#and the task is full of things that will inevitably lead to failure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

landroverrepairrogersar · 2 months ago

Text

Common Car Problems That Need Auto Repair in Springdale AR

When you’re cruising through the scenic roads of Springdale, Arkansas, the last thing you want is your car making strange noises or breaking down unexpectedly. Unfortunately, car problems are inevitable—especially if regular maintenance is overlooked. Whether you're driving to work, dropping off kids at school, or exploring the Ozarks, staying on top of your vehicle's health is crucial.

In this comprehensive guide, we’ll explore common car issues that signal it’s time to seek auto repair Springdale AR—and how addressing them early can save you from bigger headaches (and repair bills) down the road.

🚗 1. Warning Lights on the Dashboard

One of the most obvious signs your car needs attention is when a warning light appears on the dashboard.

Check Engine Light: This could mean anything from a loose gas cap to a serious engine problem.

Brake Warning Light: Indicates low brake fluid or worn brake pads.

Battery Light: Suggests issues with the alternator or battery charging system.

Ignoring these lights is like ignoring a fire alarm. If you’re unsure, the best move is to book an auto repair Springdale AR expert for a full diagnostic check.

🛑 2. Squeaky or Grinding Brakes

Your brakes are your first line of defense on the road. If you hear squeaking, grinding, or feel vibrations when braking, don’t delay.

Common brake issues:

Worn-out brake pads

Damaged rotors

Low brake fluid

Caliper malfunction

Brake failure is dangerous. Timely auto repair in Springdale AR can restore full braking power and ensure your safety.

🔧 3. Engine Performance Issues

If your car’s acceleration feels sluggish, it misfires, or you notice rough idling, it’s a clear sign your engine isn’t functioning properly.

Causes may include:

Clogged fuel injectors

Dirty air filters

Faulty spark plugs

Malfunctioning sensors

A Springdale mechanic can run a computerized diagnostic to pinpoint the exact issue and fix it before the engine suffers long-term damage.

🔋 4. Dead or Weak Battery

If your car struggles to start or the electrical components seem weak, your battery could be the culprit. Batteries typically last 3–5 years, but extreme Arkansas temperatures can shorten their lifespan.

Signs of battery trouble:

Slow crank

Clicking noise when starting

Dim headlights

Swollen battery case

Local experts offering auto repair Springdale AR can test your battery and replace it if needed to avoid roadside emergencies.

💧 5. Fluid Leaks

Leaking fluids under your car are never a good sign. Whether it’s oil, coolant, brake fluid, or transmission fluid, leaks can cause severe engine damage if not addressed.

Color indicators:

Brown or black – Engine oil

Red – Transmission or power steering fluid

Green or orange – Coolant

Clear or yellow – Brake fluid

Don’t just top off leaking fluids—get a professional to locate and seal the source through certified auto repair in Springdale AR.

🔥 6. Overheating Engine

Springdale summers can be hot, and if your cooling system isn’t functioning correctly, your engine may overheat. This can lead to engine failure or a blown head gasket.

Common causes:

Low coolant

Broken water pump

Faulty thermostat

Radiator leaks

Always address overheating immediately. Auto repair shops in Springdale can inspect your entire cooling system and ensure it’s up to the task.

🚙 7. Steering and Suspension Problems

Does your car feel loose on the road? Do you hear knocking sounds when driving over bumps?

Potential suspension problems:

Worn shocks or struts

Broken springs

Misaligned wheels

Power steering fluid leaks

These issues affect not just comfort but your control over the vehicle. Schedule a suspension check with a trusted auto repair Springdale AR shop to keep your ride smooth and safe.

⚙️ 8. Transmission Troubles

Your transmission is one of your car’s most complex (and expensive) components. Any irregularities should be addressed quickly to avoid total failure.

Warning signs:

Hesitation or slipping when shifting gears

Grinding or shaking

Burning smell

Fluid leaks

Don’t wait until your transmission gives out. Springdale repair professionals can perform a transmission flush, rebuild, or replacement depending on the severity.

🔊 9. Strange Noises

A healthy car should hum—not rattle, squeal, or clunk.

Noises to watch for:

Squealing under the hood – Could be a loose serpentine belt

Clunking – Likely suspension or drivetrain issues

Hissing – May indicate a coolant or vacuum leak

When your car talks, listen. Any strange noise should be checked out with a trusted auto repair Springdale AR technician.

🚨 10. Exhaust System Issues

Your exhaust system keeps harmful fumes away and helps your engine run efficiently.

Signs of trouble:

Loud rumbling noise

Decreased fuel efficiency

Strong gas smell

Visible rust or holes in the muffler

Neglecting exhaust problems can impact your health and wallet. A local repair shop can assess and repair your exhaust system quickly.

🌧️ 11. Windshield Wiper Failure

It may seem minor, but worn or malfunctioning wipers are a serious hazard during rain or snow. If your blades streak, skip, or make noise, replace them.

Also check:

Wiper motor

Washer fluid reservoir

Nozzle blockage

A quick fix from a Springdale auto repair center can make your windshield crystal clear again.

🛞 12. Tire Wear or Alignment Issues

Driving with unevenly worn or underinflated tires increases the risk of blowouts.

Watch for:

Vibrations while driving

Vehicle pulling to one side

Uneven tread wear

Regular rotation, alignment, and pressure checks at a Springdale shop can extend your tires’ lifespan and keep you safer on the road.

👨‍🔧 Why Choose Local Experts for Auto Repair in Springdale AR?

Springdale is home to many auto shops—but not all are created equal. Here’s why local experts are the way to go:

Quick response times

Knowledge of Arkansas road conditions

Personalized service and care

Certified and experienced mechanics

Affordable pricing with no hidden fees

Whether it's a routine check-up or a major repair, choosing a trusted auto repair Springdale AR provider ensures your vehicle is in the best hands.

✅ How to Prevent These Common Car Problems

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. Here are easy tips to avoid these common issues:

Follow your maintenance schedule

Change fluids regularly

Get annual inspections

Address small issues before they grow

Keep an eye on dashboard lights and tire pressure

Set calendar reminders, use car maintenance apps, or build a relationship with a local repair shop to stay ahead of problems.

📍 Finding the Right Auto Repair in Springdale AR

Not sure where to go? Look for:

ASE-certified mechanics

Great reviews from Springdale locals

Transparent pricing

Warranties on parts and labor

Clean, professional shop environment

Ask questions, request quotes, and don’t hesitate to get a second opinion if you’re unsure.

🚗 Final Thoughts: Protect Your Investment

Your car is more than just a machine—it’s your lifeline for work, family, and adventure. Whether you’re facing minor issues or major repairs, staying informed is the first step.

By recognizing common car problems early and choosing the best auto repair Springdale AR has to offer, you’ll keep your vehicle—and your peace of mind—in top condition.

#auto repair

0 notes

mindcorpz-nikkiblog · 4 months ago

Text

Visionary Thinking: Your Pathway to Innovation

Hey there, friend! Have you ever wondered what sets successful entrepreneurs apart from the rest? One key quality is visionary thinking. It's the ability to see beyond the present and imagine a future full of possibilities. Visionary thinking is like having a superpower that helps you innovate, inspire, and lead.

Let's break it down into some practical steps you can follow to develop your own visionary mindset.

Practical Steps:

1. Cultivate Curiosity: Always stay curious and open to learning new things. Read books, watch documentaries, and explore different fields. Curiosity will fuel your imagination and help you spot new opportunities.

2. Set Ambitious Goals: Dream big and don't be afraid to set high goals for yourself. Break them down into smaller, manageable tasks to keep yourself on track and motivated.

3. Embrace Change: Change is inevitable, and visionary thinkers see it as an opportunity rather than a threat. Stay adaptable and be open to new ideas and approaches.

4. Visualise Your Success: Take some time each day to visualize your goals and the steps you need to take to achieve them. This mental exercise will strengthen your resolve and keep you focused on your vision.

5. Seek Diverse Perspectives: Surround yourself with people who have different backgrounds, experiences, and viewpoints. Their insights will challenge your thinking and help you see things from new angles.

6. Stay Resilient: Visionary thinking requires persistence. Don't get discouraged by setbacks or failures. Learn from them, adapt, and keep moving forward.

7. Communicate Clearly: Articulate your vision with clarity and passion. Inspire others to believe in and support your vision.

8. Innovate Continuously: Never settle for the status quo. Always look for ways to improve and innovate in your business.

Remember the story of Walt Disney? He faced numerous challenges and failures, but his visionary thinking led to the creation of an entertainment empire that continues to inspire millions. By cultivating a visionary mindset, you too can turn your dreams into reality and make a lasting impact on the world.

✨ The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. – Eleanor Roosevelt

🌟 Success is not final, failure is not fatal: It is the courage to continue that counts. – Winston Churchill

🚀 Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakes. – Carl Jung

💡 Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others." – Jonathan Swift

So, embrace your inner visionary and start paving your path to innovation and success!

Keerthi - Mindcorpz

0 notes

drkarenhawk · 5 months ago

Text

Dr. Karen Hawk’s Guide to Overcoming Perfectionism

Perfectionism is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it drives individuals to strive for excellence, but on the other hand, it can be a heavy burden that stifles creativity, breeds anxiety, and leads to constant dissatisfaction. Dr. Karen Hawk, a seasoned psychologist, has seen firsthand how perfectionism can hold individuals back from reaching their full potential. In her approach, she helps clients overcome the unrelenting need to be perfect and find a healthier balance between striving for success and accepting imperfection.

In this guide, Dr. Hawk shares her insights into how perfectionism develops, how it impacts mental well-being, and, most importantly, how to overcome it for a more fulfilling life.

Understanding Perfectionism

Perfectionism is not just about wanting to do things well; it involves setting excessively high standards and judging oneself harshly for any perceived failure to meet those standards. Perfectionists often feel that anything less than perfect is a failure and, as a result, may experience constant self-criticism, anxiety, and fear of failure.

Dr Karen Hawk psychologist explains that perfectionism typically develops in childhood and can be influenced by various factors, including family dynamics, societal pressures, and personal experiences. Some people may develop perfectionism as a coping mechanism to gain approval or to avoid feelings of inadequacy. However, this tendency can persist into adulthood, affecting various areas of life, such as work, relationships, and self-worth.

The Impact of Perfectionism

While striving for excellence is generally a positive trait, perfectionism can have detrimental effects. Dr. Hawk points out that the pursuit of perfection often leads to:

Chronic Stress: The pressure to perform flawlessly can result in constant stress, burnout, and feelings of being overwhelmed.

Procrastination: The fear of not being perfect can lead to procrastination, as individuals may delay starting a task until they feel they can execute it perfectly.

Low Self-Esteem: Perfectionists often tie their self-worth to their achievements. When they inevitably fall short of their ideal standards, it can lead to feelings of failure and inadequacy.

Relationship Strain: Perfectionism can create unrealistic expectations in relationships, leading to disappointment and frustration when others do not meet those standards.

Mental Health Struggles: Perfectionism is linked to mental health conditions such as anxiety, depression, and eating disorders, as the pressure to maintain control and be perfect can create a constant sense of anxiety.

Dr. Karen Hawk’s Approach to Overcoming Perfectionism

Dr Karen Hawk psychologist Arizona uses a combination of therapeutic techniques to help clients break free from the cycle of perfectionism. She emphasizes the importance of developing self-compassion, reframing negative thought patterns, and setting realistic expectations. Here’s how Dr. Hawk helps clients overcome perfectionism:

1. Developing Self-Compassion

One of the most important steps in overcoming perfectionism is learning to be kind to oneself. Dr Karen Hawk psychologist Arizona teaches her clients that self-compassion is not about excusing mistakes or lowering standards, but rather about accepting their imperfections and recognizing that mistakes are a natural part of growth.

Perfectionists tend to be their own harshest critics, so learning to speak to themselves with kindness and understanding is crucial. Dr. Hawk encourages her clients to challenge negative self-talk and replace it with compassionate, nurturing thoughts. This shift helps individuals feel less anxious about making mistakes and fosters a sense of self-worth that is not tied to perfection.

2. Identifying and Challenging Perfectionistic Beliefs

Dr. Hawk helps clients identify the core beliefs that fuel their perfectionism. Often, these beliefs are based on unrealistic expectations or fears of judgment from others. For example, a perfectionist may believe that they must always be the best in order to be loved or accepted.

Through cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), Dr. Hawk works with clients to challenge these perfectionistic beliefs. She helps them explore the evidence for and against their beliefs and develop a more balanced perspective. Clients learn that they do not need to be perfect to be valued, and that failure is not the end, but a chance to learn and grow.

3. Setting Realistic Expectations

Dr. Hawk emphasizes the importance of setting realistic and attainable goals. Perfectionists often set themselves up for failure by setting excessively high standards that are impossible to meet. Dr Karen Hawk psychologist works with clients to break down their goals into manageable steps and set expectations that are both challenging and achievable.

She encourages her clients to celebrate small victories along the way, rather than focusing solely on the end result. By shifting the focus from perfection to progress, clients are able to experience a greater sense of accomplishment and fulfillment, even when things don’t go as planned.

4. Embracing Imperfection

A key component of Dr. Hawk’s approach to overcoming perfectionism is helping clients embrace imperfection. She explains that perfection is an unattainable ideal, and that true growth comes from accepting flaws and learning from mistakes.

Dr. Hawk encourages her clients to practice self-acceptance and recognize that mistakes are a natural part of life. Rather than fearing failure, she teaches them to view mistakes as opportunities to learn, grow, and improve. This mindset shift allows clients to step outside the pressure of perfectionism and embrace a more realistic and fulfilling approach to life.

5. Mindfulness and Stress Reduction

Mindfulness is another powerful tool in overcoming perfectionism. Dr. Hawk encourages her clients to practice mindfulness techniques, such as deep breathing and meditation, to reduce anxiety and become more present in the moment.

Mindfulness helps individuals detach from their perfectionistic thoughts and focus on what they can control in the present moment. It allows them to observe their thoughts without judgment and to let go of the need for perfection. By practicing mindfulness, clients are better able to manage stress, reduce anxiety, and cultivate a sense of peace and acceptance.

6. Letting Go of Control

Perfectionism is often rooted in the need to control outcomes and avoid uncertainty. Dr. Hawk helps clients recognize that they cannot control everything, and that the desire for control can be a source of anxiety and frustration.

She encourages her clients to let go of the need for perfection and embrace uncertainty. Learning to tolerate discomfort and ambiguity is an important step in overcoming perfectionism. By letting go of control, clients are able to experience greater freedom and openness to life’s unpredictability.

The Benefits of Overcoming Perfectionism

Dr. Hawk’s approach to overcoming perfectionism leads to numerous benefits, including:

Increased Self-Acceptance: Clients learn to accept themselves as they are, embracing their imperfections and recognizing their inherent worth.

Improved Mental Health: Reducing the pressure of perfectionism can alleviate symptoms of anxiety, depression, and stress, leading to improved overall well-being.

Greater Creativity and Productivity: When individuals are no longer paralyzed by the fear of failure, they become more creative, productive, and open to new opportunities.

Healthier Relationships: By letting go of unrealistic expectations, clients can cultivate more authentic and compassionate relationships with others.

Conclusion

Perfectionism can be a heavy burden, but with the right tools and guidance, it is possible to overcome it. Dr. Karen Hawk’s approach to overcoming perfectionism helps individuals develop self-compassion, challenge limiting beliefs, set realistic goals, and embrace imperfection.

By letting go of the need to be perfect, individuals can experience greater peace, freedom, and fulfillment in their personal and professional lives. Dr. Hawk’s guidance empowers clients to break free from the cycle of perfectionism and create a healthier, more balanced approach to life.

#karen hawk psychologist #dr karen hawk psychologist #dr karen hawk

0 notes

mailbackupsoftware · 8 months ago

Text

Apple Mail backup- A must do task with telling ben

Email data can become a causality of data theft and corruption. Apple email backup is an all-seasons ally to loosen the stranglehold of data loss. Those who delay the inevitable (email backup) find themselves cornered in a spot of bother, as irrecoverable data loss is an open invitation to downtime, which can derail the mightiest of businesses. Moreover, there are many situations which may temporarily cut off access to email data. These events include server crashes due to an unusually heavy network traffic and network issues. Even though such situations don't amount to data loss, they are no less disruptive to the work flow.

How to backup mail on mac – Final solution

So, it's absolutely essential to run full backups from time to time to be able to restore data when outside situations become conducive for data loss. Full backups are not sufficient in themselves because what about those fresh mails, which arrive after we have run a full backup session. These also need to be backed up to ensure complete data recovery in the event of data loss. Here regular incremental backups do the needy and create ideal conditions for complete data recovery. We must also let this fact sink deep that single site backups are not sufficient. Multiple-site backups are in dispensible to engender data redundancy, which lays the very foundation for complete data recovery. Both offline and online storage locations must be utilized to backup Apple mail. Resource efficiency should also be given due consideration by opting in favor of partial backups in situations where full backups will lead to overstuffing of unnecessary mails into a limited storage space.

Perfecting the strategy to backup Apple mail even more

Now that we know that selective backups can do the needy in situations that don't require full backups, let's discuss various backup patterns that can be utilized to strengthen data security. Portable backups are handy in situations when one needs to access email data while on the move. Portable backups onto 'plug and play' media can be carried home to perform professional duties in a comfy atmosphere. Portable backups can be easily shared with interested parties when you are collaborating on some important project. Likewise, mirror backups play an important role by creating multiple backup copies which sustain our ties with email data when some backup copies are rendered inaccessible by device failure or data corruption. Cloud backups do away with the limitations of storage space and cut down the data storage cost by providing a cheap alternative for storing backups. Some degree of data compression will also do a world of good to us.

How to backup Apple mail in a convenience-rich manner?

If you want to experience utmost convenience in Apple email backup then manual methods have to be dropped with immediate effect. Those with a past experience of employing the manual approach will second that these techniques aren't fail proof and leave a lot to be desired by making things complex. Running regular backups with manual methods is infeasible because these techniques are too slow to get things moving in the right direction. The profound data security available from professional tools is also missing when you employee a manual technique. This makes it crystal clear why more and more people are veering towards automatic tools for advanced email management,

How to backup mail on Mac by identifying the best tool?

