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mysteryanimator · 18 days

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What music would you believe would represent Mizrak? I was thinking his theme song would be, ✨"Unholy" by Sam Smith.✨

Because he is doing something unholy with that pretty face dragon vampire.👀👀😉

You've opened Pandora's box here. To tell you I have MULTIPLE playlists for both Mizrak and Olrox (and multiple playlists for their dynamic) is an understatement. Right now they're a mess/all over the place, but Unholy by Sam Smith is definitely on a couple of them. It's super hard for me to pick like ONE SONG, so I'm giving you multiple HAHAHAHA.

Here are a few songs I personally think fit Mizrak, categorised by general Mizrak and spicy-core Mizrak. Also, you're getting explanations for each song because I think too hard about my music choices. BTW, all thoughts are my own, I'm just being really silly since season 2 news is coming soon and I'm excited.

pspspspsps when nocturne s2 comes out make sure to watch it and give the crew the recognition they deserve coz they worked their asses off.

General:

Hell's Comin with Me - Poor Man's Posion This describes about bringing justice to those who have wronged him (and in this case others). Also, there's a line about "paying twice as much for the devil to keep your soul", which I feel like is a reference to indulgences but flipped on its head. Indulgences were an actual thing people paid for so they could secure a place in Heaven. So flipping it on its head to double it so they can be ensured they stay in hell is a very cool way of looking at it. Also, Providence, Feed the Machine and Give and Take get honorary mentions because they also fit well but this will get hella long if I also give them explanations LOL.

Foreigner's God - Hozier A song about uncertainty and isolation from the catholic church. To feel alienated by its ideas and values since Mizrak has been doubting about what Abbott is doing before the events of Nocturne take place.

Icarus & Apollo - Ripto Now this also can be a Mizrak/Olrox dynamic song, but also this can be seen as Mizrak's own self-discovery which is his conflict of the Abbott's path on 'protecting' the church and its people, versus how Mizrak personally thinks/wants to protect people. Collaborating with vampires and using night creatures, DEAD PEOPLE is not a path I think he wants but he's stuck unsure of where God is calling him to, and it's a path he has to figure out himself.

Wine and Wheat - Madds Buckley NOW, this is another Mizrak/Olrox dynamic song, but this leans more into Mizrak's POV along with the fact he's again, conflicted about his place amongst his fellow monks/Abbott since he has to conspire with vampires to keep their place against the revolution. COUPLED WITH THE FACT, he's sleeping with a vampire, it's a very confusing time for him, and all he can say in the face of it "Pray with me, pray with me for this madness to end" while he does the best he can to keep the people he cares about alive.

Father Finlee - Spencer Hood, Justin Ray Stringer I will admit a lot of this is for vibes, BUT, also this song is about a man who defies an almost impossible situation and escapes out alive, with Mizrak's perseverance, the burning passion to live, and the potential to die while trying to save others, is a very him thing.

Spicy-core:

side note from me, I feel like we moved far too quickly from this one shot LIKE WHAT THE FUCK /pos

His Hands - Blegh This is actually one of my favourites I'll be so honest HAHAHHA. (Also just the whole album of It Was a Religion by Blegh mostly fits if you think about it). This one steers more into Olrox/Mizrak dynamics because the song starts off very similar to how Mizrak and Olrox get to know each other. They 'do it again somewhere more comfortable' HAHASDJDS. But after that is all exalted from their bodies, there is something between them that they can't place and the tension is THICK. Also the gradual build of the lyrics "And you know you love him, And you might be in love with him, And you know you love him, And you're falling in love with him" IS CRAZY.

A Night to Remember - Beabadoobee, Laufey This one is super self-indulgent, this reminds me of them a lot HAHHA

Take Me Back to Eden - Sleep Token DOOMED YAOI. Not only do we have religious metaphors to describe a relationship here, is a doomed relationship.

The Summoning - Sleep Token "Did I mistake you for a sign from God?" HELLO? Like I know this is a song very much associated with Astarion, but ik this song works for Mizrak POV and Mizrak/Olrox dynamics. In my mind, I think Mizrak IS looking for a sign from God, anything that comes by his way to confirm his doubts, and Olrox just so happens to be a soft nudge that he should be doubting the system he grew up in.

Salvation - Christabelle Marbun I don't need to elaborate further if you look at the lyrics, let alone the title itself HAHHA. Also, this song is super self-indulgent, like there's no way I can't include this in a spice-core Mizrak thing.

Whisper - Burn the Ballroom Simply the lyrics "Come in, sit down, sweet angel, leave me all your tears." Biting the walls over it.

Whoops that was long but uh I have a lot more and its super hard to condense down to a few LOLOLOL, ty for the ask!

#mystery asks #mystery talks #mizrak #olrox/mizrak #castlevania #castlevania nocturne #insane ramblings

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yeyinde · 1 year

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just rewatched the ritual for like the umpteenth time and all I can think about is how a call of duty au would play out :3

I gave myself a headache over how hard my little brain thought about this.

I love this concept, though!! Is it all 141 versus Moder? Or are we thinking that the mythological godlike being is (like most monster AU's) Ghost? 👀

I took it as 141 versus Moder.

It got kinda long, so 😅 sorry!!

The beginning would be hard to encapsulate because I can't see any of them following that line of thinking, so the fracture of their relationship would probably need to be something else. I think a series of bad calls would probably fracture their relationship, and it would begin as a team building exercise before they went after someone else. Or a much needed holiday. Can't see any of these guys sipping martini's on the Amalfi Coast, but a weekend in some desolate forest? Sure.

SAS are some of the most trained survivalists in any military fraction, so I'd imagine they'd pretty quickly adapt. (No one taking them by surprise.)

As things kinda spiralled, I don't think any of them would lose their cool.

They'd all make logical deductions for what was happening, despite the shadow lurking in the distance (trick the light) or the creepy sounds at night (have you heard a fox screaming?) until Moder just burst out like, are you serious?! You've litro made eye contact with me.

I think the most logical would probably be Gaz. He just seems to never lose his cool in any situation - even upside down on a helicopter - so I think he'd probably put the pieces together pretty quickly but actually convincing yourself that way you're seeing is true is another thing entirely. He would remain on the "this is what's happening and it defies science" fence, but he'd hold out until he could see the proof with his own eyes. He'd still prepare, though. I can't see him being shocked by the actual outcome. I think, in the privacy of his own head, he probably suspects this is the case, but! Who can just admit yeah, it's an ancient monster? He'd be the most collected amongst the group.

Soap would believe it the quickest and try to come up with ways to fight it. Once he past the hurdle of "nothing makes sense in earthly terms," he'd move over to "yep, monster." This isn't to say a part of him doesn't question his own eyes, but he would probably be the first to vocalise his thoughts on what's happening.

Price needs a Drink™. He ignores it to the end, but isn't entirely surprised by what he finds. He, like Gaz, puts the pieces together. They share Knowing™ looks, and immediately start categorising what type of animal they could be dealing with but if you look beneath their nonchalant surface, you can see them start to amass a weapons cache of everything - most notably: fire. Kindling. Leaves. Sticks. They save all the igniters they have, and quickly pool flammable resources.

Ghost would be pretty tricky. I don't think he'd let himself believe it because then that opens a whole different psychological beast (assuming what happened with Roba is canon, I can only imagine the mental turmoil this man would go through seeing something like that and being forced to believe in the supernatural. Oof. And also, my heart.) I think Ghost refuses to even partake in the discussion. He can't. I think this experience would probably break him the most, and leaving him with the most psychological damage as he grapples with his own experiences (believing he's been dead since Roba) and what he saw.

Godddd. This is so long 😅

#honestly i think Moder would win #curious to know what anyone else has to add!

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tawakkull · 2 years

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ISLAM 101: SPIRITUALITY IN ISLAM: PART 35

Mahabba

Denoting, “Love, the opposite of disfavour, inclination of the heart and an attachment to a particular thing or person,” mahabba has arguably reached its pinnacle in terms of richness of meaning within Sufi thought and action. Mahabba can be categorised into three components: God’s love for His servant, the servant’s love for God and servants’ love for one another for the sake of God.

Mahabba, which Abu ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Sulami (412/1022) describes as “the essence of futuwwa,” can also be linked in his definitions to such concerns as establishing close ties with the people, being faithful to old affections and relationships, deriving joy from helping the people, listening to them and receiving guests and showing hospitality to them, treating people with respect, compassion and grace, loving each other for the sake of God and maintaining close relations, loving the downtrodden and giving them their due, and sharing in the joy of the people.

Qushayri describes love as a noble state that God Himself has confirmed as a quality belonging to a servant, and that God has made known His love for His servant, declaring, “A people whom God loves, and who love Him.” This famous Hadith Qudsi also expressly illustrates God’s love:

Whoever shows hostility to My saintly servant, I will surely wage war on him. My servant cannot draw near to Me with anything more loved by Me than fulfilling the things I have made incumbent on him. Then, My servant draws nearer and nearer to Me through supererogatory acts of worship until I love him. When I love him, I become his ears with which he hears, his eyes with which he sees, his hands with which he grasps and his feet on which he walks. Were he to ask (something) of Me, I would surely grant it to him, and were he to seek refuge (from something), I would surely take him under My protection.

God loves his worthy servants – in whatever manner is the sublime and exalted love behoving Him – and renders the manifestations of His love for them visible upon them. And, of course, if God loves one of His servants, He becomes their guardian, protector and, as mentioned in the hadith, assists them in their every undertaking and affair. He causes them to act righteously, make the right decisions, look at and speak of what is right.

