#i love both my children equally &y et

[partiallystcrs]

                     @narrativeplaced said : yakko + felicity!

i swear this started off smaller , anyway read more for length . 

multi muse ask meme !!  //  accepting .

their general personality *  yakko is childish .  he was designed that way . he loves popping out of places he literally shouldn’t be , & poking fun where fun is to be poked . he doesn’t do it to be mean , & readily apologizes when he should . he’s always trying to put a ‘ happy - go - lucky ’ face out , but he does in fact have his serious moments .  these moments are rarely , if ever shown to strangers , & if shown AT ALL , he deflects as quickly as he can .  

their hobbies *  yakko really loves to read , secretly knits , & karaoke 

things they like * he loves pop music , taking strolls down hollywood blvd & terrifying celebrities , disney princes bc they have That Look , & breaking the fourth wall . 

things they dislike * shrill noises , adults that treat him like a child ( a note : he’s nearly a hundred years old ( no really , he was created in the 1930′s )) when he’s NOT acting like a child , corporate america . 

some things people do that annoy them * children under five grab at his tail , that’s a big thing .  he also loathes being talked over. 

how easily they form friendships * very easily .  might be your friend way before you ever are his friend .  he’s a very caring toon , it takes a lot for him to make enemies . 

how easily they get crushes * easily . he’s a daydreamer , & also was designed to look for attractive people  (  times have changed since the 30s , he’s working on not catcalling & leaping into the arms of & kissing every attractive person he sees ). he’ll hold onto a crush for a long time .

the kind of person they get along with the best *  kind people . he really gets along best with those who are understanding of his situation . being locked in a water tower for most of your life stunts most forms of growth , & though he looks & sounds like a child , the people who treat him like an adult are the best kinds of people in his book . 

the kind of person they get along with the worst * greedy people . again , he was literally locked in a water tower for decades . though canonically it was because ‘ they were too zany ‘ it’s not a stretch to say it was the animator’s & studio greed that did this to them . bullies he can handle , he’s literally always carrying a mallet , but those certain , hateful , greedy people are those that get under his skin so badly he can’t even look at them . 

whether or not they could get along with your muse(s) *  abso-froot-ly.   he’s a very kind soul , just childish .  his human verse ( carlos valdes fc ) differs only in , you know , he’s not 90 - odd years old , & thus , he can get along with nearly everyone in your muse list ( aside from your twilight muses .   he can’t acknowledge twilight as a thing ). 

their general personality * felicity is a quiet , kind soul . she’s also very chaotic . not in a bad way , but in a ‘ sitting in a diner wearing the spider suit without the mask ‘ chaotic .  she’s also once accidentally kicked off her boot mid swing . it hit a pedestrian . 

their hobbies * fighting crime , making care packages for people , reading declassified SHIELD files . 

things they like * the adrenaline rush of plummeting fifty stories only to yeet yourself up seventy more ,  once was a pole vaulter & now enjoys watching others , strawberry milkshakes .  showing off how physically fit she’s become since becoming spiderman ( search youtube for  video proof , an anonymous avenger posts weekly workout videos , felix bench-pressing avengers is a recurring thing ). 

things they dislike * ‘ hey it’s spider girl / woman ’. converse ( no real support !! ) , buildings with no wifi ( she is a Literal Student & no wifi = no classes ), vanilla milkshakes 

some things people do that annoy them * there’s the occasional person who tries to take a picture under her skirt while she swings by , a villain who monologues , the occasional heckler . 

how easily they form friendships * she’s the kind of friend you don’t realize you have as a friend because she slips into your life so easily .  she’s also the kind of person who really depends on her friendships & the trust built bc she’s so ? loose ? with her secret identity .  too many people know who she is , but she doesn’t realize this , & the people who care end up being her best friends , since they keep her secret better than she can . 

how easily they get crushes * she once got hit in the face by one of scream’s hosts’  & she still daydreams about her to this day .  she gets the type of crush where you think about them for every second , but never actually do anything abt it bc she’s so busy. 

the kind of person they get along with the best * people who can ground her , remind her to care about herself .  she spends an exhausting amount of time putting others first , & the people who help her to eat , sleep , get patched up , are the people she unintentionally sticks around with most .  

the kind of person they get along with the worst * is it a cop out to say villains / bad guys ?  

whether or not they could get along with your muse(s) * specifically she’d love to meet wanda , her universe’s scarlet witch died before she could really know her . also her universe’s bucky lets her bench- press him  , would yours ?  realistically , i think she could get along great with your muses , she’s a pretty friendly person , even under the mask .

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage (Mycroft Holmes x Reader) Part 4

A/N- Hoping this one has come out a bit happier than the last instalment! I’m trying my best to not write Mycroft too out of character and focusing on how much more emotion he had displayed in season 4.. I have a few more chapters planned out so far and I am hoping to, at the very least, update weekly! I hope you all enjoy this chapter and, please, don’t forget to leave a comment letting me know what you think! Kind words or constructive criticism are always welcomed and inspire me to write more! Thank you!

Word Count: 4416

"Did you fancy doing anything else today? Well, this evening I suppose suits better." You asked Mycroft, clearing up the plates from dinner. Dinner here being a term used loosely- after the emotional turmoil only a few hours ago at the revelation of both yesterday's events and your inner attractions, neither of you particularly felt like cooking, or eating for that matter, and settled on a sandwich just to provide some energy.

The energy of the room had felt different now, now that everything was in the open, now that the pair of you had finally broken that barrier to move further in your relationship. It was nice, calming. The pair of you weren't children, the confirmation of shared attraction didn't mean you immediately jumped each other, or feel the need to be constantly touching in some aspect or another- but the mere idea of knowing that the attraction between you was mutual, and that you wanted to act upon that was more than enough for now. It felt incredible.

"Mmm, what did you have in mind?" He hummed back, standing from the small table in the kitchen to help you with the washing up- not that you weren't fully capable of doing so yourself, it just felt nice acting a little domestic- electing to wash the dishes himself and leaving you to dry them and put them back in the cupboard. You shrugged, closing the cupboard's door and leaning against the counter.

"St James' is just round the corner isn't it? We could go for a walk? The weather is oddly nice for September." You suggested, grinning as you watched Mycroft look down at his current attire of jogging bottoms and a band t-shirt. You didn't need the power of a Holmes to know what that face meant. "Compromise. You don't have to wear the joggers in public, but you also cannot wear a suit, I swore against it."

"If you're suggesting for me to leave my home in my undergarments you've completely lost your mind." You looked at Mycroft and allowed his brain to think a little more. "Oh bugger you can't mean-"

"You and I both know you have a pair of jeans in your wardrobe Myc. Joggers or Jeans, the choice is yours." Mycroft opened and closed his mouth multiple times before rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded Latin. "Oi at least have the decency to do it in French so I have a chance of understanding what you say when you swear at me." You quipped, jokingly throwing two fingers up at him as he gave in and sulked up the stairs.

"Tu seras la mort de moi." His voice was still quiet, but loud enough for you to understand him.

"Et pourtant tu serais perdu sans moi." You shouted back, teasing a little. Mycroft didn't answer but smiled to himself as he walked into his bedroom, agreeing with you completely but too high in his pride to admit it. Downstairs, you rummaged through the other bags from Anthea, feeling thankful as you saw that she had equally bought you some hoodies too, pulling on a maroon one before grabbing and sliding on your boots. A few minutes later you heard Mycroft's voice from upstairs, muffled completely excluding the 'goodbye' that sounded as he left the bedroom and made his way down the stairs. "Planning my arrest were you? Should I be expected to enter the park to MI6 agents dragging me into a car and shipping me off somewhere for forcing the British government into denim?" You turned around and saw him in his change of attire, whistling approvingly at the sight of him in the dark grey pair of jeans you had bought him a few years ago- 'because you cannot walk into a pub wearing anything purchased on Savile Row, Mycroft'- and the navy blue blazer he had chosen to match with them; the small evidence of The Who's logo peeking out slightly between the lapels. It was seldom Mycroft wore such casual clothing, but feeling welcomed by your reaction certainly made him more comfortable. Maybe at some point you'd tell him it's because those jeans make his bum look incredible. Mycroft's cheeks flushed and he shook his head, ignoring the noise of encouragement you had made.

"MI5, actually, but do not be too alarmed- I've insisted they only use force if absolutely necessary." He teased, hoisting his scarf from the coat rack by the front door and expertly wrapping it around his neck. You jabbed him lightly in the arm, knowing he was joking but equally wanting to make sure the phone call wasn't from Sherlock already pestering him about something or another. "It's fine, truly. Nothing to cause government upset.. only public." You went to question what he meant but was instead caught off guard by him eyeing you up. "Are you really going out.. in that?" Mycroft gestured to your clothing and for a brief moment you felt a little insecure, frowning slightly at him. He caught on immediately and apologised. "No- I mean.. You will likely get cold, will you not? A hooded sweatshirt isn't the warmest item of clothing I can offer you." You grinned at his concern and just passed him his beloved umbrella (it wasn't raining, but that didn't make a difference) before opening the front door.

"Myc I have pulled bodies out of the River Thames wearing nothing more than a pencil skirt and a blouse, I will be fine." You grabbed his hand and tugged him outside, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to argue back but he knew any attempt would be futile- you both knew that you could be more stubborn than Mycroft and so he didn't wish to cause harm on what could be a splendid evening. You took your normal position beside Mycroft, your hand resting in the crook of his elbow, while his rested in his pocket, the other holding onto his umbrella handle. The chill of London's air brushed the back of your neck, leading you to pull the hood of your jumper over your head before continuing your walk, not allowing Mycroft to have the pleasure of knowing he was right. but also not missing the smirk that tugged at his lips as he noticed- of course he bloody did.

The short walk to the park was in a comfortable silence. Mycroft found himself thinking over today's events, how even he couldn't have predicted that this would be how it would end. He was certain you would have left earlier, he'd even prepared himself for the chances of a punch to his nose in anger, and so never in his right mind did he expect you to stay, let alone embrace him while he cried, forgive him for the unforgivable, to... kiss him. He felt childish thinking back on it, but he kept replaying that moment over in his mind. It wasn't a proper kiss, it was barely there at all, and yet, if Mycroft thought hard enough he could still feel the light pressure of your lips on his, and it left him eager for more.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Your voice distracted him as you walked down the final street before the park. He blinked, looking down at you, at your joint arms and offering a smile.

"Just that I didn't expect today to happen the way that events turned out." You opened your mouth to make a comment about how Mycroft knew everything but he cut you off. "I deduce, I cannot predict the future, Y/N."

