unmovablewellness-blog

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Explorations Into the Nature of God

I have held an abiding love for the metaphorical Aristotelian imagery of God, compared to that of a beautiful woman. 'God', says Aristotle, 'moves the world as a beloved object moves the lover'.

A beautiful woman is walking down the street. She is completely absorbed in her own thoughts. Her gaze is fixed upon the ground. She doesn't look at anybody. But everybody is looking at her. The presence of her beauty has turned all eyes, has stirred all hearts into action, all minds into thoughts. Similarly God, without being moved itself, it "produces" motion within all of us by being loved. This definition is in conformity with science that for all things moving there has to be a dead center, the eye of the cyclone, which is unloving.

In other words, it gives rise to the conception that God is not interested in the world, though the world is interested in God. For to be interested in the world means to be subject to emotion, to be swayed by prayers or imprecations, to be capable of changing one's mind as a result of somebody else's actions or desires or thoughts - in short, to be imperfect. But God is passionless, changeless, perfect.

Thus, in the philosophical system of Aristotle, God is not the Creator of the universe but the Cause of its motion. For a creator is a dreamer, and the dreamer is a dissatisfied personality - a soul that yearns for something that is not, an unhappy being who seeks for happiness - that is, an imperfect creature who aims at perfection. But God is perfect, and since he is perfect he cannot be dissatisfied or unhappy. He is therefore not the Maker but the Mover of the universe. Then, 'God created the universe', becomes untenable.

But what sort of Mover? To this question Aristotle replies that God is the Unmoved Mover of the universe. Every other source of motion in the world, whether it be a person or a thing, is (according to Aristotle) a moved mover. Thus the plow moves the earth, the hands moves the plow, the brains move the hand, the desire for food moves the brain, the instinct for

life moves the desire for food and so on. Put differently, the cause of every motion is the result of some other motion. The master of every slave is the slave of another master. Even the tyrant is a slave of his ambition. But God can be the result of no action. He can be the slave of no master. He is the source of all action, the master of all masters, the instigator of all thoughts.

Interestingly, we find a parallel of this philosophy in the Hindu thought too. The Upanishads, written thousands of years before Aristotle, accepted God as impersonal. The reference to God is indicated by the word "Tat" - That. Now, you cannot have any relationship with "That". With "That", you can have no association, you can have no expectations, nor can you have any complaints. But, with a personalized God, you can have both. Further, the entire Aristotelian perspective of God has been encapsulated in one word, "Swayback", meaning, 'founded on its own foundation'. There are certain differences, however - the Aristotelian God, who is loved by all men but who is indifferent to their fate, is a cold, impersonal and - from our modern religious standpoint, "perfectly" unsatisfactory type of Supreme Being. The Upanishads explain how harmony and homogeneity is possible only from the intellectual approach of God's personality - through a removal of the distinction of "You" and "I".

Therefore, Aristotle's God and the "God" of the Upanishads have one thing in common: in that they resemble more to the Primal Energy rather than to the Heavenly Father of the poets, and from a personal perspective, I am quite inclined towards the authenticity of God as the Eternal Law of Energy that moves all things - moving and unloving - in a repetitive cycle extending into eternity. We exist in the present, we existed in the past, and we will continue to exist in the future. Existence is never diluted one whit. This is a Truth we must all experience one day or the other.

The human mind, horn of all emotions, and there are scientific techniques to do so, may be able to conceive of such a disinterested ruler of the universe. But the human heart, I am here talking of humanity in general, with its burden of sorrow and its gift for compassion, insists upon a God who is a loving friend in the heaven rather than a loveless abstraction in the metaphysical speculation of a Greek philosopher. And, perhaps the heart is nearer than the head, the instinctive feelings rather than reason, to the ultimate mystery of the world.

[unmovablewellness-blog]

Not necessarily a fic rec but I'm super curious how you'd imagine Nureyev reacting to the video of him shit-faced re: the unprompted fic about Peter being disheveled?

This was entirely too much fun to write. 

In case nobody ever told you, dear readers: Those giant-ass bottles of liquor that hold multiple liters? They aren’t meant to be consumed by a single person. Especially not in a single sitting. It doesn’t matter if it was purchased for that purpose by a person who is half your size– just because they can drink that much doesn’t mean you can. 

My partner still can’t look at vodka without apologizing to me. 

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[unmovablewellness-blog]

Not necessarily a fic rec but I'm super curious how you'd imagine Nureyev reacting to the video of him shit-faced re: the unprompted fic about Peter being disheveled?

This was entirely too much fun to write. 

