#i love the concept of someone pleasuring to be able to do something more trivial to me even easier

[nerdinyourarms]

Fuck my ass so good just so you can watch me drool all over myself and stick your fingers in my mouth easier

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 20

First time reader click here

TWs/SUMMARY: Explicit content. Some fluffy Bruce Banner lovin'. We know our scientist is a soft dom/service top. 🥺💚 With a Tony twist at the end... Because I am an evil woman. 😏 BRUCE BANNER MONSTERCOCK NATION RISE!

Bruce licked his lips.

Despite the obvious intent to ravish me in the sweetest way possible, Bruce made no move to undress or get physically closer to me.

The man was content to kiss the breath out of me, lightly caressing the side of my face and my neck. With each shared, rushed inhale I slipped deeper into the narrow space between drowsiness and arousal. The scientist's presence had the most peculiar effect on me: all my walls crumbled, paving way to a sense of mellow tranquility.

"Lay down," Bruce whispered, pulling my blanket aside. My skin tingled in the cool air of the room. I had gotten pretty toasty under the covers.

With his palms gently pushing on my shoulders, I had no other way but to oblige. Those very same large hands brushed my neck and slid further under the collar of my shirt, tenderly tracing the lines of my collarbones. I felt delicate in his arms, light-headed.

The quiet thud of Bruce's shoes prepared me for the slight dip in the mattress that followed. With a rustle, the textured fabric of his trousers sweeped and finally settled between my parted legs. He radiated warmth, my body involuntarily arching into it. Bruce's lips found mine, again, meeting in a chaste kiss, moving on to nip and peck my jawline, my throat.

There was something erotic in the slow, sensual yet subdued way the scientist was giving into my desires. He wasn't holding back on purpose, it seemed he was rather fond of taking his time to explore my body, his new playground. It was always hard and fast and easy for me, to just take my pleasure, get it torn out of me with sharp words and clever fingers.

With Bruce it was more of a gradual increase in intensity. He wasn't all over me yet he made it known he was in charge. Our bodies connected only faintly but where they did, it left a sweet, pulling ache. I caught myself leaning into it, following the slow motions with twitches and curves of my own.

"Arms up, Princess," He sounded so calm and steady. There was a new definition to his voice, that low undertone of desire, previously unheard. I marveled at how different my lovers sounded.

My (read: stolen from Tony) t-shirt slid from my shoulders with his help, immediately getting neatly placed next to my pillow. I wore no bra; the regret at not wearing fancier panties had been already lived through by me the moment Bruce's lips first landed on mine. For some reason, I was convinced he wasn't the kind of man to care about the amount or the retail price of the lace on my underwear.

I decided to finally open my eyes.

Bruce sat on his shins in front of me, one intense furious blush the only indicator he was affected by our activities. Seeing his eyes - I had to take that back. Devils danced in his green-ish orbs. The man was enjoying himself, quite a lot.

"Off?" Words and other trivial things I didn't worry about anymore. I tugged on his button-up to indicate my own want to see him, to finally see that firm chest that had inadvertently acted as a pillow for me to cry on more than one occasion recently.

Button by button, Bruce was either teasing or provoking me. Which was fine, for once I was happy to fully relinquish the reigns of the situation to someone else. The man was, and I am not exaggerating, perfect under all those frumpy clothes. Bulky chest with coarse dark hair - I wanted to run my hands through it, all over him.

His shirt landed right next to mine and he came close, mouthing leisurely at the space between my breasts, covering my chest with the warm moisture of his breath. Hot and wet wrapped around my nipple just as my eyes drifted closed again. Arching into the bliss, I moaned softly.

And any other time I'd be embarrassed at how soft and kitten-like was the sound; then, however, I was ready to yowl if that meant he wouldn't stop. One nipple and then the other. Bruce didn't apply anything but gentle pressure. His tongue made a slow, deliberate circle around my navel, dipping into the sensitive spot. I was surprised, my hips twitching. I had no idea it could be so pleasant.

The man's soft chuckles were absorbed by my panties where his breath ghosted over my core. My squirming increased as I was no longer able to contain my excitement, my body remembering on it's own how good Tony was with his tongue, bringing me extasy - he ate me for what felt like hours when he felt I did something exceptionally well. I'd be a rotten liar if I told you that alone wasn't motivation enough to excel at everything.

"I can see you like that, Princess," Bruce observed in quiet joy, moving instead to rub his cheek on the inside of my thigh, the slight stubble producing just enough friction for me to get slightly wetter. Beards were just hot.

"Mhmm," I agreed with him, raking a gentle hand through his unruly mop of curls. Bruce groaned and I continued to steadily part his hair, loving the muted noises coming from the scientist, enjoying his breath returning to elicit shivers all over my lower body.

The gusset of my underwear was promptly moved aside, exposing me to his eyes. I've never felt an ounce of shyness with a man but it seemed that day was one of firsts for me. It was the most exposed and vulnerable I'd ever felt; like a door pried open, my inner world for anyone to see. The urge to close my legs and hide under the blankets overcame me.

"Such a pretty pussy, Princess," Bruce's voice was even rougher now, scratching.

An open-mouthed smooch was placed on my lower lips, a nimble tongue slowly stroking experimental lines through my folds. The man purposely avoided the clit, I was sure. He dove down multiple times to my entrance, lapping up my juices with an obscene noise. A lewd moan followed every time. My hips met his mouth with every movement.

My shameful freak-out was abruptly cut short by the devotion Bruce radiated. His hands firmly gripped my thighs securing his meal in the right place. And eating he was; like a starved man, the scientist followed the noises leaving my mouth to find each and every nook and cranny that made me feel closer to Eden. There was no finesse, only slippery, sloppy movements as I reached my first peak with his name leaving my lips in a strangled moan.

I was boneless, weightless. Bruce pushed me more, delving straight back into the oversensitive folds of my cunt like he hadn't just made me see stars and galaxies. Floating in time in space, not a coherent thought in my skull, my last functioning brain cell on it's long overdue vacation.

"How do you feel?" He asked me once he deemed me sufficiently removed from this plane of existence and deposited me somewhere on another world where everything was light and easy.

"Mm-Brucie," I tried to articulate my thoughts. He must've been painfully aroused himself yet he made no move to be intimate any further. The idea of him holding back and refusing his own gratification nagged at me unpleasantly, invoking a primal hunger deep in my belly. "C'mere, want you."

He climbed over on top of me slowly, stretching his limbs, caging me in the sweet trap of his arms. His pants were gone; I felt the hardness, very sizeable hardness budge against my hip. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at him with unseeing eyes and my mouth hanging open slightly.

We kissed lazily for a while, me finally having the chance to roam my hands on his body. He was almost as warm as Bucky - a perk of his own knock-off serum, I supposed. Reasonably toned with a healthy layer of fat, Bruce certainly wasn't ripped or even built like Tony. Banner's body screamed comfort and safety where Tony was all strength and durability. Once again, I marveled at the difference between the two men, finding them both equally appealing and beautiful in their own ways.

Bruce's boxers went to hell and beyond. He was easily the biggest partner I've ever had; both long and thick, my insides clenched involuntarily at the weight of it in my hand, the engorged veins all over the shaft. No time like the present - hiking a leg over his hip, I insistently pressed the leaking tip of his cock against me, swiping it through my folds for extra lubrication beforehand.

The scientist twitched, growling quietly, low and dangerous. "Princess," Bruce hissed, momentarily dropping his forehead onto my shoulder.

"Brucie," I replied breathily, feeling him shudder as the tip breached my entrance. The sting was slightly south of pleasurable, just enough to give me an edge and return to reality. "You're so big," I gasped. The very room I and Bruce were (what felt like) making love. Such a foreign concept. "For the love of both God and Satan, move."

"That's my girl." Giving a watery chuckle, the man obliged, sheathing himself fully within me. I was unprepared for the surge of pleasure - it felt like he was everywhere at the same time. It was unlike everything I'd felt, the burn of the stretch becoming a source of new heights of pleasure.

Bruce's shallow thrusts increased in speed and amplitude as soon as I arched my back, presenting all of myself at his mercy. His movements weren't pounding yet he shook me with every single shift of his hips. "Fuck, so good, my sweet girl," He kept muttering, barely audible. "So tight, so hot, oh God."

The praise only made me clench tighter around him, my orgasm rapidly approaching and finally crashing into both of us with a firm, steady force. His cock throbbed inside me, releasing the seed with force I swear I felt in my guts. I took it all, milking every single drop, there was so much of it. Bruce's release - this one - belonged to me and to me only.