God’s love for His servant is His willing to confer special favour and bounty upon that servant. This is identical to His showing mercy to His servant by bestowing blessings upon them. Accordingly, mercy is more particular than will and love more particular than mercy. In other words, God’s willing to grant blessings to His servant is termed mercy, while His conferring a distinct nearness and exalted spiritual states to His servant is a manifestation of His love for that servant. If it is connected to universally bestowed bounties, it is called mercy (rahma) and if it is connected with particularly bestowed blessings, namely to making His proximity felt, it is referred to as love (mahabba).

As for the servant’s love for God, it is a state experienced in their heart and defies description and words. This state drives them to glorify God, pursue His good pleasure and approval and renders them completely unable to be without Him. They thus turn to remembrance of Him, with a view to experiencing constant intimacy in their heart, and a ceaseless sense of reverence and rapture.

As for the believers loving one another, the Qur’anic verse, “The believers are but brothers,” is noteworthy. In addition to using the qualifier innamā (‘Only’) in emphatically drawing attention to the topic at hand, the verse uses the plural ikhwa, which is used to denote siblings, in lieu of the word ihkwan, meaning brothers more generally, thus stressing a second point.

When relating the characteristics of the people who will be given shade in God’s shade on the Day of Judgement, the Messenger of God includes those who love one another for His sake, who meet and part for that reason alone.

The two Prophetic Traditions below are noteworthy with respect to their associating love and belief:

By the one who has my soul in His hand, you will not enter the Garden until you believe, and you will not believe until you love one another. Shall I inform you of something which will make you love one another? Make the greeting widespread among you.

None of you can truly be said to believe until he wants for his brother what he wants for himself.

It can be concluded from these Traditions that so long as believers do not love one another, they cannot attain perfection in belief. It appears as though the believers’ finding reasons upon which to love one another is presented as an obligation. The emphasis on the ‘Peace Building’ that the Prophetic Traditions make is thus a good deal self-evident. The believer is required to love everyone who shares their belief, regardless of their race, colour, nation and language. And this should not be restricted merely to love; they should also act with a sense of responsibility towards them.

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readyplayerhobi · 4 years

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Flower | 39

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 4.6k

; Warnings: Drinking, mentions of pain

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Much faster this time, huh? For only the second time in the story...enjoy Hoseok’s POV! I hope you enjoy it and please reblog if you do so others can read <3 let me know your thoughts in a comment or ask! :D

; Flower Masterpost

“Everyone, take a shot,” Jimin says loudly, thrusting the tray holding a dozen or so filled shot glasses around the table. “Good, good. Now, let’s drink to Hoseok defying all our expectations and getting married!”

The younger man is already half-drunk, never being one to go slow or take it easy when there’s plenty of alcohol around. Hoseok isn’t particularly surprised, not when the group had already visited three bars by this point. It was his bachelor party tonight, only two weeks before his wedding and his friends were determined to give him a good time.

He’d been adamant that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with any strippers or anything that could be accidentally misconstrued. The last thing he needed was you thinking he’d cheated only weeks before the big day. Plus, he just wasn’t into that anymore.

Instead, he’d asked Jungkook to try and plan something that would avoid stuff like that. Hoseok just wanted to have a good time with his friends, not potentially cause a scandal. Thankfully, his best man had agreed happily and had instead planned the night to be a series of bar hops around the city. The day had involved everyone driving an hour to a place that let them drive quad bikes, do archery, have some paintball matches and loads more.

He was hurting from the paintballs, particularly the awful gauntlet they’d made him run at the end in which everyone had formed a tunnel for him to run through while shooting the shit out of his ass, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it. Now, he was just comfortably buzzed while some of his friends were well on their way to drunk.

Namjoon, who was currently suffering from his toddler’s inability to let him sleep past 5 am lately, looked half asleep across the table from him. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, jaw slightly dropped as he tried to focus on the glass in front of him. Jungkook had placed it there about ten minutes ago, full of water.

All of the guys were here today, having made sure to block out the time to celebrate with him and he felt a little shy at all the attention surprisingly. You didn’t have any other male friends, which meant his friends were all he had in his groom’s party. Six groomsmen for him and five bridesmaids for you.

You’d had to diplomatically pick between Chungha and Soyeon for your maid-of-honour, ending up with Chungha being chosen. Hoseok was forever amazed at how strong the friendship was between you all. Decades of media had taught Hoseok was women saw each other as rivals in everything and he’d been beyond worried about the fact you had to pick between your two best friends.

Reality had been a good slap in the face though, and he’d learnt over the four years of being with you that he should firmly ignore everything the media said. Your best friends had been gracious with each other, both trying to encourage the other to take on the role before Soyeon had given Chungha her full support. It amazed him but also made him happy that you had such a good friendship with them both.

The final space in your bridesmaid lineup wasn’t filled, and Yoongi was going to be walking alone at the end. You’d kept the space free to symbolise his sister, letting her be a part of the ceremony even if she couldn’t be there physically.

That had gotten him a little choked up when you’d told him your plans, but it had made his parents cry when he’d, in turn, told them. Any lingering concern that his parents might not actually like you had vanished then. Your sweet insistence of making sure she was a part of the day and not forgotten cementing your place in his family.

He’s brought back into the moment by Jungkook slapping his back hard, causing him to wince and almost spill the entire shot out of the glass. Glaring at him, Hoseok pushes him back before swallowing what was left of the shot. It makes him cringe, the taste of the straight vodka, not his favourite.

“Man,” Jimin sighs, flopping back into his seat before running his fingers through his hair. “Can you believe it? Jung Hoseok. Getting married. If you’d have said that in college, I would’ve laughed hysterically at the thought. The only thing I thought you’d marry was your dick into any available pussy.”

His words make Hoseok’s nose wrinkle, even if he couldn’t deny what he’d said. It was still amazing even to him that he’d finally found someone that he genuinely loved and who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. For his friends, it was probably even more fascinating. Yet here he was.

Loving every moment of it.

“You know, I’d have thought after four years that you all would have come to terms with this. It’s not exactly a surprise anymore.” Hoseok was pleased that he hadn’t drunk enough to have his words be slurred. The last time he’d been truly wasted had been when he’d decided to introduce you to the lovely male concept of a dickcopter. Not his best moment.

Perhaps one of his funniest though.

“We have come to terms with it. Still a surprise though.” This comes from Namjoon, causing Hoseok to give him a betrayed expression. Of all his friends, he’d have thought that Namjoon would’ve been the one who understood how his life had changed upon meeting you. While Jimin had married Eden since Hoseok had met you, everyone had known that Jimin was one of those guys who wanted to have a loving, monogamous relationship.

He was the one in their group that had fantasised about marriage even in college. Meeting Eden had been the icing on his cake, even if neither of them was too sure whether they wanted kids or not.

But Namjoon had been much like Hoseok during the first years of college. Something which had certainly surprised you when you’d found out. Despite how diligent he’d been at his studies, Namjoon had discovered that he was attractive to women. Combined with the help of his friends to make sure he presented himself to highlight all his best points, such as his tall and broad physique which only looked better with a few workouts or how glasses seemed to make the girls swoon, he’d been in his element.

And then he’d met Amelia in his final year, falling hard and defying everyone’s expectations. There had been many heartbroken women, and men, around campus upon finding out that Kim Namjoon had finally succumbed to love.

They’d consoled themselves in Hoseok’s bed instead, for years afterwards as well.

Images of all the girls he’d entertained throughout his life ran through his mind like lightning. Girls of all skin colours, heights and backgrounds had graced his bed, or him theirs. All of them beautiful and worthy of a fun night, or at least ten minutes of his time.

He’d used to be one of those guys who was proud of his sexual prowess, safe in the knowledge that he could probably get any woman he wanted with some effort. It made him cringe now. Hoseok had never been one of those asshole guys who’d bragged and boasted about his body count, but he’d not exactly been subtle either.

Throughout those years, he’d been adamant that he didn’t want a proper relationship. Hoseok had been more than fine with one-night-stands and short-term relationships that were probably better as being categorised as friends-with-benefits. He hadn’t thought he could monogamy. The thought of reducing himself to one woman and denying all the delights that life had to give him was dissatisfying.

The Hoseok from back then was a fucking idiot, he thought now. A self-centred, dick-centric idiot. The very idea of what he’d been was embarrassing to him now, making him more than thankful that you’d never met him back then. You’d deserved way better than whatever he’d had to offer.

Hoseok knew that he couldn’t go back in time to change things. But he also knew that if he was given the chance, he probably wouldn’t either. Because as humiliating as his old self had been, he knew that it had formed the person he was today. And if he’d been open to a serious relationship for all those years, then he probably wouldn’t have met you.

So, yeah, he wasn’t proud of his past. But he wouldn’t change it. Not when he knew that he’d finally grown up in time to find you. You’d shown him that relationships weren’t something to roll his eyes at or be afraid of, that love was something he was deserving of and was also capable of giving.

And here he was now, frowning at the glass in front of him on the table and being a sappy idiot. The way he kept drifting away from conversations made him wonder if he was a little more than buzzed, but he found that he didn’t care. He was enjoying himself, even if he kept having these more serious thoughts.

It was a good job none of the guys could hear his thoughts now. They already gave him enough grief for going googly-eyed over you, as they called it.

Shifting back into the conversation, he realises that everyone is now talking about who they think will be next to get engaged. Hoseok is a little surprised at how quickly the topic had moved on, but given his friends, he’s also wondering how long it’ll take until it changes once more to how many farts a human can hold or something dumb.

Still, it’s his bachelor party and he feels the need to get involved. So he throws an arm over Jungkook and gives him a smirk, raising his brows in expectation.