In case nobody ever told you, dear readers: Those giant-ass bottles of liquor that hold multiple liters? They aren’t meant to be consumed by a single person. Especially not in a single sitting. It doesn’t matter if it was purchased for that purpose by a person who is half your size– just because they can drink that much doesn’t mean you can. 

My partner still can’t look at vodka without apologizing to me. 

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[unmovablewellness-blog]

Kindred Spirits

Thanks to @nattah-gudgrrl for this idea!

“I’m stuffed,” Rick said, rubbing his palm over his flat stomach, and pushing it outward for effect. They stepped out of the cozy bar and grill into the brisk, January air, and he stood in front of Michonne to block the wind that was whipping specks of snow around like confetti, as she fastened her coat.

“Me too,” she said, letting her eyes roll back to exaggerate her sated state. “That was amazing.”

“What do you want to do now? The night’s still young.”

“Let’s walk off that meal,” she said, slipping her arm through his and pressing against his side for warmth. “We can window shop, really do the tourist thing.”

They started down the cobblestone sidewalk, no particular destination in mind, and Rick allowed himself to be led from jewelry store, to antique shop, to bakery; rows of storefronts still decked out cheerily for the recently passed holiday. She pointed out numerous treasures, and he pretended to be interested, all while his gaze fixated on the way the cold brought a rosy tint to her dusky cheeks and nose, and her brown eyes gleamed with contentment. They walked until the winter sun began to prepare for its evening rest, dimming the light and pulling up a blanket of horizon to retire behind. Rick noted the neighborhood was getting less handsome as the sky became more murky, and he began to think better of their self-guided tour.

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” he said, leaning in to run the chilled tip of his nose against her ear as he spoke.

She smiled, about to agree to his proposition when something caught her eye. “Look!” She pointed to a sidewalk sign with a woman’s name written in scrolling cursive on the chalkboard finish, and a hand drawn image of a crystal ball. “A fortune teller!”

“Michonne…” Rick groaned, tightening his arm around hers and planting his feet to keep her from rushing toward it.

“Oh, please!” she begged, holding in a chuckle at his expense. This was exactly the type of thing he would hate on principle, but it could be fun. “Come on. She can tell us what the new year has in store.” She batted her eyelashes at him and he was useless to resist.

Rick hung his head in defeat, and followed her for a few more steps until they stood before a purple, velvet curtain where a door should have been, a small windchime hanging in front of it, in lieu of a doorbell. Michonne looked at Rick and shrugged, lifting her gloved fingers to brush them across the metal rods, making them ring. As if beckoned by a Siren’s song, a dark haired women appeared, wearing flowing robes and gold bangles around her wrist that jingled as she walked. She pushed aside the curtain, squinting as if they had woken her from a nap.

“Welcome,” the woman said, in a thick Eastern European accent. “You have come for me to read your good fortune?”

“Of course,” Michonne answered, with a beaming smile.

“How much is it?” Rick asked, with considerably less enthusiasm. Michonne nudged him in the ribs with a soft elbow and smiled at the woman.

“It is thirty for your reading,” she said, unmoved by his attitude. “Well worth it, I assure you.”

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[unmovablewellness-blog]

What about an angsty hc where one of them gets in a car accident and the other loses their mind, driving all the way to the hospital. But thankfully nothing serious happened. Note: they're not a couple (yet)

Okay so I already kinda did this before (you can all read it here) with Fabri getting hurt, so ofc this time it had to be Ermal. Spoiler alert: I’ve defined “nothing serious” kinda broadly, sorry Erm.

Fabri paced through his living room, wringing his hands

He told himself that there was no need to be nervous, after all, it was just a visit from a friend. A good friend.

A good friend who was almost like his brother, a good friend who he was most definitely not in love with

“You really need to relax.”

Fabri shot a menacing look towards Claudio, who sat in the comfy armchair, a music magazine in his hands

“I need to do fucking nothing.”

“Hey now! Don’t get grumpy with me, Romeo. Remember, you’re the one who called me because you didn’t trust yourself being alone with your Juliet.”

“I hate when you’re trying to be funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

Fabri shoved his friend, but they both knew that he was grateful for Claudio being here, otherwise he probably would have already had an aneurysm

His eyes fell on the clock of his TV recorder

“He’s late.” He could see Claudio rolling his eyes at him, before concentrating again on the magazine

“He has to drive through Rome to get here, cut the poor boy some slack.” Fabri bit his lip, cracking his knuckles nervously

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“I know I am.”

“Oh, shut up.”

But the numbers of the clock moved forward relentlessly and still no sign of Ermal

Fabri tried to sit down, his legs jiggling, his mind starting to come up with all kinds of horror scenarios

Claudio sighed, looking at him pityingly

“Look, just call him, alright? I’m one hundred percent sure everything is alright and he is just stuck in traffic.”