Ever mindful of himself, Bruce rolled over, pressing as close to me as possible, throwing an arm over his eyes. I immediately relocated to make a nest on his chest, idly running my hand through his chest hair. Fascinating.

"Feel good?" And finally he sounded slightly winded. Wow, I couldn't help but wonder what could make him really lose it. What would make him go feral for me. What could trap his breath in his lungs and attach him to me forever.

"Mmm, amazing. You're good at this," My usual snark and sass was returning; I gently teased him. Lovingly.

"That's good to know, it's been a while," He snorted. Must've felt my confusion, too, because the next sentence threw me for a loop: "It's been, uh, years."

Years? For this man?! The universe was unfair. Depriving the entirety of female sex of this man? Abhorrent. "You have quite some things to catch up on," I whispered coyly. "Humbly do I offer my services."

His chest began shaking: Bruce was laughing, no trace of shame, just good-natured relief and happiness in his features. "This is exactly why we love you, Princess. You say the weirdest shit but somehow it all makes perfect sense."

I chuckled, the words spreading warmth - not the physical one - throughout my body and lulling me into a sense of sated exhaustion. I let my eyes fall shut on their own and for the first time in ages, I fell asleep with a calm heart.

Bruce's soft snores kept the bad dreams at bay.

Tony's callous hands roused me tenderly, coaxing the sleep from my brain with grace although there was very little grace about the situation; first thing I noticed upon waking was the sticky puddle between my legs and the sharp smell of sex in the room. Bruce's slightly spicy sweat mixed with the warm vanilla of my perfume. The messed up bedsheets and the warm but empty space next to me.

"Had fun, baby girl?" If Tony's lopsided grin was any indication, I had at least committed some sort of scientific breakthrough. "You know, I had a bet running on when Bruce was going to break his celibacy. If you had waited until next year, which is technically in a few months..." The engineer trailed off teasingly, looking not at all worried about the fact that his best friend had blown my brains out a... Few hours ago.

I cleared my throat. "So, who won?" It seemed only appropriate I ask.

Tony's face immediately fell. "Merlin."

My eyebrows rose. "Didn't take him for the gambling kind." I sat up in bed, stretching the stiffness out of my joints, clearing the sleep from my head with Tony's gaze firmly glued to my naked tits. Some things never change.

"You called him old. That does things to a man's ego," Tony answered dismissively. It was easy to see the obvious pleasure he held for that particular conversation: the billionaire greatly enjoyed it when people gave into his antics and indulged his sometimes childish vices. One of those vices happened to include annoying the resident wizard.

I decided to test the waters. Biting my lip, I gave him an appreciative once-over. "How are you on sloppy seconds?"

He clicked his tongue, eyes sparkling, obviously having expected this question. "I'll join you in the shower. We have thirty minutes before Clint sends Nat down here to retrieve us deviants."

I pranced in the direction of the bathroom, putting an extra wiggle in my walk.

Turns out, Tony had absolutely no problems with sloppy seconds. He was as eager to hold me by my hair, viciously pumping his cock out of me, whispering utter filth into my ear.

His honeyed voice rough, telling me how dirty I was. "You little tart, parading around, making old men drool over you. Fuck, you make me feel like a dirty old man."

I let the sassy remark to be drowned in the sound of his hips slapping against my ass. "I love dirty old men," I moaned. "Want me to get down on my knees for you, daddy?"

"Fuck," Tony's hand tightened in my hair but he made no move to cease the assault on my pussy with his cock. It was steel-hard, deliciously thick and hit all the right places without much effort.

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[nandalorian]

the gentleness that comes

Sometimes you just get thinking about random things like “what if Jaskier decided to Eternal Sunshine himself to get over the mountain breakup?” and then proceed to ruin not only your life but the lives of everyone else around you. 🙃

Jaskier/Geralt, PG-13

“No mage can do what you’re asking. Not even, I would wager, something as powerful as a djinn, or at least not in any way that would bring you peace,” Tissaia explains with more patience than Jaskier honestly expected. For all the fearsome tales he’s heard of the headmistress of Aretuza, she is either kinder than he deserves, or the stories have done her very, very wrong. Perhaps both. But her eyes are steady, her expression serene. Absolute. “Just as we cannot induce someone to fall in love, nor can we make them fall out of it.” She pauses to offer a sympathetic smile. “I am sorry. For you to have travelled such a long way, I suspect you do not make this request in haste.”

The compassion in Tissaia’s voice is terrible to hear. After all, sometimes kindness can look like cruelty before you’ve gotten enough distance on a thing. Certainly the opposite is true, anyway. Jaskier would know. He lowers his gaze to his hands, of a sudden fascinated by the calluses on his fingertips, the ragged skin around his nails. He has to take several deep, steadying breaths before he answers. 

“No, not in haste,” he manages at last. “I have prayed for it for some twenty-seven years.”

“Any man would be blessed to have captured such a loyal heart.”

Jaskier can’t resist a scoff. “Any man indeed.”

Several long moments pass, and eventually he must accept that Tissaia has said all she can on the matter. He forces himself to smile and climb to his feet, whereupon he sketches a bow fit for a queen. Tissaia doesn’t rise. She barely blinks, a statue rendered in green velvet and black lace.

“Mistress. I thank you for the tea, and your candor,” he tells her, still inclining his head with a hand pressed over his heart. “It’s not often a humble bard may boast an audience with the great Tissaia de Vries. If ever you are in need of musical entertainment, I proudly volunteer my services. I’m in your debt.”

“You are in no one’s debt, Lord Pankratz,” Tissaia answers, serenely as ever. At no point during their conversation did Jaskier tell her his full name, having introduced himself as Jaskier the Bard and no more. His title is useful to fling around in situations that call for it, but not here; Tissaia would see through any attempt at peacocking. “Nor are you merely a humble bard. You are most welcome here, as any friend of Yennefer’s is a friend of Aretuza.”

“Jaskier, if you will. And I’m not quite sure Yennefer would deign to call me a friend, but I’ll take it.” He smiles back and speaks through the tightness in his throat. “It’s been a pleasure.”

He is almost to the door of her study when her voice rings out again.

“Jaskier.”

He turns.

At some point Tissaia stood without making a sound and came around the desk to face him with her hands clasped together. “I cannot fulfill your wish as such. But I may be able to offer an alternative. One that comes at a great cost.”

Jaskier swallows and hopes the thrill of hope--and fear--elicited by her words isn’t completely obvious. “I’m listening.”

+

Her solution is quite simple, really, and so obvious that Jaskier isn’t sure how he didn’t think of it before. 

However, nor is Tissaia’s warning in jest: the cost is great indeed. So great that Jaskier cannot in good conscience be sure it is one he’s capable of paying.

Not monetary, of course, though he came prepared to empty his pockets and offer his soul if necessary. No, the cost is something more significant and precious than any coin or favour. Much more.

“A memory spell is a rather straightforward matter,” Tissaia explains as she and Jaskier walk the halls of Aretuza. Their destination is unclear, but where Tissaia goes, he follows. He’s not stupid enough to do otherwise. “It’s a spell even a novice can be expected to perform adequately, with the proper training, of course. One never knows when war might be averted by something as simple as a king forgetting an accidental slight, or a maid forgetting a conversation they were not meant to overhear.” She shrugs. “Not always the most elegant solution, but effective.”

A shiver crawls down Jaskier’s spine and makes the hair stand up on his arms and the back on his neck.

Magic, especially the kind taught at Aretuza or Ban Ard, is an ethical grey area, and mages have always played hard and fast with the rules, holding themselves above the trivialities and petty concerns of human morality. That’s why they’re mages: feared, awed, and resented in equal measure. 

That Tissaia speaks so casually about altering people’s memories, of mages’ power to decide the course of history according to their own values and interests, is a frightening concept. Most days Jaskier can’t decide what to eat for breakfast. And yet here he is, about to consider letting one of the most powerful mages in history stick her creepy magical fingers in his brain and give it a stir. He should consider getting his sanity checked instead.

Jaskier casts a sidelong look at Tissaia. “But falling in love isn’t like hearing something you shouldn’t, or being offended by a poor choice of words. It’s--”

“Complicated. Yes, quite. And even erasing the briefest of memories does not always go according to plan.”

Without warning, she stops in front of a heavy set of double doors, which she throws open with a flick of her wrist--a useless bit of pageantry, that, but one that distracts from Jaskier’s increasingly pressing urge to flee. Tissaia gestures for him to follow her inside and walks on.

