-wearer and an unrepentant hot coffee-addict, she is thus the ideal self-parodying Literature student, and the complete anti-thesis to tropical life.

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soimstudyinginjapan · 5 years

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How I learned Japanese - tricky phrases and sentences

I’d now like to briefly explain how I got to a point where the girl I went to karaoke with forgot that I wasn’t Japanese until I started singing Ed Sheeran. (don’t worry my ego gets a fair beating) To be fair she comes from Okinawa, people mistake her as a foreigner sometimes.

“Had I known that restaurant was so expensive, I wouldn’t have gone.” Before you read this, @ Japanese learners, have a think or even write down how you’d say that in Japanese.

Sometimes you’ll start saying a sentence and realise that you don’t know how to say the thing. WRITE THIS SHIT DOWN and go ask a native speaker. Trust me this is exhilarating stuff. As a language learner, there’s no better feeling than smashing down those barriers to having fluent conversation. Scratch that, there’s no better feeling as a human being. Maybe I just like language learning too much. So I’d like to give you a right and proper case study for how to study how to speak like a native. Trust me, they don’t teach you this is school and you for sure cannot learn this by yourself.

In Japanese there is no future tense, allow me to draw out the chart.

Did した | Am Doing している | To Do する | Will do する

Yesterday I studied = 昨日勉強した

I’m (currently) studying = 今勉強している

I study Japanese = 日本語を勉強する

I’m studying Japanese tomorrow = 明日日本語を勉強する

Bonus tip for Japanese learners. I’m going to study Japanese is still 日本語を勉強する。I see a lot of people use するつもりだ and する予定 which native speakers tend not to use unless they actually mean. I intend to study, like you have to really intend to do the thing to say つもり、if you’re just gonna study, stick to する。Also for 予定, your textbook will probably say this means “plan to” or “have plans to” and while this might make it seem like you can just create the future tense, this creates the sense that you’ve made a schedule and you’re studying tomorrow. In fact, while I’m at it べき gets used a lot more than it should. It textbooks it means “should” but it’s not just a “what should I do now”, it’s more of a “what should I have a sense of responsibility to do at this point in time”. It’s a little heavy so maybe refrain from using it too much. Here are a couple of alternatives. どうしたらいい？どうすればいい？

So now that we’ve established that verb conjugation in Japanese doesn’t allow us to make the future tense, how do I say the following sentence in Japanese?

“Had I known that restaurant was so expensive, I wouldn’t have gone.”

Let’s break this down. We’ve got two phrases separated by a comma. The first phrase can be translated as: あのレストランはそんな高いと知ってたら which isn’t that complicated but in the second phrase we run into this problem where the present me is lamenting and action that, in the past is in the future. You might need to read that last sentence a few times. Chronological order:

past me | paying money at the expense restaurant | present me, complaining

So to make it clear: Relative to past me, paying money me is in the future and that’s where we’re gonna run into a problem. If Japanese can’t conjugate verbs, how am I supposed to express something that I would or would not have done.

あのレストランはそんな高いと知ってたら、行かんかったのに。Is what my Japanese friend said they would say in that situation. Let’s clean it up a bit.

あのレストランはそんなに高いと知っていたら、行かなかったのに。My first reaction is that the second phrase wouldn’t work because by itself it means something like “aw man, I didn’t get to go” But with the context of the first phrase and our knowledge that in Japanese, future and dictionary form are the same, so it kinda makes sense that this could be “I wouldn’t have gone” and I guess that’s just a thing that we’ve gotta accept mean what they mean.

So now that I’ve had my ego put in check by not being able to say something seemingly everyday and simple, I’ve decided that the only thing I know is that I know nothing. Also another pro-tip, if you have phrases that you couldn’t work out how to say during the day, have a real go at solving this in the shower.

Also if the answer was blindingly obvious to any of you let me know so I can question where I spent all those years of studying Japanese over a conbini pudding.

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ryanmeft · 4 years

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Movie Review: A Hidden Life

“You have to remember what you knew in a better hour.” So speaks Franz Jagerstatter, as he is held behind the walls of a Third Reich prison and heaped with endless emasculation and abuse for refusing to swear loyalty to Adolph Hitler, or fight in the German army. Before even being marched through the prison doors he has suffered much. His hometown spits at his feet, snubs his children and insults his wife. His own mother struggles to look at him. No one can be found to help with the work and so the days are long and full of toil. Those better hours seem few and far away. Yet they are there, in his mind.

Jagerstatter was a very real person. His film self, played with both stoic determination and singular emotion by August Diehl, is a typical Austrian peasant of the late 30’s. The film jumps around in time a bit, and we see him meet and steal the heart of Franziska (Valerie Pachner). They have three children, and they spend their days working the farm, helping their neighbors, playing games, and flowing with the cadences of everyday life in a rural Austrian mountain town. Franz reports for mandatory training with the army, but at the time thinks little of it: war is far away, and they are guarded from it by their hills like mountains and mountains that reach beyond measure. The Austrian landscapes have inspired many myths, and among them they build their own small-but-important one: that the war can be held off, that they can be happy. Franz and Franziska know, though, that sooner or later Franz will be called. As surely as they know this, Franz knows he cannot serve. It is against God and Jesus and the spirit of his own culture, but more importantly it is against him, for when the Nazis come to punish anyone who will not submit to their will, it is Franz, not his culture or his faith, which must take the blows.

Terence Malick has never made a film quite like A Hidden Life. Certainly, the impressions of his handprints are to be found, and in abundance. The camera relishes low shots of faces that tower above it, frequently contemplates the surroundings of the people and the untranslatable power of nature, and virtually all of the dialogue is thought, rather than spoken. Yet it has been the filmmaker’s modus operandi to exist within dreams---dreams based on his life, sometimes, but most often dreams based on a shared collective American consciousness. Tree of Life captured the small details of life in the American Heartland circa mid-century; The New World retold an essential American myth in Malick’s patented cinematic language. None of his films have ever been very concerned with linear plot, have never deigned to be constrained with reality, and certainly have always floated above physical pain---his characters drift and never touch the ground even when fallen, something his fans call genius and his detractors call tedium.

We may be surprised, therefore, to find this latest film prefaced by something we’ve never seen in a Malick picture before: that this story is based on true events. I settled into that idea, but I admit I inwardly scoffed at it. I was certain that when I left the theatre and did my research for this review, I would find there were not a few dissenters from the Nazis, that they were treated as terribly as might be expected, and that perhaps the general cadences of Franz’s lifestyle were true to the time. Instead I found that Malick, a man whose wandering mind and frequent cinematic deviations are core to his artistic identity, had stuck remarkably close to Franz’s true story. His identity, and his wife’s, were accurate. He did have three children. He was born and lived where the movie has him living. He trained on the bases where he trains, and even the specific prisons he was placed in are accurate.

One question I had was, why the attention to accuracy, when his fans would have forgiven him any transgressions---and indeed would likely never have known of them, since if you are seeing a Malick movie you’re there for the director and not the subject? The answer is that in every other respect than historical details, Malick has made a Malick film. If every daily movement and every minor character were found to be meticulously researched, it would still be true that Malick has painted them with the soaring brushstrokes of myth and timelessness, rather than the workmanlike attention to dry biographical detail that usually gets in the way of a good story in such films.

The first example of this is Franz himself. What he went through is true. The version of him seen on screen, though, is a deep philosopher, a man of very long thoughts who seems to contain the entire national identity of Austria in his heart, and who can look at a man and disassemble them into the things that make them tick, understanding the nature of everyone around him in moments. The real man left behind little writing and certainly never composed anything so grand as the musings given to him; most of what we can know is from the memories of his wife, who lived for decades after Franz’s death. The man seen on screen is a mixture of the real Franz---a simple man who could not tolerate evil nor make concessions for it, and who followed his convictions to the end---and the thoughts Malick has on this. Franz-Malick’s internal monologues are wide-ranging. He muses on the struggle to remain true in a world where ethics can be bought, sold and traded. He ponders the nature of God and how men can possibly tell themselves that such a being would condone hate and death. He gazes at the beauty of the land he is a part of and ponders how small he is in it. He has incredible faith in the basic good nature of people. When the local representative of the church (the late Michael Nyqvist in his final role) insists Franz must do his duty to the fatherland, Franz believes he is only afraid to publicly display his resistance. The audience is, I think, rather more doubtful.

