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lespritdekin · 3 years

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gone with the wind.

heeseung wasn't the creator of the universe, but he was your entire world, and you were willing to turn a blind eye to his disloyalty if it meant that he'd stay with you.

pairingㅡ heeseung x fem!reader (ft. jay).

genreㅡ angst, fluff.

warningsㅡ heeseung is an asshole, and a fuckboy.

word countㅡ 2.6k

disclaimerㅡ I am not knowledgeable within the business world, and i certainly am not a witness of how employers promote their employees.

The shadows that followed your form like a Pied Piper produced a wary rhythm that scattered across every corridor of your veins, the nightly breeze that stung your face held your heart in its grasp, squeezing, extracting your sense of pugnacity, forcing you on your knees, calling, whispering in your ears,

Why do you desire what you cannot acquire?

Why do you long for someone's touch? Someone that only desires himself?

It wasn't your first encounter with Ethan's straying eyes. Beautiful orbs as dark as ebony, gaze as sharp as tungsten, behind the curtains that dangle from his sinful truth, there lies a hunger that can never reach satisfaction, yearning for the taste of one more kiss for the night, one more body to hold in his sheets.

The number of opportunities the world gave you in order to keep your head straight, keep your chin held high, mind persistent on your own necessities, like your career that recently had been at the top of the pedestal, your home that had become a penthouse suite a week ago because of your intelligent hardwork.

At the back of your mind, you chose to discard these thoughts. Everyday, you could achieve another line of recognition in your work, the field you were most passionate about. The royal blue mermaid gown didn't entice Ethan enough to form a song with solely the thought of you. No lingering lips from another woman, no repeated amounts of second chances, just you and your sweet melodies. None of that occured.

That apex of the night, you shone brighter than the stars, glowed stronger than the moon.

You were dazzling.

Your skin could rival the smoothest gold, the details of your dress twinkling under the large chandeliers that hung atop your silky, beautiful hair. The Sapphire jewelry set you had just bought with full paper the day before brought out the alluring beauty of your eyes, the most tantalizing part of you, according to Ethan.

But, not even your most desirable features could bring the source of your pain on his knees. The dysphoria that etched itself onto your face magnetized his eyes for a split second.

Was it that difficult to properly look you in the eye?

You were beautiful, of course. Albeit, the most beautiful goddess that Ethan ever held. The confidence that ambushed your throat vanished as Ethan's arm snuck around the woman's waist, his lips that was once kissing your ear last night were now on the woman stuck to his form, well aware of your eyes on him, well aware of the hurt that formed in your chest, well aware that the tears you have been holding back the entire event would come crashing down any minute soon.

"I love you, [Name]." He used to say after spending the night in your bed. You were too naive to care, too timid to dig deeper into the honesty of his words. To you, he was flawed, but never in your favor. He was the ice cream that encircled around your tongue whenever you felt conflicted, the peaceful serenity that embraced your ears when your world was close to collapsing. That was your biggest mistake.

Ethan was a jerk. A bastard that continued to disregard your feelings, a monster that claws at your emotions until you fall into an abyss of darkness, shrouding over you until you suffocate.

You closed the door to your penthouse, your tall shoes thumping across the polished marble floor, tears now cascading down your pretty pink cheeks. Maybe, just maybe, Jake was right. You were a fool for wanting Ethan. You were a fool for allowing another fool to brush you off his shoulder. He was a puzzle you were never meant to fix, a maze you were never destined to enter. You were now nearing the end, your tiny feet scrambling to leave this labyrinth you've been caging yourself in.

Ethan wasn't the only man on Earth.

And, you bet he wasn't the only man you'll ever love.

"How was the ball, cupcake?" The man within your pallet had asked, voice deep and raspy, but still curious and soulful. He was rubbing his eyes, ripped muscles and evident veins littering his skin, eyebrows scrunched up as he forces himself awake. You wiped your tears away, taking your heels off as you allowed the coat to slip past your shoulders.

You sat in front of your looking glass, gentle fingertips removing your earrings. Two large, calloused hands slipped around your shoulders, kissing the exposed skin before disassembling the lock in your necklace.

"It was, hmm, how do I say this... Quite eventful?" You chuckled softly, fingers coming up to rub the hand resting on your shoulder. He bent down to kiss your cheeks, mumbling about how courageous and strong you were for facing the most afflictive quandary in your life. All alone, you've watched Ethan kiss another girl, make love to another girl, all alone in your little daydream of pursuing yourself that Ethan was a man that has been damaged, a man that needed another person's warmth.

Fully aware that you were deteriorating slowly, fully aware that you chose to ignore it, so long as Ethan still came home to you.

"Thank you, Jongseong." You sighed, the kisses that were scattered on your neck lulling you into sleep.

"Princess, don't sleep on me. We still need to take your makeup off, and take a bath." He warned you gently, applying micellar water on your face with a cotton pad. You smiled, your heart swelling from the undivided attention, something Ethan couldn't give you. After he had finished wiping off the last bit of your lipstick, he pulled you up and unzipped your dress, allowing you to step out of it. He gawked at you, eyes ogling up and down your figure.

You were marvelous.

The faint dimples on the small of your back, the little lovehandles you had, the cellulite that cluttered on your thighs, the little stretchmarks that had formed on the sides of your tummy. They were all so gorgeous, so, so breathtaking in the eyes of the man before you, eyes twinkling with unrealistic amounts of love. "All for me?" He asked cheekily, causing you to slap his chest lightly. You sweet laugh grazed his earlobes, kissing him, shrouding him.

"You're so beautiful. I hope you know that." He spoke, hands rubbing up and down your arms. You looked up and smiled at him, your cheeks heating up from the confession. "I know, you remind me everyday."

The morning came and greeted the both of you like a happy little kid, it reminded you of Sunoo. Bright, innocent, and hard-working. He was the sweetest little angel, so pure that you were almost fooled he was your long lost little brother. "Good morning, beautiful." A groggy, raspy, deep voice resounded from behind you, muscular arms wrapping tighter around your chest, nose shoved at the nape of your neck, inhaling your sweet, mature scent.

"Good morning to you, too, handsome." He sighed exasperatedly, nuzzling the tip of his nose into your scalp. "I adore the aroma of your shampoo."

You pushed his shoulder away, opting to turn around and face him. You gave his nose a kiss, your thumb rubbing smooth lines across his cheekbone. "Let's get up, big boy, work starts in an hour and a half."

After finishing your breakfast, which was done by the both of you (of course, your pancakes were with maple syrup and his with an entire jar of honeyㅡ) got dressed, but not after a quick occurrence of love making in the bathroom. For the first time in your entire being, someone brought you to work. Jongseong himself let himself in despite the rivalry between your companies, greeting the workers and staff as they pass by.

He brought you to your office, kissing you tenderly before leaving shortly, engaging in a little warfare of who could declare their love the deepest.

Of course, your competitive boyfriend won.

You could still feel the delicious warmth of his lips on your as he says "I love you more than Heroes of Storm." You could still feel his hands on your waist as he sits you down your desk, his tongue prying.

Lost in your little daydream, your secretary knocked on the door, informing you that the Chief Executive Officer longed for your presence in the conference and room. You arrived shortly, all eyes on your gorgeous figure and miniscule, flawless face as your PA closed the door in your tow. Expectedly, the man of your nightmares was equally as daunting in the presence of the room, the gentle humming of the air-conditioner reminding you that you were in a place of professionalism, not your personal escapade.

You sat in the only seat available, parallel to the CEO, right next to the left of Ethan. Your PA stood behind you, fiddling with the folders and papers in her hand. You tugged at the ends of your maroon blazer, your skirt the same color. Your pencil skirt and tall heels were black, pearl earrings a bright contrast to the black onyx of your designer shoes. Your cheeks were pink, lips adorning the same color, eyes sparkling with casual confidence, causing Ethan's eyebrows to furrow.

Weren't you just on the brim of crying your eyes out yesterday?

Why the fuck were you glowing?

"Good morning, ladies. Good morning, gentlemen." A series of polite responses welcomed the ears of the chairman, standing up with his hands clasped together. "The following six months were quite the effort, weren't they? The panel and I have discussed the possibility of a President, soon to replace the retiring Mrs. Min."

Murmurs of who they wanted to lead them hollered around the crisp air of the alcove. Your name came in the picture of gossiping workers, but the smile on your face soon turned sour after hearing Ethan's name in the air. Your smile could have faltered if it weren't for your newfound strength to face challenges head on, to face the fresh antagonism between you and Ethan.

A sly smirk graced Ethan's unbelievably handsome face. You've missed the cheeky quirk of his eyebrow, the serrated glint in his eyes, the burning touch of his fingertips, and his gorgeous face. You've craved for them more than anything in the world these past few days, but not even Ethan's remorseless persistence could govern Jay's latency in your life. Ethan was a pest, Jay was a miracle that was given to you.

The exemplification was enough.

The Jay Park, the CEO and President of Park Enterprises was the one that held your heart.

Not even your past with Ethan could compare to that.

"We have come to a conclusion. It was quite the handful to decide, but our verdict was unanimous." The chairman concluded, causing everyone's blood to stiffen, curious, biting, curiously waiting, demanding for the designated name to be called in their seats, eyes boring into the man in front of them. "We have decided, that, from this day on, Ms. [Name] Yang will be your latest luminary."

The crowd squealed in delight, inappropriate within the occasion, but appreciated, nevertheless. You stood up to bow to the chairman, your new position in the company greatly satisfying, justifying your hardwork. The image of vengeance never crossed your mind, but with Ethan, dumbfounded and in disbelief of your success, being here, on the time of your prosperity, was breathtaking, to say the least.

The gentle monikers you've given him proved worthless as you bowed in front of him, the red that clouded his vision powerful enough to physically manhandle you, force you into submission, force you below him. His hands itched to paint your skin red, stain your mind with him and his rough palms, make you feel the anger and dissatisfaction you've caused him. His head was in a swirl, the radiance of your skin and your smile pushing him off a cliff, your elegance draping him with your beauty.

But, why?

Why was he feeling this way? You were just another whore that fell in his mousetrap.

Why were you suddenly the only prize he wanted to win?

As soon as you informed Jongseong through the phone at lunch time, he swore he could make love to you then and there. He was more than gleeful for you and the steadfast dedication you had in your field. All the nights you spent at the office in your home, all the coffee lattes that you would open the door to, all the fast-food meals you would consume just to finish your line of work finally paid off. To celebrate, Jay booked a dinner reservation in one of the 7-star hotels him and his father owned.

That night, Ethan's very own eyes discovered Jay Park's form, leaning against his black Mercedes, seemingly waiting for someone. His speculation that it was you soon pummeled him in the face as your little arms wrapped around Park Ent's CEO, shoving your tongue down his throat out in the open. The moment you entered Jongseong's car, he slammed his beer glass on his desk and rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, the veins and muscles that flourish his arms more enticing under the moonlight.

Ethan's plan was meant to be successful. You were his opponent. Opponents of that of Lee Heeseung deserved to be humiliated, emotionally distraught. His loving past with his object of rivalry is all but impractical. The voice that called him in that dark night, your voice that felt like an early summer sunshine was valueless. The love that you so willingly gave dripped down his face. He licensed them to fall. Everything you shared with him, all of them were mere acts of kindness.

So, why were the veins in his temples protruding from under his skin?

Why did his eyes burn when your lips kissed Jay's?

Why did something in his guts wreathe when he reminded himself that you weren't his anymore?

Why were you such a bitch in the first place?

Of all the queries, the interrogations, the questions, and all the answers, responses, replies, all of the truth Ethan indulged in, it was always you that burglarized his mind. The most horrifying part was, he was in pain. His hands itched to be on yours, entangle your fingertips, kiss your palms, he wanted your lips on his fingertips, like you used to do when he was in distress.

He felt like he was granted to finally grasp the moonlight in his arms, cradle it until his retinas burn with luminescence, listen to your soft, breathy voice, telling him, urging him, singing him lullabies, moaning for him, whining, whimpering, shuddering, trembling for him.

Classical music devoured his sour ambience, the bitter taste of your dispossession of him made Ethan's chest tighten, lungs burning, limbs numbing. His mind was in a whirlpool of your graceful exorcism, your deportation like a gun against his head. His palms met the glass wall where he witnessed your happy smiles and soft giggles, the ones you used to make whenever you were with him.

The classical music that you used to listen to kissed his ears, and for once in his life, he cried and longed for someone. He would soar through the stormy clouds if it meant to have one more minute with you in an apocalypse of pandemonium.

That was Ethan's mistake. The long yesterday was the last time he could ever feel your skin on his. Your kisses would be nothing but a dream, your words nothing but a song he used to sing, your laugh nothing but a faint melody, your love nothing but whispers in the air.

Ethan was the one who left, but he wasn't the one who disappeared. He was left high and dry.

And you?

You were simply gone with the wind.

#enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff #heeseung angst #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenarios #jay fluff #jay angst #jay imagines #jay scenarios

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suits-of-woe · 3 years

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So I just got to be Cornwall in a delightful zoom reading of King Lear and playing him and reviewing his lines has left me Head Empty Thoughts Cornwall And Edmund once again. This is basically a part 2 to the post I already made about their dynamic because going through this role has left me more convinced of what I already thought - Cornwall sees right through Edmund and understands more about how he operates better than anyone else in the play.

Here’s just a few more points that stood out to me this time around.

Point 1:

Cornwall: This is some fellow, Who, having been praised for bluntness, doth affect A saucy roughness, and constrains the garb Quite from his nature: he cannot flatter, he, An honest mind and plain, he must speak truth! An they will take it, so; if not, he's plain. These kind of knaves I know, which in this plainness Harbour more craft and more corrupter ends Than twenty silly ducking observants That stretch their duties nicely. (2.2)

So this line isn’t about Edmund, it’s about the disguised Kent, and I’d honestly never looked twice at it before yesterday because it just doesn’t seem that important and I think it’s pretty frequently cut. But actually looking over it to figure out how to deliver it made me !!!! because...Cornwall figures Kent out perfectly. He’s only spent a few minutes with him, and Kent’s being purposefully antagonistic and giving nonsense answers, but Cornwall totally gets what he’s doing. He’s not too stupid or simple to do anything but bluntly speak the truth - he’s putting on a show of stupidity and simpleness to get away with saying whatever he wants, and that’s a greater manipulation than anything the average smooth-talking courtier gets away with. Cornwall may not know who he is here, but he completely figures him out. Just a piece of evidence that Cornwall is startlingly shrewd and good at reading people, and if anyone could see through Edmund’s facade, it’s probably him.

Point 2:

Cornwall: I now perceive, it was not altogether your brother's evil disposition made him seek his death; but a provoking merit, set a-work by a reprovable badness in himself.

Edmund: How malicious is my fortune that I must repent to be just. This is the letter he spoke of, which approves him an intelligent party to the advantages of France. O heavens! that this treason were not- or not I the detector!

Cornwall: Go with me to the Duchess. (3.5)

I mentioned this exchange before in terms of how dismissive Cornwall seems of Edmund’s protestation that he feels so bad about betraying his father, and that’s still very true. What I didn’t realize until yesterday, though, is that it’s possible to play the line before as Cornwall completely calling Edmund on his shit. Because Edmund spent all of acts 1 and 2 constructing a narrative that Edgar was the cruel, evil son going after the poor, innocent father, because of course, he didn’t know he was going to be able to get rid of Gloucester so easily too. But now that Edmund’s switched tacts and is framing his father as an evil traitor, it’s pretty obvious how bullshit the previous stuff was, and I’m convinced that this line is Cornwall realizing that. That’s the way I tried to play it today: “So much for your brother’s...’evil disposition,’ then. I guess he was actually just responding to how evil your father’s been this whole time? Is that right? You’re gonna need to get your story straight.” 3.5 is just such a loaded scene for the two of them, it’s power play on top of power play culminating in the line that makes me lose my mind the most: “thou shalt find a dearer father in my love.” It’s clear that Cornwall knows exactly how to deal with him by the end of this scene, but I think it’s even more fun if he reveals that he completely sees through Edmund’s lies too.

Point 3:

Cornwall: Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father A child-like office. (2.2)

Corwall: For you, Edmund, Whose virtue and obedience doth this instant So much commend itself, you shall be ours: Natures of such deep trust we shall much need; You we first seize on. (2.2)

Cornwall: Edmund, keep you our sister company: the revenges we are bound to take upon your traitorous father are not fit for your beholding. Advise the duke, where you are going, to a most festinate preparation: we are bound to the like. Our posts shall be swift and intelligent betwixt us. Farewell, dear sister: farewell, my lord of Gloucester. (3.7)

Cornwall: Edmund, farewell. (3.7)

This is basically just a continuation of something I said last time, but playing Cornwall really made it jump out just how often he singles out Edmund to pay attention to him or praise him for something. It’s notable because no one else really does this; when Gloucester brings Edmund into a conversation, it’s often just to demand something of him or talk about him like he’s not there, and the rest of the characters often just ignore him. 2.2 of course makes me lose it like I said before because god, he’s the only person to praise him and recognize his value in a scene when he’s presumably a hero, when he’s literally bleeding and his own father is basically ignoring him. But 3.7 too like! Cornwall is the first person to give Edmund his new title in 3.5, but he’s also the first person to use it publicly, which is just huge. And he gives him his first important political assignment while also possibly setting him up with Goneril! And then he hits him with an extra “farewell” as he’s leaving completely unprompted! What does it mean? What does it all mean???

Basically I am suing Shakespeare for killing Cornwall before this fascinating dynamic could reach its full potential and for not letting me be sexy and evil for two more acts.