"But you can mind read?" He raised his other hand, one finger to his mouth in a 'shhh' motion and you grinned.

"Penny for yours?" You hummed in response as you looked at yourself in the reflection of a car window and pouted, rounding the corner to walk through the park's gates.

"I look like an egg." Mycroft let out a rare laugh, caught off guard by your answer. "That you do, my dear. But a rather beautiful egg." It was your turn to flush now. Getting any form of compliment from Mycroft Holmes was a rarity, and when they did come to surface they were usually on one's intellectual skills, or the times where you'd go out to a fancy restaurant and he would claim 'your dress' was beautiful, but never you directly. Your lack of response made Mycroft nervous and he spoke again. "Apologies, upon reflection that was a very backhanded compliment." You squeezed his arm and nudged yourself in closer, welcoming in the warmth his body was emitting.

"No no, I am incredibly flattered to be deemed a beautiful egg." You laughed. "It would make a lovely epitaph don't you thi-." He tensed. "Yeah, sorry, bit soon." You continued your walk for a little further before something clicked in your mind and you stopped in your tracks. Mycroft stumbled a little at the sudden cease in movement and shot you a confused glare. "Myc.. There's nobody else here."

"Excellent observation, Y/N. I now understand why you're so well respected down the Yard."

"Git. I meant.. we're in one of the most tourist centred parts of London, in the early evening, and there's nobody here." Mycroft raised his nose a little in the air, a movement witnessed by anybody else that would be mistaken for smugness, or being pretentious. But on Mycroft you knew it meant he felt a little embarrassed, raising his head ever so higher so you couldn't see the dusting of red on his cheeks. "The phone call... Mycroft bloody Holmes did you abuse your power as a government official to rent out the entirety of St James' park so that nobody would have to see you in your jeans?" He avoided your gaze and you began to laugh, removing your hand from his arm as you wiped a tear that spilled down your cheek out of amusement before tugging him over to a bench that was a few feet away.

"Should I not have?" His tone was light, relaxed knowing that you weren't mad with him and that you found the situation entertaining.

"It's not that.. It's just that nobody else WOULD." You rubbed your numbing fingers together and tucked them inside the sleeve of your hoodie. "You. Are an extraordinary man, Mr Holmes. You never cease to amaze me." He smiled softly, tentatively reaching over to take your half sleeve covered hand into his own pale one.

"And you, are freezing." He commented. You dismissed his assessment and instead focused on the view in front of you, the slight appearance of the London Eye poking above some trees from across the Thames.

"After living here for so long, sometimes I forget how beautiful London truly is." You spoke, shuffling the rest of your hand from your sleeve to lace your fingers between his. He hummed in agreement as he watched on. "And you stole this view from thousands of visitors this evening for the sake of your own dignity and so we could be alone. What do you have? People guarding every entrance? A few loitering around somewhere to make sure there were no stragglers? Christ are they armed? It just so.. so.." Mycroft felt himself become uncomfortable.

"I can be a very selfish person Y/N, you know that."

"I was going to say sexy but now I feel as though I'm not being as sympathetic to the tourists as you were expecting me to be." Mycroft tensed again and you leant to rest your head on his shoulder. "You should probably try to get used to that. I've been waiting a fairly long time to actively be allowed to say things like that to you and it not sound really weird, so I'm making up for lost time."

"How long?" His voice was quiet, likely his mind recovering from you, for the second time that day, calling him such a thing. It wasn't that he didn't like it, he was extremely flattered, but he just found it very hard to believe that you truly thought that way about him; that anyone could. You thought for a moment, childishly using your fingers to count.

"How long since I realised I had a thing for you? As of today it's been 5 years, 3 months and 17 days.. or, in less creepy terms to not make it seem like I've been counting, 2 weeks before I broke up with Thomas. It didn't feel fair to keep dragging him along, especially when I started to look forward to meeting you for dinner much more than I did meeting him for our weekly date night. He's a lovely guy and deserved more than that. I tried for those couple of weeks to get over it but I couldn't." Mycroft stayed silent but you could practically hear his brain whirring. "How long did I wish that you somehow felt the same way about me? Probably 5 minutes after the last thought." You laughed, feeling ridiculous for sounding like a school girl with a crush. "What about you? Pining after me for long or just spontaneously after I kissed you?" You joked, trying to make the whole ordeal feel a little less embarrassing. Mycroft shifted in his seat, laying his focus in the warmth that he could feel spreading to your hand that he held in his. He wasn't the type for large exclamations of emotion, or really speaking about the way he feels at all. But, upon hearing your revelation, he bit the bullet and spoke.

"I have never been the kind of man to experience typical human emotion. Until yourself and Gregory came along, I hadn't even the experience of having acquaintances, let alone.. friends." His eyes stayed forward, watching as the London Eye rotated slowly and focusing on its movements. "Approximately 6 months prior to the time you have mentioned, I began to realise that the way I felt towards you was far different to the way I felt about Gregory, and not the same way I feel towards Sherlock. I pressed the thought into the back of my mind for the better part of a year, before Sherlock told me that you were 'obviously' experiencing some kind of affection towards me, which I told him was preposterous, but from then the thought of you in that aspect felt welcoming. I had never expected in my life to have those kinds of emotions for anybody, let alone have them reciprocated, but I still chose to ignore them. I chose to keep you as my friend rather than risk losing you at all.. Then Eurus happened. Seeing you on that.. screen. Knowing what they could do.. Knowing I could lose you anyway.. it flicked something inside of my brain that made me regret not talking to you about it sooner. I was trying to work out the right way to bring it up, but then you did it for me." The side of his mouth flicked up into a small smile and disappeared, the embarrassment of talking so much on emotion taking over.

"You still look cute when you're embarrassed." You commented, not wanting to elaborate on his wordings more. It meant everything to you that he had even said that much, so you weren't going to push him further out of his comfort zone by pestering on. "Though as much as I'd love to look at your little flustered cheeks in this moonlight, I have to admit that you were right and I am bloody freezing, can we go back?" You took your hand back from his briefly to rub against your other one, a feeble attempt to bring warmth back into your fingertips. Though warmth soon enveloped round your neck as you felt Mycroft begin to wrap his cashmere scarf around you, folding and wrapping it expertly until you felt comfortably warm, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his cologne that loitered in the fabric.

"I'm always right." He grinned smugly, standing from the bench and offering his elbow out to you once more. You nudged it away, missing the disappointed look on Mycroft's face, before instead grabbing his hand, lacing your fingers between his and tucking them into his pocket for warmth, your other arm folding over your body to hold his arm.

"I'll prove you wrong on that at some point, mark my words." You beamed, starting the walk back to Queen Anne's Gate and relishing in the warmth of the taller man beside you. Mycroft couldn't hide the small smile that appeared on his face from your action, choosing himself to push closer and close the gap between you even more. He swiftly pulled his phone from his pocket, leaving his umbrella dangling from his wrist, as he made a quick call to Anthea.

"I suppose we better let the tourists have their park back.. at least for now." He spoke, more to you than to Anthea but nonetheless she relayed the message to security who began to pack up and reopen the gates to the public. It had barely been a minute before they had all left, all except the PA in question who watched on fondly upon seeing the pair of you leaving, fighting the urge to text the man that it was about damn time.

***

The walk back was incredibly quick and you soon found yourselves walking back through the front door, discarding layers of warmer clothing, Mycroft opting to put the sweats back on in place of his jeans.

"I'm thinking we have a cuppa and then head to bed? I'm knackered." You proposed, flicking the kettle on and settling back to rest on the edge of the kitchen counter. Mycroft hummed in agreement, reaching to grab the necessities. You quickly kicked off from the counter and wandered back into the front room, pulling Mycroft in tow. "Seems as good a time as any to have some music on, Greg made me this mixtape a few weeks ago. He said it's some classics I already love, and a bunch that I'm going to, so it sounds pretty promising." From behind you Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off. "If you're about to chastise me for calling a CD a mixtape, don't waste your breath. Mix-CD just sounds horrendous." He stayed silent, inwardly amused at the fact you hadn't even seen his face and yet knew exactly what he was going to say, and you called him the 'mind-reader'. The Kinks began to play quietly through the speakers, 'Have a Cuppa Tea' fittingly being the first song to play on shuffle. Usually you despised any type of mixtape, or 'best of' albums, claiming rather strongly that they defeated the point of artists bringing out the original albums, ruining the story behind each one. But when it came to Greg you trusted him completely with music taste and had never been disappointed thus far. The click of the kettle in the kitchen sounded, making you walk into the other room and prepare your drinks- you hadn't bothered asking Mycroft the way he had it, you had that burnt to memory years ago. Perching back onto the sofa besides Mycroft, you handed him the beverage and sighed in content.

"You missed the Sex Pistols. Forgive me if I cannot hear you for the next 20 minutes, I have a feeling that my ears have bled." He teased, taking a sip of his tea and settling it on the table beside him. Before you had a chance to answer, another Kinks song began to sound in the room, the slower rythm of Waterloo Sunset.

"You're going to pay for saying those things, you know I love the Sex Pistols." You pouted, moving your own tea to the coffee table. "I think, Mr Holmes, you need to dance with me in ways of apology." You grinned, standing up and holding your hand out to him. "It's a rare slower song from Lestrade's musical repertoire so I'm not expecting you to start headbanging or anything.."

"Do people slow dance to Rock music normally?" He asked, smiling.

"No they don't.. but when have you ever been a man who follows the rules of normality?" He took your hand at that, standing himself up and leading you to an emptier part of the room, tea forgotten. You softly placed your hands on his shoulders and rested your head on his chest, his reaching round to settle on the small of your back as you began to sway together slowly, the only sound that could be heard was the music and Mycroft's erratic heartbeat that he was sure meant he was going to have a heart attack. "See, this is nice." He hummed in agreement, the vibrations of his deep voice reaching his chest and vibrating against your cheek. "We could have done this years ago.." You commented, thinking on all the lost time you had with Mycroft, all of the years you had listened to music together and could have danced, holding each other as close as you were now.

"We'd have struggled being as Gregory only gave you this CD a few weeks ago.." You laughed and swatted his shoulder.

"You know what I mean.. oh the power of cowardice and fear." You closed your eyes, holding onto this moment as though you had never wanted it to end. Alas, the song began to come to a close, and yet neither of you made an attempt to move. The instrumental introduction to your favourite Clash song began to play and you grinned. "Now this is a song. I'm surprised Greg put it on here, I'd have thought he'd be sick of it by now with the amount of times I play it at work." As the vocals began you felt Mycroft stiffen in your arms, the fingers on the hands on your back began to dig into your skin slightly, not painful, but protective and his heartbeat picked up pace even more.