These are themes that have animated most of Malick’s films. In some cases they are spoken out loud by tertiary characters. A church painter (Johan Leysen) decorates the local church with idealized images of Christ and Mary, but laments that he has not the courage to display their sufferings as they really were---someday, he says, he might. The local mayor (Martin Wuttke, who also played Hitler in Inglourious Basterds) is a hateful, drunken windbag who goes on long tirades against immigrants and Jews; since the horrors are taking place far from the village, he serves to give presence to the terrors Franz is rejecting. Complications and dissenting opinions are expressed by his mother (Karin Neuhauser), who cares little for current events but seems to believe Franz should serve as his father did, and his sister-in-law (Maria Simon), who both admires his courage and dislikes him personally, suggested to be because her own life has not gone the way she wished it. Matthias Schoenaerts and the late Bruno Ganz play representatives of whatever the Nazis have that passes as a justice system; they say mildly sympathetic things and Franz believes on some level they are hearing what he is saying with his protest, but ultimately they are indicative of the fact that when faced with evil, most people will go along.

God is mentioned often, for Franz Jagerstatter was a devout Catholic. The landscapes and beauty of Austria are an equal focal point. These two things seem to instill in Franz a powerful sense of something larger than himself---that if he should give in, he will have to answer not only to his maker but to the very land whose air he breathes and which the Nazis are despoiling. Jorg Widmer’s camera, certainly at Malick’s insistence, lingers on shots of the battered church as it does on towering mountains capped with snow and running with tiny waterfalls. It also takes time to lovingly film everyday activities---Franz and Franziska playing a game of cups and blindfolds with the children, a dirt-encrusted hand stroking Franziska’s pristine golden hair in a moment of emotional distress, a black shawl against the frigid mountain snows, the rhythmic patterns of bringing in the crops and keeping the buildings repaired. The movie, early on, exults in shots of the towering and majestic. As hate grips the village, it closes in, and in the first scene where the mayor goes on a bigoted rant while Franz maintains silence, it eventually squeezes the two men into a small alley, the wonder of nature compressed by hatred into a small world where a man can find little hope. Yet as Franz’s world contracts, his hope strengthens. The real man held onto something indescribable, and Malick has captured that something for us---at least, as much as film ever can.

Verdict: Must-See

Note: I don’t use stars, but here are my possible verdicts.

Must-See

Highly Recommended

Recommended

Average

Not Recommended

Avoid like the Plague

You can follow Ryan's reviews on Facebook here:

https://www.facebook.com/ryanmeftmovies/

Or his tweets here:

https://twitter.com/RyanmEft

All images are property of the people what own the movie.

#terence malick #a hidden life #movies #michael nyqvist #bruno ganz #august diehl #valerie pachner

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solaetis-moved-blog · 5 years

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CASTER (MEDEA) HEADCANON AND PORTRAYAL SUMMARY DUMP

Just a rundown of all the myth & canon interpretations I follow! I do not stick with one version alone. I mix them and take what for me makes the most sense for the character of Medea that I know of.

For Fate/Stay Night roleplayers, I can write her in any route. I will go along the with the route of your muse 'cause I'm flexible like that. I can play her at any canon point in Fate/Hollow Ataraxia as well.

For Fate/Grand Order roleplayers, all routes in Fate/Stay Night are sort of canon for my Medea. This doesn't mean all of it happened to this specific incarnation, just that she has recollections of all the events that transpired during the fifth war including the bad endings.

More info below!

She learned Magecraft through the Moon Goddess Hecate and from her aunt the Goddess Circe, who was also a disciple of Hecate.

She was very close to Circe and respects and admires her in great amounts and was always her ideal vision of a true witch.

Medea, in truth, is not really a witch. She is skilled in Magecraft, but it did not make her one. Her title as a witch is only granted to her as an attempt to berate and demean her for having magic powers.

She was cursed by Aphrodite to fall in love with Jason under Hera’s orders.

She was very to devoted to the Greek Gods despite not being Greek herself which earned her a place in Elysium where she was said to have eventually married Achilles. She has no memories of her life in Elysium as a Servant.

Medea is Colchian and not Greek. This makes her an Asian woman.

She has utmost respect towards Heracles for the time she spent with him and the Argonauts. He also gave her a place to stay when she had nowhere else to go in exchange of healing Hera's curse upon him.

Because Medea was not Greek, she was often shunned, if not envied, by those around her. After Jason, there was nowhere she could return to. There was no place left that will accept her.

Theseus was with the Argonauts, but he was young at that time and Medea did not recognize him when they met once again, this time in Athens and she became Aegeus' wife.

Aegeus didn't know that Theseus was his son and wanted him dead for his powers were a threat to Aegeus' position as a King. For Medea, who bore him a son, Aegeus learning Theseus' birth right was a threat to her son Medus.

Medea tried to poison Theseus after he returned successful in his quest to capture the Marathonian Bull. But Aegeus' realized that Theseus was his son due to his sword and sandals and knocked back the cup of poisoned wine. Medea fled afterwards with Medus.

There is no consistent depiction of how Medea's life has ended, so I have mixed some interpretations I've read.

When Medea fled Athens, her son Medus was exiled and he returned to Colchis only to find out that King Aeetes was murdered by his brother.

Medus was then captured by King Perses so that there was no one who could challenge his claim to the throne. Medea, having heard this, returned to Colchis to free her son. She deceived Perses and made Medus the King. She died of old age, grieving still.

My Medea did not kill her children. The Corinthians killed her children, but because she found the bodies first and have been caught by Jason holding them, she was accused of their murder.

Her Fate incarnation knows that she killed them to hurt Jason as a result of her lore being bastardized, but she has no recollections of doing so. She simply believes this because it's what's installed in her Spirit Origin.

Her hatred is not restricted to Jason alone, but towards the world who had betrayed her without an end. Still, majority of her agony is a product of his actions.

My interpretation of Medea is heavily focused on this. It plays a huge role in how I write her, so she's not as chill as she is in canon.

Medea's hatred towards Aphrodite and Jason is clear.

Being told that she was coerced to fall in love with Jason mocks her for it was the only thing she had left of value. She also believes it takes away the responsibility behind the cruel acts she made because of her love for him.

If Medea has to acknowledge that she fell in love with Jason because of Aphrodite, that would mean that she cannot take responsibility for her crimes. So she does not, for she knows to herself that she committed vile acts of her own volition.

Her acknowledging her crimes and knowing it is wrong is her only proof that her love for Jason was real and not manipulated through celestial means. She did them because she wanted to be useful and she truthfully loved him.

My Medea despises Berserker!Heracles because his existence disrespects the hero that he used to be. She thinks he is nothing but a pile of muscle with a face and wants nothing to do with him.

She doesn't acknowledge Jason, Achilles & Perseus as heroes.

She dislikes socializing with men in general, especially the handsome, cunning and eloquent ones. She has learned first hand that sophisticated men aren't to be trusted.

I'm a slut for Medea/Kuzuki, Medea/Women & Medea/Respectful Master.

She helped Jason steal the Golden Fleece in exchange of him agreeing to marry her and he did.

She left Colchis with the Argonauts alongside her brother Apsyrtus, which she cut to pieces and scattered his flesh into the seas to delay the pursuit of her father King Aeetes.

Medea's room in Chaldea is dark and brooding with no signs of modern technology. Even her door can only be opened by dispelling the field that surrounds it. She has various skeleton pets inside of her room that she uses to help her in certain activities such as Myrmekes as cleaners, Alectryon as an alarm clock, Crows for water fetching etc.

Medea named her skeleton creatures after her family members from Colchis as a way to help her cope with the fact that she can never return to them anymore. So when she returns to her room, it signifies "coming home". This is why she considers her room sacred. Should one be given the permission to enter her room in Chaldea, know that it is a heightened level of intimacy for her. Invading it, however, is a high grade insult and thoroughly offensive. She will hate you for it.

Medea makes tea brews that she only shares to a few people. Each are named after certain ties she had in life such as Golden Fleece, Argonautica etc. They range in hundreds that she displays on a large cabinet.

In Fate verse, Atalante was indeed with the Argonauts, making Medea and Atalante the only women to ride the Argo Ship. They've had a very genuine friendship, but parted ways afterwards, Whether or not Atalante retained her respect to Medea when things went downhill is unknown.