“I bet our little Jungkookie here is going to be next. Got any plans on popping the question to Soyeon?” He grins broadly, taking in Jungkook’s expression with pure amusement. The younger man looks remarkably like a deer caught in headlights with his expressive eyes wide and sparkling with their usual youthful exuberance alongside more than a little alcohol.

“I-er,” He stutters, his cheeks turning a rosy pink even in the lowlight of the bar that makes everyone snort with laughter. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Bullshit!” Jimin’s small fist slams down on the table hard, causing the multitude of glasses to shudder and some of them to clink together. It also causes most of the guys around to almost clawing the ceiling with how hard they all jump. Eyes squinting at Jungkook, Jimin points one finger at him in an accusatory manner that seems a little out of proportion for the question.

“You’ve been together...a while now,” Hoseok’s shoulders jerk as he tries to hold in the snort at Jimin’s lack of numeracy skills suddenly. “There’s no way you haven’t thought of it. Women think we don’t think about that kinda shit but we do! And you’re the biggest fucking romantic on the table, Jeon Jungkook!”

His words are more than a little forceful and Hoseok has to bite his lip to stop from laughing, particularly when he glances at Jungkook’s shellshocked face. Alongside those impossibly large and wide eyes, his jaw has now dropped open and he’s staring at his friend in disbelief. Taehyung has an equally surprised look but Yoongi is nodding along in agreement, nursing his glass of whiskey that he’s had for at least half-an-hour now.

“He’s right, you are. I mean...you cried at Hercules when Meg died, remember?” Everyone goes quiet as they try to recall the incident from long ago. Even Hoseok is trying to remember it, his head tilted before giving up. There have been so many incidents of Jungkook crying at films that the Hercules one doesn’t even leave a mark.

“Sorry I have emotions, unlike you lot.” Jungkook is pouting now, crossing his arms over his chest. On another man, it’d probably look a little intimidating given the way his biceps bulged in the black dress shirt he’d put on or the way the buttons strained a little from his shoulders and chest. But Jungkook’s face negates that with his lower lip pushed out almost comically and his cheeks full.

Hoseok can’t help but reach over and cup them, squishing them until everyone laughs at the sight and making cooing noises to him. It’s with resignation that Jungkook lets him, his deep sigh brushing past Hoseok’s fingers while his shoulders slump.

Almost immediately, Hoseok is reminded of how you call Jungkook the baby of his friendship group. It’s with a grin that he realises it’s true. He’s their baby, despite the fact he’s bigger than most of them all and can probably kill them just by squeezing their head between his arms.

“Girls dig that. Soyeon likes it, right?” Taehyung comments, brow rising from where he was sitting. His arm was resting on the back of the seat, body looking long and lean with his legs spread. He hadn’t been lucky enough to be in the booth itself and had had to grab a chair from another table.

There’d been more than a few hungry looks given to him from other patrons in the bar but Taehyung had remained oblivious, his long black hair ruffled from the day's activities and tiredness on his face. Although part of his obliviousness may also be because he was both asexual and aromantic, so it may be more than he’s purposefully not paying attention to it.

“Let’s not generalise women,” Seokjin interrupted, reaching out to gesture wildly with his bottle of Asahi beer. “It’s rude and they get angry when people do that.”

Everyone pauses to look at him with eyebrows raised, wondering where that came from. But no one questioned it, instead shrugging or nodding in acknowledgement to avoid him going on a rant. Not that there was anyone who didn’t agree, but the last thing Hoseok wanted was to listen to a bunch of drunk guys debate that.

“Anyway, I think she finds it more amusing. Like...sweet but...mostly funny. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Soyeon cry at a film yet. Maybe I just haven’t found the right film or genre yet.” Jungkook has a thoughtful look on his face, his gaze distant and Hoseok realises that he’s probably too tipsy for this kind of conversation.

From personal experience with Jungkook, Hoseok did not doubt that he would spend far too long having internal conversations, arguments and debates without even realising other people were talking to him. If anyone thought Jungkook was introverted normally then they hadn’t seen anything until he was drunk.

“Keep looking,” Hoseok says cheerfully, taking another shot and trying to clean his tongue with his teeth to remove the flavour. “You’ll find it eventually. I discovered that Meeps doesn’t cry at most things but she will cry at videos of cats that have been nursed back after being hurt.”

“Well...duh.” That comes from Taehyung, who’s giving Hoseok a serious ‘wtf’ look right now. It makes him feel a little self-conscious and so he grabs one of the random beers on the tables before taking a swig.

“Yeah, who wouldn’t cry at that? What the hell.” Placing a hand on the table, Yoongi looks at them all with a serious expression that could almost sober a person. It causes him to start ranting on about animal rights for the next five minutes, no one feeling brave enough to interrupt him. When Yoongi got going, everyone had long since realised that it was better to just let him get on with it.

By the time he finally stops, sitting back with a triumphant expression on his face before swallowing the last of his whiskey, everyone else has already finished another bottle of beer. Almost like they were trying to get themselves drunk as fast as possible to cope with Yoongi’s insistence that people who hurt animals should receive the same injuries back to them.

While Hoseok agreed, he didn’t quite like hearing about some of the incidents that Yoongi was talking passionately about. It made him think of Kasumi and Ciri, which made his chest hurt.

He was a bit of a baby when it came to his furbabies.

Suddenly though, he’s overwhelmed with the intense desire to go home. To see his dog and stroke his cat and cuddle with you. Blinking slowly, he stares at the bottle before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. The bright light as he unlocks it causes him to squint, trying to avoid being blinded before he realises with a shock that it’s after one in the morning.

His day had started at 10 am when he’d met up with all the guys at Jungkook’s place. They’d then made their way to the place for the day’s activities, having spent until 4 pm there before heading back to Jungkook’s to change into some clean clothes for their drinking time. Soyeon had been amused as she’d watched them all emerge almost like a new man, clean from the quick showers they’d taken and ready to get wasted.

But now he was tired. And holy fuck, he hurt. Hoseok had avoided trying to get up whenever possible. Which meant he fucking needed to piss right now, but moving hurt. His joints ached like fuck from all the activities while his body hurt so bad from the paintballing.

Licking his lips, he finished the last of his beer before sighing deeply. It caught the attention of the others, despite the music and noise. Upon seeing everyone’s gaze on him, he smiles at them.

“Okay guys, this has been a pretty great day. Thank you Jungkook for organising it and thank you to everyone for coming. It means a lot to me. Now, before I get too sappy...I’m going to head home.” He’s already organising for an Uber on his phone, ignoring the outraged noises that start from everyone.

It’s Jimin that’s loudest though, his voice rising in pitch and yet simultaneously getting deeper as his accent gets a little stronger.

“What? It’s not even late! We’ve still got plenty of drinking to do.” Now he’s the one pouting and Hoseok notes in amusement that Seokjin and Namjoon are nodding in agreement. Taehyung doesn’t seem to give two fucks, either way, giving him a lazy shrug before taking a drink of what Hoseok realises is a glass of water while Jungkook remains quiet.

“Guys, it’s one in the morning. I know that I’m flaking out early, but you guys can keep drinking. I’m okay with it, honestly. I just...I’m really tired. A little drunk too, probably not as much as you’d all like but enough for me. Also, I have a bruise on my ass that’s probably the size of Ireland from all the fucking paintballs you fired at me. I hurt.” He whines out the word, wanting to wiggle almost like a child but the pain that shoots up from his asscheek causes him to inhale quickly and still.

“Shit, does it hurt?” The question comes from Jungkook, who’s scanning Hoseok up and down as best he can. It’s not a good attempt given he’s had a little too many drinks and he doesn’t seem to be able to lift his head properly once it’s gone down too far, causing Hoseok to snort.

It doesn’t stop him from giving the younger man a droll stare, which he can only see when Hoseok forcefully lifts his chin back up. “Yes, it fucking does. Why do you think I’ve barely moved all evening?”

“Sorry.” Jungkook’s face is scrunched up and Hoseok knows why he looks so awkward. He’s pretty sure he may as well have Jungkook’s name imprinted on his back in bruises from how many times he’d been hit by him. The guy was far too fucking good at paintball, something Hoseok had regretted agreeing to within five minutes of being in the arena.

“It’s okay. But I’m done for the night. I’m going to go home and sleep so fucking hard. Meeps might think I’ve died in the morning or something.”

“Morbid.” Yoongi chuckles, tipping his new glass of whiskey towards him before grinning.

“Yep. Really glad that I asked for this to be done two weeks before the wedding. I’d have been like an old man if I’d agreed to do it the day before.” The very thought of having to hobble up the aisle made him cringe.

A notification on his phone distracted him though, the Uber app telling him that his ride is here. He feels a surprising amount of relief at being able to go home, the thought of his bed almost like a siren call that was too tantalising to resist.

“And with that, my Uber is here. Thank you for today, really,” Hoseok lets out a yelp of pain as he stands, gingerly holding his ass and causing everyone to simultaneously laugh and look concerned. “I appreciate it. It was fun and I enjoyed it all.”

It takes him another few minutes to finally get out of the bar; hugs being given out repeatedly to the guys while he accepts all their praise and well wishes. The Uber was idling by the side of the road and he wished that he could slump inside but instead, he had to gingerly get in and position himself with the least amount of pain.

To make it even worse, he had to explain to the very sober driver that he wasn’t shitfaced but was actually in pain from the earlier paintballing. That had led to a whole conversation that Hoseok hadn’t anticipated, lasting the whole trip as he’d discussed where they’d gone and the activities they’d done. The guy seemed to be very interested in it and had given him many congratulations when he’d found out that Hoseok was at his bachelor’s party.