"Could we skip this one? Please?" His tone of voice was different this time, not the calm, relaxed voice that he had earlier, nor the playful one he had only moments ago. He sounded.. unsettled.

"You're joking right? Mycroft this relationship will have a rocky start if you force me to turn of The Clash at all, let alone bloody 'Death or Glory.'" He tensed again hearing the song's title.

"Please.. it's the one.." Your brain began to piece together his words and you lifted your head from its position on his chest, looking up and seeing the pained expression on his face. Of course, out of every song in the world, this was the one you were listening to when Mycroft said he saw you on the screen, inches away from death. You closed your eyes and sighed.

"I'm not letting this happen. I'm okay, I'm here, alive. This is my happy song, and I have so many wonderful memories from it." It wasn't a lie. The sound held memories of countless car rides with Greg, it was the song that played when you had the phone call about your promotion at work. It had even been playing when your sister phoned up to let you know that she was pregnant with your niece. Both times. It was a bloody good song. "I understand why you don't like it, but you just need to associate it with something better, give it a new memory." You moved your arms from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, shifting one hand to place onto his cheek as you reached yourself up on your tiptoes to become closer to his height.

You caught his focus, making his eyes land on your own rather than being dazed as his mind went back to you dancing on that screen. You leaned yourself in closer, just enough for your lips to ghost over his own, before closing the gap. Unlike the last peck you had given him, this was a far more passionate kiss, giving him the emotion you had kept pent up for the last five years. His grip on your back softened, one hand reaching to your upper back to push you closer to him, his lips moving against yours beautifully. His body began to relax, the tension in his shoulders disappeared as he leant himself forward, easing you back flat on your feet. Had you have not known any better, you would have never guessed that Mycroft had never kissed somebody before; he was just a bloody quick learner. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip softly, grinning as he let out a quiet moan. The need for air soon took over and you allowed yourself to separate, not moving any further than leaving your foreheads touching. "There. Now when we hear it, that's what you need to think of instead. Christ knows I will be." You laughed, your hands guiding themselves from his neck slowly down his chest and pushing him back slightly. "I'm going to go shower, so meet me upstairs? I know I promised more Hardy but I would really like to go to sleep if it's all the same to you." Mycroft only nodded, feeling you peck his lips once more before disappearing out of the room. The song had finished by now, having been replaced by who Mycroft believed were The Rolling Stones, but he wasn't really listening.

He stood still in his spot, mind replaying over the moment as he smiled fondly to himself. He could hear the shower running upstairs along with your voice, muffled but clear enough to understand that you were still singing along to the last song. Placing his fingers against his lips, Mycroft tried to imitate the pressure you had placed on them moments ago, thinking about how your lips felt against his, properly this time, not just the two second thing on the sofa this morning. His chest felt warm, stomach flipping and in a rare moment Mycroft felt genuinely happy. In all his life up to this moment, caring had never been an advantage, had always led to him getting hurt. But maybe, just maybe, you were right about how you were going to prove him wrong one day. And he hoped to whatever sentient being that may or not be watching over him that you were going to prove him wrong about that.

[thexfridax]

Recap/thoughts on L’Étang

Performed on 6th of June 2021, Holland Festival, Internationaal Theater Amsterdam / Rabozaal

I recently had the chance to attend Der Teich / The Pond / L’Étang written by Robert Walser and adapted by Gisèle Vienne at the Holland Festival 2021 in Amsterdam. The main reason I went was to experience the absolute force that is Adèle Haenel, but I was also intrigued about how she would interact with Ruth Vega Fernandez on stage (who I only knew from the Swedish film Kiss me / Kyss mig).

After a number of performances were postponed and subsequently cancelled in France, I wasn’t quite sure whether this one would actually go ahead. Luckily, the Covid-19 situation had improved sufficiently for a live audience to attend, albeit with a limited number of people.

Switzerland had hosted the world premiere of the play in early May, so a couple of reviews were already out (check out #L’Etang on @mlleclaudine’s blog, she has translated some of these reviews). I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect though other than French avant-garde theatre (= confusion 😊).

** SPOILERS **

The stage was dark, when the audience entered. You could spot some creepy shapes, some were clearly mannequins, but I somehow thought the actresses were already on stage, too. Watching us. (They weren’t.)

When the lights went on, a guy appeared and gently carried the mannequins off stage.

EXTREMELY loud electronic music followed, and in robo-walked Adèle as Fritz, and behind her Ruth as the mother (nameless, only her last name -Mrs Marti- is mentioned in the OG play).

They continued to robo-walk across the stage (somewhat synchronised), until everyone found their spot, very much apart from each other. You could clearly hear their breathing throughout this movement (also in the latter stages of the play).

Not much else was on stage but a bed with random clothes draped over it, and some other bits and bobs (for Fritz). There was also a wig and an ashtray (for the mother, alluding to her femme fatale status).

Adèle started to speak (in French), setting the scene for a boy who is somewhat disregarded by his mother, but longing for her…

FRITZ

Ich möchte fast lieber nirgends mehr sein, als so da sein. Nichts als böse Gesichter. Ist das ein Essen bei Tisch. […] Man darf den Mund nicht aufmachen, ohne fürchten zu müssen, den Anstand zu verletzen. Was nützt so ein Anstand? Der Paul, der darf wohl reden, der darf sich alles erlauben. An dem ist alles schön, artig, recht, nett. […] Ich muss ja glauben, nur er sei der Sohn seiner Mutter, und die Mutter habe keinen zweiten Sohn neben ihm. Nichts kann ich recht machen, ich mag mich anstellen, wie ich will. […] Wenn nur wer wüsste, wie es in mir drin aussieht. Wenn die Mutter mir nur einmal ins Herz schauen könnte. Vielleicht wäre sie erstaunt, vielleicht würde sie dann sehen, dass ich sie auch noch ein wenig gern hab. […] (Extract from Der Teich, Insel Bücherei Edition)

I’d rather not exist anymore than be like this. Only evil faces. What a meal. […] One isn’t allowed to open one’s mouth without being afraid of violating propriety. What’s the point of this kind of propriety? Paul, he is allowed to talk, he can do anything. Everything about him is lovely, good, proper, nice. […] I’m starting to believe that he is his mother’s only son, and the mother doesn’t have another one aside from him. I can’t do anything right, doesn’t matter whatever I do. […] If only anyone knew, how it looks inside of me. If the mother only looked into my heart. Maybe she would be surprised, maybe she would see that I still like her a bit. (My translation)

J’aimerais encore mieux être nulle part, plutôt qu’ici. … On n’a pas le droit d’ouvrir la bouche, de peur de blesser les convenances. À quoi ça sert, ces convenances ? Paul, lui, il a le droit de parler. Lui, il peut tout se permettre. En lui tout est beau, bien, correct, gentil. […] Je vais finir par croire qu’il est le seul fils de sa mère, et que la mère, elle n’a pas eu de deuxième fils en plus de lui. Rien de ce que je fais n’est bien, quoi que je fasse. […] Si seulement quelqu’un savait comment je suis à l’intérieur. Si ma mère pouvait regarder une seule fois dans mon coeur. Peut-être qu’elle serait étonnée, peut-être qu’elle verrait alors que moi aussi j’ai encore un peu d’amour pour elle. […] (Translated by Lucie Taïeb, in: Pièce (dé)montée : L'Etang, Gwenaëlle Hebert)

While Adèle talked, voicing multiple characters with ease (i.e. Fritz and his sister Klara), Ruth slowly walked around, and at one point intervenes in the quarrel between the siblings. She was a threatening presence, and spiteful to both of her children in the first act. Throughout the play you could see how scared Fritz was of his mother (the look of dread on Adèle’s face was shocking).

A dream like scene came next, where it wasn’t entirely clear (to me) what was happening. Fritz seemed to be dreaming of his family, being conflicted, laughing, angry, moaning … a disturbingly visceral and messy scene, where the characters all merge.

(NB: I may not remember the exact sequence of scenes or who played whom, as I was slightly stunned by this point..)

Meanwhile, Ruth transformed into the ‘good and kind’ mother of one of Fritz’s sickly friends, which made it even clearer how much Fritz suffers from the neglect of his own mother, and how isolated he is.

Maybe also by choice:

FRITZ

[…] Ich bin gern allein. Da kommen einem die Gedanken. Da stört einen niemand. – Mir ist immer, als hätte ich irgendwo etwas vergessen. Ich weiß, es ist nichts, und doch plagt es mich. Was kann es nur sein? Nichts? Da hab ich gut reden! Es ist was, aber das Dumme ist, ich hab es eben vergessen. Ich will dem Sächelchen nachgehn. Ich will zu meinem Platz im Wald gehn, vielleicht fliegt es mir dort wie ein Schmetterling zu. Warum muss man eigentlich denken? Man muss, es zwingt einen. Das ist so dumm, dass man was muss. Man sollte nichts müssen! Aber da hab ich wieder gut reden. Komm, Fritz, wir beide gehen. Ich bin doch nicht ganz allein. Der Fritz ist Fritzens Kamerad. Ich bin mir selbst mein bester Freund. – Was ich auch alles wissen muss. Eigentlich ist es zum Lachen. Aber im Wald will ich darüber nachdenken, was ich tun könnte, dass ich der Mutter – – – (as above)

[…] I like to be on my own. You can think. Nobody disturbs you. – It always seems to me, as if I had forgotten something. I know, it’s nothing, but it still haunts me. What can it be? Nothing? It’s all very well of me to say that. There is something, but the silly thing is that I forgot about it. I will look into the matter. I will go to my spot in the woods, maybe it will come to me like a butterfly. Why is it that one actually has to think? One must, one is forced to do so. It’s so silly that one has to. One shouldn’t have to do anything! But again, look who’s talking. Come on, Fritz, let’s go. I’m not quite alone. Fritz is Fritz’s companion. I am my own best friend. – Why must I know everything. It’s actually funny. But I will think about it in the woods, as to what I’m going to do, so that mother – – – (as above)

[…] J’aime bien être seul. Quand on est seul, c’est là que les pensées viennent. Personne ne vous dérange. J’ai toujours l’impression d’avoir oublié quelque chose quelque part. Je sais que ce n’est rien, pourtant ça me tourmente. Qu’est-ce que ça pourrait être ? Rien ? Facile à dire ! Non, il y a bien quelque chose, mais, bêtement, j’ai justement oublié quoi. Je vais suivre cette piste. Je vais aller dans la forêt, dans mon coin à moi, et peut-être que, là-bas, ça me reviendra ! Mais pourquoi il faut toujours penser ? On est obligé, c’est plus fort que nous. C’est tellement bête, d’être obligé. On ne devrait être obligé à rien. Facile à dire. Allez, on y va. Je ne suis pas complètement seul, après tout. Je suis mon propre meilleur ami. Et toutes ces questions que je pose. En fait ça me donne envie de rire. Mais dans la forêt, on va réfléchir à ce que je pourrais faire pour que ma mère... (as above)

And the plot thickens afterwards, his siblings become convinced that Fritz is going to drown himself in the titular pond (he hinted at it in a grand speech, according to his brother). The brother then chases after Fritz, urged by his sister to do the right thing.