SOME RANDOM RAMBLINGS

since erika and i are talking about it... remember when i said that medea's wish is to go home? and her idea of going home is simply not returning to specifically to colchis but to possibly revert the life she had when she decided to leave so medea's idea of "going home" is returning to the time wherein she was still princess of colchis and she never left. if she never left, her relationship with her family will not be compromised. she would have avoided a large scale of tragedy. medea dies as an ambitionless old woman in my interpretation. she had spent her remaining dies waking up, sleeping, monotonously doing her everyday routine. in her every revenge completed, a part of her dies, and she has died completely when everything was over and done with. she wants to use the grail for that. to return to the time where she was most content with herself. as a servant she's incarnated with her hatred of the world being her only pillar to keep on going. medea wants to be a normal person so she's desperate for the grail.

if i have to explain medea's feelings towards aphrodite, eros and hera it's really all too simple? she lamented that they have had a hand in her suffering but medea knows the workings of the gods and there's no law which states that they have to be fair in the first place. one man would wish something from the gods, and another would wish for something which opposes the other. it's always a matter of having to choose who deserves their assistance more and medea accepted that the three favored jason more because he prayed to them the same way hecate, circe and zeus favored her because her prayers for them were stronger and they were medea's revered gods. so yes, medea hates being a tool for gods' entertainment, but not to the point wherein she'd kill one because she still respects them to some degree

#h: caster (medea)

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thesoundofnat · 6 years

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Three Times Sirius Woke Remus Up

Sirius/Remus

Summary: ...and one time he let him sleep.

A/N: This was prompted by a kind anon. I hope you like it!

[Read it on AO3]

Words: 2 324

Sirius could sense his exhaustion the moment Remus stepped into the common room that evening. A bad full moon the previous week combined with revising for their exams had left him bleary-eyed and irritable, and when he’d disappeared into the library for the third night in a row no one had tried to stop him. Sirius could see him so close to the edge now. So close to giving in to the fatigue.

He slumped down beside him on the couch, shoulders low and heavy. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Sirius said, trying not to let his concern taint his voice. The last thing Remus needed was to be pitied. “Any progress?”

“I finished all the assignments for this week.”

“That’s good.”

Remus hummed, turning his head slightly to meet his eyes. “Wish I could’ve done more.”

“You’d be a damn wizard if you’d manage to do more than that.”

“Oh, ha ha.” But Remus did crack a smile, and Sirius felt his heart break and swell all at once. “Where are the others?”

“In bed, like we all should be.”

“I’ll go in a bit. I need to just-”

“Calm down?”

“Something like that. What are you working on?”

Sirius had been writing the opening line to an assignment due the next morning for the past hour. Had he been a fool he’d think he was more exhausted than Remus, but he knew better than that. No one was more exhausted than Remus.

He sighed, head rolling back to rest against the couch. “A disaster.”

“Hey, I’m sure it won’t be a disaster. Do you need help?”

“I cannot possibly ask you to do that.” It had slipped out. He hadn’t meant to say it. It was an unwritten rule that you didn’t mention Remus overworking himself unless he physically passed out. He hadn’t passed out yet.

But Remus didn’t pay it any mind. “Other times you beg on your bare knees for me to help. Stop being modest, will you? Give me.” He grabbed the parchment and set to work, and Sirius had to swallow the guilt every other minute lest he wanted to fail one of the last assignments of the semester.

Thirty minutes later found them still in the now entirely empty apart from them common room, Sirius finishing up his homework with Remus peering at him with blinking eyes for support. Sirius knew he was on the verge of falling asleep, but he was so caught up on finishing this damn thing that he let out a sound of genuine surprise when he turned to his friend to celebrate only to find him passed out beside him, mouth open and all.

Sirius licked his lips. The way Remus’ head was angled - hanging forward rather than resting against the back of the couch - was a recipe for a stiff neck. He couldn’t have been asleep for long, and the mere notion of waking him up hurt Sirius more than he could explain.

“Moony,” he mumbled, hoping it wouldn’t take more. “Hey, come on, let’s go up to bed.”

Remus didn’t move. Sirius almost had to make sure he was still alive.

“Hey.” He reached out, let his fingertips hesitate against Remus’ arm before he grabbed it. Shaking it slightly, he watched how Remus opened his eyes, trying to blink away the sleep he so desperately needed.

“Wha-?”

“Let’s go to bed.”

Remus didn’t say anything. Only allowed Sirius to help him stand and walk up the stairs. Had this been their home, only theirs, he might’ve let him stay on the couch and possibly curled up next to him.

The library wasn’t Sirius favorite place by any means, but he had to admit there was something magical - no pun intended - about people falling asleep before boring books together. Truly he’d never yawned in unison with so many of his peers until that evening.

“Hey.” James snapped his fingers in his face. “I know that look. Focus.”

Sirius huffed. “Would you let me dissociate in peace?”

“You were falling asleep.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, but I’d rather you finish your reading tonight than whine all of tomorrow.”

“I’ll whine anyway.”

“I know, but do you really want me to keep saying I told you so?”

Sirius hid behind his book again, grumbling to himself. Remus and Peter had been silent since they arrived, but Sirius had complained more than once and James was the only one irritated enough to take the time to reprimand him. What a mother hen.

He glanced at James, purely to see him glare back in that nonthreatening way of his, but his eyes found Remus instead, all but nodding off in his chair. He did a good job of hiding it, but Sirius knew his signs. Could see the way he blinked too much. How he stared too intently at his book. A book that boring couldn’t be that engaging.

James suddenly scraped his chair back and stood, startling both Peter and Remus. “I need to go find a book. I forgot to grab it earlier.”

“What part are you on?” Peter asked.

“I’m trying to write about the constellation thing.”

“Me too. I’ll come with you.”

They both left, and Sirius was torn between lamenting the fact that he hadn’t even reached the part of the assignment yet that required something about constellations, and between grabbing his books and fleeing while James had his back turned. Instead, he turned back to Remus, who’d seemingly fallen back into the state he’d been before.

Actually, it seemed to be graver than before. Eyes closed, head in that awful angle again. He’d nodded off entirely.

Sirius hated this, but Remus wouldn’t like the attention if he waited for the others to return before he woke him. Reaching across the table, Sirius tapped his fingers against the wood. “Moony.”

Remus jerked awake, meeting his gaze. “Sorry?”

“Are you doing all right there?”

He exhaled slowly, as if answering took a great deal of energy. “I’m just tired.”

“Maybe you should call it a night? You did fall asleep on me the other day as well. Did I ever thank you for helping me?”

“You did. It’s no worries.” Sirius noticed how he didn’t address the falling asleep part.

He leaned back, eyes never leaving Remus. “You want some coffee, at least?”

“I’ve had too many cups today. I’ll just get jumpy.”

Sirius nodded. “All right.”

A half-hearted attempt at a grin. “Thank you for caring.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Jerk. I’m just-”

“Concerned?”

“Well, yes.”

“Don’t be.”

“If I have to carry you all the way back to the dorms I swear to god-”

“Mr Black.” The librarian appeared out of nowhere. “Keep your voice down.”

He shot her his best smile. “My apologies, madam.”

She rolled her eyes almost fondly before walking off. They’d done this before.

He turned back to Remus who was giving him an amused smirk. “Don’t look so smug.”

“Don’t look so satisfied then.”

“I would never.”

The others returned carrying four books, one of which Remus gratefully accepted while Sirius groaned. This would be a long night.

Sirius hadn’t meant for this to happen, but a howler too many burst the bubble he’d been containing his emotions in for the past few years, and he locked himself in a broom closet. Pathetic, just like his family kept telling him. It didn’t matter. It usually didn’t matter.

Remus found him like that, curled up in a space he barely fit in, hiding from the world he’d always been brave enough to face. He didn’t say a word. Only closed the door and sat down beside him, their hips and arms pressed together, heartbeats in sync.

That night, in the shelter of the darkness, Remus grabbed Sirius’ hand for the first time. It was a timid motion. A brush of their fingers. A silent question.

Sirius held on to his hand for dear life, squeezing it so tightly Remus had to ask him to ease up, just a little. The first words spoken since they united. Sirius found it apt. He’d always been one to hold on too tightly.