Fabri nodded absentmindedly, his hand already reaching for the phone on the table

Just one call, just one minute and he could be sure that everything was fine, that Ermal was not hurt, that he was safe

Except

Except no matter how long he waited, how often he tried, the call didn’t connect

He looked at Claudio with huge eyes, his hand starting to tremble

“Stay calm. I’m sure he’s simply too occupied with the road. Or he didn’t hear it. Just wait a few minutes and try again.”

Fabri nodded silently. Rationally he knew that that was a likely reason. Yet he couldn’t stop noticing that even Claudio’s voice was a bit tenser than before

He waited ten minutes then tried again.

And again.

Fabri was sure the way his heart was speeding wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t help the growing worry in his stomach. Claudio had now turned silent as well, remaining unmoving in his chair, completely disregarding the magazine on his lap, his eyes never leaving Fabrizio

He tried one more time, pressing the phone tightly against his ear, the sound of the dialing tone that he had come to hate loud in the quietness of his living room

And finally, finally, the tone stopped

The realization went through Fabri like an electric shock, his face lightening up with relief, causing Claudio to exhale on a soundless sigh

“Ermal? Thank God, I’ve been trying to reach you! You’re late my dude, where are you?”

Fabri realized how breathless he was, his hand stroking over his face, wiping away the light sheen of sweat that had been building on his forehead

Silence.

The smile vanished from Fabrizio’s face as quickly as it had appeared

“Ermal?”

“Fabrizio?”

Wait. That was not Ermal’s voice, but there was something familiar about it. “Rinald?”

“Yeah. It’s me.” “Why, I mean, where is Ermal? What are you doing with his phone?”

He could hear the hitch in Rinald’s breath, his legs starting to give out under him, he barely made it to the couch in time

“What happened?” His words were barely more than a whisper, Claudio’s warm hand grabbing his arm in support

“It was a car accident, they were both at fault. Ermal was distracted and the other… the other driver was too fast.” Rinald’s breath hitched again and Fabri realized the other man was crying, tears burning in his own eyes as well.

“Is he alright?”

There was a heavy pause, where the other end of the line remained silent, only the quiet puffs of Rinald’s breath audible

“He’s alive.”

Fabri didn’t know how to reply, his whole body was now shaking and he was worried that the moment he opened his mouth, he would start sobbing

Gentle fingers pried the phone out of his tight grip, Claudio starting to talk to Rinald in a hushed voice

But Fabri couldn’t hear anything anyway, only the blood rushing in his ears

In his mind, he could already see Ermal on a hospital bed, his face so pale, his eyes closed in a peaceful sleep

A sleep he would never wake up from

He didn’t notice the tears streaming down his face or the painful sobs shaking his body and it took him a while to realise that Claudio was kneeling in front of him, begging him to calm down, begging him to come back to reality

It was also Claudio who led him to his car, who pushed him into the passenger’s seat because “You’re in no condition to drive”

It took them long, far too long in Fabri’s opinion to arrive at the hospital where Ermal was brought to

He was a nervous mess when they arrived, Claudio not leaving him out of his sight for even a second

Thankfully, they quickly found Rinald, who was not faring much better than Fabri

“He’s inside there”, he said, his voice trembling. “We’re allowed to go inside, just, one at a time. I called Sabina and Mom, but they still need a while before they get here.”

But Fabri couldn’t listen to his rambling, his eyes not leaving the plain, beige door that loomed before him like his very own personal gateway to hell  

Claudio gently touched his shoulder.

“You can go see him, it’s alright. I’ll wait for you here.”

But Fabri shook his head, his voice when it finally left him, sounding strangled and rough

“I can’t.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I… I don’t think I can see him like that.”

To his surprise it was Rinald, who grabbed his hand then, looking at him with a determined expression

“Please. You need to go in there.”

“No, I don’t… Rinald, I’m sorry, I – “

“Do you know what they asked me when I arrived here? They asked me if my name was Fabrizio. Because he had been asking for you, the whole way they brought him here. I think he is as worried about you as you are about him.”

Fabrizio gulped but he really couldn’t say no to these eyes, these eyes who reminded him so much of another person, a person very dear to him

A person who apparently even cared for him when he was just involved in a car accident

It took him a bit to overcome his own demons, to finally take the final step through the door

With a click, too loud in the eery silence, the door fell shut behind him, leaving him alone with the pale body on the bed

A pale body, that was covered in scratches and bruises, one arm strapped in a cast, a white cloth slung around his midriff

“Oh God.” The words left his lips without his consent, he quickly bit his lip, not wanting to wake the patient

“You may call me Ermal.”

“You’re awake?”