#king lear #HEAD EMPTY THOUGHTS CORNWALL BABEY #shoutout to max and elena for casting me in this role #i was very nervous cause it's not a type i think of myself as being able to play very well but i had so much fun #also leaving this out of the post cause it's not actual analysis but. cornwall/regan/edmund real #'go with me to the duchess' yeah ok we all know what that means #edmund #cornwall #mine #shakespeare

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moonlitceleste · 3 years

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straight up villain (Villain AU)

This is a songfic based on “Villain” by K/DA ft. Madison Beer and Kim Petras. There’s really no plot to it; I started with a vague idea and just went along with whatever my brain told me. It kinda jumps around and I didn’t proofread this at all, so sorry if it’s confusing!

I’d suggest listening to the song and watching the visualizer video because it’s honestly such a vibe. If I could animate I’d totally make a video full of epic fight scenes, but unfortunately I don’t have that talent learned yet.

This version of the song is a little more chill, so if you find the original too intense you can always listen to the slowed one instead.

On the low Only love myself, no more Take you to the grave, I'll ghost I know I can be so cold In the dark Where I like to keep my heart Know I'm all bite, no bark Like to catch you way off guard

A shiver ran down the crime boss’ spine.

His eyes darted around the room, searching through the darkness.

Shadows flickered. He swore he could see movement in them.

The night was crime’s time to rule; people feared the darkness it brought.

Now, he was the scared one.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“Who’s there?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, revealing his false bravado.

Shaking hands gripped the gun around his waist, knuckles turning white with pressure.

Creeeakk.

The man whipped around, heart hammering in his chest.

Who—or what—was lurking in the shadows?

A snap echoed through the air as he fired a round.

Silence.

The only sound came from distant echoes of Gotham’s nightlife and the frantic beating in his throat.

He swore he had seen something sweep out in the corner of his vision, if only for a moment.

Perhaps it was the paranoia.

He slowly lowered his gun, shoulders relaxing—

Only to whip around when he felt a phantom hand brush his shoulder.

A pair of eyes flashed in the darkness, gone the next second, but he knew what he had seen, what he had felt.

Icy fear seized his body, taking hold of his limbs.

Something was watching him.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

“Stop toying around.”

The gravelly voice was met with a cackle, almost cat-like in nature.

That was his only warning before it stepped from the shadows: a creature out of his nightmares, shrouded in darkness like part of the night itself.

Sharpened black claws glinted under the streetlights, and dark black orbs pinned him in place as it slunk forward. He couldn’t move, frozen like a deer in headlights.

The thing was so human-like in shape, but it was too monstrous to be one.

A wicked smile spread across its face, and his face blanched as he caught sight of the fangs protruding from the top.

The creature stalked forward like a predator chasing its prey.

Then, it pounced.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of drеad 'Til you go pow

It was common knowledge within Gotham’s criminal underworld that the Arkham Knight worked alone. He played by his own rules, merciless in his distribution of justice.

But lately, it was rumored that the Knight had an ally.

There was no proof of this, no sightings to go by, but there was a subtle shift that could be felt—an underlying sensation of imminent danger.

Gunfights and confrontations lessened, and the Knight’s enemies started disappearing without a trace. No blood, body, or evidence of struggle could be found; it was as if they had simply ceased to exist.

Whoever this new player was, they were dangerous.

Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind And I treat you likе a prize, then I throw you to the side? And am I really that bad if l love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad, only care about a bag

Jason shook out his hair, metal helmet in his hands, and leveled a glance at his companion.

“Did you really have to take so long to kill him?”

The two were in one of their few safe houses, recuperating after their long night of fighting.

“It’s the thrill of the chase.”

Marinette, no longer transformed, stated this as if it were obvious—which it was. Jason had been with her long enough to understand her concept of fun. She leaned forward and stretched, looking much like the animal after which her magic ring was themed.

“We can’t waste time playing around. There are more important things to be done,” he growled.

Marinette simply giggled, bounding over to bat her eyes at him with mock innocence.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing.”

Her smile grew wicked, arms darting out to wrap around his waist.

“You look so good when you’re mad,” she purred.

Jason leaned down, and their lips met in a kiss.

In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, nah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, nah

Crack.

Marinette smirked as her staff made contact with the target’s skull.

Normally she would use Cataclysm for a more swift kill, but the remains were needed in order to send a message to Arkham Knight’s enemies.

They were growing more volatile, more desperate to expose whatever they thought she was.

Phantom Killer, they called her. The name sounded like something out of a badly-written horror movie. Marinette much preferred the one she had already: Reine de L'ombre.

Of course, she didn’t need a title, but Jason had come up with it. She was pleasantly surprised by his naming skills—it meant Shadow Queen, for she was a queen, and Jason her knight, as he put it.

She didn’t feel any remorse as the pile of bodies below her grew. Perhaps this made her soulless, but she didn’t need one anyway.

Marinette had all she wanted right beside her.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“...you do what you gotta do, am I right?”

Marinette nodded at the man standing across from her, a smile on her red-painted lips.

He had been leering at her from across the bar the whole night, and although that was the goal, she was still disgusted. He had to be at least twenty years older than her. Heck, he was old enough to be her dad.

The intel she and Jason had acquired said the businessman had a thing for younger women, which was apparent. According to the same source, the company he ran was also a front for trafficking and drug rings.

Marinette wanted to see him bleed.

“How about we take this to my room?”

The comment was abrupt, and Jason would probably kill her for her indiscretion later, but she was getting tired of the man’s blabbering.

Her hand moved up his arm, the expensive material of his suit cool against her fingers. She bit her lips seductively, which seemed to convince him.

Bingo.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (yeah, yeah) Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

Marinette gritted her teeth as the man tried to reach for her butt again.

She attempted to stop him by saying she wanted to wait until they entered her room, but he was persistent. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

As soon as she opened the door to her hotel room, she shoved him inside and up against the wall. He seemed to be expecting a kiss, but she punched him hard. For a crime lord he certainly wasn’t a good fighter. Maybe it was the drugs she slipped into his drink earlier that contributed to his quick defeat.

Marinette cuffed his arms behind his back with a pair she had stashed earlier. She could have waited for the man to undress so she could ensure he didn’t have any weapons, but she had gone through enough torture already. Her eyes didn’t need to see that.

She turned him around, giving him a smile that promised warmth and kindness, before pulling out a dagger and pressing it to his throat.

“Now talk.”

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread 'Til you go pow

“Claws in.”

Marinette’s black suit faded away, revealing her now blood-spattered red dress.

She flopped onto the couch, not bothering to remove her shoes or dirty clothing.

After hours of trying to get information out of the businessman, she only managed to wring a few coded phrases from him. He seemed to only be a figurehead of his shady organization rather than its actual leader.

A Cataclysm later and here she was, back to the drawing board.

“Jay?” Marinette called.

It was unusually quiet in the safe house; usually after solo missions they’d greet one another with a kiss. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Jason?”

Silence.

Marinette huffed. She knew exactly what this was about.

Bang, bang You can do anything No fear, no pain Listen to your brain go Go stupid, go dumb, go stupid and Then we go insane, woah Just do what I say Follow me, I'll lead the way

“Are you jealous?”

Jason whipped his head around, caught off-guard by the appearance of his girlfriend in his doorway. It seemed as if she wasn’t wasting any time.

“I’m not jealous. That guy couldn’t get you if he tried.”

“Then why are you mad?”

His jaw clenched.

He wished he hadn’t agreed to let Marinette extract the information alone; Jason almost wished he was there to see the man in pain.

“He was putting his hands all over you.”

“It was for a mission. Besides, I thought you said he couldn’t get me even if he tried?”

Her last words were said with a lilt, and Jason knew she was riling him up. He couldn’t stay mad, anyway—she had a point.

He deflated and leaned forward to brush his lips against her. Marinette smiled into the kiss, then pulled away. She looked him up and down, a glint in her eyes.

“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, hmm?”

She paused, then wrinkled her nose.

“After I take a shower. I don’t want this guy’s blood on me any longer.”

Maybe they acted stupid sometimes, but the two always followed one another in the end.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price (Woo-ah) All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain (Yeah) Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (Woo-ah!)

Marinette panted deeply, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A mass of bodies surrounded her, but she wasn’t paying attention. This wasn’t just a battle. It was war.

It was a fight for her life, and she wasn’t going down now.

Reine de L'ombre tore through her enemies like a terrifying force of darkness, one after the other. The Arkham Knight fought by her side, fueled by pure destruction.

Maybe they wouldn’t make it out, but they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread

'Til you go pow

A week later, a couple rose hand-in-hand from the ranks as new rulers of the Gotham Underworld.

Reine de L'ombre and the Arkham Knight—a queen and her king.

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

#maribat #celestewrites #jasonette #cel's fics

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

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“Faggot.” “Cocksucker.” “Femboy.” “Abomination.” Gay. The list of names I’ve been called since coming out as bisexual in June 2020 doesn’t stop there — nor did it stop when I went public with my sexual identity either.

From a young age, I knew I was different from my peers.

Maybe it was the way I walked. Or the way I talked. Or the way I dressed. I just knew I stood out to them like a sore thumb — or perhaps a rainbow of color in a sea of dull gray.

My differences became evident to me when other children at the preschool I attended in suburban San Diego, California, would forsake my company in favor of each other, already forming cliques and inciting drama at such an innocent age.

When my family and I moved to dreary Erie, Pennsylvania, I knew my struggles would only get worse.

Many of the children in my kindergarten class had already known each other for several years before I entered the picture.

They quickly noticed differences in my mannerisms, speech patterns, thoughts and ideas. I wasn’t like the other boys, but I wasn’t like the girls either. I was an outlier, a foreigner and a stranger considered dangerous and unwelcome.

Though I made friends the following few years — including some who would become lifelong companions — most of those primary friendships mirrored the kernels of a neglected ear of corn: delicious when ripe but quick to harden, rot and flake off.

By my fourth grade year, I was teased and bullied nearly daily for being too feminine, too weird, too annoying to fit into my school’s social circles.

When I told my teachers about my struggles, their solution was to attempt to masculinize me by placing me in groups of athletic boys in my class, boys I had nothing in common with and who certainly had nothing in common with me.

Even my grandparents — then and now my caretakers — noticed my un-boyish behavior and enrolled me in the local little league baseball team — whether to also attempt to instill in me a sense of masculinity and male toughness or to help me make new friends I knew not.

I would grudgingly participate in the sport for six, nigh on seven grueling years, never making a single lasting friend and crying almost weekly from the torment it caused me.

Needless to say, I felt like a floundering fish without fins in a sea of angry, hungry sharks during those years.

It wasn’t until the final year of my elementary education that I was introduced to the concepts of puberty, adolescence and sex.

I was told that very soon, I would start noticing the girls in my class and would begin to want to form meaningful relationships with them. Eventually, I would become sexually attracted to them and want to have children with them.

But in those coming years, though many girls would pique my interest, it wasn’t them who ignited the fire in my soul and made me feel the burning passion of desire — it was men.

I quickly realized it was this that set me apart from my male peers and resulted in me being shunned by the girls. I was a boy — soon to be a man — in every physical way, but I wasn’t attracted to or passionate about girls like the other boys in my class were. I was obsessed with men.

But I couldn’t possibly be gay, could I?

Growing up in a household of religious relatives, I was always taught that sex before marriage was a wicked abomination and that being anything but straight was a sin comparable to none.

I distinctly remember watching a news broadcast with my family around the time I was transitioning to my middle school years. The ABC World News clip showcased LGBT marriages being performed out west and contained affirming remarks from then-President Barack Obama on the matter.

“The Bible says marriage is between a man and a woman,” I remember my aunt saying in utter disgust at the television, murmurs of agreement echoing her around the room.

I resolved then to hide my feelings and my pubescent curiosity from my family at all costs, lest I be scolded, shunned or worse: abandoned.

During middle school, I relentlessly dug deep within myself and attempted to alter what I thought was but a simple mental barrier to social normality. All thoughts of being with men were forcibly suppressed in my mind before they could even become tangible, and each of my increasingly urgent bodily needs went ignored and unsatiated.

I even resorted to religion, the only weapon I thought strong enough to aid me in the war raging inside myself.

Day and night, I attempted to “pray the gay away,” but to little avail. Much to my chagrin, I realized that even divine intervention could not “help” me: My homosexuality seemed to be an immortal, malignant tumor infecting each and every one of my thoughts.

Thus, the preliminary years of my second decade of life became miserable and unfulfilling — I was engaged in a fierce battle with an integral aspect of my identity and was inadvertently shattering the chains that bound a beast capable of obliterating every fiber of my cognitive being — anxiety.

By my high school years, men — mean, nasty and indifferent but awe-inspiring, mystifying and oh-so-gorgeous men — had begun to control my deepest, darkest desires and fantasies. My lust had grown large enough to thwart even my most furious attempts at diminishing it.

As I slowly came to terms with the realization that nothing in the universe could “fix” me, my mental situation severely worsened. I fell into a dangerous downward spiral of self-doubt and woefulness.

My relationship with my grandparents quickly began to deteriorate, as did my relationships with my friends. Every day brought with it a new reason to hate my existence — the constant verbal altercations, the continued teasing and even bullying at school, the countless lonely nights spent sobbing quietly into my pillow.

And, to make matters worse, the true nature of my sexuality seemed to express itself in each of my social mannerisms. It wasn’t long before despicable rumors about me spread through the student body of my high school like wildfire.

My teachers noticed my strife, and some took the time to speak with me about a few of the different mental illnesses they suspected I had. But not even they could halt the hordes of horrifying thoughts racing through my head or the string of ruthless comments that would assault me in the hallways.

Soon, however, the light at the end of the long, grueling tunnel that was public education began to shine: I was graduating from high school and about to start fresh. Nothing could have contained my excitement at the prospect of escaping the largest source of my daily torment.

As I digested the freedom going to college offered, idealistic daydreams began to flood my mind — I could live how I wanted with whomever I wanted, and no one could judge me or tell me differently.

How wrong I was.

My first year as an undergraduate student at Penn State Behrend was a living hell.

Though the petty and immature teasing of high school was no longer an issue, standing up for my newfound political identity was, as well as dealing with my growing anxiety.

I was constantly engaged in polite yet heated political debates with those in my dorm. I felt like they were blatantly attempting to oppress me with their own beliefs and had grown to hate me for mine.

The same situation occurred with my grandparents, and we grew increasingly distant over the course of that year.

It didn’t help that I was still “in the closet,” so to speak, and contemplating methods of publicly revealing my true sexual identity. I hadn’t yet officially told anyone I was bisexual, and it remained my most closely guarded secret.

Needless to say, my social circumstances and the added stress of my adjustment to college academics and lifestyle allowed my mental state to reach an unprecedented low. I needed help.

That same year, I saw my family physician and then a psychiatrist, who prescribed me antidepressants in an attempt to lessen my now untameable anxiety. I took them with gusto and also began attending therapy sessions to teach me how to manage my thoughts and emotions.

For a small while, I felt better — I was actually happy in my skin and even happy with my bisexuality.

But then, even my long-awaited mental comfort abandoned me, and I slipped into the deepest, darkest pit of my life.

I became suicidal but never acted on that petrifying potentiality.

I didn’t trust myself to be alone, so I constantly sought the company of others, which only made me feel like a nuisance and waste of time, energy and space.

About a month later — in October 2018 — I got into an accident.

I was barrelling down the highway, escaping a particularly heated verbal altercation with my grandfather. It was raining that day, and the roads were slippery.

Going around a curve, I lost control of my vehicle and flew into a small ravine, flipping not once, not twice but three times in midair before landing upright — dazed, but alive.

Escaping relatively physically unscathed from the incident, with only a broken right clavicle, I was not mentally the same for weeks afterward.

I decided at that time I would come out and reveal my true sexuality at the soonest possible opportunity — I blamed my silence on every terrible situation that had occurred in my life up to that point. If I didn’t come out, I quite literally thought I would die.

Telling even my closest friends was difficult, but I managed, and the relief I felt was paramount to that of the titan Atlas in Greek mythology: I felt like the weight of the entire world — sky and all — had been lifted from my shoulders.

Fast forward to the present: I’m alive, well, out and proud. I’m no longer ashamed of my innate traits or of my thoughts.

Being a bisexual man has taught me many lessons, but foremost among them is that the people who can’t accept me for who and what I am don’t deserve to be in my life.

My anxiety made it difficult to let go of toxic relationships over the years — I learned that the primary source of my mental strife is a fear of abandonment by those I care about — but doing so opened the door to newer, healthier relationships that build me up and boost my confidence instead of chipping away at it.

I’ve since improved tremendously, and not even the onset of the coronavirus pandemic was able to pause my progress. Every day is a learning experience, and I’ve grown so much from the helpless boy I was mere months ago that if you showed me a map of my mentality from 2018, 2019 or even 2020, I wouldn’t recognize myself at all.

Revealing my bisexuality to the world didn’t solve all my issues — there were and still are other factors that contribute to my anxiety and mental health — but coming out was perhaps the most profound, life-altering moment in my 21 years. Nothing compares to the freedom I now enjoy, nor will any other experience compare to the relief I felt following my announcement.

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mintseesaw · 4 years

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Attractive

Pairing: namjoon!idol x reader

Genre: FLUFF, soft hour namjoon activated, established relationship

Word count: 2.4k

Summary: When you decided to visit your boyfriend to persuade him to go home, he threw you off guard with his charms— a weakness of yours that you’re unaware of.

*unedited

The attraction you felt when you met Namjoon was instantaneous, not some kind of a love-at-first-sight thing. It was more of an appreciation and a certain mysterious pull that made you want to know him further. No love involvement whatsoever.

Somewhere along the lines of getting to know him, it was him, his being—his warm heart, kind soul, and creative mind that did the spell on you. When you try to ponder things over... It must have been fate quitting your previous job which you never even thought of letting go. If you didn’t let your instinct rule you over at that point...

Your paths might have not crossed. Ever.

About a year ago, a new boy group debuted. And it was two years before that when you got accepted to be one of their managers. The rest...is history.

