#it must have taken ages to render it all

[ace-turned-confused]

seashells & sandcastles | dbf!joel miller x f!reader

joel masterlist

summary: weekend break in full swing, you spend the day “relaxing” with joel word count: 5,3k warnings: 18+ only, reader is able-bodied / wears a bikini & a dress / can swim, Joel picks up & carries reader but Joel = huge big strong man so he can carry anyone (fight me if you disagree), pet names, unspecified age gap, food & alcohol consumption, parents getting tipsy, smut, super duper explicit grinding (?), public fingering, unprotected p in v, come eating, creampie, dirty talk, spanking, pussy pronouns huzzah!, praise kink, size kink a/n: so........... sea spray was just a silly little oneshot that now has over 1k notes which is actually insane????? actually cried about that btw but anyways i cannot thank everyone enough for all the kind words 🥹 this follows on from where we left off, but could be read on its own :) big thanks to @morallyinept for helping me with some of the warnings 💗 idk how some of this got in here guys i swear and special thanks to my bestie for calling me a wizard and always screaming with me, love you so much 🕺🏻 not beta'd, have fun 😇

Drifting in and out of sleep just as the sun starts filtering through the curtains, the distant sound of rolling waves and the rich smell of the sea air floats through the window. In the back of your mind, you register the sturdy frame behind you, the arm draped over your waist, the heft pressed against your ass. With the sheet bundled up in your arms and barely covering you, the air in the room is stifling, even with the fan blowing — only you can’t blame the summer temperatures for the heat crawling under your bare skin and settling between your legs.

By the time you wake completely, the arm over you is held tight and the heft against you is hot and hard, poking into you. Your memory comes back to you and that's when you realise — you’ve slept with Joel Miller. You know, dad’s best friend Joel Miller. You’re not sure what good will come from this, but he’s still in your bed the morning after, so that must be a plus — right?

With steady breaths being puffed against your neck, you shift around and slowly grind yourself back into him, your eyes fluttering closed and quiet whimpers falling from your lips. His arm around you tightens even further, pulling you into him and he starts rutting against you, still sound asleep. Reaching between your legs, you drag your fingers through your folds, the inside of your thighs slippery and wet as you rub them together.

You reach behind your back and feel for him. You were rendered speechless seeing the size of him last night, air taken from your lungs at how impossibly full you were and he feels just the same now as you touch him for the first time — a fair gap between your fingers and thumb as you try to wrap your hand around his girth, beads of precome starting to pearl as you brush your thumb over his tip.

Joel keeps mindlessly grinding himself against you as you take a finger to your clit, drawing in tight, steady circles. You push yourself into him more forcefully, soft moans gradually getting louder. You could just finish the job yourself, but why do that when you could have Joel do it instead.

“Joel?” It comes out breathy, your voice still raspy from sleep. He doesn’t respond, and you pull your hand from between your legs to grip his hip behind you. You shake him as best you can, fingers digging into his skin and he murmurs.

“Joel.” Twisting your torso to look at him, you drag your hand up his side to shake him more vigorously — his eyes finally flit open and he grumbles a good morning.

“Need you, Joel.”

“Already got me, ‘m right here.”

He grinds himself into you one more time and pushes your leg up and away from him, revealing your glistening cunt to his eyes. He drags his fingers through you, coating his fingers before taking his cock in his hand, stroking your slick up and down his length.

“Barely woken up and you’re already all needy, huh? S’what happens when you get fucked real good.”

Guiding you with a hand on your hip, he pulls you back to press his cock against you, slipping himself between your folds. He moves your leg back into place, holding himself in the wet heat between your thighs and starts thrusting, the fat head of him just catching on your entrance but never pushing in. You gasp and clench around nothing, feeling painfully empty.

“You’re gonna come just like this.”

“Joel-“ 

“Don’t wanna hear any complaints. You be good and come for me like this, then maybe I’ll give you what you want and fuck you nice ‘n hard later. Understand?”

You whine back at him, eyes falling closed and he snakes a hand around you, holding two fingers on your clit and he stops moving.

“Understand?”

“Yes, yes I understand.” You nod frantically and he resumes his movements, fingers swirling round and round, cock dragging against you.

Just before you start unravelling, a loud knock sounds from your door and Joel slows his hips to an agonising pace.

“Hey kiddo, you up?” Your dad’s voice is muffled and you see the door handle start to turn.

“DON’T-“ You’re shouting back at him before you can even think. “I’m getting dressed, Dad! I’m, uh… I’m up.”

You pray your voice comes across more steady through the door than it sounded to your own ears. It was bad enough that you were nearly caught palming the bulge in Joel’s shorts the night before, but this…

The handle snaps back up and you glance around with a sigh of relief, really taking the two of you in for the first time this morning: bodies moulded to one another, damp and sticky with sweat, Joel’s throbbing cock sliding along your cunt, fingers pressed firmly into your clit, your thighs a mess of precome and slick that’s been dripping out of you since before you even woke up.

Tightening your jaw and breathing hard through your nose, you knock your head back into Joel’s to hold back a moan as you clench down again.

“Your mom and I are heading out, you wanna come?”

Joel actually snorts at that and you whip your head around to glare at him, his eyes dark and a sly smirk on his face.

“Um, no, thanks. I’ll stay here.”

“Okay, see you later. Looks like Joel must’ve headed out for a walk, will you let him know we’ve gone when you see him?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“Alright, you have fun.”

His footsteps fade off, the front door closing with a click and Joel takes your jaw in his hand, pulling you to look at him. You can smell yourself on his fingers, and feel him leaving cold, wet fingerprints on your cheeks.

“You having fun?” Joel punches forward more forcefully this time, the tip of his cock knocking into your clit. Your mouth falls open at the feeling, nodding your head as best you can.

“Asked you a question,” he whispers to you, squeezing his fingers into you.

“Yes, Joel.” You smile elatedly and he huffs a laugh at you.

“You wanna come for me?”

“Oh, please, yes please.”

Letting go of your jaw, he presses his fingers into your clit again, gliding between your folds at a steady pace. What was sea air has been replaced with the smell of Joel and sex, his thick fingers and heavy cock and deep, gravelly voice are hurtling you to your end in record time.

“Never felt a pussy as drenched as this one. Bet I could slip right in her like it’s nothing.”

You’re still twisted around to watch him, and he pulls back to watch where he disappears into you, over and over again.

“Feels like heaven, baby. Looks like it too, fuck me.”

He snaps his hips into you repeatedly, taking your hand in his and replacing his fingers on your clit with your own, flicking them over the swollen bud.

“Come on sweetheart. Soon as you come I’m going right with you.”

And you do — thighs tightening around him and hips jerking, a high-pitched whine coming from the back of your throat. He holds your hand in place and comes after a few more thrusts, spilling into the tight space between your legs. You feel it pool between your folds, seeping down your thighs and he forces your fingers apart, coating your hand in his spend.

Lifting your hand to your face, he shoves both your own and his fingers into your mouth.

“I got to taste you, now you get to taste me.”

If you weren’t still trembling with aftershocks you might’ve come again from the sheer depravity of it all.

Joel pulls his hand from your mouth and turns you to face him, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy exchange of tongues and spit and his come.

“You okay?” Breaking away from you, he tugs the sheet up to wipe your mouth, followed by his own.

“Am I okay? Jesus, Joel.” You laugh and burrow your face into the pillow, completely fucked out and you haven’t even had breakfast.

He cradles the back of your head, planting a gentle kiss on your temple and you can feel him smiling into you.

“Go shower, we’re heading for the beach today, remember? Plus, your dad said to have fun, and I’m gonna make sure you do.”

He traces a hand down your body, pushing himself off the bed and stretching with a groan. You could easily drift off to sleep again, but spending the day alone with Joel, free from your parents? That’s better than any dream you could have.

-

Joel can’t remember the last time he had a break like this — summer sun, bottomless drinks, the serenity of the sea. It’s off-season and the beach isn’t too crowded. Lounging back in his fold-out chair, he watches — a father and son excavating trenches and building up sandy defence walls, a little girl carving patterns with the end of her spade, an elderly couple strolling hand in hand just where the water breaks, seagulls nip at each other over old sandwich crusts, and a handful of surfers are far out in the waves.

With the sea ahead of him and the mountains behind, he could easily get used to this: friendly faces, quiet chatter, and hearty laughter all around; peace and stillness as far as the eye can see — and then there’s you.

You haven’t sat down for longer than five minutes the whole time. Zig-zagging along where the water washes over your feet, you crouch down every few steps to dig around in the sand, collecting an array of shells, pebbles, and glass smoothed by the everlasting waves. You’ve already been back twice to empty your shorts pockets, only to venture out again to continue your search. Every so often you look back at him to flash a smile, hand in the sky to shield yourself from the sun.

On your third trip back to unload your findings you stand, hands on your hips to inspect your haul.

“What you gonna do with all this?” He asks as you finish scattering everything out on your towel.

“Dunno, I just like picking them up.” You take a pebble in hand, smoothing your fingers over its surface.

“And how you gettin’ it all home?”

You lift your head to look at him, perching your sunglasses on your head and squinting in the sun.

“Don’t your shorts have pockets too?” You grin and he shakes his head, turning his attention to his unopened book.

“You brought a book?” Your voice is laced with disbelief, and he draws his eyes back to you again.

“Didn’t come here just to drool over you all day, believe it or not.”

“I’m sure you could multitask. Come on, you’re seriously not gonna swim or anything?”

“And who’s gonna guard these ancient artifacts of yours? I’m sure there’s some real rare finds here, sweetheart.” He raises his eyebrows as he leans over to look at everything.

“‘Ancient artifacts’ my ass, it’s a heap of fucking rocks and glass Joel, come on.” You hold your hand out in waiting, scoffing when he doesn’t move to get up.

“Fine, if you’re not gonna come with me then at least put more sunscreen on my back.” You pull your shorts down, rounding the towel to stop before him.

As he starts to stand up, you drop down to your knees, eyes locked on his and a cheeky grin spreads across your face as you sink into the sand, head levelled perfectly with his crotch. You lean to the side, a hand planted on his covered thigh to steady yourself while you rummage through your bags, and all moral thoughts flee his mind.

“You’re real trouble, sweetheart.” You ignore his comment and stand, handing him the bottle and turning your back to him.

He starts below the nape of your neck and you jerk forward, muscles in your back tensing briefly from the stark cold sensation. Palms massaging between your shoulder blades, you soon relax and lean into his touch and he lifts each strap of your bikini top, letting them snap back against your skin once the area is covered.

Moving further down your back, he pushes his hands under the band of your bikini top, curling them around your body until his fingers brush against the supple skin of the sides of your breasts, your breath catching just so.

Leaning in close behind you, he lowers his voice right into your ear, “You just wanted my hands on you.”

He smirks to himself and withdraws his hands, dragging his palms down your sides and sneaking his fingers under your waistband, squeezing your soft, unsunned skin. Part of him wishes you were somewhere secluded, where he could just take them right off, but working you up and fogging your mind is far more rewarding.

Glancing around, the few other people on the beach are well occupied — he grips your hip with one hand and twists the other around to your front, dipping down to cup you entirely.

“Joel…” You say in warning, but he knows it’s an empty threat.

“What, you can tease me but I can’t do the same? Seems a little unfair, sweetheart.”

He applies pressure on your clit with the heel of his palm and you try angling your hips, chasing any relief you can find. Curling his fingers into your heat, he confirms his suspicions. 

“Thought this morning you were just bein’ needy, but this pussy’s always drooling for me, isn’t she?”

You whine at that, already sounding desperate and you push your head back against his chest.

“Please, Joel.”

“Please what? What you want, baby?”

“Want you.”

“Wrong answer.” He keeps his hand steady between your legs, fingers just prodding at your entrance and you try to press your thighs together. “Tell me what you want.”

“I…” Your voice trails off to near silence before you can get the words out, and you turn your head to the side, trying to burrow yourself into him.

“Don’t waste my time, sweetheart. Either tell me, or you’re gettin’ nothing at all.”

“Want your fingers. Please Joel, wanna come on your fingers.”

“Good girl, that wasn't so hard.”

Finally pushing two fingers into you, you’re already pulsing around him. Your mouth hangs open, a strained moan slipping out.

“Only doing this if you keep quiet, or this whole beach is gonna know I’m knuckle deep in this tight cunt.”

You whine again but close your mouth and nod. It seems you really are trying your best to be good — either that or you’re so desperate you’ll do anything. Joel keeps watch of your surroundings, knowing you won’t keep your eyes open — or stay alert — long enough to do it yourself.

Pumping his fingers in and out, in and out, you’re sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, hands gripping his arms to keep yourself upright, small whimpers sounding from the back of your throat. He can feel how close you are, walls fluttering around him, but you’re tense, maybe unable to let go in fear of being caught.

He’s a fast learner, though, and already knows that his words alone are enough to give you that final push.

“Nobody’s gonna see you, sweetheart, been keepin’ watch the whole time. You been such a good girl for me, keepin’ so quiet.”

You clench around him more forcefully — he knows he’s heading in the right direction and curls his fingers into you, pressing that same delicious spot he found so easily the night before.

“That feel good? Know my fingers are so much bigger than your own. Bet it’s not as nice as my cock, though, huh? Had you completely stretched out, took me so well.”

Your chest is heaving as you hold yourself back, thighs trembling and he knows you’re impossibly close.

“You’ve been so good for me, ‘m gonna fill you up again tonight — I’m gonna fuck ya nice ‘n hard, just like I promised. You can be as loud as you want, wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make.”

That does it. Nails digging into his skin, you cross your knees and squeeze your thighs tightly, face screwed up as you come around him and soak your bottoms. He keeps whispering praises to you, pulling his sticky fingers from you when you still and lean your weight against him. Wrapping his arms around you, he holds you upright until you’re ready to stand by yourself.

When he notices you’re sound of mind again, he turns you in his arms, hands resting on your waist.

“How ‘bout that swim you wanted?”

You huff through your nose, a small smile on your face as you throw your head forward, knocking into his chest. He bends his knees as he tightens his grip on you, lifting you up and practically throwing you over his shoulder. You shriek with laughter, your fists landing in playful punches on his back and feet kicking in the air as he marches towards the water.

Placing you down on your feet again, he doesn’t give you time to scold him and seals his mouth to yours, one hand pulling you into him by the small of your back, the other cradling your cheek. For the first time, he notices how the softness of your skin elsewhere carries over into your lips, and you hang your arms over his shoulders, fingers threading gently through his curls. Considering all the time he’s spent with you has been frankly pornographic, this kiss in contrast is surprisingly pure.