As we can clearly deduce that professional tools are more appropriate alternatives to backup Apple mail we have our work cut out.How to identify the best tool? It is easier said than done, because you are seeking a lot of qualities in a deserving tool like ease of usage, diversity and fail-proof operation. Evaluating a tool from all angles without using it is almost impossible. This is why you should always look for free demos of professional tools, as experiencing a free trial period is the best way forward to test out the abilities of an Apple mail backup tool. If you are convinced, then do download the free demo of Mail Backup X, a tool that has everything in its arsenal that makes email management an ease-affording and highly satisfying exercise.

Here are some qualities that you will uncover while using the free demo of this exceptional Apple email backup application

Experience technical finesse at its very best for this tool is a true all-rounder that works on both Windows and Mac.

This tool will not disappoint you because it is versatile, platform independent and works with all popular email clients.

This is a tool will limitless potential that has been realized by offering that something extra to users in the form of different backup patterns like full backup, partial backup, mirror backup, incremental backup, etc.

You can create multiple site backups with ease, speed and efficiency that you have never experienced before.

No need to become a beast of burden by using tiresome manual methods because this tool is all set to bring you technological convenience in its full avatar.

Availability of flexible subscription packages at pocket friendly price will offer true satisfaction.

Round the clock user support will be at your back to help your navigate the features of this tool without getting engulfed in doubts.

The steps to carry out various tasks such as email backup, migration and restore are so simple in nature that you will become addicted to the flawless design of this ease-affording tool.

Immediately restore mails from backups and archives to keep downtime at bay.

This is an all-inclusive solution that delivers it all, be it ultra smooth mail migration or speedy email import/export.

Additional benefits like 3x data compression, PDF archiving, PST splitting and a comprehensive mail viewer will bring you boundless joy.

A free demo will set the tone for things to come. Avail it right away and enjoy substantial benefits that will make a positive change to your email management strategy.

Follow the Step by Step Guide to backup Apple Mail in this Video.

youtube

#apple mail #apple mail backup #backup apple mail #apple mailbox backup #apple email backup #apple backup tool #apple mail backup guide #Youtube

0 notes

gatewayofhealing92 · 1 year ago

Text

10 Life-Changing Mindset Coaching Tips for Success in Any Field

Success doesn't come easy, regardless of your chosen field. There will be obstacles, setbacks, and moments of self-doubt. However, the way you approach these challenges can significantly impact your ability to achieve your goals. This is where mindset coaching comes in.

Mindset coaching focuses on developing a growth mindset—the belief that one can learn and improve one's skills and abilities through effort and dedication. This contrasts with a fixed mindset, which views talent and intelligence as static traits.

Studies by Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck have shown that a growth mindset can lead to greater academic achievement, resilience in the face of failure, and a higher likelihood of achieving long-term goals.

Here, we explore valuable mindset coaching tips to cultivate a growth mindset and empower yourself for success in any field:

1. Reframe Challenges as Opportunities for Growth

Difficulties are inevitable on the road to success. Instead of viewing them as roadblocks, reframe them as opportunities to learn and grow. Ask yourself:

What can I learn from this experience?

How can I overcome this obstacle and emerge stronger?

What new skills can I develop to navigate this challenge?

By adopting this perspective, you cultivate resilience and a problem-solving mindset.

2. Adopt Effort and Persistence

Success rarely happens overnight. It requires dedication, hard work, and persistence. Mindset coaching emphasizes the importance of effort over innate talent. According to a study published in Psychological Science, praising effort over ability leads to a greater willingness to take on challenging tasks and persevere through difficulty.

3. Celebrate Small Wins

The path to success is paved with small victories. Acknowledge and celebrate your accomplishments, no matter how seemingly insignificant. This reinforces positive behaviors and keeps you motivated on your journey.

4. Develop a Growth Mindset Vocabulary

The language you use shapes your thoughts. Start incorporating growth mindset phrases into your self-talk, such as:

"This is a challenge, but I can learn from it."

"I'm not good at this yet, but I'm getting better with practice."

"Obstacles are temporary setbacks, not permanent failures."

This positive self-talk reinforces your belief in your ability to learn and grow.

5. Learn from Failure and Setbacks

Failure is an inevitable part of the learning process. Don't dwell on mistakes; instead, view them as valuable lessons. Analyze what went wrong, identify areas for improvement, and use this knowledge to move forward with a stronger foundation.

6. Visualize Success

Taking time to visualize your goals can be a powerful tool. Imagine yourself achieving your aspirations and the positive emotions associated with success. This mental rehearsal can boost your motivation and confidence.

7. Surround Yourself with Positive Influences

The people you surround yourself with can significantly impact your mindset. Seek out positive and supportive individuals who believe in you and encourage your growth.

8. Practice Gratitude

Focusing on what you're grateful for fosters a positive outlook and increases resilience. Take time each day to appreciate the good things in your life, big or small.

9. Step Outside Your Comfort Zone

Growth often happens outside your comfort zone. Challenge yourself to try new things, take calculated risks, and push your boundaries. This can lead to unexpected discoveries and unlock new potential.

10. Seek Professional Help if Needed

A qualified mindset coach can provide personalized guidance and support in developing a growth mindset. They can help you identify limiting beliefs, develop coping mechanisms for setbacks, and create strategies for achieving your goals.

Remember: Cultivating a growth mindset is a journey, not a destination. By consistently practicing these tips and adopting a lifelong learning approach, you can unlock your full potential and achieve success in any field you choose.

What mindset challenges do you face? How can you cultivate a growth mindset in your daily life? Share your thoughts and experiences in the comments section below!

#Mindset coaching #Growth mindset #Success tips #Overcoming obstacles #Persistence #Resilience #Personal development #Positive self-talk #Visualization #Gratitude #Comfort zone #Failure lessons #Professional coaching #Effort and dedication #Small wins #dr.chandnitugnait #gatewayofhealing #life coaching #relationship coaching

0 notes

impactfulpitch · 2 years ago

Text

The Top 10 Skills Every Founder Needs

Starting a company is a challenging journey that requires a wide range of skills. A founder needs to be able to navigate the ups and downs of entrepreneurship, build a team, manage finances, and create a successful business strategy. In this post, we'll go over the top 10 skills every founder needs to succeed.

1. Strategic thinking

As a founder, you need to be able to develop a long-term plan for your business. Strategic thinking involves anticipating future challenges and identifying opportunities. You need to be able to see the big picture and make decisions that align with your company's overall goals.

2. Leadership

Leadership is a crucial skill for any founder. You need to be able to inspire others, build a strong culture, and make tough decisions. Effective leadership involves learning to delegate tasks, communicate effectively, and motivate your team.

3. Adaptability

The ability to adapt quickly to change is critical for any entrepreneur. Adaptability means being willing to pivot when things don't go as planned and being open to new ideas and approaches. This skill is essential for overcoming challenges and creating a successful business.

4. Financial management

Managing finances is an essential skill for any founder. You should be able to create and manage a budget effectively. You should also be able to forecast income and expenses, manage cash flow, and make informed decisions about investments.

5. Sales and marketing

Sales and marketing are fundamental skills for any entrepreneur. As a founder, you need to understand your audience and how to sell to them effectively. You should be able to develop marketing plans, build a brand, and generate leads.

6. Communication

Effective communication is key to building relationships and managing a team. As a founder, you need to be able to communicate your vision, ideas, and goals clearly. You should also be able to listen actively, give feedback, and resolve conflicts.

7. Networking

Networking is a critical skill for any founder. You need to be able to build relationships with potential investors, partners, and customers. Networking also helps you stay up-to-date with industry trends and opportunities.

8. Time management

Time management is essential for any founder. You should be able to prioritize tasks, manage your schedule effectively, and make the most of your time. Effective time management helps you stay focused on your goals and avoid burnout.

9. Problem-solving

Entrepreneurship is full of challenges and obstacles. As a founder, you need to be able to solve problems creatively and effectively. This skill involves being able to identify and analyze problems, generate solutions, and implement them.

10. Resilience

Finally, resilience is a crucial skill for any founder. Starting a company is not easy, and setbacks are inevitable. Resilience involves learning to cope with failure, staying focused on your goals, and persisting through difficult times.

In conclusion, being a successful founder requires a diverse range of skills. While some skills may come naturally, others can be developed through practice and experience. By focusing on these 10 essential skills, you can increase your chances of creating a successful and sustainable company.

#impactfulpitch #impactful #business #entrepreneur #growth #funding #startup #pitchdeck #enterpreneur #impact

0 notes

onewomancitadel · 3 years ago

Text

Hang on I need to make a passive aggressive post about someone in another fandom saying TikTok (puke) is a more accessible platform for spreading fandom gospel compared to Tumblr (puke but affectionately) because it's just the land of walls of text. Well I LIKE writing longform walls of text and when I was forced to watch a TikTok I think I could physically feel my attention span warping.

Excepting a serious discussion about ability (that goes without saying) I think the aversion to longform content is a shame. Like to me if I'm obsessed or interested in a ship I want to read twenty thousand essays about it. But I guess that's the trend of the Internet now

Inevitably somebody is going to think I'm some sort of pretentious monster for decrying shortform content. Well,

But I think also at the heart of this is my annoyance at the trend of complaining about 'I buy books but I don't reeaaaaad any' and tons of posts with this air of anxiety of like how do I read books?? What's the magic cure?? There's like this disconnect between people who are used to shortform content upset at being unable to read longform content. And it's extremely weird because you genuinely shouldn't be beating yourself up this way and treating your body like it's some nonfunctioning mechanical tool, your body is you and you need to be gentle and figure out what it is the things that you want to do. That's probably your best starting point.

The starting point in those conversations is always like, put your phone away and never go online again. I don't personally find an absolutist approach helpful. You can actually go online you should just think about why you're online and what ideas you like sharing or exploring and when you might want to relax away from that. I don't think the phones are inherently the problem (you can read longform content on phones) but the way you respond to and create information is the bit that does.

It's like when I come across snippets of poetry on my dashboard, I often try to find the original source and read the poem in full. That in itself is a task which exercises grounding ideas in context (the social media age leads to a lot of information being groundless and ephemeral) but it's also something which makes me feel like I'm not mindlessly spending my time on the Internet. That's why I think it's important to distinguish what you use the Internet for.

To a degree I think this is even true of for instance writing a post like this. As self-conscious as I am about annoying people, wasting their time, writing something pretentious, being a waste of space, being a failure etc., I do find elaborating on my thoughts in a longform post which sometimes can hit a wordcount in the region of essays I'd write for uni a lot of fun and a great mental exercise. I don't consider this sort of task the same as, say, using Twitter like I'd used to, which stymied most of my thoughts. I do really miss the people I followed there but it was giving me a lot of anxiety using it, annoying people, but you know, what can you do.

But yeah I was annoyed about the idea that Tumblr is less accessible because it's wall-of-texty - so ironic because Tumblr is known for microblogging - when I don't think inclination to shortform content is necessarily the norm or something innate. Obviously I do think there are exceptional circumstances which apply, e.g. if you prefer someone's actual speech as opposed to text-to-speech which can be a bit impersonal, like my friend prefers me reading poetry for him as opposed to getting the bot to do it, and I would like to think that in reading this post this kind of caveat is self-evident.

That is to say, I think longform content is something you can easily get used to again. I had a period where I struggled with reading books a couple of years ago and I was really angry at myself because I used to read all the time, and then I had to actually learn to stop being angry at myself and seeing myself as a tool and instead as like, a person who was trying to do the things I enjoy and search for meaning. You're not a bad tool or a bad person for not being able to read, and sure maybe you might have deeper problems you need to look into (I'm not saying that either), but I still don't think you should view yourself as a tool that's broken. Although there's a cynic in me that views shortform content and broken attention spans as part of a greater ploy to keep you quiet and docile politically.

And yeah maybe I have come around to being a Tumblr apologist because every other website sucks and I'm a nerd who grew up with the Internet. My favourite thing after school was checking Sims forums. I can't say much has changed.

But finally, in terms of fandom itself, fandom shouldn't be a top-down hierarchy. There shouldn't be some TikTok that everybody watches to receive the fandom gospel. Part of the fun of fandom is thinking about things and sharing those things with other people, it's literally community and creativity. That's my ideal anyway.

#stirring the pot

3 notes · View notes

skekheck · 4 years ago

Text

Theory: UrVa’s Arrows Were Originally Meant To Incapacitate, Not Kill, skekMal

Maybe this is common consensus, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. On the surface, it seemed like urVa had wanted to put an end to skekMal at the Circle of the Suns and the Hunter escaped before he could finish the job. But then there was this line in episode 10 that always felt odd to me:

urVa: I had a dream that I was one that became two that became one again. I looked through my dark half’s eyes and knew Aughra was right. [...] ...The Hunt must end.

It’s just “but urVa, weren’t you doing just that a day or so prior?”. But then after rewatching their standoff again it hit me: maybe urVa’s intentions were not to kill skekMal but to incapacitate him.

Let’s look at the scene again

SkekMal was shot a total of three times: the first one through his upper arm, the second around the bottom right of his torso, and the last through his upper leg (possibly thigh?).

(Sorry couldn’t find a better pic of his leg shot)

Weird places to aim for if urVa had wanted to kill him, right? Wouldn’t he have gone for targets that would more likely result in death, like the throat or through the eye sockets? It’s not like he would miss: urVa’s a master marksman. Instead, all three shots prevented (or at least was an attempt to stop) skekMal without taking his life.

The first shot prevented skekMal from harming Rian. The second was retaliation for ignoring the Archer’s warning. UrVa flat out told him to not approach the Gelfling but you see the Hunter take a step forward anyway, prompting him to release the second arrow. The final one was an attempt to stop skekMal from escaping with Brea. Seeing as how urVa immediately collapsed after firing that arrow, it would have worked. However, he underestimated how committed skekMal was to the Hunt, considering he pushed through the pain to get what he needed done.

Those arm and leg wounds aren’t inherently life-threatening. The arrow in his torso, though, is more concerning. It’s possible it could have had or at least be at risk of damaging his organs. Now, the Skeksis have weird-as-fuck anatomy (that goes without saying) so we have no real way of knowing if it was endangering him or not. But considering the nature of his other two wounds, I don’t think it was a kill shot. A more serious wound, but not deadly if tended to. And that’s probably what urVa intended: he aimed for that spot in the hopes skekMal would stop to take care of his wounds.

But Weren’t Both skekMal and urVa In Critical Condition?

Oh yeah, they still were and skekMal’s partially to blame for it. It’s not a great idea to move around too much with arrows lodged in you. The arrow heads and shaft could move around and cause more internal damage. SkekMal moving made what would have been minor to moderate wounds way more serious. Not to mention, he never stopped to pull them out and heal himself: he kept those things in.

And let’s not forget how far of a distance between the Circle of the Suns and the Castle is. There are multiple versions of maps of Thra that have some siginifcant differences, but the main point is those two locations are pretty far from each other. Even if he used Bennu to fly all the way over to the Castle, skekMal would still have to deal with Brea thrashing around on his back. And it looks like he took a detour to grab a cage for her, which he then dragged through the Castle’s corridors. Baiting Rian and his friends just so he can fulfill his Hunt was apparently more important to him than his well-being (which is ironic if you believe skekMal’s philosophy surrounding the Hunt is his own way of self-preservation).

EDIT: Wanted to add that skekMal was in a difficult position in terms of what he wanted. He would know that if he’d pull those arrows out he would have to treat them right away otherwise he’d bleed to death. At the same time, he would also had to keep Brea from escaping. I think he weighed his options and found that he’d had more success just pushing through it and keeping them in then treat them later. SkekMal might had also thought the other Skeksis would be able to treat him if it was serious enough?

And SkekTek Made It Worse

SkekTek is no doctor. He can cut up and research on animals all he wants, but that doesn’t count as medical knowledge. It’s painfully obvious he has no idea what he’s doing: his diagnosis and treatment of skekMal’s condition is enough proof of that. And speaking of which, skekTek’s diagnosis is full of nonsense:

Skektek: Subject suffers severe exsanguination. Extreme distress to the humus. [...] Imbalance of intrinsic fluids. Manifold ruptures in corporeal morphology. [Checks for a heart beat] Ah. Ah... . Expiration... is... [dramatic pause] inevitable.

Literally he’s saying skekMal has multiple holes in his body and he’s bleeding out. You know, pointing out the obvious. Also, I tried finding out if “humus” related to anything biologically, but all I could find was it’s a term for... soil made of organic matter. I’m not sure what he was trying to refer to, I think he was just misusing it to make himself sound smart.

EDIT: I have been told by a few people that skekTek might be referring the humerus, which is a bone found in the upperarm that’s forms joints at the elbow and shoulder. This would make more sense and would mean skekTek made a proper diagnosis. However, at least to me, it still sounds like he’s saying humus. Another skeksis repeats him and they also say humus, not humerus. Turning on the captions also has it as humus. This could either be a typo or skekTek did mean humerus, but said humus instead.

And how he actually treats skekMal is atrocious.

He pulls the arrows out without making any attempts to stop the bleeding, clean the wounds, or apply stitches. He’s letting him bleed out and he should at least know they need blood to live. Do you know what happens when someone loses too much blood? Among other side effects, organ failure and falling into a coma. SkekTek did eventually made an effort to heal skekMal by giving him essence, but it was too little too late. SkekMal’s condition was so far gone at that point he really needed Aughra’s essence to survive.

UrVa’s Intentions

And now we’re going right back to urVa. While thinking over on urVa’s actions, I started wondering if he anticipated skekMal wouldn’t stay put and that the Hunter would do his own self in by moving around with the arrows lodged in him. I mean, urVa is a mystic, an indirect kill would make sense. But giving it more thought, I don’t think that’s the case. A lot of his actions during the series suggests otherwise.

UrVa was very contemplative, even saddened, about having to end the Hunt for skekMal. He is not like his other half: he respected and appreciated all life on Thra. He also sees the cycle of life as well as the wilderness as something untamable. This is implied while he was talking with Aughra in episode 4:

urVa: We do not get to decide when our part in the song is finished.