It’s late.

The production team finished the activity earlier than expected. Everyone else eagerly left after that. You stayed though, because the boys decided to play video games in the lounge room. About an hour have passed, they wrapped it up and went home some minutes ago.

Now there’s a moment of silence inside the office you share with the other managers. You should probably go home. Eat, take a shower, and talk to your boyfriend through the phone for a few minutes. Tomorrow will be a long day, and you may not have the time to hear from him until late in the evening.

Ding. The familiar tone from your phone signals a notification. By a single peak from your phone, it revealed a notification that the BTS account is on live.

Absentmindedly, you click the ‘open’ bubble. The screen momentarily turns black while it loads. Unexpectedly, a familiar figure invaded the screen of your phone.

The very subject of your thoughts!

By the looks on setting on his back, it tells you Namjoon is in his studio. That’s only a floor up to your office. Yet, you didn’t know he was available. Was. If you knew he was free, you would have gone to him.

Few minutes have passed, your eyes remain glued to your screen. However, you couldn’t completely pay attention to half the words he was saying as your eyes scrutinize every little detail he makes.

When he pauses every now and then to think or breathe... because he talks quite fast like the rapper himself. The way he rubs his nose or scrunches his nose making his eyes disappear. His hands going in every direction to amplify his story. And when he did or say something embarrassing, he would always laugh and sheepishly cover his face.

It was times like this—him on a livestream, that you get the freedom to watch him in a sense of merely observing, and appreciating him without him shying away for catching you staring at him for too long.

His livestreams, as years and months flew by, turned into more and more personal. When he communicates with their fans, he now allows himself to be vocal. Letting himself voiced out his thoughts—fears, and expectations for the world to hear, it was a different kind of strength and confidence you see in him.

He used to caged all of it in. It gives you a sense of relief and peace that he has gradually recovered from the dark days.

This one is no different to his previous ones.

However—the exhaustion on his face and in his eyes are much— more evident.

Your ears figuratively perked up as you registered some parts of what he was saying.

He woke up at 4 in the morning?

Sighing, your eyes shut for a second before staring back at him through the screen of your phone.

He did really look tired.

If only you can at this rate, you would ask him to go home and take a rest, instead. But knowing him, he would ignore any call while he’s on live. And you wouldn’t want to be imposing, especially when it comes to him talking with their fans.

The longer you watch, the harder it is to ignore your growing concern and the dull ache in your heart at the mere sight of him—

He even admitted he barely slept last night! How dare he be so mindless of his health!

Namjoon heaved a long sigh. His shoulders slumping, back colliding on the cushioned backrest of the sofa. He didn't know how he found the strength to pad across the hall towards the lounge room. If not only for the broken air conditioning unit in his studio...

His eyelids felt heavier than ever. Fluttering, as he lets his arms rest on his sides.

He could probably drowse in this position. He has no energy left in him to go home. It was a long day for him, and he clearly needed a good, peaceful sleep to recharge his energy back. But he felt like he couldn’t walk anymore.

Filming their title track’s music video was not as exhausting as the days when they had to practice all day.

Right now, it was getting into him. Piled from the months spent through sleepless nights, hectic schedule, world tour.

His happy pill is not here.

At the sudden thought of you, his lips unconsciously protruded. Sulking.

He misses you. Even though he just saw you yesterday, had a quick lunch with you and the rest of the boys, it’s clearly not the same. Because when others are present, he misses the opportunity to shower you with kisses. Knowing his girlfriend, you don't like displaying affection in front of the boys, or with the company’s staff around.

He’s not sure if you’re still at work, though it would be easier for him to see you if you are.

Abruptly, he checked his phone, then muttered a curse under his breath when the time appears on the screen.

12:22 AM

Tomorrow, perhaps?

Eager to ask you of your whereabouts, ready to compose a text for you, he suddenly heard the glass door swung open.

Instinctively, he looked at the door’s direction, expecting to see one of the boys. Probably looking as exhausted as he is, or carrying some snacks to eat here inside the lounge.

At the sight of the intruder, Namjoon’s face lit up. Sitting up straight as a smile instantly went on its way to his face.

“Hey... I went to your studio.” you greeted. A sleeve-covered white paper cup on your hand.

Namjoon jumped out of his seat and met you half-way. Suddenly finding the strength to carry himself, close the distance and pull you in a passionate kiss.

Intending to greet him with a kiss, you let him sway you with his lips.

“You’re here...” He manages to mumble in between kisses, in complete awe. Like he couldn’t believe you are here in the same room with him.

Despite working in the same building, it’s not as easy as it seems to see each other, and have you for himself.

You hum against his mouth. The supposed small peck of greeting turned into a full make out session as his tongue uninvitedly went past your lips. You let him take over, finding a sudden solace at the taste of him.

You almost forgot about the hot drink around your fingers as the warm palms of his hands squeezing your cheeks, securing you in his advantage to dominate your mouth.

When his lips left yours for a second, you thought he was finally pulling away. The grasp of your fingers to the cup tightens as his lips proceeded to plant tiny kisses on your parted lips, multiple times.

“Joon—“ you manage to mumble, gasping for air when he finally let go of your lips.

You felt his forehead rested against yours and when your eyelids flutter open, you were met with his longing, brown eyes.

“I’m sorry I got carried away.” He mumbled, breathing heavily to make up from the oxygen he has deprived himself of while dominating your mouth.

A smile spreads across your face, almost forgetting the reason why you went to look for him.

“It’s fine.”

His eyes found the cup in your hand. You gave him a small nod when he made a gesture, pointing to himself, like he was asking if it’s for him.

Namjoon smiled, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “It’s late, but I don’t mind another cup of coffee.”

With his free hand, he dragged you with him as he proceeded on the sofa.

When he placed the paper cup on the coffee table, you revealed, “Actually, it’s a classic chocolate.”

His eyebrows perked up, before the corner of his mouth twitched. “Even better.”

The proximity is to his advantage, allowing him to maneuver your body much closer to him. However, when you refused to sit, he decided to change his initial intention, burying his nose on your clothed skin, just below the mid-area of your breasts.

“Joon,” Softly protesting, you remain standing on your feet, in between his thighs. Despite your verbal objection, your hands went over his shoulders. Resting your elbows there, encouraging him more than stopping him.

“Hmm...” Namjoon hummed, feigning innocence.

Your fingers found his hair, combing the soft, purple locks in a soothing motion.

“You should take a rest.”

You can feel his warm breath against your clothed skin. And somehow, it takes away the brief sadness in your heart at the sight of your boyfriend. The same way your warmth, your distinct scent evading his sense of smell and the kisses you shared with him mere seconds ago did miracles on his mood right now.

If time would permit, he would ask you to stay with him. But he knew you needed sleep as much as his body craves for it. His soul, on the other hand, longs for something that not even a good amount of rest can fill in.

“This is better than sleep itself.” He murmured against your skin.

It’s true. You being here is something he needed right now. He wishes you two can spend the night together. Nothing else can make him feel better. Just you, in his arms.

“Your body would say otherwise, Joon. Come, we’ll get you home.”

He didn’t respond. Then a low groan vibrated on his chest against your abdomen.

Sighing, your free hand rubs his back ever so tenderly. Your job may not be the same as his, but you perfectly understand how demanding his career can be.

“Alright.” you uttered, almost succumbing to the feel of his warmth.

His arms tighten their hold around your waist. Not too tight to hurt you, but enough for you to understand his gesture.

He must have missed you, like how you are longing to have a moment with him.

It was as if he heard your thoughts. Because a moment later, he spoke after a long moment of silence. “I missed you...”

Your teeth harshly pierce through your bottom lip to restraint the moisture in your eyes that is threatening to come out. “I know. I miss you too, my love.” You whispered, tenderly.

Pushing his shoulder a little to have a glimpse on his beautiful face, his head tilted back to meet your gaze. His emotions seeping through the rawness of his eyes as they search yours. A warm sensation enveloped in the span of your chest.

It was him who always takes charge. Your tender, little heart always seeks his whole being. But right now, it was the other way around. His eyes spoke of vulnerability.

His arms lose their grip around you, but not enough to completely release you out of his hold.

“Are you okay now?” You asked. Fingers brushing the soft, fluffy skin of his cheek.

Nodding, “Hmm. Better.” His voice, raspy and low.

After a moment of peace, nuzzling your clothed skin, you broke the comforting silence.

“I watched your live…” You said, randomly, to which had earned his attention.

He tilted his head to curiously peer at you for a second, “How was it?”

“Entertaining.”

Your answer made him pout.

Laughing from the cute display in front of you, you proceeded to ask, “Why? What’s wrong?” You couldn't help but to cup his cheeks.

“Not what I expected to hear.”

“What were you expecting then?”

“Nevermind.”

“Joonie—”

“Am I not to your liking?”

Taken aback at his question, you blinked a few times. Then fell into fits of giggle. “Joon, what are you talking about? You’re my boyfriend.”

He must be really delirious. In dire need of rest.

But he seemed not one bit pleased at your reaction.

“Sure, but not attractive enough to your taste?”

The scenario may seem serious if it happened in another circumstance, but the way he was reacting… it was nothing but a cute display of a big baby sulking.

Although his question bothers you a little—is he blind or something? Does he not see himself in the mirror? Not attractive enough to your taste? Seriously, Kim Namjoon? Not attractive enough?!

Your standards may have reached the peak of Mt. Everest. But Namjoon, just by being himself... surpassed it all. In academic terms, he passed your standards with flying colors. He made all your fears and doubts vanished and created a hard, indestructible trail to your heart.

“Are you sure you’re not on high or something?”

You couldn't even take it seriously. For a moment, you pondered over the possibility that he might be tipsy or have a bit of alcohol in his system. But when he kissed you… you’re certain there’s no trace of alcohol in his mouth.

“Nah... Just tired... and extremely deprived of your love.” He confessed, all of a sudden.

“Deprived... of my love?” You repeated in disbelief. “We just saw each other yesterday.”

Now, you’re more convinced he needs to go home.

”Still—“

“I should probably call Sejin-sunbaenim. I heard, you guys have an early schedule tomorrow.”

His lower lip only adorably protruded more. Mouth parting in protest, “See, you’re gonna take me away from you. Really, really deprived.”

Shaking your head, you cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at your pleading eyes. “Joon, baby, you look like you’re about to pass out on me. Please, rest.”

He stilled, looking away... his eyes avoiding contact with yours.

“Tomorrow, okay?” You pressed more, trying to convince him to your will. Crouching down to his eye level, your lips landed on his forehead.

His eyelids voluntarily flutter close at the feeling of your warm, plump lips, trailing down to his cheek, then to the tip of nose, and finally to his waiting lips.

Mumbling against his lips, “I’ll go see you tomorrow, I promise.”

When you retreat back, his eyes glint with profound joy. Smiling widely, letting his dimples show.

“Fine.” He muttered under his breath, momentarily in daze from the ghosts of your kisses.

Posted on 16 Mar 2020

#namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fluff #hyunglinenetwork #btsprotectnet #namjoon fanfic #namjoon!boyfriend #namjoon imagines #namjoon scenarios #namjoon drabble #namjoon au #kim namjoon #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts au fanfic #bts fluff #established relationship au #idol!au

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darnianwayne · 4 years

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gdi batman doesn’t kill for a Reason: a character study

first let’s get this one out of the way: in canon batman is and likely will always be presented as a wealthy, white man of privilege and he Specifically should not have unilateral license to kill due to that. because well... COME ON!! if i have to explain this one, This Post Is Not For You

now, batman’s reasons for not killing are not because “killing would make him as bad as the rogues uwu” and if that’s your interpretation then i am sorry on behalf of recent bad comics and adaptations that have so diluted batman’s character to be closer to a sick, man-child perversion than an actual superhero with all the grey morality and social responsibity that truly implies

as a character, batman is first and foremost a detective who actively works with the only non-corruptable “good cop” he cound find in a city that is so historically corrupt and disenfranchised that at one point after an earthquake decimated gotham, the national government basically threw up its hands, shrugged, and abandoned gotham’s survivors to anarchy. batman is a symbol to the people of gotham for hope and protection against all manner of evils - not only from the criminal underbelly but from the corruption that mutated gotham’s systems of power from woefully incompetent to actively harmful to its citizenry. batman is a traumatized man who was once a happy child who watched his parents murdered in front of him and decided never again. batman is a father who realized if he ever used his role as batman to take a life, he would be sanctioning his children to do the same in his name

the batman character is a lot of things. but batman is not, should not, and cannot be judge, jury, and executioner. to paint him as a brutalizer that goes mad with power when presented with low-level criminals is disingenuous at best and actively harmful to the batman symbology of heroism at worst. even to say that batman should kill only in extreme cases like joker, who is undeniably a horrible piece of non-human excrement whose death would actually be a net good for all of dc in-universe society, it would be completely against who batman is as a character to have him break his morals like that. batman, bruce wayne, is a man who tries to use every tool at his disposal to bring about justice and prevent death: using his company to hire the disenfranchised in gotham including ex-cons, single-handedly funding gotham’s charities, and ofc using batman to find evidence to bring down powerful crime bosses and corrupt politicians alongside the rogues gallery. batman is one man whose symbol and legacy is larger than he is, but who is still only One Man

batman doesn’t kill not because he’s too good for it. he doesn’t kill because he’s too SMALL for it! bruce inherently values human life to the point where he believes one man cannot decide whether another human being lives or dies. that’s his whole stance when bruce inevitably butts heads with members of his own family who don’t subscribe to his point of view!

and yeah there’s always room in the Disk Horse to talk about whether or not batman is doing enough or if his morality is too simple and he actually should, logistically speaking, “cross the line.” those conversations are welcome in the context of all batman mythology: if batman and his universe existed, would bruce wayne’s batman be the form he should take? tbh idk and i am not here for thought experiments of what form superheroism would take in “real world” scenarios. there’s plenty of other fiction and media that have tackled that question, with results ranging from absolute fascist-glorification garbage to genuinely good works that challenge consumers’ preconceived notions of what a “superhero” would truly look like (watchmen, the ultimate batman au fanfic, is a great example)

the character of batman in-universe serves as a hard moral compass example to his family and other heroes not because it’s simple and easy - but because it’s HARD to believe human life is inherently valuable in the face of all the atrocities and horrors bruce has seen humans do to one another. and the question of whether or not the human monsters batman faces are worthy of their lives is straight up not one bruce wayne contends with. bruce has made his position clear and he is steadfast. but those types of questions are valuable anyway, and though we know batman’s answer, it’s metatextually important batman is challenged for his morality. in the batman mythos, jason todd is the clearest example of a character type that confronts those life-death questions, chooses differently, and that batman and we the readers have to decide who to agree with

at this point the batman “no killing” morality is a whole arechetype in and of itself. the batman archetype of heroism and vigilantism has inspired or informed the interpretation of most if not all other vigilante-like heroes that have been created since the early 20th century. so in a lot of ways batman has the simple rule of “no killing” because we as consumers don’t want a hero who kills. we live in a reality where innocent people are murdered by the powers that be, where cops murder civilians in cold blood, and call those crimes deserved and just. so we build fiction where that “reality,” that fun-house mirror of absolute power, is cleansed and where an individual has that same power of impunity and deliberately chooses not to use it. heroism in comics is an idealized version of what we wish existed in our own society: somebody with the actual power and ability to make a difference for the greater good without moral bankruptcy. it’s easy when you put it like that. batman exists in the vacuum of fiction, so the decisions he makes as a character do not have to be as complicated as real life. and the dc mythos is rich enough that batman is actively challenged on his stances by others even within his own family and honestly he should be! as a character batman has to be given the option to change his mind, and as a literary device readers have to be reminded of the moral choice at stake. It’s Good Writing Babey!! tho admittedly it’s this aspect that is most actively (and probably rightfully) criticized BECAUSE batman never changes his mind. and for a character with mythology that is over 80 years old - that’s a long time for the cultural and moral zeitgeist of superheroes to remain unchanged, especially considering the “no killing” rule has become a hard rule for all mainstream superheroes

tbh the assumption that batman, bruce wayne, does not kill because then he would essentially be the same as his villains gallery, morally-speaking - it doesn’t hold that much water. do you have ANY idea how much canon bruce wayne suffers from self-hatred and constantly questions his own actions?? even the batmans of bad storylines where he’s a grimdark, I Work Alone caricature, batman is a master of self deprication and loathing. he’s a man of few words and hard lines, but he is as likely to think of himself as morally equal to, say, deathstroke (in the sense they are both powerful, capable men who live and die by their choices) than superman. bruce does not believe he has the moral high ground, ever. batman believes he cannot make the choice to kill, so he doesn’t. simple as that

tldr batman doesn’t kill because killing is bad. it’s not that deep

#batman #bruce wayne #sunspeak #the batman is not an interesting character bc he doesnt kill Disk Horse has driven me here #how tone deaf can you be?#long post

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eastasianfeelings · 5 years

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I need you to come: Shownu

— inspired by Monsta X’s comeback “Follow”

Summary: You explain to Kihyun the other meaning of “come” in English, a conversation which catches the attention of your boyfriend Shownu.

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: mentions of orgasms, slight possessiveness

Shownu adores the fact that you get along with all of the Monsta X members. They’re his found family, and it means a lot to him that you, his lover, understand them and their world.

So when Kihyun gets a text from you about their “Follow” comeback, Shownu doesn’t think anything of it.

“Hey.” In the back of the company van, Kihyun leans over Shownu and shoves his phone in Changkyun’s face. “What does this mean?”

“‘I need you to come’, cry-laughing emoji,” Changkyun reads. “It’s your line from ‘Follow’, so what?”

“No, I mean, why did Y/N-noona add that emoji? The English isn’t wrong, is it?” Kihyun asks. “Is she making fun of me?”