Jaskier doesn’t immediately obey. Drumming his fingers anxiously against his leg, he leans over to peer inside, mind racing ahead to images of a frightening laboratory, potions bubbling away in vials, screaming victims strapped to tables or floating in giant vats. It’s--

Oh. A library.

Huffing to himself, Jaskier adjusts the strap of his lute on his shoulder and hurries to catch up.

The place is massive, far larger than it looks to be from outside, with soaring ceilings and giant stained-glass windows that reach several stories above their heads. Shelves upon shelves line the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, and dozens more sit in neat rows upon multiple levels, staggered in tiers like a duchess’s birthday cake. They are filled to bursting with books, of course, interspersed with tables and comfortable chairs for mages at study. Jaskier can count at least four fireplaces burning merrily away. Right now he and Tissaia appear to be the only ones here.

With a theatricality he can’t help but admire, Tissaia turns and holds out her arms, encompassing everything and looking very like a queen showing off her kingdom. “What do you see before you?” she asks, voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space.

Jaskier furrows his brow. The question is almost certainly a trick of some kind, so he answers with the first thing to come to mind. “Uh… books?”

“Precisely.” Tissaia lowers her arms. “Tens of thousands of books, each of them containing spells, histories, first- and secondhand accounts of untold lifetimes, many of which have been forgotten but not lost.”

“Memories.”

She nods. “Yes. But memories are not like books. And magic, even in the hands of the most talented user, is not like taking a book down off a shelf. It is not a matter of selecting a few chapters to discard and letting the person continue on their merry way. The mind is a much more delicate and complex thing. If it were to be a story, it would be a very messy story indeed, with no clear narrative or plot, no chapter headings, and not necessarily even a single voice.”

“Sounds like some of my earliest compositions.” 

He titters at his own joke; Tissaia’s expression doesn’t budge. 

Unnerved, Jaskier clears his throat and has to break eye contact, looks around the room instead. After a moment, and with a smidge more gravity, he asks, “Why are you telling me this?”

Once again Tissaia regards him with that patient look from before. “Because you must comprehend that there is a price to what you’re asking, and why I do not suggest this lightly. If you are truly serious in your quest to rid yourself of Geralt of Rivia, and I sense that you are, there is a possible way forward. But to erase this one chapter of your life will require throwing out many more--whole volumes, whole books, shelf after shelf of memories. Possibly the entire library, if things do not go according to plan.” She pauses and steps forward to touch his chin, forcing Jaskier to look at her. “Do you understand what I am telling you?”

He swallows with difficulty, throat catching on the boulder suddenly lodged there. It wouldn’t do to ruin the moment by asking how she knows this is about Geralt, even though Jaskier definitely didn’t tell her and did his best to avoid thinking about him during their initial conversation. But his reputation precedes him, after all, and if not that, he really doesn’t want to know the extent of the mage’s legendary powers of telepathy. He also thinks to bring it up now would be missing the point.

“Are you saying I will forget my whole life?” he asks.

“Unlikely, though not impossible,” says Tissaia like that isn’t an utterly testicle-shrivelling statement. “That is the worst-case scenario. The best is that you will cease to remember everything since you met Geralt. That is, in essence, what you want, is it not?”

“I’ve known Geralt since I was barely eighteen.” Panic suffuses his voice without Jaskier quite meaning it to. “I’m forty-five years old.” 

Eighteen-year-old Jaskier is a mystery to him now. Oh, he vaguely recalls joints that didn’t creak and a back that offered him less trouble each morning upon rising, a cock that would swell at a hard gust of wind and balls that never seemed to empty. That boy could sing all day and dance all night in and out of people’s beds. He was loud, annoying, impetuous, drunk on the sound of his own voice, and full of love. So full of love that he could saunter up to a complete stranger with white hair and yellow eyes and end up following him around for twenty-seven years instead. Well… twenty-four, if you don’t count the last three since they become estranged. Which Jaskier absolutely does not.

His enduring muse and most steadfast friend; his life’s greatest and most unfulfilled passion. 

His most profound heartbreak.

Not much has changed about the last part, but Jaskier likes to think he’s grown wiser with age, less migraine-inducing. He lived enough to discover what pleased him before it was taken away.

Are any of those lessons worth unlearning, for any reason?

“Eighteen isn’t a bad age,” Tissaia remarks, breaking through his thoughts, or perhaps deliberately interrupting. She has been steadily taking in Jaskier’s internal struggle with that calm, measured gaze, though her attention is sharp. “By then most of us have some idea of who we are and what we want. Enough that you could begin again.” 

Jaskier slants her a look. “Mages are immortal, and you’re one of the oldest still living. Please don’t condescend to me that eighteen is anything but as unbearably young as it sounds.”

A small smile. Perversely, it reminds him of Geralt. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, forty-five is unbearably young too.”

Ruefully, unexpectedly, Jaskier barks a laugh and concedes the point with a nod. “Touché.”

They linger in that shared bit of humour for a moment, Tissaia’s smile widening and making her look abruptly more human since they met, and then she cants her head. She gestures, and from seemingly nowhere a book tumbles off some far-off shelf and flies into her hand. With an enigmatic smile, she turns it over to reveal the spine and hands it to Jaskier. The Songs of Jaskier the Bard is tooled on the front in gold, winking in the firelight. 

“You’re more fortunate than most: there’s an account of your life right here. Should you want it, that is.”

“I’m not sure I do anymore.” Jaskier peers at the book from the corner of his eye. It almost hurts to look at it directly, to think of the tales sung about in its pages, the joy, the adventure, but also the love and heartache couched beneath every note, every clever turn of phrase. The next words are a genuine struggle to get out, and he tries with everything he has not to cry. “No, I think that time has quite passed. I want peace. And if not peace, then at least blissful ignorance.”

“Hm.” The sound is neither pitying nor understanding, merely thoughtful. Tissaia regards him critically. “Then you may have it. You’re still a young man. Not a grey hair on you, and I’ve my suspicions you’ll live for a while yet.”

Jaskier narrows his eyes at her. What does that even mean. “What does that mean?”

She chuckles. “It means you have time. And time heals a multitude of wounds. Not perfectly, but… passably.”

“And--what? I can find love again, or some such tosh?”

“If you like.”

He huffs. “I used to think that. I did. Give it time, and eventually I’d meet someone new who would make me forget Geralt ever existed, blah blah blah--yes, I know, the irony of that isn’t lost on me.” Jaskier is quiet for a moment. “But I don’t know if that’s true anymore. It’s been three years. The wound hasn’t healed, only festered. The more I try to open my heart to others, the more it seems to close.”

“It is said people linked by destiny will always find each other.”

“Oh, I know that one. That’s a prison sentence, not a comfort.” 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.”

At last Jaskier forces himself to look down at the book in his hand. It has a pleasant heft in his hand, the weight of a life lived well. For twenty-seven--no, twenty-four years he gazed upon the face of the man he loved and loves still. Sang of him, to him, the way seabirds call to the sea, a song in their blood even when the crash of the surf is too far away to be heard. 

Is that enough? Can it be enough?

Perhaps it will have to be. Or perhaps he can simply wake up tomorrow and not remember or care what the correct answer is. Forget even that he asked the question.

He sets the book down upon a nearby table and pauses only to run his hand down the cover, leather supple beneath his fingertips. In his mind’s eye is Geralt--not spitting mad and vicious on a mountaintop, no, but as Jaskier first saw him, sitting quietly by himself in the corner of a tavern. Trying so very hard to escape everyone’s notice, and yet once he caught Jaskier’s eye, quite impossible to look away from. Impossible not to love.

Jaskier turns back to Tissaia and meets her gaze steadily.

“I understand and accept the risks,” he says, confident in a way he does not feel. That has always been his way. Even, it must be said, at eighteen. It’s enough. It will be enough. “Now tell me what I must do.”

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Four Loves - Eros

Lewis very specifically distinguishes eros (romantic love, being ‘in love’) from sexual desire (which he calls Venus). (This is, by the way, very helpful for my understanding the concepts of asexuality and aromanticism and the distinctions between them.)

Lewis starts off the chapter with noting that he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with people marrying without eros and in fact that’s been the nature of most marriages through history. (So we can conclud he’d be okay with ‘friends-with-benefits’ provided that it was committed, monogamous friends-with-benefits. In fact, he initially married Joy Davidman - in a civil ceremony, not a religious one - so she could retain her UK residency, when they were close friends but not yet in love, though given his convictions they probably didn’t sleep together at that time.) Nor is there anything inherently ‘right’ about eros, and it is certainly capable of leading to wrong and hurtful actions.