Adèle is fully immersed in this scene, first voicing the siblings, then transforming back into Fritz, who is somewhat exhilarated by his own prank (she intones a sound or two, which makes me think that those singing lessons were quite successful). All to figure out if his mother cares for him or not.

It kinda worked. When Fritz returns home, he finds his distraught sister and parents. The mother sees her son for the first time as a real person (the father is angry). She calls him a man, and they temporarily connect as equals (the mother-child dynamic being interrupted). She wants this understanding to be kept as secret from the other siblings, to which Fritz agrees.

The siblings re-enact the fake drowning scene, Fritz is represented by a knife, Paul by a fork, and Klara by a little spoon. The story ends without the parents being included. (In the OG play, the mother observes this scene, and is quite moved that Fritz has kept his word of not sharing their secret. This is also part of the final act of the OG play.)

In another disturbing and weird scene, Fritz is (invisibly) choked by someone, Adèle pants and spits, but it’s not clear who the perp is (I thought, the father, but who knows). The mother(?) is standing by when this happens, and then leaves, repulsed.

At the end you can see Fritz observing his mother approaching his empty bed, picking up a pillow and holding it. Not a real closure for their characters, but it was a tender moment in a very compact and rather violent play.

Adèle seemed to have voiced the majority of the characters (children and adults), changing her voice accordingly to make them sound different in the same scene. She was often seen on the floor, stretched out, being in agony or another state of mind (or spitting). It was an intense and unsettling performance, but not to the extent that I wanted to leave the theatre 😊

Ruth did voice fewer characters (mainly the adults, maybe also one of the children). She cried heavily in one scene (sublime acting!), and by the end of the play her character seemed to have lost all of her harshness. We mostly got to know her through Fritz’s descriptions (or their interactions), she had maybe one monologue of her own (at least in the OG play). But she was omnipresent in Fritz’s mind and also during the play (she only left the stage once before the end), transforming from the devouring to the caring(?) mother. A more restrained, but still very effective performance.

I think, the (spare) use of electronic music and different lighting was in line with Fritz’s turmoil, and it wasn’t distracting from the acting. I was glad that there were subtitles, perfect for non-French speakers – though it didn’t give you a clue which character was speaking. You had to quickly switch from looking at the subs to Adèle or Ruth to figure it out.

All in all, it was great to be back in a theatre, to watch these two (plus Gisèle etc.) finally bring this obscure family drama to life with a vengeance.

I hope to watch the play again in Hamburg (Internationales Sommerfestival 2021, ticket information to be released in mid-June), as there were a lot more things I couldn’t unpack while watching, or even now 😉

Cover picture by @estellehanania Other pictures/video by @thexfridax

[betweenthetimeandsound]

Three Minutes to Eternity: My ESC 250 (#220-211)

#220: Yiannis Dimitras -- Feggari Kalokerino (Greece 1981)

"Κοίτα τον έρημο γυαλό Σου ψιθυρίζω σ’ αγαπώ Τώρα θα χτίσω εκκλησιά Για της αγάπης τα τρελά παιδιά" "Look at the desolate seashore I whisper you “I love you” Now I’ll build a church For the crazy children of love" The opening shot, the rose on the piano, set the stage for such a romantic journey under the summer moon. And the soundscape created through the piano and instrumental throw us into this endearing scene, one which is also tinged with melancholy. Feggari Kalokerino is not only an ode to this beauty, but also an admission of craziness for falling in love. With such pretty lyrics, one can't help but get enveloped in this pretty world, where everything is so beautiful. The combination of Yiannis' singing and the woman's piano playing is also quite cute, albeit with some...interesting undertones to it. Either way, it's classical yet timeless.

Personal ranking: 3rd/20 Actual ranking: 8th/20 in Dublin

#219: Liliane Saint-Pierre -- Soldiers of Love (Belgium 1987)

“Neem elkaars handen Smeed nou die banden toe Hoor je die verre kreet? Geen mens vraagt dat leed” “Take each other’s hands Come on, weld those bonds Do you hear that distant scream? Nobody asks for that suffering” Top ten opening themes of anime, haha. It also helps that "Soldiers of Love" is the English translation for the song "Ai no Senshi" from Sailor Moon (which I've listened to many times but haven't gotten that far into the anime...). That said, Soldiers of Love packs a punch with the instrumentation and the high intensity of the melody. The lyrics are a powerful battle cry, albeit one which advocates for peace amongst people. There’s so much energy and determination in Belgium’s host entry, one would prepare themselves for battle for a good cause. Liliane really delivers this earnestly and with determination, though sometimes the military-style get-up stands out to me the most when I watch it again. Though those two guitarists turning their ends as if they were firing guns is a cool thing to behold.

It's one of the host entries that is better than the song which one it for the country, which is something because J'aime la vie is considered a fan favorite.

Personal ranking: 6th/22 Actual ranking: 11th/22 in Brussels

#218: Beth -- Dime (Spain 2003)

"Cuántas veces te llamé en la noche Cuántas veces te busqué Por mis recuerdos yo vuelvo Y no pierdo la fe" "How many times did I call you in the night? How many times did I look for you? I return for my memories And I don’t lose faith" For some reason, Dime reminds me of "Die for You" from two years earlier--both feature modern pop bops with ethnic influences, both imploring about the state of a relationship (while they both want to make it wor. And they're both in the same key! At the same time, Dime holds its own as one of the strongest 2000s entries from Spain. They had similar flamenco/Latin inspired entries in 2001 and 2004, which were highlights in rather mediocre years because of their uniqueness overall. But the guitar flourishes here work well with the dance beat, and it provides its own fun.

Personal ranking: 3rd/26 Actual ranking: 8th/26 in Riga

#217: Svala -- Paper (Iceland 2017)

“Drawing every bit of my truth Colour me in with your blue” I didn’t actually pay attention to this song in the follow-up to the 2017 contest. I also didn’t watch the semi-finals, which could’ve led to me neglecting the song entirely otherwise, especially I've heard a lot about Blackbird during that time. However, the summer after the contest, I discovered the song and listened to it. And I liked it! (And then I got hooked with Svala's other songs through her different groups) I was interested particularly in the lyrics, which discussed a fight between one’s mental demons and anxiety. I like the English version more than the Icelandic one; the latter is a bit more optimistic on winning against the battle whereas the former really takes the issue seriously. The production, while a bit staid, added to the feeling of helplessness with its electronic coldness. The staging also tries to incorporate this, though it didn't work in making it stand out. (I did like Svala's cape and makeup, though!) While I do love "Hear them Calling" a lot, I had a more interesting journey with Paper--it grew until it became something I highly enjoyed. Personal ranking: 6th/42 Actual ranking: DNQ -- 15th in the first semi-final in Kyiv

#216: Live Report -- Why Do I Always Get it Wrong? (United Kingdom 1989)

“You can do what you want to do now...” Honestly, this has to be one of my favorite British entries ever. While "Go" from the previous year gets a lot of acclaim because of its songwriting and Scott's performance (along with how it ended up second in the end), "Why Do I Always Get it Wrong?" is better on how it envelops a mood and could actually be found from this era (though it sadly didn't do too well commercially afterwards, sigh)

Whenever I do something wrong, or self-hate, this is the song I turn to a lot. The synthesizers drew me in—it fit well with the late 1980s-early 1990s sound elsewhere. It's also helped that Celine performed "Where Does My Heart Beat Now" earlier in the contest, which piqued my interest. And while Ray’s ponytail was a choice, it didn’t distract from how he delivered the song.

Despite getting more 12-points, it ended up losing to Yugoslavia by just six points that year. While not my favorite that year, I think it was the better one of the top three; it equally reflects the times and holds up!

Personal and actual ranking: 2nd/22 in Lausanne

#215: Tommy Nilsson -- En Dag (Sweden 1989)

“En dag vi alla förstår, En dag, när stillheten rår, En dag jag finner din hand, När vägarna möts förstår vi varann,” “One day, we all understand, One day, when silence rules One day, I find your hand When our roads meet, we will understand each other” My two favorites from 1989 are sonically different, diverging between despair and hope. I listen to "Why Do I Always Get it Wrong" a bit more, but "En Dag' would stand out for me in a few different ways, more from being just the optimistic song of the two.

The intro features really good brass, which leads way to the fun instrumental. I like how it builds, and Tommy’s interplay with the backing vocalists is incredibly strong. You get a sense of energy from the both of them as they send the song to new heights.

Basically, it's just glorious!

Personal ranking: 1st/22 Actual ranking: 4th/22 in Lausanne

Final Impressions of 1989: It's a pretty fine year, both in songs in production. There are a number of good songs there, though not many classics which hold out in the long-term (except for Vi maler byen rød, which became famous in Denmark and even became the premise of a musical!). Highlights include an overactive conductor from Turkey, two children, and an awesome interval act involving a crossbow!

#214: Bang -- Stop (Greece 1987)

“Ότι κάνεις για δόξα και λεφτά Δες τι χάνεις, αλλού είναι η χαρά”

“Whatever you do is for fame and money See what you are missing, joy is somewhere else”

I’ve heard this song compared to Wham’s output, especially with its vintage rock-n-roll sound (wake me up before you go go). This doesn’t make it any less bad, with its charming tone and thoughtful lyrics about how a girl who only wants material goods should stop chasing them.

(This is another reason why sometimes, the original-language version is better that any other one--the English version to this song has goes on a completely different tangent)

The performance also falls into vintage aesthetics, with the suits for both Thanos and Vassilis and sock-hop style dresses for the backing vocalists. It's really cute, and the way they dance fits the scene.

On another note, apparently Greeks saw this as a favorite at the time, can someone verify that?