Pulling back from you, your eyes are warm as you stare up at him. Taking a hand in his, he laces your fingers together and starts walking, pulling you into the gentle waves.

-

After your… escapades on the beach, you and Joel spent the afternoon winding your way through town — perusing all the tucked-away shops filled with antiques and random nick-nacks, stopping for ice cream, Joel taking your photo for you to send to friends. You insisted on taking one of him too, promising you’d be the only one to see it.

He’s been casually handsy since you left the beach — crossing the street hand in hand, guiding you by the small of your back, that same hand drifting down to rest on your backside.

A few repulsed glances were shot in your direction whenever he had his hands on you for too long, and rather than back off, he only made it more obvious — pulling your body into his, his hands groping the nearest stretch of skin, a kiss lasting far too long to be publicly decent. With a constant smirk on his face, you reckon he was rather proud of himself for getting you flustered and pissing off the townsfolk even further.

It’s almost disconcerting how easy things are. You’re not used to feeling so laid back, not worrying about making a fool of yourself, not caring about the looks you’ve been getting. 

You’re making your way down a quiet side street when Joel’s phone rings from his pocket.

“Hello?”

He shifts his weight to one leg, a hand on his hip with his lax knee popping out to the side.

“Yeah, we’re just walking through town.” He looks at you, mischief in his eyes as the corner of his mouth lifts in a skew smile.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll see you soon.”

Joel says his goodbyes, dropping his phone back into his pocket. Taking his place by your side again, he drapes an arm around your shoulders as you resume your journey.

“So?” You look up at him, face framed beautifully by the late afternoon sun — skin glowing, curls tousled by the salty air, eyes crinkling at the corners as he turns to look down at you.

“Was your dad — he just wanted to know where we were.” His grin only spreads wider as you make your way down the street. “He told me I didn’t have to do all this, that you’re a big girl who doesn’t need to be taken care of. Said I should take some time for myself, relax a little.”

You realise then that, much to your annoyance, your dad does have a point — Joel hasn’t relaxed at all, he’s spent almost every hour together with you. Not to mention he’s barely seen your dad, the man who invited him to begin with.

“Oh… I mean, he is right. I’m sure you came here for a nice break, and you haven’t actually had a moment on your own.”

“Sweetheart, this is the most relaxed I’ve been in years, thanks to you.” He plants a kiss to the top of your head and you feel warm at his words.

“I just thought it’s funny what your old man said about you — that’s the one thing you do need, right baby? Just need someone to take care of ya.”

You’re scared to admit it, but Joel really has taken care of you — in more ways than one. You decide not to fret about what’ll happen after this weekend — you can still enjoy the rest of your time here and whatever Joel has in store for after dark.

-

Upon arriving home, your dad had asked what you and Joel got up to — Joel stayed tight-lipped and you managed to keep your voice level as you recounted the day’s happenings, minus the obscenities. Your dad mentioned that he and your mom had also gone into town, curious that they didn’t bump into you — you’d brushed it off as just missing each other, and thank God for that.

With all the concerned looks you’d received throughout the afternoon, it never crossed your mind that they could’ve come from your own parents, too. You’ve had two close calls now and your luck is bound to run out at some point. You cringe at the thought of your dad finding out about this whole situation — his best friend sleeping with his daughter, his daughter sleeping with his best friend. You’re not sure which version would horrify him more.

You gave him a tight smile in an attempt to cut the conversation short, walking off to your room to avoid further interrogation.

You’d been looking forward to dinner though, but when Joel approached the table, he sat down across from you, leaving your mom to take up the chair next to you. You’d twitched your eyebrows in questioning, but all he gave you was a slight nod of his head.

You thought back to last night — with Joel sitting beside you, you’d tested him and in return, he fucked you better than anyone before. You were keen on trying to push him again, but the added obstacle of the extra distance tonight would’ve made it far more risky.

Throughout dinner he made sure your parents' glasses were never empty, sending you a wink and a slanted smile with each pour as they became more and more carefree, his free hand caressing your back every time he rounded the table.

You’re not usually one to back down from a challenge, especially now that Joel is involved, but you suspected you wouldn’t need to tease him anymore to get what you wanted.

With dinner over and your parents having blissfully stumbled to their room, you now find yourself pinned against the countertop with Joel mouthing kisses along your neck. You’d told your parents you would handle the dishes, but you doubt you’ll even get a start on that.

“Y’know, I’m surprised you didn’t try anything funny under the table tonight.” Joel’s hands roam all over you as he nuzzles up against your jaw.

“I thought about it, but someone made it rather difficult.”

“Yeah well, you were enough of a brat last night, ‘bout time you started behaving.”

“Seemed to me you rather liked it.”

You’re smiling to yourself when you feel his hand smack down on your ass and you yelp, your dress barely doing anything to soften the blow.

“Seems to me that you quite like bein’ punished. Now, I do enjoy puttin’ you in your place, but it’s nice when you’re a good girl and I can reward you instead. You’re all dressed up too, you put on this pretty dress for me?”

Gripping the counter’s edge, you drop your head as he lifts your dress around your waist and holds it against your back. He pushes himself into you until you’re flush with the cool granite top, held down underneath him. He smacks down again and you’ve already soaked through your panties.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, you should know this by now. Been good all night, don’t start actin’ up now.”

“Yes…” You’re met with silence, Joel unmoving on top of you — that wasn’t a good enough response. “I wore it for you.”

“Looks real nice, pretty dress for my pretty girl.” 

He lifts his chest off of you, pressing a hand between your shoulder blades as he stands. Trailing his hands down your back, he tightens his grip when reaching your hips again, grinding himself into your core. A small gasp falls from your lips and he chuckles as you try pressing your legs together.

He hooks a finger under the gusset of your panties and pulls them to one side, tracing over the lips of your pussy as gently as possible, kneading your ass to spread you open — that and the cool, late-night air coats his finger in a fresh wave of arousal.

“All weepin’ and I’ve barely touched her.”

You’re whining at his words, on the verge of begging him to do something, anything to relieve you. He pulls your panties off completely, dropping them to your ankles and he pulls loose the tie of his shorts.

“Joel?” You prop yourself up on your elbows, turning your head to look at him.

“Hey, what’s wrong? You alright?” He rests a hand on you, thumb drawing soft circles into the swell of your ass, concern in his eyes.

“Are we not, uh… not going to bed?”

His eyes turn almost black as all traces of worry fly out the window, lips parted as he ticks his jaw to the side.

“Had no problem with me finger fuckin’ you on the beach, but now you wanna hide away again? What, you scared your old man’s gonna open his door and see his little girl gettin’ railed within an inch of her life? And by his own best friend, of all people.”

That really shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, even more arousal seeping out of you and trickling down the inside of your thighs. Joel lays his fingers flat and wipes his hand up through you before slapping you hard and leaving a burning, sticky handprint on your ass — you buck your hips back into him, letting out a strangled moan.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His shorts rustle as he shifts them down his thighs, and he swipes his hand up your cunt a second time, spreading his fingers and coating them in slick. You can hear how he takes hold of his length, the room filled with your heavy breathing and the lewd sounds of Joel stroking himself with his sticky hand.

He just slips into you and grabs you by the upper arms to pull you up into his chest, your back arching. He grunts as he thrusts up into you and bottoms out in one swift motion, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you cry out, Joel taking up all empty space inside of you, your clit aching from lack of attention.

��You remember what I told you? Wanna hear what pretty noises you can make.” Joel pries your hand away, keeping it in his own as he takes hold of your hip, his other hand moving to your shoulder. “And before you argue, your parents ain’t wakin’ up any time soon baby — you saw ‘em heading off.”

He pulls out to his tip devastatingly slowly and knocks back into you, repeating the same rhythm over and over — you can feel every ridge, vein, and inch of him. Your eyes are pinched shut and your brow knitted, a choked moan sounding out from the back of your throat with each movement.

“Still just as tight as last night, even after bein’ stretched so wide.”

“Mmh, Joel…”

“Tell me what you want,” he mumbles into you, lips pressed into your skin.

“Please touch me, please Joel, wanna come.”

“Greedy, are we? Pussy’s stuffed full and she still wants more.” Taking half a step back, he pulls you away from the counter���s edge and removes his hand from your shoulder. “Askin’ so nicely though, really are bein’ such a good girl for me.”

He feels down between your legs and parts his fingers around where he splits you open, wetting them in your creamy slick that coats his cock before reaching around to your front and pressing them into your clit. Your hips jerk as he starts swirling his fingers, still withdrawing slowly and thrusting into you hard — you’re so worked up and sensitive that you’re coming already.

“Ohh, fuck, Joel!” you shout out, clamping down on him, your legs shaking as you struggle to keep yourself standing.

“Good girl, come on now, let it out.” He keeps the same pace in both hand and hips as he works you through it. You whine, face contorted and body writhing in pleasure.

Joe eventually stills inside you as you come down from your high, wrapping his arms around you to hold you against him. 

“You ever felt so good, sweetheart?”

“No.” You shake your head haphazardly, still breathless, but you want to see if you can drive him as crazy as he does you. “Never had a cock as big as yours, Joel. Never been so full.”

You feel him twitch inside of you and you break out into a wide grin.

Hand taking ahold of your shoulder once again and readjusting his grip on your hip, he starts slamming his hips into yours, the force of his movements jolting you forward as unabashed moans start falling from your mouth again.

“Never knew you had such a dirty mouth, baby. Definitely ruined this cunt for anyone else, nobody’s gonna make her come like I can. Stretched her so well that anyone else just ain’t gonna do the job.”

Last night was supposedly a punishment, Joel setting you straight after you’d teased him, but this? This feels like you’re being used, having Joel just take what he wants and God do you love it.

“Please come inside me, Joel — wanna be full of your come, want it dripping out of me while I fall asleep.”

It seems like your words work just as well as Joel’s — he pistons into you a handful of times before he erupts, groaning as he empties himself inside of you. He withdraws slightly just to push back in again, working himself even deeper into you, head falling to rest on your back as he folds on top of you.

His hands rub all over your body as he catches his breath, lazy kisses being dotted all over your back and neck. Pulling out of you, Joel grunts and you whimper at the feeling, he crouches down to pull your panties up off the floor, now ruined even further as you feel him start to leak out of you and soak into the already wet cotton.

He turns you to face him, hands cradling your head as he leans to kiss you, the same kind of kiss as earlier on the beach — not driven by lust or need but something real.

“Come on, now let’s go to bed.”

comments & reblogs are hugely appreciated, forehead kisses to all 💜

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[yerimacoustic]

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 🤍 𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

summary: after attempting to steal from the wrong man, you and joshua are forced to mend your own mistake and find out more about each other on the way.

content warnings: royalty au, fantasy au, joshua x female reader, inspired by tangled, obviously, lost prince!joshua and thief!reader, lots and lots of angst, swearing, kissing eventually, more tags to come!

a/n: this is a TEASER for an upcoming joshua fic that i pinky promise i will actually finish and upload. this is also dedicated to my favorite moot @02shuuu who gave me the idea and is so encouraging thank youuuu🫶🏻

“look.. you’ve got great aim, i’ll give you that. but was throwing that apple really necessary?” you grimaced while your fingers graced over the large bruise forming on your temple.

“you’re lucky i didn’t throw anything else. or call the royal guards, for that matter,” joshua countered, ignoring the guilt that crept through him upon seeing the darkened spot adorning your skin.

you scoffed, unamused, “i’m sure they’ve got bigger issues to worry about than some petty theft. like that missing prince.”

“..what?” joshua raised an eyebrow.

you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. apparently the age old tale of the prince’s disappearance wasn’t common knowledge.. “you mean you don’t-“ you paused, snickering. “have you been living under a rock?”

joshua bowed his head at your words, staring at the dark blue vial in his hand. the stopper was nowhere to be found, the bottle completely empty. a trail of darkened, almost burnt grass beneath his feet signaled where the liquid had spilled in your scuffle.

“well..” you sighed loudly and slapped your knees while rising to your feet. “this has been lovely. one of my most.. notable first meetings. but i really must be going.”

“not so fast,” joshua protested in a gentle tone, keeping an iron grip on your dark cloak. you were rendered motionless. “you’re going to help me fix this.”

“um..” you let your voice trail off, eyes briefly flicking to the dark sky above you as if to feign contemplation. “no can do. i’ve gotta find another way to settle some debts i have, i’ll spare you the details.”

you took another step, only to be halted once again by joshua’s firm grip on your cape. “lemme ask you something: do you have any idea who you just tried to steal from??”

“no, and i don’t really care,” you stated pointedly.

joshua furrowed his eyebrows, taken aback. “regardless.. the potion’s ruined now because of you. someone worked really really hard, traveling night and day across kingdoms, spending night after night with their shoulders hunched over the cauldron to perfectly craft this particular potion. and now it’s wasted. and because of you! do you really want that on your conscience?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, once again unamused by his words. “since you asked.. i’m actually more worried about what’s going to happen to me now that my uh.. client won’t get what they want. so.. no, can’t say i am.”

joshua sighed, clearly exasperated. he rose to his feet, the worn fabric of your cloak still bunched around his fingers and effectively keeping you from moving. “look, we’ve got.. three days to get all of the ingredients back and remake the potion. if you help me, i’ll make sure there’s enough for both of us.”

“and why would i do that? how am i supposed to trust you?” you countered, folding your arms.

“because i know you’re desperate,” joshua told you with a smirk. “and frankly i am too. and i’m not really taking no for an answer.”

you were taken aback by his words and more accurately, the way he still managed to speak with such a charming tone. “and how are you supposed to trust me?”

“well.. i guess all i can do is just hope you won’t let me down.” he paused, letting go of your cloak in favor of grabbing onto your horse’s reins. a shit eating grin tugged at his lips as he looked over his shoulder to see you.. absolutely flabbergasted. he pats the saddle, nodding his head. “ladies first.”

[tortillamastersblog]

➶A big misunderstanding - Part 2 | Kate Bishop➴

Pairing: Kate Bishop x reader

Warnings: minor injuries

Summary: Following your realization, you go to find Kate to talk about your feelings…

Part 1

________________________________________________

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” I say, “Please notify me as soon as Clint and Kate return from their mission.”

The A.I. acknowledges my request and I get to work at my desk, attempting to shrink the ever growing stack of mission reports.

The hours tick by without my notice and the next thing I know, I’m slumped over the desk, my cheek pressing into the keyboard of my laptop.

I snap up and rub my sore cheek, groaning at the sight of the document on my laptop. It’s now filled with random letters and symbols and I know it’ll take ages to delete all the gibberish.

“Y/N?”