Lewis describes eros in this way (his entire discussion of the subject is from the male perspective):

Very often what comes first is simply a delighted pre-occupation with the Beloved - a general, unspecified pre-occupation with her in her totality. A man in this state really hasn’t leisure to think of sex. He is too busy thinking of a person. The fact that she is a woman is far less important than the fact that she is herself. He is full of desire, but the desire may not be sexually toned. If you asked him what he wanted, the true reply would often be, “To go on thinking of her.”...In some mysterious but quite indisputable fashion, the love desires the Beloved herself, not the pleasure she can give.

...The reader will notice that Eros thus womderfully transforms what is par excellence a Need-pleasure into the most Appreciative of all pleasures. It is the nature of a Need-pleasure to show us the object solely in relation to our need, even our momentary need [e.g., a glass of water when we are thirsty]. But in Eros, a Need, at its most intense, sees the object most intensely as a thing admirable in herself, important far beyond her relation to the lover’s need.

Without Eros sexual desire, like every other desire, is a fact about ourselves. Within Eros it is rather about the Beloved. It becomes almost a mode of perception, a mode of expression. It feels objective; sonething outside us, in the real world. That is why Eros, thoigh the king of pleasures, always (at his height) has the air of regarding pleasure as a by-product. Anyway, whose pleasure? For one of the first things Eros does is to obliterate the distinction between giving and receiving.

I’ve quoted the passage at length because I am trying to get a clearer understanding of the ideas here; it is less easily understood, to me, than the other forms (and not something I’ve personally experienced). But the last line draws me to something from George MacDonald’s writings that I’ve often applied to my understanding of romantic love and how it differs from others. Friendship, or philia, is the enjoyment of someone’s company because you share the same interests. Eros is the enjoyment of the Beloved’s interests because they are the Beloved’s. MacDonald expresses this in his short story “The Day Boy and the Night Girl”, about a boy who is raised to only ever see the day and never experience night or darkness, and a girl who is raised in darkness and never sees the day. They meet, they fall in love, and it concludes with:

Hardly had one [year of their marriage] passed, before Nycteris had come to love the day best, because it was the clothing and crown of Photogen...and Photogen had come to love the night best, because it was the mother and home of Nycteris.

In the story of Aldarion and Erendis in Unfinished Tales, their marriage falls apart because they don’t have this: each of them values their own pursuits, preferences, and desires more than they value being with the other (though I think Aldarion is far more to blame, as she makes many, many allowances for him, and he makes very few for her). Likewise with the Ents and Ent-wives, who both prefer being in the lands that they love over being together.

In contrast to that, Lewis says that the goal of eros is not happiness, but valuing togetherness over being happy:

Eros does not aim at happiness. To Eros all calculations are irrelevant. Even when it comes clear beyond all evasion that marriage with the Beloved cannot possibly lead to happiness - when it cannot even profess to offer any other life than that of tending an incurable invalid, of hopeless poverty, of exile, or of disgrace - Eros never hesitates to say, “Better this than parting. Better to be miserable with her than happy without her. Let our hearts break provided they break together.” If the voice within it does not say this, it is not the voice of Eros.

It is in this respect that Eros can give us a greater understanding of our relationship to God:

This love is really and truly like Love Himself. In it there is real nearness to God (by Resemblance [in its willingness to give up everything for the Beloved]). Eros, honoured so far as love of God and charity to our fellows will allow, may [also] become for us a means of Approach. His total committment is a paradigm or example, built into our natures, of the love we ought to exercise towards God and Man. It is as if Christ said to us through Eros, “Thus - just like this - with this prodigality - not counting the cost - you are to love me and the least of my brethren.”

...In one high bound [eros] has overleaped the massive wall of our selfhood; it has made appetite itself altruistic, tossed personal happiness aside as a triviality and planted the interests of another at the centre of our being. Spontaneously and without effort we have fulfilled the law (towards one person) by loving our neighbour as ourselves. It is an image, a foretaste, of what we must become to all if Love Himself rules in us without a rival. It is even (well used) a preparation for that.

Yet, as noted above, this is not to say that eros is intrinsically good. In fact, Lewis considers it one of the more perilous forms of love, precisely because it is so overpowering that it can lead lovers to think that everything they do for the cause of love is right or justifiable. If amor vincit omnia refers to eros, then Lewis disagrees with the assertion (and so do I). The rejection of it is one of the things I love about Jane Eyre, where in the scene after Jane finds out that Rochester has a living (and insane) wife, and Jan and Rochester are still as deeply in eros as they have ever been, she chooses to leave because staying and living as his mistress would be wrong, defying both his passions and her own. Lewis describes the destructiveness of unrestrained eros, “ready for every sacrifice except renunciation,” and with the particular danger that “temptations speak with the voice of duties” - to go against romantic love feels wrong even when it is right. This doesn’t just refer to love-affairs. We see it in Les Mis when Marius determines to detach Cosette from Valjean (whom he regards as a criminal and danger, and whose wealth he suspects is ill-gotten) for love of her, and Cosette is wrapped up in love for Marius enough to forget Valjean.

And despite the overwhelming demands that eros makes, it is “notoriously the most mortal of all our lives; the world rings with complaints of his fickleness.” People promise very sincerely to be in love forever, and the feeling fades shortly. Lewis notes that “Between the best possible lovers this condition is intermittent” - which is not the case for affection or for friendship. Between those intermittent times, a committment that goes beyond momentary feeling, along with affection, and (ideally) philia between partners must be able to sustain the relationship. (Lewis, probably thinking of his relationship with Joy, asks anyone who is fortunate enough to have true philia with their spouse, in addition to eros, and who had to choose between the two loves, which they would choose; I think the implication is clear that he would choose philia, which was the intial foundation of their relationship.) Which is to say that, if we mean eros (rather than nonsexual physical affection) when we say ‘romance’, almost all people are aromantic most of the time.

[ellacrossman96]

Save Marriage Songs Marvelous Ideas

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[camjinet]

200507 | #grasslands

( image cover. ) — location: outside of house.

( CONTINUED FROM: 200410 | #kitchen!!  )

CM: ( ; free from the glass-washing, he sends the wolf a sheepish smile before clearing his throat at the silence. nodding curtly in response, he's really the one to follow athena out the door and into the evening breeze. out into their expansive backyard, through the small wooden gate, and onto dirt trails that can only lead them further away--yet not far enough. there's no way around passing the training grounds, cameron fighting the urge to look at it solemnly, but his shoulders drop all the same. he wants to mess around there, have some fun with their training, but the weight of taking charge--possibly getting stricter with every fighting wolf ranked below him--feels all too bothersome. he barely knows them all outside of missions, and perhaps the only one he does know passed formalities had been demoted by him. it's annoying how even the crickets that gradually grow louder in the grasslands still pale in his disruptive thoughts. and even now, barely a fair distance from home, he stays a foot apart from athena--hands to himself with the route he always takes as guidance. ) 

AT: (* leaving the kitchen, going through the backyard, leaving and yet not doing so at the same time is a weird concept for her. she went back and forth between feeling more comfortable being here and wanting to run off, whether it was for a mission or not. how could she explain to cam that she loved the trust she was given to go off on her own, that, compared to the past, she needed it as some form of proof that she was considered capable, a fighter, an actual, valuable pack member that wasn't considered property, something to own and have, to keep for themself. before, training was done in secret. here, the only thing holding her back right now was the idea that she might not be allowed to hunt or scout again. pausing, tongue shyly poking at the corner of her mouth, she looks to cam expectantly, hand on his forearm ) i never asked before . . . (* because it's personal, because her own reason feels so personal for both why she left and why she stays ) but why this pack? why do you stay?

CM: ( ; like he's done a million times before, he'll be crossing the grasslands, go all around the forest, eventually hit the ruins and come back. sometimes it takes a shorter time, though, when he does nothing but come and go; letting his primal senses be his default alarm system. other times, he'd really take his time, and even though he barely thinks about it still, he'll look at his surroundings with sharper eyes. then again, it was only getting darker the longer they walked and for a moment he thinks he's on his way to the clubs again. but no--not tonight. he wants to spend this time with athena and then come home for dinner, eat with the pack. spacing out of his reverie at the touch, the question that follows is a shocking one. after all of near's more trivial questions not long ago, this one has him stumped. and so he smiles, as if it's the only appropriate response for something quite so heavy. ) i wanted to belong somewhere again. take care of wolves again. be needed again. ( ; his gaze only falls forward, feeling that looking into deep brown eyes that can suck him in would be too much. then with a more lighthearted tone, he reciprocates. ) what about you? what makes you stay, athena?