Shownu perks up at your name, and glimpses the text as Changkyun hands the phone back to Kihyun. He hasn’t heard from you since last weekend; you know comebacks are intense, so you usually give him space and let him reach out when he has the time.

“No, it’s not wrong,” says Changkyun. “Y/N-noona’s not the type to make fun of our English, anyway.”

Shownu gives a silent nod in agreement. You’ve patiently practised English with him and other members countless times before, helping them grasp common phrases and conversational nuances so they can interact with foreign fans.

“Then what’s with the emoji???” Kihyun demands. “What’s she laughing at?”

“You can just call her and ask, hyung.” Changkyun’s not interested in entertaining Kihyun’s anxious ass this early in the morning.

“It’s still early, though.”

“She’s awake early on weekdays,” Shownu speaks up. “She’s probably getting ready for work.”

“Oh. Really? Then I’m calling her.” Without hesitation, Kihyun dials.

You’re in the middle of making breakfast when your phone rings.

It’s seven-thirty am, way too early to deal with a work emergency, so you sigh in relief when you see the caller ID.

“Hi, Kihyun-ah, what’s up?”

“Noona, hi!” Kihyun’s loud voice fills your ear. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I was already awake.”

“Okay, good. So what does your text mean?” He launches in to his question right away.

You blink. “What text?”

“The last text you sent me! You wrote, ‘I need you to come’, and then a cry-laughing emoji.”

The words automatically trigger a giggle from you, which you try to stifle. Not fast enough, unfortunately.

“Are you laughing? Are you laughing at me?” Kihyun’s tone is growing more and more high-pitched.

“No, no, Kihyunnie, I’m not,” you reassure him hastily before he can work himself up too much. “It’s just the line itself, it’s…”

You trail off, unsure whether you want to explain over the phone what come can also mean in English, and Changkyun’s voice fills the silence.

“It’s proper English, isn’t it, noona?”

“Oh, Changkyun-ah, hey! Yeah, it is. Where are you guys?”

“The van,” he replies, “we’re heading to a morning show. Shownu-hyung’s here, too.”

You smile. “Hyunwoo?”

“Ah, yes,” comes your boyfriend’s voice. “I’m here.”

“Hey,” you say. It’s an inadequate word to express everything you want to say, but you know he’ll understand.

“Hi.” You can hear the faintest smile in his voice, too.

Kihyun clucks his tongue impatiently and takes over again. “Noona, tell me, if the line is proper English, what are you laughing at?”

“I’m—it’s…” You decide you aren’t up to the task of explaining over the phone. “Look, I’ll tell you the next time we see each other in-person, okay?”

“Whaaat?” he whines. “We’re so busy right now though, we won’t see you for forever.”

You suppress a chuckle and soothe him, “I promise I’m not laughing at you, Kihyunnie, don’t worry. Your English pronunciation is still as sexy as ever.”

Changkyun snorts audibly. You hear Kihyun hiss at him.

“Hyunwoo, is Kihyun blushing?” you ask.

“Mm,” your boyfriend confirms.

“Mission accomplished,” you joke.

“Yah, noona,” Kihyun says sulkily.

“Yes, Kihyun-ah?”

“...Never mind.”

You laugh. “Hyunwoo-yah, text me when you have time, okay?”

“I will,” Shownu says firmly.

“Then, I’ll let you guys get to your music show. Have fun!”

“Don’t forget, you owe me an explanation, noona,” Kihyun says.

“I got it, I won’t forget.”

“Bye, noona,” Changkyun chirps.

“Bye, Y/N-ah,” Shownu says, his gentle voice leaving a smile on your face as you hang up.

The next time you see them in-person turns out to be only a few days later. Shownu texts you to say that they’re at the company building for the day, so you head over from your work on your lunch break.

After passing security, you’re led to a large conference room by a Monsta X crew member. You thank them, knock and let yourself in.

The boys are grouped around the end of a long table, feasting over a huge array of take-out boxes. All of them look around at your entrance.

“Hey, noona!” Changkyun reacts first. “How come you’re here?”

“I work close by, I just walked over on my lunch break.” You smile and walk over. “Shownu didn’t tell you?”

“No, he didn’t,” Minhyuk exclaims, rising to greet you with a hug.

“All this time you’ve worked near our building and we never knew?” Jooheon boggles as he lines up for his hug next.

“I knew,” Kihyun says in a superior tone.

“Sure you did, hyung.”

“What, are you doubting me??”

You laugh and pause behind Kihyun’s seat to give him a brief backhug. “You guys are never here at the company anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Did you get in okay, noona?” Hyungwon asks.

“I did, thanks, Hyungwon-ah.” You ruffle his hair as you pass around him to reach Shownu, who’s seated the farthest away.

He watches you approach, eyes creasing in the start of a smile. “Y/N-ah.”

“Hi.” You lean down, peck him on the cheek and then back away, because usually that’s the extent of PDA he can take.

But today he lifts a hand and wraps it lightly around yours, keeping you from going too far. “Did you eat yet?”

“Not yet.” You glance around at the other boys, then lower your voice. “How’s Hoseok-ah?”

The smile lines fade from his eyes. “He’s… I think he’s holding on. It’s a struggle.”

Your heart goes out to Wonho, fighting to hold on to his reputation and his name, and also to your boyfriend, who’s trying to hold this group together. “Tell him I’m thinking of him.”

“I will.”

“Are you okay?”

Shownu blinks, then gives you that lethal soft gaze of his. “Yes. Thank you.”

Before you can get too lost in his eyes, Kihyun calls, “Hey, noona?”

You straighten and look round. “What’s up, Kihyunnie?”

“Not to interrupt you and hyung, but—”

“You’re totally interrupting,” Hyungwon points out.

Kihyun shoots him a glare before turning back to you. “You still have an explanation to give me, yeah?”

“Oh. Right, for the text.” You glance around at the full audience. “How about we eat first?” you suggest. “I’m starving.”

“Let’s eat,” Shownu says immediately, and that’s that; Kihyun will just have to wait.

Lunch is finished soon, and while the others are clearing away the take-out containers, Kihyun corners you at the other end of the meeting room.

“Just hurry up and tell me, noona, quit stalling.”

“Okay, okay.” You glance around to make sure nobody’s in ear-shot, then sidle in and lower your volume. “So, the lyric is I need you to come.”

“Yes, and?”

“Well… in English, come has another meaning.”

“What? What meaning?”

You hesitate, because hey, you’re not used to talking about this kind of thing in the middle of the work day, and Kihyun straight-up whines.

“Just tell me.”

“Okay, well, you asked for it.” You take a deep breath, lean in and whisper: “It means to have an orgasm.”

Kihyun processes this for three seconds. Then he reels away, jerking himself a foot from you as though suddenly burned. His eyes are huge.

“E-excuse me?”

You’re torn between slight embarrassment and hilarity at his reaction. “And the line is I need you to come,” you repeat, with just a little emphasis on the last word.

Kihyun stumbles back another step and bumps right into the table. “Oh. Wow.” His face is turning red at an alarming rate.

“So, you see how it’s kind of funny to hear you demanding in English that I need you to co—”

“Okay! I got it!” He hastily cuts you off. “Jeez…!”

At this point you can’t help chuckling at how flustered he is. It’s times like this when you really appreciate their innocence.

Seeing you laughing, Kihyun goes on the offence. “Why did you have to tell me that?” he attacks. “The original meaning makes perfect sense by itself! We’re saying follow, the line says come—”

You snort.

“As in, come along with me, not—not—” He gestures wildly in the air.

“Not have an orgasm?” you finish, and start laughing again.

“Ughhhh.” Kihyun plasters his palms against his cheeks and turns away, evidently deciding to make a tactical retreat instead.

He bumps right into Shownu, who’s drifted over without either of you noticing. “Oh, sorry, hyung.” Keeping his head down, Kihyun side-steps Shownu and scurries away as fast as his feet will take him.

Shownu watches him go with a bemused expression, then looks to you. “What were you talking about?”

You’re still chuckling. “I just explained to him the other meaning of his English line in ‘Follow’.”

“Other meaning?”

“Yeah. You know how the lyric goes, I need you to come?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

With effort, you suppress your laughter and lower your tone again. “The word come in English also means to have an orgasm.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

“The word—”

“No, wait.” He blinks, shakes his head and then takes a step closer. “You told Kihyun that?”

“Well, yeah, he’s the one singing the line, he should know.”

“Why?”

Your turn to blink up at him. “Why what?”

Shownu shifts. “Why should he know?”

Eh? “I mean… I’d want to know if I was accidentally singing something dirty in Korean.”

“But none of us knew it was dirty.”

“Of course, it’s not your fault or anything. But if Kihyun’s singing English lyrics, he should—”

“Have there been other lyrics like that?” Shownu cuts in.

“Uh… yes,” you say, a little carefully, because you’re not sure you can discern his mood right now.

“Like what?”

You shift your weight backward; he’s moved in closer when you weren’t paying attention and now you’re craning your neck looking up at him. “Well, ‘Turbulence’, for one.”

“‘Turbulence’?”

“Yeah. You know, the chorus goes, Come, yah-yah-yah…”

“…That’s Kihyun’s part.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it is.”

Shownu twists around, searching the room. His gaze lands on Kihyun, who’s scrunched into a corner by himself, typing furiously into his phone.

You snicker. “I bet he’s looking it up right now.”

Shownu turns to you again, and you’re startled out of your laughter by the stern set to his eyebrows. “Y/N-ah.”

“What is it?” You search his expression for some hint as to why he looks so serious.

He opens his mouth to speak, then decides against it and just takes your hand in his. You follow him to the tiny bathroom attached to the meeting room and watch, bemused, as he closes the two of you inside.

“The boys will tease you if any of them saw us,” you note. You know Shownu doesn’t like to flaunt his relationships in front of others.

But he doesn’t respond. He just looks at you, broad back to the door.

“Hyunwoo?”

“Can I… ask you to not talk about sex with Kihyun?”

The question is so out-of-the-blue that you just stare for a moment. “Uh?”

At your bafflement, Shownu steps forward into your space, clasping both your hands in his. “I don’t want to… I don’t mean to tell you what to do. But…” He looks deep into your eyes. “Can you please not talk about sex with Kihyun-ah?”

“Um,” you say, caught in his gaze, “yeah. Sure.”

He stares at you for a bit longer.

“I won’t,” you say, adding a bit more conviction to your tone, even though you’re not sure why he needs the conviction. “I won’t talk to him about sex.”

“Thank you.” He loosens his grip enough to slide his hands up your arms, and pulls you into his embrace.

“No problem,” you say, your confusion muffled in his shirt. “But you know, I’m not regularly going around talking about sex with people.”

“I know.” His tone is sheepish as he eases you back to look into your face. “I don’t mean to be… it’s just that Kihyun…” He frowns.

You tilt your head as he seems to struggle with his next words.

“Kihyun idolizes you,” he finally bursts out.

Your head tilts further. “Eh? What do you mean?”

“He looks up to you. He likes you.” Shownu takes a breath. “He’s attracted to you.”

“What? Kihyun? Me?”

“I know he doesn’t mean anything by it,” Shownu continues, now determined to get it all out. “And he knows we’re together, you and I.”

“Hyunwoo, he’s never made a move or anything like that—”

“I know. I know he wouldn’t. And I know you wouldn’t,” he adds. “But…” He ducks his head a little. “I don’t want him thinking about sex when he looks at you.”

His tone is sheepish, like he knows he sounds just a little jealous, and you reach up to press a kiss to his mouth. “I get it. I’ll be careful with my words, okay?”

Shownu lifts his head to look at you. “I didn’t want to control you,” he says, a bit fretfully. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to change to make me feel better.”

His sweetness is going to be the death of you. “Hyunwoo-yah.” You lean up to kiss him again. “You’re asking me to not talk about sex with Kihyun, that’s it. It’s not like you’re telling me to block his number and never talk to him again.” You give him another peck. “You’re not asking for a lot, okay?”

“Mm.” This time he follows your lips, supporting you with his hands at your back to draw out the kiss.

He lets you up for air only when you start pushing at his chest. “Hey,” you say a little breathlessly, “we should probably get back outside before the others start thinking things.”

“Yes,” he says with a nod. Then, completely contrary to his words, he leans down and softly takes your mouth in his again.

You give in for a few more seconds before you pull away. “Hyunwoo-yah?”

“Hm?” His gaze finally moves from your mouth to your eyes.

“Are we okay? Everything’s good?”

His expression clears as he nods. “Yes.”

“Any other folks with secret crushes you want to tell me about?” you joke.

“No. One is more than enough.”

“Agreed,” you say wryly. “Honestly, I never would have guessed.”

“I know. That’s why I trust you, and I trust Kihyun,” Shownu says simply.

Good lord, this man is something else. “You must be the least jealous man in the world,” you inform him. “Why are you so sweet, honestly?”

He ducks his head and rubs at his neck like he always does whenever you compliment him. “Well. Not really.” The sheepish tone is back. “I was going to ask…”

“Yeah?”

Shownu looks up. “Is it okay if you stop telling Kihyun his English pronunciation is sexy?”

What???

You burst into laughter. He flushes, but waits patiently for your answer.

“Of course I can stop telling him that,” you reassure him through your mirth, and his answering smile is enough to light up the rest of your day.

next: like a main dish →

#monsta x #monsta x fic #eaf original #eaf writes monsta x #shownu #son hyunwoo #shownu fic #shownu x reader #k-pop #k-pop fic

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the-cabalist · 4 years

Photo

This evening, a man came to my humble hut.

This is much stranger than it sounds. Given my reputation and my services, it is not normal for an average citizen of Ionia to seek me out, especially at night.

Regardless, he came to me seeking services. I didn’t recognize him as an agent of the Cabal, and he certainly didn’t look like a Noxian agent to me. I decided to believe his outfit, and took him at face value as just some run-of-the-mill citizen.

He looked skittish walking through my door. Unlocked, of course. No sense in locking the door when you don’t get any proper company anyway, so may as well leave it open for the wind. I welcomed him inside despite his skittish nature and offered him a drink, but he ignored my idle advances like most men do.

He was entirely business, which didn’t surprise me either. He wanted me to work on his wife, that is to say he wanted her out of the picture to claim her possessions.

“So this is out of raw greed? Not some emotional discourse or her being a wretch..?” I had asked him, wanting to evoke whatever other information I could from him, as he appeared to not understand the nature of my service.

“Oh, well when you put it that way it sounds wrong, Demon!” the man quipped, wobbling like butter once I said something of substance. “No, I wouldn’t call it greed! I’d call it...” he stopped, likely thinking of a synonym for the word ‘greed’. “... I just want a fresh start! This slow life isn’t for me at all, Virtuoso! Oh, and i’m entirely sure that she’ll chase me half way to the Placidium if she isn’t taken care of!”

I got up from my chair, frankly insulted that this man saw me as some sort of clown that one hires to do a gag or two. He appeared to confuse my work, something methodical and filled with purpose, for something akin to assassination; a practice as simple as ramming a knife in the neck of some unassuming socialite as they sipped their umpteenth drink of the night.

“So, you want me to remove this wife of yours just because you don’t want her following you around the land like some dejected puppy?”

“Could you quit talking like that, you madman!? Stop trying to inject emotion into everything! This is just something I need done! You’ve got a damn fine reputation as a death-dealer so you ought to know what business is!”

He was correct. I certainly did know what business was, and still do. This simply wasn’t my business, though. His confusion as to what I actually do for men in my line of work appeared evident, and I thought I would remedy him of it. One might say, ‘do him a kindness’. Firstly, I asked of pay.

“What are you paying for this work, sir?”

He didn’t answer with a number in regards to the gold, simply tossing an overweight brown bag of the stuff onto my desk, spilling it over the pages of the journal and into my lap. It served as another sign that this poor man had no idea who he was dealing with. Did he expect me to accept overpay for work? I rarely even care about what i’m paid, it is about the job itself. I took it as an obvious sign of disrespect, as he likened me to some under-the-table assassin from Noxus or Bilgewater, merely looking for coin in exchange for services. I would do it for free if it conveyed the proper message, frankly.

I reached onto the table and heaved the sack up in my hand, feeling it like the curvature on the side of a malnourished courtesan. It was bumpy and uneven, which felt awkward to the touch. I waltzed over to the nearby window which overlooked the craggy rocks beneath and slid it open, glancing outside as I let the evening air into the room. The tension in our dispute eased a little, and I welcomed the chill.

Before the man could cut in about asking as to whether the still undetermined amount of gold was enough, I sent the plump pouch sailing out the window and onto the rocks. It slapped against the various crags until I could no longer hear the annoying sound of jingling coins.

“That was MY MONEY, Jhin! We didn’t even agree to a deal, or a job, or anything yet!” The man shouted, his voice echoing out the window that I had just opened. “I hope you don’t expect me to go crawling down there to pick up all those pieces! Damn it, why did you do that?!” He finished, huffing as if he were a bull ready to charge me straight through the window.

I responded honestly, and in a much calmer tone than the one he took with me. “I did it because you just insulted me, my friend. You seem to equate me to lesser assassins, and I don’t appreciate you walking into my home to both insult me and then shout nonsense at me. Though, the offer was amusing and tempting...” I added, cluing him into my intentions despite my actions.

“Oh, so you’re up for it then, right? You’re going to go sack her?” He asked finally, a glint of emotional and instinctual hope hanging in his eyes. He knew full well that I was now his only option, having lost his pay. I had assumed such, as no sane man would do any risky work without a bit of coin, right?

I gave him a chuckle and drew Whisper off my desk, giving her leathery grip a squeeze. It gave me a bit of courage, and a slight inspiration to pull the trigger.

“Oh, no! No! Not at all! I am not some lowbrow showman, you hog! What about this do you not understand!? Your deal amuses, it doesn’t entice!” I barked, losing my temper for a moment and letting my first shot fly into his stomach. Not an accident, I will admit, but this individual clearly had it coming.