Personal ranking: 5th/22 Actual ranking: 10th/22 in Brussels

#213: Guy Bonnet -- Marie-Blanche (France 1970)

“Nous sommes là dans une douce quiétude Nous avons mis fin à notre solitude Nos corps apprennent de tendres habitudes Et Marie-Blanche est à moi”

“We’re there in a soft stillness We’ve put an end to our loneliness Our bodies learn tender habits And Marie-Blanche is mine”

By 1970, chanson was on its way out; in its place was folk, rock-n-roll (spearheaded in France by Johnny Halladay, who has a great French version of "House of the Rising Sun"), and psychadelia. Within France itself, some of the #1 singles from that year include Comme j'ai toujours envie d'aimer, Let It Be, and Bridge over Troubled Water (a total masterpiece, I tell you).

So, what does one make of Marie-Blanche, in this case?

It's a really sweet love poem, in which Guy declares his love for the girl. and conveys a particularly cute scene. Whenever I listen to this, I envision two lovers cuddling inside while watching the snow fall during the winter. There's a sense of magic and serenity in all this, and the lyrics match the pretty piano melody.

Basically, hits are important to keep the contest alive. But songs like Marie Blanche can pull on the feels in the right ways.

Personal ranking: 2nd/12 Actual ranking: =4th/12 in Amsterdam

#212: Justyna -- Sama (Poland 1995)

“I czuła się tak marnie Poczuła się tak marnie Jakby Bóg, dobry Bóg Nie lubił pcheł..”

“And I feel poor Feeling so poor As if God, the good God Didn’t love little fleas...”

If 1994’s To nie ja represented something classic and hopeful, 1995’s Sama takes it and reverses it. (And in the grand Eurovision timeline, they're only separated by the last song of 1994, Je suis un vrai garcon from France) Instead of a young woman filled with life and singing a decent ballad, we have another one pondering herself, all alone, with nobody to help her.

Also, this is more of an acquired taste with its out-of-tune recordings and Justyna’s scream. But it doesn’t feel out of place within the 1990s, with its alternative influences and production, and I like Sama a lot for that!

Unfortunately, it also caused it to do substantially worse, which is simultaneously explainable and baffling. A good result would've made waves for future Eurovision entries; the 1990s are my favorite decade, but they did misalign quite a bit from the mainstream.

Personal ranking: 7th/23 Actual ranking: 18th/23 in Dublin

#211: The Shadows -- Let Me Be the One (United Kingdom 1975)

"You and I could have an affair/make sweet music, go anywhere"

Isn't this lyric really charming? I couldn't help but have a little giggle because of it; there's a sense of naughtiness (especially with choosing "affair"; are they trying to something illicit?) underneath it.

That said, The Shadows are mainly known for their instrumental rock, but Let Me Be the One has a neat melody line. The rock-n-roll vibe, which could be released within that decade, is light but lovely, and added a jolt of uniqueness to the otherwise poppy contest up to that point. The flubbed line in the beginning ("let me be the one who literally holds you tight", haha) adds to the whole thing, but they were able to carry on, nevertheless.

And while I like all the 1970s winners to some extent, I would switch out "Ding-a-Dong" for Let Me Be the One in terms of winners vs. runners-up; like with Sama, it could've changed the contest in a positive way.

Personal ranking: =3rd/19 Actual ranking: 2nd/19 in Stockholm

[hypermanga]

Kid Fever

This was requested by @deepestfirefun ages ago, so...Thank you procrastination for being in my life!😅 I'm deeply sorry for the wait, and I really hope the result compensates for it...I've been working my ass off this year at high school, and a lot of fics were just put aside, including yours😓😓 So yeah...Really sorry😓

Anyway, enjoy the reading❤

Pairing: Thorin x reader

Word Count: 1634

Warnings: Smut in the end

Request: She is from our world originally, after botfa, everyone lives. They have been married now couple of months and his kin is happy that their king has found such a kind soul as his queen. She is currently teaching young children in class (you can decide what, free hands) when one of the dwarfling started telling everyone about this particular dwarrowdam who has so horrible scarring around her face that she is actually really ugly and odd in her behaviors that she must be a offspring of an orc or something. Thorin has been a listening by the doorway behind the shadows and is angered by the way this young lad is talking about their own kin. But his queen interrupts his story telling. She tells the kids a tale of her own by singing a song from her world “mademoiselle Noir”. She then asks what the lesson in the song was. Thorin is smiling fondly thinking how wise and caring she is and realizes how much he desires to have children of his own with her. When everyone is dismissed, he approaches her and is determined to show her how much he loves and adores her.

~~~~~~~~

Since you'd started this journey, nothing had ever been near to being 'normal', so it was nice to have something had could be considered as such, even if the circumstances were ones that you couldn't possibly dream of.

Your new life had started when you'd been sucked by a portal you found in your little backyard, falling into Middle Earth, the Shire to be more accurate.

The whole company had stared at you with big eyes, as well as the little hobbit. Gandalf, who had looked as peaceful as ever, had let you accompany them, much to the dwarves dismau at first, as you didn't seem like the type to engage into a fight.

Throughout the journey though, you'd proven to be a good warrior, capable to defend yourself, although you knew your true profession was very different. In fact, before your life had turned upside down you were a teacher.

Of course, love had not been something you had much time to think about, even if by the middle of the journey you started to develop feelings for the company leader, Thorin Oakenshield. Trying everything to deny them, they had been discovered at the Battle of the Five Armies, when you'd saved him from the final blow that was to be delivered by Azog.

You still remember that day: the wind blowing your face mercilessly as you brandished your sword, piercing Azog's chest with it , turning to Thorin with a mixture of happiness and fatigue, and him dropping his own weapon and kissing you as if you were the air he needed to live.

After some months of courting that took place while you reconstructed Erebor, both knew that you were made for each other, and got married in a beautiful ceremony where all the dwarves attended, praising and celebrating the new queen and the return of the kingdom.

Even after two years of marriage, a tingling sensation pulsed through you when you recalled that moment. And you couldn't be happier, because apart from being queen, you were also the teacher of the young dwarflings, showing them as much as you could thanks to the vast library Erebor had.

"Good mornin' miss (Y/N)!" The kids shouted happily, quickly taking their respective seats and listening to your lessons: first, you went with some language as well as some initiation to khuzdul, then maths and finally history.

In this particular lesson, you taught them the story of the different races in Middle Earth, and today it was the orcs' turn, much to your dismay.

Trying to make the lesson as light as possible, you turned to one of your students, Bundin "Miss (Y/N)?" "Yes darling?" "About the orcs…There is something I have to tell you" He looked scared, making you worry slightly "Go on" Arching your brow,you sat on your desk, motioning him to continue "There's this girl…She walks around this land, and she is scary" "Why?" "She's got a scar along her face, and her skin tone is really pale, and…And…She always looks sad or angry, she looks like an orc!"

All the other kids looked petrified, some of them weeped, the other screamed "Hey!Hey!" You were so busy trying to calm everybody's nerves that you didn't see the silhouette hovering the door.

Thorin had taken up the habit of walking around when he didn't have any duties, one of the places he visited being your classroom. As he heard that kid speaking like that of someone of his own kin enfuriated him to no end. When he had decided on entering the class and give him a piece of his mind, he heard your voice.

"Calm down!" Clapping your hands, you looked at everyone "You know, this gives me the best opportunity to show you this song-"Taking out a paper for everyone, you smiled "-back from my world"

"Mademoiselle Noir?" A girl asked, of course not knowing the french accent "Yes, I think it'll teach you a valuable lesson "It has translation so you don't get lost with this strange language" The kids laughed, making you smile as well "C'mon, let's put tables and chairs aside and sit in circle"

The kids sat, holding their paper, expecting you "May I start?" The smiles on their faces told you anything the didn't. And so, you started to sing.

A man came across this old tower one day

It was straight like from a book he once read

He lifted his head up and saw this young lady

And here's what the lady said

Looking expectantly at the kids, you tried to make a weak voice, almost a whisper

"Moi je m'appelle mademoiselle Noir

Et comme vous pouvez le voir

Je ne souris, ni ris, ni vis

Et c'est tout ce qu'elle a dit"

The man was so scared, he could only run away

He ran to the town and then said

"I just saw a lady with the longest dark hair

And I think she's a living dead!"

Giving as much energy that you could, you raised your voice, the kids aweing, and Thorin widening his eyes. He'd never seen his wife so involved in a song.

The people, so scared, took their guns and their swords

They ran to the tower and then

They saw the pale lady and felt a great fear

When they heard how she said it again

"Moi je m'appelle mademoiselle Noir

Et comme vous pouvez le voir

Je ne souris, ni ris, ni vis

Et c'est tout ce qu'elle a dit"

The people, they knew what this all was about

She was clearly a demon from hell

They decided to set her long hair on fire

In the end it would burn her as well

But the lady was no demon, she was a lonely soul

Just like in that book they once read

Still waiting for her prince while her hair was on fire

The one last time she said

"Moi je m'appelle mademoiselle Noir

Et comme vous pouvez le voir

Je ne souris, ni ris, ni vis

Et c'est tout ce qu'elle a dit"

Concluding, you heard the weeping from the kids, as well as some sniffles "Oh…Come here" Opening your arms, you engulfed them in a big hug, wiping the tears away with a tissue.

Thorin, by now, was completely smitten all over again by you "Oh, amralime" He sighed, he was so happy he'd married you, and also he realised he wanted to be more united to you.

"What I meant to show you with this…Is that not everybody is what they seem, do not judge a book by its cover" "Sorry" Bundin's little voice was muffled by your shoulder "It's okay"

Smiling, you ruffled his head "Okay everyone, class is dismissed. Sorry that today it ends with such pouty faces-" Making a pouty face yourself, you continued "-To compensate, tomorrow we will be doing a little trip to the library" Everyone cheered, waving eachother as they left.

Thorin hid in the shadows, the kids not noticing him at all. When sure there was no one else, he made his presence known

"Good evening" He smirked "Thorin! What a surprise" Kissing him, you continued packing your things, until Thorin's hands rested on your hips, earning a gasp "There could still be kids" Chuckling, he closed the door and turned to you "(Y/N), my amrâlimê, I don't think I can hold myself until our room to show you my love" Closing the space in between you, you dropped your bag and returned the kiss with equal passion "I know…But we must try" Skipping quickly, you went to your royal chambers, Thorin trailing behind, with little self-control over him.

The air felt hot and heavy, specially while you slowly discarded your clothes to the floor, leaving you on your underwear "Mahal…I'm the luckiest dwarf" Leaving a trail of kisses from your lips to neck, he smirked to himself, as you moaned while he marked you "God…Thorin" You were sure there would be bruises, not that you did mind "Mine…And only mine" Carrying you to the bed, he looked at you in the eyes before claiming your lips again.

Venturing down, he memorised every curve from your body with his hands, leaving you a moaning mess. Removing your bra, he caressed your breasts and kissed your nipples, working magic with his mouth "Thorin…" "You like that, my queen?" "Yes!Please, don't stop!"

Smirking, he took off your panties. Your breath left your lungs when he made the first lick, and the next thing you knew, he was making you scream his name over and over again. When he added the first finger, you gripped the sheets, moaning like never before "If you keep moaning like this, I don't think I can hold up any longer" "Then don't"

Hovering over you, he entered you in one quick motion, setting a steady pace "Faster, Thorin!" Groaning, he pounded into you, covering your body with kisses and bites, just like you covered his with scratches and kisses of your own.

Screaming eachother's names in pure ecstasy, he spilled himself into you, falling beside you "I love you, (Y/N)…" "I love you too, Thorin" Sighing, you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck and fell asleep with the rise and fall from his chest.

What you didn't know was, that from that passion, both of you would embark in a beautiful journey that would culminate nine months later with the welcoming of a new life.

A life that would change yours even more than what this journey and Thorin had, a life that you would give all of your time and love, for it became the most important thing in your world, as well as for your husband.

A life that sealed your love for eachother forever and ever.