AT: (* she'd been the one to ask, been the one to break the silence in the pleasure of simply walking together   —   something she'd never been that good at, preferring to talk someone's ears off or at least hold their hand, an arm looped in theirs, or a tug of their hair as she asks for a piggy back ride, tendencies from her adolescence still filtering through in adulthood   —   yet she didn't think he would answer so quickly. he made it seem so effortless, that he could tell her like this, and she wonders if he can open up more easily than she thinks, than she knows because she hadn't asked before. why didn't she ask? but her own answer comes in watching the way a smile had formed on his lips before he told her, because she'd been in denial, refused to acknowledge how important cam is to her. back and forth between it's because he's a beta for why she feels comfortable and yet also why she shouldn't be. the reason why is one she said herself in the bakery, because it's cam, so when he turns the question on her, tongue slipping over her lower lip as she turns away, hand already retracted from his arm and falling to her side, her breathing is less steady than she'd like. she owes him more honesty than she's given him, but does he have to make it seem so easy around her? she wishes she could ask if it's because it's her. ) i wanted to be seen. (* her voice is softer, trails off, because even she is surprised by how she words it. was that it all along? ) it . . . (* with a light exhale, she tries to laugh it off, how the truth is heavier than she wanted yet he kept his own so light ) i wanted to be able to sleep again, eyes closed 

CM: ( ; the heaviness that soon falls upon them seems uncalled for. that’s the reason why he tries to smile, tries to make his words come off airy, and why he makes more of an effort to walk at athena’s pace. but perhaps there’s something more looming behind the surface that he doesn’t expect. is he ready to hear it? he thinks it’s enough to ask him the question, and open the gate for a sense of getting used to the idea. so all his mental preparation for it won’t be in vain if she chooses not to share. a part of him thinks athena’s braver than he is for it, even as she reclaims her distance. but then she speaks and he has to blink back his confusion. someone as self-assured and capable as athena, not having been seen before? he’s staring at nothing now, the horizon perhaps, but he’s not really looking. it’s the concern that the last bit gives him that really starts to fog up his brain. ) if i didn’t know any better, you could’ve come from my birth pack. ( ; he tries to say that with a chuckle, but it only comes out as a puff of air and without much luster. but of course it wouldn’t. violent and unlawful packs exist. he’s disgruntled at the thought that athena would’ve come from one. ) how are you sleeping these days? 

AT: (* the silence that follows isn’t that surprising to her. isn’t it said everywhere? in novels, in television shows, music, film   —   even the most confident have their own insecurities and she wonders why she allows all of hers to slip out like this; why she doesn’t go running from cam because he brings out so many of them. from the moment she started training with him, she thought she might not be able to handle it, that the years of building herself up into athena instead of jihyun, into a goddess of war instead of a helpless maiden, could easily crumble because of another beta. but she stuck with it, learned how to fight better, kept fighting until she realizes there’s more that she fights too much against. it was obvious she was seen now, so what more did she want? what was she so afraid of now? when he speaks of his birth pack, her eyes widening, a step almost missed and she pauses for a second, foot lifted for a second too long before she steadies herself, she glances back at him, her question buried by a sentiment she didn’t think herself brave enough to tell him had it been days ago ) i’m glad. (* though the timing itself is odd, doesn’t quite suit what he said, and courage wavers, a smaller truth slipping out ) it’s good for the rest of us, isn’t it? that this is your pack now. (* that’s a truth she should also tell herself and she bites down a sigh at the thought of telling him that she doesn’t sleep, her resolve for self-preservation veering more one way than the other as she circles back ) i’m glad you’re our beta (* teeth still drawing the corner of her lower lip inward, she avoids his gaze just barely, a flicker of a smile on her lips when she decides to pause, pretending it's merely to admire a flower along their path but she swallows thickly, wonders if her voice sounded as airy as she thinks it must've, breath caught in her lungs til now ) 

CM: ( ; It’s certainly a reassurance, if he can even call it as such, that a wolf he respects could say that to him. Everything in him wanted to do the opposite of his alphas and betas. Be gentle, be kind, be respectful, and don’t get so attached. His birth pack was so possessive of their wolves and their rules, it was a challenge to reform it in some way. And maybe it was the wrong thing to do, to leave when he could’ve possibly changed the pack for the better. But nothing was holding him there anymore. No one’s holding something or someone over him here at Seraph, and he’d like to think he isn’t doing it to anyone either. It’s bittersweet that it took such terrible experiences to end up with this one nice one. ) I just hope I’m doing right by you guys. ( ; The wave of hunger beseeches him, along with more than one glass of water, but they’ve barely reached the forest. They’ve covered enough ground for the night, he thinks. He can continue later, and Athena doesn’t know his route anyway, so it works out. ) I appreciate it. Still doesn’t answer my question, though. ( ; He pockets his hands this time, if not for the cold, then the appearance of being ‘tight-lipped’; that he can keep it to himself. ) Mating season is around the corner. ( ; He says it like he’s reporting, like he’s expecting a wave of dismissal afterwards. But really, it’s just one of the most intimate times of the year, and they don’t have full control of themselves during. ) Are you going to be okay? 

AT: (* it’s a shame that only more recently did she think of the weight on cam’s shoulders, that he seems to carry all of this responsibility and yet he seemed so distant at times. had that been part of why she saw him as so different to the beta around her the most as she grew up? where he was overly involved, watching over her, hovering, pushing others away without her knowledge as if claiming her early, cam was unreachable at times. either on a pedestal as the irresistible beta she believes everyone likes or as a ghost because she couldn’t tell if he was fully there; maybe it’s her that isn’t ) wanting it means you’re halfway there, right? not all betas think like you (* the thought crosses her mind again, maybe if there was a beta like cam, she wouldn’t have had to leave her birth pack. then again, she’s been trying to focus more on the idea that if not for that wolf, she wouldn’t have met the wolves she knows now, wouldn’t be here ) but, you know, cam . . . you keep an eye from afar so often. it’s nice that you watch over everything and everyone while they sleep, but it means you’re by yourself a lot, right? (* he spoke to her about teamwork before but she can’t think of many times she’s seen him rely on someone first ) ah   —   i’ve been caught (* but he changes the subject for her in a manner she wouldn’t have expected from him or from anyone, especially paired with that question. she swears the only wolf she thinks would ask her that is julian ) think so. if not, in the words of a very wise wolf, i know where to find you (* brows lifting slightly, she chuckles, turning on her heels to walk backwards, gaze meeting his ) you? might be too busy for me, what a shame 

CM: Yeah, it's a start. ( ; As much as he'd like to delve further, ask why such a question even exists, he nods along instead and lets the thought pass. He probably shouldn't be prolonging topics that hit sore spots anyway. ) Hm? Yeah, I guess so. Main reason why I try not to miss breakfast and dinner with everyone. I think ninety percent of the pack would have forgotten me by now otherwise. ( ; He snorts at the thought, even though he’d probably be sadder if someone acknowledged that right to his face. It’s easier to be self-deprecating. ) Someone's gotta be the night time watch dog. ( ; He never really thinks about it like that otherwise. The routine started so many years ago that he goes out on familiar routes by muscle memory. He continues to think it's necessary, however, because he can't reason why anyone else would sacrifice their social lives for this. But the emphasis of being alone doesn't bode well with him, so he's relying on the subject change instead. But he still smiles when Athena does, and looks away when she chuckles. ) I definitely won't be too far from base. We'll be going on a trip, though. A change of scenery might be nice. Though, I’ve been meaning to ask you... ( ; He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’s even slower now as he checks behind Athena and watches her movements with more clarity. ) Are you still on the pill? 

AT: (* the very idea makes her laugh, glancing over at him in disbelief ) i don’t think you’ve ever been that forgettable, cam (* she can’t even imagine it. as their beta, as, in her very honest opinion, their best looking beta, she doesn’t even think he’s forgettable from head to toe ) it’s more like . . . i’m sure the pack wishes they saw more of you than at mealtime (* but she has no room to talk, hasn’t been around much once she was able to go on missions alone and she wonders if it would change if she’s promoted back up. she’s always wanted to be useful to the pack and, somehow, it doesn’t feel like enough right now, like she’ll just melt into the background ) you always take everything on alone? mm, betas can get away with that more huh? (* she teases, though it’s true. thinking back on it, she knows there’s plenty a rank higher than her own can accomplish alone compared to her when it comes to strength. her patrolling on her own would not compare to a beta or gamma, not when it comes down to it ) ask me? (* it’s naive, she knows, to think it would be something else, to hope it’d be something else, but to be asked about the pill makes her gape for a moment, stopping in her tracks and with his slower pace, his chest is barely an arms reach and she holds her palm up to it, laughing off the moment and tugging slightly at his shirt to bring him closer ) i am, but why? worried i’m dying to give you pups?