“Is this okay?” he asked, voice hoarse, but he didn’t care.

Remus let out a surprised laugh. “Of course it is. I initiated it.”

“I thought maybe you felt bad for me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Feel bad for me?”

“Lead you on.” He brought Sirius’ hand toward his mouth, brushing his lips against the knuckles. “Not to you.”

They didn’t kiss that night. It wasn’t the right time. Instead, they let their hands do the talking. Do the touching. Fingertips on cheekbones, curling against palms, brushing over lower lips.

They were there for so long that Remus fell asleep, his head finally supported by Sirius’ chest, tucked safely beneath his neck. Sirius would’ve stayed there all night if he could, but he knew they had to return to the common room. To the dorm room where two worried boys would be waiting. It was the only time he’d wished he hadn’t been at Hogwarts.

“Remus.”

Remus woke slowly as Sirius ran his fingers through his hair, blinking blearily up at him. “What time is it?” he asked, no confusion. No questioning how he’d ended up here.

“Time for bed,” Sirius replied. “Come on.”

Remus hummed. “Carry me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Wow. You’re so not boyfriend material.”

Sirius moved his hand down, stroking the skin behind his ear. “Maybe I can change your mind on that.”

“Is that so?” There was something definitely not sleepy in Remus’ voice.

Sirius grinned. “Tomorrow.”

“Tease.”

“Can’t let you tire of me.”

“As if that would ever happen.”

It wouldn’t, but war and life and betrayals would keep them apart anyway.

And one time he let him sleep.

When Dumbledore ordered him and Remus to stay at Grimmauld Place together, Sirius had for sure thought it a joke. After all these years, he’d be sleeping door to door with the only person he’d ever loved. It was too cruel, to be in his thirties and to not be able to touch him. To not allow himself to touch him again. His chance had passed him by long ago. He was only an afterthought now.

It was surprisingly easy to fall back in sync with each other, and maybe that made the whole thing worse. They knew each other’s signs, even after all these years. Missed potential. It was too fucking unfair, and it stared him right in the face everyday. He should’ve been focused on the upcoming war, but all he could think of was all that he lost during the previous one.

So, really, obsessing over Remus was the safest choice. He still had him, after all. In a way at least.

“What’s on your mind?”

Sirius looked up. He hadn’t even heard him enter his room, which was pretty bizarre. If there was one thing Sirius knew, it was how this house sounded. If anyone so much as moved in the direction of his bedroom, Sirius would know.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Too much.”

Remus’ lips twitched. “You too, huh?” He entered, hesitating for only a second before settling down on the bed beside Sirius. He was too far away for any part of their bodies to touch, and maybe it was for the best.

Sirius rubbed his forehead. “It feels weird.”

“Being here?”

“Everything.”

“I can’t blame you.”

“I can’t really sleep at night. To be fair I haven’t really slept well in, like, fifteen years, but you know.” He leaned his head back against the wall. “One of these days I think I’m gonna die of exhaustion.” He wasn’t sure why he was saying all of this.

Remus hummed. “I know it’s not the same thing, but I’m having trouble sleeping too.”

Sirius was reminded of late nights in the library. Remus passing out with his face pressed against pages of old knowledge. Waking up with a start when Sirius ran his fingers over his neck. Smiling when he realized he was safe.

He wondered if Remus had ever felt safe after they were forced apart. Maybe he’d been stuck in this bubble of terror ever since that night just like Sirius had. Maybe he hadn’t felt a thing, just like Sirius wished he’d had.

Sirius reached out and let his knuckles collide with Remus’ arm. A friendly punch. Nothing more. “Maybe we should get something stronger to knock us out.”

Remus rolled his eyes fondly. “You think I haven’t thought of that? Don’t think Dumbledore would be too happy though.”

“We’ve been stuck here doing nothing for several days. We deserve some release.”

“I’m sure we won’t be doing nothing for long. This place will be filled with people soon.”

“Of all places. Why here?”

“I’m sorry, Padfoot. I know it’s hard.”

Remus grabbed his shoulder. Gave it a squeeze. Let go.

Sirius sighed. “At least… well, I’m glad you’re here, at least.”

Remus’ lips twitched. “I’m glad I’m here too, Pads.”

It was surreal, but only a little while later Remus’ head was angled in that awful way, the silence and familiar comfort having lulled him to sleep. Sirius let his gaze linger for just a moment too long, but it felt forbidden, so he reached out and stopped himself just in time.

Neither of them was sleeping in this house. If Remus had nodded off it was better to leave him be. Let him rest while he could.

It was only years of practice that allowed Sirius to gently push Remus down the bed so that he could sleep like a normal human being without waking him up. He made sure his head was supported by the pillow, deciding against the blanket since Remus got too hot anyway. He still remembered such useless things, but maybe they weren’t useless at all.

Sirius left the room, and Remus remained asleep until the next morning.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic #remus x sirius #wolfstar angst #angst #hp fic #mine #three times sirius woke remus up #nat writes

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mojput-mypath · 2 years

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Unabridged

The wind is howling. The sound of banging windows is pushing through the headphones. The sound of Bauhaus’s “Bela Lugosi’s dead” remix is not loud enough to snuff the noise out. Need to close windows. Peter Murphy is yelling “Undead, undead, undead”. I’m feeling and hearing the song, like I’ve never heard a song before.

I have been thinking of, feeling, eating and sleeping death for almost a month now. I am torn in between giving myself the “time and right” to grieve - and slapping myself for falling into a pit of sadness, anger and resentment. I am torn in between living the everyday life, seeing everything I have been seeing, and seeing how this life seems to be far away from me.

What is life? What is death? Where do we go? Where is he now? What does this mean in my life? No longer as fact or concept, but as pure realisation, I now truly know that all people loose their parents, or parents their children. Sisters loose brothers, and spouses separate. People come and they go. All of us. We loose others and we leave, having others loose us. We come and we go.

I ask myself: Am I wasting my time? Did he? Does he regret not calling us, not staying in touch, not making an effort to understand? Is this irrelevant now for him? I have seen and felt and heard too many people who are not in this material world now, yet, I cannot hear my father. I am relying on words other people tell me, and I need to trust them. I am told it will take a year for the impact I feel now to calm down.

Have I loved my father? Of course I have. I have and do love him dearly. Have I wished him to be kinder, to have more understanding, have I accused him of being mentally disturbed? Yes. The moment the news of his death reached me, I fell into a bottomless pit of loss. For my daddy. The one I did not have even while he was alive. The childlike hope I held on to - that he will not only show but feel, in one split moment, true compassion for anyone - died with his body.

I can hear his voice in my ears, the talking down tone of voice, judging me for being weak. Have I not learned anything? Have I not learned the art of the spirit? Do I not know life is truly eternal? Have I not myself read the 2nd chapter of Bhagavad Gita at his funeral - when Krishna consoles Arjuna, telling him not to lament, as life is eternal, and the body is passing.

When his parents passed, he seemed not to be touched by their deaths. Was he so enlightenedly indifferent - or a sociopath? I am not sure I will ever truly know. He was a genius of sorts, and a madman at the same time. Socially apt on the surface, yet deeply unable to connect to anyone. A narcissist.

Who is the one writing these words? One who cannot accept another’s actions. His words maybe yes. His inaction - not at all. Am I the narcissist? One thing I can say without any doubt - his presence in my life utterly disturbed my very foundation, and his presence in my life forced me to realise many many many things about myself. Certainly a unique character and personality. A trace of brilliance, a handful of selfish.

See, I still cannot decide whether I am angry or sad. Maybe I never will. As everything fades, his face is fading, his presence is fading, and his person is fading. Already has faded a little, during the last few years of our journey together as father and daughter. The bond, and the loss of it remains in a powerful grip. I miss a father. I have missed a father when he was alive.

I repeat myself, the serpent of the mind keeps biting its tail. So I will break it at least here for you.

#father #dead father #serpent of the mind

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johnfmyles · 3 years

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Nabokov: Lively Objects

Nabokov’s lively objects After a time Nabokov’s supercilious tone wearied me and in the later novels, especially Ada the tone is pretty egotistical. The early novels, though, are marked by a quirky stylistic trope of animated objects which Nabokov used intriguingly in order to confront the reader’s experience of literary metaphor. Essentially, Nabokov pursues an original, highly individualistic, phenomenology of objects that makes the reader re-vision the world as a result of this defamiliarization.