I yelp at F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s disembodied voice, realizing that it was the A.I. that woke me from my semi-comfortable sleep.

“Yes?” I ask, my voice gruff from not using it.

“Mr. Barton and Ms. Bishop have returned.”

I check my watch and get to my feet. It’s four in the morning, three days after they left, so the mission must have taken longer than anticipated.

“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” I say, leaving my room in search of Kate. I know now might not be the best time to bring up my feelings, but if I don’t do it as soon as possible, I think I might actually explode.

The reports were a good distraction over the past couple days after my talk with Wanda, but now that Kate’s back I need to go find her.

I search the kitchen first, figuring she might be hungry after missing dinner but she’s not there.

Next I go to the locker rooms, but she isn’t there either, so she must already be in her room.

I walk there with trembling hands, not exactly sure how I’m going to initiate the conversation. Do I ask her about her feelings? Do I just straight up tell her about mine? Should I ask about the mission first?

When I get to her door, I notice it’s slightly ajar, allowing me a glimpse inside. She’s standing in front of the full length mirror mounted to the wall opposite her bed.

She’s dressed in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie and her hair is still damp from the shower she must have taken.

“Come onnn!” she grumbles, fumbling with something sticking to her finger.

I narrow my eyes and carefully push the door open to get a better look; it a butterfly closure strip.

Whenever she tries to unstick it from one of her fingers, it immediately sticks to another and with each passing second her frustration grows.

Her shoulders are tense and her nostrils are flared, but I don’t make my presence known until the strip folds in on itself, rendering it useless.

“Hey,” I say quietly, knocking on the doorframe.

Kate’s head snaps up and her eyes widen in surprise. “Y-Y/N… What are you doing? Why are you still up?”

All of my earlier worries fly out the window when I notice the cut on her temple and I move forward without thinking.

“Here, let me,” I say, grabbing a new butterfly strip from the opened package.

Kate watches, dumbfounded, and gulps when I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, away from the cut. It’s not particularly deep, but it will scar if it’s not taken care of properly.

“Didn’t anyone show you how to do this?” I ask with no hint of annoyance in my voice, getting to work on cleaning the wound with a sterile wipe which happened to lay beneath the butterfly strips on the dresser next to the mirror.

“Clint did… once,” Kate admits, looking up at me through her eyelashes while I work. I’m a little taller than her, which is something I only now realized because we’ve never actually stood this close to each other before. “But I forgot and I’ve been embarrassed to ask for help ever since.”

A wave of sympathy rushes over me and I pause for a moment to look her in the eyes and smile reassuringly. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. It’s better to ask for help than to suffer in silence,” I say without realizing how deep that sounded until it’s already too late.

Kate snorts softly and lets me continue working. It’s oddly intimate, however I can’t say I mind. It makes me feel weirdly fuzzy, knowing I can help her and that she’s, for once, not trying to run away from me.

Every once in a while she winces while I clean her cut and some smaller scrapes, but she doesn’t tell me to stop, so I keep going until everything’s been cleaned and the cut has been successfully closed.

“There you go,” I mumbled, tilting her chin to the side to get a better look at my work. “Much better.”

My eyes drift over her injuries and I’m quite satisfied with my work until I get distracted by her eyes. Those damn blue, captivating eyes.

She’s watching me intently and when I don’t make a move to create more space between us, she lets out a shaky breath.

“You haven’t answered my question yet,” she whispers, and I’m so lost in her that it takes a second for my brain to process what she just said.

“What question?” I ask, distracted by the way her eyes dart from my eyes to my lips and back.

“Why are you still up?” She breathes into the small space that is left between us.

“I—“

I waited for days for you to come home so I can ask you on a date? No…

I stayed up because I can’t stop thinking about you and just had to tell you how I feel? No!

I had to tell you I love you? No! What the hell is wrong with you, Y/N?! It’s way too early for that!

I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence when I’m suddenly pulled down by a hand grabbing the back of my neck, a pair of soft lips landing on my own.

I gasp in surprise but quickly sink into the feeling, my hands finding their way to Kate’s hips.

The kiss is short because Kate pulls back a second later to tease. “You think too much.”

I laugh in her face and brush my nose against hers. “You’re one to talk, Ms. smacks-me-in-the-face-with-a-spatula, Ms. knocks-over-a-bunch-of-bows-at-the-sight-of-my-abs, Ms—“

Kate groans and clamps her free hand over my mouth. “Alright, alright! You’ve made your point.”

I smirk and lick her hand on a whim, causing her to shriek and wipe her palm on my shoulder. “Ew! Don’t do that!”

“What do you mean, ew?! You were just kissing me!” I exclaim in mock offense, pulling her closer by her hips.

Kate huffs and tries to act annoyed, but grins eventually when she counter-argues. “That’s different!”

I wiggle my eyebrows playfully and nose forward so my lips are brushing over hers. “Is that so?”

Kate’s eyes flutter shut and her grip on the back of my neck tightens when she hums an affirmative. Then her lips are back on mine, but this time, the kiss deepens and before long we’re stumbling across the room until we fall onto her bed.

It’s anything but elegant and in the end her teeth clash against mine and we have to break apart to laugh.

“Sorry,” she chuckles, wiggling around on top of me.

I just smile at her and cup her cheek with one hand, the other still resting on her hip. “It’s okay.”

We stay like that for several moments, watching each other as our heart rates return back to normal. It’s peaceful and quiet, and one of the best moments of my life.

That is until a badly suppressed yawn overcomes Kate, reminding me of how late it is.

“You should get some rest.” I whisper, guiding her off me so I can get up and drape the comforter over her. “You must be exhausted.”

She doesn’t protest, so I quickly tuck her in and turn off the lights until the only source of light that is left is the tiny nightlight in the corner of the room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I say, bending down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

Kate’s nods and cups my cheeks, keeping me close so she can peck my lips softly. “Before you go…” she says, her thumb tracing over my bottom lip. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Her eyes search mine in the dim light before she whispers, “Will you go on a date with me?”

I laugh quietly and turn my head to kiss the inside of her wrist. “I’d love to.”

“Good…” She blinks tiredly, obviously on the brink of falling asleep.

I take her hands off my face and squeeze them carefully. “Good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

I stay with her until I’m sure she’s drifted off before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible.

A smile creeps its way onto my face as I tiptoe back to my own room, and it stays there all the way until I fall asleep in my own bed.

________________________________________________

I hope this does the first part justice…

[srbachchan]

DAY 5946

Jalsa, Mumbai May 29/30, 2024 Wed/Thu 1:53 AM

🪔 ,

May 30 .. birthday greetings to Ef Mahmud Chowdhury from London 🇬🇧 .. and Ef Heena Bhambhani .. 🙏🏻🚩❤️

work done for the cause of the general .. for the hopeful understanding of why it is being done .. of the desire to be assured that it may make some sense in the execution of some of the pointers spelt out ..

and then some more .. more ideas that have not been covered and not been drawn in the creative ..

I work for the campaign on Road Safety .. to be able to personally share some of my experiences on how this should be designed and brought to the people in general that have the right and privilege to use roadways , vehicles and the discipline and understanding that road safety in its execution may bring about a better discipline ..

It can never be a statement .. it must contain the psychological temperament of the viewer and the listener .. when you command for understanding it is often taken in the wrong spirit .. a lot needs to be put into the reason for the Campaign and the essential pointers that all motorists and pedestrians must believe and understand for a better temperament and safety on our roads ..

it shall be a long drawn battle .. but like all else, when the cause is understandable .. when the cause is right , then all else falls into place ..

It needs a continuous rendering ..

Talking about it in a formality and then forgetting it as 'job done' is the worst status of its bearing .. you have to persist , persevere , and determine a will that eventually shall work for the benefit of the reason it was done ..

So yes .. I commit myself to the fruition of the campaign .. and shall persist to the best for its victory ..

hand on heart to set the nature for the purity of the mission ..

salutations for them that support and volunteer to assist in the need ..

.. and have the great pleasure of my cute sweet colleague in front of the camera .. tresses and all .. 🤣

yes the moments in pictures are repeated .. for little girls be the sweetest of all ..

and the thoughts go back to that masterpiece of a film GIGI .. and the song

'Thank Heaven for little girls'

the song sung in its most inimitable rendition, by the great Maurice Chevalier .. and starring the most handsome man of the times Louis Jourdan !!

Ah .. those were the days my friends .. sadly lost in the speedometer of modernity and time ..

and my gratitude to the enviable Avinash Gowarikar for his photographic senses and the ability to capture you and make you look grand .. despite the flaws of age !!

I leave my liege

liege

"Since modern populations often ignore aristocracy (except in the case of tabloid coverage), many words once used for royalty are now unusual and obscure. Such is the case with liege. If you refer to someone as "my liege" you are probably playing a game.

Ah, the Medieval era, where we find the word liege as we know it, a term used by underlings for the lord of their land. The word was probably of Germanic origin, derived from the Medieval Latin laeticus. In an interesting etymological twist, the word at one time meant a leader of a band of free men — pretty much the opposite of its eventual meaning as a feudal lord. The word is not used much today, except in jest (see Python, Monty)."

Amitabh Bachchan

[driftingmoonmenace]

Guard Dog AU Lore

Some of this has already be mentioned in my previous lore post and asks, but I've broadened more on the world setting and stuff!

Eventually I'll make another post going into more detail about the story and more about Y/N and Sun/Moon interactions and feelings but this is what I got for now!

I'll put it under the cut since it's a little lengthy!

The AU is futuristic and has a lot of Biopunk/Cyberpunk dystopian overtones, with technology that is more advanced than today’s modern technology. Despite its advances there is a lot of societal unrest. The general public is suffering because of how capitalistic its society has become and mega-corporations basically run the world. 

Most cities are a very dense concrete jungle, with neon lights and hologram ads everywhere.

A major branch of technology and scientific research has made a lot of progress using robotics and DNA for creature creation. Their ultimate goal is to create super-soldiers for military and authoritarian use. To help rapidly grow their department and data, they’ve teamed up with mega corporations and other research facilities globally, and have allowed them access to their base data findings for their own use to so that they can explore and discover more ways to broaden their projects. It has been several years at this point since this decision has been made and many new methods have cropped up since. 

Most of these creatures vary in shape, size (though most are much larger than humans), and theme, and also vary on how much of them is a blend of organic and robotic augmentations. To everyone they are simply known as ‘Creatures’ and don’t have an official name. Most of them are sentient and intelligent enough (levels of intelligence vary between them, though none are made to be super intelligent) but overall they retain an underlying feral nature. This way it's easier for them to fight each other without question of ethics between them and easier in some ways to control, so them being more animalistic is by design.  

By allowing companies to invest and create within the scientific branch, they’ve come up with a way to capitalize on it for entertainment purposes, further funding their research and lining their pockets with more money. They have created a new form of entertainment which is ‘Creature Cage Fights’ or better known as its official league name CFE (Creature Fighting Entertainment). Similar to wrestling and illegal animal fighting, these creatures are pitted against each other to fight within large stadiums and whomever knocks out their opponent, or renders them unable to continue the fight, wins. CFE is the main umbrella league and places globally are able to form their own mini-leagues under CFE. 

People are able to spectate in person or television and have the ability to place official bets (similar to horse racing). This idea of making them for entertainment allows these creatures to be normalized to the public and for further studying their fighting capabilities to gather research. Companies and people of wealth have also taken to sponsoring or hosting fights to make a profit.

There are ‘Death Matches’ where creatures must fight until either one (or both) die. These kinds of fights are deemed ‘illegal’ and not televised, yet the police and higher people of authority turn a blind eye and allow them. Death matches are typically hosted by the rich and tickets are sold to other rich people to spectate and place bets. These fights are really only used as a way to make money, profits being split between the hosts and companies who lend their creatures out to these fights. 

Fazbear Entertainment, like many other companies all over the world, have joined the scientific branch to get in on this new form of entertainment that’s rapidly growing in popularity globally with people of all ages and cash in on big profits. So far FazCo has made several creatures of their own. These include: Freddy, Chica, Roxy, Monty, and Sun & Moon. 

Sun and Moon, who are more heavily robotically augmented (though still partially organic) compared to the others, are unique in that they are dual AI who both share a body and a ‘brain’. Being able to seamlessly switch between the two and both having their own preferred fighting style. Both AI can come together to create a third form, Eclipse, which has a different fighting style than their own individual ones. Instead of creating a new separate AI or ‘person’ when this happens, this form is instead both AI simultaneously co-piloting the mind and body together. 

The idea of their creation was to have a creature that is able to have multiple different fighting styles and able to switch between them to keep their opponent unaware and on their toes. This feature is actually a huge secret that Fazco has been keeping. The public and other fighters are completely unaware that they are dual AI, as all of their marketing and paperwork is labeled ‘one entity’ named Eclipse. 

The only way to tell which is which is their eyes changing color and the differences in demeanor. When Sun is in control, both eyes are white. He comes off more playful and upbeat, almost ‘puppy-like’. He’s also more excitable and has a seemingly endless amount of energy. When Moon is in control both eyes turn red. He’s more laid back and less energetic. He’d rather be a gremlin and chill (maybe take a nap) than bound all over the place like his counterpart. When both AI come together to become Eclipse, the left eye is white and the right eye is red. Eclipse has a blend of both of their personalities harmonizing into one. 

In a fight Sun, Moon, and Eclipse are completely different in how they act compared to how they are in their downtime. Sun is more performative and wants to make the fight into a spectacle and woo the crowd, taunting his opponent and making them into a joke. He much prefers it than actually fighting while Moon is the opposite.. Moon is more violent and bloodthirsty when he fights, rather than playing around. Eclipse, while they do show off and taunt to an extent, they’re more calm and cunning, fighting efficiently with heavy hits to end the fight quickly. 

The major underlying fact no matter what situation they’re in, is there will always be that feral blood-lust fight/kill instinct at play in the back of their mind. Both are more than capable of killing if they want or need (human or creature a-like), and its ferocity shows whenever they’re irritable, angry, or upset. 

To satiate the general public and quell their fear of public safety when it comes to creatures, CFE decided to officially give these creatures ‘handlers’. One to two fellow humans who help train them, bond with them, accompany them at all times, and ‘keep a leash’ on them to show that they are under control.

The job of a ‘Handler’ is a dangerous one (and the fatality rate is high, unbeknownst to the public) but it also has its perks that make it all that more tempting. The pay is well above blue-collar average, with all-expenses-paid for traveling, hotels, and other miscellaneous job related things. There’s the obvious spotlight of being a creature handler to a successful championship winner that also has its perks, though it’s not too uncommon for some handlers to avoid it as much as they’re able to.   