While urVa is one of the more proactive Mystics, he still is... a Mystic. He doesn’t believe he should manipulate or control what goes on around him and let things be. The Bestiary book points to the fact that while urVa did keep tabs on skekMal, he never interfered with his hunts. So it was a big deal when Aughra quested him with the task of stopping skekMal.

Also I’d like to point out urVa and Aughra’s final conversation because it’s also important for this discussion:

urVa; And where does my path lead? Aughra: Into the sands to face the Hunter. urVa: [sighing and looks away from Aughra for a moment] I cannot defeat my dark half. Aughra: You will find a way. But not without sacrifice. urVa: And if I fail? Aughra: The heroes of Thra will be lost. urVa: Mm... [pauses and takes a deep breath] I will end the hunt. Aughra: Good. Get a move on. You Mystics are not known for your swift speed. We have much to do. [...] urVa: [pauses and looks at Aughra] Will we meet again, Aughra? Aughra: [stops walking, saddened] Hm... [faces him] Some things... even Aughra cannot see, old friend. [urVa pauses and then groans, walks away from Aughra as they both parted ways for the final time]

He shows a lot of hesitance in completing this task. I’m sure he knew what Aughra was implying: that he may have to take skekMal’s life away but he still went and asked if they would meet each other again anyway. I think he was hoping for a positive answer, that it wouldn’t have to come to that, and seemed disheartened by her answer. But he still tried. He tried to stop skekMal in a way that, while not exactly peaceful, was not meant to be life-threatening. UrVa even pleads for him to stop... twice! The first time as skekMal was making his get-away and the second time while urVa helplessly watched him go after Rian again through the Hunter’s eyes.

These two only had one scene together so we don’t really know the extent of their relationship. But if there’s one thing that’s clear was the conflict between them. I mean, during their whole duel, the characters were purposely placed on opposite sides of the room while making sure to show that skekGra and urGoh, a pair who were able to find harmony, were always side by side. It’s also in the way they address each other: while urVa does refer to him as his dark half, he also called him by his name. SkekMal, meanwhile, only ever referred to urVa as his title and nothing more.

But I don’t think urVa had any ill-will towards his Skeksis. He seemed understanding of him and valued his life as much as he valued all living beings on Thra. I think if they both didn’t end up in a near-death situation, he’d try incapacitating skekMal again. However he understood and accepted his situation towards the end: with skekMal on an essence high, incapacitation method was no longer possible. If he allowed it to go on, all of Thra would be at risk. It was a desperate situation, but he knew Aughra was right. She gave up her life for the preservation of the world and urVa knew he had to do the same: for her and for Thra. The Hunt had to end and in order to protect the world he cherished he had to make the ultimate sacrifice.

#the dark crystal #skekmal #urva #I might go back into this and edit/add things but HERE YOU GO

90 notes · View notes

ka-za-ri · 5 years ago

Text

Descent Pt. 1

I told myself I was gonna take a break. I lied. I wanted to write a whole bin of Sin for Simeon. I’m sorry, not sorry at all. Let me know if you want to be a part of the tag list: Chapter Masterlist: Here Crossposted on Ao3: here Part [1] Part [2] Part [3] Part 4: [4] Part [5] Part [6] Part [7] Part [8] Part [9] Part [10]

Paring: Simeon x Reader Wordcount: 4,900 ish Genre: Smut Tags: Masturbation, Voyeurism, hints of dirty talk? Summary: Sent from the Celestial realm to observe and study humans; Simeon made a name for himself as the illustrious author of The Tales of the Seven Lords. After reaching acclaim for his first series, he's having trouble writing his next great hit. Good thing you're there for him as his manager and editor to help him work out the... kinks in writing.

Trip

The most dangerous aspect of humans was their innate ability to tempt even the most stalwart and steadfast of angels into a world of sin. Simeon was not immune to their ways, no matter how reclusive he became. It was easy to study them from afar, learning about them through numbers and sales numbers. The masses were easy to sway with a few pretty words. Blending in with humans was a trivial task for him. All he had to do was make a few public appearances for book signings and some launch parties for a new series; otherwise he was free to observe and study from afar.

After the international success of The Tale of The Seven Lords, Simeon found himself feeling rather empty. He needed a new project to keep him entertained in the human realm. However, no matter what he started to work on, it didn’t inspire the same sort of passion he had for his older series. He needed a new genre, a new style of writing to refresh his passion for words. If he was going to make it in an ever changing market, he would need to adapt as well. Yet, no matter what genre he tried, every draft he came up with seemed too mundane and overdone.

Everything except, for the temptation of writing something much more salacious than his last work.

Just entertaining the thought had him on a slippery slope of falling from the grace of the Celestial realm. Sure, the strict protocols of olde had been loosened over the centuries. Many angels realized that enforcing perfect adherence to the standards of purity set so long ago no longer applied to modern times. Rules had been loosened and enforcement had relaxed to the point where Simeon was almost positive if he wrote an absolutely obscene novel, he didn’t risk losing his Celestial powers.

The only problem was that he had no experience in the genre at all. He threw together a vague plot and outline, thinking it would be all he needed to inspire him. Surprisingly enough, the publishing house allowed for the drastic change in genre, confident that he would be able to create another best seller. Just having that much trust put in him made him want to succeed even more with the haphazard novel idea.

But, despite his determination to make his new manuscripts lewd, he was at a complete loss as to what, and how to write them properly. The outline he presented to you seemed excellent on paper. Even if it had a few plot holes, you knew he could patch them up with a little work. So, it was natural that you would push the approval and leave him to his own devices to work on the manuscript. You were sure that an author of his caliber would be able to break into a new branch of the literary market without any issues.

But, after several months of waiting, you had no contact at all from him regarding the progress of his new book. The industry needed proof of his work in order to justify their investment in him. Being so renowned, the pressure was on him to create something magnificent. You could only imagine the kind of stress he was going through and as his manager and editor, you were responsible for making sure he met deadlines. You hated to rush his process, but there was no way he could meet the dates set by the publisher if he didn’t give you something to work with soon.

After trying to reach out to him several times by phone and email with little to no response, the only option left was to go to his abode and see just what he was hiding from. No other outline he submitted had passed so this was his one and only chance to continue his writing career. You patiently waited after knocking on his door, hoping he would answer and wasn’t going to ignore you any further. You knew how serious writer’s block could be; but you hoped he wouldn’t let that get in the way of being a professional.

Luckily, the door opened soon enough and you were ushered in by an extremely tired and frazzled looking Simeon. He lead you to his office after you had taken off your shoes and changed into the guest slippers he offered. Simeon didn’t speak to you during the whole exchange, a shell of the soft spoken and attentive author you had come to know after so many years of working with him. He shuffled into his office, an obvious slouch in his posture and slumped behind his desk before gesturing at the empty chair across from him.

“I’m guessing you know why I’m here.” You said and he sighed in resignation, burrowing his head in his hands and running them through his hair. You felt terrible adding stress onto him, he looked ragged, like he hadn’t slept in days. The bags under his eyes were so dark, they almost looked like deep bruises.

“Yes… You want a manuscript…” his normally soft voice sounded hoarse and you wondered if he had eaten or drunken anything at all that day. “I’m almost done with the first draft… would you like to come and see?” He turned his laptop towards you and you started reading what he had so far.

All seemed well and good at first. The characters were believable and the premise, though a bit cheesy, was definitely acceptable for the genre. The further you read, the more you noticed large gaps in his writing. Whole paragraphs seemed to be missing and sentences ended midway. Dialog was left unfinished and by the time you reached the end of the first chapter, it was a mess. You could already feel the inevitable headache you were going to get from editing for him.

“Uhm…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s not my best work.”

He tried to smile, but the emotion didn’t reach his eyes. You reached out to him and held his hand, rubbing your thumb in reassuring circles on his palm. “You’ve worked hard on it, still. What’s got you so hung up though?”

He got a little flustered at your question, nervously running his hand through his hair and looking to the side. Writing such a topic with no experience in it was proving to be difficult for him. He could research all he wanted and consume all the media he could to aid him, but there was just something missing. His lack of knowledge was showing and he wasn’t sure how he could keep being composed about his failure so far. He gestured at the screen and shrugged, trying to get his message across without using words; but, when he saw your confused expression, he had to speak. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” he finally admitted. “I want to write this so badly, but I don’t know how to… describe the scenes the way I want to.”

You sat back in the chair, crossing your arms over your chest and nodding. You could only imagine the difficulty he was having in producing the quality content you were sure he was used to coming up with. With deadlines looming above your head, you needed at least a chapter to submit to the publishing house so they knew actual work was being done. You sighed, trying to think of ways to jump start his creativity. The gloomy atmosphere of his office didn’t seem help. The lights were dim and the curtains were all drawn. It didn’t feel like a place that could invoke the imagery he was going for. “Let’s move somewhere.” you suggested finally. “Do you have a room with lots of sunlight? Maybe a change of mood will help.”

“Ah… there’s the sunroom..” he said. “But I don’t know if just changing where I am writing will help the situation. If it hasn’t gotten done here, I doubt it will anywhere else.”

“Just try it.” you encouraged, already unplugging his laptop and taking it with you. “It’s so gloomy in here, even I’m getting depressed just sitting around. Come on, which way is it?”

“Ah… this way.” He said, shamefully shuffling out from behind his desk and showing you the way to the sunroom which overlooked a rather well manicured garden with a variety of flowers in full bloom. You marveled at the bright, airy feel of the room and took a second to really appreciate his choice in decor.

“Wow, would have never pegged you as the kind of guy who gardens.” You teased, flopping onto the couch he had in there and lounged in its plush confines. Looking through the glass ceiling, you watched a few clouds drift by while Simeon got comfortable in a recliner in the corner of the room. You could tell he was still a bit frustrated, but you knew getting him some sun would do him good.

“Well, when I don’t have any pressing deadlines, being with the plants helps relieve stress. It’s unfortunate that I cannot give you a tour this time.”

“There’s plenty of opportunities in the future. They’re not going anywhere, and neither am I. You know I’m going to keep hounding you until your manuscript is finished.”

He chuckled, nodding and opening up his laptop. You let silence pass between the two of you, going back to watching the clouds while the sound of his fingers flying across the keyboard lulled you into a daydream like state. You grabbed onto one of the large, decorative pillows he had on the couch, clutching it against your chest while you made up stories in your head about the clouds above. If you weren’t so stressed about turning something into the publishing house so soon; it would have been a perfect, calming afternoon.

The clack of the keyboard stopped after a little bit. Whatever inspiration Simeon had when he entered the room seemed to have fizzled out and he was stuck in yet another rut, writing one word and deleting it over and over again. You sighed, turning to watch him as he gnawed on his thumb, mumbling to himself.

“What’s not working?” You asked, your curiosity piqued.

“Just… this scene… it’s not working. I can’t envision it.” He grumbled. Looking up at where you were laying on his couch, clutching onto the pillow, he was suddenly struck by a brilliant plan. The worry lines on his forehead disappeared and he broke out into a slight smile when he realized how he could get his creative juices flowing. “Help me… I need inspiration.”

You sat up straight, ready to assist in any way you could. “Okay, what do you want me to do?” You asked.

Simeon squinted, in the right light, you looked similar to the main character he had written. His plan could work if you reenacted the scene he had in mind. The issue was actually explaining the scene to you in a way that didn’t make his body feel overheated. He was already playing with fire by writing such a lewd book, pushing his limits further felt like he was sliding right down a slope heading towards a great fall. There was no other way, he reasoned. As long as I do not defile her, it’ll be fine. Taking a deep breath, he got up from where he was and walked over to you.

“I need you to…. Uhm… Well.. how do I say this… I’m having trouble writing a love making scene and I need some… visual aids.” You blinked, processing his request and then looked him up and down, feeling your whole body heat up at once. You were sure you had kept your crush on him a secret. To have him ask you so suddenly to provide visual aid for an explicit novel felt like too big of a jump for you to comprehend. “Oh… Oh no, no, no. You don’t have to do anything with me.” He said, gesturing wildly when he saw you pointedly stare at his crotch. “You can just pretend that this is the ‘lover.’” He took the pillow from your arms and laid it on the couch.

You didn’t know if you should have felt relived or disappointed that he wanted you to reenact a sex scene with a pillow and not him. It was all quite a bit to take in, but the desperate pout on his face was something you couldn’t ignore. And both your jobs were on the line. You sighed in resignation. “Okay, okay… But only because we have deadlines coming up.” You said. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

Simeon smiled for the first time that day, hurriedly moving back to his computer and preparing to take notes on what you were doing. “I’m ready when you are.” he announced once he opened up a separate document.

“You sure you don’t want me to just, you know… do you?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow as you started to undress. It was embarrassing for sure; but part of you relished in seeing Simeon so flustered when it came to the nature of lewd things. You wondered why he had bothered submitting such an outline at all when he wasn’t familiar with how to write erotica; but his determination to branch out to other genres had won you over in the end. It just fell upon your shoulders to show this man how it was done.

“I… No… I can’t. I need to write.” He stuttered. Do not defile her, do not defile her. Her womb is sacred and not something you can toy with… Even if he wanted the first hand experience, he still had rules to abide by.

“Alright, whatever you say. You’re the boss.” You shrugged, unbuttoning your blouse. “Don’t forget, part of the sexiness is in the tease.” You explained, taking your time to sway your hips side to side as each button came undone. Trying to seduce a pillow was so much more boring than trying to seduce Simeon. The things I do for this job…

You made sure to waggle your ass as you peeled off your pants, tossing them to the side along with your blouse. There was something thrilling about being in a room made of glass. Any woodland creature that decided to come visit his garden at that moment would also get an eyeful of your progressively bare body. The rush of having Simeon watch you as you stripped had your heart racing.

At the very least, you knew your efforts weren’t in vain. You could hear the furious clacking of the keyboard as you gave the pillow in front of you a sultry look. As lame as it all was, it was still rather arousing to know you were being watched by the man who you had crushed on for so long now. “Alright… sir. I’m going to need you to lay down. You have a problem that only I can take care of.” You said to the pillow. You tried hard not to laugh at how ridiculous the scenario was. It wouldn’t do to break the mood, especially when you could tell Simeon was definitely getting some writing done.

You got back onto the couch, straddling the pillow between your legs once you were in nothing but your underthings. Licking your lips, you pretended that Simeon was under you and not the decorative cushion. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel his lean body under your own, squirming in discomfort as you took control of the scenario. There was just something about how gentle and soft spoken he was that made your heart flutter with the need to dominate him until he was a flushed, moaning mess.

Using that fantasy in your mind, you slowly started to gyrate your hips onto the pillow, throwing your head back and moaning. “Oh yes…” You breathed, pleasantly surprised at the stimulation you got from the friction of your panties rubbing against your spread core. You hummed, content with the thought of Simeon holding onto your hips to keep your steady. If he wanted to watch, then you were going to give him the best show available.

You grasped at your breasts, teasing your nipples through the fabric of your bra until they were sensitive little buds that made you gasp. As you continued to grind against the pillow, you could feel your essence starting to flow, no doubt you were going to leave quite a substantial wet mark on the pillow if you continued. You wanted to pause and warn Simeon of what was about to happen; but when you turned and saw the look of concentration on his face, you didn’t dare break his focus.

He’ll just have to deal with it later… You figured going back to that happy place in your mind where the writer in front of you was actually under you. Closing your eyes, you imagined what it would be like to hear him moan as you pressed your heat against his cock. Surely he must sound absolutely angelic when he cums. Pushing slipping your hands under your bra, you pushed the fabric away, peeled it off your skin and threw it into a random corner to pick up later. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.” You purred, looking down at the cushions below you, wishing you had something sexier to talk dirty to; but you would have to make do with what you had.

Leaning down, you grabbed a pillow to act as your ‘lovers’ head and started to kiss it. It was so hard to ignore just how disappointing it was to make out with a lump of fabric and not the beautiful man in the corner who was so engrossed with his writing, you might as well have been invisible to him. You could only use your imagination to fantasize about how soft Simeon’s lips must be. He always took such good care of his skin and he had an ethereal glow about him, as if he was blessed by the sun itself. You moaned into the pillow, hating the rough canvas you were pressed up against, but at least your pussy was getting something out of how much you were humping the pillow.

You came up, gasping for air after having half smothered yourself with a pillow and glanced over at Simeon again. Even as he was furiously typing, you could see that he was at least a little affected by the show you were putting on. Good, I would have hated myself if he’s not even a smidgen turned on by this. You smirked, looking down at your ‘lover’ and pretended to whisper sweet nothings to them before getting off the couch.

Simeon made a small sound of protest when he saw that you were no longer straddling the pillow, but he quickly shut up when he saw that you were divesting yourself of your panties. “Oh… carry on.” He mumbled, going back to his document, though his eyes continuously flicked up towards you to make sure he was capturing the moment properly.

Feeling your bare pussy rub against the rough fabric of the pillow sent shivers of pleasure up and down your body and you moaned, riding it harder than before. The stimulation was great, but it wasn’t enough. Really, you wanted to have Simeon buried balls deep in you and not at his computer. However, your priority was your job and that meant sticking to what you had to work with. “Fuck…” You groaned, clenching your inner walls around nothing and wishing that you had at least a toy to fill you up and give you something to ride.

You ground against the pillow, your essence soaking the fabric and leaving a sizable wet mark, but you didn’t care. It was all the stimulation you could get and you were going to work it for all it was worth. One hand went back up to your breast, rolling your pert nipple between your thumb and forefinger, whining at the mixture of pain and pleasure you were giving yourself. “Yeah… you like watching me touch myself, babe?” You asked no one in particular; but truthfully, you hoped Simeon was really enjoying what he saw and heard..

His fingers on the keyboard never ceased moving as he vividly described the scene before him. He was so wrapped up in his work, he didn’t even notice himself getting hard. There was too much to write and no time to think about the attention the rest of his body was asking for. He licked his lips, his gaze constantly going back and forth from the document to your body. You were acting out the scene so well, he couldn’t stop writing; he needed to record every detail. You were everything he had imagined his main character to be; effortlessly confident, commanding in the bedroom and dripping with sex appeal. Even if it was a spur of the moment suggestion, he had no regrets considering he was getting so much more writing done in the last half hour than he had in the past two months.