In Nabokov’s first novel, Mary, this characteristic is not much in evidence, but in the majority of Nabokov’s novels up to The Gift (in which it reaches its apogee, a novel itself much centred on a number of questions of style and language) and The real Life of Sebastian Knight, and in the short stories of this period, destabilizing objects is a regular concern. Nabokov’s essay ‘Man and Things’ (1928) sets out his thinking on this topic. In it he takes a kind of Berkeleyan viewpoint in which it is not the object itself that exists for the viewer but only what our perception makes of it. ‘A thing, a thing made by someone, does not exist in itself’ (69) he states, but is ‘dependent upon who looks on it’. Things thus ‘bring to mind’ images which are the material of thought, of representation (he regularly criticized James Joyce for his over-estimation of the verbal-linguistic in the constitution of human thought or experience). Nabokov sees us as ‘lending things our feelings’ – which he calls ‘anthropomorphic ardour’ (72). He even goes as far to argue that things die when we ‘neglect’ them, and we often mourn them when we have done so (73).

In Invitation to a Beheading the central character Cincinnatus is shown to be surrounded by a ‘false logic of things’, chimera, objects that are animated by others, by the agents of the state who are working to subjectify him. In his experience we see him feeling a ‘general instability, …a certain flaw in all visible matter’, even if the ‘objects still observed an outward propriety’ (172). In this Orwellian and Kafkaesque world there is a moral concern to address the political status of objects and to confront the issue of who or what is doing the primary seeing and defining along with the phenomenological status of everyday objects.

This concern is also prominent is many of the interviews and essays Nabokov made concerned with questions of his style. In his fragment-essays ‘The creative writer’ and ‘style’ (both circa. 1941) he shows a concern to ‘dislocate the given world’ (189), to make the reader see the ‘whatness of things’ (187), to ‘move objects from their usual series’ (198), and to bring things out of the domain of habitual modes of experience (188) (in this he shows an affinity for Proust). This concern is particularly marked in Look at the Harlequins with its performative ‘look’ in its title and where the aim is ‘to make iniquity absurd’ (197).

But Nabokov consciously rejected the type of politically-committed literature of writers like Sartre and Camus, the Soviet novelist-ideologues of the Stalinist era such as Sholokhov, or even novelists like Pasternak who were critical of the regime. Mostly, when objects crop up in his novels they do so apolitically, defamiliarizing, to ‘reveal the most elementary things in their unique lustre’ (Think, Write, Speak 132). The aim is to redefine domestic objects in their particularity, to give them a kind of agency, like the mirror ‘that had plenty of work to do’ in Laughter in the Dark (37). In Despair, Nabokov’s Doestoyevskian novel about a Hermann Hermann and his double, Hermann laments the ‘sick mirror’ he has created of himself, the mirror representing an outside, perhaps narcissistic, view of himself that he has fallen for when he stumbles on his double. Hermann believes that having a double might allow him to escape the confines of the self he has created, that by killing his live reflection he can achieve freedom, to re-imagine himself. Hermann has an ‘eye to eye monologue’ with his double, but he is put into a critical light when Nabokov shows that in seeing just the outside of things, people as much and as like objects, Hermann is on a faltering path of redundant defamiliarization:

I cannot recollect now if the ‘monologue’ was a slip or a joke. The thing is typed out on good, eggshell blue notepaper with a frigate for watermark: but it is now sadly creased and soiled at the corners; vague imprints of his fingers, perhaps. Thus it would seem that I were the receiver – not the sender. (45)

Hermann is attempting to create a world of dead things that lack their own animation. It is also, in writing, what Nabokov sees as going on in the ‘cooperatives of words’ in tired metaphors or, historically, the way objects from earlier periods become obsolescent because the generation that animated them has dissipated (338).

The Gift serves as the apogee of Nabokov’s concern with reanimating things. In fact, the ‘Gift’ in the novel is the ability ‘to go beyond the surface of things’ (326). This is contrasted to the positivist scientific idea of objects, be they human, social or natural. In this novel Nabokov directly criticises cold German systematizing philosophical materialists like Feuerbach and Hegel. Fyodor, the protagonist artist sees ‘things like words as [having] their cases’ but commonly-understood dictionary-syntactical confinement of meaning ‘must be displaced’ (236-7) by a poetical imagination built upon ‘chance and emotion’ (198).

At one point around half-way through the novel, there is a sudden shift in the syntax and style (approximately 173 of the Penguin edition) when Nabokov’s metaphors and his characterization of objects becomes somewhat tired, predictable, conventional – a blond woman is described woodenly as ‘buxom’ and ‘whose soul was more like that of a replica of her apartment’ (186). A little further on, Herzen (whom Nabokov associates with Russian revolutionary materialists) is described as a writer producing ‘false glib glitter’ (198). And the café in which Fyodor meets Zina is described in a kind of dead prose as ‘an empty little café where the counter was painted in indigo colour and where dark blue gnomelike (the dull imprecise simile here underlined by merging with its marker – ‘like’) lamps…’. Such prose contrasts with the earlier part of the novel in which a sustained defamiliarization of the object world is evident. In particular, Nabokov sees natural phenomena, such as ‘the bent shadow of a poplar sitting there’ (51); a ‘young chestnut tree [is] unable to walk alone’ (57) and ‘dun birches…stood around blankly with all their attention turned inside themselves’. This latter instance continues to note ‘a little man was tossing a stick into the water at the request of his dog’ (45); and rain ‘loses the ability to make any sound’ (75).

Early on in Despair Hermann Hermann recounts the walk he took that led him to meet his doppelganger, Felix:

I trod upon soft sticky soil: dandelions trembled in the wind and a shoe with a hole in it was basking in the sunshine under a fence. (3)

The reader is struck by this shoe, abandoned, an object which has lost its pair and its ‘use-value’ but is still seen as being alive, animated by the verb ‘basking’. The reader is, simultaneously, aware of the subtle contrast in the metaphoric language by the more conventional attribution of ‘trembling’ to a plant like a dandelion eddying in the breeze. This is juxtaposition in Nabokov’s earlier work of conventional and animated metaphors is a regular one. It is Nabokov’s way of disturbing the reader’s literary sensibilities, to make them experience the ‘Gift’ of undermining cliched writing passing itself off as literature. In The Real Life of Sebastian Knight this occurs regularly, thus we find ‘letters resent being unfolded’ (34), the author is described as ‘budding’ (46). Bookshelves are ‘densely peopled’ which seems conventional, in contrast to the following sentence in which a writing desk ‘looked sullen and distant’ (30). A reflection is seen, commonly, as ‘live’ but is quickly followed with the attribution of a window as being ‘sick’ (51)

That shoe basking and yet useless in the human world seems to be part-way back to returning to nature, which means in Nabokov’s world to have lost its conventional meaning, that it can now only appeal to us to re-view it, reexperience its thingliness before it is lost to us. The idea of ‘thingliness’ reminds me of Derrida’s articles on Van Gogh’s boots and what Heidegger made of them in his ‘Origin of the work of Art’. Derrida, like Nabokov, was concerned with how Van Gogh’s boots were non-functioning, and, as the shoe in Despair is subject to the novelist’s revisioning, revivifying, so in Van Gogh the boots become reviewed, become the (a) ‘subject’ in painting (301). Derrida partly is concerned with literary comparisons to the painterly, suggesting that Van Gogh’s boots have a figurative value comparable to metonymy or synecdoche (302). But his main concern is how things are ‘brought into the nameable’ (306) in painting, literature, in the artistic generation of cultural value.

Things like boots become nameable when they are disturbed from their (back)ground, related in the Aristotelian concept of an originary state hypokeimenon (305). In paintings like Van Gogh’s boots this revisioning process occurs or, in literature like Nabokov’s there is a detaching and estrangement of the objects of the natural world or shoes and other domestic(ated) objects. Nabokov’s Gift, like Van Gogh’s, is to bring objects out of their expected gaze, their ground, and into revision-ing. Derrida categorizes this more generally as disturbing objects’ ‘substantia’: the thing no longer has the figure or value of ‘an underneath’ (308). Nabokov’s early novels thus sensitize us to the presence of things, to reexperience them by the activating light of his literary imagination.