It never failed to amuse Hoseok how easily people wish congratulations upon finding out as if they felt obliged. What he didn’t quite appreciate was the guy's remarks about marriage, which were more than a little derogatory. Hoseok didn’t know why anyone would think it was a good idea to disparage marriage to someone who was only weeks away from marriage.

As he was leaving the car, he put on a polite smile and thanked the driver for the trip. Once he was out though, he resolved to not leave a good review. Maybe he sounded a little harsh, but having to listen to how he should ringfence all his finances to avoid them being leeched by his soon-to-be wife for whenever she inevitably cheated or left him had been more than he could handle.

If Hoseok hadn’t been tired before, he sure was now.

Opening the front door, he kicks off his shoes with a heavy sigh before heading into the living room in darkness. Ciri is in her cage, fast asleep until Hoseok unlatches the door and calls her out. She’s slow to react, her little body tired until he opens up the backdoor and lets her out. He figures that you can both have a nice lie in if he lets Ciri out now.

Closing the door once she’s out, he heads into the bathroom and brushes his teeth while peeing before washing his wash. He gets to see how badly bruised he is in the mirror for the first time and winces at the sight of the already black and blue flesh, knowing he’s going to be in even more pain tomorrow.

Sighing, he towel dries his face before heading out and letting Ciri back in. He’d love to have a little cuddle with her but he’s too tired, so he just puts a treat into her cage to coax her back in before giving her an attentive stroke and locking it. She’s too busy eating her chew eagerly to notice him.

Heading to the bedroom, he pulls off his clothes in the dark before fumbling around to find his pyjamas. He’d go to bed in just his boxers but he wants to try and give a little bit of coverage to his poor body for tonight. Which is why he doesn’t even know if he’s put them on the right way around or not. Hoseok doesn’t even care, he already feels asleep.

There’s a little light when he gets over to the bed from your clock, the numbers glowing brightly in the night and highlighting your face as you sleep. Kasumi is curled up against your stomach on top of the covers, her eyes blinking slowly at Hoseok as he leans over to give her a stroke as well. She gives a quiet chirp of appreciation and he smiles softly at how her body vibrates as she purrs, her paws flexing and closing as she pads at your covered thigh.

And through it all, you don’t even stir. Your breathing is slow and steady while your body is completely relaxed, unaware he’s even arrived home. Hoseok doesn’t even realise he’s smiling until he lets out a soft laugh, knowing that you probably won’t wake up at all. Once you’ve fallen asleep then you’re truly out like a light until the early hours of the morning so he has no fear of waking you up.

Carefully, he climbs into bed and throws the cover over himself with a quiet groan as his limbs feel so heavy. He can’t even remember the last time he hurt this badly. It takes way more effort than he’d like to admit to not wake you up and have you coddle him. Mainly because you’re grumpy when you’ve been woken up.

What he does do though, is shift onto his side that doesn’t have the most bruises before carefully shuffling closer to you. A soft mewl of pain leaves him as he does so but he doubts he could get in any position without some level of discomfort right now. So he’ll be damned if he denies himself some comfort in cuddling your sleeping form.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he moulds himself to your back as gently as he can before letting out the deepest sigh he’s done in a while. His whole body relaxes, causing him to almost whimper as the pain he hadn’t realised he had is exacerbated by his now lax muscles. Fuck, that’s the last time he paintballs with Jungkook.

Pressing his nose to your back, he inhales deeply. You haven’t even moved, despite all the jostling he’s done behind you and there’s no change to your breathing. Taking in the comforting scent of you, he recalls his earlier thought process about his past. Feeling you solid and warm in his arms provides him with a sense of peace that he’s never found with anyone else, causing him to feel content despite his discomfort.

Yeah, he wouldn’t change a thing if it meant he ended up with you. And he doesn’t care how cheesy it sounds. In only two weeks, he’d be marrying you. He was allowed to be as sappy as he wanted, whether it was internally or externally.

You deserved to be praised and shouted about and goddammit, Jung Hoseok was going to worship you.

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undeadunalive · 3 years

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People I’d like to know better

One ( Alias/name ): Thea

Two ( birthday ): January 2nd

Three ( zodiac sign ): Capricorn

Four ( height ): 5’3

Five ( hobbies ): writing, playing PS4, Xbox360 or PC games, eating junk food

Six ( favorite color ): blue

Eight ( last song listened to ): Paradise by RIELL, M.I.M.E

Nine ( last show I watched ): Into the Night

Ten ( inspiration for muse ): I roleplayed another character that the voice actor of Jonathan did, and I found his voice really soothing and lovely, then eventually someone recommended Vampyr to me, remembered he was in it, saw it was free on PS Now, and decided to try it, ended up loving it and Jonathan, so I bought the game properly, and I’ve adored him ever since. xD

Eleven ( meaning being your URL ): It’s from a quote by Jonathan in Vampyr: “I wish I could share your enthusiasm, Dr. Swansea, but my condition defies scientific categorisation. Undead? Unalive? Immortality defies logic.”

Tagged by: @nervousleaderr, thank you! <33333 Tagging: @oncomingwonder, @weavefate, @ofstrangevariety, @denieddeath, @copiesofher, @vengefulprophecy && whoever would like to use it :)

#𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐙:

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writingsfromstarfleet · 4 years

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Narek - Checkmate

♫ - No Time To Die - Billie Eilish

For a lovely Anon, and all of you Narek fans out there; enjoy! Hugs! ♡

Section 31 was a group dedicated to protecting the ideals of United Earth, the Federation, and to some extent the foundations of Starfleet. Section 31 officials were stationed at just about every area of Federation space. Until the 23rd century, Starfleet had recognised the division as one of their own, but quickly turned on said decision, choosing to categorise them as a rogue organisation. As of current time, Section 31 was not considered a part of the Federation.

Joining the organisation had provided you with valuable information, as well as learned you many invaluable skills. Bonds were formed with those you operated with, and friends had been made along the way. You were tight knit, very secure, and you worked together with confidence on each and every mission. Your failsafe was your fellow agents, so when you were called on for a solo mission, you were startled and a little confused.

"You're probably wondering why I've called you in alone, Y/N." The stern voice of your head operative, Eddison, had rung out.

"I had wondered, sir." Not meek in your tone, you stood confident, however there was a slight waver in your voice that suggested nerves. He waved it off with a small smile.

"Well, I have quite the job for you, if you're up for it, of course."

"Absolutely." Your reply came without prerequisite, Eddison had yet to explain just what you'd have to do, and yet you were still so eager.

"Well," he began, gesturing you to sit down as he did so himself. "I know you're already aware of the Tal Shiar, Y/N, but how much do you actually know about them currently?"

You shook your head in response, signalling that, other than the basics, you knew nothing. He continued.

"They are an intelligence agency for the Romulan Empire, not dissimilar to us in some respect; it's more likely you could compare them to the Cardassian Obsidian Order. Their main goal is to ensure loyalty, anybody found defying them is imprisoned, forcibly sent away or killed. Dangerous stuff, I'll admit."

"What does this have to do with me, sir?" you interrupted, not quite seeing the point of your current standing.

"We have reason to believe one of their operatives is trying to look in on our plans, see how we are working and what we're doing. Several of our preparations have had to be rearranged because they've blocked us at every corner. I want you to try and figure out who it is, watch anyone suspicious and stop them."

You raised your eyebrows in shock. On your own? You didn't know where to start or how to start, but orders were orders and you took it in your stride. Accepting and standing, you left Eddison and began plotting your own course of action.

Work came quick and fast the coming weeks, and you had little time for relaxation. When you did, you chose to take it in a small café just off the corner of a park. It was nice to unwind in there, the bustling sounds making a serene atmosphere.

"Might I join you?" A smooth voice asked, pulling your thoughts back to the present and your eyes up to the stranger. He was handsome, most certainly. A mess of brown hair adorned his head, and he had shimmering eyes, a sort of grey-blue, depending on the light. He thought the same of you, you were beautiful to him all the same. Both of you had one goal, though, and one goal alone, the attraction you felt to the other had to be pushed aside.

"I don't know, might you?" You smiled, and he simply raised an eyebrow at your tone. Sitting anyway, you began to talk.

What you had learned, you remembered. All of what he had said, you took note. Narek was his name, and he hadn't been in the area too long. What you had also noticed, was that the young man had tried his best to style his hair so as not to reveal his heritage to you; he was, as clear as day, a Romulan. You knew what he was trying to do, though you didn't let on that you were anything but a simple townsperson, enjoying an afternoon in the café.

These meetings happened nearly every day, Narek meeting you in various locations to converse with you; simple questions they would seem to anyone else, but to someone as trained as yourself, you knew these were indeed prying into business. So, you acted on that, misdirecting him to the best of your ability and playing naïve about it.

"Do you have anything yet, Narek? You must've found someone we can use as leverage." came Narissa's stern voice, contempt in her voice at her youngest brother. He was, in her eyes, a disappointment, never quite being able to complete even the most mundane tasks given to him. He gritted his teeth, narrowing his eyes at her.

"I'm working on it, as well you know, sister." He hadn't wanted to give you away just yet, waiting for the opportune moment when he had you in a trap.

She simply laughed and walked off, leaving a rather annoyed Narek in her wake. Determined was the young Romulan to capture one of the Section 31 operatives and finally prove his worth to the Tal Shiar, and his sibling.