~~~~

I hope you've enjoyed it!😁I don't write smut very often, so forgive me if it's kinda crappy😂

MASTERLIST

@sdavid09 @thorins-magnificent-ass @fandomgalcentral @life-is-righteous @book-boys-are-my-guilty-pleasure @igotanaddixon @averil-of-fairlea @deepestfirefun @leah-halliwell92 @schizonephilim @imaneternalflamebb @j25m18c24 @pixiiebutt @aidanturnersass @oakenshieldsmizimel @imaginationgotmegood

[hermioneshandbag]

One More Kiss, Part 6*

*Nipple Police Replacement Post

The day of the operation to bring Harry home, Sirius was beside himself. He wanted to be in the group that went to escort him, and he was not pleased about being denied. Remus looked to you to make him see sense, but this was more than his usual impulsive tangent.

You finally coerced him up to his bedroom and kept him busy until it was time for the group to leave. Needless to say, he was a great deal more relaxed when you went down to wish the group good luck. Remus and Tonks were somewhere between grateful for and incredibly uncomfortable with your efforts. You basically gave them a look that said, “Well, what did you expect?”

Sirius paced nervously until it was almost time for the meeting to begin, repeatedly asking, “Where could they possibly be?” and “What in Merlin’s saggy left nut is taking so long?”

When Dumbledore arrived, you dragged him into the kitchen, hoping that the meeting would distract him a bit. He did become involved in the discussion, though, so he calmed a bit until Remus et al returned and he knew Harry was there.

Sirius stayed in the kitchen with you when everyone was leaving after the meeting because he could tell that you were nervous about meeting Harry. As he was telling you that you were great and Harry would love you, there was a loud crash and his mother started screaming, which started a chain reaction with the other paintings.

Sirius jumped up and ran up the stairs, yelling at his hag of a mother to shut up. You had experienced this before, of course, numerous times since the first time when Remus and Sirius had been wrestling to keep Sirius from following you. You left Sirius to deal with the crone who birthed him while you went to calm down other portraits.

After he got the portrait covered, Sirius went to talk to Harry, then headed down to the kitchen. He introduced you to Harry, who didn’t seem at all impressed. You knew he was overwhelmed and decided to hang back for a day or two and let him settle in before you tried to get to know him.

In the meantime, you tried to curb Sirius’ temper with Molly. You didn’t interrupt when he and Molly disagreed on how much to tell Harry, but afterwards when you and Sirius went to bed, you had a small argument.

“Love, you need to go easier on Molly,” you began quietly.

“I think I know how to deal with Molly and my Godson, Y/N, thank you very much,” he snapped, temper still frayed.

“Take that tone with me again, Black, and you will be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future,” you snapped back, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “I will not be spoken to that way, certainly not by the man who professes to love me.”

Sirius sat down on the small sofa in his room and leaned forward, head in hands. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

You came over and sat next to him, pulling him upright and tucking yourself into his side. “It’s this place and the situation and everything at once, love. Just…try to remember that everyone here has the same goals. And Molly loves Harry, sweetheart. You can’t cut her out just because you have more right to him. She took him under her wing when he didn’t have anyone else.”

He hugged you and pulled in a deep breath. “You’re right, love. I’ll apologize to her in the morning. And I’m so sorry I bit your head off.”

“I love you. You get a few free passes here and there,” you said with a kiss.

“Thank you very much. Can you think of any way I can show you my gratitude?” he asked in a naughty voice with a salacious grin.

“How about you do that one thing with your tongue?” you responded with an equally lusty grin and an eyebrow wiggle.

“My pleasure,” he purred.

Harry did not seem to be a fan of yours, to be honest. He wasn’t rude, precisely, and honestly you knew he had more important things on his mind, so you tried not to let it bother you. You hadn’t considered that Sirius essentially had a kid that you would need to be friends with when you got together.

It wasn’t like you had much one on one time with Harry – there were so many people in the house at any given time that you and Sirius could only be alone in his room, and that was even interrupted occasionally.

So you decided to take matters into your own hands. You noticed that Harry had missed lunch, so you made a platter of sandwiches and cookies and took them upstairs.

You were ridiculously nervous as you knocked on the door to his room where Hermione had said he was holed up.

“Hi, Harry,” you said after he called to come in. “Thought I’d bring us a bit of a snack.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

You pretended not to hear when his stomach growled loudly.

“Well I’m starving. Mind if I eat?”

“Suit yourself,” he said a little sullenly.

“So,” you said after you swallowed a bite of a sandwich. “We have a lot in common.”

“How so?” he asked, looking longingly at the plate of sandwiches you brought with you.

“We both love Sirius,” you said, casually handing him a sandwich. “And Sirius loves us both and wants us to be a family.”

“That’s it?” he said around his sandwich.

“Well, we’re both good looking and brilliant, too. I thought I’d leave the obvious unspoken.”

He laughed a little. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just thought I’d have some time alone with Sirius.”

“You can have that. Now and forever. I can make myself scarce.”

“I just…I’ve never had a dad. So when I found out Sirius was my Godfather, I thought maybe I’d have something like that.” He left unspoken that when he finally has time to be with Sirius, you were always around.

“You do. He talks about you constantly. He loves you so much, and he worries about you all the time.”

“So how would it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Us being a family. For Sirius.”

“Well, when this is all over, which we all hope will be soon, Sirius will be free, you get to be a normal kid with friends and a bedroom with I dunno…whatever kids your age like. Boobs I’d imagine. That doesn’t seem to ever get outgrown.”

Harry rolled his eyes and blushed at the mention of boobs. “Are you and Sirius getting married?”

“We’re not engaged, of course, but the topic has come up and he didn’t curl into the fetal position, so I thought that was positive.

“He’d like a house in the country,” you continued, “most likely near Hogwarts with room for all of us, including you and Remus and Tonks and Buckbeak and whatever kids and menagerie we wind up with.”

“Mrs. Weasley thinks he forgets who I am sometimes,” he said quietly, as if uttering the words was somehow a betrayal to Sirius.

You went and sat next to him on his bed and put your arm around him. “You now look like your father the last time he saw him, and the first time he saw you was like when he first met and got to know the man he considered his brother. So yes, I would imagine that occasionally he sees your Dad when he looks at you.

“But this is something that happens. My brother and sister and I went to a family reunion for the first time in years on my father’s side of the family. When we arrived, almost everyone stopped and did a double take at my brother. You see, he was about the age my father was when he passed away, and he took very strongly after him. So, the combination of not seeing him grow into this face and this face being the spitting image of our Dad…well, needless to say, a couple of the elderly relatives called my brother by my Dad’s name. Bittersweet.”

“That really happened?”

“Swear by my love for Sirius.”

“And you don’t think he’s nuts?” he asked very quietly.

“Welllllll,” you pretended to hedge. “Of course not. He’s impulsive and reckless, but he’s not crazy. And we’re going to give him the family he needs to value enough to tone down the antics, right?”

“How?”

“Well, you’ll need to find what works for you, but I use sex a lot.”

Harry threw himself back on the bed with his hands over his ears. “Nooooo! Why would you tell me that aaaarrrrghhh!”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you, two? Geez, like we wouldn’t have sex.”

“Ugh you did it again!!!” he was now rolling around the bed as of in grievous pain as you laughed at his discomfort.

The door to the bedroom opened with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Fred and Sirius coming to investigate the noise.

“What in Godric’s name is going on in here?” Sirius bellowed to be heard over Harry’s dramatic wailing and laughter.

“I believe I am almost through ruining Harry’s childhood by telling him that we have tons of sex.”

“Oh Merlin, really?” Ron stomped over to sit with Harry in solidarity.

“Really? You’re one of seven children, Ron. Do the math.”

The other four were standing around looking at you expectantly for details.

“That’s it. No details. No particular positions that we enjoy, although Harry? Doggy style is rather an obvious one,” you called over to him to be obnoxious.

Sirius was trying not to laugh as he dragged you out of the room and up the stairs to his room. “The twins looked like they were about to ask if they could watch,” Sirius laughed. “What on Earth were you doing?”

“Trying to make friends with Harry. So I brought him food and emotionally scarred him. I think it went well.”

“Merlin, I love you.” He pulled you close for a kiss, smiling into it to express his joy at seeing his two favorite people trying to get along.

As his kisses got a little more frisky, you backed away.

With a big smile, you said, “Darling, I have a headache or something for the next,” you looked at your watch, “four hours. Go away.”

“Harry wants me to himself?”

“Yes, love. He needs you.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He walked over to you and pulled you in for a kiss. “You are the kindest, most understanding woman I have ever known. You will do both of us a world of good by being the heart of our family. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now I am going to read in bed and if I am asleep, I expect to wake up with your tongue doing its magic. Deal?”

He leaned his forehead against yours as he shivered at the image. “You absolutely have a deal. I love you.”

After that, you and Harry became fast friends. You were careful not to tread on Molly’s toes, though. She had accepted him into her family when Harry had no other and you loved her for that. He also had his own mother who had given her life for his, so while for the majority of his life he’d had no parents, now he had Mums aplenty.

And with Sirius, Arthur and Remus, he had father figures, too. Sirius was ecstatic to have his boy with him and Harry seemed to relax a bit, even with all that was going on.

“Sirius, what happens if they convict me?”

“Well, I don’t know how we’d bear the shame of having an outlaw in the family,” he said, giving Harry’s shoulder a playful shove.