Your breathing came out in short little pants as you tried to chase a release that just wouldn’t come with so little to work with. You reached between your legs to fondle your sensitive clit, groaning loudly as you made love to yourself. You didn’t know how long the scene was supposed to be, but your thighs were getting tired of riding an inanimate object and you just wanted to get off now.

“Mm fuck.. You feel so good…” You breathed, closing your eyes and imagining Simeon sliding inside of you. The first pass must feel so good. You fantasized about lowering yourself onto his cock slowly letting him savor every inch that entered you. In your head, his bright blue eyes glittered in lust, watching his dick disappear into you until your hips met and he would moan at the feeling of being completely buried in you. “Yeah… just like that…” You moaned, rubbing circles at your clit while your inner walls clenched rhythmically at air.

You went back to dragging your pussy across the fabric of the pillow smearing your essence all over to get as much out of the scenario as you could. Your fingers rubbed your clit harder, pushing you ever closer and closer to release. “Oh… Oh… I’m so close…” You whined, announcing your climax mere seconds before it happened. The last push you needed was looking over at Simeon and seeing him completely engrossed in what you were doing. His fingers frozen on the keyboard and his comfortable pants with a rather impressive tent in them.

“Fuck. Simeon.” you cursed, cumming all over the pillow. Your fingers slowed their pace around your clit, rubbing your labia back and forth as you rode out the orgasm. You fell forward onto the pillows beneath you, still slowly humping them while you let the initial high pass and the afterglow set in. It wasn’t until the haze of pleasure passed that you realized you had called his name while getting off on his couch in front of him.

Simeon swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way you called his name. Everything had gone smoothly until you had cried out for him while in the throes of your climax. He had stopped everything he was doing just mere moments before you did that; and now, he didn’t know if he had the mental capacity to continue with what he was writing.

For once, he was tempted to throw away whatever celestial blessings he had to take you and be the real reason why you screamed his name.

Shoving the indecent thoughts to the back of his head, he turned back to his document, writing a sentence and erasing it, repeating the action over and over again while his brain looped the beautiful image of you as you came on his couch. Now, he noticed the tightness in his pants, the obvious boner he sported as a result of such an experiment. But, he couldn’t be mad at it. He had achieved a groove in writing and he was sure he could finish the draft you needed in time.

Simeon let you rest a bit and gather yourself together on the couch. No doubt both of you were aware of the slip, but he could pretend it didn’t affect him as much as it did. Eventually, you had the courage to look back up at him, only to find him busily typing away at his computer. Sighing, and running your hand through your hair amused that he could stay so calm, you got up and started to get dressed. “So, I’m guessing moving somewhere else worked?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“Hmm… yes.” He agreed, half paying attention to what you were doing. He couldn’t bear to look at you while you were exposed and waited patiently until you were fully clothed until he made eye contact and spoke to you again. “I definitely got some good notes in. I’ll just need a little more time to flesh out some of the filler scenes and I’ll email you the draft in a couple of days.”

You let out a laugh, surprised that he was able to focus on work still after what he had just witnessed. He truly was as innocent as he presented himself to be sometimes. “Alright, well. I’ll look forward to reading it.”

“Will you be back?” he asked, looking at you with hopeful eyes. “You were so helpful, I think I might need more help for the rest of the book.” Not, like I want to see something like that again… No, I just need it for research purposes…

“You know I’ll be back.” You laughed heartily, ruffling his hair. “I have to bother you at least once a month to make sure you’re on schedule to finish.”

Simeon slouched into his chair and let out a soft laugh in relief. “Of course, how could I forget.” In his mind, he was already planning new scenarios for you to play out. There would be much more research to be done, and supplies to be obtained before your next visit. But, all those things could wait. For now, he closed his laptop, noticing how low on battery it had gotten.Time had slipped by him, the sun already well on its way past the horizon. “It’s getting late…” He commented, trying to change the subject to something a little safer than the masturbation session you just had in front of him.

“Yeah… I’ll get going and let you work in peace.” In a moment of bold recklessness, you stepped forward and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “See you next time, babe. Can’t wait to see what you’re gonna make me do for you.” you teased, giving him a coy wink before showing yourself out.

As soon as the door was firmly shut, Simeon let out a deep sigh, laughing out loud at the predicament he had put himself into. He wanted to quit everything and dissolve into the ground. He wanted to continue writing and see your body writhe in pleasure. He wanted to also defile you and sate himself inside of you. Most of all though, there was a growing darkness within him, one he didn’t even notice just yet; and that part of him craved to see you put in your place to beg for him like the god he knew he was.

Pushing all his desires down and curbing his lust for the time being, he moved his computer back to his office and let it charge for the rest of the evening. His mind still swirled with the image of your exposed body riding that pillow in the sunroom. The early evening sunset made your body glow with an almost angelic light; and for once, he felt jealous of an inanimate object.

Quietly padding back into the sunroom, he looked at the soiled cushion; feeling a surge of heat rush through him when he saw the wet spot you had left behind. Licking his lips, he approached it like it was a wild animal, tentatively poking at it. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend to still feel your warmth lingering on the fabric. He could feel shame rising up in him as he laid down on the couch, rested his head on the pillow and took a deep breath, memorizing the scent of your arousal.

His hand reached down between his legs, slipping past his pants and to his hard length that needed his attention. Turning his head to smother his moans and to surround himself with your unique smell, he teased and pleased himself, putting himself in the scenario you had played out just mere moments ago.

“Oh… oh fuck…” He groaned surprised at how little effort it took to make him cum and ruin his pants to the thought of you bouncing on his cock and calling his name. He was quickly falling down the deep end of temptation and he could feel the darkness of sin encroaching.

The scariest part was the fact that he didn’t care at all.

#Obey me #obey me smut #Simeon x Reader #Obey me fanfiction #Obey Me!#I just want to give this angel all the love and sex he deserves #11 planned chapters so far #Please enjoy the sin #my writing #obey me simeon

278 notes · View notes

argonas · 5 years ago

Text

Misguided Justice - Pt. I

[[ Co-written with @kidcatgemini / @sinafay-the-defiant ]]

Evening had descended by the time Argonas set hoof on the small Arathi farmstead. Quaint and simple, the Vindicator could barely believe this is where his wayward student Sinafay had settled down. No measure of justice was served from such a simple life. But then, he knew she’d abandoned such duties in favor of her abhorrent and deviant lifestyle. His fists clenched as he paced up the hill from the fields proper, towards the small cottage overlooking the land. Smoke billowing from the chimney served as a sure sign someone was home. Sinafay… Grakkar… that abomination they called a child… he expected to find all three inside. Disgusting and unnatural as it was, that wasn’t even why Argonas was here. No, Sinafay’s transgressions far exceeded that, now.

Despite Raetos’ unwillingness to do what was necessary, and his efforts to convince the Vindicator of such, Argonas knew otherwise. Anyone who abided such evils as Avehi raising the dead were just as culpable as she was! By harboring and abetting the Death Knight, Sinafay had made her choice. And the Light demanded its justice. It almost hurt to consider; he really had taken pride in training young Sinafay in the ways of the Light, helping to nurture and cultivate her talents into a beacon of strength for their people. Such a waste…

His heavy hand banged against the wooden door - so fragile, he worried it might break if he hit it too hard. Still, the firm knocks echoed through the farmstead, as the Vindicator made his presence known.

“Sinafay!” he called out. “Sinafay the Defiant!”

It didn’t take very long for the door to open, revealing a very angry looking Draenei, brows knit into a scowl. She’d done a great job at losing the baby weight, already a good way back to her Vindicator fitness level. She wore a lovely, yet simple robe, ideal for a busy mother, yet accentuated her natural curves and showed off her Light bound tattoos.

“Argonas,” she scolded, “Do you mind maybe NOT waking the baby I just put to sleep?!”

She pushed forward to try and shove the Vindicator back, but Argonas was unmovable as always, and in his full armor of course! With a frustrated huff, she moved around him, shutting the door behind her as she began to walk down the hill, tail twitching. Best to do the yelling away from Neelah. She couldn’t imagine what her former mentor was doing here at this time of night.

“What the FUCK are you doing here?!” She growled.

Perhaps it was motherhood, the hormones raging through her. Or perhaps coupling with a filthy Orc for too long had boosted her aggression. Maybe, partly, she was upset to see him again after how he left things with her. There were many likely factors, but no matter what or why, Sinafay was being terribly bitchy. It wasn't the attractive sour attitude he cherished in his departed mate, either; she was just being erratic and grumpy. Terribly unappealing!

He followed her a ways down the hill, stern expression his only real response to her demeanor. He looked her over, a mixture of sorrow and regret overcoming him. Oh how far she'd fallen… even glistening with the Light from her Lightforging did little to make her seem redeemable after such a terrible track her life had followed. It pained him to see his former pupil like this. Such shame he felt, clearly having failed to teach her not to parlay with savage orcs, or aide depraved Death Knights. She was his greatest failure.

"... I am told you sheltered and aided Avehi. Is this true?" Argonas asked, bluntly.

Sinafay raised a brow, turning to look at him as the question was asked. She relaxed a bit, having shaken off the anger now that they were a fair distance away from the house.

“She was here a few months ago; came across the farm by happenstance. Hadn’t seen each other for a while, so we caught up. Went on her way after that.”

Sinafay crosses her arms over her chest. Why was Argonas looking for Avehi? She thought back on her conversation with the Death Knight, frowning. She finally took a moment to look the Vindicator over; those dark circles under his eyes… and something looked off in that luminous gaze of his. Something she’d missed in her earlier frustration.

“If that’s what you mean by ‘sheltered and aided’, then yeah, I guess I did. Why?”

“She has dragged you into her terrible misdeeds.” Argonas elaborated, albeit vaguely. “Avehi has been raising the dead for nefarious purposes. If you are a friend to her, she will likely come here to seek shelter again. To hide from the Light’s justice.”

His eyes narrowed, as he reached back to draw his crystalline blade.

“This, I cannot allow.”

Sinafay didn’t wait a moment longer to see where the conversation was leading. She’d seen this exact situation play out too many times, on Draenor, to those suspected of aiding the Mag’har under Yrel’s reign.

She wasn’t about to allow him to use that blade. While she’d taken on a more domestic role over the past months, she’d kept her senses sharp. Having an Orc mate who enjoyed a good spar helped quite a bit.

Her eyes flared, hands slamming into the large Vindicator’s chest with a powerful blast of Holy Light to push him back before taking on a defensive position.

“I suppose I was right to not have trusted you after all.”

It hurt to have her suspicions realized. To know that her mentor was as blinded as the people she’d left behind on her world. She felt justified, in a way, the guilt of hiding her relationship with Grakkar from him washing away.

“Leave us be, Argonas,” she warned, baring her teeth, “This is your only warning.”

The Vindicator’s hooves scraped along the ground, slowing him from skidding too far back. He grunted, frowning deeper at Sinafay. He expected resistance, of course. He’d trained her well enough not to take a death threat lying down!

“Do you think I want to do this? I thought I had taught you better! But you have fallen so far from the path I laid out for you!” he growled, plated fist tightening around the hilt of his blade. “You failed! You abandoned your post! You betrayed our kin on Draenor, breaking your vow to protect them! And for an Orc!?”

“Hmph. Consider it my highest honor.” Sinafay shot back, defiantly.

Argonas grunted. He rushed in, hoofsteps hastened by the Light itself in a furious charge. He swung his sword in a wide arc towards Sinafay. Sinafay shot forward as he charged. She didn’t have a weapon or armor, but knew agility wasn’t Argonas’ strong suit, and planned to use that to her advantage. She rolled as he swung, just passed his right leg to end up behind him, her tail wrapped around his ankle, tugging it back with her momentum as she got to her hooves.

She didn’t turn back to look if he’d fallen forward or not as she kept running; hoping she’d bought herself a bit of time as she headed towards Grakkar’s workshop. She knew there would be a weapon or something there she could use to defend herself with. The Lightbound could hear nothing but her rapid heartbeat as adrenaline rushed through her system, making it impossible to know if he was right behind her or not.

Suddenly, a bolt of Light struck her shoulder, knocking her off balance just as she reached the workshop. She stumbled and fell into the door, crashing through it! The heavy hoofbeats of Argonas closed in, making up what distance the tripping attack bought had cost him.

“And now, you abide by such abhorrence as Avehi raising the dead! Our own people, enthralled by her necrotic powers!” he continued to charge Sinafay, shouting aggressively. “I know not what set you on such a depraved path after we parted, Sina. But it has led to this final judgment! The Light will not tolerate your abusing its blessing to supplement death and pain to its chosen people!”

He brought his blade up for an overhead swing, cutting straight down vertically!

Sinafay barely had time to cocoon herself within a barrier of Light. Argonas’ sword crashed into it, causing sparks to fly and crackle in a near blinding light show as the holy forces fought against each other. The Lightbound woman grit her teeth as the barrier cracked under the pressure of the Vindicator’s strength. She was out of practice, and her former mentor’s conviction was too strong. She knew she was only delaying the inevitable, but she would fight to the bitter end.

And that end grew closer as the barrier shattered. She tried to roll to the side but the blade found purchase in her side, forcing a cry out of her as blue blood oozed out of the wound. She reached out, hands grabbing the Vindicator’s wrists as her hooves kicked out at his face in a final act of defiance.

Argonas stumbled back, but not far. Swift and firm as the kick was, there was an insurmountable difference in stature between the two Vindicators. His face immediately began to swell up at the impact point of Sinafay’s hoof, but that only seemed to infuriate him more. The grinding of his plate gauntlet along the hilt of his crystalline blade rang out sharply as he shifted his grip. He took the sword in his hands, and lined up the piercing point with his former pupil’s chest.

“Through me, the Light’s justice will be served! The mistakes I made in judging the true measures of your character will at long last be corrected!”

He raised his blade, eyes narrowing as he started to bring it down to finish his grim task-- when suddenly a pair of arms wrapped tensely around his waist! From behind him, Grakkar took hold of the Vindicator and heaved him upward and over himself with a mighty roar! The Draenei was caught off-guard, and thrown over onto his back as Grakkar arched and kicked back and away from Sinafay. Argonas came crashing down on his shoulders and the back of his head, driving his chin into his chest plate as the rest of his heavy plated body rolled over the top of him! He was stunned! The wind knocked from him entirely as Grakkar threw him back!

“Get away from my mate, you honorless piece of clefthoof shit!” the Warsong shouted, snarling at Argonas.

He gave little time for the abettor to recover, rushing in to keep up the pressure. As Argonas rolled over and brought himself up to his hands and knees, Grakkar ran up and took hold of his head. Lining it up, he carried his momentum and slammed his knee into the Draenei’s crest!

*CRACK*

Argonas rolled over from both the pain, and the force of the impact to his face! But the assault didn’t end there. Grakkar trudged up alongside the writhing and bewildered Draenei. He knelt down scooping up a small handful of dirt to toss into the Vindicator’s face! Then, he just started punching! Once, again, three times! He bloodied his fist against the Draenei’s plated crest, pounding his face over and over with unyielding fury!

Argonas did what he could to protect himself, but he couldn’t see his assaulter, much less block the barrage of punches! He’d dropped his sword, and couldn’t afford to reach out and feel for it nearby. That would only give the Orc more openings! Instead, he curled in, doing his best to cover his face with one arm as he swatted at Grakkar blindly with the other in hopes of deflecting or softening the next blow coming his way. One wild swipe caught hold of something - the Orc’s forearm. Success! With all his might, he ripped the Orc’s arm towards him, counter attacking with a punch of his own. He felt his plated fist connect, knocking the Orc back and away from him. Only for a moment… but the moment was all he needed.

Bringing his hooves back beneath him, Argonas stood up and quickly brushed the dirt and blood from his face. His luminous eyes set onto Grakkar, who also recuperated from their exchange of blows. For a moment, the two stared one another down.

“The Light… judges you too, Orc filth!” Argonas grunted.

“Fuck your Light!” Grakkar shot back, snarling.

With a furious shout, the Orc rushed at Argonas yet again. The Draenei took up a defensive stance, readying himself as Grakkar drew near. He knew he couldn’t match the Orc’s agility; their fight in Kun-Lai had taught him that, well enough. Instead he dug in his hooves, tail swaying limber behind him to keep his balance. As the Orc took his swing, Argonas brought his forearms up to block the incoming blow. Then the next. Teeth grit as he held firm his position, Argonas bided the Orc’s assault like a statue! He was ready for him, this time. Ready and waiting for his opening. His hands and arms felt raw, jarred and pulsing from the plate gauntlets reverberating each repeated strike. But he held his ground.

Grakkar raged on, throwing punch after punch in the hopes of landing one or two good blows, enough to throw his opponent off of the defensive. But the Vindicator was stoic! Unyielding! The old Orc already felt fatigue setting in. How long had it been since he had a good fight like this? Since settling down with Sinafay, and their young daughter Neelah, he hadn’t been in too many scrapes. His rustiness was taxing him now, exacting the toll of his inactivity. His blows began to slow, punches falling slower and softer against the same blood-smeared plate gloves the Draenei used to defend himself. His knuckles were pulp, each screaming a searing pain from crashing into the inexorable metal again and again. He rotated in a kick to mix it up, hoping to knock the Draenei over, but he might as well have kicked a boulder. One more punch. Another. Until finally the futility of it drained Grakkar entirely. He staggered back, growling.

And that was Argonas’ opening.

The blast of Light illuminated the farmstead, bright as high noon for only a split second. Argonas’ retributive burst was more than enough to knock the weary Orc over. The Vindicator charged, hoofbeats hastened by the Light’s gift to surge the mass of muscle and steel towards Grakkar. He’d barely managed to keep his balance, only for Argonas to slam into him like a rampaging elekk. The Orc felt his body tossed back, and yet he didn’t go far. Argonas gripped him tightly to keep him from sailing too far away from the impact, instead simply slamming him into the ground before him. The Orc’s pained howl was a symphony to the Vindicator. Retribution for so much pain that not only this Orc caused him personally, but all Orcs caused his people! Quickly, he followed up by stomping his hoof into the vile creature’s chest! Still surging with the Light, his plated hoof shoe seared into Grakkar’s flesh, causing him to writhe and moan in pain!