“Mostly.”

Carefully, Fabri approached the bed and gingerly sat down on the mattress, trying his best not to jostle Ermal

Though, taking a closer look at that blissed out face, he couldn’t help but wonder if Ermal would have even noticed being trampled on by a herd of elephants

“How are you feeling?”  “Amazing.” A choked off sound escaped Fabri, something between a sob and laughter

“Gosh, how many painkillers did they give you?” “Shut up and hold my hand.”

Fabri’s heart almost jumped out of his chest as he carefully took the hand that was not in a cast, his fingers stroking lovingly over the soft skin

And if he pressed a gentle kiss against the knuckles, well. Nobody there to blame him for it.

Well. Nobody but one person.

“Whadda you doin’?”

Oops.

“Holding your hand?” “Hnn.” Ermal smiled, an obnoxious giggle leaving him. “Nice. Do that again.”

Fabri smiled, his hand stroking gently some dark locks out of Ermal’s face

He really shouldn’t find this as adorable

Then Ermal’s smile turned into a frown, his hand tugging at Fabrizio

“Do it again.”

With his heart racing, he pressed his dry lips again against those nimble fingers, a tear escaping his eyes, just at the thought of everything that he had come so close to losing today

Ermal sighed, pulling Fabri out of his dark thoughts

“I need to do this more often”

Fabri choked on his laughter, tears still shining in his eyes

“How about you don’t?”

“But you’re so sweet to me when I’m hurt.”

And Ermal still had the audacity to smile while saying that, his hand tightly gripping Fabri’s

That’s when the tears finally started spilling over, his body shaking with the force of suppressed sobs

He leaned closer to the other man, his lips pressing gently against Ermal’s temple

“As soon as you get out of here, I will be so sweet to you, you’ll get sick of it.”

“Promise?”, Ermal mumbled, the sweet sleep of the well drugged pulling at his eyelids

“Promise.”

I hope you kinda liked it!

[unmovablewellness-blog]

The Painter

Ship: Severus Snape x Cleo Blackwater (OC)

Word Count: 4721

Warning(s): Smut, a little bit dub-con and death

Writing Prompt: Snape takes on a lover to relieve stress during his brief time as headmaster. Perhaps he had resigned himself to likely dying in the war ahead, but after a period of time with this person he realizes he may actually want to live. He fights harder/learns to love someone besides Lily/makes greater sacrifices/etc.

Author’s Note: Lowkey I feel like I rushed the ending, I was a lot more into the build up and smut than the end but I hope you enjoyed it.

“Headmaster Snape, I’m here to do your portrait.”

The witch’s voice wavered as she spoke to the unmoving gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office. She felt great uncertainty as she stood there waiting. How would her old Professor react to her? How would she react?

Nearly 10 years had passed since Cleo Blackwater walked these familiar halls for the last time. The air felt different,almost as though all the magic and wonder had been drained from the school. On her journey she passed familiar faces of Professors and students that should’ve been excited and bright to face the school year just as she had been but instead they wore grim expressions. Each person looked away from her, their eyes shot downwards. Not a single soul even spoke a word of greeting to her or their fellow students.

To a degree it didn’t surprise her given the times but it still sat poorly with her. She had heard the whisperings of the Dark Lord’s return two years ago which she dismissed. She regretted that choice, wishing she had fled when she had the time to. Maybe then she wouldn’t have lost her family or friends. Now that they were gone she had no real desire to stay or go.

In a way she was thankful that she wasn’t either a renowned witch or gifted at duelling. Her only real talent was art, in particular portrait painting, it had peaked her interest when she was a young girl. She had seen so many of these life-like paintings and she aspired to be the creator of many portraits with the ultimate goal to one day create a Headmaster’s portrait.

All of which lead her here, to this day where she stood nervously waiting for the gargoyle to opens its wings and allow her entry to the office. She could’ve sworn in her letter they had agreed for 9am. As she glanced down at her watch to confirm that she had been on time the gargoyle sprung to life. Quickly, she moved onto the staircase with her art equipment in tow and began her ascent.

Cleo’s face was filled with wonder as her eyes darted around the room, absorbing the images of the fallen Professor’s. She noticed the presence of one new portrait, Albus Dumbledore, who was sleeping in his frame. A twinge of guilt was felt by the woman as she realised that she would be painting his murderer.

The dark wizard sat where Albus used to sit appearing preoccupied with paper work. Hesitantly, she climbed the steps to the desk and stood in front of the man. She waited for him to address her first but his head remained focused on whatever lay in front of him. His eyes unmoving, coldly he asked, “Well?”

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Damian vs Wadsworth more like an unstoppable asshole means an unmovable capitalist