FazCo is based in a large underground facility on the outskirts of a city where their research development and creatures are kept, the building being under heavy surveillance. Handlers are required to live in a section of private living quarters on-site, though they’re able to leave the facility at any time and must be chaperoned in order to do so. This acts as an extra precaution in case of any information leaks. Handlers are also on-call 24/7 and can be flown out anywhere globally at a moments notice, so having them live at the facility makes it easier. 

At FazCo handlers have a few job requirements such as training and ‘bonding’ with their creature for a certain amount of time per week or preparing for upcoming matches through supervised fighting simulations. Having a handler that is able to keep a creature under control (with whatever means necessary) and making sure both perform their best during matches is the highest priority.

Y/N, having grown up poor their whole life in a bad neighborhood with nothing to lose, jumps on the opportunity of a newly listed ‘Handler’ job. A quick successful interview has them sign a very hefty NDA contract with FazCo and from there they’re immediately moved to the facility. They’re told that the previous handler had quit (though the truth is they were killed) so FazCo was looking for someone new to assign to Eclipse.

Y/N is actually unsure of how to feel when they first meet Eclipse. There’s excitement and awe but there’s also the growing fear in their gut that Eclipse may be too much to handle for them. The pay and job perks with a comfy living situation is really the only thing keeping them there at first. 

Sun/Moon/Eclipse are capable of simple speech, small one word answers and short sentences, and have a general understanding of what’s being said or going on around them. However they aren’t very trained to be aware of their strength or how fragile a human can be so they are more dangerous than other creatures. They have killed multiple handlers in the past through aggression or ignorance.

[ranticore]

Chapter 3 - To Be Phocid [Qedivar's research]

It's that time again. Ishmael is a teenage boy, fair warning.

I'm posting this on mobile so I cba linking the previous chapters but go into the siren tag to find them.

x

Following these events, and at Maris’s insistence, Ishmael began to keep a journal. To the delight of this author, his writing was deep, introspective, and highly detailed. From now on, I no longer had to rely on pieced together scraps and reports, but from a primary source. As such, the way these events are related will shift a little, but that is only for events concerning Ishmael.

Cherta, unfortunately, did not keep a journal at this time and remains frustratingly opaque, given Ishmael’s somewhat biased recounting of their activities. Although one must concede to the difficulties of keeping a journal underwater, before the age of sub-aquatic writing systems, and with eighteen other overambitious adolescents in relatively close proximity.

Ishmael’s journal was recorded on a computerified device and was not written by hand, though his deep dream education had serviced to educate him in handwriting skills. This was tested when he was younger, as part of an evaluation to determine the extent of his dexterity. Although the notion of a form of writing which is stored in a purely hypothetical space is very odd, especially in its permanency, it has enabled us to access his thoughts at this day and age, whereas traditional aquatic knot-writing would have long since rotted away.

He wrote in the language of the Predecessors, which I believe to be the root of all air-speaking language families. The translation of these texts is what has taxed me more than any other part of this process, aside from the grievous bodily harm, and it has taken a fantastic span of time to achieve this translation. I cannot credit my sources for fear of implicating them but you can be assured that the finest minds of the Spire collaborated on this project. This Predecessor tongue is what is spoken in all of the videos, enabling me to learn it to a conversational level, though I am hardly fluent.

Some of the journal is rendered untranslatable due to it referring to objects or concepts which were considered common knowledge at the time, requiring no additional definition. These concepts or objects will be clearly marked. However, I believe much of the text to be familiar to many people, telling of the frustration and longing common and recognisable today. That said, I believe it is also important not to take for granted the relatability.

Ishmael is not always familiar to us and existed in a time we would find nigh incomprehensible. Do not take this as reason to doubt his interiority or personhood, and do not fall into the trap of believing that you would have done better in his place, that you would have seen clearly what he obviously did not (and had good reason not to). They may have been phocids, or the predecessors of phocids, but they were new. If you were the first of your kind, could you do better?

I will now present the text in chronological order, starting from the eve of his sixteenth birthday:

-

Entry 1 – I hate seeing that baby siphonid. It’s still moving. It drags itself around on the leg the researchers didn’t take. Now I’m just going to remember this forever, since I wrote it down. Great. I hate that fucking noise. Why can’t they just get it to shut up?

Thank [deity]. They took it away.

Update – it didn’t even taste good.

-

Entry 2 - Maris told me to talk more about my feelings. What does she know? Nobody understands me anyway. I don’t think they can feel all that on their face like me. The sipho noise kept touching me. The researchers are always talking about hydrofoils and antennae but I bet they don’t know what I do - how the siphos talk to each other. I told Callum and he didn’t know what I meant, even though he has a beard.

Talked to Lee again about sex since Dan said he wouldn’t tell me himself. I don’t think Lee told the truth about a lot of that stuff. The other kids sometimes joke around a bit too much, but it is kinda funny I guess.

Update - Dan shouted at me for asking, but now I have proof Lee was wrong.

-

Entry 3 – The phocids click at each other underwater with their tongues.

Dan got so angry after I pulled my face hair out. He made the interns [untranslatable] search my room for the hairs and they actually found them. They didn’t even do anything with it, just put it in a bag and sealed it away. Looks like nobody wants it at all. Dan says Atom spent 120 billion nua making me, so I think one face hair is worth a few million. If I started selling them to the people outside the lab, I could buy my own stake of land on Siren just like them. I wouldn’t let Lee in. My fingers are probably worth a couple billion each.

Should I

-

Entry 4 – Emer (the intern) looked at me like I did something wrong when she changed my pillowcases.

Spilled bile EVERYWHERE when they were testing me. I keep thinking about somehow saving it and trying to sell it. I’m supposed to be a digestive model for Siren food, so my insides are probably worth a lot. I should ask Dan when he calms down.

Callum came around to talk to Dan again. He’s getting really tall, he’s taller than me now even when I stand up straight. He’s so skinny, like the baby siphonids (I can snap one in half with just my teeth now). When Callum was there, he didn’t want to look at me, but I get it. They didn’t even cook the siphonid this time, it was raw and with the shell on. His leg is the same width as one of them.

Emer won’t stop changing my pillowcases. Is there a way to prevent them from smelling like that?? Callum hasn’t been around so I can’t ask. Maris thinks it’s just because people my age start getting sweaty but Dan specifically told me he made me not have sweat glands anywhere but my hands. Then he said the phocids do have sweat glands. I still don’t get the point of sweating if you’re already a stupid wet rat who lives in the

-

Entry 5 – I’m seventeen now. Since I’m an adult, I decided to stop being reticent around the phocids. I want to know if they found a comfortable way to walk without the skin coming off their tails. So I went to talk to them today for the first time. There is a window where you can do it, they let it open ever since the climate control got busted again last month.

Cherta is really weird. I knew they couldn’t stay in the pool for very long because they might have a seizure but apparently it can happen any time, not just underwater. They have a button implant that makes their muscles relax. Anyway, their tails have thicker skin than mine so that was useless. But it is still worthwhile, I think, to meet with the phocids. They remind me why I am a human, and they are not. I kind of pity them because all they're ever going to be is a bunch of test subjects in a tiny swimming pool.

Cherta told me that one of the phocids died a year ago. I don’t remember Dan ever talking about it to me, but they said it was a big deal. Apparently they got pressure sickness when climate control broke the first time. I think Cherta broke it the second time, they sounded too proud to mention it. I don’t get it. Anyway, breaking stuff in the lab is against the rules and I think I’m going to tell Dan about that.

-

Entry 6 – I made the right choice. Cherta got so angry when they found out I told on them that they had another seizure. The other phocids had to pull them out of the pool. Dan thought I did the right thing but I don’t think he liked me going to tell Cherta about it afterwards, told me no one likes a snitch. Well, then, what am I supposed to do? Just let it happen? I hope Cherta chokes on that gross pool water next time.

Dan suggested I go do something other than visit the phocids and I agree, they’re clearly not worth my time. I went to see Callum instead but he wasn’t in. He has a games console, I saw him show it off to Lee the other day. I wonder if he’d let me try it.

[End of Journal Entries]

-

It paints an interesting picture. As Ishmael mentions, Cherta suffered permanent neurological issues as a result of their birth mishaps. This was a point of contention within the lab, beyond Ishmael’s knowledge; the finance manager of the settlement questioned the wisdom of keeping a test subject in an aquatic locomotion study group who could not spend much time underwater. Every time, however, Dan Loris would respond that Cherta now provided essential information about phocid neurology and drowning mechanisms.

The phocid whose death Ishmael mentions was number seventeen, Ambla. It is highly likely that number seventeen’s death was accidental, but the circumstances were not caused by a failure of the lab’s climate system.

I have found the experimental notes from that day; Ambla was brought to an isolated chamber which was controlled by the climate system, with its own test pool, and the quality of the atmosphere was changed to match that of the Precursor home planet. The force of gravity was thus increased. What the Humans did not expect was Ambla’s sudden inability to swim to the surface. They inhaled water, which settled in their lungs and caused them to drown even after they had been pulled out of the pool.

Dan expressed grief in his notes, and surprise. He did not understand why such a thing would occur and blamed the climate system for somehow altering the test beyond his parameters. This is likely what led to Cherta’s misconception that the climate system had killed one of their friends, and their subsequent sabotage of the climate system every few months after that.

But any phocid or selkie reading this will intimately recognise the problem, and I believe the mystery of Ambla’s death may now be solved. The water taken to fill the pool was likely Tel!am’s Blood, a phenomenon all sea-faring people will know about. The Precursors, it seemed, were unfamiliar with it, and had pumped water in to the pool which nobody could swim in. But with the increased gravity, even the fittest phocid would struggle to rise in shallow water.

Regardless, there exists a substantial gap between that last journal entry and the next. Almost a year, in fact, when Ishmael did not write at all, and neither did he participate in Maris’s therapy sessions. I do, however, have a copy of Callum’s journal with me which provides at least half of the narrative, incomplete as it is.

[fairy-verse]

I just realized out of Murder Time Trio...has anyone asked about Murder/Dust Sans yet? If not perhaps what is their season and role..?

There once was a fairy of summer so pretty, with a radiant ecto body of blue and lilac and eye lights so tender, his gaze could render the brightest of flowers dull and weak, and yet none of it mattered as he fluttered too close to the borders of Nightmare’s domain, blinded by his playful hunt for brown rabbits that hopped along the grassy floor. Captured and bound he’d been and forced into a small cage with other fairies, some of the seasons, others not. Within there, he met Papy, a faerling just shy of reaching his full growth, yet ever the small one despite his size. He cowered and shook from fear, but the summer fairy so fair took him and cared for him, promised him they’d be safe.

He would protect him.

Alas, he could not keep it. Days turned to months turned into years and torture unimaginable chipped and chipped at his mind, until one day there was a loud crack within his skull, and he laughed and laughed as the poison forced into him ran its course, twisting his magic and making him feral and tense; ready to kill everything that moved.

He only did it to save them. They were all so broken and their light had gone out. They wouldn’t have survived a day out in the free anymore. They wouldn’t have… surely… but killing his adopted little brother had been the most terrible of all. He reached the day when he came of age, and yet he wasn’t given a chance to even attempt a celebration as the summer fairy’s once fair hands sliced across his throat, severing his skull from his neck.

Papy cried as he died, and the summer fairy once fair and kind cried with him, even as he smiled.

Dull and lost he wandered for many moons after, not knowing how he’d been freed; let go? It’d all been for naught or had it… he could scarcely remember anything anymore, dazed and broken as he was. He’d found his way home, to the valley of warmth and comfort, but fairies fled at the sight of him, fearing his crackling and unstable magic. He left, not even given a moment to attempt and regain his mind.

What did his firstborn look like again?

It was so cold. His wings were frozen, and his legs were numb and with each step taken, he leaned ever more forward, at the brink of unconsciousness. He knew not when the first days of winter arrived, but it mattered little. Death by the cold was a just fate for him; for what he’d done. He would gladly have accepted it even as the world tumbled, and he fell upon a soft bed of glittering white. The snow was cold for a moment, but only for a moment before too soon, it turned comfy and pleasant, and hands were upon him; gentle and careful, and warm.

First, there’d been a flower, kind of face, and soothing of hand, but he’d not been fully present at the moment to take her in. She passed and a new face took her place. This one must once have been soft, it bore memories of softness, but the jagged hole that took up the top of his skull made him rugged, yet even so his touch was that pleasant heat he longed for.

“pretty… summer fairy?”

Oh, this fairy of winter called him pretty, yet it was the fairy of summer who had never seen anyone more beautiful.

He couldn’t remember the face of his firstborn.

“.. dust,” he croaked, weak from desiring winter sleep, yet he refused to close his sockets again, willing them open. “…’m dust…” He’d forgotten his real name.

“dust…” the winter fairy said his name in that deep, pleasant voice of his. Dust loved hearing it. No one had spoken to him in… in…

“i’m…” the winter fairy hesitated. “… i’m Horror.”

Dust was held close to a warm, soft body, and he involuntarily nuzzled closer to it as a shiver passed through him; the last of the cold leaving his bones. Such luxuries were spoiled on him, yet he couldn’t force himself to move away; to part from Horror who was so, so warm and good.

A clawed hand stroked Dust’s face and all willpower ebbed out of him as he relaxed, falling asleep before he could even notice it, yet not before he heard Horror speak up again.

“sleep... pretty summer fairy. sleep.”

[v-ividus]

31. The Ethical Crisis of Our Time: A Reflection on Our Humanity

“The good of an individual or a group of individuals requires that it be taken as an absolute end of our action; but we are not authorized to decide upon this end a priori. The fact is that no behavior is ever authorized to begin with, and one of the concrete consequences of existentialist ethics is the rejection of all the previous justifications which might be drawn from the civilization, the age, and the culture; it is the rejection of every principle of authority.” — Simone de Beauvoir

Have we been so delightfully naive that we, in fact, fail to see ourselves trapped by this modern, digital labyrinth? Addicted to our screens, we find ourselves captivated by curated personas that obscure the real and frequently chaotic maelstroms of human existence. The irony lies in the fact that our expansive online networks often strip us of our deepest connection: our humanity. As these virtual landscapes expand, we risk becoming mere echoes of our true selves, endlessly seeking validation for a façade that is as fleeting as a scroll.

Simone de Beauvoir urges us to scrutinize the ethical frameworks we cling to so dearly. If we insist on the goodness of the individual as an absolute, we must reckon with the consequences of our online behaviors. The algorithms we engage with fashion our desires and, inevitably, our interactions, transforming us into puppets of fleeting excitement and manufactured outrage. The psychological fallout is alarming—people devolve into caricatures, chasing after validation in the currency of likes and shares, drifting further from the intimate ties that truly nourish us.