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dunnystuff · 3 years

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Sent: Wednesday, September 01, 2021 12:04 PM

Subject: Rich's Blog

Now We know How Churchill Felt Watching Neville Chamberlain

Hi to all -

The Aftermath

I had heard that during his term, Obama would sometimes ban Biden from attending strategy meetings because his 'thinking was dangerous'. Guess even Obama knew that Biden was not a diplomat, leader or thinker. Just a political hack, easily manipulated.

Well, everyone can now watch this. Yes, Biden did meet the plane returning the bodies of our fallen. He dutifully stood there, trying to look somber, but he was clearly not there in spirit. As each of the 13 bodies was carried off the plane, Biden stopped and looked at his watch. He had someplace more important to be than honoring our soldiers. Perhaps if those coffins had been filled with cash from China, he could have spared some time. Some of the families noticed this, and said very unkind things about Biden.

Remember Hurricane Sandy? That storm devastated the coastal areas of New Jersey. Obama paid a visit to see the destruction, and in one very revealing moment, he stood amidst the ruins of a home, holding up a weeping woman, and promised her with all the sincerity a politician can muster that he would not desert them, but would be there to take care of their tragedy. Then, he looked at his watch, and literally dropped this woman, saying he had a fundraiser to go to. Later, these people were told, by mail, that they did not qualify for federal aid, just because their houses had literally been wiped off the map. One homeowner sent the bureaucrats a letter, with a photo of himself standing in the ruins of his home, and inviting them to come over for dinner, since they were not experiencing any loss, or deserving of any aid from the government.

Now that the battle is over, and there is nothing to be done, the GOP members of congress held a long presser today. Lots of hand wringing, and the usual lamenting that someone must be held accountable, etc. Easy to do, after weeks of silence. But several members got up and told angry stories - these were often vets of that war - of people they knew being executed by the Taliban. One congressman told of his interpreter having been captured by the Taliban, and having to watch them behead his wife and children, before they beheaded him.

Nancy Pelosi was asked to attend. But, Nancy, like all piss ant tyrants, is a coward, and refused to attend to hear the stories, or answer the questions, etc. Nancy can only function in the dark, or in an environment she totally controls. Daylight is as dangerous to her as it is to any vampire. She sent some poor underling who was powerless to say or do anything.

For weeks now, Nancy has forbidden any discussion in congress about the situation, and blocked every effort by others to mitigate the problems or prevent the losses. Treason? Conspiracy? Efforts to destroy America? You decide. And, there was a lot of angry emotion in the room. A group of 90 generals and admirals demanded the resignation of General Milley and General Austin (Head of the Joint Chiefs and Secretary of Defense) for their total failure in this bungled effort. Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin was revealed to have had detailed knowledge of the attacks on our troops in advance. He even notified medical personnel to be prepared for a 'mass casualty event' more than 1.5 hours before it happened! Dereliction of duty, anyone? In fact, our intelligence people had been presenting detailed descriptions of what was happening, and what was about to happen, when and where, to our forces on the ground. The word 'impeachment' was not mentioned. How odd.

Pentagon Press Secretary John Kirby blithely dismissed leaving so many stranded people as 'We have people stranded all the time.' He refused to answer any questions about the botched pullout . he refused to answer why, knowing what was about to happen, he failed to warn or protect our soldiers. But what really got a lot of folks riled up was the reveal, and photos, of our service dogs being abandoned, in their kennels, on the airfield. These dogs are soldiers, too, who work and give their lives for our soldiers. There is a move to rescue them, as they are in the custody of friendly people still there.

But, if we stall questions for a short time, they will be unnecessary. The Taliban is going house to house slaughtering 'enemies of their new state'. When I said this was going to happen, Big Brother censored my story.

Biden, meanwhile, is claiming that this was a 'great victory', and dancing his victory dance. He did what no one else could do. Well, that part is correct. We have never had a traitor like this before. And, all those $82 billion worth of weapons will be on the world arms markets in days, if they are not there already. This is more weapons that many of our allied nations possess - and they will go to the highest bidder, and will soon be used against us right here - coming across our southern border. Did you see the videos? Pallets of pistols, rifles, binoculars , night vision gear, body armor, and tons of ammo. Thousands of vehicles, even aircraft.

By the way, Biden is trying to get the CDC to ban ammo sales and distribution as a health and safety issue, since he cannot do it by Executive Order. An old Obama back door approach. He also wants private companies to do what he cannot do - discriminate against manufacturers and buyers of weapons - even as our own weapons are coming to attack us.

Do you remember what Ike did as he was about to launch D-Day? Chances were not so great that it would succeed. So, Ike prepared two statements. One, to give if the landings were successful, and another if they were not. In the second case, Ike said that the failure was his, and his alone. There are no Ike's in the Biden White House. Only whining finger pointers.

Teachers Union

President Cecily Myart-Cruz noted that kids are not doing well, and says that lockdowns that have kept so many out of class for nearly a year and a half is no problem at all. Just because they do not know their multiplication tables, or how to read, or spell, or write their own names, that does not mean they are not educated. Not at all. After all, she said, they have learned resilience. And, they know all about riots, protests, and insurrection. That is more important than basic functional skills, right?

General Flynn

He is still hated and feared by the left. He just posted a letter he received from Chase Bank - which caused quite a stir. The letter said "We decided to close your credit cards on September 18, 2021, because continuing the relationship creates possible reputational risk to our company." Well, such blatant discrimination got a lot of folks up in arms, and Chase had to issue a retraction, claiming 'it was an error'. No, it was not. It was an attempt to punish a man because of his political beliefs.

To put this in perspective, Chase just agreed to a $920 million settlement with the DOJ for conspiring to defraud the markets for precious metals and Treasury Bonds . If the settlement is nearly a billion dollars, just how big was this fraud?

New Orleans

Well, they are getting into action for the aftermath of storm Ida. The looting is already in progress, so the head of law enforcement made the announcement that this would not be tolerated, and that looting was a felony, and anyone arrested would be treated as a felon. Some have already been arrested. Compare to Katrina.

Years back, I lived in a small town with a very corrupt local government. It had been a family fiefdom for years. The Judge was family with the sheriff, and all other officials were on the take. Cops would raid one drug gang, and then sell the drugs from their police cars while on patrol. There were organized theft gangs, hitting up to 100 homes per week. No one ever saw their goods again. Except for one. When the gang hit the home of the judge, he complained to the sheriff that his wife's silver and furs had been taken, and by the most amazing coincidence, the sheriff found those items the very next day, and returned them to the judge.

Finally, the feds had enough, and swooped in and arrested everyone above the rank of meter maid. The mayor ran for reelection from his jail cell! Well, a new crop of folks took over, and one of the first things they did was institute a new law for the holidays. See, business robberies were an everyday occurrence during the holiday season (your Christmas shoplifting), as I knew first hand from being on the receiving end of an armed robbery, with daytime raids and nighttime break ins. So, there was an announcement that in any case of questionable behavior, police would shoot first, ask questions later. It was not long before two incidents brought this policy to light. A young man tried to rob a convenience store, and was shot dead as he exited the building. Another young man was discovered climbing out of a basement window of a business, with what looked like a weapon, but turned out to be the screwdriver he used to break in with, and he was also shot dead. When these two stories were reported on the news, robberies and other crime dropped by 90%, and never returned to former levels. Even crooks have a risk limit.

War of 1912

During this war, the British sent a force up the river to seize control of an important American post. A man on the riverbank yelled at the British "If Washington were still president, he would not let you do this !" The British officer responded "If Washington were still president, we would not even try." Teddy Roosevelt expressed this well, when he said "Speak softly, and carry a big stick". When people know you mean it - they will leave you alone.

China

They are concerned over how much time young people spend on video games. So, now all video games must be registered with the state, using real names and personal ID card numbers. All games will be monitored by the state, and youth will be allowed no more than three hours weekly to play games. One hour daily on weekends, and one hour on holidays. Kids and game makers are not happy, but this is China, and you have no say in your own life in China. Look for similar things to come here.