(  FIN!!  )

[cabotcreekuniversity]

Dear Jasper Murphy as portrayed by MAR,

Congratulations! On behalf of Cabot Creek University, I am pleased to announce your admission for Fall 2017!

The academic and personal accomplishments reflected on your application for admissions are exactly what Cabot Creek University embodies and represents.

We cannot wait to greet you this coming school year.

Please [ check here ] for further instructions on accepting the offer of admissions. We look forward to working with you.

Name, Age, Timezone, Pronouns: Mar, Twenty-Three, Eastern Standard Time, She/Her

✯ IC Questionnaire ✯ Answer the following OOC about your character:

Character name: Jasper Murphy

List some jobs they had before coming to Cabot Creek University: ◣ᴛᴜᴛᴏʀ | 1995-2005◥  During his time in secondary and postsecondary schooling, Jasper spent quite a bit of his free-time tutoring his fellow students. He had a knack for explaining things, and since his scattered mind had no idea where he was going at the time, he knew just a bit of everything. This lead him to become an ideal candidate to teach at all levels, and made some nice cash on the side. ◣ʀᴇsᴇᴀʀᴄʜ ᴀssɪsᴛᴀɴᴛ | 2003-2006◥  Once he entered the days of his graduate program and studentship, Jasper became far too busy to do much else than work on his thesis and aid in the new project of his favorite undergraduate professor. Minus the restless nights and weeks spent asking the same questions over and over to various people, it truly was a dream. ◣ʟᴇᴄᴛᴜʀᴇʀ | 2006-2009◥  Jasper’s big break came when another Psychology Professor was due for maternity leave, and he was recommended to fill in her place as a temporary lecturer. Before then, Jasper had appeared as a guest or tutor to his superior’s classes, but never on his own. He knew teaching was his calling, and grabbed the chance by the horns. His status only went up from there. ◣ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇssᴏʀ | 2010-2017◥  Finally settling down into his own research, Jasper became a fully-fledged professor at a quieter University than his own Alma Mater. When it was time for a change — one that needed to be big — the furthest, most obscure opportunity Jasper could grasp happened to be in Cabot Creek, Vermont.

Briefly describe their teaching style and/or philosophy: Professor Murphy is a rambler, there’s no doubt about it. His lectures are questionably planned, although he does always somehow manages to cover all the correct material in the right amount of time. Yet he is horribly known to go off topic and discuss seemingly trivial things. Class discussions are his guilty pleasure, and more often than not he pulls others into these rambling sessions. You don’t raise your hand in Professor Murphy’s class, you just pop in your opinions and statements when he pauses. Those who speak too much or at inopportune times get hushed, with Professor Murphy slowly raising a finger to his lips, keeping a small smile there to prevent insult. This motion often leads to a little sauntering around the desks and aisles, until everyone settles down, and then the quieter students get asked for their input instead. If they state a lack of interest in answering, or as having no thoughts on the matter, Professor Murphy takes that as a challenge. The best way to describe the man and his class is as being interactive.

Does your character have any family that they currently live with?: Jasper certainly works to distance himself from everyone he knew before moving to America. This means that any family and friends were left behind in England. If they were ever to insist on visiting, he would lie about his whereabouts and find them elsewhere. In other words, no. He remains entirely independent.

Answer the following questions IC about your character. Feel free to use a gif to respond if you’d like:

What is an issue you feel most passionate about

      “MENTAL HEALTH, without question. I personally believe that years of suppressing invisible illness has really torn us into a miserable society, and that the stigma goes as far as to suppress those from seeking the help they need. It goes without saying that the wait times to receive said help can be horrendous in many countries at best.”

Describe your thoughts on social media?:

         “I FIND IT IMPOSSIBLY fantastic. If I wasn’t such an old geezer, I would make far more use of it myself. But I think the way it brings people together from even the greatest distances, and the instant insight you can have just by looking at someone’s social media, is more than phenomenal as a concept.”

What is your favorite fandom or movie or TV show or book series (choose one)?:

       “I HAVE, AND ALWAYS will always recommend one book to students and strangers alike to get started on any field of Psychology, and that’s Kahneman’s work with Thinking, Fast and Slow. I suppose that wouldn’t necessarily fit in your description of a fandomthough, would it? The Office might be up there for me. That, along with other parodic works like Community, can entertain me for hours.”

Opinion on love and romance?:

       “I FIND IT VERY natural to crave, and undeniably important in creating a healthy mental state in almost all people. Finding the right person, in so many words, is a very biological need, obviously, and more often than not — and don’t let anyone know I told you this — those who state disinterest in the fact are rarely speaking absolute truth in a healthy mindset.”

✯ Optional Extras ✯

Background:

Jasper grew up in an upper-middle-class family, and did a fair job at doing well enough in school and work to set annoying expectations for his three younger siblings. His father was a Mechanical Engineer, while his mother completed her studies to become a surgeon about three years after he was born.

Jasper had always been the helpful, selfless type, which created a strong bond with his family members.

He and his siblings attended an independent school for practically his entire youth, being able to afford it with a mix of bursaries and budgeting on his family’s part.

Jasper always knew he wanted to work is Psychology or something much less hands-on than his parents, much to their dismay.

He received a B.A., MPhil and Ph.D. at Cambridge University, all focusing on Psychology.

While his parents were incredibly well-off, they pushed for their children to be independant. In his youth, Jasper grew to be pretty materialistic and, trying to focus on his studies, didn’t appreciate his lack of funding.

During the years before moving to America, Jasper was in a long-term relationship with a woman he considered the love of his life. She died of Radioactive exposure the very month Jasper decided to move. For this reason, most of his family accepted his distancing and pitied him enough to leave him be.

Headcanons:

Jasper speaks Standard English with Received Pronunciation, as well as a hint of an old Dorset Accent from his, rather outdated, parents. He typically tries to hide this to pass as defaultly-British as possible.

He writes in cursive.

Jasper’s parents pushed a more ‘solid’ career path, so they didn’t take his desire to study Psychology too well. His constant switching between what exactly he was going to do after graduating didn’t help.

Speaking of which, these ideas included: social work, counselling, speech therapy, working as a psychologist, therapist and even market research analyst.

Jasper’s closet consists of sweaters, dress shirts, dress pants, and maybe three blazers and two pairs of jeans. He only has one piece of jewelry, that being a watch he wears constantly, and everything happens to be in varying shades of grey, brown and black.

Jasper seeks nothing more than to stay low on everyone’s radar, and curses any sort of extra attention.

Jasper’s surroundings are always incredibly clean and organized, if only because he uses maybe 3 appliances a day.

He prefers hard candy, because they make him feel occupied for longer periods of time.

His research often focuses of how certain emotions can affect a person in the long-run. More specifically, his current work is on the manifestation of guilt (huehuehue)

Plot Points:

I would love a moment where Jasper’s past gets intertwined in Cabot Creek somehow. Whether it be by a nosy student or coworker, on accident, or pure guilt, the emotional effect and reaction from him — not to mention the following turmoil and overall effect this would have on their relationship — would be way too fun to play out.

Of course, if he were ever to get found out or otherwise reveal something to someone, would it pin him as an immediate suspect? Would the trustee remain trustworthy to him when another crime happens?

Just his relationships in general, honestly. Seeing how his secrecy would affect otherwise pleasant friendships would be interesting to play out and watch as other characters react. Would they want to be nosier? Would they just shrug it off and let him do his thing? Push him to squeeze more information out? Guilt him into possibly lying? Snoop around themselves? Grow annoyed? Would it prevent him from forming any true bonds?

Mock Blog

[busk06busk-blog]

How To Be Understanding In A Relationship

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[thekoreanlass]

Also known as Tempted (위대한 유혹자; Widaehan Yuhokja) is a 2018 South Korean television series starring Woo Dohwan, Park Sooyoung, Moon Gayoung and Kim Minjae. It is loosely based on the French novel titled Les Liaisons dangereuses by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. It aired on MBC from March 12–May 1, 2018.