“You have caused enough trouble!” Argonas declared, pressing his hoof down harder. “And now, you will cause no more!”

Grakkar struggled, gripping the Draenei’s leg as he gave all his might to try and push back, but not only did the Draenei significantly outmatch his strength, his plated form weighed a ton! It took all the Orc’s might just to keep the hoof at bay! Even then, he felt his ribs bending and cracking, the hoof melting his skin. It became hard to breath, his cries of agony turning to harsh and hoarse gasps as Argonas pressed harder. He’d been in enough fights to know when he’d lost. And this… this was it. This was the end.

His eyes widened at the realization, his expression of anger and rage replaced by one of fear. Despair. He had failed. He couldn’t protect his mate. His daughter. After everything he’d done, all the effort and sacrifice he’d made to protect Sinafay, to free her from bondage on Draenor… only for her to die here at the hands of another Light-crazed zealot. He strained a little harder, but nothing he could do would be enough to overpower Argonas. But he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t! He turned his head, looking over towards the workshop where Sinafay was. He couldn’t see her… and that hurt all the more, unable to lay eyes on his mate one final time. His strength began to wane.

“I’m… sorry…” Grakkar grunted, as his grip finally slipped.

*CRUNCH*

~*~

TO BE CONTINUED...

#character story #Misguided Justice #argonas the ironclad #Sinafay the Defiant #Grakkar Gorefang #Warcraft #Draenei #Orcs #To Be Continued...

13 notes · View notes

anhed-nia · 5 years ago

Text

BLOGTOBER PRE-GAME 9/30/2020: 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE/CONFESSIONAL (2019)

Spoiler alert. Or whatever. It’s not going to matter, you don’t care.

So, I've been away for a minute. Just about any reason to be away from Tumblr is probably a good reason, but I have an especially good one. I'm finally working on a "real" writing project, which demands, and deserves, all of my attention. My social media abstinence isn't just a matter of time management, though. Once I had a long term obligation on my plate, I became very aware of how the short term satisfaction I get from posting mindless rants was eating away at the fuel I have available for sustained efforts. When I wind myself up with a 500-1000 word blog post, it generates a lot of electricity, but I blow it all as soon as I experience the catharsis of posting it, and I'm further pacified by ego-stroking likes and reblogs. Not to sound like a sanctimonious luddite--I mean, I'm still here, after all!--but it turns out that the staying focused on the long haul has been surprisingly revivifying. In fact, I haven't been talking about my big fancy project for the same reason; I don't want to lose any of the juice I've been storing up by wasting it on the shallow pleasure of describing it. Also such things should probably be somewhat confidential until they're approaching the publishing stage, but I digress! There is an actual reason I'm saying all this, that has more to do with this blog.

(Don’t get all excited, I’m not doing EVIL ED right now, I just need a relatable image.)

As I got deeper into my experience of "real" film writing, I started to reflect on the meaning of my personal writing. Like, the point of it. I tend to write in a sweaty, compulsive, sadomasochistic haze, in which I'm sometimes hyperbolically generous, and sometimes--perhaps more often, unfortunately--as nasty as humanly possible. Sometimes the movies deserve it, when they're lazy, pretentious, or otherwise demonstrate an open contempt for the audience aka ME. Often, though, I'm just creating an opportunity to vent my generalized rage and frustration. That can be very entertaining for myself and (hopefully) my teensy-but-devoted readership, but lately I've asked myself whether there isn't some negative tradeoff for all this amusement. In this phase of my life, it's reasonable to assume I'll make more and more friends and acquaintances who create things I don't always care for, but I don't necessarily think they deserve to be abused for it. As much as I have a right to say whatever I want, technically, I'd be embarrassed if I were caught just jacking myself off by making fun of their work in public. And more to the point, I don't necessarily want to contribute to the growing atmosphere in which people feel more afraid to try and fail, because the public so commonly misidentifies sarcasm and mean-spiritedness as intelligence and superiority, and that form of petty darkness spreads across the internet a lot faster than a movie can reach a wider audience. After all, I'm in the process of potentially turning myself into one of those well-meaning failures right now. I could stand to be a little more deliberate about how I speak, and about what, in general.

My father is an art critic, and once in an extra petulant moment, teenage-me asked him in an accusative tone what he thought the point of his profession was. He replied calmly that he wouldn't publish any comment that he didn't think the artist could make use of somehow. I don't know if he always stuck to that policy, but the thought sure stuck with me.

So anyway, over the last few months I've been giving myself a bit of an attitude adjustment, through a combination of personal reflection, and hard work on something meaningful/not for the internet. I've been feeling all proud of myself and shit, but today reminded me that any path to enlightenment is always marked by setbacks, doubt, and temptation. For today, in complete innocence (or at least a melange of innocence and ignorance, as I very much invite this type of problem), I managed to watch TWO (2) movies about an academic film-cum-psychology project, focused on a gang of college buddies who inevitably reveal what bad people they are under the unique conditions of the project, and then the project turns out to be run NOT by its presumed-dead originator, but by the originator's even-crazier lover. It's amazing how particular something can be, and still be utterly obvious and cliche. In my defense, I really tried to turn the second movie off, because it was...just instantly terrible, but the seed of suspicion had taken root--is this randomly selected movie ACTUALLY EXACTLY THE SAME AS THE PREVIOUS MOVIE?--and I just had to find out if this could be true. I suffered, deliberately, for another hour and a half, to confirm my awful hunch. I don't know how I would have felt if I had turned out to be wrong (better? worse?), but I don't have to worry about that now. Now I just have to worry about my overpowering impulse to be as ugly as possible about what I have personally subjected myself to.

(The completely deceptive poster for our not at all witchy or eerie opening feature.)

In need of a passable time-waster this afternoon, I put on 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE. Released in March of 2019, Caitlin Koller's claustrophobic black comedy feels oddly like a product of 2020. A group of estranged, middle-aged college pals of the BIG CHILL ilk--which one of the characters calls out, out loud, just so ya know--come together for a fallen comrade's funeral, only to find themselves trapped in his widow's increasingly creepy cabin in the woods. Said comrade was driven to suicide by the failure of a psychological experiment he conducted that plunged its subject into madness, and if you don't realize right away that the obnoxious and unstable cast are the new subjects of their not-quite-dead friend's renewed project, then you're firing a lot slower than 24 frames per second. The dialog is often decent, aiding a handful of funny, natural performances...but it's hard to forget that you're just waiting for the conspicuously crazy widow to reveal that the "unexplained events" in and around the cabin are part of a controlled attempt to get the guests to devolve into their worst selves, which isn't such a difficult task considering the undesirable state they all arrive in.

It just made me ask myself, what was the point of this? Why do people make movies that are entirely predicated on the shock of the twist, knowing that if the twist isn't so shocking--or is baldly obvious from the start--then the whole experience just falls apart? Why not hedge your bets with a little more depth, or purpose, or style, or really anything more reliable than a smug attempt to prove that your script is smarter than your audience? Even if you do manage to pull off this dubious accomplishment, it reduces your movie to something like the experience of having somebody jump out of a closet and scream in your ear to "get" you. I've always felt concerned that if somebody ever tries to "get" me like that, I might just automatically punch them in the face. But anyway, whatever shred of good will this movie could have accrued with its plucky performances is blown away by the final insult, when the cops arrive to clean up the inevitable bloody mess. The responding officers are hilariously unimpressed and unsurprised by the byzantine scheme that has resulted in a shocking act of violence, because the cabin's "guest book", which our heroes all filled out, was actually the signatory page of a complicated waiver form granting full permission to the hosts to, like, do whatever the hell they want to everybody. Presumably this shit just goes on all the time, leading the local law to shrug off anything that happens to or because of the dumbassed lab rats who frequent the cabin? I dunno. I mean, what can I say? ACAB, I guess!

At the time, I managed to resist the urge to take to the internet and decry the crimes of this lame-o party joke. I really don't like the sensation that a movie is just trying to trick me into thinking something that isn't true. But, this isn't, like, an affront to cinema. People make annoying, below average movies all the time, and maybe you kinda have to, if you eventually want to make better movies. I imagine myself in the shoes of the people who actually put some elbow grease into this production, having to wade through the rantings of internet ghouls like myself while they're trying to see how their efforts are paying off. Making a movie is probably a lot harder than I think it is.

But that's part of the point I'm heading toward. I'm always amazed by people's willingness to pour huge amounts of energy and capital into something to which there is ultimately very little point. I mean, I have bad, unoriginal, boring ideas every single day of my life. But I almost never DO any of them. I have a hard enough time convincing myself to just get out of bed in the morning, let alone devote blood, sweat, and money to deliver unto the world material evidence of my personal mediocrity. I can't imagine thinking it would be worth it, for myself or the unfortunate people who are subjected to my project, to actually execute on my bad ideas. I'm being judgmental, but honestly, I don't even know if my attitude makes me better or worse than someone who accomplishes the task of completing and selling a movie that's mainly a waste of time. Movies are so complicated, and realizing them requires the consensus of so many people, that it's sort of incredible that there are people capable of making one that doesn't have a powerfully compelling motivation behind it. People who are able to do such a thing obviously have something that I don't, and it isn't just "consideration for the audience."

So, I could probably stand to be more forgiving--or just, less eager to absolutely flay someone alive on my dumb little blog because they so opened themselves up to my arsenal of elaborate insults. But like...not all the time. Sometimes, a movie really fucking asks for it, and in revealing itself to me, it has effectively signed a waiver giving me patent freedom to do whatever I want to it. CONFESSIONAL is the latest movie to give me such a gift. After the final credit rolled in 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE, I looked for a little palate cleanser. As little as I like movies that put their single egg in the motheaten basket of a "shocking twist", I also have a problem with what I identify as canned theater. Not that I think all movies have to be lavish productions, but I think they should try to do something that is natively cinematic. It's very rare that I'm impressed by anything that is literally all talk. So, I went in search of some more familiar form of trash to help me recallibrate, and trash is definitely what I got.

(Me crying over my own bad decisions.)

To be fair, I kind of should have known that I was in for a challenging experience. The 2019 found footage thriller CONFESSIONAL is more or less based on the "confessional" part of sleazy reality TV shows, isolating each cast member in a soundproof stall so they can spill the rotten contents of their guts. Unfortunately, I spotted a review suggesting that the movie succeeded, against all odds, at remaining visually dynamic despite the unchanging scenery, and I was intrigued. The reviewer was correct, impressively; the monotony of the coffin-like environment with its dark foam walls was the least of my concerns. Other problems superseded that threat, immediately. The plot concerns a group of college pals who come together to remember a recently deceased friend--a filmmaker who expired mysteriously while completing a psychology-tinged project in which she recorded all of her friends' most shameful personal secrets. Now, somebody else has taken over the project...someone who "has never been identified", according to an early title card in this movie-within-a-movie (EVEN THOUGH THIS PERSON WILL BE EXPLICITLY IDENTIFIED AT THE END OF THE MOVIE SO LIKE WHY), but who seems likely to be the decedent's ex-lover...who continues to expose their subjects' most shameful secrets on film. I mean, what the fuck? Did I somehow manage to pick a second movie with almost the exact same plot??? I couldn't believe it. I didn't know if I could take it. My prospects only got worse when the cast showed up and started talking. I tried to turn the movie off. I backed out and walked away from it, twice. But I couldn't leave it alone. I had to know if it was really the same movie.

CONFESSIONAL concerns characters who are contemporaneously in college, which actually goes a long way to making everything worse. Each of these walking cliches is connected in some way to Amelia, a film student whose mysterious death has created a campus scandal, leaving shattered hearts and lives in its wake. The living have each received a blackmail-flavored invitation to speak about the deceased in a tiny "confessional booth" somewhere on campus, where, predictably, they find themselves locked in until they confess whatever they know about Amelia, and their classmates. I don't know why practically every single movie about young people has to be so miserable, but this is one of those. I assume that it has something to do with the fact that youth is simultaneously so desired and so ignored. People in their teens and early 20s are so sexually coveted, yet so easily dismissed as individuals, that we wind up with all this media that panders to them relentlessly (or at least, panders to the legions of ticket-buying perverts who enjoy watching them prance around), without almost any consideration of how they actually think and act, and look. Movies like FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLL HOUSE may be accused of their own form of pandering, a venal form of voyeuristic schadenfreude, but at least they reflect something of the awkwardness, isolation, and incompleteness of adolescence; something more than the dissociated, pornographic fantasies of adults who have long since forgotten what it was like to be powerless and ignored, or desired by people who don't even like you.

Not that CONFESSIONAL is supposed to be a work of grim realism, but it is most definitely rooted in a fantasy about college life that makes its contrived, message-y plot a lot harder to take. With almost the sole exception of "the nerdy one", every single character looks like a Bratz doll, oozing an exaggerated indecency that belies the movie's pretentious insistence on addressing the sex & gender Issues of the Day. What you get is a really good example of what happens when millennial characters are modeled, not on any actual millennials, but on other forms of marketing that are aimed at millennials, which are themselves just based on other preexisting youth-targeted commercials, et al ad nauseam. Even setting aside the deliriously slutty wardrobe choices, makeup appears to have been laid on with a trowel, coating each actor in a thick creamy layer of spackle that only makes any scars, pits, or other evidence of individuality look utterly bizarre. Accordingly, everybody preens, pouts, and generally behaves as if they're about to take off their clothes, which might be a huge relief given the profusion of chafing, cheapo mesh and straps they're laboring under.

So, ok, not every movie can have a great costume department, but the dialog here is a perfect match for the disastrous aesthetic decisions. Actually, this is the real reason I almost walked out on CONFESSIONAL. If I may ramble briefly, without substantiating any of my broad-ranging claims: Sometime in the late 90s/early 00s, horror cinema seemed to suffer a degenerative slide away from genuine thrills and chills, and into a version of the genre that is best characterized as the Slutty Halloween Costume approach. Any sense of existential dread, revulsion, or bodily vulnerability was widely replaced by a cutesy, Hot Topic-y preference for fast fashion and sex appeal, in which bloodshed more facilitated an informal wet teeshirt contest than any real fear induction. Horror's new mall goth look came with an equally shallow, boring verbal affectation: a sullen, sleazy, tooth-sucking sarcasm, that ushered in a new era in which, instead of making fun of the scummy coked-out dialog in porno movies, we now expect everybody to just talk like that, because it's hot. There's probably a line to be drawn between this unfortunate development, and the boneheaded real-world trend of identifying "sarcasm" as an important personal selling point on dating sites, but I won't try to prove that here. For now, I will just say that as soon as I heard the CONFESSIONAL characters start to speak, with their sneering, insinuating tones, with the vocal fry, with the head wagging, the jutting jaws, the smoldering gazes, the juvenile dragging-out of horny grownup words like de-bauch-er-y...I almost lost my nerve. Listening to these little creeps hissing and spitting for 84 minutes is a lot like being hit on by some barfly who continues to bludgeon you with his hot breath and corny lines without ever noticing that you've thrown up into your pint.

Uh, anyway. So what actually happens in the movie. Why would anyone ever allow someone to record video of them revealing the ugliest, most embarrassing parts of themselves? Especially a kid, for whom popularity and reputation are often a matter of life or death--literally and specifically, in the case of this story. The flimsy reason is that the late filmmaker, Amelia, was the most awesomest girl ever. Everybody loved her, because she was so sweet, and so smart, and so cool, and so nice, and so deep, and so original, and so talented, and so sexy, and just like, the bestest most perfectest girl in the whole wide world. N.B. "The greatest of all time" is, perhaps counter-intuitively, a really bad quality that makes for really shitty, boring characters. For better or worse, Amelia is rarely on screen (and when she is, she's no Laura Palmer, frankly), so it's up to the viewer to just sort of imagine a type of person who could make you act against your best interests on account of you just like them so much. After all, so many of the characters were obsessed with her in some way, that it's like they're here to help you clap your hands and believe in this seductive, compelling part of the movie, that just isn't actually there on the screen. The anonymous antihero behind the confessional booth scheme slowly extracts from each character the selfish, destructive behavior that in some way contributed to the tragic loss of the most amazing person of all time--and part of the result is, if not a very interesting excuse for Amelia's death, then a story so wacky that I really wish they had centered the movie on it, instead of on the tawdry soap opera we're locked into. Even if that imaginary movie had been really bad, and it probably would have been, at it would at least have been entertaining.

Part of what leads up to the death of Amelia is the existence of a secret school fight club, led by a stereotypically sleazy gender studies major, named Major, who is out to prove men's inherent superiority. The club is called CFB, or Cock Fights Back, which is somehow a garbled pun relating to cock fights, and Trump's famous line of "locker room talk": "grab'em by the pussy" > "pussy grabs back" > "cock fights back". CFB is different from your ordinary fight club in that the fights are always between girls and boys, and the boys are always blindfolded, in order to prove that a fully-abled female is no match for even a handicapped male. To complicate things, a new designer amphetamine is gaining popularity on campus, called "odds-on", meaning that it makes you the odds-on favorite in your CFB fight. As awkward as that is, it also seems that men are never the guaranteed winners of these fights, which makes you wonder why Major insists on continuing to host them. As much as I would have preferred to watch a stupid movie about this stupid idea, I'm stuck instead with a movie in which Major is such an aggressive MRA because he's secretly gay, and he thinks that hating women is a great way to hide that...as if that isn't what we all openly suspect about aggro MRAs. Secret gayness is a big part of this movie, involving multiple characters, although it amounts to very little other than the perpetuation of some stale, harmful cliches about how unfulfilled homosexual urges lead to suicide, sexual abuse, and murder. CONFESSIONAL is just as reliant on this grim vision of gay life, as it is on its weirdly obtuse discussion of drug addiction, for the suffocating sense of self-importance that it uses to try to elevate itself above its porn-y trappings. None of the movie's hot button issues are given any real thought, but are only dragged through the mud to create the illusion that there's a point to all this, thus relieving the film of any sense of innocence that could have made its condescending sleaziness forgivable.