He wailed out, as expected. His hands tightened up and he slumped over onto my table, digging his gloved nails into the poor leg of the furniture. He struggled to stay half-upright. Upon snapping back to reality, he clutched a hand over the new wound in his stomach, only having one free one to support his weight against the table.

I fired off my second, and then my third shot. Not into my patron, though, but straight out the window. He was undeserving of the pain they would cause, and in my murkiness I did not think of two fresh places to bless him with the bullets. Off they went, and off I went around the corner of the table to grab him by the back of his collar.

“Fuckin’... madman...” He sputtered at me, getting a bit of spittle on the polished oak. “Shooting your clients... worse than I thought...” He added, seemingly digging his grave deeper and deeper.

I sunk my fingers just deep enough into his exposed neck to elicit some pain. He quivered and shook, his nerve clearly wearing down at the sense of pain, both fast and slow mixing together within him. I didn’t blame him, of course. When under so much pain and confusion, one could only ever wish for it to stop. Nothing in our realm could be more brutal and convincing than pain, and when faced against a mountain of it there was no room for the brave or the foolhardy.

Before he could throw another round of insults at me, I slammed his forehead into the table. I cracked it, a thing I now regret. The furniture was perfectly fine before I had to muddy it with this man’s skull. Nonetheless, I slammed him into it again, and brought him right up to the motionless lips of my guise so I could tell him something very important.

“You come to me seeking an escape from your lover? Do I look like I deal in petty squabbles of greed? No, I do not think I do. Perhaps i’ll pay your dear wife a visit myself. Now that I see you blathering like some dying animal I have the inspiration to see her.” I had smirked beneath my lips, and from the look the man gave me, I could only assume he could see right through my false face.

Regardless, I continued to teach him what he had to learn.

“There are those in this world that take flesh by the pound, and those that run around mindlessly killing innocents, splattering walls with their filth and their clumsy acts of evil. Ah, that’s the word. Evil. What you just requested of me is so entirely evil that it disgusts me, sir. I do not do the work of evil men, I do the work of necessity. Your request is not necessary. It is evil.” I concluded to him, nestling Whisper up against the side of his head. I let the smoke plume out from the spent shots, the hum of the mist filling his ear and heating his skin as if I had pressed a hot coal against it.

I considered his position. He would likely beg for his life if he had the stones to speak to me again, but he stayed silent.

“Perhaps this is my good deed for the day. I know most men like to keep to that principle, yes? A good deed a day, and it keeps something away. I do this out of charity, though. I have taught you the difference between necessity and evil. Teaching you this lesson is so wholly necessary that I think you’ll be better off in the end.” I informed him kindly, smiling genuinely beneath my mask. My momentary anger had faded away in the rush of my short instruction.

“Worry not, I will let your wife know you sent me, sir. I think I will take pride in teaching her something of value as well.” I assured him, just as I put my final bullet into the side of his head, sending a wave of red out my window.

‘Now it really was blood money.’ I had thought to myself, priding myself on some gallows humor as I heaved the man from his position, and levied him out my door. I dragged him around the perimeter of my home and cast him off down the crags. He sailed down just as swiftly as his money and his blood.

I would have prepared a proper scene for him, but I have little time on my hands. I have a date to prepare for, his wife is waiting! Well, I suppose she is a wife no more. Happily so too, I’d think. Who would want to be married to such a drab and senseless man like that?

I’m sure I will get her to see the light once I come upon her. He kept a photo of her on his person, so at least I have a lead. I merely need to gather my things and head off. I suppose I will have to clean up the mess when I return.

Pigs will be pigs, won’t they?

- Jhin

#(heart of the virtuoso...ic)#(jhin's journals...drabbles)#(death)#(violence)#hopefully this isn't super shit LOL #kind of sinday-ish??

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oddsnendsfanfics · 5 years

Text

Coming Around

Genre: Fan Fiction (Vikings x The Last Kingdom) Pairing: Ubbe/Uhtred/Reader Warnings: mentons of smut Rating: PG13 Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Some more Ubbe and Uhtred? Happy New Year ;)

Catch Up Here

New Year's Day, the morning after the night before. The fresh start to the next 365 days. A cruel awakening after a night spent soaking yourself in every alcohol known to man. Today was the day people spent making a list of things they would never accomplish - only saying they would do them, because they liked the idea while drinking.

Drunk resolutions were loathsome on their own, never mind the ones who made them to be vain. You hated those people even more. The ones who made lofty resolutions for no other reason than to be smug. Nobody liked those people, anyway.

In your experience, January 1st was a day to stay in bed with zero intentions of crawling out. This year was no different, the hammering in your head was dictating that quite well at the moment. The room was too bright and Ubbe was radiating more heat than Hell itself.

A downside to him drinking, he always became a sweaty, burning mess the next morning. With a heavy groan, you pull together the strength to squirm out of his grasp and back away, immediately hitting another body behind you. Arms snaking around you and dragging you closer.

Fuck!

They had managed to talk you into it...again.

Away from Ubbe and straight into Uhtred's grasp.

Uhtred had been lying awake for some time, waiting for some of this alcohol to wear off, there was a ways to go yet. Eyes closed, he could feel the moment you had woke, the bed had shifted as you stirred and your snoring had ceased. He used to think it only happened when you were drinking, poor Ubbe how did he ever share a bed with all that noise?

Locked in his grasp, Uhtred was reluctant to let you go. Your skin was soft and warm against him, bathed in sex and sweat, he was going to enjoy his portion of the morning after. Ubbe had a habit of kicking him out soon after, but last night he'd fell asleep before you and Uhtred had finished.

"Morning, Milady." His voice was rough and possibly sexier having just woke.

"Good morning, Bebbanburg."

"Sleep well?" He asked, his lips tickling your shoulder. He'd trimmed that pitiful excuse of a beard, but the wispy hairs on his chin were enough to send a shiver through you.

"Well enough." You can't help notice the growing excitement between the two of you. "Uhtred." You don't sound half as stern as you want.

"Mmm." He hums, his lips slowly tasting your salty skin.

"You-you need to." You swallow the lump in your throat, damn him. "Stop." You half whisper, half hiss.

"That is not what you said last night."

"Gin makes me say things I don't really mean." You roll your eyes, sighing.

There isn't an ounce of energy in you to move right now. It had taken all of your conserved effort to scoot away from Ubbe. Besides, you kind of liked the way Uhtred's body curved to yours. His height isn't as towering as Ubbe, which is a welcome relief in your current state.

"Gin makes us all do things we tend to regret, later." Uhtred's chuckle vibrates his body and yours. "At the same time, it turns some people into the life of the party. You were on fire last night."

"Don't." You shut your eyes in horror, shielding your face in shame. "I'd prefer not to know."

"It's not all bad." Uhtred is all but giggling. "Although, don't be surprised if Finan doesn't speak to you for a while."

You had no recollection of Finan being at Hvitserk's party. The last time you remember seeing the handsome Irishman was well over a week ago. Outgoing, Finan has as tendency to go shy when things get randy.

"Oh no, I didn't give another strip tease did I?" Giving Finan a strip tease would be far more forgivable than giving one to Osferth. Poor Osferth, despite the company he kept, was the sweetest and most innocent person in the world. Yet, none of that stopped you from once trying to show him everything you had.

Somebody has to be a saint among these heathens.

"No, but you did ask if he wanted to go home with Torvi." Uhtred recalled the previous events. You wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out. Bjorn was generous, but not nearly enough to share his wife. "It's okay, he'll recover."

"I didn't so anything really stupid, did I?"

You're not entirely sure that you want to know the answer. Hvitserk's parties often had an effect on people, the carefree and safe atmosphere led to some interesting adventures.

"Not unless you include inviting that arseling to bed with us." Ubbe grumbles from his side of the bed.

Looking over his shoulder to get a better view of you and his best friend, he frowns. Eyes red from the festivities and his voice hoarse from the joyfulness. Ubbe looks as though he's been hit by a truck.

"You're the one who started this." Uhtred reminds with a cocky grin.

When Ubbe had first suggested inviting the impulsive Dane into your bed, you had been hesitant, curious, and cautious. A part of you was beginning to think Ubbe and Uhtred were turning this into a game.

Damn them.

Who were you kidding? You had willingly walked into this and now you were the pawn they desired. If this were a winner takes all, it would no doubt leave Uhtred alone and still wanting. Thankfully you were mature enough to keep such an arrangement, for the time being, in a manner everyone benefited. Outside of the bedroom, Ubbe and Uhtred were still solid friends and you were comfortable enough to be around Uhtred with no awkwardness.

"You're the one who was horny and couldn't get your own girl." Ubbe's face was half hidden, but the good nature was evident in his tone.

"Boys, boys." You tut at them, playfully shaking your head. "If you're going to fight, then please let's make it worth our time. Winner gets a blow job."

"You heard her." Ubbe spoke up. "Winner gets what's his, now get out. My woman has something for me."

@laketaj24 , @float-autumn-leave , @funmadnessandbadassvikings , @kawennote09, @smutgoblin , @nickysurfer28 , @igetcarriedawaywithyou , @akamaiden @angelaiswriting, @neeadinghugs, @tiyetiye @thoughtsmeander2tumblingblindly, @ilvebeenabad , @naaladareia, @tephi101, @imgoldielikehawn , @sparklemichele, @titty-teetee, @therealcalicali, @smolasianwinterbean , @imyourliquor-youremypoison , @ceridwenofwales @ateliefloresdaprimavera ,@carlya65, @pokeasleepingsmaug, @angelswannawearmyredshooz @awesome-as-i-wanna-be , @lilu46 , @dani-si , @hoeghfabulous , @danicalifornia25 , @pebblesz892 , @whenimaunicorn , @sconniebelle , @imeannooffensebabybut , @fumblingthroughchaos , @itsspecial-itsnotforeveryone, @lordavanti, @beautifulramblingbrains, @chynagirl13, @niamandthings , @thepalaceofmelanie , @bluearchersstuff, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @wilddrabble, @lol-haha-joke, @ivarlothbroks, @writingfromasgard, @happydaysandersen, @rekdreams-fandom , @pixiedustandfairywings @vikingsandetc, @thevikingsheaux , @hows-my-hair, @alicedopey, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @thisisabigmaze, @grungyblonde@sdcyumyum @unacceptabletatertots, @captstefanbrandt * I tagged people I tagged in the first ones, people seemed curious ;) *

#ubbe ragnarsson #uhtred of bebbanburg #ubbe lothbrok #uhtred son of uhtred #modern ubbe #modern uhtred #ubbe's wolfpack #uhtred ragnarson #vikings #the last kingdom #vikings x the last kingdom #ubbe ragnarsson imagine #uhtred imagine

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determined-magi · 5 years

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“ Et tu, brother? “

Thannor doesn’t respond, he just grumbles under his breath. If it wasn’t for who it was, he would’ve likely growled to be left alone, but then now he’s got exactly who he just needed. Even if he knew he wouldn’t get an answer, at the least empathic company would be of some comfort.

“ You were spying Rho? “

“ No, but I did get sight of Fleur, and supposed in a way you both were to talk, rather sooner than later it appears. “ He sighs, glancing both at his hands and then at him directly. “ How are you, by the way? are they still bleeding? “

“ Ye, turns out those fuckin grey were right, probably right about lost too, after all the apple doesn’t fall from the tree. “

“ So Fleur lied, can see on a side, still... kind of hurts knowing they don’t trust us, but then... “

“ Can’t really blame ‘em can we? Not like we’re not going to turn into a bunch of murdering idiots down the line, heh... already getting there ourselves little by little, aren’t we? “

“ Oi... I’d like to say we should have a more positive view, but... eh, it is getting harder by the days. We betrayed our kingdom... built an army or thieves, bandits and outcast of the law... “

“ Raided our people, stole their goods, killed people while at it. Lied for our own purposes... “

“ ... “

“ Guess we really are not meant to be the good guys are we? “

Both laugh, it feels a little amused at first, and then it just drops in a defeated sigh of both. Stopping them on their tracks right at a stream, at which they just take seat and let their legs soak in the water. Arms lifted over the other’s shoulder on a tight grip.

“ Rho? “

“ Yes Tei Tei? “

“ Why are we even doing this anymore? “

The mage is silent for a while, before both let go of one another as they lay the rest of their body down. That... that was honestly beginning to be a good question, if the judge was honest. The more time went, the more reports, orders, and letters he had read, the more he found himself getting fed up.

They had made a good call to have relocated their families, “their former abodes had already gone through attempts. Vandals, thieves, murderers and the like, finding nothing just bare simple things they couldn’t move quickly enough without attention. Gil’s family inn had been breached, Braigon’s home burnt, Agar’s raided and broken down. The academy had been raided by the counsil itself, and most of the things not hidden lost... and the others burnt or torn to the ground as the building was destroyed. Few remains of her work there survived, not all he life’s work, but a good number with some important ones...

It was... discouraging, enraging too. How quick they were to act, as if awaiting all their lives to do so, just the little mistakes to justify the actions. All their works, all their deeds and things they tried to prove themselves to their people, and it meant nothing in the end. It felt like an insult, much like he supposed the former prince felt. it was... infuriating, unfair. And if it wasn’t enough? they already had to deploy people to stall campaings from beginning, some people already were trying to jump over innocents, and some reports... some reports made it hard not to feel like his magic mostly felt, even... vengefull, if he was honest...

Sometimes he forgot just how putrid, their kingdom was, how corrupted, he sighs, he... he wasn’t one to vouch for violence, but damn... the way things were? It felt like some purge was going to be needed to make it better.

He... didn’t want to do that, now, did he?

“ I... I don’t know, I would say because it is the right thing to do. But then, trying to do things the right way didn’t work, trying to do them the wrong obviously won’t either... “ He closes his eyes, he rubs his eyes with his palms. While feets splash against the water to attempt for some distraction. “ We’ve lived our lives adapting to become something, which could fit in a world that did not wish us, and had its own wishes for us to be. If I am honest Tei... I’m beginning to feel like we should just give ‘em what they want, because no matter what we do, it seems like the world is bent on turning us the villians... “

“ Ye... I hate it too. For once I want change, but turns out change wasn’t enough, hell... might’ve even been all just a fuckin farse and what I’ve done was meant fer nothing... “

“ I... doubt it was for nothing, though... he did seem to enjoy a few things, I spoke to him a while ago, he said the thing was just a job, but really he was just being an stubborn kid, like you when you don’t admit you’ve grown fond of him. “

“ Well- “

“ Let me finish, please. I saw how things were to an extent, really, it is more than just a job. He can deny it all he wants, but this... us? We became some sort of therapy to him... “

“ Then why the hell would he lie then? “ he gestures as he changes position to lean with and arm “ How can we be therapy and a stress source all the same? “

“ Suppose similar way to how he puts you on a pedestal... “

“ But... we’ve fuckin done everything to show them we meant well, Rho, what else can we do then? You yourself had done it too, and he still doesn’t trust just any better, and what if it was all a farse, like they said? They seem good as pretending as much as coming up with reasons to, just look at your own friend! He’s not even shown a single footprint in months, not even when you- “

Rho flinches, and he stops talking, looking away as he bites his tounge. That... that was a sore spot he got carrier away with, no need to put a finger with salt on the wound. His magic seems apologetic at him as much as he is, letting a low regretfull groan as he himself turns the other way in shame.

“ I... I don’t really have anything to say on it, Tei, I really don’t... even I don’t know what could be done. In the end, it is not something we can help with, I... I honestly don’t think all is a lie, I pray it isn’t... but we can’t change that side of them... “

“ But they can change that side of us and ask for things? That’s not how it works in any way, this is a two way, not one. “

“ No... no we don’t. But that’s not something we can teach them by words, is it? “

“ Wish it wasn’t... “ the man says, before pulling out numbed limbs and covering them once more. “ I fuckin hate it sometimes, ye know? Not being able to convey things like I wish I could. ”

“ Everyone has those problems Tei, we all do... some are more evident than others, us for example. A few monsters too, a lot of them actually. More so in the presence of humans and... well, people like us. “

“ Really? “

“ Yeah! I remember a fox monster running about, male. My magic was bonkers around the guy, he was really timid because of it, if not afraid of me, on a convoy we settled some of it. I managed to sort ourselves and help him see things, and we got to be rather decent pals! Even if my magic still is... hostile. Sometimes when I have the time and see him I try to have some fun with him on the trees. “

“ Sounds great... “

He smiles, though somewhere in there is sad really, Rho pulls him into a hug the second he catches that. Thannor doesn’t pull away, like he usually would, if anything he pushes his head towards his, forehead against one another, before brushing sides as his magic for once chuffs, followed by a soft growl. His just answers with a little whine, empathic, and knowing.

“ Things will get sorted out Tei... I’m sure when you both talk it will get better, you just need to have an honest talk eye to eye, I’m sure you can both reach an agreement, you’re dense people, but not impossible... Besides, you both are not too different, you can reach some common ground together... “

“ And how will I do that? “ He groans defeated, before letting his face rest in his palms, it sounds rather defeated. “ How am I supposed to speak if I can’t even think straight, I can’t talk with him like this, let alone fuckin express when my brain hasn’t even processed things rationally enough. “

“ Well, first and foremost we can... I do not know, sort them out you and I, help you untangle the ideas forming, what’s in your mind, organize it and perhaps ease some of them that can be helped right now. Then? We can just let things cool down enough to form some ideas and how you can approach to this... “

“ Did sis teach ye this? “

“ Yeah, remember that phase when Agar and I bickered a lot? The sudden drop out? That was her interfering, quite literally. kicking both our asses and talking to us each for it... you know? We really should join up all and give her something for that the shit she puts up with from us... “

“ Ye... Anyways. Ye’re saying? “

It took less than he thought it would.