The Cast

Woo Dohwan as Kwon Sihyun Park Sooyoung as Eun Taehee Moon Gayoung as Choi Sooji Kim Minjae as Lee Sejoo

The Plot

The series depicts rich young men and women in their twenties who discover their true feelings while playing the dangerous game of love. In an act of revenge, Kwon Shihyun makes a bet with his friends to seduce Eun Taehee, who believes people that are swayed by love are pathetic. After Eun Taehee meets Kwon Sihyun, her view on love starts to change. As Sihyun’s secret deepens, he starts to fall in love with Taehee

Review

And so, as the description above says, The Great Seducer is loosely based on the French novel ‘Dangerous Liaisons’. I read a little about how the summary goes in that novel and found that it mostly centers the game that the rich anti-hero started with one of her lovers. She also plays with lives of those weaker than her and her lover, a known seducer, plans on playing fire with an innocent soul. Indeed, that screams of ‘corruption’, but not the corruption you know. In a psychological sense, the corruption of the soul. Ruining someone’s true self for self-gratification, to feed ones already big ego.

Isn’t that great?

The novel is as bold as the French culture is. They love art to an extent–that is free, liberated. That I guess, the original is better in terms of content, consistency, the story build up or the character build up.

MBC’s attempt in loosely adapting the concept is a bit of a failure if we’re talking about consistency. I mean, the beginning of the story where they introduced the dark, extravagant life of those three friends–Sihyun, Sejoo and Sooji–is great. It shows how privileged they are because they are rich, but it also shows the ugly part of being in their status. That to stay on top, they have to constantly watch their backs, they are forced to do things that make them lose themselves, and they live in constant hollowness. Sihyun doesn’t even blink an eye when he plays with people’s feelings. Sejoo does the same and thinks that everything is a funny game. Sooji enjoys seeing others suffer for trivial reasons; for her own pleasure.

Isn’t that just as twisted as it should be? I found this part of the story really heavy, but at least it is true to its concept at that time.

But just as Eun Taehee’s character was introduced, it was as if everything was all rainbows and unicorns and girl power. She became the ice that cooled the fire down and brought a little more color to the story by being the light in Kwon Sihyun’s dark world. However, no matter how great the chemistry is, the premature build up of the characters ruined my expectations. I mean, I’m okay that Kwon Sihyun is like the tsundere type of guy that softened through time because of Taehee, but Taehee’s a different story. In the story’s description, before it even started airing, Taehee is labeled as someone who doesn’t easily believe in love. Plus, she started appearing the series as a tough chick who we are all sure won’t easily fall for the bad boy, but then what happened? She is easily swept off her feet by the seducer in just a few episodes and they even kissed.

It would have been really nice if she had strongly brushed Kwon Sihyun’s attempts to swoon her a little longer and with more resolve that her character didn’t appear so weak. I found Taehee’s character bold, but sometimes she can’t stand for herself, but honestly I’m glad I know Joy so I can’t say that her acting sucked. I still believe she did really better in this project that in her first acting gig (The Liar and His Lover) and that the cause of this loophole in character development is actually the script, how it is written and how they are described in paper.

Then there’s Sooji who is the mastermind of the vicious game they started. The game that says for Sihyun to seduce Taehee to get back at her ex-boyfriend who she thinks likes Taehee. Clearly, the game suggestion from the princess herself lack something to back it up, not unless she is that childish to play a prank like that for fun and because her ego sucked at that moment.

They were obviously talking about getting married to get back at their parents who were about to officially get married soon for purely business, but then Sooji just says the brightest idea of entangling the innocent Eun Taehee in the food chain. out of the blue, causing for a more complicated plot that hardly followed through. It’s a good thing Sihyun couldn’t stick to the sick game and followed his heart by liking Eun Taehee even if he had to lie to Sooji and Sejoo, but somehow the plan about marriage between the two of them became buried under a big rock for a long time, until Sooji tells Sihyun’s father of this plan. I don’t think that it doesn’t have that much impact then, considering Mr. Kwon is an adult who could care less about such a childish plot of revenge, plus, her mother is so in love with Mr. Kwon that Sooji may rest her case, and then there’s Sihyun who has completely abolished the plan in his mind because of Taehee.

Sooji could have been a really strong and scary character if it isn’t for the flaws in character development. She’s vicious for most part of the drama, but there are times when her resolve dwindle and she seems inflexible in such a way she has insomia and that has become a bigger problem in the end. It made her character weak and it doesn’t help that her mother is a doctor. Because the doctor can’t even see what’s wrong with her daughter. The link between them feels so superficial that her mother couldn’t have uncovered the real problem with her own child and that causes Sooji to rely so much in her friendship with Sejoo and Sihyun. That she is utterly destroyed when things start to fall apart among them.

Sejoo on the other hand is quite adorable in the beginning. In fact, I didn’t mind that he is sort of a womanizer or whatever, since it really doesn’t feel that way. And among the three of them, I feel he is the one that keeps them together. That it feels a little heartbreaking he had to hurt Sihyun just like how Sooji did even if he didn’t mean to. Out of revenge, he ruined them all and he isn’t even able to to throw a punch at his brother or that annoying Lee Kiyong when they beat him up and Sihyun. I just don’t get it. How are two privileged rebels who looks like they know how to fight can’t even pull the trigger at two self-proclaimed thugs?

I sound like my review is all over the place, but literally I think that’s how much chaotic and confusing the story is. Sometimes, I even think their problems are even pointless and that they always worry for nothing. But is it because they aren’t just able to really show a real mirror image of how it should have been if it is them that have been hurt that way? Did the emotions lack depth?

I always thought like that for the benefit of the doubt, but something always feels wrong. Say for example, the night of Taehee’s accident, she runs away just because her mother doesn’t want her to go to Seoul to study. If she already hates her mother for not loving her father, then could her mother’s opinion even mattered and had she ran away? I think she’d rather lock herself in her room or something. Plus, the drama made it seem like Taehee was in such a grave accident that traumatized her and caused her psychological damage, but the accident was her really being hit by the side of the car and injuring her leg. The only reason why she was in a ditch was because she tried to stand up and fell there. Then there were the other characters who limit themselves to orders made by someone who they think are much bigger than them. Sometimes its frustrating that they are obedient and that they think because someone said to get out of the house that they really should.

The only merit I found in this drama and that keeps me going back is the overflowing chemistry between Woo Dohwan and Joy. They have opposite characters that meet at one single turning point and helped them heal each other in such away that love knows no bounds and that it can conquer everything. Even if it is young and hurtful, they are still really cute together.

Plus, I should give props for them ending the drama happily. The last few episodes are really frustrating, emotional and dragging, so I am happy that they gave the characters some light in their dark world after a few years. A lot of people think this is some pitiful consolation for the characters and they did it to salvage the drama from bedrock bottom ratings, but I wouldn’t ask for another ending, you know. This is probably the best decision the people behind this drama chose to do.

Cast & Characters

I know I ranted a lot on my previous statements, but don’t take it out yet on me. I’m just frustrated with the roles these actors were given. Maybe the main characters are all too young to embody how deeply scarred Sihyun, Taehee, Sejoo and Sooji is, but that’s a room to make improvement.

Nonetheless, I think they did a stellar job and that if there is anything or anyone to blame with how things came out to be, it’s the director, scriptwriter, producer, or whoever is behind the camera. The drama couldn’t have been filled with too many flaws had everything been all mapped out carefully and smoothly.

Plus, it’s the first time watching Woo Dohwan, yet he has me really swooned. Perhaps I am the one really seduced by his charms? Haha. He tears up so easily that I watch every time he’s in drama mode and is pouring his heart out. That vulnerable side of Kwon Sihyun he is able to show simply touches my heart in many ways a guy with similar character could probably do. I mean, if he is my boyfriend, I would probably the luckiest girl that he allows me to see this vulnerable side of him. To say that least, Dohwan is indeed boyfriend material.

Then, there is Joy. Our Eun Taehee, who grew up from her awkward and cringe-y role from The Liar and His Lover (that thing is so much better in the original Japanese version). You will clearly see how much Joy has improved in her acting from her first drama to this one. Her expressions came out more natural now, even if many people still say that her smile is weird and that she’s just as expressionless as Shin Se Kyung in The Bride of the Water God. I don’t think she’s that bad and I’m going to say I will be looking forward to her future acting projects.

Moon Gayoung is one of my most favorite actresses since EXO Next Door and then Jangsoo’s Shop. She has lighter roles in the past and acting as Sooji in this drama is a huge step up for her. Even though she also received a lot of criticism for portraying the role, I believe that she is perfect to have been the one to play Sooji. I would ask for a more intense performance, considering Sooji’s character, but improvement is a process not something that comes true overnight.

I would love it if Sejoo’s poster isn’t this dark. It’s weird to see him pose as if he’s the gang leader or the mafia boss or something that serious, since Sejoo is more like a puppy than a conniving man.