Harry laughed at that but sobered rather quickly. “Really, though. What will I do?”

“Well, I expect we’ll be safe here, though I’d prefer to leave this mausoleum. Y/N is from America, perhaps we can go there. Or anywhere, really. We both have enough money to live on the run comfortably.”

“You’d leave England?”

“Harry, I am very very tired of being vilified for trying to do the right thing. And if those blind cowards at the Ministry do to you what they did to me, then yes. I would grab the people I love and do a mass exodus and let them pay the cost this time.”

“I wish you could come with me tomorrow,” Harry said quietly. “Or Y/N.”

“Y/N said she would before and you said no! She absolutely will. She loves you very much, Harry.”

“I know. It’s sort of strange having so many people who care for me part of the year and then…well.”

“Vernon and Petunia. Two more vile people…well actually I know quite a few death eaters so I think they’re marginally worse, but you get my point.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, I do.”

“Mr. Weasley is the best one to take me,” Harry sighed. “I just…kinda wish you two could go.”

“I know, m’boy. Y/N will still go if you ask her.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you want me to ask her?”

“Won’t people wonder how she knows me?”

“Y/N is actually a frighteningly good liar. It was what first made Moody approve of her. Fairly certain she can come up with a reason and make it convincing.”

The day of the hearing you went in to work early to get a head start on paperwork and not feel bad about taking the time to go to give Harry moral support at the hearing. You would be waiting in the hall but at least you would be there.

At a few minutes before 8 you went to Arthur’s office to see if Harry wanted a cup of tea while he waited so Arthur could get in a bit of work before the hearing. You were almost there when you heard Arthur exclaim and saw him and Harry racing out of his office.

“They moved the hearing location and time, Y/N,” Arthur said as they moved toward you. You moved in step with them to the elevator, anxious to realize that you were so far away from where you needed to be so soon.

You put your arm around Harry and have him a quick hug. “I’ll take you to Ilvermorny myself I’d they expel you. But they won’t. But if they do, we’ll all still love you. But they won’t expel you because you did nothing wrong! And they better have a pretty decent army if they try to convict you of anything. You’re my cub now, and this mama bear is not going to play games.”

“Merlin, Y/N, I am not a cub,” he said, embarrassed but warmed by your concern. Even if he was nearly an adult, it felt kind of good to have a Mum-type he didn’t have to share.

You ran steps after you got off the elevator and delivered Harry with one last kiss and wish of good luck.

You and Arthur waited in tense silence. When Harry finally emerged you threw your arms around him, then tensed as the entire Wizengamot filled out behind him.

After a rather cold exchange with Lucius Malfoy, which ended with him giving you a look filled with consideration, you finally walked Harry and Arthur to the Atrium and hugged Harry goodbye.

You could tell that Sirius was happy for Harry, yet he was disappointed as well. That evening you were in your panties and a tank top getting your hair ready to wash your face when you said, “Honey?”

“Hmm?” he answered from the bed where he lie brooding.

“You’re happy for Harry, right?”

“Course.”

“Because…you almost seem disappointed.”

He looked at you, grey eyes snapping, but he remembered the last time he verbally snapped at you and wouldn’t put it past you to put him out of his own bed. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, I would’ve been alright with him being here all the time. I know, I’m a selfish prick.”

“Nah. You’re sick of this house and you wanted a playmate. I get it.”

He tilted his head as if to look at you from a different angle because the original one didn’t make sense. “Why do you always understand me?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” you said with a wink and walked into the bathroom.

You bent over the sink to wash your face, and you felt hands on your hips. When you rinsed the soap from your face and patted a towel across your skin, you felt something else pressing against your ass.

You leaned back against Sirius’ chest and put your arms around his neck, thrusting your breasts out in the process. Sirius was watching you in the mirror and groaned to see your nipples pebbled against the thin cotton of your top. His hands slid up your sides and under your top to remove it, then cupped your breasts while he kissed your neck, but his eyes never left yours in the mirror.

You started grinding back against Sirius’ cock, loving the sight of his long fingers caressing your nipples and squeezing your flesh. One of his hands started sliding down your ribs and stomach to slide into your panties.

You dropped one of your hands from his neck and reached between you to stroke his cock, then pulled your panties off and reached between your legs to guide him into you.

You held onto the sink and kept eye contact with Sirius in the mirror as he teased you with long, slow strokes. You pushed back against him but he refused to pick up the pace, continuing to slowly thrust into you. You started to work him with your inner muscles, trying to squeeze a faster pace out of him.

It worked. You saw the fire in his eyes as he shuddered before speeding up his tempo and reaching around you to tease your clit as he started snapping his hips into you harder and faster. You were moaning incoherently, the only words that Sirius could understand were his name and ‘please.’

Your face dropped forward and he gently lifted your chin to look back in the mirror. He wanted to see the look on your face when you came. He had to see your eyes when he came inside you.

“You gonna come for me, Y/N? You gonna squeeze my cock?”

“Yes yes oh stars yes,” you moaned, looking into his eyes as the pleasure washed over you. You held on to his arms as your legs went wobbly, one of his hands around your waist and one under your chin.

You felt him slam harder into you, knew that his high was close, so you looked into his eyes and panted, “Come for me, Sirius. Fill me up.”

With a growl, Sirius thrust deeply one last time, softly biting your shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

“Merlin, love. That was amazing,” you breathed, finally looking away from the mirror to kiss him. “How about I’ll be your playmate?”

“Best playmate ever,” he said, picking you up to carry you to the bed. “And I’ve just thought of another game we can try tonight.”

“Another? What are the rules?” you played along.

“No rules,” he growled as he laid you on the bed.

“Then how do I win?”

“I think we both win,” he said against your lips.

“I think I’m going to like this game.”

“I know I am,” he said with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sirius. Always will.”

[mindcoolness]

Is Feminism Good or Bad? (On the Ethics of Gender Equality)

New Post has been published on http://www.mindcoolness.com/blog/is-feminism-good-or-bad/

Is Feminism Good or Bad? (On the Ethics of Gender Equality)

1. Forget the Will to Power

The question whether feminism is good or bad is not a question about power.

Feminism itself is all about power, of course. We can even define it as the sociopolitical struggle for women’s power. As such, feminism is diametrically opposed to men’s power. It is an active war against men. Still, this does not tell us anything about whether feminism is good or bad.

Is feminism bad for men? Yes. The basis of feminism is that men have an unfair advantage in Western society. The will to get rid of that advantage, be it real or not, cannot possibly be good for men. Yet is it relevant that feminism is bad for men?

As a matter of fact, women have the same political rights as men. Western men and women are political equals because the value of a democratic vote does not depend on the voter’s sex. A vote is a vote, no matter whether the voter was born with a Y chromosome or not. I am not saying, “We are all just humans who, by virtue of belonging to the same zoological category, have equal moral worth.” All I am saying is that the political equality of Western men and women is a sociological fact.

I personally believe that political equality (women’s right to vote, first-wave feminism) is a good thing because I value wisdom more than anything, and excluding half of the population from political dialogs and decision making is no way to maximize wisdom in a society. If you think that women have nothing to contribute to human wisdom, be aware that this says more about the kind of women you interact with than about the nature of womanhood. Not all women are 18-24-year-old hotties with practically no life experience.

What about economic equality, spiritual equality, and all the other demands of second-, third-, and fourth-wave feminism? Since women constitute a substantial part of the electorate, their interests cannot be neglected in political discussions. Therefore, the only reasonable discussion we can have is one that aims at maximizing societal well-being—maximizing the well-being of all men and women in our society.

Feminism may be bad for men, but if it is not as bad for men as it is good for women, then men have no chance of winning rational arguments in their fight against modern feminism. “I want more male power” or “I feel unfairly treated as a man” are not arguments. They are impotent expressions of will and emotion. One might as well start crying or throw a temper tantrum.

A good argument against feminism must explain why feminism decreases societal well-being or why traditional values are better for both men and women. An argument that fails to do that is politically worthless. It may excite some men who feel powerless and disenfranchised, but it will never have any real impact, will never provoke any change.

Now that we know that the ‘will to power’ is a useless concept here, we can ask again: Is feminism good or bad? To answer this political question, let us take a closer look at family units and sexual polarity.

2. Family Units

The family unit has been a crucial element of societal well-being for a long time because it integrates many aspects of happiness including love, security, belonging, and child rearing. People in happy families live relatively happy lives. If a man who likes his traditional role as a father loves his wife who likes her traditional role as a mother, there is no need for gender equality; it would only destroy a harmonious system. Yet this picture is idealistic, of course.

The family unit is brittle and many families break apart. What is a woman to do if she has no family, or if she does not want to conform to the traditional family ideal? Before feminism, a man without a family could still live a comparably good life; most women, on the other hand, were doomed. With little to no political and economic power, a woman had no life beyond her family, nor could she build one. She could either suffer a miserable family life, or leave and suffer alone. Feminism empowered women enough to create lives on their own, which has certainly increased their well-being. But is that all?

Feminism could only gain substantial traction by criticizing traditional values. Women’s rights could not have been granted without a shift in social values. To truly appreciate their new duties to vote, work, and accumulate wealth, women had to disregard their old duties to cook, clean, and raise children. Is voting and accumulating wealth so much more fun and fulfilling than cooking and raising children?

The issue, however, is not which activities are the most rewarding. The real problem is that when an activity is socially shamed, that activity becomes less rewarding. If generations of women are told that household chores are degrading, they will feel bad doing them even if they would otherwise happily do them out of love for their families. More generally, the feminist devaluation of traditional gender roles ruins the already labile family unit and with that a critical element of societal well-being. New freedoms do not come for free.

Feminism is thus both a solution to the problem of unstable or undesired family units and its amplification. By making families even more unstable and undesirable, feminism is an answer to a problem that it simultaneously alleviates and reinforces. Not to mention that children are suffering from this development, and the suffering children of today are the criminals and mental health patients of tomorrow.

3. Sexual Polarity

Disregarding LGBTQ exceptions, women are attracted to masculine qualities and men are attracted to feminine qualities. Due to sexual selection, there is a strong sexual polarity between masculine men and feminine women; this is why we feel so passionately attracted to each other. To motivate procreation, evolution equipped our brains with reward systems that make us happy when we engage in pair bonding, be it short-term mating or long-term dating. The greater our sexual attraction, the more active those reward systems are. In other words, sexual polarity makes mating and dating more pleasurable.