Admittedly, I can't really remember all the details of the film's tortured intrigue anymore, even though I basically just saw it. A lot of its meandering revelations just left me thinking, "Why did I need to know that? Why should I care?" I do know that about half way through this ordeal, I became really anxious about whether it would turn out that CONFESSIONAL did NOT have exactly the same plot as 30 MILES FROM NOWHERE after all, and I put myself through all this for nothing. But no, I was right to begin with. The wonderful Amelia's ethically dubious film project has been picked up by the unhinged lesbian character who loved her so much she wanted to become her, and killing Amelia and usurping her confessional project was apparently the best way of doing that. I guess exposing all the dark, violent secrets of all these tangentially involved characters was just an added bonus, or whatever. Ultimately, this ugly, ignorant PSA about something-or-other only deals itself further damage by relying so heavily on the potential of its clumsy twist to blow your mind, which it does not at all.

So that was it, that's how I burned a whole afternoon allowing my mind to implode-not-explode under the ponderous force of TWO (2) movies about exactly the same exhausted cliche that is still being peddled by certain pretentious assholes as fresh and exciting, and beyond the capacity of the audience to anticipate. There's probably a whole slew of other movies that employ this overly familiar "surprise", but I don't have it in me to dig them out of my long-suffering brain. Feel free to contribute in the comments. For now, I must prepare myself for the ordeal of Blogtober, during which I will *hopefully* choose my screening selections and words more thoughtfully than I have in previous years, when this blog was motivated by just as much abject misanthropy as these movies, which do nothing but willfully insult the audience's intelligence. Maybe today's detour into degradation will help me go forth toward more additive experiences, having purged several lungfuls of meaningless venom from my system, and this season will bring with it more interesting, provocative posts than the last. Or maybe not! In any case, I promise to keep trying my hardest to make it funny.

PS I actually love both FAT GIRL and WELCOME TO THE DOLLHOUSE. I’m “just saying”.

#blogtober #2020 #confessional #2019 #30 miles from nowhere #horror #thriller #black comedy #found footage #brad t gottfred #jennifer wolfe #jennifer bosworth #caitlin koller

10 notes · View notes

tseneipgam · 5 years ago

Photo

“Many of our greatest challenges- climate change, mass extinction, deforestation, soil erosion, water depletion, declining fish stocks, pollution, antibiotics resistance and diet-related disease- stem from our failure to value food”

“Humans originally domesticated farm animals largely because the beasts could eat what we couldn’t, cows and sheep happily grazed on grass while pigs and chickens gobbled kitchen scraps; after a few years spent in fields, on hills and in backyards -during which the bovines and hens provided us with the added bonus of milk and eggs- we could eat them. Provided one was comfortable with the inevitable end game, it all created a beautiful, synergetic loop. Factory farming, by contrast, is almost comically inefficient. One third of global grain harvest is now fed to animals, food which, if we ate it directly could feed up to ten times as many people. Industrial meat production guzzles one third of all the water used in agriculture and is responsible for an estimated 14,5 per cent of all greenhouse gas emissions. Add in the pollution from the football-pitch-sized pools of toxic slurry and the indiscriminate use of antibiotics and you’ve got a hefty pile of hidden costs. Although the negative value of such damage is hard to estimate, one study by the Indian Centre for Science and the Environment reckoned that, if you factored everything in, the true cost of an industrial burger would be in the region of $200, not the $2 we usually pay. The ethical downsides of industrial livestock production are just as troubling. If the term ‘factory farm’ doesn’t immediately arouse a sense of Orwellian disquiet, closer examination of the secretive facilities (know in the trade as concentrated animal feeding operations or CAFOs) soon will.”

“In a post-industrial society it is virtually impossible to lead a truly good life, since, merely by existing, we participate in a host of social, political and economic systems that, among other things, oppress workers, abuse animals, poison oceans, destroy ecosystems and churn out greenhouse gases like there’s no tomorrow. Heaven help you if you drive a car, fly on holiday, eat steak or own a smartphone. Almost every move we make in the modern world has some distant, negative impact. Just engaging with life’s multiple dilemmas requires vast knowledge and effort, as we examine all the implications of our actions on countless people, creatures, structures and organisms, most of which we barely know exist. Needless to say, few of us are equipped for such a task.”

“Our modern lives are best by paradox. Our technical capacity is mind-blowing, yet we seem unable to match our skills at, say, genetically modifying sheep, landing probes on comets or making robots serve sushi with non-technical challenges such as creating equitable societies, agreeing to disagree on God or coexisting with fish.”

“In order to live we must eat; in order to eat, we must take life. This circularity may seem remote when most of our food comes ready-cooked in boxes, yet it’s logic underpins our very existence. Whenever we eat, we make an implicit value judgement: that human life is worth more than that of, say, a leek.”

“In Aristotelian terms, contentment (comfort) is the goal of the human hedonic cycle: the mean between desire and excess that our reward systems are calibrated to deliver. But here’s the rub: if joy is what we seek rather than comfort, we must allow our arousal levels to build, since our greatest pleasure occurs just as they border on the unpleasant. First noted by the German psychologist Wilhelm Wundt in 1874 (and thus known as the Wundt curve), this phenomenon graphically illustrates our modern dilemma. In order to enjoy life to the full, we need our wants to be postponed, rather than instantly gratified: to experience pleasure at it’s peak, we must work towards it and look forward to it. However, as Scitovsky notes, such postponement is the opposite of what consumerist culture is geared up to provide. We miss out on joy, because our needs are met too easily. Comfort and joy, it turns out, are to some extent mutually exclusive. If we want to experience joy, we must be prepared to sacrifice some comfort, yet our very idea of the good life- embodied in the notion of progress, is to ratchet up the latter. In a consumerist society, said Scitovsky, we are constantly forced to choose between comfort and joy, yet this isn’t always clear to us, since our gains in the former (such as when we snack) are often present and immediate, while the consequent loss (no appetite at dinner) only becomes apparent later. Instinctively, we accept ever-increasing levels of comfort, without realising that we are pushing joy ever further away”

“Early farming was much harder work than hunting and gathering had been; indeed, the very concept of work only appeared when people started to farm. Among contemporary hunter-gatherers, who may spend as little as twenty hours a week actively hunting or foraging and for whom such tasks are embedded in everyday sociability and ritual, the concept is virtually unknown. For such people work is simply life”

“the nature of home is shifting. Once a productive hub where families lived and worked together, it is now the primary locus of individualised consumption. From the comfort of our sofas, we can shop, order food, socialise and be entertained; home, for most of us, is merely a plug-in to the global supply chains that keep the capitalist circus on the road. For many, relaxing at home is a reward for doing jobs that we’d rather not do- a deal that none of us signed up to, yet is fundamental to how modern society works”

“A 2018 study by Oxford Economics, for example, found that the more we eat together, the happier we’re likely to be, and that regularly eating alone is more strongly associated with than any other factor apart from mental illness”

“Fifty years ago, the majority of jobs still involved making something, whether it was clothes, cars, ships, furniture or food. Although such jobs were industrial, many preserved some of the qualities of the pre-industrial workplace, requiring a degree of teamwork, knowledge or skill. Housework half a century ago was more craft-based too: most housewives could make pastry, bake and sew, while cars were still mechanical enough to allow those so inclined to mess about under their bonnets. Today, by contrast, few of us know how to make or mend anything. Most of us buy the things we need, and most everyday objects have built-in obsolescence.... our throwaway culture damages more than our planet; it threatens something essentially human. As Crawford notes, the kind of creativity require to mend things involves a highly sophisticated cognitive effort that brings its own special reward. The fact that our brains our wired to get pleasure out of such manual tasks is hardly surprising: we have, after all, been co-evolving with tools for some 3.5 million years”

“The Greeks believed that a good life required struggle, without it, they thought, being human had little meaning. They admired hard work and frugality because they were necessary to becoming a good citizen. From modern political rhetoric in the UK and US, you would think that we thought the same -’hard-working families’ are constantly cited as ideal- yet it is wealth we dream of these days..,.It’s only human to want an easy life. Yet, as our leisure choices betray, we contemporary urbanites yearn for some sort of action or challenge. We regularly go on adventure holidays or abandon the comfort of our homes to camp under the stars, light fires, catch fish or just barbecue sausages in the rain in order to remind ourselves what it means to be alive,”

“What implications do (such) economic structures have for our chances of freedom, opportunity and justice? How, in the modern world, can we perceive the power structures that govern us, let alone challenge them? The spacial transformations wrought by industrialisation have been augmented by a digital disembodiment that renders power and influence all but invisible. So rapid and radical hast this transformation been that we are only just starting to grasp its implications, The very nature of the public realm is shifting, and with it the exchange of ideas and goods at the heat of society. Once a physical place where anyone was free to act, public space was essential to the evolution of democracy”

“Populism and nationalism are gaining ground, as people react to the failed promise of capitalism and blame migrants for their fate. The irony is that low-paid migrant workers are themselves the product of capitalism, fulfilling the roles once performed by slaves. If we are to build a society fit for the twenty-first century -which is to say one based on collaboration not exploitation- we’re going to need a better mechanism for sharing”

“Abstract and impersonal, it (money) took the agony out of exchange, relieving us of the rituals and obligations that once bound people together. Social bonds, although essential to our well-being, are antithetical to economic progress, getting in the way of its core goal of efficiency”

“This ‘trickle-down’ theory, the idea that all wealth is good, since it will find its way into the parts of society that other economies can’t reach- is a central tenet of capitalism. It’s flip side is the need for consumerism, since factory owners can’t expand unless people buy more of their stuff. Fortunately, Smith observed, our appetite for the non-essentials of life was insatiable”

“When the owners raised wages to encourage people to work longer hours, it had the opposite effect: the workers simply went home even earlier. Mill owners thus took the only alternative open to them, slashing wages to the point where workers could only survive by working all the hours available. A principle was established that remains central to capitalism: when starvation is the alternative, people will work for almost nothing”

“The parallel tragedy of Brexit is that many of those who voted for it -people living in deprived ex-industrial regions-are precisely those whose livelihoods were destroyed by the free-market ideology of their Brexiteer champions”

“The question that few are yet asking is what will happen when the industrial cycle goes full circle and those who currently produce our trainers and tiger prawns decide that they’d like to stop making stuff too, as is already happening in China. Who is going to make our takeaway food and throwaway clothes then? Robots? And, if so, what are the ten billion or so people projected to be living on earth by 2050 going to do all day? Sext one another and play computer games?”

“While all pleasures were excluded from work in the name of efficiency, workers were expected to compensate by spending their wages on pleasure in their leisure hours.... The absurdity of this, said Schumacher, is that ‘man-the-producer’ and ‘man-the-consumer- are one and the same person, who happiness could be just as easily secured at work as at home. He cited an industrial farmer who admitted he wouldn’t dread of eating his own food and felt fortunate to be able to buy organic produce grown ‘without poisons’ instead. When asked why he simply didn’t grow organic food himself, the farmed replied that he ‘couldn’t afford it’.”

“we should treat nature as beyond price -’meta-economic’- as though it were sacred”

“When he buy hand-reared organic produce, it seems expensive because it reflects the true cost of producing good that is good in every sense: nutritious and tasty as well as ethically and ecologically produced. The trouble is that this is the only sort of food that reflects its true cost. The other sort- the industrial food that supplies more that 95 per cent of our diet- is artificially cheap due to the systemic externalisation (often through government subsidy) of the true cost of producing it. Many of the costs of industrialised food- deforestation, soil erosion, water depletion, exhausted fish stocks, pollution, biodiversity loss, rural depopulation, unemployment, obesity, chronic disease, climate change and mass-extinction- aren’t counted in the price we pay in the shops”

“In reality ‘cheap food’ is an oxymoron- an illusion created by industrial producers and governments keen to disguise the true cost of living. While externalities such a deforestation, pollution and climate change are accounted for elsewhere, industrial farmers who would otherwise struggle to make a living from the low prices we pay for food are subsidised by the state. So what might the world look like if, instead, we were to internalise the cost of our food? The answer is that industrial farming would rapidly become unaffordable, while ecologically produced organic food would emerge as the bargain it has always been. Buying food would become a virtuous circle, in which the market would favour foods that nurtured nature, animals and people.”

“In China, as elsewhere, the march of progress usually consists of swapping an arduous life toiling in the fields for a similarly arduous existence working in a factory, trading a tight-knit if remote community for the isolation of a flat in a dormitory district. Whether the former is less ‘worthy of human beings’ than the latter is moot, and since knowing the smell of the earth after rain and the names of birds and trees are ‘goods’ of a totally different order to those of owning a flat-screen TV or Nike trainers, the jury is likely to be out of some while yet...Rural life is undervalued partly because it neither offers not relies upon (such) growth. Indeed, the natural state of rural communities is steadiness. Agricultural yields may rise over time, but will never generate the heady profits to be made from, say, drilling oil out of the ground or clearing rainforests for carrots, an entirely city-led operation”

“At the start of the twentieth century 38 per cent of the population were farmers, and small town America thrived. Today, less than 2 per cent of Americans live on farms, and the US has the most industrialised, consolidated food system on earth. The results have been the highest levels of poverty in the developed world and a depressed, drug-dependent, obese population. Those living in rural areas, who represent the fervent core of Donald Trump’s base support, are so despairing that suicide rates are three times higher than the national average”

“In the space of just six years, while attending to the pressing matter of defeating Hitler, Britain transformed itself from an informed, poorly fed, heavily dependent food nation into a knowledgeable, healthy, far more resilient one. We managed it, of course, because our lives were on the line, which is in effect where we are again, although today we face a common threat far more lethal than a genocidal facist. In order to survive, we need to transform ourselves into an engaged, egalitarian force of motivated, self-reliant citizens. Can we do it? Since the British invented the industrial capitalist model that got us into this fix, one might call it our moral duty to at least try”

“the fruits of the earth belong equally to us all, and the earth itself to nobody!”- Jean-Jacques Rousseau

“control of food is power, a basic truth we seem to have forgotten. If we want a free society - a democratic global village- it follows that we need a different food system: one characterised not by monopoly but connectivity”

“Living in more locally productive, interactive, societies would make us healthier and fitter. The creation of local farms and gardens would result in more beautiful, greener environments, which would be beneficial to our wellbeing. We’d be less worried about climate change and would live in a fairer world, something also known to be central to happiness. Last but not least, we would regain some of the agency over our lives that the digital era has progressively eroded... Gardening is the opposite of consumerism: one must be active, engaged, patient, observant, empathetic, and, above all, in synch with nature”

“We live in perplexing, perilous, exhilarating times that call for bold ideas and steady heads. Extraordinary new technologies will undoubtedly bring us remarkable capacities in the future, but without similarly daring and innovative social, economic and spatial evolution, they will be worse than useless. It is in this context that food has so much to offer. No matter how thrilling and distracting our digital lives become, food can keep up grounded, reminding us that our fate will always depend on nature, and on how we share it. The way we eat in the future will not only share our fate, but that of every other species.”

“Foraging, it’s becoming clear to me, is more than just a way of getting some free food; it’s a state of mind. We humans are natural gatherers, Robin explains: our ancestors foraged all year round, knowing that, once they had harvested one crop, others would come into season. Following natures’ fruitfulness created an ‘abundance mindset’ in them, while farming, which often relies on one crop that might easily fail, engenders a fear of scarcity.”

“The millions of familiar creatures with which we coexist or unknown critters that may vanish before we ever clock their existence aren’t just handy workers or essential links in the food chain; they are our greatest repository of intelligence about how to live on earth, collated over almost four billion years. All our foods and medicines come from nature and nobody knows what may yet be out there; chemicals extracted from sea slugs, for example, are currently being tested as a potential cure for cancer. Biodiversity matters because it represents an interconnectivity we don’t fully understand.”

“Our bodies contain some 100 trillion of them (microbes), the cells of which outnumber our own by at least three to one. With statistics like that, it’s fair to wonder just how human we really are”

“Microbes are ubiquitous, so what are they actually doing? The answer is that they’re doing just the same as you and me: trying to thrive in a complex, competitive world. They’ve been at it far longer than us too: the first earthly life forms, microbes are thought to have emerged around 3.85 billion years ago, when charged sea particles swallowed some mineral ‘soup’ belched forth by a hydrothermal vent (a volcanic fissure in the ocean floor) to form single-celled bodies known as archer. By eating the world’s first meal, therefore, archaeologist, our common ancestors, kick-started life on earth, using chemical energy to process carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen to form amino acids, the building blocks of life. For a billion years or so, archaea ruled on our acidic, sulphurous planet, but around 2.7 billion years ago, some deadly rivals came on the scene. Cynobacteria, or blue-green algae, began proliferating in the oceans, using solar energy to absorb hydrogen from water, expelling oxygen as waste. This process- a primal form of photosynthesis- transformed our planet. A highly promiscuous element, oxygen combined with everything in sight, not least with iron to form the world’s first rust belts. For the archaea, this spelled catastrophe: since oxygen is a deadly poison to them, our most distant ancestors either died or disappeared underground. Their exile proved permanent: when the oceans became saturated with oxygen, the gas began leaking into the air to create the Great Oxygenation Event, the basis of our modern atmosphere. Once oxygen levels had stabilised at 21 pert cent around 0.9 billion years ago, the stage was set for complex life to evolve, and for animals like us to walk with earth”

“For the industrialists, nature is split into two halves, a domestic part, that we should exploit to it’s limits, and a wild one that we should leave well alone. Access to wilderness, for this group, is a luxury we can no longer afford. For the organic school, on the other hand, nature is a continuum whose wild and domestic parts intermingle. Closeness to wildness is part of this group’s aim, not least be incorporating more of it into farming. Lurking beneath this philosophical divide, you may perceive, lies another one, over the question of whether humans are capable of looking after nature. While the industrialists argue that we can’t be trusted and must therefore withdraw from the wilderness, the organicists contend that greater engagement with the natural world fosters better behaviour.”