But anyway, I can say that Kim Minjae really grew up somehow in this drama. I watched the drama ‘Second Time Twenty Again’, which he starred in as No Ra (Choi Ji Woo)’s son, and he was really cute and sort of nerdy back there. Kim Minjae made Sejoo his own person unique from his other roles.

Overall

Although the drama’s pacing, overall sequence, character build up and exposure all feel lackluster, I must say I enjoyed the journey to finishing the 32-episode series. Because despite the many flaws of the drama, they are able to take some good points: like being able to portray the two sides of the characters–the good and the bad, show good chemistry among the characters (especially Sihyun and Taehee; I don’t mind the ship sailing!), and have a happy ending for all of them.

I know that the drama didn’t intend to replicate or copy Dangerous Liaisons, but it would have been nice if the drama stayed true to the theme from beginning to end without making the characters’ growth abrupt or unsupported by a good and gradual build up. I must say, the choice of the age of the actors might have indirectly affected the potential strong impression The Great Seducer failed to maintain, considering the characterizations sometimes doesn’t suit how young the actors are, but at the same time I am thinking the actors were casted for the purpose of getting an audience. I do think that getting a mature cast and making the drama even more daring and darker would have been a disaster. I don’t think Korea is ready for that kind of plot. It’s perfect for the English speaking audience, but not for somehow conservative Asians.

Still, I’ll give a slow clap for The Great Seducer for making my heart flutter and I’ll rate it with a 3.8 out 5.

Review: The Great Seducer Also known as Tempted (위대한 유혹자; Widaehan Yuhokja) is a 2018 South Korean television series starring Woo Dohwan, Park Sooyoung, Moon Gayoung and Kim Minjae.

[tinymixtapes]

Music Review: Brian Eno - Reflection

Brian Eno Reflection [Warp; 2017] Rating: 2.5/5 Ultimately, taste is irrelevant. It draws us through creation and consumption, suggesting meaning, suggesting a getting there. Sometimes we find its gratification — perhaps blissful reward — and at other times we find dead ends: no action, it falls short. All the aesthetic meaning you have found starts to crumble when it can’t be relayed, when relation falls short, when the hot springs of expression turn up dry. In 2013, Eno tells Laurie Anderson: “I periodically realize every few years that the only person whose taste I really trust is me. [both laugh] Well, I don’t say that to mean my taste is good or anything like that. It’s just consistent.” No one that Eno consulted had liked the cover art he’d made for what was then his latest. Eno decided to go with his gut on it, which has been a guiding maxim for many of his creative ventures. This principal functions well in many cases but muddies the concepts behind his supposedly more objective processes: taste predicated by a vague conception of some procedural and “scientific” process (Eno (1979): “my resources of information are kind of quasi-scientific”). Reflection is a generative piece, which Eno defines (in the Eno on Reflection portion of his current site): “[generative pieces] make themselves. My job as a composer is to set in place a group of sounds and phrases, and then some rules which decide what happens to them.” Eno acknowledges the limits of the record format (something that indeterminacy miners like Cage and Wolff have long since bemoaned) and provides a generative iOS app of Reflection, which produces a live endless stream (i.e., river) of the piece for anyone who can forfeit $30.99 for it (Apparently this price may be different in the UK, but the Version 1.0.3 notes on the store are somewhat unclear about this. At their least, they suggest that the app’s creators “always intended REFLECTION to be a premium priced app”). This pricing raises critical concerns regarding accessibility. Ambient works provide “provocative spaces for thinking,” now “music [that will] unfold differently all the time — ‘like sitting by a river’: it’s always the same river, but it’s always changing.” The critiques here feel so blatant (who can afford to sit with the stream?) that I can only imagine one critical argument for the pricing that I might buy into: if the cost of access is undeniably expensive, the consumer will likely more fully engage with the work until they feel value has been regained through personal experience. At best, then, the generative app form of Reflection encourages a practice of deep listening and something like meditative thoughtfulness. At worst, however, it becomes a fairly expensive and trivial sonic wallpaper, decorating a space for a dinner party (and, by the way, it’s never the same). This brings me to the question of intent as it relates to taste and aesthetic. First, Derrida: “We do not object to the drug user’s pleasure per se, but we cannot abide the fact that his is a pleasure taken in an experience without truth.” Taste, aesthetic, genre, vocabulary, and mode all function through social exchange. Scenes emerge via class and classification (race, gender, sexuality, age, geography). This is how we learn to love our music and thus how the love of some music can seem so alien to others. We learn the music’s tendencies, what to expect and how those expectations will be sustained and gratified, how they are subverted. We relate certain sounds to periods of our lives and the ones who introduced us to them. We pine for what spaces (venues and forums) a love of certain music might grant us access. In this way we get the experience of music that, yes, functions like a drug. Sianne Ngai: …when someone proclaims that she finds a tree or a poem beautiful, the force of the conviction underlying the judgement tends to route our attention immediately back to the sheer event of her having found it so. This is why it can be so strangely difficult to respond to someone’s passionate declaration that something is beautiful, whether one agrees with the person’s judgment or not. Whether we nod in sympathetic agreement or politely say nothing, we are likely to feel like any response we might have to the response of the judging subject, however not unwelcomed, is somehow beside the point. And quickly, back to Derrida, “we cannot abide the fact that [the drug user’s pleasure] is a pleasure taken in an experience without truth.” Strong aesthetics (like beauty) seize attention and enrapture, they are their own truth to the subject who perceives them. This is the importance of one aesthetic of Ngai’s interest: the interesting. Ngai notes, “when someone feels compelled to make public his evaluation of an object as interesting, we seem equally compelled to ask immediately: why?” This compulsion is a mark of the lack of finality in the judgement of the interesting, an aesthetic that centers and produces consideration, evidence, and dialogue. Hence, Eno’s oft-repeated conclusion in his liner notes for his first proper “Ambient” album that “Ambient Music must be able to accommodate many levels of listening attention without enforcing one in particular; it must be as ignorable as it is interesting.” Theorist Francois Jullien might relate this to the aesthetic of blandness; Ngai herself suggests that there is something similar between the interesting and the cool. These aesthetics are all in some way about striking a very precarious balance: blandness, a field that must not be overcome; coolness, a putting forward that is both uncaring and novel. Ngai points to the balancing act with which the interesting engages: “the interest of a theory is inversely proportional to the probability of its thesis and directly proportional to the provability of its argument.” In art, an aesthetic combination or formal arrangement is all the more interesting if it seems improbable and nonetheless seems to work. This is perhaps what made Eno’s 2016 release The Ship rather interesting: it featured collage-y, vocoder-laden, spacious extended song-pieces with a spoken word narrative in its midst and a Velvet Underground cover to end it (this cover landed fifth on Pitchfork’s “The Year in Disappointment 2016” list, perhaps a testament to its idea — it must’ve been interesting at first to go on to cause disappointment). However, the aesthetic combination found on Reflection no longer carries much of the threat of non-function. Its strikes, drones, and delay are secure grounds to build an album upon. So are its long form and uneventfulness. So, while the threat that Ambient 1: Music for Airports posed nearly 40 years ago is carefully rehashed with each installment of Eno’s Ambient series, its effectivity has been nullified by decades of innovations toward (and bastardizations of) ambient music as a concept/genre. Consider NON co-founder Chino Amobi’s 2016 release Airport Music for Black Folks, which, with its title, at least suggests a lineage out of Eno’s Music for Airports going forward to break conventions and expectations accordingly. Like Eno’s, Airport Music for Black Folks features repetitive movements with minimal yet immersive material, manipulated unpredictably with each iteration. Different, however, is the intensity of the material, the use of language and voice, and the brevity of movements. Whether or not Airport Music for Black Folks or music by NON affiliates like Dedekind Cut are within the realm of (proper) ambient music (most would say they aren’t) is irrelevant to the fact that they engage with generated musical atmospheres: the creation of space. Whereas Eno’s textures sink into the background, effecting our thoughts as wallpaper might, allowing meditation and quiet contemplation, perhaps the cold reflective aggression of Chino Amobi’s gunshots within their steady, affective atmospheres may cue and trigger thoughts, attitudes, and actions. This is all not to say that there is no space for ambient music to evolve in the forms it has thus been known (consider the minimal slippages of TMT favorite Huerco S.) — music that is interesting precisely because it is “as interesting as it is easy to ignore” — but that Eno’s continuation of his flag-bearing series is about as ignorable as it has always been with waning levels on the side of interest. http://j.mp/2l9AD1A