The mage had returned not too long after, it wasn’t many hours, perhaps a pair at most, or so. They both adressed one another’s own issues. It had been... not bad, but not the most instructive of things, it did however give them some guides to do things. Each to their own.

He wasn’t exactly on a better mood, he did feel better about a few things though, and certainly didn’t feel as prone to make something stupid. So he called it a good time as any to make things... well, better, in haste somewhat too, given he hadn’t even given a clue on the stance of things, a mistake on his part on the hasty need to leave before things escalated on the wrong way. Hoping he still had at least some moment o clarify things, and set themselves to have some time to talk when the chance arises.

Surely if he had been there to have some moment with them, and given himself the trouble he did, he could at least wait a little...

...

Not really.

He doesn’t react immediately, instead he moves in to take a seat by the fire. Hands clenched tight to the point of bleeding once more. Silence reigns in his room, perhaps the forest, he’s not really sure.

The next moment? He’s got torn rags on his hands, and a mess of gloves, a few hours worth of work ruined chest plates, as well as hands covered in blood and cuts. A man lays on the ground, knocked out and, if his nose is right, likely with some bleeding from how hard they smacked the ground. Foot steps already sounding outside, likely people coming in to see what was the ruckus.

Thankfully the others were already trying to get them to not peek in, and one of them would come instead. He doesn’t say anything, but Rho keeps im company for the rest of the night, already knowing something didn’t really go well.

The smith doesn’t say anything either, choosing to go back to work and calm himself, smashing metals with a worrying fervor through crimson painted bandages, and grunts of pain from hands already abused enough.

None of the other mages say anything, even if worry itself was present on their faces, not like they could do anything to get him off that mood.

#cosmosfated #mention #|ic|#|bravery in the lines|#|carpe fatum|#|just as the sentinel?|#[things are going just fine :) ]

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walsiegirl · 3 years

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You don't have to answer this question if you don't want to, but it's been bothering my mind quite a bit lately - how did you come to your conclusion in believing Geoffrey to be innocent in his case? I'm not judging or hating, I'm just curious. This is all coming from a fan new to him and his work, who really admires him but is feeling unsure. Again, you don't have to answer if you're not comfortable. I've looked at both sides and I'm just very, very confused as to what the truth really is, so I figured getting an older fan's perspective would help me understand anything I might be missing. Thank you in advance.🙏

Hi Anon! Sorry it took me a while to get back to you, I’ve been away and stuff.

This is a tough one and there honestly isn’t a right or wrong answer; it’s absolutely fine to be unsure and I cannot say one hundred percent he is innocent, nor can I say he is guilty. The way the case was initially reported was unfair to both parties, and they both went through essentially a trial by media, with others jumping in either with their own accusations or opinions, before anything really came to court. From a legal perspective, yes Geoffrey has won his case against the newspaper as there was, to over simplify it, little evidence to the contrary, which was a relief for those of us who have always admired him. But does that mean he hasn’t done anything wrong at all? It’s truly impossible to say.

When I very first heard about the allegations, I was confused, devastated and I wondered if I had got him completely wrong from the start. It’s taken time, reflection, and coming to terms with the fact that even people one admires may fuck up some times (some bigger than others) to help me feel, if not sure about things, then at least able to come to terms with it all to a degree. So straight off, I’m sorry I can’t give you a definitive answer, but I can ramble around the points that are central to the reason I still feel able to enjoy his work and the memories he gave me.

Firstly, I think Geoffrey Rush has enough integrity as a person to own up if he’s fucked up. Again, I’m going on my gut, it’s fine to disagree with me and people will. When presented with the allegations, he denied them, but he also stepped down from any positions of responsibility he felt he should not hold whilst being under scrutiny, and also apologised to former co-stars if he had made them feel uncomfortable with his work methodology. That isn’t him being silent and not acknowledging the problem, it’s taking a stand to start to work through it without being arrogant enough to go on as normal. It’s about starting a discourse.

Rolling on from that, I think the “making co-stars feel uncomfortable/sexually harassing co-stars” is probably the area of contention. I don’t personally feel or believe that Geoff would intentionally go out of his way to demean, oppress or harass people - again I am open to being proved wrong, this is just gut feeling and intuition - but Geoffrey is a naturally cheeky, playful, possibly even controversial character who I could easily see pushing boundaries in professional spheres - perhaps being overly extravagant, overly touchy-feely, overly jokey. This could easily make people feel uncomfortable and harassed. I think sometimes it can be too easy when you’re successful to become complacent and forget that not everyone is onboard with your ways of doing things and ways of being, with your self confidence and ego. A lot of people, myself included, are very good at being polite and tolerating things they find uncomfortable because they’re too worried/scared/tolerant to say otherwise. If you’re faced with an A-list actor who has a lot of clout, then by all means you may feel unable to speak up about feeling uncomfortable or not enjoying the way they treat you or work with you. It’s like being faced with the person at work who has been established at your company for a long time and is being overly familiar with you - do you dare tell the boss their favourite is too much for you? Probably not, you want to keep your job. And this kind of power imbalance may be where the issue lies.

So you are saying the allegations are all true? you’re probably asking now. No but I can easily see where there are lots of grey areas in this debacle rather than two black and white possibilities of guilty and not. Things may have been taken out of context or blown out of proportion - or not, who knows? When you’re acting and in close bodily contact with other people, and in theatre/film/tv this is a constant, there is a high risk you might touch people inappropriately. Was there true harassment in this instance, or were actions misjudged? Were comments said in jest, in humour, in affection misconstrued as creepy and inappropriate, or was that their real intent? When you only have two contrasting views, it’s impossible to know the truth. Also everything an individual experiences is relative - what one person may feel is harassment, the next may think is a funny joke or not even notice. This is where consent and communication come in - it’s important people, particularly those in positions of “power”, check in on their other halves/colleagues/co-stars once in a while to make sure everything is ok. If there isn’t trust and communication, then you end up with dumpster fires like this.

So what else can I ramble about?

People fuck up. All the time. The difference with being accused of fucking up when you’re an A-list Oscar winner is that the whole world will know about it and lynch you for it, regardless of your guilt, and the internet is very good for spreading information quickly, both truth and lies and everything in between. Though it is fine to hold people to account and question accusations, it’s worth remembering that we all have fucked up in our lives; not all to the same degree, and some things it is utterly fine to not to forgive someone for, but I think one of the reasons I came around about things was that I can think of a few occasions in my life where I have royally fucked up, and if I had been famous I would not have lived it down. As I’m not famous though, the fuck-ups were resolved to a greater or lesser degree and now are mostly forgotten - except by me who can never forgive myself and will think about it until I die. I guess I just realised that I cannot judge because I have been a dick in my time, too. It’s not an excuse, I’m not trying to say that fuck ups are excusable if they have happened, but again there has to be a point where we move on or else we just get stuck feeling suicidal and not being able to recover. The important thing is to make amends and face your mistakes if they have been made. Can we let celebrities fuck up and come back? Depends on the fuck up of course, and sometimes it may be they lose their liberties, they need to regain trust, but sometimes there can be rehabilitation and success again - like Robert Downey Jr.

And though positive past conduct does not mean a person will never do or hasn’t done wrong, a lot of people who have worked with Geoff either as a co-star, or have directed him, etc, have voiced their support for him and enjoyed working with him. On a personal note, I will always have ridiculously positive memories of meeting him and writing to him. It’s a totally different kettle of fish to working professionally with him, of course, but I can’t forget that during the 2000s he used to like to keep a distant eye on the discourse between his fans online; he liked to know if his fans would be at such-and-such an event, and he even brought me a promo book about The Golden Age as a thank you when I dragged my arse down to Norfolk in the UK to see him at an event in 2007; he often felt more friend than celebrity to us. He was polite and curious, asked little questions like what you studied at university, what dog you had, what your username meant. He was exceptionally trusting of us, too. And I just remember how chill he could be - I remember him texting his wife when a group of us met him in NY after his play there, or he’d step out for a smoke, and you’re like that’s a normal person, he’s checking in with his fam, doing his own thing, but he’s still got time for us. He was always a down to earth, friendly guy, beyond generous with his time and we all as a fan community felt appreciated by him. It was beyond cool. And I can’t forget that kindness, the fact he made me feel that I mattered. His benevolence has naturally garnered much loyalty in me.

And finally I also ask myself, if this was a family member, or a close friend, would I abandon them in bad weather? And the answer is no. Even if they fucked up badly, you help family and friends get through things, you help them rehabilitate, you support them making amends, and support them making reparations to anyone who has been hurt or wronged if need be. When I have fucked up, I haven’t been abandoned; yes reprimanded, yes cowed, but I’ve been given the opportunity to make amends and bounce back.

So long answer is, there is no answer. I have never affirmed or denied his innocence or guilt because I can’t. It has to come down to gut feeling in the end and trying to weigh up the mass of information and misinformation. It’s about invading the professional and private lives of people we probably have no business looking into. It’s about understanding that celebrities are just people, and they can potentially fuck up as badly as we do, but they may also be innocent of accusations like we can be too. It’s accepting that we can’t know any truths unless solid evidence is presented either way. So at present, I will continue to enjoy his films, his tv shows, his legacy, and appreciate everything he ever did for me either directly, or indirectly through his work. But I am also open-minded enough that if any hard evidence ever presented itself to the contrary, there may come a day I need to reappraise my position. But hopefully he is true to his word and to his success in winning his case, and he can work toward recovery and potentially even acting again, though the blow has been great, both to him and his accuser. He may never work again. My greatest fear is that if he is genuinely completely innocent of everything, then he has had the greatest joy in his life taken from him. I try not to dwell on that too much.

I hope that diatribe helps. It’s the elephant in the room that is hard to acknowledge but no one can tell you how to feel about it. It has to come from your own heart and soul. I also appreciate there are many other elements to consider but I can’t possibly cover all bases. It’s probably worth saying that I have been a victim of being groomed by a man so I understand the importance of women or vulnerable peoples having a voice, but that doesn’t necessarily mean every accusation against men is true, either.

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autieanondiary · 5 years

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Faking It

It was a Saturday. I had to wake up really early to spend a whole day at this seminar. I sat there listening to the same information I have consumed on youtube. Here it is, they were marketing it for tens and thousands of dollars. What is the difference? Structure I guess. I didn't feel the same burning desire to prove myself as I had been a few years ago. I guess growing up had taken that giddy and fluttering part of you away.

It was a conference to make you the most successful coach that you can possible be. I had dreamt of being a life coach. Back in 2004, they didn't have a name for it, I only finished my Bachelor in Science, majoring in Psychology, when I got this job in a start up company where they had decided to promote this American's Speaker to Australia. Being only twenty, I was infatuated with the whole industry. Naive and innocent. The managing director, the person who started it was only five years older than me. He was chubby and middle eastern. He had offered to pay me but being an Asian female that was conditioned to be humble and showed submission, I declined, and instead I would get free seat at the event. My education junkie me was over the moon. But of course, people who paid with cash somehow got better treatment.

That's a lesson that now, I understand, paying with actual money carry a different value than when you are paying with your services. Which is why as women, you should not do anything for free. At the event I remembered the chubby guy asked to give up my seat for a client and asked me to sit at the back. Yes, you get to see people's real characters in those little moments.

The teaching of the speaker was really good, something I still revise every now and then, but the promoter company itself was playing the image game. Much like the social media now. Glossy on screen, trash on the in real life. For the next four years, I flotaed in and out of the company. Always being put on the side line. This is Australia afterall, you can be living here your whole life but if you are not white, you are somehow are not a player. Or, that is how I felt anyway.

I left to continue my mainstream education, in business, pursuing MBA, and then came back when there was a leadership change in the company. The operational guy has decided to buy the company off the middle eastern guy. This time I was in Administration, and doing general office duties. Back then, CRM, Accounting and Inventory were not integrated as they do now. So everything was basically needed to be done manually.

I was still infatuated and believing, naive. But that started to crack of course. When as part of administration I started receiving calls from BMW chasing default payments of the previous chubby middle eastern managing director. He would still come back, having decided that he would like to be a speaker himself now. He would boast about being one the front page of one of the most popular community paper amongst commuter at that time. Of course, the PR people knew what's up and asked directly "How much did you pay for that?" . The chubby managing director who was trying not to be chubby anymore because now he was trying to change his image, just evaded the question , confirming the fact that they had indeed paid for the marketing piece. He did not get front page because of his merit, but because he paid it, because the paper needed the advertising money.

This success that consistently being rubbed off to the sale people was merely smokes and mirrors, evident by the amount of times I had to say to the BMW's debt collector chasing for the chubby's managing directors debts of around $5000 "He is no longer work here". An amount that I remember he used to say was little. As tempted as I was to give to his personal details, I did not. Of course the older me judged him less now, trying to launch a business is no easy treat. There is a lot of risk, and sometimes, that mentality of faking it until you make it is still prevalent in society. And there is nothing wrong with that.

I was still young and hopeful, with the new leadership, the next wave of new age movement was taking over Australia. The Secret was about to be released and our sepeaker was in it. However, old habits died hard, cash flows problems would still be the hardest to deal with. Like any other business, now I think about it. I remember having to deal with a lot of screaming, cursing, of declining people's request for refunds. The numbers for these programs usually between $2000-$6000 AUD. The problem was of course the target audience was people like me, who did not have money, but aspire to greatness.

Vulnerable people, was the accurate words. I am sure we really did help a lot of people. It is like any tool, it will work, if you work it.

So here I was, sitting in this 9 hours free event promising your success again, if you buy their products. This company was an off shoot of that company, since the old company had finally rolled up its carpet after a scandal a few years back. I was not surprised, the goal from the company was to make money, not to change people's lives. I think intention played a big role in how a company is run. The leader or the founder's intention becomes the heart beat and the soul of a company. A higher vision that even if you have a very messy operation day to day routine, would always win.

This time, I did not feel any excitement. Unlike the participants surrounding me. As usual in this kind of event, you were forced to interact with people next to you. In order for you feel like you are involved and being part of a community, which means you would be more likely to commit and join the community that was being created right before your eyes. I saw their infatuated eyes towards the speaker, much like I was. The parroting of every single words that was said by the speaker, like I did. The general manager's housemate of the company I used to work for used to joke that she was working for a cult. I could see it now. That utter devotion and worship could be intoxicating.

This off shoot survived the culling of the personal development industry's witch hunt down. I wanted to think, maybe the best way to do business, is always to do it the honest and straight forward way. I had done my research this time, and I know the pricing was fair, as the local university was offering a similar course for double the price without the support system. Of course, if you do the University's program you will get the prestige.

One thing I learned, if you want to get a job, you need to go to University or College to get that piece of paper so you can negotiate your salary, but if you want to have a business, none of that will make a difference at all. Business is about the market and your skills. The market will chew you up, regardless how many degrees you have under your belt. The market as Gary Vee described it is the market. It does not care who you are, whose your mother is, where you went to university, what you daddy does, or whose your friend is. What matter is how good you are. You. Just you.

Now, I see the same players old players promoting Gary Vee, using the same "hype" method, I have seen many times before. Maybe they never learned, as there is always a bushy, wild eyed, infatuated, naive girl that needed hope.

#fiction #writing #prose #dear internet #sydney #personal development #australia #city story #urban #short story #stories #fictional story #practice #weekly writing #writer #instagram story

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oh-come-to-daddy · 7 years

Text

The Prices We Pay - Chapter 1 - Part 2/?

Rating: M

Warnings: Sex, age gap relationship, BDSM (always consensual), heavy alcohol usage, drug references, violence, daddy kink (dd/lg), and cheating. If you find any of these themes to be triggering or offensive to you in any ways, shape, or form, please reconsider reading this.

Authors Note:

Story Master-list : HERE

It’s funny… How the world is like this huge balance beam… if it starts to tilt to one side too much, we get nervous and desperate to put it back into some kind of median… It’s interesting to see what the most desperate of souls will do to return to their balance beam back to ‘normal’.

No one likes to feel themselves slip away from anything they’ve come to be so accustomed and close to. It’s like an addiction… to always want to be ‘normal’.

Whether people believe it or not… we’re all addicts in one sense or another.

I’m an addict, of course I am.

I’m obsessed with keeping the control I have in the empire I’ve built for myself…

I’m addicted to hearing “yes sir”…

Watching the fear in mens eyes as they hear I’m not satisfied with a job they’ve done for me…

I’m obsessed with keeping everything and everyone in the palm in my hand; knowing that in the blink of an eye I can crumble anything and everything in grasp.

Who am I? … My name is Bruce… Bruce Wayne.

Many people know me for my enterprise, evidently named Wayne Enterprises; you know, the one in Gotham.. yeah, Gotham, the worlds biggest crime city.

Now before you clock out and try to make me this ‘wealthy asshole’- lets get my story set straight.

Wayne Enterprises is a empire handed down to me since way back to my ancestors, starting off as a simple merchant house in the 17th century. We’ve then come to expand it into much more; branches reaching out as far as Wayne Chemicals, Wayne Technology, Wayne Biomedical, Wayne Pharmaceuticals, Wayne Foods… and well, you get the point.

Wayne Enterprises has been the ears and eyes of everything Gotham since it began in its smaller and less powerful days. If anything comes in or out, we’re behind it and we know to who it went and for what reason.

Not that Wayne Enterprises isn’t something to marvel over, but let’s be honest… I don’t sit behind a desk all day with my hands clasped neatly hoping for something interesting to happen… No… I’m Mister Wayne… the sole provider and striker of fear in Gotham.

I’m known in the hushed tones of alleyways as the prime mob boss of Gotham... if you need something; information, goods, guns, a hitman… I’m the one you come to, I own clubs in every street corner, each one dealing something under the tables to keep themselves going.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I never allow harm to come to the innocent people of Gotham. There are one too many people out there trying their best to be able to live comfortably, and a rule of mine is if you deal, steal or kill, you stay away from the innocence that is children, or people going about their ‘regular’ lives.