“The French anthropologist Philippe Descola argues that first we need to recognise that our very concept of nature is a cultural construct. This is hard for us to accept in the West, says Descola, since we believe that we view nature with objective, scientific clarify, which in turn makes us see nature and culture as mutually exclusive opposites. Nature, for us, is a sort of neutral backdrop against which various cultures play out. This view led early-modern European voyagers to dismiss indigenous peoples who invested nature with spirits, as mere savages mired in so much mumbo-jumbo. The idea that their own view of nature, with its abstract space and machine-animals, might itself be cultural never occurred to them.”

“When we are in the forest, said Emerson, we experience the ‘occult relation between man and the vegetable’ so regaining the wonder of childhood that is the basis of ‘all reason and faith.’ Nature, in summary, was the antidote to civilisation. ‘To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company,’ Emerson declared, ‘nature is medicinal”

“By worshipping wilderness at the expense of domestic nature, Cronon argued, American Romanticism induced a form of self-loathing that made people evade responsibility for the lives they really led. While few people would disagree with the need to preserve wilderness, Cronon said, it is vital that we recognise that all landscapes form a continuum that is our home. Only when we can marvel at a humble shrub in a garden as we do a giant redwood in the forest will we have understood where our true place in nature lies. Thoreau was right: wildness (as distinct from wilderness) is the preservation of the world, yet we don’t have to hike to high in the sierra to find it, since it is all around us, in our cities, parks, homes, gardens and even in our own bodies”

“our task at this pivotal moment in our evolution is not just to reconcile ourselves with nature or to save the world by carving it up like some colossal pie, but to recognise ourselves as creatures of the wild. In an age of rampant urbanisation and technical mastery, this may seem like a strange way to describe ourselves, yet that is the whole point. What our reawakened sense of deep connection with nature shows us, above all, is just how deadly the deal we have struck with it really is. If we are to have any chance of thriving in the future, we need to recalibrate that deal, and fast. How then might we eat, live and think like creatures of the wild? Most obviously, it means respecting and preserving the world’s great wildernesses, which in turn means knowing what not to eat. Obliterating rainforest for palm oil or bottom-trawling the seabed for fish (the underwater equivalent of dragging a 30-tonne, 150-metre iron bar across the countryside) are simply not behaviours of civilised beings”.

“The wild berries the Hadza eat, for instance, have between ten and a hundred times the nutritional content of blueberries bought from Also or Asda. Instead of breeding such wildness out of plants in order to achieve higher yields, therefore, we might start farming in such a way to preserve their wildness”

“One US programme called Coping with Cancer found that, when they were given the necessary support to consider their options, many patients chose to let death run its course rather than fight it, giving up treatments and entering a hospice earlier. As a result, says Gawande, they ‘suffered less, were physically more capable and better able for long periods to interact with others. In addition, six months after these patients died, their family members were markedly less likely to experience persistent major depression....patients who received palliative care early in their treatment not only tended to suffer less at the end of their lives, but also lived on average 25 per cent longer. As Gawande remarks such a finding seems ‘almost Zen: you live longer only when you stop trying to live longer’ ”

“Indigenous cultures generally had two essential measures of time: the cosmic rhythms of seasons and days and those associated with specific events such as harvesting and milling or domestic tasks such a making bread. Activities often stood for time itself. In Madagascar, for example, ‘rice cooking’ meant half an hour, ‘maize roasting’ fifteen minutes and ‘the frying of a locust’ a brief moment in similar to our ‘twinkling of an eye’.”

“as the anthropologist E.E Evans-Pritchard explained: The Nuer have no expression equivalent to ‘time’ in our language, and they cannot, therefore, speak of time as though it were something that passes, can be wasted, saved and so forth. I do not think that they ever experience the same feeling of fighting against time or of having to coordinate activities with an abstract passage of time, their points of reference are mainly the activities themselves, which are of a leisurely character’ ”

“Western society is arguably the least stoical in history; our comfortable, risk-averse consumerist culture is aimed, after all, at removing all pain, suffering or effort (even that needed to peel a potato) from our lives, and thus any need for forbearance. Yet, as we have seen, the attempt to edit out such exertions and negatives hasn’t made us any happier. On the contrary, the expectation of a pain-free, serene existence merely prevents us from taking much pleasure in the comforts we enjoy. When did you last sigh in gratitude when you turned on a tap or flushed the loo? We’ve forgotten the cushion of convenience upon which our lives rest, and the fact that pain and effort are necessary conjuncts to joy and fulfilment”

“he suggests we accept the absurdity of our condition and learn to laugh at it. One way of doing this, he suggests, is to recognise that our human era is a mere ‘scintilla of geological time’ that in cosmic terms is insignificant. ‘From the point of view of the entropy at the end of the universe,’ he asks, ‘who cares about the Anthropocene?’ Climate change is a catastrophe, says Morton, but it is only the latest of a series of ‘nested catastrophes’ stretching back in time. It comes after the Ice Age, which succeeded the asteroid that killed the dinosaurs, which followed the Great Oxygenation Event, the formation of the moon, and, back at the start of time itself, the Big Bang. All these events are still playing out, our planet moves in the Big Bang’s aftermath, just as the air we breathe is made by the ongoing Great Oxygenation Event. Time is a series of nested events that form one long, ongoing present. It isn’t linear, therefore it’s concentric. Morton’s suggestion echoes Seneca’s advice that we imagine ourselves in the ‘vast space of time’s abyss’. Playing with our sense of time can help us accept our own mortality and the eventual demise of our species”

“Under certain circumstances -performing music, climbing a mountain or building a ship in a bottle-time can seem to stand still. This is what, as we have seen, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls flows- the secular counterpart to meditation. Time stands still when we’re engaged. Rather than measure out our days against a ticking clock, therefore, we’re better off pottering in the garden, painting a picture, or baking a cake. ‘But’ you might objects, ‘what about all the stuff we’ve got to do? What about work?’ That, of course, is precisely what Schumacher was trying to address when he railed against the arbitrary temporal divisions of capitalism. When work is meaningful- when it is task-oriented and social- it helps us transcend time, because it engages us. For this reason, time spent at home, where non-economic work such as cooking and gardening takes places, can be a haven of creative engagement. Because it lies outside the cash economy, domestic life transcends commodified time.”

“the expansion of leisure likely to result from the robotisation of work could be (so) problematic. As creatures of late capitalism, few of us have the skills to deal with endless leisure -after work, most of us spend our time consuming the rewards of our labour in the form of ready-cooked meals, shopping and entertainment. Yet no amount of consumption can make up for a meaningless life. In order to flourish, we need to feel useful, which means that we need to perform helpful tasks and create things.”

“Happiness is ephemeral; like time, it is not a commodity. If we are to find happiness, it follows that we must reset our temporal horizons: find some way of reconciling human and cosmic time. And I believe that one thing that can help us do this is staring up at us from our plates. The substance that connects us to one another and to our world, food is the ultimate timekeeper. The product of living, breathing creatures that evolved to the rhythm of tides and seasons, it is the daily dose of biochemical energy that fills our bodies with life. It is also the focus of the single ritual that every one of us still performs. It is this last aspect of food -its ritual power- that is key to all the rest, since, if we really want to learn to live in time, ritual is what we need. Ritual, as Mircea Eliade explained in The Sacred and the Profane, is human life experienced between two orders of time. The momentary performance of saying Mass, founding a building, blessing a baby, carving a joint, saying grace of singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ is an act that carries all other previous such actions within itself: it is the living embodiment of nested time. Before technology allowed humans to travel beyond the speed of sound or ping dinner invites off satellites, ritual was the means by which our ancestors transcended time. By combining the secular and sacred temporal orders- for example making a sacrifice before sharing a meal- rituals were the means by which people situated themselves in time. When we repeat such acts from our distant past, we unify the present with a vaster, cosmic order.”

#book

3 notes · View notes

theawkwardterrier · 5 years ago

Text

Though It's Called Dancing (to me it's romancing)

A Steggy Secret Santa gift for @plumandfinch! Here’s some WWII Steggy for you - hope you enjoy, and have a very happy holiday and a great year ahead. 😁✨🎁

Summary: Five times Steve and Peggy almost danced, and one time they did.

AO3 link here.

The girls trust Steve to hold them up for the finale and he hasn’t let them down yet, but after three shows where he either almost gives a showstopping topple tripping on his own feet or steps on one of theirs, they tell Martin the show manager that they’re quitting unless Steve gets some help.

“You have anything to say about this?” Martin grumbles incredulously to Steve, who just shrugs and replies, “Hey, if they listened to me, you’d already be dealing with a union.”

He’s actually glad that someone’s mentioned his clumsiness, his lack of coordination, and come up with a suggestion for how to help him: he came to the theater today with his shoes flopping on his feet because he tore out another pair of laces while trying to tie them. The serum might have fixed a lot of things for him, but it’s changed them as well, and in some alarming ways. It isn’t too likely that he could have been involved in the dance number even before his body got expanded to its new awkward, confusing size, but at least then he knew how much space he was taking up, how much force to exert for simple tasks. He should have just asked the girls for help sooner, but he’s still shy with them.

They don’t let that stop them from putting together a curriculum to help him ease into the new body. Soon he’s stopped having to sew the buttons back onto his shirts, and he doesn’t keep stabbing his fingers with the needle if he does. He can help with the hair before shows if the dressing room doesn’t have a mirror and the others are rushing around worrying about their own costumes (well, he doesn’t expect to be the first choice, at least not yet).

One night after they’ve just arrived in Chicago, Steve and a group of the dancers go out to a late dinner in Chinatown. Steve shows off his use of chopsticks, something that he didn’t even know how to do before the serum.

Sheila, who’s been working on her education degree by correspondence, says thoughtfully, “I just worry that we’ve focused too much on your fine motor skills—”

“I’m happy to focus on any of Steve’s fine skills,” Erin cracks, and Steve, immune to such remarks at this point, just rolls his eyes at her.

“—and we’ve neglected the gross motor skills,” Sheila finishes, glaring at Erin across the table.

“So what does that mean, She?” asks Jackie, leaning her head against Sheila’s shoulder.

Sheila rests her head atop Jackie’s for a moment then sits up straight and grins. “I think it means dance lessons.”

Steve turns down the suggestion that they find a nightclub (he doesn’t particularly feel like showing off his lack of skill in public) and they all turn down Erin’s suggestion that Steve prove he’s truly mastered his fine motor skills by picking the lock on the theater. But the next night, they simply don’t leave after their evening performance, sitting around smoking cigarettes and chatting as the stagehands take down the trappings of the Star Spangled Show. Martin sticks around to confirm that the props and costumes are boxed up for tomorrow’s drive to Cincinnati (or is it Columbus? Or maybe Cleveland). As soon as the last crate is checked off of his list, he gets his hat and coat and heads back to their hotel with an admonishment that they’ll be leaving at 8 AM sharp, which he seems not to care to really enforce.

Susie has already snuck into the theater manager’s office and brought back a portable record player. Steve isn’t sure what they would have done if the man hadn’t had one around; danced to a faraway radio, or someone humming probably.

Jackie takes Steve’s hands in hers and leads him out of the wings toward the stage. Susan puts on a Benny Goodman record at full volume, shimmying her hips a little as the drums and horns start up. Steve suddenly feels nervous, a little wrong, and he isn’t sure that it’s only because the song is faster than he expected, or because the others have started dancing and even without choreography they’re much better than he could ever hope to be. He just...these are his friends, but this isn’t how he imagined going dancing for the first time.

“I don’t know that I—” he starts, but then he hears a throat clear behind him.

“Well, this isn’t precisely what I expected to find, Private Rogers.”

He turns. “Agent Carter,” he says stupidly. He forgets to salute or even stand particularly straight; it’s as if his brief stint of doing something actually military had never even happened. She smiles at him anyway.

“I was taking meetings at Camp Atterbury,” she says, as if he’s done the normal, conversational thing and actually remembered to ask what she’s doing around here. “And I heard that there was quite the entertainment to be had in town. Unfortunately, we were delayed, so I wasn’t quite able to catch the show.”

“Good thing you’re catching us now,” Erin cracks as she dances past. “I think this is actually our best side.” She’s kicked off her shoes, and spins away barefoot, skirt ballooning wide, with what Steve can only describe as joy.

“We’re trying to teach Steve some rhythm,” Jackie explains quietly. “And how to move those big feet of his.”

Steve adds sheepishly, “I’ve told them I’m perfectly happy just tapping my toes on the sidelines. Even I can manage that.”

Agent Carter tilts her head. “I think you can aspire to a little more than that.” Steve suddenly remembers her standing with Erskine on the field at Camp Lehigh, the two of them walking to the mess beside each other. He’s felt a lot of different things since he was declared a failure and sent here, anger and regret and shame at once again not being fit to serve, able to help, but now he feels guilt: Erskine gave his life for Steve to be what he is, and he’s wasting it.

The relentless beat of the song dies off, and Martha trades out the record because she’s the closest. Despite the brassy blare of the opening, the music is slower this time. Steve thinks he recognizes the melody vaguely from some picture show years back.

He clears his throat. “I can probably manage this one,” he tells Jackie, but even as he says it, he notices the way she’s glancing over at Sheila, who’s still twirling by herself in a more sedate solo dance rather than pairing up like some of the others. “Unless you’d rather—”

“I could step in if you—” Agent Carter says at the same time, clearly having noticed as well.

Jackie flashes a smile at the two of them. “Thank awfully,” she says quickly before she twists between the dancers and slides her arms around Sheila.

Steve watches them for a moment before he turns back. “We don’t have to,” he says. “I mean, I think this was more about letting everyone blow off some steam, maybe have a bit of fun. Being on the road all together can be sort of rough - working all the time, and under each other’s feet. Not that there aren’t good parts, and of course we don’t have it as bad as some, obviously, not nearly, but this is just—” Agent Carter is staring at him with a bit of a smile, but Steve assumes that it must just be a politely automatic sort of thing at this point; for all he knows she’s wishing she’d missed not just the show but all of this too. He takes in a breath. “Anyway, we don’t have to dance if you don’t want to.”

“And if I did?”

The simple question stuns him. He almost doesn’t know what to say. Then: “Would you join me, Agent Carter?” It’s a little startled, not particularly suave, but he knows that it’s sincere. He holds out a hand.

When she smiles at him, it is like a secret. “It’s certainly been some time since I had a little fun, so I thank you for the invitation, Private Rogers.” She places her fingers in his.

“You can...You can call me Steve,” he says as they walk over to join the others swaying dreamily. “If you want.”

“Hmm. I well might.” She places a hand on his shoulder. He knows he’s meant to wrap his arm around her waist - he’s watched enough dancing for that - but it takes him a moment to decide exactly where to slide his hand, a moment to gauge the correct angle and force, a moment to actually begin what he came here tonight to do...and in that moment, there’s a familiar whistle followed by the inevitable shout.

“Alright, break it up, there.” The police sergeant here looks nearly the same as his Brooklyn counterparts with whom Steve is familiar: not just the uniform, really, but that bit of smug power to his face. “We’ve had a call from the church about noise coming from in here far too late at night, so break it up, ladies—oh, sorry, didn’t see you there, sir.” There’s a bit of a mocking edge to the tone; Steve is wearing civilian clothes instead of the getup he’s usually forced into onstage, but these days a seemingly able-bodied man still hanging around is something to comment on, especially one who doesn’t seem to be doing much good.

Steve would stand up to him (probably more easily now that they can actually stand nose to nose) but the part about them being here when they aren’t meant to be isn’t wrong. Still, he can’t help but feel the sting of disappointment. Agent Carter is still planted firm and warm beside him. What if things had been allowed to continue, at least a few moments longer?

“Alright, we’re going, keep your socks on,” Erin yells back as Agnes takes the needle off the record. Susan runs it back to the office it came from while the rest of them scramble around, finding shoes and jackets and hair ribbons. The officer seems content to keep an eye until they’re all safely gone.

Steve stands on the side with Peggy. Her uniform is still perfectly put together; there’s nothing for her to gather. The two of them don’t speak until the whole group is ready to go. They allow themselves to be swept out of the building, watching as the cop locks up the theater and stands in front of the doors as if they might try something with him. Instead, they all turn and begin walking in the crisp midnight air.

Steve puts his hands in his pockets. The others around them are walking arm in arm or twirling gently through the streets, taking one night where they aren’t worried about whether the touring company will decide to close up shop or if they’ll hear something terrible from their brothers and beaux overseas. They hum their way along, still lit up from an evening of dancing not for work but only for themselves, and it gives sanctuary for Steve to speak. He doesn’t quite look up at the woman walking next to him, more over to the side of her, when he offers, “We’re on to Ohio next. If you want to see the show there.”

She laughs gently. “I’m afraid that my engagement here isn’t much longer either. I’m expected elsewhere tomorrow evening.”

“Of course.” That’s honest - he isn’t surprised, of course she has bigger, better things to be doing. He does his best not to sound disappointed, though. Then he remembers that he fumbled two of his lines in yesterday’s matinee (when they’re written right there in front of him, for Pete’s sake) and - despite the best efforts of his teachers and his own improvements - nearly pulled the curtain down early when he overbalanced coming in on his cue, and is a bit glad that she won’t be sticking around.

The streetlight where she’s stopped throws her face partway into shadow. “I do have to thank you for the opportunity to dance. It’s been quite a long time for me, and even if it was interrupted, it was—Thank you, Steve.”

“Of course,” he says again, and that’s honest too.

“Next time, I do hope that there won’t be any members of law enforcement to interrupt,” she says, and disappears around a corner before he can ask, with hope or astonishment or both, “Next time?”

ii.

They’ve moved most of the paintings from the National Gallery, but Steve doesn’t know when he’ll have another free day in London so he goes to see what he can see.

When he’d manage to scrape together entry fare (or sneak in) to one of the museums in New York, he’d always get disapproving stares from docents and other visitors for his fraying clothing and aching cough, the generally held knowledge that he did not belong here. And he would manage to put it out of his mind by focusing on the vivid detail on a Japanese drum or how Monet made blurriness into beauty.