Out walking, you stepped with a caution that only trained eyes would see. Each step you took was calculated, calm. Your eyes darted round the streets around your organisation's secret compound for any signs of suspicious behaviour, well-trained eyes at that. Little ever escaped you, and it wouldn't this day, either. From the corner of your eye, a small glint of metal flashed, and you kept your head forward so as not to alert them to your notice. Crossing the way, the figure had retreated back into the shadows. You knew what to do.

Leading a path away from the buildings, you fled into the narrow back alley's that surrounded the busier streets. Footsteps now were quieter, more calculated than ever, because each little sound could be heard. Your peripheral caught a shadow once more, and this time you were ready. You flew down the passage and latched your arm around the figure's wrist, pulling them into some form of light to look at them, a knife pressed lightly against their skin.

"I figured." Your voice cool and calm, a chuckle escaping your throat as you looked into those grey eyes you'd come to enjoy the company of. Not a nice chuckle, a poisonous one.

"As did I." He laughed back. Spite befell the tone of Narek's voice. "So, what will you do with me now? Kill me?"

You pretended to think, tapping your blade against your chin in thought.

"Kill you? Much too boring, Narek. Do spare me such a thought."

Narek saw his chance, a small gap it was, and took your wrists before you could react, pinning you to the wall. Your blade had dropped to the ground, and seeing you glance at it, Narek swiftly kicked it away, a smirk adorning his handsome features.

"I could ask again, what will you do?"

His chuckle came again, this time darker. You acted on your first thought; you knew this was not just because you thought it was your only way out, but you wouldn't admit that to yourself. Leaning forward, you kissed the Romulan as best you could given the position you were in, and Narek found himself kissing you back. He loosened his grip on your wrists, instead dropping his hands to your waist, and you ran yours through his hair. Through kisses, you managed a sentence that threw his guard completely off.

"A bad move on your part. Checkmate."

Before Narek could even process your words, you threw him back and he hit the floor with a resounding thud. Smiling, not unkindly but with a wicked glint in your eye, you made your way to the end of the alley, turning back to look at him with a wink.

"Until next time, Tal Shiar."

And so, a deadly spy game had begun.

#star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #star trek picard #star trek pic #picard #pic #narek #narek x reader #narek imagine #x reader #imagine

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years

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“Second Draft” - Rewrite the Story, Rework a Character!

I’ve been exploring the idea of the Actor and how best to write him lately. While doing so, I grew curious about the possibility of him slightly altering Damien during the time the ‘DAMIEN’ animation is set. So this is considering the idea that Mark still exists, but the Actor is the mask he wears and the role he plays.

Word Count: 1,522

This world - this place where neither death nor time exist - is a WONDERFUL setting for one as creative as the Actor! It was like the days in theatre, where the stage was empty yet filled with possibility. It was a blank canvas where any colours could be thrown on to help create something unique. It was the humming of a melody that could become a prelude to a great symphony. Here, anything could happen, if he so wished.

Somewhere in this timeless place hid the twins. Neither were attached to their own bodies, so they drifted deeper than most would. It must be through sheer carelessness, or even recklessness! The only one who could save them from the peril was Actor himself… But Celine had worked to make it impossible to properly locate them. He wanted to find Damien, but he only ever found Celine brandishing a weapon. However, she was only in a certain area that was hidden by an impassable wall. Unfortunately for her, it only brought about a curious Actor to see what lay in the area he now couldn’t reach.

In the time this game of ‘cat and mouse’ took place, Actor made an interesting discovery about the younger twin. Unlike Celine, Damien was simply chucked out of his body when it was possessed - his soul was still alive. Actor still had an opportunity to tweak Damien’s ‘character’, which he needed to. Damien couldn’t stay here, he needed to get back into the world! Not only that, he had to experience change to ensure further survival. Damien would perish in the world beyond the ‘bubble’. As he was, Damien was unsuitable to survive in the world Actor wanted for him. As it was, it was very good, but it was akin to a first draft that needed editing. It was unsuitable for the tale Actor had in mind. If he played his cards right, he could make the perfect plan to set in motion the new changes in such a subtle way that none would notice. What better way to help set the scene?

Deep within the abyss, there lay an empty pocket, like a chamber. The "walls" slowly expand and contract to bring a sense of life to the timeless place. When Mark first stumbled upon the room, it terrified him. Now, it calmed Actor. How could it not? That slow pulsing matched the rhythm of deep breaths that one would take to try and shake off the nerves. Perhaps the ones that resided in this place wanted Actor to succeed and granted access to a space that was ideal for the creative process! Actor closed his eyes and with a breath, waved his hands.

The walls trembled and pulled back to double the space available. Before him manifested a ghostly figure of the Mayor, brought forward by the memories within the body he now owned. Actor's eyes snapped open to the sight with delight. What a great starting point! It was a perfect replica, but this was not the final result. Oh no! This was merely the start, the blueprint! He snapped his fingers, and a projection of a list shuddered into existence on a screen. It was an information sheet, like when Mark used to work on characters for projects he worked on in better days. Basic facts about the Mayor appeared, but were pushed upward as Actor flicked his wrist. This wasn't what he wanted. Repeating the action manifested the Mayor's personality, neatly summarised and categorised into positive and negative traits:

Positives - Charming, Polite, Trusting, Honest, Loyal

Negatives - Short-Tempered, Proud, Stubborn

"Such a neat, balanced character sheet. But we can't mess too much with your characterisation," Actor murmured as he began to pace around the apparition. "No, no… We cannot afford to lose your charm. I want the audience to love you, flaws and all. I want them to feel conflicted on their opinion of you… If you are too heartless, you become flat and little more than a parody of yourself, and I care about you too much for that." He paused as he eyed the list again, only to shake his head and resume pacing. "You may be doomed to fail against the heroes, but the audience should want to feel some sympathy or care toward you - or love to hate you, whichever works. But right now… Oh Damien, you are just too -" Standing in front of the figure, Actor rested his weight on one leg. His left hand propped the other arm, and his right hand clicked fingers together as words escaped him. "- How is that fans refer to someone like you… 'Soft'? 'Babey'? 'Cinnamon roll'? That isn't a good starting point for any villain, and you deserve better than to merely be a tragic character."

That comment made him pause and step back. That did describe Damien rather well, didn't it? Mark had always thought Damien a sensitive soul, one who didn't deserve the pain that the world was keen to throw at him. Why condemn him to an eternity of suffering behind that wall and whatever was going on there? An outsider who had no trained abilities or experience in a place like this would be broken and shattered before they could return to the world beyond the void. Mark knew Damien well enough to know that if Damien was able to escape, he wouldn't mentally survive the transition back with his "still-living soul". Plus, it was likely Celine that was the only reason Damien still "survived" to this point (if he could assume that was why she kept hunting him). But Damien wouldn't survive like that forever. The moment Celine's powers ran out, they would both be doomed. Damien would be caught under the control of the creatures that lurked unseen or would be driven mad, while Celine… well, that wasn't something Mark wanted to dwell on.

It might not be the 'right' thing to do, but Mark didn't have any better ideas. They had long crossed the point of solving things amicably (body theft might have burned that bridge rather spectacularly). If Damien had to adapt by playing a role that didn't belong to him… so be it.

He took a slow breath to gather his thoughts and regain his focus. Then, Actor stepped forward.

"I'm afraid your personality needs to be tweaked a fraction. Not too much to lose your sense of self, but enough to allow hunting me be a sensible option." After all, what good was a villain that had no drive? Damien was always a gentle soul. He would avoid causing hurt or bother to another. That needed to change. So then he needed to be strong-willed and focused, but to the point where it would be a detriment. He pulled a pencil out of his pocket and began scribbling on the screen floating before him until the list now read thusly:

Positives - Charming, Polite, Trusting, Honest, Loyal

Negatives - Short-Tempered, Proud, Stubborn, Obsessive

If Damien still believed there was a chance of good in his old friend, he might lose that drive to escape. Actor needed to be sure that Damien wouldn't fall so easily and blindly trust.

His hand reached out again to make another addition, only to freeze. Mark forced himself to hold back, to the point of once again breaking character. These were merely the bare bones of Damien's personality, but he couldn't remove another positive trait. Despite how he tried to convince himself otherwise, this felt… wrong. If it were anyone else he wouldn't feel this bubbling guilt. It wasn't right to alter Damien like this. But if he wanted Damien to escape and survive as he was, then he couldn't make another change. If he wanted Damien to live, then Mark would allow himself to become live bait that Damien could hunt. Love might be a force stronger than human nature, but so was hate. That could be his driving force.

He waved his hand and let the list disappear. The illusion of Damien shivered and faded away as the minor changes passed to the slumbering mayor. It was only a temporary solution, really. The beauty about people was that they weren't characters on a page. Their personality wasn't confined to some choice words in neat lists. People were far more complicated and nuanced than that. He hadn't erased the word "trusting", which meant it could be rebuilt over time.

"You can do it," Mark continued his thoughts aloud, "I know you can. Time and time again you defied the odds and emerged victorious. Do it this one last time, old chap. And anyway, you won't be alone. I'm sure you could find our dear Will if you are stuck, but the Attorney will be there waiting for you. They can help you through the changes and bring that light back into the world."

It all seemed so simple and perfect, as Mark once again put back on his mask and left the chamber with a merry hum. It would be perfect once Damien was reunited with his dear Attorney!

A shame he was unaware of their fate...

#writersofmark #who killed markiplier #actor Mark #mark doom #Shattered Heart (Mark Doom)#Broken Reflection (Actor)#(it probably isn't perfect but shhh I'm trying :P )#(read-more is for tidiness! :D )#(I'm trying to challenge myself a little when writing the Actor. I try to change the narration style so it might read a little funny #as I try to have it like he himself is telling the story; sorta)

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years

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How Tango is led: Man leads, Woman follows?