Now, I bet you’re wondering, does a man like Wayne, at his age settle down and control his empire peacefully, or does he have a different, nice, piece of ass to have sit on his lap every night??

The answer is simple really. No.

I don’t necessarily need a woman on my case daily about how I should set aside meetings or work to take her to the local boutiques. I am a man of specific likes and needs. I find someone who has the same needs or needs and we get along just fine.

Simply put, I rather have a good time and not be locked down for a long time. I am a man of limited patience... and specific needs, not everyone meets them, hence I don’t rely in just anyone.

Which leads me to tonight. Here I am, a young woman sitting on my lap as she nibbles on my jaw and giggles at my comments; she’s tipsy, and she’s been in my club before.

She tried to apply to be one of the dancers before, but I said no due to the fact she is a mother who is trying to make money… No one want to see their mother get to that point, where she has to deal with drunk men for a buck...

So I made her my personal dancer. I didn’t plan on keeping her around long, but she was such a sweet taste that I decided on keeping her around longer.

She didn’t hesitate for a second when I offered her the job. Her job was to be in my booth nightly; entertain either myself or the men I had visit me, and she was damn good at that.

Like I said, she was a mom, but she was a damn hot one. This woman was breath taking. The man of her life knocked her up and left her when she was young... so she was a teen mom who had a dead beat as a father to begin with, her daughter now grown and living her adult life off in college... So, safe to say neither her or her daughter had a daddy around.

Good thing for them is, I like to play daddy from time to time.

“Daddy… why don’t you and me go back to yours again… treat me as well as you always do”

I heard her mumble in my ear as her newly placed engagement ring that now adorned the hand she ran up and down my thigh. The ring was something I had given her to avoid the feds sticking their noses into Wayne Enterprises; the company of a ‘single man who was living a life far too solitary for his own good’.

She knew that, that she was just some trophy to wave around to keep people glancing from a distance. She was okay with that, because frankly, like me, she had motives to her ways.

Her daughter was a young protege in a fancy dance school outside of Gotham, and she was struggling to keep her payments at bay.

“My daughter is all yours if you help me Mister Wayne, she’s a stunner, jaw dropping beauty, I swear. Dancers body… the works.. just help me.”

A mother, offering her child up in exchange for help with her responsibilities… sickening isn’t it? But luckily for her daughters image of her mother, I never have to try so hard to reel them in, they just... come to me.

“Let’s go home princess… You know daddy will always take care of you”

6 months later, I sit here in a club as the fools around me I’ve come to consider my closest friends, They insisted I have a bachelor party, that even though I may not be considering this marriage a legitimate one, I’m still loosing my ‘bachelor card’.

I finally agreed, told myself it’d be just a normal night. We’d go out to one of my clubs, hit on some girls, and most likely get lucky. Drinks on me, considering it was my damn club.

“Wayne! Call some of your girls out mate! These girls aren’t cutting it!”

They were beyond wasted at this point, calling on every girl who passed by and ordering every drink under the menu. It was sure interesting to see the interest in every woman peak as they learned that you were now taken in a sense. Not that their interest wasn’t there before, trust me it was annoying to keep them at bay before, but once they know theres competition, it’s like theres a new aura to you.

I was sitting there with them as I chuckled to the countless stupid commentary that came out from them when I saw two ladies walk in. Both of them young, college girls no doubt. Both grinning ear to ear as they saw each other.

The one who caught my eye had a firmness to her body. She had carried herself with such a high level of poise, each step was one that made her petite body bounce playfully.

The tight dress that adorned her body hugged her curves beautifully, leaving nothing to the imagination. Her body no doubt being one of a dancer or athlete.

I needed to get her closer, I needed her to be mine.

By the end of the night I had managed to walk over to her and get her name and number. The level of alcohol in her body making her filter non existent. But I loved hearing her ramble on.

Her pink plump lips getting rosier each time she pulled them between her teeth, the action itself making my mind race as I tried hard to not imagine her biting her lip as she moaned and screamed out my name...

“Let me give you a ride home..”

I tired to be a gentleman, give her a ride home and make sure she was okay, but she’s stubborn. She had a bite to her, and it drove me crazy to have to hear her say no.

Every part of my being wanted to pin her to me, grasp her chin between my hand and have her beg me to teach her a lesson or two about being polite... but she was set on my upcoming marriage.

I let her go that night, I didn’t want to fight her about it. Yes, I was getting married... for the right reasons? Depends on who you ask... But I wasn’t about to explain my life away to a young girl, too naive to understand the chance within her grasp.

However my luck turned when I heard her groan annoyingly in the lobby of my hotel, and by mine I mean both the one I had the guys staying in and the one of many I owned.

Interesting isn’t it?

How life propels the things you least expect to come back into your life again. I chuckled as I walked over to her and handed my ID to the girl sitting at the receptionist desk, smirking at her as she realized who I was.

“She’ll be staying with me”

I told her with a faint smirk, winking slightly as she nodded and handed it back to me, amusingly looking Sophia over annoyed as I ushered her away.

“Come on now”

She was shivering as she tried her best to keep her steps steady, but I gave her a quick once over to make sure she was fine, which she was, just soaked from the rain was all.

“Hey... you didn’t have to-”

I cut her off... I had to... there wasn’t anything else to discuss... I had let her slip away once, and quite frankly I wasn’t going to let it happen twice.. I was Bruce Wayne for fuck sakes.

I pinned her against me as I kissed her deeply, my hands grasping the base of her neck as I nibbled and sucked on her bottom lip, smirking as I found her kissing back with just as much if not the same amount of need.

A part of me, a part I did not understand had me pull back and away from her, my mind racing as her words ran through my mind over and over again... sighing as I leaned against the wall and rubbed my face.

“I’m sorry you’re right... I shouldn’t be doing this... I’m getting married.. you said so yourself...”

The words themselves made me shutter as they came out... was I really saying no?

“Well, it’s like you said…technically you’re not married yet…right?”

I smirked as I pulled her out the elevator and to the room, laying her onto the bed as I let my mouth make its way down her neck, kissing and sucking on any inch of skin I could attach my lips to, working on her dress as I slipped it off and went to hang it in the bathroom to dry.

But, just as my luck would have it lately, I came back to her passed out on the bed, snoring as she slept peacefully. I sighed softly as I covered her and let her sleep.

“Fuck me...”

I left her a note as I made my way out that night, I clearly wasn’t going to get any.. so I might as well go take care of some business...

“Didn’t want to wake you... Order whatever you’d like in the morning - dress is drying in the bathroom... have wardrobe downstairs bring you a change of clothes - on me - Sleep tight xx”

So much for that... Not like I’ll ever see her again anyway.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne rp #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne x reader rp #rp; metalteeth-goldchain #ben affleck #ben affleck batman #ben affleck rp

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peterpanquotes1 · 5 years

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Good Housekeeping, 1906

Page 359: A Peter Pan Party. I — Peter Pan, the New Hero of Fairyland.

Peter Pan has come to stay. He is now the favorite hero, and has superseded not only all the important fairy characters, but has taken a place beside the beloved heroes of myth and legend. Though a fairy-boy he seems most human; though a true knight he does not belong to a dim past, rather had he become a part of the child’s life today. Grown persons as well as children have given him a hearty welcome and he reigns supreme. Some years ago when grownups were first reading The Little White Bird, why did they not make known to the children the chapters (thirteen to nineteen) which contain one of the loveliest fairy stories that have ever been written? A few people, only, remembered this first story of Peter Pan when they saw Mr. Barrie’s play in which is given another and quite a different chapter in the life of this little boy who wanted never to row up.

In the book story, the baby Peter grows up only as far as very small boys do; his adventures take place in the Gardens of the Fairies. In the play he has grown up some more (oh, just a very little, dear Peter) and is no longer limited to the Gardens, for we learn that he is living with some “lost boys” in the Never-Never-Never Land, where wonderful things happen.

Previous to the publication of “The Little White Bird” was there anyone who had ever heard of Peter Pan? The author wishes us to suppose so, for he says: “If you ask your mother whether she knew about Peter Pan when she was a little girl she will say, ‘Why of course I did, child,’ and if you ask her whether he rode a goat in those days she will say, ‘What a foolish question to ask — certainly he did.’”

Page 360: Since the book reveals this wonderful thing, that all babies were once birds and are ever wanting to fly away, it is evident, if the mothers knew about Peter Pan, why they were anxious not to let the story get about. Peter’s mother did not know — or if she did, she forgot or was careless — so her little boy goes down to history (see the Fairy Records, under Birdhood) as the first baby ho, determining to try to be a bird again, flew out of his nursery window straight to the Fairy Gardens. A sad experience for his mother, but she profited by it, for when a new baby came to her she had bars placed on the windows. Poor little Peter, flying back at last to stay with her, could not get into the nursery. …… Peter is of course descended from the great god Pan, but has evolved a soul. He is a joyous wood-spirit who creates an atmosphere of elusiveness and mystery, an altogether attractive Pan. The little Peter of the book rides about gayly on a goat playing his pipes.

While in the Gardens Peter came to have a little human for a playmate, for a girl named Maimie dared to remain there after “lock-out-time,” wishing to see him. She might have stayed away from her mother forever, but Peter, like the real hero that he is, warned her that her place might be taken as his had been, so she hurried back.

Soon after, she left in the Gardens a lovely toy boat which the fairies made real, so this is how Peter Pan came to ride a goat. Often Maimie left notes and presents in the Gardens which Peter searched for at night.

Page 361: When Miss Maude Adams appeared as Peter Pan every child heart was captivated, and there was aroused an enthusiasm which increased with each month, establishing the play as a remarkable success. Instead of asking if you had seen the play, the children inquired: “How many times have you seen Peter Pan?” There was the average and that was doing fairly well, but there are many old an young who went ten times. The most fortunate young person seemed to be the on who announced having been twenty-nine times!

Now that the new season of 1906-1907 is giving the play to other cities, the spread of “Peter Panitis” will be general and it may be expected to rage again in New York when Peter returns there.

A few parents and teachers worried over the epidemic and tried to cure the children; a hopeless task, for the principal feature of an attack is that you never recover, whether you are child or grownup. These dissatisfied few were in opposition to the great number of those who were filled with thankfulness that a real children’s play of such exquisite character should have been presented at last. the influence of the play is not that of the temporary emotionalism which is meaningless, but it is productive of definite good, as may be discovered by listening to the remarks of the children, some of which are startlingly psychological. There is, to be sure, a negative element represented by the pirate captain, whose gruesomeness has frightened a few children, but his humor is so enchanting and so obvious to even the little ones, that it becomes the dominating impression as the play goes on, and makes Captain Hook a great favorite. There have been rumors of the over-imaginative child contemplating trying to fly out the window at night — every child who has seen the play has of course tried to play Peter Pan and tried to fly — but the wise mother and teacher can lead back gently and wisely these exceptional minds and guide them to a happy balance between fact and fancy.

Page 363: This Peter Pan play belongs particularly to the children, a certain group of whom know the big and little actors of the company. Some of the members of the company have attended with much interest the “performances” given by these youthful enthusiasts and have laughed heartily over the remarkably good representation they have given of the different characters. This group usually managed to attend the play the same day and meet after the performance to wait at the stage door, a temptation too great to be resisted. ……. There is a hush, a sudden expectancy — “She’s coming!” One child is at the carriage door to open it for her. Yes, there is “Peter Pan,” who becomes after the play the lady who has your heart’s devotion. You give her flowers and you hear her soft, “Oh, thank you.” Then you dare to say, “Oh, Miss Adams, please give me a thimble.” She stoops down and you take one while the others look on, envying you, yes, but also rejoicing at your good fortune.

Oh, the letters and the presents that children send this Peter, and what incidents there are to tell! What she said, what she did (it’s “frightfully” confusing to know whether to say “he” or “she”), if she smiled at you when she picked up your flowers; whether she looked at your box when she sang “Sally in our Alley,” which song no one else in all the world can sing as sweetly as “the darling of your heart.”

Page 366: Is Peter Pan indifferent to all this worship? No indeed; in a hundred ways, as her free hours will allow, she shows her appreciation of all this devotion and the pleasure which she derives from it. There are the autographed pictures, the loving notes, the never-to-be-forgotten honor of going to see her. She makes you realize that the fairies are about, for one day a package is brought to the house and inside is a silver thimble on which is inscribed, “A thimble from Maude Adams.” Other young people have received tiny gold thimbles and wear them around their necks on gold chains. Everything there is to tell would fill a book.

That this enthusiastic appreciation of the play, this devotion to her who has given such an exquisite representation of Peter Pan, may prove itself to be more than mere emotionalism, and express itself in some beneficial action, a group of new York children have formed themselves into a “Peter Pan Band of Workers for Crippled Children.” their first work will be to furnish a boys’ room in the Darrach home, and as the little band grows in members it is hoped that sufficient funds will be raised for the rental or purchase of a house which shall be known as “Wendy House.” A real home will be provided and a “mother” found for these “lost” boys and girls who will be educated to the end of their becoming self-supporting. Perhaps in time they can be taught to fly!

Already Peter Pan has inspired artists and sculptors and a Peter Pan party given in New York last spring at the Waldorf-Astoria, showed an interesting collection of novelties and many ways of carrying out Peter Pan ideas.

A statue by Mrs. Sallie James Farnham is an expression of a spirit of joy which has come to gladden the world. It suggests the pirate ship scene where Captain Hook, circumvented in all his wickedness by Peter and feeling himself to be worsted, cries out, “Who are you?” Mrs. Farnham’s statue is an interpretation of Peter’s answer, which is summed up in the words, “I am Joy!”

Peter is transfigured — the merry, mischievous boy becomes another character and we read a new and deeper meaning in the play. Not by the skill of his swordsmanship nor by the cleverness of his schemes does Peter Pan conquer the captain — it is just the old allegory of love and innocence driving out wrong.

In our second article, next month, will give given full directions for a Peter Pan party or entertainment, for the children or for grown people.

Page 514: A Peter Pan Party

A Peter Pan party provides a new and unique form of entertainment. Children and grown persons who have not heard the story nor seen the play will find the parties an interesting introduction which will inspire them to read The Little White Bird and the play story.

These parties may take the form of a home party for children, a luncheon or entertainment for grownups, or be given as a sale for some charity. The peter Pan table might be one of the features of a fair.

For the benefit of those who know the fairy chapters of Mr. Barrie’s book, and for those who do not, it adds to the interest of the party to carry out certain ideas from the book story, for not to have read these adventures of Peter Pan is to miss a great treat.

The decorations, which should be planned to represent fairy gardens, are important and are easy to arrange for out-of-door parties, but difficult and expensive for those given indoors in the city, where it will be found that evergreens give the best effect for the least expenditure. The invitations to the parties vary according to the ingenuity of the sender. At the first Peter Pan party (sale), given for the purpose of introducing the novelties and bringing a number of children together to interest them in the Peter Pan band of workers for crippled children, the invitations read: Queen Mab bids you to a Peter Pan party which is to be given in the Fairy Gardens of the Waldorf-Astoria, on Friday, April 27, 1906, from 2 until 10 o’clock. Delightful adventures await those who believe in fairies. Novelties of Peter Pan interest will be for sale. A “Wendy House” will be occupied by some Fairy Tailors, who will be pleased to measure dolls for Peter Pan suits. Admissions fifty cents. Special adventures for grownups in the evening. For tickets address, the Mistress of Ceremonies.

With the charity for which it is to be given named, this form of invitation would be appropriate for a fair. The entrance to a fair or sale would be arranged to fit this sign, which, as one of many quotations or ideas from the story, gives a real Peter Pan atmosphere: “Second turning to the right and straight on till morning.”

Page 515: An appropriate motto for the photograph table is “Tiger Lily’s” tribute to Peter: “Peter Pan is the Sun — He is the Moon — He is the Stars — Peter Pan is a Lump of Delight.” At this table the plaster casts of Peter Pan will be sold — the standing figure by Mrs. Sallie James Farnham, the attractive Peter Pan playing his pipes, by Miss Laura Gardin, and her statue bust, which is a very suggestive likeness of Miss Adams as Peter Pan. Photographs of these casts and of Mr. John Alexander’s painting, which shows Peter flying; the Sarony pictures of Miss Adams as Peter Pan; the scenes from the play by Hall; the miniature pictures by H.J. Walsh and others, which can be copied from the cabinets; the postal cares — all of these can be framed in various ways; in leather, burnt or carved, wood, brass, silver, etc., or in wood frames for the wall. The Peter Pan miniature buttons are an important novelty; each child is sure to want one.

Page 516: Postal card albums for a complete collection of Miss Adams’ pictures, bound in leather, and leather bound copies of The Little White Bird, and of the book of the play, give an opportunity for artistic work, and the worker in jewelry gives us gold and silver lockets a Peter Pan hatpin, a fairy pin, and a child’s Peter Pan silver set for the table.

……

“’Twas Peter Pan cut off my hand and flung it to a crocodile that happened to be passing by. He was so pleased with the taste of my hand that he has followed me ever since from sea to sea, licking his lips for the rest of me.”

“A pretty compliment I call that,” says the pirate Smee.

“I want no such compliments,” thunders the irate Captain, shaking threateningly at poor Smee the hooked hand which he wars in place of his own.

Peter Pan pennants are decorative, and are cut from green or autumn leaf crepe tissue paper and marked “Peter Pan” in red, with the familiar gummed letters. A miniature picture of peter Pan is posted at the end and the pennants, touched at the edges with gold paint, make very attractive gifts. Small tenants sell well. ……. The Peter pan china sets can be displayed at this table; the designs are very attractive and a set will rival the lovely Mother Goose china which has given children so much pleasure. Little boy dolls (pretty jointed ones come in china) riding on goats, are an important acquisition for suggesting the Peter of the book story.