Here our moral essence teeters on the brink of erosion. We must confront how willingly we let digital narratives shape our ethical stances and our human interactions. As we peel back the layers of this existential crisis, it’s glaringly clear that our once-sacred norms of civility and affection have been warped into objects of trade. Are we not, then, prisoners of our own design? Can we summon the fortitude to hold ourselves accountable for the voyeuristic impulses we've now come to accept?

We must bravely hold a mirror to our online personas and confront the unsettling dissonance within our moral and ethical consciousness. This call for self-reflection is not optional; it’s essential if we are to reclaim our lost ethical stature. Only then can we ignite a real revolution—one that shatters these artificial barriers and compels us to rediscover the humanity and greatness within ourselves and those around us. To reframe our relationships, we must dismantle the systems that manipulate us into compliance, for therein lies the essence of our moral reinvention.

The Masks We Wear: Dissecting Online Identities

Within the intricate tapestry of digital interaction, identity often surfaces as a carefully constructed façade, obscuring the complexities of the authentic self. The personas individuals adopt online can be understood through the lens of social constructionism, where identity is not merely discovered but actively constructed in response to socio-political and religious contexts. The digital arena engenders a performative struggle for social validation, wherein users engage in a seemingly zero-sum game: any ascent in social capital for one individual is perceived as a corresponding detriment to another. This interactive dynamic fosters an environment rife with competition and antagonism, rendering authenticity secondary to the pursuit of recognition.

Psychodynamically, the incessant quest for social affirmation serves to mask underlying insecurities and existential anxieties. The virtual environment operates as both an amplifier and a sanctuary for these psychological tensions, offering ephemeral gratifications through likes, shares, and comments that ultimately exacerbate feelings of disconnection and inadequacy. This phenomenon can be articulated through the lens of attachment theory; users may find themselves entangled in unhealthy attachment styles, leading to an insatiable craving for validation from an audience that remains fundamentally abstract and impersonal.

The entrenchment in defending social, political, and religious systems is often underpinned by a profound need for belonging and identity reinforcement. These institutions, while ostensibly providing order and coherence, function as conduits for deeper existential fears of isolation and meaninglessness. The binaries entrenched in our online discourse reflect larger socio-cultural narratives that dichotomize perspectives and reinforce in-group versus out-group mentalities. This battleground mentality cultivates a fertile ground for polarization, as individuals conflate their self-worth with the preservation of these ideological structures, thereby perpetuating a cycle of division and conflict.

To unravel these complexities requires engaging in a rigorous deconstruction of the motivations that compel individuals to invest in these performative battles. Aligning with de Beauvoir's critique of authority, we must confront the internalized disparities that shape our engagements with the digital landscape. Platforms and algorithms merely reflect the underlying socio-psychological patterns that dictate our reactions, amplifying the performative nature of our identities and transforming them into commodities within a marketplace of attention.

The pivotal inquiry becomes: How can we liberate ourselves from this recursive cycle of curated existence? Engaging in a transformative ethical reckoning demands a deep self-reflection on the structural underpinnings of our affiliations and the psychological ramifications of our digital engagement. As we excavate the layers of our online personas, we must confront the implications for our emotional intelligence, empathy, and moral reasoning—qualities that are imperative for fostering substantive connections in both virtual and physical domains.

To chart a course toward ethical resurgence, individuals must embrace the challenge of introspection and navigate the complexities of their relational dynamics. By confronting the emotional void created by superficial digital interactions, we can cultivate a more nuanced understanding of our shared humanity. This exploration allows for the dissolution of the artificial barriers erected by social, political, and religious frameworks, ultimately facilitating a journey toward a more authentic, connected, and psychologically integrative existence.

The Illusion of Connection: Alienation in the Age of Social Media

Despite the illusion of connectedness provided by social platforms, we face an era defined by profound alienation. The paradoxical nature of social media invokes the urgency to investigate our understanding of connection and belonging. This paradox—an urgent invitation to dissect our fractured understanding of real connection—bears down upon us with relentless intensity. Each “friend” or “follower” is but a hollow echo, a mere flicker of interaction, lacking any semblance of true understanding or emotional depth. This façade of connectivity not only deludes us but deepens our estrangement from the very relationships we yearn for, insidiously weaving a tapestry of loneliness that we seem all too eager to accept.

This alienation manifests in stark psychological and sociological ramifications. The motives driving our interactions online often intertwine with our desire to escape the discomfort of solitude. Yet, in seeking relief through the shallow engagements fostered by likes and shares, we inadvertently reinforce our sense of isolation. Each interaction, rather than bridging the chasm, deepens the void. As we gaze into the abyss of our digital lives, we must confront the truth—that solace is not found in screens, but in the raw and imperfect exchange of human experience.

To confront the ethical crisis we face requires more than mere acknowledgment—it mandates a collective uprising against the systems that enable our disconnection. It is incumbent upon us to question how we wield social tools designed for connection yet often sabotage our capacity for meaningful engagement. An examination of our patterns is essential; only then can we initiate the reclamation of our shared humanity.

To forge deeper connections, we must tread the arduous path from surface engagement to authenticity. The ethical implications of our actions extend beyond the digital realm, demanding a conscious reparative effort in our offline relationships. With empathy and vulnerability, we can reshape the narrative and redefine connection—one that transcends the constraints imposed by social media, anchoring us in our humanity once more.

The Confrontation of Ethical Identity: Reclaiming Agency in Digital Spaces

In the chaotic maelstrom of the digital realm, where social, political, and religious affiliations are ruthlessly magnified, our moral identity is at risk of being obliterated by ethical disarray. Like a relentless hurricane carving its destructive path, the online environment churns with egos battling in a senseless zero-sum game. What do they gain? Nothing but stress, anguish, and the festering consequences that spill into our real lives. These digital systems trap us in a dark whirlpool, suffocating our psychological well-being while breeding a culture steeped in compliance and vacuous interactions.

As we find ourselves adrift in this turbulent sea of moral complexity, we must rise against the siren call of shallow digital connections. The insatiable demand for authentic humanity compels us to shatter our comfort zones and reforge our ethical compass—one that places individual well-being at its crumbling core. It is not too late to reclaim our identity and cultivate a culture where love, empathy, and genuine connection are not drowned by the tide of artificiality.

The confrontation with these oppressive systems demands we scrutinize our online personas and the moral decay bred by blind cowardice and conformity. In our desperate grab for approval within trending ideologies, we often abdicate our responsibility for ethical beliefs and actions. This toxic dynamic births echo chambers that muffle dissenting voices, reducing the once-vibrant tapestry of human identity into a monochromatic display of conformity. We must ask ourselves: how can we truly justify our actions online when they wreak so much havoc on our real relationships, in real life?

To transcend mere compliance, we must embark on a brutal self-examination, dissecting the ethical calamities that infiltrate our digital and physical worlds. Each interaction on social media carries a heavy weight—the potential to unravel real-life relationships and escalate societal rifts that extend beyond the screen’s glow. Our collective conscience in this digital landscape must awaken to the stark responsibilities we bear for the toxic discourses we enter, understanding that our careless words and actions can drown the very essence of connection.

Navigating this treacherous divide necessitates confronting the conflicting loyalties we clutch to in our defense of chosen affiliations. Like a wild tidal wave crashing against the shore, users often bolster the very structures that erode genuine connections, perpetuating vicious cycles of division that warp our interactions in the tangible world—fueling hostility in public discourse, entrenching polarized communities, and nurturing isolated social spheres. The reclamation of our ethical identity must, therefore, be a fierce shared endeavor, demanding active participation in reshaping the corrosive narratives we perpetuate across both realms.

In our interpersonal systems, the ripple effects of ethical identity—especially in the context of an interconnected digital landscape—can be profound. Social media platforms often serve as an echo chamber, where individuals surround themselves with like-minded voices, reinforcing perceptions that can erode empathy and genuine understanding. As seismic divisions grow, people may find themselves in a state of moral paralysis, prioritizing digital affirmations over real connection.

As conflicts escalate online, they spill into real life, straining friendships and familial bonds. For example, a disagreement over a political issue may lead to heated exchanges on social media, fostering resentment that seeps into personal interactions. This fracture can dismantle trust and subject relationships to a barrage of judgment and blame, making it increasingly challenging to engage in constructive dialogues.

Moreover, the temptation to comply with popular opinion can lead to a suppression of dissenting views, curbing healthy conversations that help foster deeper understanding. Instead of nurturing honest exchanges, individuals might adhere to a façade, fearing backlash for expressing differing opinions, driving wedges between individuals who once shared strong ties. Reclaiming ethical identity in this realm necessitates an effort to cultivate mutual respect, develop empathy, and actively seek to understand differing perspectives—creating a foundation for lasting and sincere relationships.

Political systems often mirror the ethical dilemmas of interpersonal relationships, amplified by a 24/7 news cycle and an increasingly polarized environment. The urgency of the digital platform cultivates an atmosphere wherein opinions are often weaponized, leading individuals to champion partisan ideologies without regard for the complexities surrounding them. The result is a disintegration of discourse, characterized by vitriolic debates rather than constructive dialogues.

As political conflict mounts, citizens often align themselves with party lines, abandoning their ethical compass in favor of blind allegiance. This loyalty paradigm fosters a dangerous notion that a person's worth is defined by their political affiliations, reducing voters to mere statistics in a grander scheme of electoral politics. Consequently, empathy for those with opposing views erodes, reinforcing a binary perspective where compromise is viewed as weakness, further entrenching divisions.

Moreover, the immediacy of social media often leads to rash judgments and hasty conclusions, culminating in mobs of outrage without a nuanced understanding of issues at hand. Political discourse morphs into a fragmentation of tribalism, where loyalty supersedes ethics. To counter this divisive trend, leaders and citizens alike must emphasize the interconnectedness of their roles and the shared responsibility for fostering healthy dialogue, grounded in priority for truth and understanding above partisan loyalty.

Religious systems, too, can be significantly affected by the dynamics of ethical identity in a digital world. While faith can serve as a profound source of connection and community, digital platforms often expose theological discord, propagating divisions within faith communities. The online realm, filled with competing ideologies and interpretations, can amplify differences that inhibit unity. Disputes over doctrinal beliefs may escalate into public confrontations, leading to disillusionment and a fractured sense of belonging.

In such an atmosphere, individuals may express piety through the lens of their online personas rather than genuine faith. The quest for validation from digital followers can overshadow authentic expressions of belief, transforming spirituality into a performance rather than a lived experience. Furthermore, the desire to defend one's faith against perceived attacks can engender hostility, distorting the fundamental tenets of love and compassion often central to religious traditions.

The challenge lies in balancing the potent influence of digital narratives while nurturing spaces for genuine spiritual dialogue. Faith leaders and communities can reclaim ethical identity by prioritizing inclusion, emphasizing shared values over divisive doctrines, and promoting understanding among diverse perspectives. Embracing this ethical awakening can cultivate a sense of belonging that transcends social media's transient chatter, making way for authentic connections rooted in shared spirituality.

The interplay of ethical identity across interpersonal, political, and religious systems showcases the complexities of human connection in a digital age. To reclaim agency, individuals must commit to fostering empathy, genuine discourse, and authentic expressions of belief. The journey entails a shared resurgence of core values that prioritize compassion, understanding, and unity, enabling us to navigate the often-chaotic seismic landscape of contemporary life—transforming the fractures in our systems into opportunities for healing and connection.

Our march toward reestablishing a forgotten moral identity requires an unwavering commitment to ethical realness and constructive engagement amidst the chaos of mediocre intent. As we exercise our agency in these online spaces, we are obligated to recognize the consequences of our words and the chaos they unleash beyond the screen. Only through audacious action, fierce acknowledgment, and a united stand against our own complicity can we hope to cultivate relationships grounded in mutual respect and understanding—both online and offline—emerging unscathed from the tempest and reclaiming the full spectrum of our moral agency.

Conclusion: A Call to Action

We stand on a precipice, staring into the void of our ethical crisis, perpetuated by systems that thrive on our disconnection. Recognizing this reality is the first step toward asserting moral agency. To navigate the murky waters of social media and its implications on interpersonal relationships, we must engage in critical dialogue and self-reflection. Each individual possesses the ability to become a catalyst for change, rebirthing ethical standards that prioritize humanity over algorithmic imperatives.

By embracing the challenge of confronting our online behaviors, we send ripples through the fabric of our existence. The process of reconstructing our moral identity demands courage, vulnerability, and an unflinching commitment to truthfulness. Only through authentic engagement can we challenge the dominion of disconnection. Recognizing the humanity in others is a vital companion to this journey; acknowledging their complex narratives fosters an ethical awakening rooted in profound understanding.

Ultimately, the act of disengaging from systems of alienation and cultivating genuine relationships involves a collective undertow. We must resolutely confront the unsettling truths of our participatory roles within these structures. The imperative for ethical reclamation speaks volumes for the individual; it urges a return to the innate affection we carry for our fellow beings. It is time we choose to step away from artificial constructs and recommit to radical empathy, understanding, and connection-in our world, our actions echo far beyond the confines of the digital screen.

In closing, let us remember de Beauvoir’s emphasis on the rejection of preordained authority as we embark upon this journey of reawakening. The ethical crisis of our time demands a transformative shift—a commitment to uphold the intrinsic sanctity of human connection. May we challenge ourselves to evolve beyond our existing structures of morality, propelling ourselves into a future where our reclaimed identities spark the radical transformation necessary for healthier, more fulfilling relationships. It is time to seek the good in ourselves and others, guiding us toward a future rooted in true ethical integrity and profound human connection.

[gemsofgreece]

Some thoughts on the Homeric Age and the Early Archaic Period

Based on my reading of the Iliad and the Odyssey in the original Homeric Greek text and a fairly loyal Modern Greek rendering

I had read these in middle school but, you know, fewer things stick with you when you do them as a chore. I was interested in reading them again, not so much for the already familiar stories, but for what I could take from them and conclude about the Greek society more than 2800 years ago! I must note that it is unclear how accurately the poet(s?) - let’s say Homer - portrays the Homeric Age and events that supposedly took place more than four centuries before his time. The question is, are we truly getting a picture of the Homeric age or at least an archaic Greek society? My opinion is that the epics must have been a reflection of some early Greek era indeed and not be entirely imaginary. Most historians believe Homer does a fairly decent job at preserving cultural and social elements of an age long gone even for him, although it’s undoubtable there is a lot of infiltration with elements of his own times too.