Tango is different things to different people: to men it is leading, to women it is following, to novices it is steps, to veterans it is feelings, to lovers it is a devotion, to peacocks it is a display, and so on. To those who breathe it, it is a lifestyle, for those who are foreign to it, it is merely a dance. The truth is we all understand and dance tango differently for who we are and what philosophy we have.

It’s why tango defies easy categorisation because of the complexity of meaning to those who do it. But there are ways to think about it when two people come to embrace each other into tango.

The traditional theory on how tango is led is the driving theory.

According to this theory, the man is the driver of the dance. He leads the woman in much the same way as he holds a baby in his arms and gently sways her to dream. This theory reflects the macho culture of tango's home country Argentina. The man tenderly embraces the woman with his arm encircles her body. The woman settles into his embrace, rests comfortably in his arms with her breasts intimately touches his chest.

She doesn’t need to think, plan and initiate the movement. She simply surrenders herself to him and lets him drive her. With the torso-to-torso connection the man can easily actuate the woman.

He can use his torso to gently propel her, or turn his torso to make her turn with him, or use his torso to tilt her until she has to make a step, or let her walk on his side by twirling and moving his torso to one side, or use his torso to swing her body, which will bring the swing of her leg to form a step, or increase the momentum that, after her leg lands on the floor, will carry her body pass over the center of gravity and lead to the next step, etc.

The driving method is used by the feeling-oriented dancers who incline to the feeling of the embrace, the intimate torso-to-torso connection between the partners, and the rhythmic motion of the two connected bodies moving together in sync to the music.

For them, tango is synchronization.

The word “follow” is an incorrect notion because it implies separation and delay. What makes a good leader is his ability to use his body to effect the movement of the woman's body. What makes a good follower is her ability to synchronize her movement to his, so that unity, oneness and harmony can be achieved. One needs to know the steps to dance tango, but the purpose of the steps is to facilitate the embrace so that the two may remain one in motion.

The feeling-oriented dancers use simple steps to avoid distractions. They concentrate on the music, embrace, connection, communication, synchronization and feelings.

This theory is the foundation of the milonguero style of tango.

A second theory is the la marca theory, which defines the lead as a mark or signal. The mark can be a push or pull with his hand, a pressure on her back, a tapping on her side, a squeezing in her palm, a press with his thigh against her thigh, a body posturing, or any combination of such. It is a secret code used by the man to tell the woman how he wants her to move. “Mastering tango is mastering the making of signals.” (Tango, the Art History of Love, by Robert Farris Thompson.)

The problem of this method, however, is the lack of standardisation. Every man marks the steps in his own way. Without learning his set of signals, the woman would have difficulties to follow the marks. Due to such ambiguity this method remains not well defined.

Nevertheless, it had a significant impact on the development of tango. Using signal to lead makes it necessary for the woman to interpret it. The man then has to adapt to her subjectivity. That changes how tango is danced. The Villa Urquiza style danced in a loose embrace and hence relying more on the hands to lead, is associated with this theory.

The third theory dominating Europe and North America is the invitation theory, influenced by their individualistic, feminist and "politically correct" ideologies.

According to this theory, what the gentleman sends to the lady is not a drive but a suggestion or invitation. The gentleman who has given the suggestion needs to wait for the lady to initiate her movement at the pace of her choice, and then follow her.

The sequence is like this: “The leader ‘invites’ the lady to enter a room. She accepts the invitation and, in her own time, enters, and he then follows. In a sense, therefore, the leader has become the follower.” (A Passion for Tango, by David Turner.)

This theory breaks away from the traditional tango. It suits the movement-oriented dancers who prefer to dance in an open dance hold that allows more individuality. Without the torso-to-torso contact, the drive, which comes from the man’s torso, becomes less direct and assertive, and hence depends to a large degree on the woman’s choice of whether, when, and how to accept the “invitation”. The man has to wait and adapt to her choice.

As a result, gender roles reverse, movement triumphs over feelings, individual performance replaces synchronization, fanciness supersedes simplicity, and tango becomes tango Nuevo.

I personally prefer the driving theory and la marca theory as I believe that tango is primarily about intimacy that is sensual without it being eroticised - or mistaken for sexual feelings. On a personal deeper level I feel tango is like a drawn out courtship through the language of dance. Primal in its raw energy and yet civilised in its elegance and sophistication. You learn a lot about a man the way he holds you and moves his feet than you do from what comes from his mouth.

I think tango Nuevo while interesting is seriously flawed in conception and design. Tango is about tradition but within that tradition it allows for individual expression within synchronicity that results in balance and harmony but also explosive excitement.

#tango #femme #aesthetics #culture #dance

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benevolent-poet · 4 years

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Why I Write

I write with a cigarette between my fingers on tea stained pages. I write with the sun on my back to the sounds of wild galahs cooing. The outside of my little finger smudges the black ink, leaving a cloud-like shape to discolour my skin. The remaining tea leaves a ring on the off-white ceramic, mildly scratched by the stirring of a teaspoon. I write to create a tangible timeline of my life. To look back on my growth. To plan for my next adventure in life.

I embroider pages with mixtures of neat lines and rushed cursive. I illustrate the imperfections in our world. I dance with my imagination on a page. I write to nourish myself. I encourage myself. My words are my tears whether they be joyous, passionate or sorrowful. I play with grammar and vocabulary like a child would engage in craft. I experiment with my words.

I theorise. I criticise. I write to examine the world; to qualify it; to make sense of it; to categorise it in neat packages. I write sentences with symbolism, usually fuelled by emotion, to scribe my personal experience; to express how my mind interprets the outside world. I write as an ode to words, a tribute to the plethora of splendorous adjectives, adverbs, nouns, and verbs, to ensure these fabulous words do not evaporate out of existence. I like poetry. I write poems to appreciate my surroundings. I write them to expose my deepest, darkest secrets. I write poems to reciprocate the rhythms of nature.

Amongst the shaky list, usually comprising of soy milk and bread, I write kind words on my skin, too. Sois gentile, I wrote most recently – be kind. As a child I was told by grown-ups that I would suffer from ink poisoning. I am yet to notice any symptoms.

I write for my university professors. In each piece I grow a little better, more academic, more to-the-point and I expand and deepen my understanding. I write only out of necessity. I will not achieve much by polluting my work with unnecessary language, the abuse of a thesaurus and ideas that are not my own. I intend to avoid clichés, so that the piece purely reflects the thoughts that roll around my mind, formed by my own personal experience.

I write to my lover. He always sneaks in to my poetry. Usually, sweet ballads in admiration. I write in hopes to boost his esteem. To the kind gestures and the pure heart he offers me. I write because I want to shout from the rooftops, cry out about how much I appreciate him, but that would be dangerous.

I write to my online community. To the companions I have not met and will never meet. I have fleeting moments with passers-by and meaningful long-lasting connections with old friends.

I write music. I dream in D minor 7. I adapt my experiences in to chord formation, melodies and lyrics. The way spoken word, or music conveys emotion contrasts particularly different to written text. It is just as meaningful, but there is a certain complexity to it - the interweaving of individual elements, the tone and the emotive response that arises from it.

I stopped writing because my words were too tangible. My thoughts were private. What if someone had read my words? The introvert in me would be appalled. Each Diary entry followed with ripping it, scrunching it up, making the words illegible. Now, writing is a useful tool for me to locate, interpret and communicate my thoughts. I find that I often experience a blank mind in a social-setting causing me to stumble in conversation. I write for reaching the final sentence means – I am free. Free from worry, free from fear.

I write for the same reason I would light incense. For some kind of spiritual cleansing. To meditate; a form of mindfulness; tranquillity; relaxation. There something about burning that is very scared. I write as an act of self-care or self-love. Words line my pages like its aromatic smoke that clouds a room. I write to become in touch with how my mind and body feels, as I describe the sensations – I can process and heal.

I write in metaphor. I write poetically. I write for meaning; to find purpose. I write about the little things. Happy things, grave things. Parfois j'écris des choses en français. I write as a pathway between my past and my future. I note where I’ve been and where I aspire to be. It grounds me. I write for I find the act cathartic; I find satisfaction in creating sentences. For clarity, for peace, for patience.

I write for her. The voice that screams to be heard. For that one time, where she had known of the fight or flight response, but she was yet to experience the freeze reaction to a traumatic situation. The pamphlets on anxiety were yet to include it. Then, it happened. And not too long after there was that freeze response. She lay still. As still as the air in that room. The air surrounding her changed in general after that incident. Polluted with disdain, fear and confusion. It sparked a change within her; a silence. A loss of innocence, loss of trust. I write for her, the shame that swallowed her and the peace she searched to find. She stopped writing for two years, that girl. The light inside her withered away. She couldn’t concentrate in school. She didn’t feel safe at home. I write for her; the girl who grew up too fast.

I write to the moon, for only it listens to my story silently. I write to keep the fire inside me burning alight. I write to condense weeks of built up feelings in a paragraph. I write to ease the voices in my head. I write to reassure myself, to motivate myself. I form words to be different.

I write to find god in a godless world. I write to defy police brutality. I fight for equality. I write for justice. I write for George Floyd. For all the black men and women failed by the justice system and subjected death at the fault of racism. I pray for their daughters and sons, that they do not grow bitter and hostile; that they prosper. I write as a prayer to the universe.

I write to express my gratitude to the brave indigenous peoples of this country, who sacrificed their culture and land. Colonised by the British, tortured and disrespected and still to this day, belittled. I want to express my appreciation of the land I call home, for its wonderful unique flora and fauna. I praise the world that surrounds me. I note its beauty. I question society. I wonder about its harshness and the repercussions of imperialism.