Today, people stare at him for a different reason and he ignores them all the same, eyes focused forward to the canvases displayed. So much of it is about the war, ruined buildings and bomb shelters, and Steve concentrates on the brush strokes or crosshatching instead, the clever use of shadow.

He has managed this so successfully that he doesn’t even notice the line forming nearby until it is a dozen or so people deep. When he asks one of them what they’re waiting for, they look at him not with pity for his not knowing but with delight that he will now learn: “It is nearly time for today’s concert.”

Luckily, he has British coins in his pocket, so he pays his shilling and walks in with the rest. The program advertises some Chopin piece. He doesn’t recognize what it is or the player - according to the others around him, Dame Myra Hess, who began organizing these lunchtime concerts at the outset of the war, has herself played here over one hundred times but not today - and he’s never considered himself a musical expert of any means. But he finds that he is drawn in by the tired ripple of excitement that hovers over the crowd as they file in.

And then Peggy Carter seats herself at the end of his row.

He tries to focus on the playing as the concert itself begins, on the slow, spare beginning and all its promises, but he can’t keep himself from glancing toward the last seat on the row.

Ten minutes in, she starts to cry.

Since he arrived, he’s seen other Londoners shedding occasional tears on the buses and street corners (and no wonder, with their city destroyed, so many loved ones dead and the country still soldiering wearily on) and he doubts anyone would judge her for it. But she stands from her aisle seat and sees herself out anyway, quietly, her tears silent and even the click of her heels barely audible over the music

He follows her. (It is much more noticeable.)

Outside, she is leaning against a wall, her hands covering her face. He waits for a moment before actually approaching: though he followed her, had to follow her, he isn’t sure whether she will be exasperated that he has done so, embarrassed that she was even seen by anyone more than strangers. But he can’t just stay frozen watching her forever (surely that must be worse?) so he takes a step forward.

“Agent Carter,” he says softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

She sobs aloud, once, uncovering her face to wipe at her tears with her fingertips. It’s a bit beyond that. He digs around in his pocket to find a thankfully clean handkerchief (you were right, Ma). She accepts it and dabs at her eyes again, glancing up at him only briefly.

“If you’re going to see me in this state,” she says, “you should probably call me Peggy.” She takes in one last decisive sniff, crumpling the handkerchief in her hand.

“Peggy, then.” He tries to say it like any other name instead of with the softness that is his instinct. “Can I help?”

“It isn’t anything—” She smiles but it breaks in a moment. “It isn’t anything that can really be helped.” A sigh. She looks down at her hands. “I had a brother. His name was Michael.”

“I’m sorry,” says Steve, because he doesn’t know what else to tell her. “I’m sorry that you lost him.”

I understand, he could add, or I know it’s hard, it always is but he thinks about whether he would have liked to hear someone say such things to him, and he keeps his mouth shut. She looks at him with care, and he can’t help but admire the way she can evaluate him even through the remains of her tears.

Apparently she makes a decision, because she says, “It happened several years ago now. And it isn’t any sort of anniversary, I was just listening to the piano and...He played. Michael did. Just a bit, when he was young. And he never played that particular piece, but just listening to it, I had the most sudden memory of his picking out carols on our aunt Hester’s piano, making faces at me all the time. Now I know that he was mostly mucking about with it all - he certainly never could have pulled off Chopin - but back then he was the most talented player in the world. I was always following him about and for years he acted as older brothers tend to toward younger sisters. But when it counted, I was able to depend on him. There was a time when he saw me clearly when no one else did, myself included.”

“And now he’s gone.” Steve tries to say it gently, a fact laid before them, but he knows she might hear the words as cruel, regardless of his intentions.

She does, in fact, begin crying again, but more quietly. “Now he’s gone,” she agrees, once again attempting to mop up her tears. “But I know myself again, and I have him to thank for it.”

“Then I’d like to thank him too.”

She regards him with something bordering on caution, not because she is a fearful person but because she is a sharp one and because she recognizes, as clearly as he does, that whatever tender thing is growing unspoken in the silence between them, it will be ill-regarded in the middle of war, in the middle of the work they are meant to be doing together.

“Is he bothering you, dear?” The woman’s voice - pointed and piercing - startles him. He turns to find a glaring, gray-haired lady behind his shoulder. Her stout form is wrapped in a plum wool suit and she grasps a black umbrella with which it seems she would happily stab him. Instead, when he brings his eyes to meet hers, she asks, “Are you bothering her, young man?” drawing herself up as much as she can and glaring imperiously.

“No, ma’am,” he manages. “We were just—” He flounders there: talking about her dead brother, or having another one of these moments that we try to pretend away won’t work very well.

“Going to dance,” Peggy inserts smartly.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes.” Peggy speaks as if this is the most natural response in the world, as if she isn’t even now tucking a damp handkerchief into her pocket. “Captain Rogers saw how lovely I found the music, and as we aren’t able to see the concert ourselves, he wondered if we might take advantage another way.”

“Really.” The woman watches Steve suspiciously, as if he might be controlling Peggy through marionette strings or a gun pressed to her back. If only you knew, he thinks wryly as Peggy brushes her hair behind her ear and subtly elbows him in the process.

“May I?” he says in hasty reaction, holding out a hand. She puts hers into it graciously.

“I do wish the piece were a bit better for dancing,” Peggy says as they step away to a free space farther from the wall, though they are still being observed. More quietly she adds, “And I do wish we’d perhaps had time at least to practice before we were put under the microscope, as it were.”

He certainly wishes for that practice too, or even that they didn’t have to be in this situation at all. But there is also...if he’s going to be forced to dance, he would like it to be with Peggy.

And then with a few last flourishes, the music draws to a close. There are applause from within the hall. Steve doesn’t quite let go of Peggy’s hand.

“Well,” says their overseer, giving a couple firm taps of her umbrella against the floor, “it seems that you will have to return for tomorrow’s concert. Or perhaps find a more appropriate venue for dancing than a national museum.”

Peggy says magisterially, “Of course. Thank you for that advice. For next time.”

Next time. Steve knows that she’s just making the next move in the charade, but as she gestures for Steve to join her for the walk back to headquarters, the words play over in his head: next time.

iii.

“Non!”

This is why, Steve reflects, shaking his head, they had not allowed Dernier to have a baton to use while directing his lessons: he would have certainly used it to literally smack Dugan into shape by now.

“Never mind about all this,” Dugan growls, picking up the hat that had fallen on the ground when he had been too ambitious with a turn in his last attempt. “The ladies will just have to accept that not every man can waltz and satisfy themselves with all my other talents.”

Morita holds out his hands again, palms up. “Come on, you haven’t even really tried.” He wiggles his fingers enticingly. “Dance with me, Dugan.”

“I’d do it,” advises Gabe. “No lady should have to...satisfy herself with a badly brewed cup of coffee or the same six Irish songs performed off-key. Good to have at least one usable skill in the pocket.”

“I’ll have you know,” Dugan says, drawing himself up, “that those are ancient family ballads.”

“I’d have brought up a few positive reviews of past performance rather than defending the Irish songs,” Monty says mildly. “But that could perhaps be just me.”

Bucky, chewing on a blade of grass, eyes closed as he lies on his back facing the sky, says with drowsy vehemence, “Well, you are an English bastard.”

Steve, sitting with his back against a tree, laughs at them all. They’ll be moving out soon - they know that there are enemy troops in the area and Peggy had arrived just after dawn with more precise new target coordinates for them - but they can’t go until she’s had at least a couple of hours rest, so in the meantime: dance lessons.

Morita attempts a bit of a tap pattern in the grass and says, “How’m I going to learn now if my partner’s decided to retire?”

“Don’t look at me,” says Gabe. “My dancing talents would only embarrass you in comparison.”

“And while Jones here might take the prize in more modern dances, I was taught to waltz before I could grow chin hairs,” Monty adds.

But Dernier is already charging forward in a spew of delighted rapid-fire French, of which Steve understands perhaps one word in ten, though there’s only one that’s important anyway: “Capitaine!”

“I don’t—” Steve starts, except Dernier’s already hauling Steve to his feet, continuing his flurry of instructions? advice? as he positions Steve’s hands around Morita. Bucky must actually have truly nodded off after his night on watch, or else his radar for teasing Steve would be on alert. (Steve can't help but be grateful, both that he isn't watching, and that he's apparently finally been able to sleep.)

“Well,” Jim says, snickering, “I guess you’re leading.” Steve shakes his head, trying to puzzle out any of what Dernier’s telling him; if he’s going to do this, he doesn’t want to look like a complete fool.

“He says that you should loosen up your hips. You’re holding yourself too stiffly.”

Steve wants to cover his eyes. He’s managed to have several months of entirely normal conversations with Peggy, and now he’s back to embarrassing himself in front of her.

He looks over to where she’s standing to the side, her uniform and hair only slightly mussed (an accomplishment considering she’s had three hours’ rest on the bare ground, and a pup tent isn’t exactly anyone’s idea of luxurious accommodations). “I guess we might be making a habit of this,” he says ruefully and she smiles at him. “And somehow I still haven’t turned into a dancer.”

“Listen to Dernier and perhaps he’ll succeed with you yet.”

“Maybe,” Morita says, teasingly dubious. “So far, no offense, Cap, it’s like holding hands with a concrete pillar.”

“Perhaps I could take a turn trying,” she says, holding out her own hands in offer. She meets Steve’s eyes, but only briefly, turning her gaze over to Monty and saying archly, “Some of us who were taught early are generous enough to want to help others.”

Falsworth waves a hand toward her - go on - and she steps forward to take Morita’s place.

“You really do need to relax a bit,” she says. Even if it's the same sentiment as earlier, now that she’s close to him, it is different. One of her hands rests, ever so lightly, on his shoulder, and he feels as if he can recall the echo of it from months ago and months before that.

“It’s a little hard,” he says. “To relax.”

“Oh?” Those red lips, upturned at the very corners.

“Well, it’s—”

“Shit!”

In the moment of the first gunshot, a million things happen at once: Dugan dives to the side, cursing alternately at the hole in his hat and the fact that they’re being shot at in the first place; Bucky wakes and jumps immediately into a crouch, icy calm instead of frantic; Monty scrambles for his rifle, Morita for Steve’s shield; Gabe scopes out cover; Dernier, bent low, moves toward his explosives.

“Over there,” Peggy says. Her hands are out of Steve’s, pointing, finding her own pistol. He is beside her, focusing on the spot she’s indicated, nodding firmly once.

“Guess we’ll have to write off the lessons,” he says.

“Perhaps,” she offers, “just a postponement.”

“Alright,” Steve says to his own surprise, and he catches the shield Morita tosses him, and puts dancing out of his mind, for now.

iv.

Steve really only shows up at Rainbow Corner looking for a haircut and, if he’s being honest, a doughnut. He gets the first and is headed to the basement cafe for the second, an ASE novel in his pocket, when a hand shoots out of the dance hall and pulls him in.

“Dance with me,” Peggy says, a hiss that he somehow hears over the booming music, the rhythmic stomping of feet, the chatter of the other dancers .

He takes her hands automatically, but before moving further onto the floor he focuses on her face. She’s flushed and looks...perhaps not panicked, but aggravated.

“Can I get you something to drink first?” he asks. “It’s hot in here.”

Something flashes across her face and he thinks for a moment that she will snap a no at him and find someone else who will just dance with her like she asked with no questions asked, but instead she nods. “Only briefly.”

He starts leading her over to the corner where the bar is. It’s slow going through the crowd, and he stays close so they don’t lose each other. She isn’t wearing her uniform tonight, instead in a green dress with a swinging, silky skirt for dancing; the fabric brushes his legs as they walk. “Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing here? Or at least why it was so important that we finally have that dance?”

“Two questions with one answer, actually.” They join the back of the line. Peggy turns her back to the bar, scanning the dancers instead. He bends toward her, both for privacy and so he can even hear her over the band. “We’ve received reports of a GI who might be a spy," she says against his ear, "reporting to the Germans and perhaps even to Schmidt himself. According to our information, he’s come here tonight, and I’ve been trying for the better part of an hour to spot him and cut into his dancing. I’d like to apprehend him quietly before anyone tips him off or he’s able to do the same for anyone he might be in touch with.”

Steve nods. “And you stick out less when you actually have someone to dance with.”

“I haven’t had much luck thus far, trying to crane my neck around everyone without seeming too suspicious. It is helpful to find a partner who won’t storm off when he doesn’t receive my undivided attention.”

For a moment he wonders if he should be insulted, but then he hears the real sentiment, the trust in him, something more than a partner for a single dance would ever get. He ducks his head against a smile.

They have reached the front of the line and she orders a mineral water despite the lengthy menu.

“I’m absolutely longing for something with a little more flavor, but I am still working after all,” she says once she has drained half her glass. “Though it was kind of you to remind me to refresh myself a little, considering how beastly hot it is in here.”

“Why I don’t usually find myself in this part of the building,” he nods.

“Is that the only reason?” She tilts her head. In the dimmed lights, he watches a tiny trickle of sweat makes its way down to her collarbone.

He clears his throat as she takes another sip of water. “The kind of partner that I’m looking for isn’t usually around here.”

“Oh? I see a variety of lovely ladies here tonight, and I’m sure that any number of them would be interested in dancing with you.” She gestures around, drawing his eye for just a moment to all of the beautiful women in their careful hairstyles and pretty dresses, their smiles bright and delighted. Then he turns back to her.

“I think I need a particular teacher,” he says. “You’d know that better than most.”

But she hasn’t turned back to face him, caught instead with her eyes gleaming predatorily on a man laughing as he twirls a tall brunette into the song’s finale. Steve thinks he might recognize him from the hallways of SSR headquarters, but really he looks as if he could be one of a thousand soldiers.

Peggy turns quickly to Steve. “I apologize for dragging you in here and leaving you standing, but—”

“Go. Do what you do.”

She leaves him with a fleeting smile and her empty glass. He watches as she cuts in with a neat gesture, a nod, a flourish of skirts, then sets the glass onto the bar and, sliding his hands into his pockets, goes to finally track down his doughnut.

She’ll be busy for the rest of the night, no need for him to hang around bothering her. And they’ll have other opportunities to actually get that dance, he’s sure of it.

Peggy can so clearly picture how it would all have gone. There would have been preparation first, powder and cream, holding dress options up before herself in the mirror to choose between the red or the blue, no, perhaps the green, and then landing back on the red. Tracing her lipstick on last, just before she went out the door, sliding the tube into her clutch for touch-ups, just in case.

She would likely have arrived before he did. Imagine the debrief he would have had to go through - it would be a wonder if he had a chance for a shower and shave. But somehow he would have made time, his hair still a little damp, the scent of soap on his skin. He would arrive wearing his dress uniform, and it would have made her realize that he hadn’t been home since the serum and likely didn’t own much else that would fit his changed form. She might have even had the urge to offer her services in a shopping expedition (the uniform fit him quite well indeed, but couldn’t be worn at all times, and certainly not once the war was truly over).

He would have taken her hand with care, and she would have held fast to him. It would have been new, the two of them touching like that without worry of being seen or commented upon, no one teasing around them, and there hadn’t been years of official courtship to accustom them to it besides. But that time had instead been for them to learn each other, time for things to flower quietly between them, and it would have given some familiarity. She wouldn’t have felt apprehensive about allowing herself that flashing vulnerability.

Supper first, most likely. They both enjoyed good food - he especially - and the military didn’t quite match up to a professional kitchen, but the meal itself wouldn’t have been of real importance. This would have instead been a chance for sharing stories without the threat of gunfire or Colonel Phillips interrupting, for finding new shades in her hair revealed by the candlelight, for learning what his laughter sounded like pitched soft and close above a white tablecloth.

One of them would suggest dessert, but the other would say to wait. The band would be playing something slow, and he would nod toward the dance floor. (“Sounds like our song,” he would say, or maybe, “I’ll try not to step on your toes,” or maybe nothing at all.)

They would stand among the other couples, and it probably wouldn’t be dancing as much as swaying, but that wouldn’t matter. Fancy maneuvers or fast footwork, showing off, that wouldn’t be the point at all. The dancing itself wasn’t what was important; it was about the chance for renewal and discovery, a moment to reflect on all the pain and lessons on the path here and the possibilities for the future, a time to ask all the questions and have them answered yes and yes and yes, always yes.

But no matter how clearly she can picture it, none of that happened, hadn’t and can’t and won’t. And so Peggy sighs and straightens her shoulders and walks herself onward.

It’s not every night, or even every other. They are busy people, she especially, and don’t always have the time or the energy. Sometimes they have had an argument, or one of them wants to finish a book, or it's been a long day, or they aren’t quite in the mood. Those are all gifts too, in their way, the opportunity not to have to grasp every moment, to have a life sprawling out before them, to appreciate even the mundane bits of it all.

But once a week, or maybe more, they find themselves like this. In the sitting room just after she’s come home from work, or after supper, or before bed, on a Saturday morning in the kitchen surrounded by the scene of bacon and pancakes from the stove, in the midnight dark of their bedroom with the baby cradled whimpering between them. The radio, or a record, or no music at all. The specifics don’t matter and matter so entirely that they will be remembered for the rest of their lives.

Palm against palm, fingers interlocked, an easy rhythm to their steps.

“I should probably go take in the laundry. I think it’s dry enough, and it might rain tonight,” he says, and she replies, “Hmm,” but neither of them break apart.

“We have a surveillance team in the field and I should check in soon,” she remarks, knowing that he recognizes and respects the importance of her work, but they just continue to make their slow rotations.

They take these moments just for themselves, a reminder of where they’ve been and what they’ve lost, where they are and all they’ve managed to find. A moment to think of the dances that they didn’t quite get, the ones that brought them here, and to be grateful for the ones they have: this dance and all the others, a lifetime of the two of them wrapped up in each other, dancing all the while.

#Steggy fic #steggysecretsanta #plumandfinch #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Steggy #I tried to infuse it with WWII specific stuff - historical notes on AO3 #open-ended last segment - is it post-Endgame? is it found Steve? you decide

88 notes · View notes