Peace and War

It is interesting that even though the Iliad is a war themed epic and graphic violence and gore are not missed in the Odyssey either, both the characters of the epics (who are famed warriors more often than not) and the poet - narrator acknowledge war as a great evil that causes a lot of pain to people. Even the victors pillaging and taking slaves have total awareness and understanding that a slave or a defeated enemy are suffering a lot. It seems it is a man’s duty to confront that great evil and be decently prepared and trained for it, however it is not a situation that most have a special yearning for. Most men agree that there is nothing like having peace and enjoying your companies and families, however it was a great shame for a man to step back once war broke out. A war or a fight or any argument would be ignited usually by acts of injustice or great offence that should be obligatorily punished immediately, even if the offended would deep inside rather stay at home. As an example, Odysseus murders violently all of Penelope’s suitors and twelve girl slaves who betrayed his wife and slept willingly with them. He does not waver at all, despite the pleas for mercy. When his oldest servant and nanny sees the gruesome scene with all the dead, she rejoices and cheers. Odysseus then scolds her, for “anybody’s death should never be a reason for joy”. So we have this somewhat contradictory stance in a society which proclaims itself peaceful and fair yet it takes too little to outrage and urge at acts of vengeance and violence. Violence and war are seen as measures that must be taken and that one must not recoil from but there is wide acknowledgment that war and death brought to others should not be desired or enjoyed. It was definitely not among cultures that viewed war or conquest as some sort of sacred destiny or pride. But it also did not take much for them to find excuses for a war or a fight.

Religion

Despite misconceptions that Ancient Greeks were always very anthropocentric and put logic and the potency of the human mind above all else, it is certain that at least up to the Archaic period this was not the case. Ancient Greeks of those early eras were very religious and attributed almost everything to their deities. The fate of a person is sealed from the beginning and the gods are well aware of it. Even the achievements or mistakes of great people are viewed as interventions by the gods. Although Odysseus is repeatedly praised for his intelligence and resourcefulness, it is almost always a god (Athena) who enlightens him on how to act or what to say. Misfortune is also entirely attributed to the gods - if a character suffers great misfortune, it is not so much because of their own misjudgment, the elements of nature or ill luck, but because some god is angered with them or has a special liking for their enemy.

Behavioural patterns

The most notable pattern in the behaviour of characters in the epics is that it is temperamental with plenty of mood swings. Granted, we should always keep into account that they are just ancient poems and maybe the care for gradual character development or realistic character consistency was not one of the priorities for ancient poets. If we do however still attempt to draw any conclusions, we observe people who are quick to judge, offend, get angry, praise, admire, get emotional, forgive. Some of these mood swings happen in minutes. Certainly this must not be realistic but it may be a sign the Ancient Greek people were that temperamental, quick to hate and quick to love. Another crucial observation, maybe a trademark trait of the Greek ethnos, it is apparent throughout the epics that the Greeks are people who love to talk a lot, they are argumentative and they enjoy discourse. Characters unfold their thoughts and feelings extensively and they do not shy away from being vulnerable. Furthermore, their speeches are bold and often candid; they can use strong language for the flaws of people they love and they add praises even in speeches against their enemies! In other words, they generally call it what it is - they are upfront about the flaws and the virtues of those they speak to. One last observation, they tend to be suspicious of others. There is an ongoing theme of trying, testing old friends and loved ones even when this is distressing to the other person and even though the events alone prove those people’s love and testing them really is superfluous and just shows a very suspicious, disbelieving nature. Of course, testing your loved ones is a huge recurring theme in international literary work ever since, therefore once again it would be reasonable to consider that even if those tendencies existed, they were exaggerated for the sake of the poems and the prolonged entertainment of the audience.

Objectivity

Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of reading the Homeric epics for me is how the author is largely removed from taking sides. Homer does like Odysseus, that is evident, however as a narrator he almost never speaks ill of any character. Any accusations are only made by characters against other characters. The narrator himself acknowledges positive traits in most characters or at the very least remains neutral. Even more interestingly, this expands to an ethnic level. Even though the epics are written by a Greek for the Greeks, there is resolutely no hatred or prejudice against any other culture mentioned. Trojans, Thracians, Aethiopians and many others are all acknowledged for their own virtues each and the narrator does not resent any for fighting against the Greeks. It is clear that at the time, discrimination and hate speech against other nations and cultures had not yet gotten to people’s minds that much. I found it very wonderful and interesting that a war text from 800 BC could master more objectivity and level-headedness than 99% of texts written in the 19th century around the world.

Women

[This part is a little longer so I am putting the rest of the post under a cut]

Classical Greece is notorious for how oppressed its women were, however either things were better for them a few centuries prior or the truth was more nuanced. Of course, we are undoubtedly talking about a deeply patriarchal society in which women were expected to restrict themselves in their own rooms and have little concern besides their kids and weaving. In spite of this, the poems are full of considerations and respect towards numerous women and seem to have them in a type of regard that is rarely mentioned in historians’ documentations. Women are portrayed with diverse personalities and the vast majority are presented as positive role models. In fact, there is only one woman who is mentioned in a downright negative way and that is Clytemnestra, but it’s only her husband who does this as well. Other than her, there is rarely if ever negative talk against other women. Even Helen is never treated badly by anybody; Helen is only ever criticised by herself. When she returns to Sparta, her people, Menelaus and visitors such as Telemachus seem to honour her as if nothing ever happened. Helen joins them in their festivities, is portrayed as more perceptible than Menelaus and always voices her thoughts in the overwhelmingly masculine company. Arete and Nausicaa are also significant female characters and they are more crucial to the safe return of Odysseus than King Alcinous. Penelope is one of the leading characters; her thoughts, feelings and turmoil interest the poet (and apparently the ancient audience) in a large part of the Odyssey, no less than the feelings of Odysseus himself. The input of women is often welcomed and considered - it is not taken into account usually when it gets in the way of plans that have to do with war and fighting or when the position of a male might be challenged in front of others. For example, Telemachus evidently loves and respects his mother but he eventually feels ashamed that he is becoming a grown man, the future king, that cannot get rid of his mother’s suitors and he often scolds her when she takes decisions regarding these matters in his and the suitors’ presence. Other than that, mothers in general are viewed as sacred and respectable. Odysseus, a mature manly warrior, is seen yearning for his mother’s embrace.

In Nausicaa we see that perhaps women could also go outdoors and have fun when accompanied by their maids. Nausicaa and her maids wash the clothes close to the shore and in the meantime they entertain themselves by playing with a ball until the sunset, with the permission of her parents.

The pain and turmoil of slave girls is seen and understood. Odysseus kills twelve of his fifty slave women because they betrayed him. The rest who remained loyal to the family rush to welcome him back - Odysseus hugs them all and weeps. This scene is beautiful because there is nothing resolutely sexual implied - it is clear that his relationship to them was more genuine than that of a master and his servants, they were also his protégées. He cared enough to weep for meeting again his female servants - this shows that even an unfree working girl could be impactful enough to a powerful man’s life without this necessarily involving sex. The slaves he killed received a shameful death but even so Telemachus explains to them why such a death is chosen for them as if he tries to excuse it. Meanwhile, there is not any hint of apologism when it comes to the gruesome amputation and murder of the male traitor. It seems it was viewed as more dubious for a man to kill a woman, whereas a man killing a man was viewed as a punishment or as a heroic act, depending on the context.

Goddesses are portrayed totally unapologetic; they clearly have the freedom to do morally questionable deeds without being judged by the mortals’ standards.

One very interesting detail is that when men converse with women, which happens a LOT in the Odyssey and not just between married couples, men often refer to gods as husbands of goddesses. For example, when Odysseus talks to Nausicaa or Penelope, he addresses Zeus as “Hera’s Zeus”. This is clearly a subtle attempt at honouring the woman the man is talking to - it stresses that even a god belongs to a goddess, even the father of all gods, is Hera’s man. This is not to question Zeus’ leadership among the gods or portray males as possessions of females but it is a way to respect the woman opposite them by acknowledging their own influence and importance. “Even Zeus is Hera’s Zeus, therefore I have the highest regard for you, my lady.” I believe this was the spirit and I thought it was a wonderfully subtle way to show regard for a woman.

Love, lust and sex

What I found the most interesting regarding romantic relationships is the impression I got that emotional connection and respect seemed to be more telling of someone’s devotion than physical intimacy. It seems that married men could get away with having sex with slave girls (not free women) as long as they did not sleep in the same bed or maintain a deeper emotional relationship with them. For Helen, it seems it was worse that she followed Paris away rather than that her being with him included having sex together. There is also totally the concept of casual sex of which goddesses seem to have a good understanding. Mortal women on the other hand can openly voice their sexual desire and take the initiative to have and enjoy sex but only when it is with their husband, but they are sometimes depicted to have willingly casual relationships (Odysseus’ working girls with the suitors), which is however a choice that is fatally punished by the master once he returns. However, it wasn’t so much the act of casual sex they got executed for but more so that it was with the suitors who were exploiting Odysseus’ riches and loved ones. There is a distinction in the Odyssey between women who eagerly entered sexual relationships with the suitors and others who were raped by them. I don’t claim it was entirely clear but to my understanding, the latter welcome Odysseus back and are not punished. Another interesting fact is that although Penelope is admired for her loyalty to Odysseus, she was not in fact socially obligated to grieve him for so long. Telemachus himself declares he is happy his mother is so loyal to her husband, however he would also be okay with her marrying somebody once he became of age. (It would also be convenient as the suitors would finally leave him alone.) Both Telemachus and the suitors repeatedly leave it to Penelope herself to pick whomever she fancies best, with the optional advice of her father. There is a small part that suggests some people would still gossip negatively if she took a new husband, however it was clearly totally acceptable for her to do so. Just like Penelope, Nausicaa, a maiden, is always concerned about what people will think, however when alone with Odysseus or her maids, she makes her attraction to him discreetly clear. I also found the men’s approach to love and sex very interesting. Men are depicted equally as capable of sexual desire, abstinence, indifference or even being sexually coerced. By the standards of the era, Odysseus is really as loyal to Penelope as she is to him, given that his infidelity was with two goddesses, one with a notorious love for potions and another who clearly kept him her prisoner.

When he returns to Ithaca, he keeps up a stone-faced fake identity for too long but when he reveals himself, he gradually becomes frustrated with Penelope’s cold and doubtful reception. We are told that apparently Odysseus was very invested in his marriage with Penelope, given the strenuous work he willingly did with his own hands to build and decorate their bedroom. When the couple reunites, Athena literally has to prolong the night for them to just weep together, cuddle, tell their sufferings (and have sex) enough. It just gives us a picture of a mutually respectful marriage where the wife is just as invaluable to the husband. Men are also depicted to have shame for their nudity, which is something that might seem surprising given the classical obsession with the body. Odysseus feels it is shameful, vulnerable and inappropriate to be seen, touched or washed by female servants, especially when he is significantly older than them. He also feels embarrassed for his looks under the female eyes. Lastly, in the Homeric epics women are ultimately the object of men’s desire. There is actually no mention of homosexual attraction. The only questionable moment, on which the entirety of the later speculations were founded, is when Achilles has a dream of deceased Patroclus and he express his wish to die and be buried together. Other than that, having sexual desire is exclusively expressed for women or, interestingly, by women in these two epics.

Other types of love such as friendships and familial relationships are full of vulnerability and expression as well. Men, fathers, sons, friends hug, cry and narrate their misfortunes openly and vulnerably. Grown men are still recipients of beautiful kind words as Thetis does with Achilles and as Penelope and even the swineherd Eumaeus, who operates as a paternal figure, do with Telemachus (both call him “sweet light”). (As a sidenote, it is clearly viewed as the right thing for a noble person to be close, caring and accessible to his servants and slaves.) Arete and Alcinous also treasure their daughter Nausicaa.

The most moving part of all, Odyssey might be the first text noting the literally undying love, devotion and wisdom of dogs. While Odysseus at the moment is in disguise and can’t show much affection or then grieve his dog Argos, it is clear that Homer wouldn’t bother adding that part if the Greek people hadn’t already started forming loving bonds with pets.

Stools

Boy they loved stools.

Conclusion

If there is any accuracy in Homer’s epics, then the late Homeric / early Archaic society was a society that generally tried to be peaceful and always measured the profit and cost from a war expedition but the equilibrium was really fragile and very often disturbed. People were religious, opinionated, argumentative, talkative and temperamental but they also valued loyalty, honour, hospitality, patience and bravery. They loved dearly and were fearlessly expressive, however they were also quick to anger and suspicion. It was a very patriarchal society, however women had their own way of being respected and reckoned. Sexual desire was seen as natural and expected in both sexes, however there were limitations to how upfront or open it could be in its expression. These limitations affected both women and men, but to different degrees or ways.

BONUS!

An examination of similarities and differences between this society and later / current stages of Greek society:

Some obvious similarities are that Greeks have indeed always been temperamental with considerable mood swings and a tendency for suspicion. There are hints of cryptical behaviour in the epics though and I would say that later and current Greeks are also notable for this (contrary to popular belief). Modern Greeks are less capable of objectivity or seeing the virtues of an enemy. The double, often contradictory approach to sex, where promiscuity and modesty collide, are an eternal trait of the Greek people. While it might be on the lower end of the western world spectrum on the matter, it is needless to say the woman’s status in the society has improved hugely. However, there is this common pattern that historically Greek women were often able to be much more influential or assertive than the laws or the “norms” expected them to be. Greeks have always loved their families fiercely. The next might come as a surprise but I firmly believe modern Christian Greeks are much less GENUINELY religious than Homeric and Archaic pagan Greeks were. Later Greeks (probably starting since late classical period and ever since) do not attribute nowhere near as much of their achievements and failures to a deity. The Greek approach to Christianity however is similar in the sense that there is an expectation of an immediate godly payback involved just like ancient people expected the favour of the gods with their sacrifices or appropriate behaviour. As time passed, Greeks became distinctly less and less interested in war and fights, despite always remaining argumentative. Modern Greece is a genuinely peaceful society that avoids confrontation but has some basic standards of good defensive preparation in case of bad need, while the ancient society was violating its own boundaries of peace very often and much more readily.

[feckcops]

Joan Is Awful: Black Mirror episode is every striking actor’s worst nightmare

“A sticking point of the near-inevitable Sag-Aftra strike is the potential that AI could soon render all screen actors obsolete. A union member this week told Deadline: ‘Actors see Black Mirror’s Joan Is Awful as a documentary of the future, with their likenesses sold off and used any way producers and studios want. We want a solid pathway. The studios countered with ‘trust us’ – we don’t.’ ...