Modern feminism, however, decreases sexual polarity through androgynization—the blending of masculine and feminine qualities in all people. While women are urged to develop masculine traits by entering competitive environments like business and politics, men are told to be sensitive, show emotions, and embrace their ‘feminine side’. This produces emasculated men with mediocre feminine qualities and defeminized women with mediocre masculine qualities. With their sexual polarity weakened, men and women are less eager to go outside, to socialize, to have sex, and to fall in love. There are numerous studies on the decline in sexual frequency in the US (e.g., Twenge et al., 2017a; Twenge et al., 2017b; Abma et al., 2017). This leads to sexual frustration, social isolation, and higher levels of anxiety and depression. Good for consumerism, online businesses, and the attention economy; bad for human well-being.

Furthermore, sexual selection made the exercise of sexual qualities intrinsically rewarding. It feels good for most men to be aggressive, competitive, and violent, whereas gossiping about other people, talking about their emotions, and crying like girls doesn’t. Women, too, have evolved reward mechanisms that make them happy when they exercise feminine qualities. Personally, I have not been to a hairdresser in ten years because I see it as a boring waste of time and money, yet most women I know spend hours every month getting their hair, nails, brows, and God knows what done, and they enjoy it! Socially enforced behavior? Maybe, but primarily biologically motivated.

In sum, spiritual androgynization and the loss of sexual polarity impair societal well-being.

4. Conclusion

The jury is still out. This was only a rough draft of two relevant factors out of… I don’t know, a hundred? So I have really no business making conclusions here.

I advocate first-wave feminism (women’s suffrage), I grant that second-wave feminists have some good moral arguments, and I doubt that the same can be said about the third and fourth wave.

Since my conclusion is rather inconclusive, consider these recommendations for criticizing feminism:

By criticizing straw feminism, you demonstrate a lack of arguments and a weak rational frame.

A ‘right’ is a biased expression of values, not an argument; this goes for both feminists and men’s rights activists.

Social media feminism is so ridiculous that it is not even worth criticizing; it is a threat to nothing but its own cause anyway.

Stop being proud about winning an argument against someone who does not understand basic biology; unwarranted pride lowers your argumentative efforts.

Mindcoolness means to be grateful for other people’s will, so let us be grateful for women’s will to power for giving us men the opportunity to strengthen our masculine wills in resistance against social feminization.

Read More

What Can Hunter-Gatherers Teach Us about Equality?

Egoism, Tribalism, and Utilitarianism

The Sociology of Rationality: A Question

Please Vote

[farsiforeplayfuture]

The New Barbarians: A Declaration of Poetic Disobedience from the New Border, by Guillermo Gómez-Peña

(2004-Ongoing)

1. To the Masterminds of Paranoid Nationalism

I say, we say:

‘We,’ the Other people

We, the migrants, exiles, nomads & wetbacks

in permanent process of voluntary deportation

We, the transient orphans of dying nation-states

la otra America; l’autre Europe

We, the citizens of the outer limits and crevasses

of ‘Western civilization’

We, who have no government;

no flag or national anthem

We, the New Barbarians

We, in constant flux,

from Patagonia to Alaska,

from Juarez to Ramalla,

todos somos mojados

We, the seventh generation, the fourth world, the third country

We millions abound,

defying your fraudulent polls & statistics

We continue to talk back & make art

[Shamanic tongues]

2. To those up there who make dangerous decisions for mankind

I say, we say:

We, the homeless, faceless vatos aquellos

in the great American metropolis

little Mexico, little Cambodia, little purgatory

We, the West Bank & Gaza strip of Gringolandia

We, the unemployed & subemployed who work so pinche hard

so you don’t have to work that much

We, whose taxes send your CEOs & armies

on vacation to the South

We, evicted from your gardens & beaches

We, fingerprinted, imprisoned, under surveillance

We, within your system, without your mercy

We, without health or car insurance,

without bank accounts & credit cards,

We, scared shitless at ground level,

but only at ground level

like a pack of hungry wolves

exploring the ruins of an empty mall

we continue to be… together

[Shamanic tongues]

3. To the lords of fear and intolerance

I say, we say:

We, mud people, snake people, tar people

We, bohemians walking on millennial thin ice

Our bodies pierced, tattooed, martyred, scarred

Our skin covered with hieroglyphs & flaming questions

We, the witches who transform trash into wearable art

We, Living Museum of Modern Oddities & Sacred Monsters

We, vatos cromados y chucas neo-barrocas

We, indomitable drag queens, transcendental putas

waiting for love and better conditions in the shade

We, bad boy & bad girls over 50

We, lusting for otherness

We, todos somos putos

We, ‘subject matter’ of fringe documentaries

We, the Hollywood refuseniks,

the greaser bandits & holy outlaws

of advanced Capitalism

We, without guns, without Bibles

We, who never pray to the police or to the army

We, who never kissed the hand of a bishop or a curator

We, who barter and exchange favors & talismans

We, who still believe in community, another community,

a much stranger and wider community

We, community of illness, madness & dissent

community of horny angels & tender demons

We, scotch, mescal and bleeding saliva

We, frail and defiant; permanently outraged but always tender

We shape your desire while you contract our services

to postpone the real discussion

We are waiting, still waiting for you to go to sleep

so, we can continue the party

[Shamanic tongues]

4. To the Lords of Censorship

I say, we say:

We, the artists & intellectuals who still don’t wish to comply

We, who talk back in rarefied symbols & metaphors

against the corruption of formalized religion & art

We, critical brain mass

spoken word profética, sintética

We, bastard children of two humongous nuns:

‘Heterodoxia’ e ‘Iconoclastia’

We, the urban monks who pray in tongues & rap in Esperanto

We, who put on masks, penachos & wigs to shout

‘you just can’t take my art away’

We, who dance against the rhythms of the times

We, who suddenly freeze!

[pause]

Standing still in our underwear

right in the center of the stage

with the words carved on our chests:

‘Performance artist: will bleed for food’

‘Obsessive artist: will die for one idea’

We, critical brain mass

fuga inminente de cerebros y hormonas

spoken word profética, sintética

We continue to talk back… talk back… talk back…

[Shamanic tongues]

5. To those who are as afraid of us as we are of them

I say, we say:

We, who have no name whatsoever in the news

We, edited out, pixelated, censored, postponed

We, beyond the video frame, behind the caution tape

We, tabloid subject matter par excellence

We, involuntary actors of ‘The Best of Cops’

eternally stalking mythical blonds in the parking lot,

We, mistaken identities in your computer memory

We, generic brown & black males who fit all

taxonomic descriptions

We, black & brown nude bodies in the morgue,

taxidermied bodies in the Museum of Mankind

We, prime targets of ethnic profiling & capital punishment

We, one strike & we’re out

We, prisoners of consciousness without a trial

We, of the turban, burka, sombrero, bandana, leather pants

We surround your neon architecture

While you call the Office of ‘Homeland Security’

[pause]

Yes, we are equally scared of one another

[Shamanic tongues]

6. To the share-holders of mono-culture

I say, we say:

We, Americans with foreign accents & purple tongues

We, bilingual, polylingual, cunnilingual,

We, los otros del mas allá

del otro lado de la línea y el puente

We, lingua poluta et disoluta,

rapeando border mystery; a broader history

We, mistranslated señorita, eternally mispronounced

We, lost and found in the translation

lost & found between the layers of my words

We, interracial lovers,

children of interracial lovers, ad infinitum

We, Americans in the largest sense of the term

(from the many other Americas)

We, from Patagonia to Alaska

From Sao Paolo to New York

We, in cahoots with the original Americans

who speak hundreds of beautiful languages

incomprehensible to you

We [Shamanic tongues]

We, in cahoots with dozens of millions of displaced

Latinos, Arabs, blacks & Asians

who live so far away from their land

We, trapped between ICE and organized crime

[Shamanic tongues]

We all speak in unison therefore you cease to be

even if only for a moment

behind the curtain of language

I am, US, you sir, no ser

Nosotros seremos

Nosotros, we stand

not united

We, matriots not patriots

& when we talk back,

you become tongue-tied pendejos

[Shamanic tongues]

the people you call ‘aliens’

are the original inhabitants of this earth

7. To the masters and apologists of war

I say, we say:

We, matriots not patriots again

We, rebels, not mercenaries like you

We, labeled ‘extremists’ for merely disagreeing with you

We, caught in the crossfire,

between Christian fear & Muslim rage,

We, a thinking majority against unilateral stupidity

against preemptive strikes & premature ejaculation

We reject your arms sales & oil deals

We distrust your orange alert & your white privilege

We oppose the Patriot Act patrioticamente hablando

the largest surveillance system ever,

the biggest prison complex to date

We, whose opinions are never on the front page

of your morning paper

We, who are never polled by Fox News

who never get to debate those TV pundits

We did not vote for you,

do not support your wars,

do not believe in your violent gods

do not respect your immigration laws

Standing scared but firm

We demand your total, TOTAL withdrawal

from our minds and bodies ipso facto

[Shamanic tongues]

And when we speak in tongues, you disappear

8. Finale:

[Finally facing/addressing the audience]

We, baaaad poetry, baaad art!

We, techno-pirates, Region 4

We, the shamans exorcising Enron

los brujos against Microsoft

poetas solitarios contra Wal-Mart

We, dervishes under the arches of McDonalds

radical clowns confronting the global police

immigrant teens torching the cars of the wealthy

We, los indignados y desterrados

El Movimiento Sin Tierra

Paracaidistas en Wall Street

The Other ‘99%’

We, the ghosts of the past

in cahoots with the future warriors

in cahoots with all innocent civilians killed

on both sides of the useless War on Terror

We, nosotros, going crazy to remain sane

literally dying for new ideas

performing against all odds

dancing on the edge of a crater

We, witnesses & willing victims of the End of Empire

We, Western World imploding disfunctionalia

history’s final chapter… colapso total!

Tabula Rasa; take 2:

We, mapping,

mapping the immediate future

so you and I can walk on it

without falling inside the great faults of history.

You & I,

verbally walking together;

you & I,

ephemeral community;

you & I,

a tiny little nation-state;

you & I,

a one-hour-long utopia

titled ‘You & I,’

alone on stage,

fighting together

the World Bank, the WTO & the G-8;

fighting avant-garde desire & the Patriot Act;

tu y yo, juntitos, bien abrazados,

fucking suavecito

fighting isolation & isolationism….

And art is our battlefield,

que otra?

And if we fall

we are caught in mid-air by a total stranger.

copied from: https://migrare.wordpress.com/2012/03/26/the-new-barbarians-a-declaration-of-poetic-disobedience-from-the-new-border-by-guillermo-gomez-pena/

video sample: http://www.vdb.org/titles/declaration-poetic-disobediance