Rich

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descalibrary · 3 years

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For centuries, most parts of the world as well as most aspects in our life are dominated by male. The practices of masculine domination work in the most unconscious ways and circling around our everyday life. The society we are living in favours men and leaves only small spaces for women. Do you know the saddest chapter of all? A lamentable fact? Women should empower each other. Yet that small and tiny spaces left are filled with women who compete to each other. They rob, they stab, they take over other women’s platform. Homo homini lupus, they say in the old Latin proverb; referring to a man who becomes a wolf to another men - well, women in this case. So what to do? Who to blame? Then come this chapbook of poems. Five prominent Indonesian writers: Toeti Heraty (may she rest in peace), Shinta Febriany, Dorothea Rosa Herliany, Hanna Fransisca and Zubaidah, lend their voice to sing the unheard song from other women in the society. They do not only criticise, reinterpret, question but also challenge the society they are living in through each line they write in their poems. What I do love the most here is (1) the fact that all poems are written from the female perspectives. (2) these poems also deconstruct the myth about women. Through the allegories, they offer different perspectives to see those myths. In Toeti Heraty’s Entreating the Goddess Durga which tells the story about the Balinese/Indonesian old widow, Calon Arang, a so-considered devilish woman who causes the plague in the whole kingdom. Or in Sinta’s Elegy which sees the Indian epos Ramayana from the perspectives of SInta and her lamentation towards her cowardice husband who does not even trust her purity. They are magical! They are powerful so the society feels the urge to put them down! the simple reason: they are women! This chapbook is really a journey and a reflective guideline that one should read. Simply to understand the importances of standing and giving voices to those women who are silenced and who cannot speak! (at Desca's Library) https://www.instagram.com/p/CQjM3OqrxXo/?utm_medium=tumblr

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erinfickertrowland · 6 years

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Motivate Your Creativity: Who You Are & Who You Will Be

"Never mind searching for who you are. Search for the person you aspire to be." -- Robert Brault

There comes a point in everyone's creative life that, in order to grow, you must critically assess both where you are and where you want to go. Life happens to us when it presents us with circumstances beyond our control- this forms who we are. What we do with these circumstances, however, starts a chain reaction that determines who we become.

A creative life cannot be a passive experience. Like delicately stacking stones, we must consciously choose our associations and activities if we hope to grow in a specific direction. To nurture creativity, it is essential to be disciplined about honing our creative skills, yet we also have to attentively balance our other commitments. Recognizing our responsibilities is who we are, purposefully regimenting our schedules, with an eye on the future, is who we can become.

What obligations do you have that are non-negotiable in your life?

This is who you are. I'm a wife and mother who is determined to stay active and healthy. These occupy a great deal of my schedule! Time spent with my family, nurturing their spiritual, academic and physical growth is a big commitment. I also have creative endeavors that must be prioritized if I want to succeed professionally. These aspirations require a commitment of time, money and space, and concerted discipline to use those finite resources wisely.

How do you visualize the person you aspire to be, and put that vision into actionable steps?

This is who you can become. Here we've arrived at the heart of the issue! To grow creatively, we must take our natural surroundings and shape them to fit our needs for the future. What does that look like? For me, it looks like a lot of lists and a limited social life! Time spent working in the studio during the week, participating in family activities during evenings and weekends, volunteering at school, and staying healthy with good cooking and exercise creates a saturated schedule that occupies virtually every moment of my time.

My first step toward building the future I aspire to was to cut out the "dead-weight" activities in our schedule and focus on those that are most important. I'm going to let you in on a secret... you actually know this, but if you're like me, you have a really hard time admitting it: You can't do it all.

Here's what you can do; In fact, what you must do to reach your goals:

You can begin living life with an "abundant" mindset, honoring the small achievements of everyday that contribute to long-term success. Instead of lamenting over what you didn't achieve, celebrate what you accomplished.

Sometimes that means you created a masterpiece to be "ooohed" and "ahhhed" (or maybe sold!). Sometimes it means you spent your day networking and returning emails. Sometimes it means you spent hours pouring over your art/craft supplies, putting them back in order. Sometimes it means you washed your clothes, dishes and tidied the house, and sometimes it means you held a beloved family member's hand while they were ill.

Each one of these is an accomplishment. Each one of these is a building block in the foundation of your future. With self-discipline and a strong-work ethic, actions like this honor who you are and prepare yourself for who you will become.

It may be months or years (all good things take time), but you will become that person you aspire to be. Focus on your goal and prioritize your daily actions that will take you there.

Want more creative inspiration? I've contributed a few thoughts on an inspiring post about "Fasting for Creatives" by my friend Parisa, author of Lighting Little Fires. Her blog is full of insightful and creative musings, with gorgeous photos and heartfelt writing.

*I originally published this post on March 4, 2011 and republished it on my new website on March 22, 2018

#creativity #motivation #the artist's life

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lentenrecipes · 7 years

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Why We Fast Before Christmas

“The time of preparation before Christmas is intended to be a time of purposeful asceticism, almsgiving, and learning to say yes to God while saying no to our own desires.

But Christmas, and especially in present day America, has become a time of great anxiety and materialism, despite the fact that most every song one hears, most every retail ad one reads, and most every film that is produced–with “Christmas” as a theme–will try to convince us that it’s a time for warmth, joy, spending time with family, and even taking a break from the regular hustle of everyday life. If only this were the case.

On the contrary, Christmas — a period of time that seems to grow longer and more arduous by the year — is preceded by ominous social media status updates that lament: “I can’t believe it’s already November … Christmas is just around the corner,” or “My children won’t stop bothering me about [insert the latest gadget here] … I can’t wait until Christmas is over,” and so on. Many will also complain: “Wow. I am not ready for Christmas. Where has the time gone?”

This grief and anxiety should not be. No, we have certainly missed the purpose of this feast — and the time of preparation and fasting that precedes it — if all we can do is approach it with stress and sorrow.

As I mentioned above, the time before Nativity — Advent (or “Coming”) in the West, and the Fast of St. Philip the Apostle (due to its beginning on the eve of this Saint’s feast) or simply “the Nativity fast” in the Orthodox Church — is intended to be utilized for one’s Spiritual benefit (and indeed, for the life of the world), not for remorse or regret.

The Nativity fast dates to the year 1166 and a synod at Constantinople, where our fathers inaugurated a forty-day period of fasting and preparation before the annual celebration of Christ’s Incarnation. This period of forty days is analogous to the forty days that Moses fasted before receiving the commandments from God.

Of this connection, St. Symeon of Thessaloniki (ca. A.D. 1381–1429) writes:

The Nativity Forty-day Fast represents the fast undertaken by Moses, who — having fasted for forty days and forty nights — received the Commandments of God, written on stone tablets. And we, fasting for forty days, will reflect upon and receive from the Virgin the living Word — not written upon stone, but born, incarnate — and we will commune of His Divine Body.

If nothing else, then, the time of prayer and fasting before Nativity reminds us that we, as Orthodox Christians, are given the immense and unthinkable blessing, privilege, and honor of receiving the very Body and Blood of our Lord, God and Savior Jesus Christ. But as we say yes to Christ in the holy mysteries, we must also learn to say no to ourselves, making a point to both follow Christ and serve those in need.

It is no coincidence that Christ, in one of the Gospel readings during Nativity exhorts: “Whoever does not bear his cross” as well as “forsake all that he has cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:27,33). While the faithful prepare to receive Christ anew in his Incarnation, we must also be prepared to relinquish whatever it is we possess that keeps us from the glory of his everlasting kingdom.

But even as the faithful are called to a period of spiritual quietude and even asceticism during this fasting period, we should not engage in asceticism and bear this cross as an end unto itself. Rather, we learn to say no to ourselves so that we can say yes to God. And in saying yes to the poor and the needy, we are saying yes to Christ, so that we might share in the vision of Cornelius, hearing: “Your prayers and alms have ascended as a memorial before God” (Acts 10:4).

An effective remedy for the anxieties and desires of this time of year is found in a concern for our fellow man. Rather than being so caught up in the materialism and “me too” nature of contemporary celebrations, Orthodox Christians should play a pivotal role in showing a wholly better and more noble way forward.

Incidentally, the other Gospel readings throughout the Nativity fast remind us not only why we are participating, but also how we can make the most out of it. For example, we should not lay up treasure for ourselves, while neglecting God (Luke 12:16–21), but should rather be “rich” towards God — and by consequence, towards those who are in need. We should not make excuses when it comes to serving or helping those in distress (Luke 13:10–17). And, of course, we should be willing to “sell all that [we] have and distribute to the poor” (Luke 18:22).