I write for my women. To stress the importance of building each other up. For the magnificence that is the essence of woman. I write to note that feminism is just as important today as it was 100 years ago. I write to represent a population of women who are unheard, mistreated or too scared to speak out. I write to fight the against the abuse, the unheard screams, patriarchal dominance... sheer terror.

I write memories. I write stories. I write observations. I write in the same way a photographer takes a picture, to capture a snapshot of a moment. I write for me. I explore the depths of my mind, conjure my true feelings. I cast a net in to open waters, some days gifted with a fantastic catch, other days trash. I write to filter the important from the unimportant. To capture my identity. I write to get to know myself, the inner workings of my mind. I write until it cannot fathom any new full sentences.

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tawakkull · 4 years

Text

ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 35

Mahabba

The two Prophetic Traditions below are noteworthy with respect to their associating love and belief:

None of you can truly be said to believe until he wants for his brother what he wants for himself.

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qqueenofhades · 7 years

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What are some novels or short stories you love? :)

Wow, oh man. I vaguely remember a mythological time when I had the time/ability to read for pleasure. I think it was nice.

For series, I have been a longtime fan of Harry Potter (of course), A Song of Ice and Fire (though I don’t think it’s ever gonna get finished, hence why I had to write TNR) and Outlander (though for both the latter two, the quality has fallen off a lot in the most recent books). I also really enjoyed the Parasol Protectorate series by Gail Carriger, which I read recently (history, steampunk, humor, supernatural, really all the things I like, yes).

For individual books that come to mind:

Reamde by Neal Stephenson is possibly my favorite novel ever. If I had half of this guy’s talent and imagination and sprawling genius, I would be happy. I also really liked Anathem and Seveneves by him (and had a signed first edition, but had to leave it behind when I moved. Ughhh). He has written a lot, though, and he’s incredibly prolific. His stuff pretty much defies categorisation, but it’s techno and sci fi and thriller and spec fic and computer science and virtual reality and futurism and etc. His characters are super diverse and his humor is A+. Reading him can definitely be a saga, as you kind of have to buckle up and go along for the ride and diversions along the way, but yes.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, by Susana Clarke, and also the miniseries. It took me a few tries to get through this one, as it is so authentically written that the first half can be a bit slow, but I did and yes. It’s really wonderful. You may have seen it, but the premise is magic in early 19th century England against the backdrop of the Napoleonic wars and the industrial revolution and the realm of Faerie and so much social commentary, and as I said, written exactly like a novel from that time period. It’s amazing.

The Postmortal by Drew Magary is another book I have recommended a lot. It’s set in a near future where they invent the cure for old age, and as a result, people can theoretically live forever (if they don’t get killed some other way). It’s a dystopia, blackly funny, and completely haunting and heartbreaking.

The Messiah of Morris Avenue by Tony Hendra is another book that has stuck with me a long time, and is in a similar vein. Jesus Christ returns to a near-future in a super-Christian American theocracy, which really does not feel far of these days, as a humble Hispanic immigrant named Jay. It’s beautiful and satirical and again, totally heartbreaking.

I quite liked A Discovery of Witches and Shadow of Night, by Deborah Harkness, since they have literally everything I love: history, fantasy, time travel, Oxford, alchemy, supernatural, etc etc. But I couldn’t finish the third one because I ended up hating the main male character so much (and he was the romantic lead, so I think I was supposed to love him, but yeah). This was disappointing.

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, for probably obvious reasons. Give me that miniseries you promised, Amazon.

I have also liked Sharon Kay Penman’s historical stuff about the Plantagenets and medieval England, as we have similar views on the time period and people involved (for the most part). The titles are eluding me, but there are at least six of them. I haven’t read her Richard III one, though.

Oldie but goodie, East of Eden by John Steinbeck.

And I am sure there are more, but what with all my moving, my book collection has been sadly whittled down to nothing. As you can see, there are a few things I like in books: history, fantasy, length (heh, I do go for doorstoppers), some kind of imaginative element, and social commentary. I am quite picky about the stuff I read, and it has to be well written or I won’t stick with it. And I haven’t really had time or inclination to read for pleasure recently, since as a grad student, when I get off, the LAST thing I want to do is more reading (so I write instead). But I will again one day, and it will be delightful.

#onlymorelove #ask #book recommendations

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peckhampeculiar · 5 years

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Making his mark

WORDS BY LUKE G WILLIAMS; PHOTO BY LIMA CHARLIE

Taxi driver, YouTube polemicist and celebrated performance artist, Mark McGowan’s diverse career has won him worldwide media attention. The 55-year-old’s often comedic and absurdist approach has inevitably divided opinion – particularly within the notoriously snooty art world.

However, the power of his work is undeniable, and – for this writer – its public, provocative and political nature makes it far more relevant, involving and moving than any number of fusty artistic relics tucked away in inaccessible and dusty galleries or archives.

Mark also proves an interviewer’s dream – witty and thoughtful at times, angry and emotional at others, he is never less than candid while also remaining scrupulously polite.

Although he no longer lives in Peckham, Mark is an unashamed advocate of the area, where he spent the majority of his formative years.

“I love Peckham I really do. I moved out a couple of years ago but I lived in Peckham for about 40, 45 years,” he explains, south London inflections and cadences dripping from his voice.

“I grew up on the North Peckham Estate and we lived on Denman Road after that.

“I’m from an Irish Catholic family. There’s a big Irish community in Peckham. At 56 Talfourd Road there used to be a massive Irish Catholic social club, a membership club. It was enormous – upstairs you had a bar and a dance room and downstairs you had a big dance and music venue.

“People went there on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday night. Bands would be playing, kids and their families would be there, everyone drinking. Lots of Irish people lived on the North Peckham Estate and after the club we would have parties with lots of Irish singing.”

Peckham and Camberwell run through the story of Mark’s life like the words through a stick of rock. His parents married at Sacred Heart church in Camberwell in 1962 and he is a former pupil of St Francis primary school on Friary Road and St Thomas the Apostle College on Hollydale Road.

“I thought living on the North Peckham Estate was absolutely amazing,” he says. “There was a labyrinth of places to go, places to hide and places to play. It was a maze. We’d come home from school and go straight out and be playing. We’d play football until it was dark.

“There was some tragedy as well. I remember a guy who worked with my dad got stabbed and killed on Boxing Day. The police were quite often on the estate running around and chasing people, but to me as a kid it was the best place ever and I felt so safe.”

Mark’s route into the art world and cult YouTube stardom was somewhat circuitous. The story begins – sort of – in Ibiza of all places, and takes in diversionary visits to the Maudsley and Bethlem hospitals along the way. “The first time I went to Ibiza was 1982,” he explains. “The rave scene kicked off there in 85 or 86 and I stayed there until about 94. There were lots of drugs and different things going on.

“I was always interested in drugs and experimenting with them – LSD, mescaline. It was very interesting times but then I caved into harder drugs, heroin and crack and so on. Then I was on the streets, in parks in Camberwell and in the Maudsley for like 10 years. That was the progression, that’s the Peckham life,” he adds with a dry chuckle, before pausing, and adopting a more serious, contemplative tone.

“Things became really hard. Life was really hard. Through my drugs treatment I ended up in the Bethlem, which is a part of the Maudsley, trying to get clean.

“Then I got this second chance. I got to go to the Camberwell College of Arts. I’d seen that building all my life. I sat outside the college for about three days trying to get on to a foundation course and in the end the dean, a guy called Hughes paid for me, which was pretty amazing.”

While he was studying at Camberwell, Mark began what he describes as a “10-year practice of performance art”.

“I started rolling and crawling through Camberwell and hanging from trees in Peckham.

I pushed a monkey nut with my nose to Downing Street. I crawled to Canterbury. It was before social media but I got a lot of attention. Some people would just laugh at me, say I was a joke.

Other people could be quite confrontational. The thing is, people don’t know what to say about performance art, it’s like the lava lamp of the art world. People mock it.

“I came up with this phrase: ‘I decided to take part in the spectacle and entered it at the shallow end.’ I was critiquing art itself – it was the time of Tracey Emin and Brit Art and all that. I was also critiquing the media.

“One of my primary purposes was to get on the telly and reclaim the work. So I catapulted an old lady in a [homemade] space rocket and I pulled a double-decker bus with my big toe.”

Mark happily characterises himself as an outsider. Ironically, however, his work has crossed over into the mainstream far more often than many of his contemporaries – having featured on the likes of the Richard & Judy show or as a light relief segment on local news bulletins rather than in Art World magazine. “Every artist likes the idea of being misunderstood,” he says, somewhat self-deprecatingly. “It’s a really crappy position to take but most artists like to position themselves like that.

“I didn’t go out to try and get into Art World magazine or whatever. I would love my work to be critiqued, but performance art isn’t respected or acknowledged enough. I’m still an outsider.

“It’s so difficult with performance art, because it has another language. It doesn’t follow the way that people watch a film, for example. It’s not easy to digest or consume. It’s hard to understand.

“Look at Extinction Rebellion – they were doing all sorts of performance type pieces and they were being absolutely ridiculed. People were screaming at them.

“A lot of performance is quite shame-based. Anything creative is shame-based. It all goes back to being at primary school, and people laughing at your work, saying, ‘What is it meant to be?’ Shame is in us all. It curls your toes and consumes you.

“When I was crawling to Canterbury I would get people being very abusive, shouting, ‘Get up, you crackhead!’ and things like that. It was quite incredible to hold that shame in myself. It was no different to when I was using [drugs], sat in Camberwell Green with a big winter coat on in the middle of summer drinking and taking drugs.”