“If a studio has the kit, not to mention the balls, to deepfake Tom Hanks into a movie he didn’t agree to star in, then it has the potential to upend the entire industry as we know it. It’s one thing to have your work taken from you, but it’s another to have your entire likeness swiped.

“The issue is already creeping in from the peripheries. The latest Indiana Jones movie makes extensive use of de-ageing technology, made by grabbing every available image of Harrison Ford 40 years ago and feeding it into an algorithm. Peter Cushing has been semi-convincingly brought back to life for Star Wars prequels, something he is unlikely to have given permission for unless the Disney execs are particularly skilled at the ouija board. ITV’s recent sketch show Deep Fake Neighbour Wars took millions of images of Tom Holland and Nicki Minaj, and slapped them across the faces of young performers so adeptly that it would be very easy to be fooled into thinking that you were watching the real celebrities in action.

“Unsurprisingly, Sag-Aftra members want this sort of thing to be regulated, asking for their new labour contract to include terms about when AI likenesses can be used, how to protect against misuse, and how much money they can expect from having their likenesses used by AI.”

[stoicheadaurelius]

Uncover Seneca's Timeless Wisdom on Friendship and Aging

Most Thought-Provoking Stoic Insights from Timeless "Moral Letters to Lucilius" by Seneca on Old age, Philosophy and Friendship to help you get more stoic and solid against most crucial of the life hardships: "As we hate solitude and crave society, as nature draws men to each other, so in this matter also there is an attraction which makes us desirous of friendship. Nevertheless, though the sage may love his friends dearly, often comparing them with himself, and putting them ahead of himself, yet all the good will be limited to his own being, and he will speak the words which were spoken by the very Stilbo whom Epicurus criticizes in his letter. For Stilbo, after his country was captured and his children and his wife lost, as he emerged from the general desolation alone and yet happy, spoke as follows to Demetrius, called Sacker of Cities because of the destruction he brought upon them, in answer to the question whether he had lost anything: "I have all my goods with me!" There is a brave and stout-hearted man for you! The enemy conquered, but Stilbo conquered his conqueror. "I have lost nothing!" Aye, he forced Demetrius to wonder whether he himself had conquered after all. "My goods are all with me!" In other words, he deemed nothing that might be taken from him to be a good. ... But you must not think that our school alone can utter noble words; Epicurus himself, the reviler of Stilbo, spoke similar language; put it down to my credit, though I have already wiped out my debt for the present day. He says: "Whoever does not regard what he has as most ample wealth, is unhappy, though he be master of the whole world." Or, if the following seems to you a more suitable phrase, – for we must try to render the meaning and not the mere words: "A man may rule the world and still be unhappy, if he does not feel that he is supremely happy." (c) Seneca, "Moral Letters to Lucilius". 

Enjoy the ancient stoic wisdom excerpted directly from the most famous treatises of the true sages of antiquity!

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[nesiacha]

Hi! ~ Since you are the only person, that I know of, who has read biographies about Billaud, would you explain me what happened with him to make he own slaves? Most importantly, did he really actually own some or was the whole thing misinterpreted? Because I personally find it hard to believe someone would forsake his ideals to that point, but who knows what passes through people's mind... He wouldn't be the only one to betray the core values of the revolution; still, it's not something I would have expected from someone like him.

Hello to you too!

Unfortunately, my response might not fully satisfy you, or only partially. As I mentioned in my post, I am waiting until I can acquire Arthur Conte's book Billaud Varennes to better prepare his defense, which I will publish at that time. I hope you understand why my response will be brief. It is easy to defend Billaud Varennes' career, and one can even defend his actions on the 9th of Thermidor. What is difficult is his owning slaves.

Billaud Varennes and Collot d'Herbois were condemned to "la guillotine séche," which means deportation (ironically, Barère managed to escape—what a surprise, I say sarcastically). However, according to reports, neither man opposed this, showing their courage and adherence to the law despite all the criticisms leveled against them (I’ve revealed part of my defense for Collot; and I can’t believe I’m giving a compliment to Collot, it’s horrible).

Initially, the beginning was very difficult, as one might expect (Billaud almost died of illness, Collot did die from it). Subsequently, the conditions of their detention were eased (in fact, the relaxation occurred during Collot's lifetime with Jeannet-Oudin, a cousin of Danton, according to Billaud Varennes' memoirs).

Later, due to this relaxation, he settled as a farmer, and he, who had been for the abolition of slavery, reversed his stance and bought slaves and sold them. It seems he got along poorly with his slaves except for Virginie ( alias Brigitte who will follow him everywhere) . Yes unforgivable betrayal, disapointment, I won’t defend on this, and I am agree with all users in Tumblr who mentionned it, he got even friend slavers ... Here is how he presented her to his father in a letter: "I must tell you that I have had, with me, for eight years, a housekeeper to whom I owe the prolongation of my sad existence, through the incredible care she has taken of me during the frequent and acute illnesses I have experienced here when I was in absolute abandonment and destitution. So, as soon as the return of slavery occurred, I bought her, paid in cash, and immediately gave her freedom. Therefore, I do not presume that my family will find it wrong, after the precious services this girl has rendered me and continues to render daily, through the order and economy she maintains in my house and the supervision and good conduct she ensures among my negroes, that I try to save her from misery, in case she should lose me, by guaranteeing her the enjoyment of the property here that I can dispose of, and which rightly belongs to her, having at least as much contributed as I did, through her work, to earning it..." Furthermore, Billaud Varennes bequeathed everything to her. However, I read somewhere that he bought her when she was a child, and other Tumblr users have mentioned this too. Apparently, she lived until 1874, which supports this thesis. I hope he didn’t force her like Napoleon did with Marie Walewska... I am waiting to get the book Billaud Varennes by Arthur Conte because I think I will have more details on Brigitte (I know it’s another era, but I found it weird that Danton married Louise Gely given her young age, and weird too in some ways, the relationship between Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, especially considering that Camille had a platonic love for Annette Duplessis).

Nevertheless, it is important to highlight that Billaud Varennes refused Napoleon's pardon. Yes, it may seem insignificant to some, but for me, it means a lot. It took courage and conviction, especially since correspondence between his family and him was difficult due to the distance. I want to highlight a letter from Nicolas Billaud in 1800: "My only wish before dying is to be able to embrace him once more and to see you all reunited. God willing, before that time, I will have that satisfaction. I am sure that, in this circumstance, you will make all necessary steps to make this happen." and from Henriette-Suzanne Billaud: "I desire, like your father, to embrace you before dying." How many of us would set aside our convictions and accept the pardon of a military dictator just to see our parents one last time? Or simply to see the homeland where we grew up? Not many, and I don’t blame them (after all, Félix Le Peletier, a revolutionary I admire, accepted Napoleon’s pardon after being deported by him, and we can hardly blame him). Then he settled in Haiti and even became an advisor to Alexandre Pétion. Haiti, this land where slaves fought to be free (even though Pétion is very controversial, first allying with the French, then only after Toussaint’s deportation, joining nationalist forces; there are still controversies about him, so I will refrain from arguing about a character I don’t know well). His accommodation was apparently a two-room hut; this shows he was still rightly considered competent and that he lived his last years with disinterest. In fact, he decided to die at his laundress's house, accompanied by Brigitte in a poor cabin, and died peacefully. I like to think that in some way, after renouncing his ideals on slavery, he somehow reconciled with them at the end.

There is a repellent effect of his exile compared to Napoleon’s. The beginning was very violent and harsh for Billaud, who accepted it as a legalist, did not escape even though it was tough, and his exile is seen as a bit more unjust, especially since they wanted to make him a scapegoat like Tinville, Robespierre, Saint-Just by the worst opportunists such as Fouché, Barras, Tallien... Apart from slavery (and maybe for serving Pétion, who apparently suspended the Constitution), he remained true to his convictions and finally died in poverty but very surrounded, free in the company of people he appreciated. He resumed politics as a counselor at the end in his life.

Napoleon’s initial exile was very easy; just look at Elba. Then, since he was not a legalist (euphemism), he returned for the Hundred Days, which would be more catastrophic in the long run for France (for once, I agreed with Germaine de Staël). Then he was deported to Saint Helena, with much less freedom (logically, conditions are always toughened for someone who has escaped, but I say he benefited from a clemency he did not grant to his opponents, the slaves who were atrociously killed, the deportations,etc, so ultimately he is very lucky in my eyes), and he no longer had a political voice. In fact, there were only a few loyalists left; he died much less surrounded (and I don’t blame Marie Louise for moving on with her life and refusing to join him). He, who had a taste for luxury, must have felt the difference, even if it was preferable to that of a peasant. No need to decipher the moral of this story if there is one.

Moreover, between a Billaud Varennes even at his worst regarding slavery (or Danton or even Collot) and Napoleon, it is clear that I would not choose Napoleon. Napoleon unlike the propaganda said is a man with bloody methods (just looking at Jaffa,Haiti, Guadeloupe,etc) just like the worst revolutionnary like Fouché in 17993-1794, and he is a dictator.

Sorry for the long paragraph; I cannot say everything about Billaud Varennes since I have used up much of my defense that I am building for him, but I hope this will suffice (at least I haven't exhausted his defense before deportation and even some points about Collot). I hope you will all forgive me! But maybe it will change when I will finally the book write by Arthur Conte.

P.S : I translate the letter in english but we all know that it is in French.

Sources :

www.amis-robespierre.org

Collot d’Herbois légendes noires et révolution- Michel Biard

Mémoires inédits et correspondance accompagnés de notices biographiques sur Billaud-Varenne et Collot -d’Herbois par Alfred Bégis ( à prendre avec modération)

Jacques Guilaine Billaud Varennes

For the affirmation that Camille Desmoulins love in a platonic way Annette Duplessis, see Hervé Leuwers Camille Desmoulins or in one of his videos on Camille and Lucile Desmoulins in Youtube.

At least it is a better exercise for prepare the difficult defense of someone like Billaud Varennes after his deportation :) with these everyone could correct me if I said a wrong thing before the final defense :)

[dancingtothesurfacenoise]

Thoughts On Denial In The Post Truth Age

Denialism offers a dystopian vision of a world unmoored, in which nothing can be taken for granted and no one can be trusted. If you believe that you are being constantly lied to, paradoxically you may be in danger of accepting the untruths of others. Denialism is a mixture of corrosive doubt and corrosive credulity.

for now, every day that denialism persists is a good day in their view. In fact, for the denialist, every day barrels of oil continue to be burned is a good day, every day a parent doesn’t vaccinate their child is a good day, every day a teenager Googles planet Earth and sees a pancake. Or Googles WWII & finds out that some people think it never happened is a good day.

We, denialism’s opponents do not have time on our side.  As climate change rushes towards a point of no return, as Holocaust survivors die and can no longer give testimony, as once-vanquished diseases threaten pandemics,  as the notion that there is “doubt” on settled scholarship becomes unremarkable, The task facing refuters of nonsense becomes both more urgent and more difficult.

It is a modern predicament. Denialism is a post‑enlightenment phenomenon, a reaction to the "annoyance” of the findings of modern scholarship. The discovery of evolution, for example, is regrettable to those committed to a literalist biblical account of creation. Denialism is also a reaction to the nuisance of the moral consensus that emerged in the post-enlightenment world.

In the ancient world, one could erect a monument proudly proclaiming some genocide committed to the world. In the modern world, mass killing, mass starvation, etc, should no longer be publicly celebrated.

Yet many humans still want to do the same things humans always did. Many are still desiring beings. Wanting to murder, to steal, to destroy and to despoil. They want to preserve ignorance and unquestioned faith. So when these desires are rendered unspeakable in the modern world,  Denialists are forced to pretend that they do not yearn for those things. 

So denial  acts as an attempt to draw awareness and attention away from something unpalatable. Denialism is, in part, a response to the vulnerability of denial. To be in denial is to know on some level. To be a denialist is to never have to know at all. Denialism is a systematic attempt to prevent challenge and acknowledgment; to suggest that there is nothing to acknowledge. Whereas denial is at least subject to the possibility of confrontation with reality, denialism can rarely be undermined by appeals to face the truth. It involves suppressing the expression of one’s hidden primitive desires. Denialists are “trapped” into byzantine modes of argument because they have no better options. 

The bottom line is Denialism and other forms of pseudo-scholarship are the part of the iceberg that is visible. What lies underneath is outrage at being inconvenienced by the modern world and it's scholarship.  

It's hard to find the will to be charitable to folks like this.  Knowing the denialist is unhappy about not being able to run amok like the old days with Mongol Hordes and such, hardly elicits empathy. But that is where we are, Isn't it?

"The entire human race must suffer because of my mild vexation regarding modern scholarship"  "I hate science because it's discoveries are irritating to my beliefs" .

It's what lies beneath. That's the key to stopping this institutional denialism.  It's the magic theater if you will, the stuff of the Id that must be hidden. It's all an exercise in hiding uncomfortable desires. Denialism, and the multitude of other ways that modern humans have obfuscated their desires, prevent a true reckoning with the unsettling fact that some of us might desire things that most of us regard as morally reprehensible. I say “might” because while denialism is an attempt to covertly legitimize an unspeakable desire, the nature of the denialist’s understanding of the consequences of enacting that desire is usually unknowable.

Can you tell whether global warming denialists are secretly longing for the chaos and pain that global warming will bring, or are they simply indifferent to it? Or maybe they would desperately like it not to be the case but are overwhelmed with the desire to keep things as they are. It is hard to tell. It's hard to tell whether Holocaust deniers are preparing the ground for another genocide, or want to keep a sick pristine image of the Nazis as good guys.    It is hard to tell whether an Aids denialist who works to prevent Africans from having access to anti-retroviral drugs is getting a kick out of their power over life and death, or is on a mission to save them from the evils of the west?

So here we are. Where indeed do we go from here my friends? Where do we go?

#Strange Days

[dickens-daily]

THE COUPLE WHO CODDLE THEMSELVES

Mrs. Merrywinkle’s maiden name was Chopper. She was the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Chopper. Her father died when she was, as the play-books express it, ‘yet an infant;’ and so old Mrs. Chopper, when her daughter married, made the house of her son-in-law her home from that time henceforth, and set up her staff of rest with Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle.

Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle are a couple who coddle themselves; and the venerable Mrs. Chopper is an aider and abettor in the same.