It’s in these virtues, and in a genuine concern for others, that we can be released from the empty cares of this world, especially as they are emphasized during the holiday season. If we give to the poor, we are giving to God. If we say no to our own desires, we can fulfill the needs of those who are looking for someone — anyone — that is willing to say yes on their behalf.

As families, we can help our children give or donate to a family, friend, or even a complete stranger in need, rather than providing them with more and more stuff.

As individuals, we can honor the fast, spend more time in prayer, and make a conscious effort to love our neighbors as ourselves, dedicating this season to be a time for true, spiritual growth. We can practice the religion of St. James that is “pure and undefiled” before God: “… to visit orphans and widows in their afflictions, and to keep oneself unstained by the world” (James 1:27). Instead of overeating for the next month, spending countless hours at parties and other premature celebrations, we can fast from our regular intake of food so that we have more time and resources to give to those who are truly in need—not to mention more focus and attention for prayer and spiritual growth.

Rather than approaching this Nativity season with anxiety and distress, dedicate yourself to the truespirit of the season and the greater purpose that lies within: the salvation and healing of the world through the Incarnation of Jesus Christ.”

#nativity #nativity fast #orthodox #orthodoxy #fasting #fast #orthodox christianity

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thesavvyurbaneducator · 4 years

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Those Who Can Do; Those Who Can't......Can't

The old adage, "Those who can do; those who can't teach" was the way society lumped all of us teachers into one big, stereotypical pile. Clearly some type of logical explanation was needed for the country to understand why a person who had attained in many cases several degrees from a College or University, to opt into being a poorly paid babysitter, counselor, and confidante who, if that person was lucky, might get the students in his/her care to retain anything he/she spent 180 days pouring into the skulls of the newest generation. I mean, clearly these people wanted to be other things- lawyers, doctors, engineers, nurses, authors, journalists, dentists, business owners- and just didn't finish said program. Or didn't have the grades. They had to fail and opted to teach, right? For the longest time, I would have been a very outspoken dissenter to this sentiment and sentiments like these: "You teachers make TOO MUCH MONEY to not work 8 hours a day" or "2 months paid vacations?" or my favorite, "You get every holiday off." This might be true; but ask the teacher who only holds a Bachelor's degree whether they still worry if they can keep the lights on. Or the teachers such as myself who have children at home whom they know less than the children they spend the majority of their days with. Ask me if two full months is enough time for me to spend with my children who sacrifice the relationship with mommy they so deserve because her hours are spent planning for 4-5 preparations daily, for ten months a year and into the summer. And in order to pay for that cherished time off with my babies, my ten month pay is spread among twelve months of pay. But, I digress. The real question lies in why people think so lowly of teachers. After all, I have probably the same amount of education as all of my lawyer friends and doctor friends. I went to school 6 years and received two degrees. Soon, I plan to finish what I started and dedicate another 2 years to receiving the Ph.D. I have long deserved. That will amount to the same if not more. Yet, I drive the Subaru and they drive the Benz. Why? Teachers probably have the most important job on the planet. We are who prepare the doctors, lawyers and writers who will be. Why didn't we become it ourselves? As an English teacher, why am I not a writer? Did I fail, and because of my failure, opted to become a teacher? I can answer this question with a robust and emphatic "NO"! I am a teacher because I want to be. Because I love teaching. Because it IS my destiny. I have been teaching since I was 8 years old: I would line up my stuffed animals, and teach. There. I said it. I plan 7 days a week. I collaborate with teachers. Teachers are some of my closest friends. I am married to a fabulous band director who performs miracles everyday in his band room. I spend hours reading, trying to become a better teacher. I steal from other teachers. My life can be summed up in one way, and one way only: I teach, therefore I am. And, for the longest time, I thought this was the way of life for most "teachers". Recently, my students have begun to prove to me that my thoughts about my "colleagues" were probably false. On my students' blogs, they began being very vocal about the dissatisfaction with their classes. Several wished to graduate early in order to escape "wasting their time". Several contemplated transferring in order to seek a better education, but questioned whether that would be worth leaving me. During one class session, they lamented about teachers not checking their work, teachers letting videos do the teaching. About teachers lecturing daily. Even some from their desks. As I rubbed my swollen feet that evening from being on my feet 9 hours, I began to question myself: do I take this too seriously? Because of this new information, I began to be more observant of what was going on around me. I noticed the alarming number of teachers who wear jeans. More than on just on Friday. Who showed up to parent teacher conferences with jump suits, as if they were meeting the parents in the gym to shoot hoops, rather than meet about somebody's kid they were probably failing. Who were late getting to those meetings. Who come to work late because they want to. Who admittedly don't plan. Was I the crazy one for refusing to wear jeans to work at all? Or wearing two-piece suits to class weekly? For having my degrees on my walls in plain view? Perhaps teachers have become their own worst enemies. Perhaps we are the people who have made this job not have the rank to be considered a profession. I mean, how would you feel if your doctor wore jeans to your appointment with a Cowboys t-shirt? Or didn't have his degrees on the wall to show that he was, in fact, proud of those degrees and thus a proven professional. Teachers downgrade the teaching profession. I am a teacher. I love what I do. I did not get into the business of teaching because I sucked at being a writer (because I do not). I did not get into teaching because I was upset with the job I had out of college; teaching WAS the job I had right out of college. Teaching was never an afterthought for me, even after my mother forced me to engineering because she was afraid I wouldn't be well off as a teacher. I just changed my major freshman year and told her a few months shy of graduation 4 years later. I plan to teach for the duration of my adulthood because it is the career path I have chosen. There are many teachers like me, and we cannot let those who do not exemplify these standards water down our status as professionals, because in all honesty WE are the professional's professional; after all, would there be any doctors without doctors who taught them? Would there be any engineers without a physics teacher or calculus teacher who showed them the foundations they needed to be engineers? Would there be anything, job, careers or otherwise without a teacher? No. It is my hope and desire, that more people who take this job as seriously as it is will outweigh the dead-weight that exist in any profession. Hopefully, more people will embrace being a professional who is a teacher and not do this because they had no other way to make a living. In addition, it is my hope principals will demand more of their teachers in terms of grooming and attire. One dresses for success, and I do not see much success in wearing jeans every Friday- As Harry Wong says, jeans are made for leisure. To add to that, in a culture where students are expected to wear uniforms, how appropriate is it for you to wear "jeggings" and your students cannot? Who is the role model? In some classrooms, it has become harder to tell. Lastly, it is my wish that teachers truly understand this glaring fact: we hold these students' futures in our delicate hands. We predict, based on how well we engage their minds, who they will become: how eloquent they will be, how thoughtful they should become. Lesson planning is the single most beneficial way you can impact your students. No one learns nothing from a teacher who teaches on the whim. Planning before hand enables creativity, balance, equity, and structure. Have I always been good at lesson planning? Absolutely not. In fact, in 9 years of being in a classroom, this might be the first year I've gotten great at it. Do we take breaks? Yes. Is it often? NO. And when a lesson plan is altered or flat out doesn't work, I've learned to be quick on my feet about changing direction. I can tell when it doesn't work by reading my students. I will never dismiss the importance of lesson planning because one or two plans didn't work out as I planned or the principal sprung a homeroom day instead of my 1st period. Lesson planning is NOT an exercise of futility, and in today's high stakes testing and teacher evaluations, you'd better get reacquainted with it. If you are not creative, there are so many lesson plans online that you could ever dream of having access to. Submit and share your lesson plans that do work. Write for journals in your area of expertise. Join your professional content area organization to collaborate with fellow teachers like you. Be the professional! This is what professionals do. And never, ever stop learning. The best analogy I can think of to illustrate the everlasting need for teachers to be avid learners is this: If a new cancer is discovered (say cancer of the nostrils perhaps), and my doctor has done no reading on it whatsoever, he is no longer qualified to be my doctor. If I have this new disease, he knows not how it looks, the symptoms, or what it could do to me. Why am I paying him then??? In teaching, you have never "arrived". Instead, you should constantly be "arriving", staying on top of everything that is new about how students learn best. Complacency has no place in education. A complacent teacher- in mind, body, work ethic, and appearance- is an ineffective teacher. And teachers like the aforementioned, make things harder for professionals like me.

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