The “Chunky Mark” stage name of Mark’s street performance art days has since evolved into a whole new persona, that of the “Artist Taxi Driver”.

“The Artist Taxi Driver has gone off on a whole other tangent,” he explains. “It’s very political. That persona has taken over. It’s quite conceptual. It’s difficult to explain.”

Clad in sunglasses and filmed in his taxicab in between fares, Mark’s Artist Taxi Driver is avowedly left wing, making strident political points and reviewing the newspapers in rants filmed daily and uploaded on to YouTube, where he has nearly 60,000 subscribers.

It’s a persona that seems much angrier than the Mark McGowan who speaks to The Peckham Peculiar, but no less genuine and heartfelt.

“The whole country is in chaos,” Mark sighs, sounding somewhat weary. “In lots of ways the world is quite scary.

“It’s really painful because [those in power] use poverty, they use nationalism and they use flags as tools for power. And people get hurt. We’ve had 10 years of austerity and Brexit. It’s shit!”

Certainly Mark, who has spent time visiting refugee camps in France in order to inform his political thinking, seems umbilically connected to the idea of exposing injustice.

“We blew up Libya, watched people drowning in the sea and the media took those people’s struggles and deaths and used it to facilitate Brexit,” he says. “I pick up the papers to do my daily review and it has an emotional impact. I do feel like crying sometimes. And I feel powerless sometimes too.”

Nevertheless, Mark remains utterly committed to maintaining the integrity of his output. In the face of troubled and worrying times he ploughs on, fighting the good fight and defying easy categorisation.

“I’m prolific,” he admits. “I wake up and sometimes I think, ‘This ain’t art, mate, it’s an addiction!’ I love doing the Artist Taxi Driver but I love doing watercolours as well.”

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dulwichdiverter · 6 years

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Thinking deep

Words Luke G Williams; Photo Lima Charlie

For the past year acclaimed artist and Dulwich resident Naomi Avsec has been working underground. Literally. one hundred feet underground as ‘artist in residence’ at Growing Underground, a micro-greens growing facility that occupies a maze-like and vast World War II bomb shelter lurking – somewhat incongruously – beneath busy and bustling Clapham High Street.

A few days before Naomi’s residency ends and her installation Dust Garden: Little Particles of Happiness is removed, I meet her at the Growing Underground facility.

Despite the sudden onset of freezing weather, the warmth of Naomi’s greeting is unmistakeable, and her passion and enthusiasm for her work infectious.

As I tentatively scale 180 spiral steps down into the gloom and murk of the subterranean world Naomi has been inhabiting (“we’ll take the lift back up!”), she explains how the unique project came about.

“It’s mad. Growing Underground did a call out for a residency. I read it and thought: ‘that sounds weird!’ But I loved the space from when I first saw it. And they’ve got so much space here - there are five tunnels and they’re only using a fraction of them.

“Originally the residency was six months, but then it got extended. Then I begged and pleaded, and by the time I move out it will have been a year. I’m going to be really sad, it’s come to feel like my second home! I call it my ‘she cave’!”

Visitors were able to experience Naomi’s installation by prior booking over the weekend of 8 and 9 September and the response was overwhelming.

“It was amazing!” she recalls. “I had about 170 visitors. I had to do small groups of about 20 people at a time. At times it was like herding cats and we had a few panic attacks, but the feedback was incredible.

“Being down here is not for the faint hearted. When I moved in last November it was freezing. I couldn’t wear enough clothes to keep warm.

“As it got warmer I picked up momentum. And I’ve absolutely loved it. It’s made me interested to produce more site-specific responses to strange abandoned spaces. I loved the sense of being totally disconnected down here, you can’t get Wi-Fi for example. I’ve never felt so truly creative as I have down here as there are no distractions.”

The installation begins in one of the shelter’s long, hemispherical spaces with Naomi’s visual diary of her residency – all 20 metres of it, lying unravelled and unfurled on the concrete floor like some sort of mystical scroll.

“It was a way of getting all my thought processes out, what I was feeling being down here,” Naomi explains. “It became my daily meditation. Lots of doodling using Indian ink. I call it my mind mangle!”

As we approach the tunnel where the ‘Dust Garden’ itself is housed Naomi briefly outlines the approach she took in creating the installation.

“I took the make do and mend ethos that was typical during the war,” she says. “So I took detritus from off the streets and dragged it down here. I was working like some mad woman, rustling through heaps of rubbish, tubes, pipes and strips of newspapers!”

With that Naomi flings open a door and tells me: “I’m going to send you in to the Dust Garden now! I’ll keep the door ajar and leave you there on your own. Come back out whenever you’re done. Be careful where you tread…”

I step - somewhat tentatively - into near darkness.

Strange shapes and forms protrude here and there - from the walls, the ceiling and the floor. In the distance noises rumble and groan – tube trains below or above us? Or something more sinister? – while a distant soundscape and flickering video projection play on loop.

After a few minutes exploring this bizarre array of surreal and alien-like forms and noises, my initial trepidation slowly turns to a sense of peace and comfort. A feeling accentuated by the everyday familiarity of some of the objects Naomi has used, albeit in surreal and unconventional ways – children’s shoes, surgical gloves, plywood, electric cables…

By the time I reach the far end of the installation, and a representation of the sun, I feel cosy, almost womb-like in what had initially seemed an alien and threatening landscape.

Somewhat elated, I stumble back out and try to untangle and unravel my experience in words to Naomi, who laughs: “Yes, it’s a little bit disconcerting, but it’s ultimately meant to soothe you. Even though there are some creepy things, the sense is that these strange inhabitants I’ve created are quite benign.

“I had no idea how it was going to be received, but a lot of people reacted like you. Some people came out quite tearful. People who know me have said it’s literally like walking into my mind!”

As we travel back up to the surface of the earth and ensconce ourselves in a small office, Naomi talks to me about the rest of her remarkably diverse career.

“I wanted to be an artist since I was really little,” she reveals. “I didn’t play with dolls – I drew and drew and drew! That’s all I ever wanted to do. In my childhood house in Muswell Hill I drew all over the walls! My mum says when the house was sold the buyers said they were going to keep my drawings on the wall, but I don’t really believe that!

“My grandma gave me my first gallery when I was seven, which was her larder! Next to all her homemade cakes and shortbreads she had a sign on the door saying: ‘Naomi’s Gallery’.”

With BAs in Constructed Textiles and Illustration from Middlesex Polytechnic and Chelsea School of Art, as well as a Masters in Fine Art from Wimbledon College of Art, Naomi has been based in south London since her Chelsea School of Art days.

“I love Dulwich, I’ve been here ten years,” she says. “I like being around greenery and there’s loads of it here. It’s the most un-urban bit of London really. I’m a massive tree hugger basically.”

The breadth of Naomi’s experience and expertise is staggering, and her body of work defies easy categorisation.

She defines herself as a “multi-disciplinary artist”, and her art spans the disciplines of sculpture, found objects, painting, collage, embroidery, animation, installation … and probably more besides!

“I just love art,” she laughs. “Any genre!”

For the past decade and a half, Naomi’s career has had two main strands, on the one hand encompassing her installation and art work, and on the other her renowned embroidery business.

“I always thought, ‘it’s not right to have two sides to my career,’ but as I’ve got older I’ve realised you need a sustainable practice. My embroidery has always been the commercial side to what I do.”

Having taught herself to embroider at the age of 15, Naomi began embroidering and selling personalised T-shirts at Spitalfields in 2004.

“I’d take my machine to the market. It was a hard but an interesting apprenticeship in ‘how to make money out of your creativity!’ Then I thought, ‘I’m going to aim high with this!’

“That’s when I approached Paul Smith.”

Despite having never met the legendary fashion designer, Naomi grabbed Smith’s attention the only way she knew how: she embroidered him a letter.

“I knew he was open and philanthropic and interested in more than just fashion. So I embroidered a letter, an envelope, a stamp, everything! A gorgeous fabric delight which I hand delivered it to his office.

“A week later I got a phone call from one of his staff and a week after that I went in, met a couple of other people and then Paul Smith came in!”

The ensuing collaboration with Smith proved extremely fruitful, with Naomi embroidering bags, handkerchiefs, ties and shoes among other items, as well as Smith assisting her with mounting a major exhibition of her work in Japan.

More recently, Naomi credits the Fine Art MFA she studied for at Wimbledon College of Art with being a particularly transformative experience.

“It was amazing. The best thing I’ve ever done,” she says. “It gave me a renewed awareness of art and what it can achieve and bring.”

In terms of the common threads that unite the varying disciplines of her work, Naomi says: “The embroidery is very pretty and quite sentimental and romantic. I love trails and wire and wool and tubing – things that are a bigger version of thread! That links my embroidery with my art.

“Even my dark work has an element of humour to it. I believe everyone has a dark and a light side you see and I love embracing both. Although I probably prefer the dark with a dollop of humour!

“I like to examine the ‘other’, the strange, and I’m a big champion of the outsider. That probably links to the fact my father was Yugoslavian. Growing up I often felt like an outsider and my dad must have felt like that too.”

Although she often works in darkness – both literal and metaphorical - the future for Naomi appears bright.

In 2016 she won the Clifford Chance Graduate Sculpture Prize and she was recently shortlisted for the prestigious Elephant x Griffin Art Prize, the winner of which will be announced in December.

“What the hell do I do next?” she ponders. “Not sure. Although I’m starting something called dust projects. Maybe I’ll do some group shows. I like the idea of getting people to respond to hidden corners of London.”

#dulwich #dulwich diverter #dulwich art

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