Another table will show the night lamps for the nursery. (“They are the eyes a mother leaves behind her to guard her sleeping children.”) some attractive work in Peter Pan designs has been done in brass, by Ernest Chapman. The “Wendy House” lamp is very suggestive, even to the knocker. It is to hang on the wall and use with candle. Hanging electric light shades and candle screens and shades, which are very useful for home parties, show many interesting designs. There is also a fine pirate-lamp made to carry, and just the thing with which to hunt a “doodledoo” in the summer. ….. Page 517: For the candy table, boxes can be found in shapes that are suggestive of the story; pumpkins which are used in the play for seats; mushrooms, which are fairy seats; kennels for dear Nana; pianos, suggestive of Peter’s listening to Mrs. Darling as she plays on “the box,” making it say, “Come home, Wendy.” Sticks of twisted can cut into different lengths and tied with ribbon (they can be ordered made that way) are lovely Peter Pan pipes. Baskets for candy may be tied with ribbons, gold-lettered to say “Peter Pan is a Lump of Delight.” ……. A porch covered with these roses made a lovely “Wendy House” at a summer party. A simple arrangement of wooden clotheshorse and denim, as carried out in the play, will be satisfactory. A table outside the House can hold the dolls, dressed in the Peter Pan suit of forest green and in the Indian suit of white. The dressing of the dolls is no small task if the suits recopied in detail from the original costumes. It is difficult to obtain the shade of gray green or any material like Peter’s green suit, but a mercerized merino or watered silk is the material most like it. The bottoms of the sleeves and coat are pointed with autumn leaves. The belts are cut from ooze calf and fastened with hook and eye. The little buckles for them are taken from the kid slippers, which must be painted the proper shade of green (water color), and the stockings must be dyed to match and laced with green ribbon. The Indian suits of white cloth, with fringing and little nickel buttons, are very pretty. The belt can be of stitched cloth or leather; the moccasins and leggings are made more easily from the white material. The fur for the hat can be obtained at small cost from a furrier.

Suggestions for the ice cream and lemonade tables will be made later in the article, in connection with home parties. The music is an important feature of the Peter Pan entertainments, and can be limited to piano selections, but merits the additional enjoyment given by the violin and cello.

For the home parties, the table can be effectively decorated with the autumn-leaf paper and the room with greens, with pictures of Peter Pan about. The table is set with plates on which are painted pictures of Peter, Nana, Captain Hook, the crocodile, etc., with the silver in Peter Pan designs.

Page 518: Two of the candles have the appropriate screens and two have shades. A “Wendy House” lamp hangs from the wall, while the electric light has its shade. At each place is a Peter Pan motto, made of fringed autumn-leaf paper, with miniature procures of Peter pasted on it. A gold cord pulled brings out a nickel bell, a souvenir of “Tinker Bell,” Peter’s little fairy. Inside the motto is found a quotation form the play, a Peter Pan cap (made of green tissue paper with red tissue feature), and some miniature souvenirs, among them a workbasket marked “Wendy” (so Wendy can sew on Peter’s shadow); a black china hat marked “John” (and we remember how John’s hat is used, as a chimney for Wendy’s house); a little bird; a baby doll; a metal whistle with a rooster design. (“I can never help crowing when I do something fine,” says Peter, whose “cock-a-doodle-doo” is one of the events of the play.) A thimble is there also, one of celluloid, for we wish only the one, “whose mouth is full of thimbles,” to bestow silver and gold ones, for she first thought of this pretty idea.

Candy boxes are at each place, and Peter Pan buttons, without which no party would be complete. Each girl receives as a gift, a “Lost Boy” in a perambulator, while the boys receive crocodiles. Other novelties are used for gifts, according to the limit of expenditure.

The ice cream is in appropriate shapes — crocodiles, pirates, Indians, babies, lions, thimbles, birds, autumn leaves, roosters. The cakes are in the shape of autumn leaves and are iced with letters which read, “Believe in Fairies,” and stamped on the punch glasses which are later given to the children is the same request. On a large punch bowl painted especially for the party, you may read: “Peter Pan Pirate Poison. It will not not hurt you if you believe in Fairies.”

As a last surprise comes the “Peter Pan poisoned pirate cake.” This consists of triangular boxes (pieces cut and pasted together with passepartout paper), each box representing a slice of cake and all fitted together so as to make the poisoned cake with Captain Hook prepared for the Lost Boys; “for having no mother,” said he, “they do not know how dangerous it is to eat rich, damp, cake.” But owing to the fact that Wendy came to be mother to the boys, the Captain was again thwarted. Inside each box are small toys suggestive of the pirates: a crocodile, tomahawk, bow and arrow, clock, pistol, pirate lamp, sword, rooster and American flag.

The ice cream, cake and lemonade will be introduced in the same way at a fair, and the pirate cake at so much a slice is a novelty which sells well.

Page 519: Two games have been originated for the home parties or other entertainments. One is entitled, “Fastening the shadow on Peter Pan,” which reminds us of how the hero lost his shadow at Mrs. Darling’s, and of how Wendy assisted him to attach it to himself once more. A painted figure of Peter Pan on white paper muslin, with a small paper circle for each child, make up the game, which is played like the donkey game. Where the head of the shadow touches, the paper circle, with the child’s name written on it, is pinned, and whoever gets the shadow head nearest the head of the figure wins the first prize. The prizes can be chosen from the novelties not used at the party — a cast, a piece of brass work, silver, etc., which makes a more expensive gift. ……. The possibilities are many for giving Peter Pan entertainment; the children can use their ingenuity in thinking up new ideas and their elders will find inspiration for some beautiful work along various lines.

Peter Pan, this “most wonderfulest boy in the world,” has won for himself a unique place in the child’s life and in the story world. The story suggests the Pied Piper myth and its analogy to Nature — the sadness of the autumn and the desolation of winter, when the children are away — but has a happy ending, a spring gladness, for the children return again to their waiting mother.

Peter Pan is now a fairy boy, now a mythical hero and now a dear “human,” moving us to laughter and to tears. He calls us to the joy of life — we stop to listen — then turn to follow, led by a little child.

The novelties originated for Peter Pan parties are the result of much thought and search and are to be obtained in many different ways. Those wishing to purchase them may send in their orders to this Magazine. Catalogs showing pictures of the various novelties and giving prices will be sent on receipt of a two-cent stamp.

Anyone wishing to submit original novelties may do so through the Magazine. The present writer is the original designer of Peter pan parties and is desirous of aiding the movement in so far as her time will permit.

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rsetton · 6 years

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Sexing the Cherry, Jeanette Winterson

“The Hopi, an Indian tribe, have a language as sophisticated as ours, but no tenses for past, present and future. The division does not exist. What does this say about time?

Matter, that thing the most solid and the well-know, which you are holding in your hands and which makes up your body, is now known to be mostly empty space. Empty space and points of light. What does this say about the reality of the world?”

“Every journey conceals another journey within its lines: the path not take and the forgotten angle. These are the journeys I wish to record. Not the ones I made, but the ones I might have made or perhaps did make in some other place or time.”

“For the Greeks, the hidden life demanded invisible ink. They wrote an ordinary letter and in between the lines set out another letter, written in milk. The document looked innocent enough until one who knew better sprinkled coal-dust over it. What the letter had been no longer mattered; what mattered was the life flaring up undetected...”

“I was giving myself the slip and walking through this world like a shadow. The longer I eluded myself the more obsessed I became with the thought of discovery. Occasionally, in company, someone would snap their fingers in front of my face and ask, ‘Where are you?’ For a long time I had no idea, but gradually I began to find evidence of the other life and gradually it appeared before me.”

“So I sing inside the mountain of my flesh, and my voice is as slender as a reed and my voice has no lard in it. When I sing the dogs sit quiet and people who pass in the night stop their jabbering and discontent and think of other times, when they were happy. And I sing of other ties, when I was happy, though I know that these are figments of my mind and nowhere I have ever been. But does it matter if the place cannot be mapped as long as I can still describe it?”

“To escape from the weight of the world, I leave my body where it is, in conversation or at dinner, and walk through a series of winding streets to a house standing back from the road.

The streets are badly lit and the distance from one side to the other no more than the span of my arms. The stone crumbles, the cobbles are uneven. The people who throng the streets shout at each other, their voices rising from the mass of heads and floating upwards towards the church spires and the great copper bells that clang the end of the day. Their words, rising up, form a thick cloud over the city, which every so often must be thoroughly cleansed of too much language. Men and women in balloons fly up from the main square and, armed with mops and scrubbing brushes, do battle with the canopy of words trapped under the sun.

The words resist erasure. The oldest and most stubborn form a thick crust of chattering rage. Cleaners have been bitten by words still quarreling, and in one famous lawsuit a woman whose mop had been eaten and whose hand was badly mauled by a vicious row sought to bring the original antagonists to court. The men responsible made their defense on the grounds that the words no longer belonged to them. Years had passed. Was it their fault if the city had failed to deal with its overheads? The judge ruled against the plaintiff but ordered the city to buy her a new mop. She was not satisfied, and was later found lining the chimneys of her accused with vitriol.”

“When Jordan was a boy he made paper boats and floated them on the river. From this he learned how the wind affects a sail, but he never learned how love affects the heart. His patience was exceeded only by his hope. He spent days and nights with his bits of wood salvaged from chicken crates, and any piece of paper he could steal became a sail. I used to watch him standing in the mud or lying face down, his nose almost in the current, his hands steadying the boat and then letting it go straight into the wind. Letting go hours of himself. When the time came he did the same with his heart. He didn’t believe in shipwreck.”

“The house is empty now, but it was there, dangling over dinner, illuminated by conversation and rich in the juices of a wild duck, that I noticed a woman whose face was a sea voyage I had not the courage to attempt.”

“...every mapped-out journey contains another journey hidden in its lines...”

“It is a true saying, that what you fear you find.”

“I noticed that women have a private language. A language not dependent on the constructions of men but structured by signs and expressions, and that uses ordinary words as code-words meaning something other.

In my petticoats I was a traveller in a foreign country. I did not speak the language. I was regarded with suspicion.

I watched women flirting with men, pleasing men, doing business with men, and then I watched them collapsing into laughter, sharing the joke, while the mean, all unknowing, felt themselves master of the situation and went off to brag in barrooms and to preach from pulpits the folly of the weaker sex.

This conspiracy of women shocked me. I like women; I am shy of them but regard them highly. I never guessed how much they hate us or how deeply they pity us. They think we are children with too much pocket money.”

“7. Men are never never to be trusted with what is closest to your heart, and if it is they who are closest to your heart, do not tell them.”

“10. Your greatest strength is that every man believes he knows the sum and possibility of every woman.”

“I am too huge for love. No one, male or female, has ever dared to approach me. They are afraid to scale mountains.”

“I fell in love once, if love be that cruelty which takes us straight to the gates of Paradise only to remind us they are close forever.”

“Was I searching for a dancer whose name I did not know or was I searching for the dancing part of myself?”

“In the dark and in the water I weigh nothing at all. I have no vanity but I would enjoy the consolation of a lover’s face. After my only excursion into love I resolved never to make a fool of myself again.”

“Why could he not turn his life towards me, as trees though troubled by the wind yet continue in the path of the sun?”

“He admitted he was in love with her, but he said he loved me.

Translated, that means I want everything. Translated, that means, I don’t want to hurt you yet. Translated, that means, I don’t know what to do, give me time.

Why, why should I give you time? What time are you giving me? I am in a cell waiting to be called for execution.

I loved him and I was in love with him. I didn’t use language to make a war-zone of my heart.”

‘You’re so simple and good,’ he said, brushing the hair from my face.

He meant, Your emotions are not complex like mine. My dilemma is poetic.”

“In the world there is a horror of plagues. Of mysterious diseases that wipe out towns and cities, leaving empty churches and bedclothes that must be burned. Holy water and crosses and mountain air and the protection of saints and a diet of watercress are all thought to save us as a species from rotting. But what can save us as a species from love? A man sold me a necklace made of chicken bones; he said these chickens were the direct descendants of the chickens who had scratted round the crib at Bethlehem. The bones would save me from pain of every kind and lead me piously to Heaven. He was wearing some himself.

‘And love?’ I said. ‘And love?’

He shook his head and assured me that nothing was proof against love. Not even the slightest amourette could be forestalled by an amulet. Bringint it on, though, was another matter- did I want a bag of spices mixed by Don Juan himself?

‘But surely if it can be encouraged it can also be prevented?’

‘Not at all,’ said the man, ‘for everyone is inclined to love. It is easy to bring on, impossible to end until it ends itself.’

‘And yet some people never love. My mother is one such.’

He said, ‘They have a secret somewhere. Usually.’

I thought of the great lovers, men and women who had made it their profession, who had tirelessly leapt from one passion to another, sometimes running two, three or four at once like a stunt charioteer. What were they looking for?

My own passions had nothing to recommend them. Not only was I chasing a dancer who, on the evidence of her sisters, was too old to move, I had in the past entangled myself in numerous affairs with women who would not, could not or did not love me. And did I love them? I thought so at the time, though now I have come to doubt it, seeing only that I loved myself through them.

On more than one occasion I have been ready to abandon my whole life for love. To alter everything that makes sense to me and to move into a different world where the only known will be the beloved. Such a sacrifice must be the result of love... or is it that the life itself was already worn out? I had finished with that life, perhaps, and could not admit it, being stubborn or afraid, or perhaps did not know it, habit being a great binder.

I think it is often so that those most in need of change choose to fall in love and then throw up their hands and blame it all on fate. But it is not fate, at least, not if fate is something outside of us; it is a choice made in secret after nights of longing.

When I have shaken off my passion, somewhat as a dog shakes off an unexpected plunge into the canal, I find myself without any understanding of what it was that ravaged me. The beloved is shallow, witless, heartless, mercenary, calculating, silly. Naturally these thoughts protect me, but they also render me entirely gullible or without discrimination.

And so I will explain it as follows.

A man or woman sunk in dreams that cannot be spoken, about a life they do not possess, comes suddenly to a door in the wall. They open it. Beyond the door is that life and a man or a woman to whom it is already natural. It may not be possessions they want, it may very well be the lack of them, but the secret life is suddenly revealed. This is their true home and this is their beloved.

I may be cynical when I say that very rarely is the beloved more than a shaping spirit for the lover’s dreams. And perhaps such a thing is enough. To be a muse may be enough. The pain is when the dreams change, as they do, as they must. Suddenly the enchanted city fades and you are left alone again in the windy desert. As for your beloved, she didn’t understand you. The truth is, you never understood yourself.”

“In an effort to find out I am searching for a dancer who may or may not exist, though I was never conscious of beginning this journey. Only in the course of it have I realized its true aim. When I left England I thought I was running away. Running away from uncertainty and confusion but most of all running away from myself. I though I might become someone else in time, grafted on to something better and stronger. And then I saw that the running away was a running towards. An effort to catch up with my fleet-footed self, living another life in a different way.

I gave chase in a ship, but others make the journey without moving at all. Whenever someone’s eyes glaze over, you have lost them. They are as far from you as if their body were carried at the speed of light beyond the compass of the world.

Time has no meaning, space and place have no meaning, on this journey. All times can be inhabited, all places visited. In a single day the mind can make a millpond of the oceans. Some people who have never crossed the land they were born on have travelled all over the world. The journey is not linear, it is always back and forth, denying the calendar, the wrinkles and lines of the body. The self is not contained in any moment or any place, but it is only in the intersection of moment and place that the self might, for a moment, be seen vanishing through a door, which disappears at once.”

“The earth is round and flat at the same time. This is obvious. That it is round appears indisputable; that it is flat is our common experience, also indisputable. The globe does not supersede the map; the map does not distort the globe.

Maps are magic. in the bottom corner are whales; at the top, cormorants carrying pop-eyed fish. In between is a subjective account of the lie of the land. Rough shapes of countries that may or may not exist, broken red lines marking paths that are at best hazardous, at worst already gone. Maps are constantly being re-made as knowledge appears to increase. But is knowledge increasing or is detail accumulating?

A map can tell me how to find a place I have not seen but have often imagined. When I get there, following the map faithfully, the place is not the place of my imagination. Maps, growing ever more real, are much less true.

And now, swarming over the earth with our tiny insect bodies and putting up flags and building houses, it seems that all the journeys are done.

Not so. Fold up the maps and put away the globe. If someone else had charted it, let them. Start another drawing with whales at the bottom and cormorants at the top, and in between identify, if you can, the places you have not found yet on those other maps, the connections obvious only to you. Round and flat, only a very little has been discovered.”

“In time all of the people started to adjust to their new rolling circumstances and it was discovered that the best way to overcome the problem was to balance above it.”

“Perhaps I’m missing the point--perhaps whilst looking for someone else you might come across yourself unexpectedly, in a garden somewhere or on a mountain watching the rain.”

“What do I want?

When I’m dreaming I want a home and a lover and some children, but it won’t work. Who’d want to live with a monster? I may not look like a monster any more but I couldn’t hide it for long. I’d break out, splitting my dress, throwing the dishes at the milkman if he leered at me and said, ‘Hello, darling.’ The truth is I’ve lost patience with this hypocritical stinking world. I can’t take it any more. I can’t flatter, lie, cajole or even smile very much. What is there to smile about?

‘You don’t try,’ my mother said. ‘It’s not so bad.’

It is so bad.

‘You’re pretty,’ said my father, ‘any man would want to marry you.’

Not if he pulled back my eyelids, not if he peeped into my ears, not if he looked down my throat with a torch, not if he listened to my heartbeat with a stethoscope. He’d run out of the room holding his head. He’d see her, the other one, lurking inside. She fits, even though she’s so big.”

“What would it matter if she crossed the world and hunted down every living creature so long as her separate selves eluded her? In the end when no one was left she would have to confront herself.”

“No safety without risk, and what you risk reveals what you value.”

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