Mr. Merrywinkle is a rather lean and long-necked gentleman, middle-aged and middle-sized, and usually troubled with a cold in the head. Mrs. Merrywinkle is a delicate-looking lady, with very light hair, and is exceedingly subject to the same unpleasant disorder. The venerable Mrs. Chopper—who is strictly entitled to the appellation, her daughter not being very young, otherwise than by courtesy, at the time of her marriage, which was some years ago—is a mysterious old lady who lurks behind a pair of spectacles, and is afflicted with a chronic disease, respecting which she has taken a vast deal of medical advice, and referred to a vast number of medical books, without meeting any definition of symptoms that at all suits her, or enables her to say, ‘That’s my complaint.’ Indeed, the absence of authentic information upon the subject of this complaint would seem to be Mrs. Chopper’s greatest ill, as in all other respects she is an uncommonly hale and hearty gentlewoman.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Chopper wear an extraordinary quantity of flannel, and have a habit of putting their feet in hot water to an unnatural extent. They likewise indulge in chamomile tea and such-like compounds, and rub themselves on the slightest provocation with camphorated spirits and other lotions applicable to mumps, sore-throat, rheumatism, or lumbago.

Mr. Merrywinkle’s leaving home to go to business on a damp or wet morning is a very elaborate affair. He puts on wash-leather socks over his stockings, and India-rubber shoes above his boots, and wears under his waistcoat a cuirass of hare-skin. Besides these precautions, he winds a thick shawl round his throat, and blocks up his mouth with a large silk handkerchief. Thus accoutred, and furnished besides with a great-coat and umbrella, he braves the dangers of the streets; travelling in severe weather at a gentle trot, the better to preserve the circulation, and bringing his mouth to the surface to take breath, but very seldom, and with the utmost caution. His office-door opened, he shoots past his clerk at the same pace, and diving into his own private room, closes the door, examines the window-fastenings, and gradually unrobes himself: hanging his pocket-handkerchief on the fender to air, and determining to write to the newspapers about the fog, which, he says, ‘has really got to that pitch that it is quite unbearable.’

In this last opinion Mrs. Merrywinkle and her respected mother fully concur; for though not present, their thoughts and tongues are occupied with the same subject, which is their constant theme all day. If anybody happens to call, Mrs. Merrywinkle opines that they must assuredly be mad, and her first salutation is, ‘Why, what in the name of goodness can bring you out in such weather? You know you must catch your death.’ This assurance is corroborated by Mrs. Chopper, who adds, in further confirmation, a dismal legend concerning an individual of her acquaintance who, making a call under precisely parallel circumstances, and being then in the best health and spirits, expired in forty-eight hours afterwards, of a complication of inflammatory disorders. The visitor, rendered not altogether comfortable perhaps by this and other precedents, inquires very affectionately after Mr. Merrywinkle, but by so doing brings about no change of the subject; for Mr. Merrywinkle’s name is inseparably connected with his complaints, and his complaints are inseparably connected with Mrs. Merrywinkle’s; and when these are done with, Mrs. Chopper, who has been biding her time, cuts in with the chronic disorder—a subject upon which the amiable old lady never leaves off speaking until she is left alone, and very often not then.

But Mr. Merrywinkle comes home to dinner. He is received by Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper, who, on his remarking that he thinks his feet are damp, turn pale as ashes and drag him up-stairs, imploring him to have them rubbed directly with a dry coarse towel. Rubbed they are, one by Mrs. Merrywinkle and one by Mrs. Chopper, until the friction causes Mr. Merrywinkle to make horrible faces, and look as if he had been smelling very powerful onions; when they desist, and the patient, provided for his better security with thick worsted stockings and list slippers, is borne down-stairs to dinner. Now, the dinner is always a good one, the appetites of the diners being delicate, and requiring a little of what Mrs. Merrywinkle calls ‘tittivation;’ the secret of which is understood to lie in good cookery and tasteful spices, and which process is so successfully performed in the present instance, that both Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle eat a remarkably good dinner, and even the afflicted Mrs. Chopper wields her knife and fork with much of the spirit and elasticity of youth. But Mr. Merrywinkle, in his desire to gratify his appetite, is not unmindful of his health, for he has a bottle of carbonate of soda with which to qualify his porter, and a little pair of scales in which to weigh it out. Neither in his anxiety to take care of his body is he unmindful of the welfare of his immortal part, as he always prays that for what he is going to receive he may be made truly thankful; and in order that he may be as thankful as possible, eats and drinks to the utmost.

Either from eating and drinking so much, or from being the victim of this constitutional infirmity, among others, Mr. Merrywinkle, after two or three glasses of wine, falls fast asleep; and he has scarcely closed his eyes, when Mrs. Merrywinkle and Mrs. Chopper fall asleep likewise. It is on awakening at tea-time that their most alarming symptoms prevail; for then Mr. Merrywinkle feels as if his temples were tightly bound round with the chain of the street-door, and Mrs. Merrywinkle as if she had made a hearty dinner of half-hundredweights, and Mrs. Chopper as if cold water were running down her back, and oyster-knives with sharp points were plunging of their own accord into her ribs. Symptoms like these are enough to make people peevish, and no wonder that they remain so until supper-time, doing little more than doze and complain, unless Mr. Merrywinkle calls out very loudly to a servant ‘to keep that draught out,’ or rushes into the passage to flourish his fist in the countenance of the twopenny-postman, for daring to give such a knock as he had just performed at the door of a private gentleman with nerves.

Supper, coming after dinner, should consist of some gentle provocative; and therefore the tittivating art is again in requisition, and again—done honour to by Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, still comforted and abetted by Mrs. Chopper. After supper, it is ten to one but the last-named old lady becomes worse, and is led off to bed with the chronic complaint in full vigour. Mr. and Mrs. Merrywinkle, having administered to her a warm cordial, which is something of the strongest, then repair to their own room, where Mr. Merrywinkle, with his legs and feet in hot water, superintends the mulling of some wine which he is to drink at the very moment he plunges into bed, while Mrs. Merrywinkle, in garments whose nature is unknown to and unimagined by all but married men, takes four small pills with a spasmodic look between each, and finally comes to something hot and fragrant out of another little saucepan, which serves as her composing-draught for the night.

There is another kind of couple who coddle themselves, and who do so at a cheaper rate and on more spare diet, because they are niggardly and parsimonious; for which reason they are kind enough to coddle their visitors too. It is unnecessary to describe them, for our readers may rest assured of the accuracy of these general principles:—that all couples who coddle themselves are selfish and slothful,—that they charge upon every wind that blows, every rain that falls, and every vapour that hangs in the air, the evils which arise from their own imprudence or the gloom which is engendered in their own tempers,—and that all men and women, in couples or otherwise, who fall into exclusive habits of self-indulgence, and forget their natural sympathy and close connexion with everybody and everything in the world around them, not only neglect the first duty of life, but, by a happy retributive justice, deprive themselves of its truest and best enjoyment.

_____

Title | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter |

[prasad213]

best cataract surgery in mumbai

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Blurred vision

Frequent change in eye glasses or contact lenses

If you are facing such symptoms then an early detection of cataract will help you take a decision under the professional guidance of our Doctors.

People with a cataract in only one eye may notice a loss of depth perception; this can cause problems in judging where stairs are and determining the distance of cars driving in front of them.

lens replacement surgery render accurate correction for vision. If you would like to be femtosecond laser and it will also a leading reason why cataract surgeons are excited about their potential, due to the automation these lasers can provide – in creating the capsulorhexis and in pre-chopping the nucleus, reducing the overall energy needed to remove the cataract.

Why The Vission Eye Center for Cataract Surgery Treatment?

Our surgeons are all highly trained and have had extensive experience with the most up-to-date techniques used for cataract surgery in Mumbai at our center. The OSC offers a relaxed and friendly setting for the patient and the patient’s family. Shortly after cataract operation is completed, the patient may go home and resume almost all routine activities.

It must be understood that complications may occur in all types of surgery. In cataract treatment, haemorrhage, infection, and swelling are all possible, but very uncommon. The chance of any significant cataract surgery complications is less than 1%. It is among the safest and most successful procedure in the medical field. However, if a problem does arise, prompt treatment may resolve it.

About a year after surgery, approximately 20% of the patients who undergo femtosecond Laser cataract surgery develop a haze of the capsular membrane surrounding the lens implant. Should this occur, YAG laser treatment is recommended. The YAG laser is used to create an opening in the clouded membrane, which significantly improves the patient’s vision. It is one of the safest treatments used in ophthalmology. It is painless, requires no anaesthesia or incision, and takes only minutes to complete.

Laser in cataract render accurate correction for vision. Laser in cataract also is a leading reason why the best cataract surgeons in Mumbai are excited about their potential. Due to the automation, these lasers can provide – in creating the capsulorhexis and in pre-chopping the nucleus, reducing the overall energy needed to remove the cataract. Depending on the growth of cataract & the damage it causes to your vision, the call to remove it is taken. Our consultation process gives you an opportunity to understand cataract surgery or procedure involved, the cataract operation cost in Mumbai. A larger portion of cloudiness in your eye lens can impair vision partially or completely. In such cases, it is advisable to have a cornea transplant in Mumbai at our clinic, The Vission Eye Center.

Cataract Surgery Treatment

Presently, there is no medication, eye drops, exercises or glasses to cure or prevent cataracts. Surgery is the only way to remove a cataract. Cataract surgery is one of the most safest and common type of surgery. Cataracts cannot be removed with a laser, only through surgical incision. In cataract surgery the cloudy lens is removed from the eye.

The focusing power of the removed lens is achieved by replacing it with a permanent intraocular lens implant (IOL), which has been selected to suit the specific eye measurements of each patient. The expense of Cataract surgery is an essential subject on the grounds that it is the most regularly performed surgery on the planet.

[wickedslip]

nikolai. part ii.

Her mind went back to a safer place, the time when Nik had first been born. A veil shrouded her mind to where she could not remember the reasoning as to why she had been there or even other people around that time. She had only been ten and she was more concentrated on the new baby that was forged into their circle. She had remembered wanting to hold him, and all else didn’t seem to hold any substantial relevance to the pale olive, slender child with locks as raven as hers, and with eyes that wholly matched. She had watched with childlike eyes full of wonder and peered into the bassinet at the fragile thing wrapped in a cloud of a cashmere coverlet. Eyes as violet azure as Nordic Fjords encroaching a bruising tempest. There was an air of innocence that could not be interrupted by the fragile child, and she had glowed in elation and wonderment at everything she witnessed.

Not much had changed since those years, except the world was sharper, full of pointed, razor edges and humans grew colder and more dismal as the girl had aged. Her brother had been taken from her long ago to teach her a lesson that you could not interrupt the basic law of nature— that evil existed, and it could take on more than one form. It had been a long time ago, and somehow, she had convinced herself that Nik no longer existed at times; it was easier to take in if she didn’t think about him and the condition of his death. And how she had found him.  

Catapulting from her reverie, and side-winded by the torrent of emotions that had washed over her, she sniffed gently yet thoroughly into the air. There was a wrongness about it that she couldn’t put into comprehension, but the taste of the aftershock left a coppery tinge to it as she moistened her parted lips. They were dry from lack of resources over an extended duration, and she knew that that was why she felt so frail; she had not eaten anything since breakfast the day prior and she could barely withstand its result. The berries had long vanished from her system as had the celadon-tinged matcha latte that was traditional for her household to consume in the early hours. Rubbing her icy arms vigorously with her hands, she tried to steal warmth from her heated palms as the friction rendered a slight burn from them. It must have been cold the night prior, giving way to the elements and she more than likely had come down with a cold.

Her hair blustering slightly in the breeze behind her, and a gravitating draft caught in mid-stride as she began to slowly migrate, looking each way, left and right, leaving no area undiscovered by her scanning violet-tinged hues. She was weak and body felt heavy, bursting fracture of unrelenting defeat— she knew in the back of her mind that something dreadful had happened to him. To Nik. The sinister guise that had seized form over the picturesque town as of late all but instructed her to deem it as truth. From the oceanfront domiciles of many of the estates that lined the Atlantic, influential domains could be something found on the cover of homemaking magazines. The sprawling Victorian that her family had acquired upon moving here and been a quick purchase and Demetria had been jubilant over their good fortune upon moving from Mexico.

Was she the only person that could feel let alone see for herself the sense of ominous foreboding— the shadow that seemed to clutch the vicinity with its dominating fury? Like a mourning dove, bone in pigment, plucked out of the dank, lead-dark sky. And right now, it had lost its shade of azure, transforming into a white-grey appearance as if a milk bowl was turned upside down, all its contents seeping out to leave not a trace of the jovial, cerulean color that had once blanketed the atmosphere. It was as if the very elements had pulled her out and away from reality to prepare her for what was to come. 

A premonition?

Nausicaa reflected on her innermost thoughts, turbulence in the dissonance that laid in wait. Moving faster, covering more terrain, the elements were trying to propel her away from the conduit of her course. Long, hip-grazing tresses thrashed against the force of the stronger gales, signaling that another influx of storms like the one from last night would take effect. She had to find Nik before they were caught, propelling them in another outburst from madre naturaleza— no. This was out of even her control; this was something else, a different and more malevolent act at work.

There had still been no other updates, and it remained silent as it was situated about the snug faded lining of her jeans pocket. Her stark black and white chucks trampling through indigo-tinted bachelor button wildflowers and the slightly overgrown chartreuse grass as she moved once again past the old church that seemed to have been dropped down on the dismal path against its very own will— like a mockery to her. The entrance of the church had an air of pretense all the way to the rusted belfry where the bell would chime each Sunday. Each introspection squawked at her to go the other way, to go back the way that she had come. To get back into her car and to leave far, far away from this place. But she knew that if she didn’t go, if she did not transcend the way she was going in her leaden footfalls, that she would be filled with a pang of guilt— because what if he had gone this way? 

Niky, she called out in a surging, coiled spiral of telepathy. It was how members of their Circle could openly communicate with one another without the interference of human minds to hinder their path.  It was how she had always done it— since she was old enough to walk without falling.

Can you hear me? Where are you? She pledged to herself that she would only use it in the extreme case of a dire emergency, lest she called more shadowy creatures to the immediate area, like that of her father. Please answer me Nik, please! But no sound convened with her to satisfy nor nurture the betraying thoughts that were slowly already filling her petrified mind— it would not quell the fact that she knew that the wavelength had been broken, and in Thorn Law, the laws that governed the whole society of witches, that meant one of two things. That the other party was either unconscious, or worse.

No! Do not think it, idiot! Do not go there, do not venture down that path that your fleeting, betraying mind is trying to carry you. Because if you think about it, if you will it, it can surely usher it into existence. Running her slender, olive hands vexingly through her long chocolate-dark tresses and piercing her scalp with the tapered black nails, the pain would further hinder her from her previous transgressions. She had to find him; that was all there was to it.